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ENCYCLOPAEDIA BRITANNICA.
EIGHTH EDITION.
THE
ENCYCLOPEDIA BRITANNICA
DICTIONARY
OF
ARTS. SCIENCES. AND GENERAL LITERATURE.
EIGHTH EDITION.
WITH EXTENSIVE IMPROVEMENTS AND ADDITIONS;
AND NUMEROUS ENGRAVINGS.
VOLUME XIX.
ADAM AND CHARLES BLACK, EDINBURGH.
MDCCCLIX.
[The Proprietors of this Work give notice that they reserve the right of Translating iiT\
NEILL AND CO; PRINTERS, EDINBURGH,
ENCYCLOPAEDIA BRITANNIC A
REID, Dr Thomas, a distinguished Scottish philoso¬
pher, and founder of the school of Natural Realism, was
born on the 26th of April 1710 at the manse of Strachan
in Kincardineshire, a parish about twenty miles from Aber¬
deen, where his father, the Rev. Lewis Reid, was minister
for fifty years. His mother was Margaret Gregory, daughter
of David Gregory, Esq. of Kinnairdie in Banffshire, and
one of twenty-nine children, the most remarkable of whom
were David, James, and Charles Gregory, then professors of
astronomy and mathematics at Oxford, St Andrews, and
Edinburgh. By his father, Thomas Reid could look back
on a long line of ancestors, most of whom had been minis¬
ters of the Scottish Church, and with a decided bias to¬
wards literature; and in two cases they had forced their
way within the shadow of the throne, the one as Greek and
Latin secretary, and the other as physician to royalty. On
his mother’s side he could count the names of men who
were as distinguished for their genius as they vvere illus¬
trious for their worth; and who, by their brilliant talents,
had shed lustre on the northern colleges, and left a memo¬
rable name in connection with the universities of the
south. It was this twofold stream of literature and science
that was to combine in forming the philosophy of Reid.
Young Reid received his elementary education first at
the parish school of Kincardine, and subsequently at Aber¬
deen. He entered Marischal College in his twelfth or
thirteenth year, where, according to his own account, he
received an education that was somewhat slight and super¬
ficial. He gave no indication of future eminence, but
displayed a modest perseverance in study which amounted
almost to a passion. About a century before, one of his
ancestors had left an endowment to the librarian of his
college; and to this office Reid had the good fortune to
be appointed. He could now indulge his love of study
amid the calm of an academical retreat. Like his great
German rival and contemporary Kant, he at first showed
a decided predilection for mathematical pursuits, a taste
which was confirmed and strengthened by his familiar
intimacy with John Stewart, subsequently professor of ma¬
thematics in the same college, and author of A Commentary
on Newton!s Quadrature of Curves. The two youths read
mathematics with ardour, and studied the Principia with
fascination.
VOL. XIX.
In 1736 Reid resigned his office as librarian, and accom¬
panied his friend Stewart on an excursion to England.
They visited London, Oxford, and Cambridge, and made
the acquaintance of many persons of the first literary and
scientific distinction. On Reid’s return to Aberdeen, he
was presented by King’s College to the living of New
Machar, in the same county. The popular prejudice was
not, however, in his favour ; yet he completely disarmed the
animosity of the people by the forbearance of his temper
and his active spirit of humanity, and so endeared himself to
them that they afterwards said, “ we fought Dr Reid
when he came, and would have fought for him when he went
away.” He seems to have had an aversion at this time to
original composition ; and it is recorded of him that he
preached the sermons of Tillotson and Evans for years
after he became a clergyman. The greater portion of his
time was spent in intense study, chiefly of a metaphysical
cast, and when he took any relaxation it was for the most
part in the shape of gardening and botany. A paper which
appeared in the London Philosophical Transactions for
1748, entitled “ An Essay on Quantity, occasioned by read¬
ing a Treatise in which Simple and Compound Ratios are
applied to Virtue and Merit,” will show how far he still
clung to his earlier investigations, and to what extent he
had realized the larger field which lay beyond. The work
alluded to in the title of this paper was the Inquiry
into the Origin of our Ideas of Beauty and Virtue of Dr
Hutcheson of Glasgow, who died the previous year. In
1752 Reid was elected professor of philosophy in King’s
College, Old Aberdeen, where he required to teach mathe¬
matics and physics, as well as logic and ethics. Shortly
after his removal to his new sphere of labour, Dr Reid took
part in organizing a literary society, which was instrumental
during many subsequent years in kindling and fostering
that spirit of philosophical research which, in the writings
of Reid, Gregory, Campbell, Beattie, and Gerard, reflected
so much lustre upon northern literature. The Inquiry
into the Human Mind on the Principles of Common Sense
was published by Reid in 1764, after having received the
sanction and applause of his immediate associates. He wras
then in his fifty-fourth year, and he seems to have medi¬
tated this work for twenty-five years, from the publication of
Hume’s remarkable Treatise of Human Nature in 1739.
A
o
R E
Heid. Thus Hume liad the unexpected credit of awakening the
suspicions of Reid by his sceptical conclusions, as he not
long afterwards had of arousing Kant from his “ dogmatic
slumber.” As the refutation of Hume’s scepticism was
the great object of Reid’s Inquiry, he took the opportunity
of submitting his manuscript, through Dr Blair, to the
great sceptic’s perusal. Hume, after reading the ma¬
nuscript, wrote to Reid, “ I have read your performance
with great pleasure and attention. It is certainly very rare
that a piece so deeply philosophical is wrote with so much
spirit, and affords so much entertainment to the reader.”
And again, “ I kept a watchful eye all along over your
style ; but it is really so correct, and so good English, that
I found not anything worth the remarking.” Reid had
unquestionably in this work fallen upon a mine of the very
purest metal, and “ by an ignorance wiser than knowledge”
worked it out with untiring perseverance. It may be fairly
questioned, however, whether he was in all respects con¬
sistent in his application of the principles of Common Sense
to the refutation of the Scepticism of Hume, or of an
Idealism more subtle than that of Berkeley. Reid informs
us that he “ had embraced the whole of Berkeley’s system”
in the course of his speculative inquiries ; and was only
withheld from giving it his final approbation on “ finding
other consequences to follow from it, which gave me more
uneasiness than the want of a material world.” His reading
in philosophy was, to say the least, exceedingly limited;
and this limitation had both its advantages and its disad¬
vantages. For, while it kept his mind comparatively tree
and untrammelled to look at the facts which his conscious¬
ness revealed to him, it, by this very freedom, threw him
off his guard in analysing the contents of his experience,
and deluded him with the conviction, that when he had
confuted a doctrine under a particular development, his
principles were proof against that doctrine, under whatever
guise it might assume. So it was with the doctrine of
Idealism, which he hastily identified with the Idealism of
Berkeley. He raised, however, a substantial protest against
the doctrines which it was his business to refute, and in his
future work was more guarded in his expression as well as
more circumspect in his estimate of philosophical opinion.-
The fame of Dr Reid spread rapidly all over the country;
and in 1763 he was invited to Glasgow to fill the chair of
moral philosophy, then vacated by Dr Adam Smith. Glas¬
gow at that time presented strong attractions to a man of
Dr Reid’s habits of mind. Simson, Moor, and Black, were
still in the full vigour of their faculties, and were still look¬
ing forward to long years of intellectual enjoyment. Ani¬
mated by the presence and stimulated by the zeal of such
associates, Dr Reid entered upon the new scene of his labours
wiui an ardour that was very uncommon at his period of life.
Dugald Stewart, who was a pupil of Reid’s in Glasgow,
and who has left us an elegant Account of his Life and Writ¬
ings, in speaking of his merits as a public teacher, bears the
following testimony :—“ The merits of Dr Reid as a public
teacher were derived chiefly from that rich fund of original
and instructive philosophy which is to be found in his
writings, and from his unwearied assiduity in inculcating
principles which he conceived to be of essential importance
to human happiness. In his elocution and mode of instruc¬
tion there was nothing peculiarly attractive.” “ A brief
Account of Aristotle’s Logic, with remarks,” appeared in
1774, from the pen of Dr Reid, in the second volume of Lord
Karnes’s Sketches of the History of Man. In 1781 Reid
resolved to retire from his public duties, and to devote him¬
self, while his health and faculties would permit, to the
further elucidation of the phenomena and laws of the
human mind. Although at that time upwards of seventy,
neither in vigour of body nor of mind did he seem to have
sustained any injury from time. Fie published his Essays
on the Intellectual Powers of Man in 1785 ; and his Essays
I D.
on the Active Powers of Man appeared in 1788. This last Reid,
performance may be said to have closed his literary career,
for, with the exception of short occasional essays on sub¬
jects which happened to interest him, written for a philo¬
sophical society of which he was a member, it wras the last
work he ever wrote. His active and useful life was now
drawing to a close. Fie was seized with a violent disorder
in the month of September 1796, and after a severe struggle
he died on the 7th of the following month, in the eighty-
seventh year of his age.
Dr Reid, though somewhat under the middle size, was
uncommonly muscular and athletic,—advantages to which
his habits of temperance and exercise, as well as the
extreme evenness of his temper, contributed not a little.
In private he combined the dignity of the philosopher with
the amiable modesty and gentleness of the child. His
philosophical genius was peculiarly distinguished by a singu¬
lar patience of thought, and by a cautious discriminating
judgment. Fie was endowed by nature with a disposition,
which early worked itself into a habit, of rivetting his most
fixed and concentrated attention on his own mental opera¬
tions ; and though there have been men who, with such a
disposition, would unquestionably have drawn from the
evanescent sphere on which he fixed his contemplation re¬
sults more brilliant and conclusions more startling, yet it re¬
mains a question whether a loftier genius would have outshone
Reid in the ultimate task of photographing, so to speak, the
phenomena of the human consciousness, and of cautiously at¬
tending to what that consciousness implied. He was by no
means a brilliant thinker ; but no philosopher ever surpassed
him in patience. His style was simple, easy, and familiar; and
perhaps his works have suffered somewhat from not being
written in a language more elaborately technical, or at
least in a manner less readily accessible to the ordinary
comprehension of men. Since Reid’s time the estimates
of his philosophical capacity have been alike curious and
various. Some would have him endowed with a com¬
manding genius, at whose light darkness became visible,
and before whose glow all things false were consumed;
others w'ould degrade him beneath the dignity of the philo¬
sophical class, and have men believe he had no business
among philosophers. Extravagant as these estimates must
appear, they might perhaps find an explanation in the mode
of writing which the author adopted. To the one class,
not very discriminating, his simple and familiar language
would at once declare him the man of genius; while with
the other class, equally undiscriminating, the absence of
rigorous and severe technicality would at once erect a
barrier between his talent and their appreciation. Suffice
it to say, that his philosophy of Common Sense, his theory
of external perception, still holds ground amid the war of
conflicting systems and the general uprooting of opinion ;
and so far as one can observe amid the dim and
dusky confusion attendant on the strife, it is a philo¬
sophy, or, if men will, a bundle of theories, which
is likely to outride the rough weather of human specu¬
lation for a considerable time to come. The polemic
which Reid implicitly or explicitly carried on was of a
twofold character, and the method which he brought
to it was in some measure peculiar. In the first place, it
was against the Scepticism of Hume he directed his pri¬
mary and ineradicable beliefs; and in the second, it was at
the Idealism of Berkeley he aimed his principles of the
common sense. Hume, as a sceptic, who knew well the
functions he had to fulfil, accepted the premises afforded
him by the sensationalists, and carried these premises to
their legitimate conclusions. These conclusions, as all
know, were one weltering, chaotic sea of the wildest doubt;
and the fatal reflection regarding the whole of his specula¬
tions was, the perfect legitimacy of his polemic, and the ab¬
solute justness of his reasoning. It was obvious that if
E E I
lie id. Philosophy was again to raise her cloven front before the
altar of truth, she must disrobe herself of her meretricious
attire, and be content to adorn her person in the simple
and severe dress of a handmaid. Thomas Reid saw this
truth, to the extent of his vision, and resolved to make
the most of it. He would avoid the hollow empiricism
which had so greatly degraded his century; and he would
shun the extravagant folly of aspiring to a speculative on¬
tology on which so many have made shipwreck. The me¬
thod which he accordingly adopted was that of observation
and experiment, of the analysis of the contents of his inner
consciousness ; in a word, the method of Induction. Such
was his method, and such was his design. It was nothing
less than the re-construction and re-establishment of the
entire speculative edifice, which, in such an humbling and
confounding manner, lay level with the ground. He at
once assailed the Idealist and the Sceptic in his doctrine of
External Perception ; and he entirely confounded the lat¬
ter by his metaphysical theory of the laws of Substance and
Cause. Pie reduced perception to an act of immediate or
intuitive cognition, viewing the one total object of percep¬
tive consciousness as real, and founding the doctrine on the
spontaneous consciousness or common sense of mankind.
Pie thus instituted the doctrine of Natural Realism, as Sir
William Hamilton calls it, to oppose the Idealists, whether
absolute like Berkeley, or hypothetical, like the great body
of philosophers before bis time. Reid may have fallen upon
this doctrine by his very ignorance of the literature of phi¬
losophy. Of the great principle first explicitly announced
by Empedocles, and hitherto assumed by philosophers, that
“ the relation of knowledge inferred an analogy of exist¬
ence,” Reid, in dealing with Norris, professes his en¬
tire ignorance. “ This argument,” he says, “ I cannot
answer, because I do not understand it." P bus at least
was Reid saved from one great snare which lay on the
beaten path to External Perception. But in the further
pursuit of scepticism, Reid, on analysing the contents of his
observation of the metaphysical laws of Substance and
Cause, found that, so far from those principles being entirely
deducible from experience, as had hitherto been alleged,
they were emphatically of that nature of which experience
could give no account at all. Here, again, like the great
German critic Kant, he was forced to avow that, while all
knowledge began with experience, all knowledge was not
therefore necessarily derived from experience. He ascribed
those laws to the primary and fundamental beliefs which the
mind had brought with it to the observation of phenomena;
and without taking account in any very precise way as to
whether the Reason in which those radical convictions in¬
hered was personal or impersonal, he left the conviction on
the mind of the reader that the principles of Substance and
Quality, of Cause and Effect, &c., could not with safety be
carried beyond the sphere in which human experience is
possible. Thus, again, his philosophy is antagonistic to
speculative ontology under every form, whether of a more
abstract and indeterminate shape, such as Spinoza. Hegel,
and Schelling have promulgated, or whether of a less ab¬
stract and more determinate nature, as in the modern
speculations of M. Cousin. Reid’s philosophy partook to
a considerable degree of the modesty of bis character. As
he knew well that an uneasy vanity was generally incon¬
sistent with true wisdom, so a kindred instinct seems to have
taught him a genuine philosophical sagacity. Not that he
exhibited throughout that clear seizure of the truth and
complete self-consistency, which would have rendered his
works immaculate and his conclusions impregnable ; but
Sir William Hamilton has since thrown his opinions
under a much greater light, both of learning and specu¬
lative genius, than Reid could pretend to ; harmo¬
nizing what was discordant, giving definite shape to what
was before obscure, inserting useful distinctions, and com-
E E I 3
pleting what the author had only dimly apprehended or Reid
but imperfectly grasped. (For further information regard¬
ing Reid and his philosophy, the reader is referred to Reimarus-
Hamilton’s edition of his works. Casual information re-
specting the philosophy of Common Sense will occasionally
be found in the First Preliminary Dissertation of
Dugald Stewart, prefixed to the present work.) (j. D—s.)
Reid, Sir William, distinguished for his success in physical
science and in civil administration, was born in 1797, at the
manse of Kinglassie, a village in Fifeshire, and entered the
army in 1809 as a lieutenant of Royal Engineers. The first
part of his career was passed in unobtrusive though active ser¬
vice. He passed through the heat of the French war under
the Duke of Wellington, playing his part in most of the
onsets, and bringing away several w'ounds. His next im¬
portant engagement was at the bombardment of Algiers in
1816. He is then found in Barbadoes in 1832 as major
of the engineers who were re-erecting the government
buildings. It was not until 1838 when, with the rank of
lieutenant-colonel, he was governing Bermuda, that Reid
began to come prominently before the public. In that
year he published his Law of Storms, the first result of a
course of patient and sagacious observation. He continued
to test and mature his views while holding the governor¬
ship of the Windward Islands; and published in 1849 The
Progress of the Development of the Law of Storms. The
fame of these publications, as well as his growing reputation
for administrative talent, gave him a high standing on his
return home, and led him to several distinguished honours.
In 1851 he was appointed chairman of the executive
committee of the Great Exhibition. No sooner had that
important task been finished than he was made a K.C.B.,
and sent out to govern Malta. There, too, his vigorous
and spirited rule gained for him distinction ; and he had
just returned home with the title of major-general when he
died in October 1858.
REIGATE, a parliamentary borough and market-town of
England, in the county of Surrey, stands near the Mole, at
the foot of the southern slope of the North Downs, 21 miles
S. by W. of London. This small, neat town consists of one
main street, running from E. to W.; and has a town-hall
in the market-place, occupying the site of an old chapel of
St Thomas a Becket. The church, which is built of lime¬
stone, at various dates, but chiefly in the perpendicular
style, has a lofty embattled tower, and contains the tomb
of Lord Howard of Effingham, who commanded the English
fleet against the Armada. Besides this and a district church,
built in 1845, there are in Reigate places of worship for
Independents and Quakers. A grammar school, national
and infant schools, literary institute, and a savings-bank
are among the other establishments of the town. Some
earthworks mark the site of a castle, which was destroyed in
1648. Under the court of the castle is a cavern where the
barons are said to have met to draw up the Magna Charta.
Of a priory that formerly stood here there are now no re¬
mains. Reigate returns one member to Parliament. Pop.
(1851) 4927.
REIMARUS, Hermann Samuel, a German, who was
bora at Hamburg in 1694, and was educated at the uni¬
versity of Wittenberg, is distinguished for his services in
several departments of learning. His first fame was gained
as the author of Primitia Wismarienia, 4to, 1723. Then,
settling down at Hamburg in 1727 as professor of philoso¬
phy, lie became one of the brightest ornaments of the
university of that city. His marriage in the ibllovving year
with the daughter of J. A. Fabricius was the means of in¬
troducing him into other fields of labour. He assisted
that eminent scholar in preparing his philological works;
and after his death he published a Latin memoir of him,
8vo, Hamburg, 1737. Nor did a delicate constitution, and
the growing infirmities of age, prevent him from entering
4
R E I
Heims upon the new study of natural history. He published
II Observations, Physical and Moral, on the Instinct of Ani-
Reiske. mais^ jn 2 vols. 12mo, Hamburg, 1760. Other researches
on the same subject would also have appeared had not
death, in 1768, cut short his career. The other works of
Reimarus are,—A Letter to Cardinal Quirini concerning
the Works of Dion Cassius, 4to, Hamburg, 1746; The
Roman History of Dion Cassius, in 2 vols. folio, Hamburg,
1750-53 ; and A Discourse on the Principal Truths of
Natural Religion, 8vo, Hamburg, 1754, a popular treatise,
of which a seventh edition appeared in 8vo, 1798. He is
also the reputed author of the famous Wolfenbiittel Frag¬
ments, published by Lessing in 1774 and 1777.
REIMS. See Rheims.
REINESIUS, Thomas, a learned German, was born
at Gotha in 1587, and studied medicine at Wittenberg
and Jena. After travelling in Italy, and practising in va¬
rious towns in Germany, he is found at Leipsic in the former
half of the seventeenth century enjoying a high reputation.
His erudition and critical sagacity in questions of classical lore
were admitted to be extremely great. The many philological
works which had issued at intervals from his pen had car¬
ried his name far and wide, and raised up many admirers.
Louis XIV. of France sent him many tokens of regard
and esteem. Several eminent contemporaries were in the
habit of consulting him on subjects oflearning. Especially
was he considered an oracle in medicine and archaeology.
Reinesius died on the 17th January 1667. The following
are some of his works :— Variorum Lectionum Libri Tres
Priores, in 4to, Utrecht, 1640 ; Observations upon Petro-
nius, in 8vo, Leipsic, 1666; Epistolce, in 4to, Jena, 1670;
and Syntagma Inscripiionum Antiquarum Omissarum in
Opere Jani Gruteri cum Indice, folio, Leipsic, 1682.
REINHOLD, Erasmus, an eminent German mathe¬
matician, was born in 1511 at Saalfeld, and was determined
towards mathematics at the university of Wittenberg.
Appointed to the mathematical chair in his alma mater,
and favoured by the patronage of Albert, Duke of Prussia,
he devoted himself to the prosecution of his favourite science.
With patient and careful labour he began to produce a
series of works of great practical utility. The first book of
the Almagest, in Greek, with a Latin version and scholia,
was issued in 8vo, 1549. A set of astronomical tables,
formed from a comparison of the observations of Coper¬
nicus with those of Ptolemseus and Hipparchus, and called,
in honour of his patron Prutenicce Tabulce Ccelestium Mo-
tuum, was published in 1551. In 1554, the year after his
death, there appeared a work entitled Primus Liber Ta-
bularum Directionum, in which he extended Regiomon¬
tanus’s Table of Tangents to each minute of the quadrant.
There were also other calculations of his which were printed
a considerable time after his decease.
REISKE, Johann Jacob, a profound scholar and emi¬
nent critic, was born in the year 1716 at a small town
in the duchy of Anhalt in Germany. His parents occu¬
pied an humble situation in life ; and in consequence
of the narrow circumstances in which he was placed,
he had many difficulties to struggle with during the early
part of his career. These, however, he surmounted by
unabating perseverance ; and in 1733 went to the university
of Leipsic, where he remained during five years in the
ardent pursuit of his studies. Here he acquired an exten¬
sive knowledge of the Arabic, and engaged in the transla¬
tion of a book from that language, which was afterwards
published. With the view of prosecuting to greater ad¬
vantage the study of Arabic, which had become with him
a passion, he travelled on foot to Leyden, where new dif¬
ficulties attended him. Whilst he remained there he was
employed in arranging the Arabic manuscripts belonging
to the university; and for this labour he received a very
small compensation. During his residence at Leyden part
R E L
of his time was occupied in the translation of various essays Reland
from the German and French languages into Latin. These ||
essays afterwards appeared in the Miscellanea Critica. Relief.
About the same time also he translated into Latin the
whole of the Chariton from the Greek, and the Geography
of Abulfeda from the Arabic. Having spent eight years
at Leyden, Reiske was driven from this place by jealousy
and calumny, which, it is said, were excited against him
chiefly by the younger Burmann, in consequence of his
critical strictures on the edition of Petronius published by
that author; but before his departure from this learned
seminary he had obtained the degree of Doctor of Physic,
which was conferred in a manner highly to his honour.
Fie afterwards visited different parts of Germany, and at
last settled a second time at Leipsic, where he remained for
twrelve years. But although he had received the appoint¬
ment of professor of Arabic, the emoluments of his office
were so scanty that he had still to struggle with all the
difficulties attendant on poverty, and, to procure a subsist¬
ence, was obliged to engage in humble employments of
literary labour, and submit to the severe and ill-requited
drudgery of editing works for booksellers, or contributing
detached papers to periodical publications. About this
time the Ada Eruditorum were greatly indebted to the
labours of Reiske. But in the midst of all the difficulties
and hardships now alluded to he prepared and published
a work of profound learning and great merit. This work,
which extended to five volumes, appeared under the title
of Animadversiones in Auctores Grcecos, and added much
to our author’s reputation. In the year 1758, in conse¬
quence of the death of Plaltausius, he obtained a situation
which was not only honourable, but lucrative. This was
the place of rector of the college of St Nicolas in Leipsic,
in which he continued during the remainder of his life.
He was now raised above want, and being free from the
difficulties and embarrassments which had hitherto con¬
stantly attended him, he was thus enabled, in the midst of
learned ease, to prosecute his favourite studies.
In the year 1764 Reiske married Ernestine Christine
Muller, a woman of great learning, and of whom it is said
that her knowledge, especially in Greek literature, was little
inferior to that of her husband. In all his literary labours
she w^as a useful associate; but the assistance which she
contributed to his great work, the edition of the Greek
orators, was particularly valuable. He died in 1774, pos¬
sessing a very distinguished reputation as a scholar and
critic. The number of works which he superintended and
published was very great. A complete list of them is given
in the continuation of his memoirs by his wife, published at
Leipsic in 1783.
RELAND, Adrian, an eminent orientalist, born at
Ryp in North Holland in 1676, where he evinced early an
extraordinary degree of talent for literature and science.
He studied under Surenhusius for three years, where he
made extraordinary progress in oriental languages and
literature. He was elevated to the chair of philosophy at
Hardwick before he had completed his twenty-fifth year.
He subsequently exchanged his philosophical professorship
for that of oriental languages and ecclesiastical antiquities
at Utrecht. He died of small-pox on the 5th of February
1718, in his forty-second year.
The principal works of Reland are :—Palcestina ex Monumentis
veteribus illustrate,, 2 vols., Traject. 1714,—unquestionably his
greatest work, and still spoken of with great respect by the best
writers on the subject; Dissertationes quinque de Nummis Veterum
Hebrceorum, 1709 ; Vissertationum Aliscellanearum, 4 vols., 1706—
1708 ; De Religione Mohammedica, Ultraj. 1705 ; De Spoliis Templii
Hierosolymitani in Arcu Titiano Jlomce conspicuis, Traject. 1716.
The remaining works of Reland were chiefly Latin poems and
orations.
RELIEF, in sculpture is the projection or standing out
of a figure which arises prominently from the surface on
S E L
Relief which it is formed, whether that figure be cut with the
I! chisel, moulded, or cast. There are three kinds or degrees
Rernbrandt reuev0}—ait0j basSo, and demi-relievo. The alto-relievo,
calle(l alSo high-relief, is when the figure is formed after
nature, and projects as much as the life. Basso-relievo,
bas-relief, is when the work is raised a little from the sur¬
face, as in medals and the frontispieces of buildings, but
particularly in the histories, festoons, foliages, and other
ornaments of friezes. Demi-relievo is when one-half of the
figure rises from the plane. When in basso-relievo there
are parts that stand clear out, detached from the rest, the
work is called a demi-basso. In architecture the relief or
projection of the ornaments ought always to be propor¬
tioned to the magnitude of the building it adorns, and to
the distance at which it is to be viewed.
Relief, in painting, is the degree of boldness with
which the figures appear, at a due distance, to stand out
from the ground of the painting.
RELIGION (religio) is a word, derived, according to
Cicero (De Natura Deorum, lib. ii. 28.), from relegere,
to re-consider; but, according to Servius and most modern
grammarians, from religare, to bind fast. The reason as¬
signed by the Roman orator for deducing religio from re¬
lego is in these words :—“ But those who are called reli¬
gious (rcligiosi), from their habit of considering carefully
{relegendo), should diligently weigh everything which per¬
tains to the worship of the gods, and, as it were, re-consider
(relegerent') it.” The reason given by Servius for his deri¬
vation of the word is, “ that religion binds the mind fast.”
If the Ciceronian etymology be the true one, the word
religion will denote the diligent study of whatever pertains
to the worship of the gods; but, according to the other
derivation, which we are inclined to prefer, it denotes that
obligation which we feel on our minds from the relation in
which we stand to some superior power. The import of
the word religion is different from that of theology, since
the former signifies a number of practical duties, and the
latter a system of speculative truths. (See Theology.)
REMBANG, a town of Java, capital of a province of
the same name, on the N. coast of the island, 60 miles
E.N.E. of Samarang. It is a thriving, bustling town, with
ship-building and salt-pans, an active navigation and trade,
especially in ship-timber. The harbour is safe and good; and
the town has a fort, mosque, school, hospital, &c. Pop. 8000.
The province, which is bounded on the E. by that
of Surabaya, S. by those of Kediri and Madiun, W. by
that of Samarang, and N. by the Java Sea, is generally
hilly, and watered by the Solo, flowing eastwards. By far
the most of the surface is barren, and much of it covered
with date forests. Besides timber, rice and tobacco are
among the productions. Pop. 460,000.
REMBRANDT VAN RHIN, the name by which Paul
Gereetz is usually known, was a very distinguished painter
and engraver, and was the son of Hermann Gerretz, a
miller, who dwelt on the banks of the Rhine, between Ley-
derdorp and Koukergen, near Leyden, where he was born
in 1606. His father, who was in tolerably easy circum¬
stances, was anxious for the youth to study Latin, and to
adopt ultimately some learned profession. Rembrandt
thought otherwise ; and in place of studying Latin at Ley¬
den, as was his filial duty, he spent his time in drawing
Dutch boors and in delineating rotund bar-maids. It was
clear that Rembrandt would be a painter; and his father
accordingly placed him with Jacob Van Zwaanenberg at
Amsterdam, where he spent three years. According to
all accounts, his progress during this initiatory stage was
the perfect astonishment of his master. He is said to have
passed some time also with Peter Lastmann and Jacob
Pinas, in order to perfect himself in the mechanical details
of his art. Leaving the studio of Pinas, he commenced
work on his own account within the precincts of his father’s
REM 5
mill. In the objects of nature which surrounded his loca- Rembrandt
lity, and the grotesque specimens of Dutch peasants which
his neighbourhood afforded, he found nourishment for his
taste for simplicity, and food for his genius. He worked
with great diligence, and rapidly acquired both fortune and
fame. In 1630 he settled in Amsterdam, where he resided
during the remainder of his life. He married in 1634, soon
after reaching the city, a handsome peasant girl of Rams-
dorf, whose portrait he has frequently painted. From his
first establishment in Amsterdam he met with the most
flattering attention. The grandest personages of the Dutch
city would have their portraits taken by no one but Rem¬
brandt ; all the art students who could muster the requisite
fee (for Rembrandt loved money dearly) came and laid it
at the feet of this rising Dutch artist. We must not sup¬
pose, however, that Rembrandt entirely deserted the ways
of those Rhine peasants or their rustic sports, upon his
making the acquaintance of such distinguished personages,
and on his being able to count his pupils by the dozen.
The quaint old mill no longer enlivened him with its plea¬
sant clack, and his eyes no longer rested on the queer
figures which moved on the banks of the Rhine. \ et he
spent his hours of recreation among the lowest orders of
the people, whom his pencil delighted to portray, supplying
his capricious fancy with its appropriate stimulant, and find¬
ing his ideals of the beautiful among the squat, sturdy Dutch¬
men who were wont to while away the time amid the con¬
genial flavours of a beer-house. He sought nature in her
simplicity; and she seems to have found her way to Rem¬
brandt, despite his occasional irreverence for the antique.
He was wont to amuse his disciples by introducing them to
his collection which was designed to illustrate the ancient
style. This consisted of a great variety of old armour, sabres,
flags, and fantastical vestments. There was just a slight de¬
gree of affectation in this, as there usually is. Rembrandt
was the most illustrious artist of his time; and he conti¬
nued with unabated ardour to practise his delightful art,
until death came to summon him away from Amsterdam.
In the registry of burials, in the Wester Kirk of that city,
there is the following entry, which has recently been disco¬
vered :—“ Tuesday the 8th of October, 1669, Rembrandt
Van Rin, painter, on the Roosegraft, opposite the Maze,
leaving two children.” This record places the date of his
death beyond dispute ; but men are likely still to cavil
regarding the exact place and date of his birth. Very little
is known of his life. At his death he seems to have shared
the humble lot of those with whom he for the most part
associated ; labour and comparative obscurity while living,
and at death forgetfulness. The great world, however, would
not have him be forgotten. The sons of genius are sons of
fame. The burgomaster Six was the only man of rank with
whom Rembrandt associated ; and the landscape “ De la
Moutarde” is said to have been the result of a wager be¬
tween the painter and his host. The best and the most
recent account of the life and merits of Rembrandt is to be
found in a lecture in Dutch, by P. Scheltema, published at
Amsterdam in 1853. The reader may likewise consult his
Life and Works, by J. Burnet, 1848.
Rembrandt Van Rhin stands distinguished from all art¬
ists of note by the boldness of his style, his daring manner
of colouring, and his distribution of light and shade. His
historical figures are doubtless deficient in dignity; but
there is in them an eminent degree of truthfulness. While
entirely regardless of beauty of person or elegance of de¬
portment in his principal characters, he is eminently care¬
ful that every individual in his painting should have the
varied expression of passion or sentiment appropriate to
his situation. Colour, in all its combinations and gra¬
dations, was with Rembrandt the paramount considera¬
tion. His landscapes are obscured by a dusky twilight;
and forms are rendered apparent in them by a struggling
6 REM REM
Remire- gleam of light which has forced its way through the sullen
moat gloom. Rembrandt’s great power, however, lay in por-
Remo th*8 department he had no equals among the
. 'j Dutch painters, and few of any other school could rival him
in simplicity, truth, and force of expression. As a historical
painter, his figures are frequently ignoble; and he seems
occasionally to have courted vulgarity rather than the
graces. In the handling of his portraits he varies consi¬
derably. In the portraits of ladies particularly he seems to
have exercised the most scrupulous care and attention ;
while in his portraits of the other sex he for the most part
indulges his freedom to the fullest extent, sometimes running
into positive coarseness. Fuseli says of him (Lecture ii.)
that he was “ a genius of the first class, in whatever relates
not to form. In spite of the most portentous deformity,
and without considering the spell of his chiaroscuro, such
were his powers of nature, such the grandeur, pathos, or
simplicity of his composition, from the most elevated or
extensive arrangement to the meanest and most homely,
that the best cultivated eye, the purest sensibility, and the
most refined taste dwell on them, equally enthralled.”
Rembrandt was likewise a very eminent engraver as
well as a most original painter. He was the inventor of a
process which throws an indescribable charm over all the
productions of his brilliant burin. His etchings evince the
most extraordinary facility, and display the most consum¬
mate knowledge of the effect of light and shadow. His
most remarkable portraits are those of the burgomaster
Six, Van Coppenol the writing-master, Van Thol the
advocate, Uytenbogaert the minister, and Uytenbogaert the
gold-weigher. England is very rich in Rembrandt’s works,
particularly the National Gallery in London.
A complete catalogue of Rembrandt’s works was pub¬
lished by Daulby, Liverpool, 1796; and another and more
perfect one by Bartsch, Vienna, 1797. Reference may
also be had to Nieuwenhuys’s Review of the Lives and
Works of the most eminent Painters, and to Smith’s Cata¬
logue RaisonnS, vol. vii. The latter book contains a very
ample, interesting, and instructive account of Rembrandt’s
paintings and etchings. (See Arts, Fine, and Painting.)
REMIREMONT, a town of France, capital of an arron-
dissement in the department of Vosges, on the left bank of
the Moselle, at the foot of the Faucilles Mountains, com¬
manding a fine view of the wooded heights of the Vosges,
17 miles S.E. of Epinal. It has broad and regular streets,
lined with houses, ancient, low, and generally ill built.
The parish church is a fine edifice in the Italian style;
there is too a college, public library, hospital, and law court.
Cotton, paper, leather, iron, and steel are among the manu¬
factures of the place; and there is some trade, especially in
cheese, timber, cattle, iron, and hemp. Pop. 5103.
REMISCHEID, a town of Prussia, province of the
Rhine, in the government and 18 miles E.S.E. of Diissel-
dorf. It is remarkable for its steel and iron forges, and
manufactures of cutlery and hardware, which are exported
to various foreign countries. The value of such goods
annually produced here, and at Solingen, not far off, is
more than L.200,000. Pop. of the town itself, 1800; but
including the surrounding district (Burgermeisterei),\Z,2Z2.
REMO, San, a seaport ot the kingdom of Sardinia, capi¬
tal of a province of the same name, in the division of Nice,
on the slope of a hill densely covered with olive trees, that
rises from the sea, 30 miles E. of Nice. It stands in one
of the mildest parts of the beautiful coast; and is sur¬
rounded by gardens, where palms, orange, and lemon trees
luxuriantly flourish, and where the sweetest flowers during
the summer shed their fragrance around. Viewed from
the sea, the town rises triangularly from the shore to an
apex on the heights above ; the upper and more ancient
portion has narrow, crooked, and extremely steep streets,
while below there is a handsomer and more modern quarter.
There are several churches and convents, a college, and a Remon¬
good picture gallery in the town. The harbour is small; su-ants.
but some trade is carried on in the produce of the country p II
with Genoa, Marseilles, and other places. Pop. 9854. 'vmusa .
REMONSTRANTS. See Predestination.
REMPHAN, or Rephan ('Pe^t^dv, 'P€</)dv), a name
quoted in Acts vii. 43, from Amos v. 26, where the Sep-
tuagint has cPat^>dv for the Hebrew Chiun. It is clear that
the Septuagint held the original to be a proper name, in
which interpretation our own and most other versions have
concurred. But this is by no means clear; for, according
to the received pointing, it would better read, “Ye bore
the tabernacle of your king (idol), and the statue (or statues)
of your idols, the star of your god, which ye make to your¬
selves;” and so the Vulgate, which has “Imaginem idol-
orum vestrorum.” According to this reading, the name of
the idol so worshipped by the Israelites is in fact not given,
although the mention of a star still suggests that some
planet is intended. Jerome supposes it may be Lucifer or
Venus. But the Syriac rendering is, “ Saturn your idol,”
who was worshipped by the Semitic nations along with
Mars as an evil demon to be propitiated with sacrifices.
This now seems to be the general conclusion, and Winer
indeed treats the subject under the head Saturn. It has
been alleged, but not satisfactorily proved, that Remphan
and Rephan were Egyptian names of the planet Saturn.
They indeed occur as such in the Coptic-Arabic Lexicon
of Kircher {Ling. JEgypt. Restit., p. 49; CEdip. JEgypti,
i. 386); but Jablonsky has long since shown that this and
other names of planets in these lexicons are of Greek origin,
and drawn from the Coptic versions of Amos and the Acts.
(Jablonsky, “Remphan Jigyptior.,” in Opusc. ii. 1, sq.;
Schroeder, I)e Tahernac. Molochi et Stella Dei Remph.
1745 ; Maius, Dissert. deKium et Remphan, 1763 ; Haren-
berg, De Ldolis Chium et Remphan, 1723; Wolf, Dis¬
sert. de Chium et Remph. 1741 ; Gesenius, Thesaurus, pp.
669, 670.)
REMUS. See Roman History.
R.LMUSAT, Jean Pierre Abel, a celebrated orien¬
talist, was born at Paris on the 5th of September 1788. A
severe fall which he received in infancy, and which kept
him lying on his couch for several years, was the means of
making him a student. Cut off’ from all the engrossing
bustle of life, his mind eagerly sought for amusement and
interest in books. The severest studies became in course
of time mere pleasant exercises. English history, botany,
and Latin were mastered with little or no difficulty. His
mental activity continued when he went forth again into
the world, and began to fit himself for being a medical
man. Besides pursuing his professional studies with great
success, he applied himself to oriental languages. At length
falling in with a magnificent Chinese work on botany, and
desirous of being able to peruse it, he began to learn the
language in which it was written. With no other aid than
Fourmont’s Grammar he accomplished the task in the course
of five years ; published his Essai sur la J^angue et la Li¬
terature Chinoises in 181 If; and at the age of twenty-three
appeared before the world as a Chinese scholar. The great
acquirements of Remusat soon came to be recognised in
different quarters. The academies of Grenoble and Besan-
con received him among their members. The faculty of
medicine at Paris gave him the diploma of doctor at the
age of twenty-five. He was also patronized by the great
scholar Silvestre de Sacy, and obtained through him the
appointment of chief doctor of the hospital of Montaigne.
But it was not until the restoration of the Bourbons that
the good fortune of Remusat’s career really commenced.
The great reputation he had achieved now recommended
him for promotion. This was ably seconded by his cringing
and selfish policy. A long series of appointments was the
result. In 1814 the newly-appointed Chinese professorship
REM
Remy, St in the College of France was conferred upon him. Not
long afterwards he was entrusted with the cataloguing of all
Renaudot. Chinese works in the royal library. In 1818 he was
elected to succeed Visconti in the editorship of the Journal
des Savans. In 1824 he was appointed keeper of the
oriental manuscripts in the royal library. There was in
fact almost no end to the snug posts and lucrative sinecures
which he obtained. Nor did the x’evolution of 1830 in¬
terrupt the flow of his prosperity. He managed to remain
in possession of all his salaries until his death on the 3d of
June 1832. Remusat was a member of the Asiatic Societies
of London and Calcutta, and of many other learned bodies.
His principal works are,—Plan d'un THctionnaire Chinois, 8vo,
1814; Le Livre des Recompenses et des Peines, translated from the
Chinese, in 8vo, 1816 ; Memoire sur les Livres Chinois de la Biblio-
theque du Roi, in 8vo, 1818 ; Description du Royaume de Gamboge,
from the Chinese, in 8vo, 1819; M6moires et Anecdotes sur la Dynas-
tie des Djogours Souverains du Japon, in 8vo, 1820 ; Histoire de la
Ville de Khotan, from the Chinese, in 8vo, 1820 ; Recherches sur les
Langues Tartares, in 4to, 1820 ; Elements de la Grammaire Chinoise,
in 8vo, 1822; Deux Memoires sur les Relations Politiques des Pre¬
miers Chretiens, et particulierement des Rois de France, avec les Em-
pereursMongols, in 4to, 1822-24; Memoire sur la Vie et les Opinions de
Lao-Tseu, Philosophe Chinois, in 4to, 1823; Recherches Ghronologiques
sur V Origine de la IHSrarchie Lamdique, in 4to, 1824; and Memoire
sur Plusieurs Questions Relatives ct la Geographic de VAsie Centrale, in
4to, 1825. The numerous papers which he communicated to several
scientific journals, and to the Biographic Vniverselle, were published
under the titles of Melanges Asiatiques, in 2 vols. 8vo, 1825-26 ; Nou-
veaux Melanges Asiatiques, in 2 vols. 8vo, 1829; and Melanges Pos-
thumes d’Histoire et de Littirature Orientals, in 8vo, 1843.
REMY, St, a town of France, in the department of
Bouches-du-Rhone, on a plain planted with groves of olive
trees, 42 miles N.N.W. of Marseilles. It is irregularly
built, and has many good houses in an antique style. The
best modern edifice is the town-hall; but there are two
interesting remains of antiquity,—a triumphal arch and a
sepulchral monument, both of unknown date. St Remy
has silk-mills, and some trade in corn and wine. Pop. 6024.
RENAIX (Flem. Rome), a town of Belgium, in the
province of East Flanders, 20 miles south of Ghent. It has
three public squares, with a fountain in each ; several
churches and schools, a ruined castle, town-hall, hospital,
orphan asylum, and other benevolent institutions. The
manufactures of the town include cotton, woollen, and linen
fabrics ; hats, leather, beer, tobacco, chocolate, bricks, tiles,
pottery, &c. A large trade in linen is carried on; and
besides weekly and monthly markets, there are two annual
fairs. Pop. 11,670.
RENAUDOT, Eusebe, a learned orientalist and ecclesi¬
astical historian, was born at Paris in 1646, and was edu¬
cated for the church at the Jesuits’ College. He first be¬
came notable at court as a wonderful young scholar. His
exhaustless linguistic knowledge, and the easy way in which
he spoke many different languages, drew towards him the
regard and confidence of several influential personages.
Colbert, the great financial statesman, consulted him upon
the project of establishing printing-presses in Paris for the
oriental languages. The king himself employed him in
various important missions to England, Spain, and other
countries. The Cardinal de Noailles likewise took him to
Rome in 1700, as his conclavist in the conclave for the
election of a Pope. Thus encouraged, Renaudot spent the
chief part of his remaining years in illustrating the history
and opinions of the ancient churches. His principal works
on that subject were,—Defense de la Perpeluite de la Foi
contre les Monuments Authentiques de la Religion des
Grecs par Jean Aymon, in 8vo, Paris, 1708 ; Historia
PatriarcharumAlexandrinorum Jacobitarum, in 4to, Paris,
1713; and Liturgiarwn Orientalium Collectio, in 2 vols.
4to, 1716. Renaudot died in 1720. An English transla¬
tion of the last of the above-mentioned publications ap¬
peared in 12mo, Dublin, 1822.
REN 7
RENDER, James Meadows, a distinguished civil en- Rendel
gineer, was born at a village on the borders of Dartmoor, II
in December 1799. His professional talents were early Rendsbur8
developed by various commissions which he received in his
native district. Telford, the famous engineer, employed
him to lay down considerable lengths of turnpike roads in
Devonshire. The Earl of Morley entrusted him with the
construction of a cast-iron bridge across the Lary, an arm
of the sea within Plymouth harbour. An order was given
to him to build a floating steam-bridge for crossing the
estuary of the Dart near Dartmouth. He was also engaged
in surveying nearly all the harbours on the S.W. coast of
England. It was in 1838 that Rendel settled in London,
and began to take a high place in his calling. Fie was soon
recognised as a man of accurate observation, sagacious
judgment, great professional knowledge, and unwearied
energy. The success with which he continued to execute
his numerous commissions brought him more and more
into repute. At length, in 1843, his engagement to con¬
struct the projected docks at Birkenhead was the occasion
of bringing him prominently before the public. The enter¬
prise met with opposition; the case was laid before the
legislature ; and he was summoned as a witness before the
parliamentary committees. His learned and lucid evidence,
and the able and successful manner in which he maintained
his own views, established his reputation as one of the first
engineers in the land. From that time he was constantly
engaged throughout the country in projecting and conduct¬
ing large public works. Among his most important enter¬
prises were the dock at Great Grimsby, and the harbours
of refuge at Holyhead and Portland. Nor did his talents
fail to be appreciated beyond the limits of Great Britain.
The Brazilian, the Prussian, and the Sardinian govern¬
ments in turn employed him to make certain surveys and
reports. The viceroy of Egypt appointed him a member
of the international commission for examining into the
practicability of a canal across the isthmus of Suez. The
city of Hamburg too, the year before he died, engaged him
to find out some plan of preventing the bed of the River
Elbe from being choked up with mud. Rendel, at his
death in 1856, was a fellow of the Royal Society, and one
of the council of the Institution of Civil Engineers.
RENDS BURG, a town of Denmark, in the duchy of
Holstein, on the confines of Schleswig, stands in a flat,
sandy region on both sides of the Eider, and on an island
in its centre, 26 miles W. of Kiel, and 54 N.N.W. of
Hamburg. It was formerly fortified, but the defences were
destroyed in 1852. It is for the most part well built, and
consists of three parts,—the old town on the island, the
new town on the south or left bank, and the Crown-work
{Kron-werk) on the opposite side of the river. There are
two market-places, two churches, a gymnasium, an arsenal
(which contained until recently a great quantity of arms of
all kinds), an hospital, house of correction, and custom¬
house. The manufactures include bells, pottery, tobacco,
vinegar, and other articles. The situation of the place is
very favourable for trade and navigation. It communicates
with the German Ocean by the Eider, and with the Baltic
by the Schleswig-Holstein Canal, which joins the river
here. There is also a railway from this to Flamburg. In
the middle ages the site of the old town was occupied by a
castle called Reinoldsburg, which was for a long time alter¬
nately possessed by Denmark and Holstein. The date of
the first rise of the town is unknown; it was encircled by
walls and ditches in 1539. The old town was fortified
anew by Frederick HI. of Denmark (1669-71), who placed
over the Holstein gate the inscription, “ Eidora Romani
terminus imperii,” declaring the Eider to be the limit of
the German empire, of which Rendsburg is consequently
the most northern town. Additional fortifications were
added in 1685, 1690, and 1695, so that the place became
8
REN
Ren6 a fortress of the second class. In 1848 Rendsburg fell
II into the hands of the Prussian and Holstein troops ; and on
Renfrew- ]3eina’ regained by the Danes was dismantled. Pop. 10,000.
v shire- / RfiNIil op Anjou, commonly known as the “good
King Rene,” was born at the castle of Angers in 1409.
The first part of his life was remarkable for a course of
tantalizing events. He had not long obtained possession
of the duchy of Lorraine, in right of his wife, when An¬
thony, Count of Vaudemont drove him from it. Not long
afterwards the intelligence, that his brother Louis of Anjou,
and Joan, Queen of Naples, had died, leaving him heir to
their dominions, reached him when he was the prisoner of
the Duke of Burgundy, and unable to lay hold of his newly-
acquired rights. It is true that he was soon released ; but
fortune still continued to make him her sport. Before he
had been four years on the Neapolitan throne, Alfonso of
Aragon forced him to leave his crown and flee. He re¬
turned to France in 1442, only to find that his territories
there were occupied by the English. It was not until after
the marriage of his daughter Margaret, with Henry VI. of
England in 1443 that he was allowed, for the first time in
his life, to settle down in undisputed possession of a part of
his dominions. This severe course of experience did not
prevent Rene from spending the remainder of his days in
sustaining the mock state of a sovereign. Establishing a
court in the old castle of Aix in Provence, and keeping up
the empty title of King of Naples, the Two Sicilies, and
Jerusalem, he conducted himself more like a monarch in a
romance than a prince in that troublous and warlike age.
Dancing, music, painting, and poetry were his serious busi¬
ness. Troubadours and knights-errant were his only cour¬
tiers. If he ever came out among ordinary men and things,
it was to superintend some public mime or pageant, or to
introduce some luxury among his subjects. So genial and
pleasant, indeed, was his rule that, after his death in 1480,
the natives of Provence long cherished the memory of the
“ good King Rene.” As recently as 1823 his statue,
wrought in marble by David, was placed in one of the
squares of Aix. A graphic account of Rene is given in
Scott’s Anne of Geierstein.
RENFREW, a parliamentary and royal burgh of Scot¬
land, the capital, but not the largest town, of the county of
the same name, near the left bank of the Clyde, 6 miles
W.N.W. of Glasgow. The Cart, an affluent of the Clyde,
passes close to the town ; and there is also a short canal be¬
tween Renfrew and the Clyde. A single street, with lanes
diverging from it, forms the whole town ; and the only build¬
ings of importance are the Established church, the Free
church, town-house, jail, grammar school (endowed by King
Robert III.), and a superior school established in 1842.
There is also a library and athenaeum. Many of the people
are employed in weaving muslin and silk; others in a
bleachfield near the town, in ship-building yards, iron foun¬
dry, and a distillery in the neighbourhood. There is very
little trade, though Renfrew has a quay where the Clyde
steamers touch. Weekly markets are held here. The
burgh is governed by a provost, two bailies, and nine coun¬
cillors ; and, along with Dumbarton, Port-Glasgow, Kil¬
marnock, and Rutherglen, sends a member to Parliament.
The royal family of Stuart had their earliest possessions in
this parish, and the Prince of Wales still bears the title of
Baron of Renfrew. Pop. (1851) of the royal burgh, 2722 ;
of the parliamentary burgh, 2977.
RENFREWSHIRE, a county in Scotland, lying be¬
tween 55.40. and 55. 58. N. Lat., and 4. 14. and 4. 54.
W. Long., is bounded on the E. by Lanarkshire, on the
S. by Ayrshire, and on the N. and W. by the river and
firth of Clyde, which separate it from the shires of Dum¬
barton and Argyle, excepting a section of about 1300
imperial acres, which is situated on the north bank of
the Clyde, opposite the town of Renfrew. Its greatest
REN
length is 31^ miles, and its greatest breadth 13J miles. Renfrew-
Its area is 234 square miles, or 150,000 acres. Notwith- 8hire>
standing the small extent of this shire, its manufactures
and commerce render it one of the most important in
Scotland.
At the epoch of the Roman invasion, in the first century
of the Christian era, this part of Scotland was inhabited by
a Celtic tribe, called by the invaders the Damnii. After
the withdrawal of the Romans, it was comprehended in the
British kingdom of Strathclyde.
The district which now forms the county of Renfrew, at
least the greater part of it, was denominated, from one of
its rivers, Strathgryfe (the valley of the Gryfe), and at one
time formed part of the shire of Lanark or Clydesdale. It
was the chief patrimony of the great stewards of Scotland,
to whom it was granted by the sovereign in the twelfth
century. Afterwards it was called the barony of Renfrew,
from the burgh of that name, where the stewards long had
their principal residence. In 1404, thirty-three years after
the accession of the House of Stuart to the Scottish throne,
King Robert III. granted this barony, and the other por¬
tions of the estates of the steward, to his son and heir
James; since which time the eldest son of the sovereign
has, besides his other titles, borne that of “ Baron of Ren¬
frew.” Soon afterwards this barony was erected into a
distinct sheriffdom, the courts of which were held at Ren¬
frew till the year 1705, when they were, for convenience
sake, removed to Paisley. In 1815 the county was formed
into two wards, termed the Upper and the Lower, with a
sherifl-substitute for each, Paisley and Greenock being the
seats of their respective courts.
Renfrewshire comprehends sixteen entire parishes, be¬
sides small portions of those of Beith and Dunlop in Ayr¬
shire, and Govan in Lanarkshire. Two of the parishes,
Eaglesham and Cathcart, belong to the presbytery of Glas¬
gow ; the other fourteen composed the presbytery of Paisley
for a long time prior to the year 1834, when twm presby¬
teries were formed ; that of Paisley, consisting of nine of
these fourteen parishes ; and that of Greenock, consisting
of the other five, with the addition of Cumbraes in Bute¬
shire, and Largs in Ayrshire, both of which parishes for¬
merly belonged to the presbytery of Irvine. In the above
enumeration of parishes, those which are so quoad sacra
only have not been taken into account.
About two-thirds of this county, comprehending the
western and southern sides, are hilly, the medium elevation
being from 500 to 600 feet. Mistylaw, on the west, which
is about 1240 feet above the level of the sea, has been re¬
presented as the highest hill in the county; but it is now
ascertained that a neighbouring height, called the Plill of
Staik, is entitled to that distinction, being a few feet higher.
Balagleich is one of the highest hills on the south-east side,
being about 1000 feet above the sea-level. The hilly dis¬
trict is in general kept in pasture, for which it is better
adapted, by the nature of its surface, than for tillage. The
cultivated land, which forms a gently-rising district, lies on
the north and north-east, and in the centre of the county
on both sides of the Black Cart. Of this, the greater part
consists of low, detached eminences, which swell in endless
variety. These being interspersed with copses, and often
watered at the bottom by winding streams, present views
remarkable for richness and variety. Indeed, it will be
difficult to point to a more beautiful surface anywhere in
Scotland. Much of this tract has a close subsoil of small
stones and coarse clay, almost impenetrable to water, though
there are here many flat holms of great fertility. It is only
between Paisley and the Clyde that the country sinks down
into a plain, forming the flat district known by the name of
“ the Laighlands.” The length of this beautiful level
tract is about 6 miles, its breadth about 3, and its area
12,000 acres. Here the soil is generally a deep, rich
9
REN
Renfrew- loam of a dark-brown colour, sometimes of the nature of
shire, what is called “ carse clay and much of it seems to have
been formed by the deposition of vegetable mould from the
higher grounds. Among the hills in the S.W. there are
extensive moors and mosses, the largest being that of Kil¬
malcolm.
Like the other western counties of Scotland, Renfrew¬
shire has a moist climate, with frequent rains; and the pre¬
vailing wind is from the south-west.
Besides the Clyde, which, as has been already mentioned,
flows along the northern and western boundaries of this
county, the principal rivers are the White Cart, the Black
Cart, and the Gryfe. The White Cart, which rises in
Lanarkshire, enters Renfrewshire from the south, and pur¬
sues a winding course, first westerly towards Paisley, through
which it passes, and then northerly towards the Clyde. It
is joined at Inchinnan Bridge by the Black Cart, which had
previously received the waters of the Gryfe at Walkinshaw,
above Barnsford Bridge; and these united streams, which
contain nine-tenths of the water of the county, fall into
the Clyde about 3 miles below Paisley. By means of a
short canal, which was cut to avoid the shallows at Inch¬
innan Bridge in 1786, the White Cart is navigable up to
Paisley. Other improvements upon this river are in pro¬
gress. Like some other Scottish streams, it was once
famous for the pearls which were found in its bed, but these
have disappeared since the beginning of the eighteenth cen¬
tury. The Black Cart rises from Loch Winnoch, or, as it
is usually called, from an adjoining estate, Castle-Semple
Loch, a lake in the south-western extremity of the county.
The Gryfe rises in the west, amongst the high lands of the
parish of Greenock. The only other stream deserving men¬
tion is the Kipp Water, in the west of the county, which
falls into the Firth of Clyde at Innerkip. All these streams,
and several others of smaller size, independently of their
importance to agriculture, are in almost every part of their
course applied by the industrious and ingenious inhabitants
to the various purposes of manufactures. A ready supply
of water is secured by means of reservoirs, some of which
are of the size and appearance of considerable lakes ; or by
enlarging the natural lakes, of which there are many. These
streams and lakes contain the kinds of fish that are common
in this quarter of the country.
Two important railways traverse the county. Com¬
mencing at Glasgow, they have a common line to Paisley,
from which the one leads north-westwards to Greenock,
and the other south-westwards towards Ayr. There are
also railways from Glasgow to Neilston, and from Paisley
to Renfrew, and a canal from Glasgow to Johnstone.
The minerals of Renfrewshire are of great importance,
and constitute the main source of its manufactures and com¬
merce ; but we can only advert to them very generally.
Coal, limestone, and sandstone are wrought at Neilston, one
of the parishes of the hilly district; and both coal and lime
have been found in the flat district near Renfrew. The
south-eastern portion belongs to the great western coal
region of Scotland ; and the many mines which are wrought
at Polmadie, on the north-east boundary; at Hurlet, three
miles south-east from Paisley, where it has been wrought
for more than three hundred years; and at Quarrelton,
south-east from Johnstone, give employment to a great
number of the people. Limestone abounds in various parts,
and is wrought at several quarries. Ironstone, granite,
pyrites, alum, &c., are also found. Excellent freestone,
lying near the surface, is wrought at various places in the
middle district. Greenstone, or, as it is provineially called,
whinstone, exists in immense masses, along with porphyry,
in the west of the county.
The number of proprietors in Renfrewshire is 2610; the
amount of real property in 1857, L.282,196; and the va¬
luation of rent for 1857-8, L.315,630. Among the noble-
VOL. XIX.
REN
men’s and gentlemen’s seats are Hawkhead, belonging to Reni
the Earl of Glasgow ; Blantyre House, to Lord Blantyre ; ||
Pollok, to Sir John Maxwell; Pollok Castle, to Sir Hew Rennell.
C. Pollok; also Castle-Semple, Caldwell, Ballochmyle, &c. v>——v—'
There are many remains of ancient structures, which formed
the seats of powerful or respectable families. This shire
was anciently covered with wood. Even now it is orna¬
mented with many woods and plantations; and it is in
general well inclosed.
As an agricultural district, this does not rank so high as
some others in Scotland. Hardly more than half the sur¬
face is cultivated ; but what is so, has the advantage of the
best methods. The mode of farming is such as every year
to leave more than a half of the arable land in grass, on
which the stock chiefly kept is cows, the most part of whose
milk is made into butter There are few cheese-dairies.
Out of a total acreage of 75,152, under a rotation of crops
in 1857, occupied by tenants paying L.10 rent and up¬
wards, 4765 acres were in wheat, 417 in barley, 17,098
in oats, 1232 in beans, 206 in vetches, 3470 in turnips ;
5729 in potatoes, 221 fallow, and 41,598 in grass and
hay. In the same year the total number of horses was
3535 ; of cattle, 22,398 ; of sheep, 22,477 ; of swine, 1761;
of all kinds of stock, 50,271.
It is by its manufactures and commerce that this county
is most distinguished. Goods of silk and cotton, and mus¬
lin fabrics, are the principal articles manufactured. Cotton-
mills, bleachfields, and printfields furnish employment to a
large portion of the inhabitants. Paisley and its environs
form the chief seat of the manufactures. At Greenock and
Port-Glasgow the foreign and coasting trade of the county,
and indeed a great proportion of the foreign trade of Scot¬
land, are carried on.
According to the census of 1851, the county contained
in all 128 places of worship, with 82,514 sittings. Of
the former, 32 belonged to the Established Church ; 29
to the Free Church; 21 to the United Presbyterians;
7 each to Independents, Baptists, and Roman Catholics;
6 to Wesleyans; 4 each to Reformed Presbyterians and
Latter-Day Saints ; 3 to the Evangelical Union ; 2 to
Episcopalians; 1 each to the Original Secession, the Uni¬
tarians, and the New Church ; and 3 to isolated congrega¬
tions. There were also 105 public schools, with 10,355
scholars; and 103 private ones, with 5948 scholars ; be¬
sides numerous evening and Sunday schools. The total
amount of public expenditure on education in Renfrewshire
from 1833 to 1857 is L.10,505. The county returns a
member to Parliament; and the constituency in 1858
was 2702. The Parliamentary burghs of Paisley and
Greenock have each one member. In 1851 the county
contained 10,760 inhabited houses. Pop. (1811) 93,172 ;
(1821) 112,175 ; (1831) 133,443; (1841) 155,072; (1851)
161,091.
RENI, a fortified town of European Turkey, Moldavia,
in the Bessarabian territory, ceded by Russia in 1856, on
the left bank of the Danube, at its confluence with the
Pruth, about 12 miles E. of Galatz. It has a harbour, con¬
siderable navigation, and trade in wheat, fish, hides, copper,
wax candles, &c. The value of the exports in 1850 was
L.38,815 ; that of the imports, L.35,593. Pop. (1849) 7314.
RENNELL, James, an eminent geographer, was the
son of a captain in the artillery, and was born near Chud-
leigh in Devonshire in 1742. His early distinction was
gained in the active service of his country. He first came
into note as a fearless and enterprising midshipman at the
siege of Pondicherry. He next appeared more prominently
as an officer in the Indian army of Lord Clive. His skill
and bravery in that capacity soon marked him out for pro¬
motion. He was speedily raised to the rank of major. Not
long afterwards he was appointed surveyor-general of Ben¬
gal, a post which he held until his severe wounds compelled
B
10 REN
Rennes, him to return to England in 1782. Major Rennell, after
his re-settlement in his native country, maintained a high
place among men of learning. A Chart of Cape Lagullas,
a Bengal Atlas, and a Map of Hindustan, had established
his reputation as one of the first of English geographers.
He was still adding to his fame by the able and thorough
way in which he continued his investigations. His mind
fixed itself keenly upon every geographical subject that was
brought before it. All the provinces of literature were
carefully and patiently explored for the needed information.
His conclusions were drawn with acuteness and sagacity;
and the results of his researches were laid up securely and
methodically in his memory. Nor was he less facile in
reproducing his acquisitions for the good of the public. He
assisted Dr Vincent in writing the Voyage of Nearchus. He
aided Sir William Jones in some of that great scholar’s
oriental works. He likewise illustrated Mungo Park’s
travels by an accurate and elaborate map. At the same
time his pen was busily employed in producing independent
works of great and standard value. The most important of
these were, The Geographical System of Herodotus, in 4to,
London, 1800; and Observations on the Topography of the
Plain of Troy, in 4to, 1814. At his death, in March i830,
Major Rennell was an F.R.S. of London and Edinburgh,
and a member of the Royal Institute of France and of
other foreign societies. He was buried in Westminster
Abbey.
RENNES, a town of France, capital of the department
of Ille-et-Vilaine, at the foot and on the slope of a hill, at
the confluence of the rivers Ille and Vilaine, 60 miles N. of
Nantes, and 190 W. by S. of Paris. The latter river tra¬
verses the town from E. to W., receiving the other from
the N. To the south of the Vilaine stands the old or lower
town, to the north the upper or new town, which is the
finest portion, having been rebuilt since a conflagration
which destroyed it in 1720. These separate quarters are
connected by three bridges, and both are surrounded by an
ancient wall and towers. Its narrow, crooked streets, and
curiously-carved wooden houses, give to the lower town a
very picturesque appearance; the other portion, though
handsome, is uniformly built of a dull grey stone, and has
a sombre aspect. One of the most attractive features of
Rennes is its public walks, which are very beautiful: Le
Mont Thabor, formed of the garden of an old abbey, com¬
mands a fine view over the city and the valley of the Vi¬
laine; Le Mail extends between two canals to the conflu¬
ence of the rivers. Besides these there are Le Mont de
Madame and Le Champ de Mars, all of them being planted
with shady trees. One of the ancient gates is still pre¬
served ; it is that by which the dukes of Brittany, after
taking a solemn oath, entered the city to be crowned in
the cathedral. This is now a modern building, large and
heavy, with two square towers ; the interior, in the Grecian
style, is imposing, but has little of an ecclesiastical aspect.
Some of the other churches are more tasteful in architec¬
ture. The most remarkable edifice of the new town, and
almost the only ancient one that has escaped destruction, is
the court-house, in which the estates of Brittany used to
meet. It contains a large and handsome hall, decorated
with paintings and other ornaments. Among the other
buildings are the town-hall, a fine modern pile, containing the
public offices, library, lecture-rooms, and schools of art and
architecture; the theatre, episcopal palace, barracks, and
arsenal. There are also in the town several schools, hospi¬
tals, and a house of correction. As a manufacturing town,
Rennes is not of very much importance, though there is
considerable variety in the articles produced. Linen, sail¬
cloth, hosiery, hats, cordage, fishing-nets, starch, glue, lea¬
ther, paper, playing-cards, and pottery are the most im¬
portant of these. The trade, however, is of more extent,
and is much facilitated by the situation of the town and its
REN
means of communication, the Vilaine being navigable for Rennie,
barges up to this point, and being connected with the sea
by canals leading to St Malo and Brest. Rennes is also
connected by canal and railway with Nantes, and so by the
latter with Paris. The chief articles of trade are the ma¬
nufactures of the town, and butter, wax, honey, and poultry,
from the surrounding country. Rennes is the seat of a
bishop, of a high court of justice, and of a university-aca¬
demy, besides inferior courts of law. There are large
suburbs, which have much resemblance to the town itself.
Condate was the ancient name of the place, and it was the
capital of the tribe called Redones, from whom the modern
appellation has been derived. After the fall of the Roman
empire it fell into the hands of the Franks ; and Clovis
established here counts, who seem to have been subject now
to the French kings, now to the kings or dukes of Brittany.
When Nomenoe, in the ninth century, established the
independence of Brittany, Rennes was made the capital,
and was fortified as a frontier town against the French mo¬
narchy. Along with the rest of Brittany, Rennes came by
marriage to the French crown under Francis I. The town
has been subjected to several sieges ; and at the time of the
Revolution was the scene of some conflicts, being always
firmly attached to the popular cause. Pop. (1856) 38,945.
RENNIE, John, a distinguished mechanist, architect,
and civil engineer, was born on the 7th of June 1761, at
Phantassie, in the parish of Prestonkirk, in the county of
East Lothian. His father, a highly respectable farmer, died
in 1766, leaving a widow and nine children, of whom John
was the youngest. The first rudiments of his education were
acquired at the village school; and as it frequently happens
that some trifling circumstance in early life gives a bent to
the pursuits and fixes the destinies of the future man, so
it fared with young Rennie. The school was situated on
the opposite side of a brook, over which it was necessary to
pass by means of a rustic bridge of stepping-stones; but
when the freshes were out, the only alternative of crossing
the stream was by means of a boat, which was kept at the
workshop of Andrew Meikle, an ingenious mechanic, well
known in Scotland as the inventor of the thrashing-ma¬
chine, and many improvements in agricultural implements.
In passing through the workshop, which stood on his family
property, young Rennie’s attention was forcibly drawn to
the various operations that were in progress, and a great
part of his leisure and holiday time was passed therein.
The sons of Meikle and the workmen, seeing the great de¬
light which he appeared to take in examining their labours,
were in the habit of indulging him with their tools, and
showing him their various uses. His evenings were chiefly
employed in imitating those models which had particularly
attracted his attention in the workshop ; and it is known in
the family that, at little more than ten years of age, he had
constructed the model of a windmill, a pile-engine, and a
steam-engine. That of the pile-engine is still in existence,
and is said to be remarkably well made.
Having continued at Preston school till twelve years of
age, he had about that time a quarrel with his schoolmaster,
whom he deemed incompetent to give him further instruc¬
tion, and therefore entreated that he might be permitted to
leave the school. But his active mind soon became rest¬
less ; for the first time he felt the hours hang heavily on his
hands; and having expressed a wish to fee placed under
his friend Meikle, he employed himself with this ingenious
mechanic for about two years; but his mind expanding with
his growth, he began to feel that the progress of his intel¬
lectual faculties was likely to be retarded by a constant
application to manual labour. He therefore at length de¬
termined to place himself under the tuition of Gibson, an
able teacher of mathematics at Dunbar, where he soon dis¬
tinguished himself in so particular a manner that David
Loch, general inspector of the fisheries in Scotland, in de-
REN
Kennie. scribing a visit which he paid to the school at Dunbar in
1778, notices the great proficiency displayed by young
Rennie, prophesying that at no distant period he would
prove an honour to his country. (Loch’sisWays on the Trade,
Commerce, Manufactures, and Fisheries of Scotland, vol.
iii., p. 211.) From this school, in less than two years, he
returned to Meikle, with a mind well stored with every
branch of mathematical and physical science which Gibson
could teach him. About this time, Gibson being appointed
master to the public academy of Perth, he earnestly recom¬
mended young Rennie to succeed him at Dunbar. But his
views were of a more aspiring cast. As a matter of favour,
he undertook the management of the school for about six
weeks, when he returned to his family, occasionally visiting
and assisting his friend Meikle, but mostly improving him¬
self in drawing and making models of machinery. His
first essay in practical mechanics was the repairing of a
corn-mill in his native village; and he erected two or three
others before he was eighteen years of age.
Resolved, however, that these mechanical occupations
should not interfere with his studies, he laid his plans so
that he should be able to proceed occasionally to Edinburgh
with a view of improving himself in physical science. He
there attended the lectures of Professors Robison and
Black, and formed that acquaintance with the former of
those gentlemen which was gradually raised into friend¬
ship, and which perhaps may be said to have laid the
foundation of his future fortune ; for by him he was intro¬
duced to Messrs Bolton and Watt of Soho, near Birming¬
ham. With these gentlemen he remained but a few months
for the purpose of receiving explanations respecting the
plan of the Albion Mills, then erecting, the machinery of
which he superintended. This exactly suited his views ;
for, conscious of his own powers, he deemed the capital the
proper theatre to try his strength, and in this he was not
mistaken.
In proceeding from Edinburgh to Soho, he had taken the
route by Carlisle, Lancaster, Liverpool, and Manchester,
for the purpose of visiting the different mills and public
works in those great commercial and manufacturing towns;
and the remarks which he made on the bridge then building
over the Lune at Lancaster, on the docks at Liverpool, and
more particularly on the Bridgewater Canal, are distin¬
guished by great sagacity, and were of essential use to him
afterwards. On leaving Soho, he again made a tour through
the manufacturing districts of Leeds, Sheffield, Rotherham,
and Newcastle.
For some time after he was settled in London the
Albion Mills, of which Bolton, Watt, and Wyatt were the
projectors and leading proprietors, and who engaged him
to superintend the execution of the mill-work, occupied a
great share of his attention. Watt, in his Notes to Pro¬
fessor Robison’s Account of the Steam-Engine, says, that
“ in the construction of the mill-work and machinery they
derived most valuable assistance from that able mechanician
and engineer Mr John Rennie, then just entering into
business, who assisted in placing them, and under whose
direction they were executed.” He also says that the
machinery, which used to be made of wood, was here made
of cast-iron, in improved forms; and thinks that this was
the commencement of that system of mill-work which has
proved so beneficial to this country. In fact, Rennie’s
mills are the most perfect species of mechanism in that
way that exist, distinguished by a precision of movement
and a harmony and proportion of parts that now serve as
models throughout the empire. His water-mills are so
accurately calculated that every particle of water is effec¬
tively employed, and none of it lost, as in the common
mode of constructing water-wheels. There is reason to be¬
lieve that the difficulties which occurred at the Albion Mills
with regard to the ebb and flow of the tides, and which
N I E. ll
required all the ingenuity of that extraordinary genius Watt, Rennie,
first led Rennie to the study of that branch of civil engi-
neering connected with hydraulics and hydrodynamics, and
in which he soon became so celebrated as to have no rival
after the death of Smeaton, in whose steps, he always used
to say, he was proud to follow.
Our limited space will not permit us to enter upon even
an enumeration of all his great works, much less to give any
detailed account of them; we must therefore content our¬
selves by mentioning some of the most important designs
and undertakings in his threefold capacity of mechanist,
architect, and civil engineer ; three branches of art so inti¬
mately blended as scarcely to admit of a separation.
First, as a mechanist. Immediately after the completion
of the Albion Mills, in 1786 or 1787, Rennie’s reputation
was so firmly established in everything connected with
mill-work that he found himself in a very extensive line of
business. To him the planters of Jamaica and of the other
West India Islands applied for their sugar-mills, which he
constructed in a manner so superior to the old ones that he
soon obtained almost a monopoly of these expensive works.
The powder-mill at Tunbridge, the great flour-mill at
Wandsworth, several saw-mills, the machinery for various
breweries and distilleries, were mostly of his manufacture ;
and wherever his machinery was required to be impelled by
steam, the incomparable engines of his friends Messrs Bol¬
ton and Watt supplied the moving power; but, contrary
to what has been stated in some of the public journals, he
never had the least concern in directing, contriving, or ad¬
vising any one part or movement of the steam-engine. He
also constructed those beautiful specimens of machinery,
the rolling and triturating mills, at the Mint on Tower Hill,
to which Bolton and Watt’s engines give motion ; and at
the time of his death he was engaged in the construction
of a rolling-mill, and similar machinery, for the intended
mint at Calcutta.
As a bold and ingenious piece of mechanism, which may
be considered as distinct from positive architecture, there
was nothing in Europe that could bear a comparison with
the Southwark Bridge. The three immense arches, the
centre one of 240, and each side arch of 210 feet span,
consist entirely of masses of cast-iron, of various forms and
dimensions, put together on the same principle as a similar
fabric of hewn stone ; a method of employing iron which
may be considered to form a new epoch in the history of
bridge-building. Various sinister predictions were enter¬
tained against this light and beautiful bridge, which was to
be rent in pieces by the expansive power of the first sum¬
mer’s heat, or, if it escaped that, by the contraction of the
first winter’s cold ; but it has stood the test of many winters
and summers, and appears not to feel either. Rennie was
applied to by the East India Company for the design of a
cast-iron bridge to be thrown over the River Goomty at
Lucknow, at the desire of the nabob vizier of Oude. It
consisted of three arches of cast-iron, the centre arch 90,
and each of the other arches 80 feet span. The arches
were cast, and a superintending engineer sent out with
them; but on their arrival, the nabob, in one of those
moments of caprice to which eastern despots, even in their
impotency, are so liable, changed his mind, and would not
allow it to be put up.
Secondly, as an architect. Since there are few parts of
civil engineering that do not occasionally require the aid
of architecture, Rennie, at a very early age of his pro¬
gress, was called upon for a display of his skill in this line.
Amongst his first undertakings in either line was that of
the Lancaster Canal, which presented many difficulties, and
amongst others, that of carrying it by an aqueduct over the
Lune, so as not to interrupt the navigation of the river.
Being one of the largest fabrics of its kind in Europe, and
of a pleasing design, it is an object that arrests the attention
12 REN
Rennie, of strangers, and is very generally admired. The bridges
of Leeds, Musselburgh, Kelso, Newton-Stewart, Boston,
New Galloway, and a multitude of others, attest the archi¬
tectural skill, the solidity, and, we may add, the good taste
of Rennie ; whilst a thousand smaller ones, with the various
locks, wharf-walls, quays, embankments appertaining to
canals, rivers, and harbours in every part of the United
Kingdom, are so many proofs of his diversified talent, and
his skill in adapting the means to the end. The breakwater
in Plymouth Sound can scarcely be called an architectural
work, but it is constructed on true hydrodynamical prin¬
ciples, and so gigantic in its dimensions, and cyclopean in
its structure, as to defy equally the force of the waves and
the ravages of time. To Whidby, who zealously superin¬
tended the execution of this immortal work, the highest
praise is also due ; nor was the plan finally determined on
without his advice and assistance.
But the architectural work which, above all others, will
immortalize the name of Rennie, is the Waterloo Bridge, a
structure which, even according to foreigners, had no pa¬
rallel in Europe (and if not in Europe, certainly not in the
whole world) for its magnitude, its beauty, and its solidity.
That a fabric so immense, presenting a straight horizontal
line, stretching over nine large arches, should not have
altered more than a few inches, not five in any one part,
from that straight line, is an instance of firmness and
solidity utterly unknown, and almost incredible ; but all
Rennie’s works have been constructed for posterity. The
bridge of Neuilly, which the French ranked as superior to
that of Waterloo, actually sunk 23 inches. Rennie made
nothing slight; nor would he engage in any undertaking
where, from an ill-judging economy, a sufficiency of funds
was not forthcoming to meet his views. Another work,
executed from a design of his, is that of the stone bridge
over the Thames, by which the old London Bridge, so long
the disgrace of the metropolis, was replaced. His design,
which was selected by a committee of the House of Com¬
mons, out of at least thirty that were offered, consisted of a
granite bridge of five arches, the centre one of 150 feet
span, being one of the largest stone arches in the world
which has been constructed in modern times. Of the
bridges which connect the banks of the Thames, three
have been built from the designs of one man ; a fact which
must throw a lustre on the name of Rennie, and be re¬
garded with a feeling of pride by the most distant connection
of his family.
Thirdly, as a civil engineer. The first great attempt
in this line of his profession was the survey and execution
of the Crinan Canal, a work remarkable for the multitude
of practical difficulties that occurred throughout the whole
of this bold undertaking, it being necessary in many places
to cut down through solid rock to the depth of 60 feet;
and it is rather remarkable that the second undertaking,
the Lancaster Canal, was also replete with difficulties,
and called for the exercise of his skill as an architect, as
we have already seen in noticing the aqueduct over the
Lune. But these two works established his reputation
as a civil engineer, and his opinion and assistance were
required from all quarters. His faculties were now
called into full play, and they expanded with the de¬
mands made upon them. The following are some of the
most important of those the execution of which he person¬
ally attended:—Aberdeen, Brechin, Grand Western, Ken-
net and Avon, Portsmouth, Birmingham, Worcester, besides
many others. But the resources of his mind were displayed
in all their vigour in the plans and construction of those
magnificent docks which are at once an ornament to the
capital, and of the utmost utility to commerce and naviga¬
tion. Nor are these splendid and useful works confined to
the metropolis. The docks at Hull, Greenock, Leith,
Liverpool, and Dublin attest his skill; and the harbours of
N I E.
Queensferry, Berwick, Howth, Holyhead, Dunleary (now Rennie,
called Kingstown Harbour), Newhaven, and several others —
owe their security and convenience to his labours. But
even these works, splendid as they are, must yield to what
he has planned and executed in her Majesty’s dockyards at
Portsmouth, Plymouth, Chatham, and Sheerness. The
last was a mere quicksand of 40 feet in depth, mixed
with mud and the wrecks of old ships ; the whole of which
was excavated, and a magnificent basin constructed, with
a beautiful surrounding wall of granite, with which three of
the finest dry docks in the universe communicate ; and
that important dockyard, which may be said to command
the mouths of the Thames and the Medway, from being an
unhealthy and detestable place, and wholly inefficient for
its purpose, is now, by being raised many feet, and laid out
with skill and judgment, one of the most convenient in the
kingdom. He also planned the new naval arsenal at Pem¬
broke, which is considered as a perfect model for a building-
yard. The repairing of the pier-head of Ramsgate harbour
was a remarkable instance of his skill. The violence of
the waves, acting upon the bad quality of the stone, had so
completely undermined it that the stability of the whole
pier began to be endangered. It was from 10 to 13
feet below the level of low-water, spring-tides; yet, by
means of the improved diving-bell and its apparatus, th
pier-head was not only effectually secured, but rendered
more solid and durable than it originally had been. In the
harbour of Howth the diving-bell was of the utmost use;
and it is remarkable enough that the masons who have
been for a little while accustomed to work under water
prefer it—at least the Irish masons do—to working in the air,
it being cooler in summer, and warmer in winter ; though
an increase of pay for submarine work is probably the real
cause of preference.
The last effort of Rennie’s genius to which we shall ad¬
vert was the drainage of that vast tract of marsh land bor
dering upon the rivers Trent, Witham, New Welland, anu
Ouse which for centuries past had baffled the skill of some
of the ablest men in that department of civil engineering.
Upon the same principles, he laid down a grand scheme for
draining the whole of that immense district known by the
name of the Bedford Level, which has in part been carried
into execution by the completion of the Eau-brink Cut,
near Lynn. The estimate he made for draining the whole
amounted to L. 1,200,000.
Rennie’s industry was very extraordinary ; though fond
of the society of his select friends, and of rational con¬
versation, he never suffered amusement of any kind to
interfere with his business, which seldom engaged him
less than twelve hours, and frequently fifteen, in the day.
His conversation was always amusing and instructive. He
possessed a rich fond of anecdote, and, like his old friend
James Watt, told a Scotch story admirably. As a travel¬
ling companion, he was highly entertaining ; he knew every¬
body on the road, and everybody knew John Rennie. Of
an ardent and anxious mind, and naturally impetuous, he
was gifted with the most perfect self-control; and the irri¬
tation of the moment was seen but as a light summer’s
cloud passing across his finely-marked features, which were
on so large a scale, though blended with much mildness as
well as dignity, as to obtain for his noble bust by Chantrey,
when exhibited in Somerset House, the name of Jupiter
Tonans.
Rennie possessed considerable skill in bibliography;
and being a zealous and liberal collector, he succeeded in
forming a very valuable library, consisting of the best and
rarest books in all the branches of science and art, of voy¬
ages and travels, and many curious books in the black let¬
ter ; whilst in his own department it contained every work
of the least merit, in whatever language it might be written.
He had, besides^ a good collection of mathematical and
REN
REP
13
Rent astronomical instruments, and frequently spoke of erecting
1 an observatory, but did not live to carry his intention into
Reptilia. execution. He had for some years laboured under a dis-
ease of the liver, which had apparently yielded to the usual
treatment; but a relapse took place, and on the 16th of
October 1821, after a few days’ illness, he expired without
a struggle, in the sixtieth year of his age.
Rennie, in 1789, married Miss Mackintosh, who died
in 1806, leaving a family of seven young children. His
remains were accompanied to St Paul’s by men of eminence
in the arts, in science, and in literature, and were interred
near those of Sir Christopher Wren. A plain granite slab
covers his grave, on which is inscribed an appropriate
epitaph. J-B.—w.
RENT. See Political Economy.
RENTON, a village of Scotland, in Dumbartonshire,
near the right bank of the Leven, 2 miles N. of Dum¬
barton. It has an Established church, a Free church, and
a Reformed Presbyterian church, several schools, and a
library. There is here a monument to Smollett, who was
born in the vicinity, and has described the Leven and
adjacent country in his poetical and prose works. The
people are to a large extent employed in dyeing and bleach¬
ing establishments. Pop. 2398.
REN WICK, James, the last of the Scottish martyrs,
was the only surviving child of a poor weaver, and was
born in the parish of Glencairn, Dumfriesshire, in 1662.
After he had entered the university of Edinburgh the Co¬
venanting faith, in which he had been brought up, came
boldly into action. He refused to take the oath of alle¬
giance which was tendered to him at his laureation. At
length he consecrated his life to the covenanting cause,
by repairing to Holland at the request of the praying socie¬
ties of Scotland, for the purpose of receiving ordination.
Renwick returned to his native country in 1683, to enter
into a perfect storm of persecution. Daring to take upon
himself the task of preaching to the scattered Nonconform¬
ists in the south and west of Scotland, he provoked the
savage malignity of many enemies. The government set
a price upon his head, and declared him an outcast from
society. Bands of dragoons were ready to hunt him down
wherever he appeared. Even some of the friends of the Co- Repeating-
venant came to misrepresent his patriotic and religious Circle
zeal. He was reduced to the greatest shifts in the pursuit II
of his ministerial vocation. Often did he cower for bed ^ ^ 1
and shelter in the holes of the ground. Often did he hold *~
his meetings at the dead of night in the heart of the wilder¬
ness. At length he was caught one January morning on
the Castlehill of Edinburgh ; and in February 1688, on the
scaffold in the Grassmarket, he met his death with the ecsta¬
tic welcome of a saint. (See Simpson’s Life of Renwick.)
REPEATING CIRCLE. See Borda.
REPP, Thorleif Gudmundsson, a learned author, was
born as Reykiadal in Iceland in 1794, and received his
education at the university of Copenhagen. He was known
in Britain between 1825 and 1837 as a foreigner of grer
acquirements. The curators of the Advocates’ Library ha
brought him over to Edinburgh to be their sub-librarian.
His acquaintance with the modern languages and with
Hebrew and Arabic was extensive. Nor was he incom¬
petent to write English. In 1832 he published A His¬
torical Treatise on Trial by Jury, Wager of Law, and
other co-ordinate Forensic Institutions formerly in use
in Scandinavia and in Iceland; in 1833 he wrote an
article on the Advocates’ Library for the Penny Cyclope¬
dia ; and about the same he contributed to the literature
of the country several translations from the German and
Italian. After his return to Copenhagen in 1837, Repp
continued his literary labours. Among other works, he
wrote a pamphlet in Danish, entitled Dano-Hungarian
Discoveries, Copenhagen, 1843; and compiled, in con¬
junction with Ferrall, a Danish and English Dictionary,
12mo, Copenhagen, 1845. He died in 1858.
REPRIEVE, in criminal law (from Fr. reprendre, to
take back), is the withdrawing of a sentence for an inter¬
val of time, by which means the execution is suspended.
This may be either before or after judgment, as where the
judge is not satisfied with the verdict, the evidence, or the
indictment; or sometimes if any favourable circumstances
appear in the character of the criminal, in order to give
time to apply to the crown for either an absolute or condi¬
tional pardon.
REPTILIA: REPTILES.1
These form the third great division of the animal king¬
dom, and in systematic works on natural history occupy an
intermediate position between the class of birds and that
of fishes.2
As in tracing the modifications of various organs, from
the zoophitical and radiated animals to the molluscous,
from these to the articulated classes, and onwards through
the fishes to the reptile tribes, it is among the last named
that we first perceive the passage from the truly aquatic to
the terrestrial or air-breathing animal,—so the respiratory
organs of such tribes are naturally those which excite the
greatest and most peculiar interest. Among the more im¬
portant classes of animals, respiration is effected in one or
other of two ways ; ls<, either by certain internal cellular
sacs, for the reception of air, called lungs, which commu¬
nicate with the mouth and nose by means of the trachea
or windpipe ; or, 2dly, by external organs called gills, which
require either to float in water, or to be in some other
way continually immersed in that fluid. The object of
both contrivances is to subject the blood to the influence
of vital air, and this end is obtained very admirably, though
in a different way, by each. All mammiferous animals, in¬
cluding whales, all birds, and all reptiles (in the perfect
state), possess the first form of the respiratory organs; all
fishes, and several reptiles in their adolescent condition, are
distinguished by the second. But even among such as are
furnished with true lungs we observe different modifica¬
tions of the circulating sytem.
The principal characteristic of reptiles in general con¬
sists in this, that only a portion of the blood is transmitted
through the lungs, the remainder being projected by the
heart directly to the other parts of the body, without being
specially subjected to the influence of the respiratory or¬
gans ; whereas, in the higher classes, such as man, the rest
of the mammalia, and birds, the whole of the blood must
pass by the lungs before it is retransmitted to the more
distant parts of the circulating system. The amphibious
habits of such reptiles as are unprovided with gills result in
a great measure from the power which they thus possess of
carrying on a partial circulation of the blood independent
of respiration. The respiration of animals, or the process
by which the blood is oxygenated, becomes weaker and less
1 The natural history of reptiles is frequently treated of under the term Ekpetology, from reptile, and Xeyot, discourse.
verb tgvti* signifies to creep. 2 See Animal Kingdom.
The
14
R E P T 1 L I A.
Reptilia. frequent in proportion to the diminution which takes place
in the quantity of blood transmitted to the lungs, compared
with that which passes directly from the heart; and as it
is respiration which warms the blood, and produces in the
fibres their susceptibility of nervous irritation, it follows, as
observed by Cuvier, that the blood of reptiles is cold, and
their muscular strength much less than that of birds and
quadrupeds. The seat of their sensations is also much less
centralised than in the last-named classes, and hence many
of them exhibit life and motion long after their heads have
been severed from their bodies.1
A truly amphibious animal, according to the proper mean¬
ing of the term (which is derived from on both sides,
and /3ios, life), ought to possess the power of breathing un¬
der water like a fish, and of respiring atmospheric air like
a land animal. According to this interpretation, neither
seals, nor beavers, nor even whales, are truly amphibious,
for they cannot sustain their existence under water except
by the use of a certain portion of air which they have pre¬
viously inspired at the surface. In like manner, neither
the frog nor the tadpole is amphibious (unless it may be
for a short intermediate period, or state of transition); for
the former seeks the water merely as a place of temporary
resort, in which it cannot breathe, and the latter is entire¬
ly aquatic, being unprovided with lungs, and consequently
unable to respire, except through the medium of water.
A frog, therefore, can only be said to be amphibious in as
far as it possesses, at two different periods of its life, the
faculty of living first in the water and then on the land.
Born with gills, and destitute of external members, its
form and functions are originally rather those of a fish than
of a reptile ; but as it advances in growth, the four limbs
become developed, the tail decreases and disappears, the
jaws are formed, and the gills absorbed, and their functions
supplied by lungs. But the peculiar structure of the heart,
already mentioned, enables these and other species to re¬
main submerged for a great length of time.
Among the many wonderful anomalies, however, with
which the kingdom of nature presents us, there exist two
truly amphibious animals, the proteus and the siren, both
of which are provided at one and the same time with the
gills of a fish and the lungs of a terrestrial creature. But
their propensities are decidedly aquatic. The former inha¬
bits certain subterranean waters in Carniola, the latter re¬
joices in the muddy marshes of South Carolina.2 Both will
be hereafter noticed.
The amount of respiration is by no means so fixed or de¬
terminate among reptiles as it may be said to be in quad¬
rupeds and birds, but varies with the proportion which the
diameter of the pulmonary artery bears to that of the aorta.
Thus, turtles and lizards respire much more than frogs and
others of the class; and from this results a much greater
difference in energy and sensibility between different tribes
of lleptilia, than exists among the members of the class of
quadrupeds or birds. Reptiles also may be said to exhibit
a much greater variety of form, aspect, and condition, than
either of the classes just named; and it is in their produc¬
tion that nature (as we are wont to term the powers of the
Omnipotent Creator), has invented the most extraordinary
forms and modifications which exist among the vertebrated
division of the animal kingdom.
No reptile is known to hatch its eggs, and in the Batra-
chian order (frogs, toads, &c.) fecundation does not take
place till after the female has excluded the so-called ova, Reptilia.
which in such cases are covered merely by a slight and ''-“’“v ^ “
simple membrane, bearing no resemblance to a shell. The
young of this Batrachian order, on leaving the egg, bear
the general form of fishes, and are, moreover, furnished with
gills, which a few of them retain even after acquiring lungs,
and assuming the other attributes of maturity. Among seve¬
ral of the egg-laying species, the included young are not
only formed, but far advanced at the period of laying; while
a few, such as vipers and certain lizards, are actually born
alive, being hatched within the body of the mother. Hence
the expression by which these are designated, of ovo-vivi-
parous. Some even of those which usually lay eggs may
be rendered viviparous by a short retardation of the pro¬
cess of laying, as effected by M. Geoffroy in the case of
certain snakes by merely depriving them of wrater.
Although many reptiles are active leapers, and even run
with rapidity for a short distance, the coldness of their
blood, and proportional want of muscular power, induce on
the whole an indolent habit. They are probably, of all ver¬
tebrated animals, the least perfectly endowed with the power
of migratory movement. The brain is proportionally very
small, a sea-tortoise, for example, weighing twenty-nine
pounds, having been found to possess brains to the weight
only of two drams, that is, equal to not more than an eighteen
hundred and fifty-sixth part of the entire animal. Now,
we know, that in several small birds and quadrupeds, the
brain exceeds a thirtieth part of the remainder of the body.
In reptiles, indeed, the brain seems less necessary than
among other vertebrated beings, to the exercise of the ani¬
mal and vital functions, and their sensations are less refer¬
able to a common centre. Connection with the nervous
system is also much less necessary to the contraction of their
fibres, and a portion of their flesh possesses its irritability
long after separation from the rest of the body. The heart
beats for several hours after being extracted, and the said
extraction does not prevent the body itself from moving
about for a considerable time. The cerebellum in several
species is extremely small, a fact regarded as being in ex¬
act accordance with their indolence of movement.
The small size of the pulmonary vessels admits of rep¬
tiles suspending their respiration without arresting the
coinse of the blood, and they can accordingly dive more
easily, and continue submerged for a longer time, than either
mammiferous quadrupeds or birds. The cellules of the
lungs being less numerous, as having fewer vessels to lodge
upon their parietes, are much wider, and these organs have
sometimes indeed the form of simple sacs scarcely cellular.
They are all provided with a trachea and larynx, al¬
though many are entirely mute. Their blood being natu¬
rally cold, they have no need of such integuments as fur or
feathers to retain the heat, and are covered either by scales
or a naked skin.
. Although no portion of the organ of hearing is external
in reptiles, yet among crocodiles there is an appearance of
an outer meatus auditorius, owing to the skin forming a
thick cover over the tympanum. This peculiar formation
is sufficient to explain a passage in Herodotus, who states,
that the Egyptians were in the habit of suspending jewels
from the ears of the crocodile.
The digestion in reptiles is extremely slow, and all their
sensations are obtuse. In cold, and even in temperate cli¬
mates, they fall into a state of torpor during the prevalence
1 Les muscles des reptiles conservent plus long temps encore leur irritabilite' que ceux des noissnns Kmi« a
pends, des salamandres, des tortues, des serpens, prive's de la tete et ddnouille's de lP„r nLo./a P ? 7 • l™11? avons ™ des era.
liumides, produire encore des mouvemens pendant des semaines entieres ; un lortue terrestre du p.dds'des Tin maintenus
morte depuis plusieurs jours, dont le cou etait tombe dans cette sorte de flacciditd, suite de la r’a de r nui surv eni an, '
es yeux en particuher avaient la cornee dessechee, manifester des mouvemens par la cc.ntracticms et k retra<Ab»r^r k 1 ,
" deS membreS ^--1 et Bibron, E^ie, i. 41.) ’
R E P T I L I A.
15
Reptilia of chilly weather, being more than any other class of crea-
tures under the influence of temperature,—“ frigida sestu-
antium animalia and what is truly singular, is the fact
mentioned by Humboldt, that the inverse cause produces a
corresponding effect on some of the species of tropical cli¬
mates, the caymans or crocodiles of South America becom¬
ing torpid, and entombing themselves in mud, during the
prevalence of the hottest season.
Indeed, among the more singular features in the econo¬
my of the reptile race, may be numbered, their power of
enduring long-continued abstinence, and the lethargic state,
infinitely more profound than the winter sleep of quadru¬
peds, into which they yearly fall. In connection with this
subject, Mr Jacobson of Copenhagen has recognised in
reptiles a special arrangement of certain vessels which con¬
stitute a peculiar venous system. This system may be said
to exist more or less in all the race; but, rudimentary in
the tortoises and crocodiles, it shows its chief development
among the other Saurians, and the Ophidian and Batrachian
groups. “ It is composed of the veins of the abdominal
members, the pelvian or caudal veins, the hinder veins of
the kidneys, the veins of the oviductus, a great portion of
the veins of the skin, of those of the muscles of the abdo¬
men, and of those of certain organs peculiar to the reptiles.
These veins combine, and form one or many trunks, which
proceed either into the vena porta or the liver, or into
both. What especially distinguishes this system is, that in
it a part of the veins of the organs of locomotion, and of
the skin, proceed to distribute themselves into the liver.
There is no other example of this among the vertebrated
animals. Certain special organs appear connected with this
venous system in a peculiar manner, and are regarded by
Mr Jacobson as proper for secreting and preserving a nu¬
tritive juice, destined to be re-absorbed in the rigorous
months of the severe season, during the hybernal slumber
of these animals.”1
In regard to the geographical distribution of reptiles in
general, we shall here briefly observe, that they augment
in number as we advance towards the equatorial regions.
While Sweden possesses scarcely a dozen snakes and lizards,
about three or four frogs and toads, and not a single tor¬
toise, the temperate parts of Europe produce about forty
snakes and lizards, and several of the tortoise tribe. In
Scandinavia, however, although the species are so few in
number, the individuals are much more abundant than in
Britain; from which we infer, that it is rather the want of
strong continuous summer heat than the actuality of our
winter’s cold, that is unfavourable to the production of rep¬
tiles in our cloudy clime. As soon as we gain the southern
extremity of Spain, the number of species in these tribes
greatly increases, and in Andalusia the African complexion
of the country is still further manifested by the frequent ap¬
pearance of the chameleon. On proceeding further south,
not only does the number of reptiles increase, but they also
augment in size, splendour, and ferocity, till from the Tro¬
pic of Cancer onwards and beyond the line, we meet with
crocodiles, caymans, boas, and other giants of the reptile
race. Several species, however, even in sultry latitudes,
are subjected by their peculiar position to the influence of
severe cold. Thus the axolotl of Mexico occurs in the
chill waters of lakes elevated above 8000 feet from the sur¬
face of the sea; and the salamander (a water newt) of Eu¬
rope is frequently found frozen up in ice in early spring,
without being destroyed. Indeed, Dufay has remarked, as
a singular circumstance, that those very animals of which it
once was fabled they could withstand the fiery flames, are
in reality endowed with the almost equally surprising power
of resisting frost, so generally fatal to the life of reptiles.
Although we have now endeavoured to state a few of Reptilia.
what may be regarded as the generalities of the reptile class, Y
yet it must be borne in mind, that no great division of the
animal kingdom exhibits such a singular diversity of form
and aspect, or is more liable to exceptions from whatever
features we may incline to consider as general characteris¬
tics. “ Aussi les reptiles,” says Baron Cuvier, “ presentent-
ils des formes, des mouvements, et des proprietes beau-
coup plus varies que les deux classes precedentes (quadru¬
peds and birds) ; et c’est surtout dans leur production que
la nature semble s’etre jouee a imaginer des formes bizarres,
et a modifier dans tous les sens possibles le plan general
qu’elle a suivi pour les animaux vertebres, et speciale-
ment pour les classes ovipares.” Among no animals in¬
deed do we meet with beings of more singular forms than
in the class Reptilia, many of which exhibit an aspect so
unusual, so grotesque, and even so formidable, that it would
be difficult for the imagination of the poet or the painter to
exceed the “ dread realities” of nature. Although the ma¬
jority are oviparous, some, as we have said, produce their
young alive. Many have four legs, some only two, which
vary from an anterior to a posterior pair, while the entire
tribe of serpents have no legs at all. Some have their bo¬
dies more or less closely beset by scales, varying in size
from extreme tenuity to the strength and thickness of
mailed armour; many, as the numerous tribes of frogs, are
defended only by a soft and mucous skin; as many more
are shut up in a strong bony box-like covering, within which
they dwell, as in an impregnable castle. The greater num¬
ber possess a tail, but several entirely want that organ.
Numerous tribes live unceasingly in the water, others pass
their infancy in moist abodes, their maturer years on terra
firma, provided in the former case with gills, in the latter
with lungs for respiration. Marshes and muddy swamps,
the dry and desert sands, the umbrageous woods, the up¬
land mountains, the “ resounding shores,” are all alike per¬
vaded by one or many of the numerous forms of reptile
life. The subterranean proteus fears the light, though deal¬
ing in no deeds of darkness; the agile lizard, “ all scaled
silver bright,” basks delighted beneath the beams of the most
brilliant sun, “ no cloud in heaven.” Some are fierce and
carnivorous, others gentle and herbivorous. The most dead¬
ly poison is distilled by many, while entire tribes are quite
innocuous; and while some are resplendent in burnished
gold and azure, “ like mailed angels on a battle-day,” as
many exhibit the last stage of ugliness in
worse
Than fables yet have feigned or fear conceived,
Gorgons, and hydras, and chimeras dire.
It has been observed, that in the popular superstitions of
various countries, the reptile race have been almost always
clothed in revolting attributes, and that the worship ac¬
corded them was one not of gratitude, but fear.2 Victor or
vanquished, they seem ever to have borne a cruel and pes¬
tilential character, in opposition to the welfare of the hu¬
man race ; and the prowess both of gods and men was call¬
ed into frequent and vigorous exercise for their subduction.
“ Glorious Apollo” pursued the enormous Python with
his unerring shafts; the dreadful Acheloiis was strangled
by the son of Jove, in spite of folds “ voluminous and
vast;” the Hesperian gardens and the golden fleece were
protected by fierce dragons; Perseus, from the dripping
head of Medusa, sowed with serpents the arid Libyan sands;
and gorgons and furies, discord and envy, are armed by
the poets with snakes, “ as appropriate emblems of their
ministry of vengeance.”
It was chiefly on the comparative consideration of the
amount of respiration, and of the organs of movement, that
1 Griffith’s Animal Kingdom, ix. 182.
5 Ibid. 20.
16
R E P T I L I A.
Clielonia. M. Brogniart founded the four great orders of the class
v'—Reptilia, which are now so generally adopted in the works
of systematic authors.1 They are as follows.
Is/, The Chelonian Reptiles (turtles, tortoises, &c.),
of which the heart is provided with two auricles, and the
body, borne on four legs, is contained as it were within an
upper and an under buckler, formed by a peculiar structure
of the ribs and sternum.
2ef, The Saurian Reptiles (crocodiles, lizards, &c.),
which have likewise two auricles and four legs, but the
body is covered with scales.
3rf, The Ophidian Reptiles (or serpents), which have
a heart furnished with two auricles, but the body is desti¬
tute of legs.
4/^, The Batrachian Reptiles (frogs, toads, &c.), in
which the heart has only a single auricle, the body is naked,
and the majority of species undergo a kind of transition as
they advance in age, from the form of a fish with gills to
that of a quadruped with lungs. Some, however, as already
mentioned, never lose their gills, and a few have only a
single pair of legs.
Our notices of the various genera of the different orders
must be here extremely brief; and in the following slight
sketch we shall adhere, as we have done in most of our
zoological treatises, to the systematic exposition of Baron
Cuvier.2
Order 1—CHELONIA. CHELONIAN REPTILES.
The various groups of this order are known to English
readers by the general names of tortoise and turtle,—the
former appellation being usually bestowed on those which
dwell on land, the latter on such as inhabit water. The
heart is composed of two auricles, and of a ventricle with
two unequal chambers communicating with each other.
The blood from the body enters into the right auricle, that
from the lung into the left; but both streams mingle to¬
gether more or less in passing by the ventricle.
All the species of this order are distinguished at first
sight by the peculiar armature in which the body is con¬
tained, and which consists of an upper and under buckler,
nearly meeting along their edges, and permitting only the
head, limbs, and tail to appear externally. The upper Chelonia.
buckler, called the carapace, is formed by the ribs, which "v-*—'
amount to eight pair, extended and united by toothed su¬
tures between, and having bony plates adhering to the an¬
nular portion of the dorsal vertebrae, and so connected that
all these parts are rendered motionless. The under buckler
is called the plastron, and is composed of portions which
represent the sternum, and which are usually nine in num¬
ber. A kind of lateral edging or frame-work, consisting of
osseous pieces, bearing some analogy to the sternal or carti¬
laginous portion of the ribs, and which in one sub-genus
even continue cartilaginous, surrounds the carapace, bind¬
ing and uniting together the ribs by which it is composed.
Thus the cervical and caudal vertebrae alone retain the
power of distinct movement, (-iee Plate L, fig. 1.)
These two bony envelopes being covered immediately
by skin or scales, the shoulder-blade and all the muscles of
the neck and fore-arms, instead of having their attachments
over the ribs and spine, as in other animals, are supported
from beneath these parts ; and the same peculiarity occurs
in relation to the bones of the lower extremity and the
muscles of the thighs, so that, as Baron Cuvier observes, a
turtle may be termed “ un animal retourne,” as if it had
been turned inside out.
The vertebral extremity of the shoulder-blade articulates
with the carapace; and the opposite end, which may be re¬
garded as analogous to the clavicle, articulates with the
plastron in such a manner that the two shoulders form a
ring through which the oesophagus and wind-pipe pass.
A third bony branch, larger than the other two, and direct¬
ed downwards and backwards, represents, as in birds, the
coracoid process, but its posterior extremity is free.
The lungs are much expanded, and lie in the same ca¬
vity with the other viscera. The thorax being immove¬
able in the majority of species, it is by the play of the
mouth that the Chelonians respire,—holding the jaws closed,
and alternately lowering and raising the hyoid bone. The
first movement permits the air to enter by the nostrils, and
then the tongue closing the interior opening, the second
movement forces the air into the lungs.
The Chelonians have no teeth, but their jaws are fur¬
nished with a horny substance like the mandibles of birds,
with the exception of the Chelydes, in which they are cover-
1 Essai d'une Classification Naturclle des Reptiles, Paris, 1805.
* The following are some of the principal works on reptiles in general. We do not here name those systematic writers who have
treated of the class in question merely in the course of their universal exposition of the animal kingdom, although they are. elsewhere
referred to in the progress of the present treatise.
J. N. Laurenti, Specimen Medicum, exhibens synopsin Reptilium emendalam, cum experimentis circa venena ct antidota Reptilium Austria-
corum, 1768. This work has been since attributed to M. Winterl, a chemist of Vienna, who is merely named by Laurenti, on the
terminal page, as having been a co-labourer in his therapeutical experiments. Lacepede, Histoire Naturelle des Quadrupcdes Ovipares
et des Serpens, 2 vols. 4to, 1788-90. The Abbd Bonnaterre is the author of the text which accompanies the plates of reptiles in the
French Encyclopedic, under the title of Tableau Eucyclopedique et Methodiqne des trois Repnes de la Nature (Erpetolopie et Ophiologie), 4to,
1789-90. L. J. M. Daubenton composed Les Quadrupedes Ovipares et les Serpens, in Dictionnairc des Animaux Vertebris, tom. ii, part.
de FEncyclop. Method. J. G. Schneider, the celebrated Greek scholar, has not published any general work on reptiles, but has written
extensively on various groups. His productions are the following:—Amphibiorum Physio/ogiae Specim. i. and ii. 1797- Amphibiorum
naturalis et litterarice Fasciculus primus, continent Ranas, Calamitas, Bufones, Salamandras, et Hydros, in genera et species descriptos notisque
suis distinctos, 1799. Fasciculus secundus, conlinens Crocodiles, Scincos, Chamoesauros, Boas, Pseudoboas, Etapes, Angues, Amphisbcenus, Cce-
cilias, 1801. Latreille, Histoire Naturelle des Reptiles, four vols. small 12 mo, 1801. Dr Shaw, General Zoology, vol. iii. Amphibia,
1802. F. M. Daudin, Histoire Naturelle des Reptiles, eight vols. 8vo, 1802-3. Alex. Brogniart, Essai d'une Classification Naturelle des
Reptiles, 1805. M. Oppel, Die Ordnungen Familien und Gattungen der Reptilien, als Prodrom einer Naturgeschichte derselbcn, one vol. 4to,
1811. Bias. Merrem, Tentamen Systematis Amphibiorum, one vol. 8vo, 1820. A. H. Haworth, A Letter on the Binary Arrangement
of the Class of Reptiles, in the Philosophical Magazine for 1825, p. 372. F. J. Fitzinger, Neue Classification der Reptilien, one small
vol. 4to, 1826. Ritgen, A Classification of Reptiles, in Nova Acta Acad. Nat. Cur. for 1828. Bory St Vincent, Resume d'Erpetologie,
on Hist. Nat. des Reptiles, 12mo, 1828. J. Wagler, Naturliches system der Amphibien, one vol. 8vo, 1830. We have also by the same
author leones et Descriptiones Amphibiorum, two fascic. folio, 1830, as well as some explications and critical remarks on Seba’s plates
of reptiles {Isis, 1833, ninth cahier, p. 885). J. E. Gray, Synopsis Reptilium, part 1st, 1831 ; and later in the same year, Synopsis of
the Species of the Class Reptilia, in Griffith s Animal Kingdom, end of vol. ix. John Miiller, Beitrage fur Anatomic und Naturgeschichte
der Amphibien, in Zeitschrift fur Physiologic von Tiedemann, &c., Ro. 19, p. 190, 1832. H. T. Schinz, Naturgeschichte und Abbildungen
der Reptilien, 4 fascic. large 4to, 1833. VYe conclude the list with a reference to a work already named, and frequently hereafter
quoted, the Erpetologie Gene rale, ou Histoire Naturelle complete des Reptiles, of Messrs Dumeril and Bibron. The best and latest work
on one class of Reptilia, the Serpents, is Essai sur la Physionomie des Serpens of M. Schlegel, superintendent of the Museum of Natural
History at Leyden, published in two 8vo volumes and a folio volume of plates, at the Hague in 1837. A partial translation of it, by
Professor Traill, appeared at Edinburgh, 1843.
R E P T I L I A. 17
Chelonia. ed with skin. Their tympanic cavity and palatine arches
'-“''v'*"—'' are fixed to the cranium, and immoveable. The tongue is
short, and beset with fleshy filaments. The stomach is
simple and strong, the intestines of medium length, and
unfurnished with a caecum. The bladder is very large.
The females in this order produce eggs provided with a
hard shell. The males of many species may be recognised
by the greater concavity of the plastron.1
The limbs of Chelonian reptiles being so confined be¬
tween the carapace and plastron, their powers of locomotion,
at least on land, are very limited. They can scaicely raise
their bodies above the surface of the ground, and they ad¬
vance by a slow, awkward, and apparently embarrassed ac¬
tion. But the aquatic species being provided with fin-like
members, and dwelling amid a fluid well adapted to their
use, the flat and smoothly expanded bodies of these crea¬
tures glide along with great ease and considerable swift¬
ness. Such of the land species as inhabit temperate coun¬
tries pass the colder seasons of the year in a state of tor¬
pidity, having previously excavated or taken possession of
some secure and subterranean retreat. They are supposed
to be extremely long lived. The marine species are more
tropical in their distribution ; and we are not aware that any
hybernation takes place among them. They are often met
■w ith many hundred leagues from land. They deposit their
eggs on sandy shores, where they are hatched by the heat
of the sun,—the process of laying being usually carried
on during the night.
The dimensions of animals of this order exhibit a great
range, some being only a few inches in length, while others
attain to a gigantic size, and weigh many hundred pounds.
They are all extremely tenacious of life,—whether under
the effects of long-continued abstinence while being con¬
veyed from distant regions, or when suffering from the
infliction of grievous wounds. Indeed they will live for
months, or, as it is alleged, even for years, without any food,
and will show decided symptoms of life and locomotion for
several weeks after their heads have been severed from
their bodies.
The whole of this order was formerly contained in the
old and unrestricted genus Testudo of Linnaeus, divided
by Cuvier into the five following generic groups, of which
the distinctive characters are mainly derived from the form
and covering of the carapace, and from the feet.
Genus Testudo, Brogn. Tortoises. Carapace bulged,
supported by a solid bony frame-work, and soldered by the
greater portion of its lateral edges to the plastron. Legs
as if truncated, the toes extremely short, and united almost
to the nails, of which there are five to the fore-feet, and
four to the hinder, all thick and conical.
The species, most of which subsist on vegetables, are too
numerous to be here described, but we shall indicate a few
of the more noted or remarkable.
The Greek tortoise ( T. Grceca, Linn.) is the most com¬
mon of the European kinds, and occurs in most of the
countries which surround the Mediterranean, and in several
islands of that sea. It is distinguished by its broad and
equally bulged carapace, its relieved scales, granulated in
the centre, striated on the margins, and spotted, or rather
marbled, with black and yellow; in the centre of its pos¬
terior margin there is a small prominence slightly curved
over the tail. The Greek tortoise lives on leaves, fruits,
and insects. It sleeps throughout the winter, pairs in
spring, and lays four or five eggs resembling those of a
pigeon. It seldom attains to the length of twelve inches, its
general extent being from six to eight. This species has
been known to reach an extraordinary old age. One of
the most remarkable instances has been often recorded. It
is that of a tortoise which was introduced into the archie- Chelonia.
piscopal garden at Lambeth in the time of Archbishop
Laud, about the year 1633, and continued there till 1753,
when it died, as was supposed, rather from accidental ne¬
glect than the effect of old age. Its shell is preserved in
the library of the palace. The Greek turtle is used as an
article of food in some of the southern countries of Europe.
According to Forskal, it retires under ground in September,
and re-appears in February. In this country it hybernates
later, and does not emerge so soon. It lays its eggs in
June, in a small hole, which it scratches in some sunny
spot, and the young are hatched in autumn, being on their
first exclusion about the size of walnuts.
Of the foreign species, one of the most remarkable for
size is the Indian tortoise (T1. Indica, Vosm.), first describ¬
ed by M. Perrault. It has been taken on the coast of Co¬
romandel, and sometimes measures four feet and a half
from the nose to the tail, with a height or convexity of
fourteen inches. The shell is brown, reflected or turned
upwards over the neck ; and there is a tubercle on each of
the three anterior scutella.
Other species are less remarkable for size than for the
beautiful distribution of the colours by which they are adorn¬
ed. Such is the geometrical tortoise ( T. geometrica, Linn.),
which is easily distinguished by the symmetrical regularity
with which the yellow rays, and the alternate lines of brown
and yellow, are disposed upon the scales of the upper shield.
Certain species have the anterior part of the shield move-
able, while in others the posterior portion is in that condi¬
tion. The former constitute the genus Pyxis of Mr Bell,
while the latter pertain to the genus Kinixis of that au¬
thor.
Genus Emys, Brogn. Fresh-water tortoises.
The species of this genus are not distinguishable from
those of the preceding by more important characters than
the greater separation of the toes, which are terminated by
longer nails, and have their intermediate spaces filled up by
membrane. The number of the nails is the same, but the
form of their feet enables them to indulge in more aquatic
propensities. Their envelope is generally of a flatter forip
than that of the terrestrial species, and the majority live <)ii ^
insects, small fishes, &c. (See Plate L, fig. 2.) i t ,
One of the best known of this group is the speckled tor¬
toise (T7. Europcea, Schn.; T. orbicularis, Linn.), a small
species, pretty widely distributed over the southern and east¬
ern countries of Europe. Its carapace is of an oval form,
but slightly convex, rather smooth, of a blackish colour, be¬
set with innumerable small yellow spots. Its length seldom
exceeds ten inches. This creature inhabits lakes, marshes,
and muddy places. Its flesh is esteemed as food, on which
account it is sometimes kept in ponds appropriated to the
purpose, and fattened with lettuce leaves, bread, and other
substances. It may also be kept in a cellar, and fed with
oats scattered on the floor. These it eats readily, especially
when they have begun to germinate. Its natural food,
however, is said to consist of insects, slugs, &c. It deposits
its eggs in warm and sandy places, and Marsigli alleges that
an entire year elapses before they are hatched.
Another species of this genus is la Bourbeme of the
French {T. lutaria, Linn.), commonly called the nrud-tor¬
toise. It is a small animal, with a flattish brown-coloured
shield, and a tail of considerable length, which, instead of
being kept bent inwards, is stretched out in walking. It is
well known in France, and is particularly plentiful in Lan¬
guedoc and many parts of Provence. It has been known
to occur in such abundance in a lake of about half a league
in width in the plain of Durance, that the neighbouring pea¬
santry, on one occasion, almost entirely sustained themselves
VOL. XIX.
1 liiigne Animal, ii. 2.
G
R E P T I L I A.
18
Chelonia. upon them continuously for three months. Though the spe-
cies is aquatic, it always lays its eggs on land. When the
young are first hatched they do not measure above six lines
in diameter. Like most other tortoises, it may be tamed,
and its love of slugs and snails makes it a useful adjunct to
a garden. Yet it must be borne in mind, that however be¬
neficial to the horticulturist, it is a dangerous inmate of the
fish-pond, where it attacks and destroys the inhabitants,
first biting them till they become enfeebled through loss of
blood, and then dragging them to the bottom, where it
quietly devours everything but the bones and some of the
cartilaginous parts of the head. The air-bladder also is
often left, and, swimming on the surface, gives notice of the
depredation done below. The mud-tortoise walks with
greater quickness and activity than the ordinary land spe¬
cies, especially on even ground.
The painted tortoise (T. pictd) likewise pertains to this
genus. It is a beautiful little creature, with a smooth, ra¬
ther flattish shield, of a brown colour, and each compart¬
ment bordered by a yellow band. It is a North American
species, often seen congregated in clear sunny weather along
the sides of rivers on stones and trunks of fallen trees, from
which it plunges into the water on the slightest disturbance.
It swims swiftly, but walks slowly, and is said to be very
voracious, sometimes even destroying ducklings, by seizing
their feet and dragging them below the water.
A few species with the neck more elongated (such as T.
longicollis, Shaw) form the genus Hydraspis of Bell. There
are also some peculiar species called tortues d boite by the
French, in which the plastron or lower shield is divided
into two by a moveable articulation. These tortoises can
close their carapace, and so shut themselves up as in a box,
after having drawn in their head and legs. Such is the
close tortoise (T7. clausa, Gmel.), so called on account of
the peculiarity just alluded to. The shell is of great
strength, and although the creature itself rarely exceeds a
few inches in length, it remains uninjured under a weight of
five or six hundred pounds. It occurs in different parts of
North America, being usually found in marshy places, though
sometimes seen in dry and sultry situations. It feeds on in¬
sects, mice, and even snakes, which it is said to seize by the
middle, and crush to death by drawing them within its shell.
Others have the tail and limbs by much too large to be
withdrawn into the shell. Such is the long-tailed tortoise
( T. serpentina, Linn.), a fresh-water species, native to the
warmer parts of North America, where it is known under
the name of snapping turtle. It is of considerable size,
sometimes weighing twenty pounds, and seizes upon its prey
(fish, ducklings, &c.) with great force and rapidity, stretch¬
ing out its neck, and uttering a hissing sound. Its grasp
is so tenacious that it will suffer itself to be lifted up by a
stick rather than quit its hold. The tail is almost as long
as the body, and is beset by sharp raised ridges. The plates
of the shield assume a somewhat pyramidal form. (See Plate
L, fig. 3.)
Genus Chelonia, Brogn. Turtles, or sea-tortoises. This
group differs from all the preceding in its long, flat, fin-like
feet, with the toes closely united, and enclosed within the
membrane. The first two toes of each foot alone are fur¬
nished with nails, one or other of which often drops off at
a certain term of life. The different portions of the lower
shield do not form a continuous plate, but are variously
dentated, and have large intervals covered by cartilage
alone. The ribs are narrow, and separate from each other
at their outer portion ; but the circumference of the shield
is occupied throughout by a circle of pieces corresponding
to the sternal ribs. The interior of the oesophagus is en¬
tirely beset by sharp cartilaginous points directed towards
the stomach.
To illustrate the prevailing habits of these curious crea¬
tures, we shall extract the following notices regarding se¬
veral species of sea-turtle, from one of those delightful pa- Chelonia.
pers with which Mr Audubon has enlivened his Ornitho-
logical Biography. That gentleman’s observations were
made chiefly among the Tortugas, a group of low uninha¬
bitable islands, or rather banks of shelly sand, which lie
about eighty miles from Key West, off the peninsula of the
Floridas. As usual, the author intermingles his minuter
notices of natural history with very pleasing sketches of
the general features of the surrounding scene. “ If you
have never seen the sun setting in those latitudes, I would
recommend you to make a voyage for the purpose ; for I
much doubt if, in any other portion of the world, the de¬
parture of the orb of day is accompanied by such gorgeous
appearances. Look at the great red disk increased to triple
its ordinary dimensions ! Now it has partially sunk beneath
the distant line of waters, and with its still remaining half
irradiates the whole heavens with a flood of golden light,
purpling the far-off clouds that hover over the western ho¬
rizon. A blaze of refulgent glory streams through the por¬
tals of the west, and the masses of vapour assume the sem¬
blance of mountains of molten gold. But the sun has now
disappeared, and from the east slowly advances the gray
curtain which night draws over the world.” “ Slowly ad¬
vancing landward, their heads alone above water, are ob¬
served the heavily-laden turtles, anxious to deposit their
eggs in the well-known sands. On the surface of the
gently rippling stream, I dimly see their broad forms, as
they toil along, while at intervals may be heard their hur¬
ried breathings, indicative of suspicion and fear. The moon,
with her silvery light, now illumines the scene, and the
turtle having landed, slowly and laboriously drags her heavy
body over the sand, her ‘ flappers’ being better adapted for
motion in the water than on shore. Up the slope, how¬
ever, she works her way, and see how industriously she re¬
moves the sand beneath her, casting it out on either side.
Layer after layer she deposits her eggs, arranging them in
the most careful manner, and, with her hind paddles, brings
the sand over them. The business is accomplished, the
spot is covered over, and with a joyful heart the turtle
swiftly retires towards the shore, and launches into the
deep.” “ There are four different species, which are known
by the names of the green turtle, the hawk-bill turtle, the
loggerhead-turtle, and the trunk-turtle. The first is con¬
sidered best as an article of food, in which capacity it is
well known to most epicures. It approaches the shores,
and enters the bays, inlets, and rivers, early in the month
of April, after having spent the winter in the deep waters.
It deposits its eggs in convenient places in two different
times in May, and once again in June. The first deposit is
the largest, and the last the least, the total quantity being
at an average about two hundred and forty. The hawk-
bill turtle, whose shell is so valuable as an article of com¬
merce, being used for various purposes in the arts, is the
next with respect to the quality of its flesh. It resorts to
the outer keys only, where it deposits its eggs in two sets,
first in July, and again in August, although it ‘ crawls’
the beaches of these keys much earlier in the season, as if
to look for a safe place. The average number of its eggs
is about three hundred. The loggerhead visits the Tortu¬
gas in April, and lays from that period until late in June
three sets of eggs, each set averaging a hundred and seven¬
ty. The trunk-turtle, which is sometimes of an enormous
size, and which has a pouch like a pelican, reaches the
shores latest. The shell and flesh are so soft, that one may
push his finger into them, almost as into a lump of butter.
This species, therefore, is considered as the least valuable,
and indeed is seldom eaten, unless by the Indians, who,
ever alert when the turtle season commences, first carry off
the eggs, and afterwards catch the turtles themselves. The
average number of eggs which it lays in the season, in twro
sets, may be three hundred and fifty.”
KEPT
Chelonia. “ The loggerhead and the trunk turtles are the least cau-
tious in choosing the places in which to deposit their eggs,
whereas the two other species select the wildest and most se¬
cluded spots. The green turtle resorts either to the shores of
the Maine, between Cape Sable and Cape Florida, or enters
Indian, Halifax, and other large rivers or inlets, from which
it makes its retreat as speedily as possible, and betakes it¬
self to the open sea. Great numbers, however, are killed
by the turtlers and Indians, as wTell as by various species of
carnivorous animals, as cougars, lynxes, bears, and wolves.
The hawk-bill, which is still more wary, and is always the
most difficult to surprise, keeps to the sea-islands. All the
species employ nearly the same method in depositing their
eggs in the sand; and as I have several times observed
them in the act, I am enabled to present you with a cir¬
cumstantial account of it. On first nearing the shores, and
mostly on fine calm moonlight nights, the turtle raises her
head above the water, being still distant thirty or forty
yards from the beach, looks around her, and attentively ex¬
amines the objects on shore. Should she observe nothing
likely to disturb her intended operations, she emits a loud
hissing sound, by which such of her many enemies as are
unaccustomed to it are startled, and so are apt to remove
to another place, although unseen by her. Should she
hear any noise, or perceive indications of danger, she in¬
stantly sinks and goes off to a considerable distance; but
should everything be quiet, she advances slowly towards
the beach, crawls over it, her head raised to the full stretch
of her neck, and when she has reached a place fitted for
her purpose, she gazes all around in silence. Finding 1 all
well,’ she proceeds to form a hole in the sand, which she
effects by removing it from under her body with her hind
flappers, scooping out with so much dexterity that the
sides seldom if ever fall in. The sand is raised alternately
with each flapper, as with a large ladle, until it has accu¬
mulated behind her, when, supporting herself with her head
and fore part on the ground fronting her body, she with a
spring from each flapper sends the sand around her, scat¬
tering it to the distance of several feet. In this manner
the hole is dug to the depth of eighteen inches, or some¬
times more than two feet. This labour I have seen per¬
formed in the short period of nine minutes. The eggs are
then dropped one by one, and disposed in regular layers to
the number of a hundred and fifty, or sometimes nearly two
hundred. The whole time spent in this part of the opera¬
tion may be about twenty minutes. She now scrapes the
loose sand back over the eggs, and so levels and smooths
the surface, that few persons, on seeing the spot, could ima¬
gine anything had been done to it. This accomplished to
her mind, she retreats to the water with all possible de¬
spatch, leaving the hatching of the eggs to the heat of the
sand. When a turtle, a loggerhead, for example, is in the
act of dropping her eggs, she will not move although one
should go up to her, or even seat himself on her back, for
it seems that at this moment she finds it necessary to pro¬
ceed at all events, as she is unable to intermit her labour.
The moment it is finished, howrever, off she starts; nor
would it then be possible for one, unless he were as strong
as a Hercules, to turn her over and secure her.” “ Persons
who search for turtles’ eggs are provided with a light stiff
cane, or a gun-rod, with which they go along the shores,
probing the sand near the tracks of these animals, which,
however, cannot always be seen, on account of the winds
and heavy rains that often obliterate them. The nests are
discovered not only by men, but also by beasts of prey, and
the eggs are collected or destroyed on the spot in great
numbers, as on certain parts of the shores hundreds of tur¬
tles are known to deposit their eggs within the space of a
ILIA. 19
mile. They form a new hole each time they lay, and the Chelonia.
second is generally dug near the first, as if the animal were
quite unconscious of what had befallen it. It will readily
be understood, that the numerous eggs seen in a turtle on
cutting it up could not be all laid the same season. The
whole number deposited by an individual in one summer
may amount to four hundred, whereas, if the animal is
caught on or near her nest, as I have witnessed, the re¬
maining eggs, all small, without shells, and as it were thread¬
ed like so many large beads, exceed three thousand. In
an instance where I found that number, the turtle weighed
nearly four hundred pounds. The young, soon after being
hatched, and when yet scarcely larger than a dollar, scratch
their way through their sandy covering, and immediately
betake themselves to the water.”
“ The food of the green turtle consists chiefly of marine
plants, more especially the grass-wrack {Zostera marina),
which they cut near the roots, to procure the most tender
and succulent parts. Their feeding grounds, as I have else¬
where said, are easily discovered by floating masses of these
plants on the flats, or along the shores to which they resort.
The hawk-billed species feeds on sea-weeds, crabs, various
kinds of shell-fish and fishes ; the loggerhead mostly on the
fish of conch-shells of large size, which they are enabled,
by means of their powerful beak, to crush to pieces with
apparently as much ease as a man cracks a walnut. One
which was brought on board the Marion, and placed near
the fluke of one of her anchors, made a deep indentation in
that hammered piece of iron that quite surprised me. The
trunk-turtle feeds on mollusca, fish, Crustacea, sea-urchins,
and various marine plants. All the species move through
the water with surprising speed ; but the green, and hawk¬
billed in particular, remind you, by the celerity and ease of
their motions, of the progress of birds through the air.”1
We shall add a few brief notices, chiefly to connect the
preceding observations, and such as follow, with the syste¬
matic names bestowed by naturalists.
Our first species is Chelonia mydas, commonly called the
green turtle, not so much by reason of its external colour,
as because its fat, beloved by aldermen, assumes, when the
creature is in high condition, a decidedly greenish hue.
This tint is by some regarded as derived from its marine pas¬
tures, particularly Zostera marina, or turtle-grass, of which
it is particularly fond. The shield of this species consists
of thirteen plates, which do not lie over each other after
the manner of tiles. Those of the central or upper line are
almost in the form of regular hexagons. The green turtle
is a reptile of gigantic proportions, sometimes measuring
six or seven feet in length, and weighing seven or eight
hundred pounds. Its flesh forms an agreeable and healthy
aliment to sea-faring men in most of the seas of the torrid
zone, and is still more highly prized by epicurean landsmen.
Its eggs are also most excellent as articles of diet. The
introduction of turtle into Britain, as an article of luxury,
is believed to be of no very distant date.
“ Of the sea-turtles,” says Catesby, “ the most in request
is the green turtle, which is esteemed a most wholesome and
delicious food. It receives its name from the fat, which is
of a green colour. Sir Hans Sloane informs us, in his His¬
tory of Jamaica, that forty sloops are employed by the in¬
habitants of Port Royal, in Jamaica, for the catching them.
The markets are there supplied with turtle as ours are with
butchers’ meat. The Bahamians carry many of them to
Carolina, where they turn to good account; not because
that plentiful country wants provisions, but they are esteem¬
ed there as a rarity, and for the delicacy of their flesh. They
feed on a kind of grass growing at the bottom of the sea,
commonly called turtle-grass. The inhabitants of the Ba-
1 Ornithological Biography, ii. p. 370.
20
li E P T I L I A.
Chelonia. hama Islands, by often practice, are very expert at catching
turtles, particularly the green turtle. In April they go in
little boats to Cuba and other neighbouring islands, where,
in the evening, especially in moonlight nights, they watch
the going and returning of the turtle to and from their nests,
at which time they turn them on their backs, where they
leave them, and proceed on, turning all they meet; for they
cannot get on their feet again when once turned. Some
are so large that it requires three men to turn one of
them. The way by which the turtle are most commonly
taken at the Bahama Islands, is by striking them with a small
iron peg of two inches long, put in a socket at the end of a
staff of twelve feet long. Two men usually set out for this
work in a little light boat or canoe, one to row and gently
steer the boat, while the other stands at the head of it with
his striker. The turtle are sometimes discovered by their
swimming with their head and back out of the water, but
they are oftenest discovered lying at the bottom, a fathom
or more deep. If a turtle perceives he is discovered, he
starts up to make his escape, the men in the boat, pursuing
him, endeavour to keep sight of him, which they often lose,
and recover again by the turtle putting his nose out of the
water to breathe; thus they pursue him, one paddling or
rowing, while the other stands ready with his striker. It
is sometimes half an hour before he is tired ; then he sinks
at once to the bottom, which gives them an opportunity of
striking him, which is by piercing him with an iron peg,
which slips out of the socket, but is fastened wdth a string
to the pole. If he is spent and tired by being long pursued,
he tamely submits, when struck, to be taken into the boat
or hauled ashore. There are men who by diving will get
on their backs, and by pressing down their hind parts, and
raising the fore part of them by force, bring them to the
top of the water, while another slips a noose about their
necks.”1
“ The sea-tortoises, or turtles, in general,” continues our
author, “ never go on shore but to lay their eggs, which
they do in April. They then crawl up from the sea above
the flowing of high water, and dig a hole above two feet
deep in the sand, into which they drop in one night above
an hundred eggs, at which time they are so intent on na¬
ture’s work that they regard none that approach them, but
will drop their eggs into a hat, if held under them ; but if
they are disturbed before they begin to lay, they will forsake
the place and seek another. They lay their eggs at three, and
sometimes at four different times, there being fourteen days
between every time, so that they hatch and creep from their
holes into the sea at different times also. When they have
laid their complement of eggs, they fill the hole with sand,
and leave them to be hatched by the heat of the sun, which
is usually performed in about three weeks.”
A still more gigantic species is the loggerhead-turtle
( Ch. caretta, Gm.), distinguished by fifteen dorsal plates, of
which the central are raised into a ridge. The upper por¬
tion of the muzzle is bent or beak-shaped, the anterior pair
of feet are longer and narrower than in the allied species,
and the two nails are persistant and better marked. It in¬
habits the tropical seas along with the preceding species,
but extends into nearer northern latitudes, occurring occa¬
sionally in the Mediterranean. In a commercial point of
view it is of little or no value, the flesh being coarse and
rank, and the shell of no estimation. It furnishes, however,
a useful lamp-oil. The loggerhead is said to be a bold and
voracious reptile, feeding on shell-fish and other animal pro¬
ducts, which it crunches with its strong bony beak. Al-
drovandus alludes to one which he saw exhibited alive in Cheioma.
his days in Bologna. He held a thick walking-stick to-
wrards it, which it immediately bit in two.
The imbricated turtle (C/?. imbricata, Linn.) is so nam¬
ed on account of the mode in which its dorsal plates, thir¬
teen in number, lap over each other, after the manner
of tiles. (See Plate I., fig. 4.) Its muzzle is more pro¬
longed than in many species, on which account it is some¬
times named the hawk’s-bill. Its mandibles are serrated.
It measures from two to four feet, and occurs in the tropical
seas. The flesh is disagreeable, and occasionally even dan¬
gerous, but the eggs are excellent; and its shield yields the
finest quality of that valuable material in the arts called tor¬
toise-shell. The lamellae or plates are thicker, stronger,
clearer, and more beautifully mottled than in any other spe¬
cies. The colours consist of an elegant undulation of white,
yellow, red, and rich deep brown; but the article is too well
known to require any detailed description. It is obtained by
raising the fine external coating from the bony portion which
it covers, by placing fire beneath the shell, which causes the
plates to start and become detachable. They vary in thick¬
ness with the age and dimensions of the individual, and
measure from an eighth to a fourth of an inch in thickness.
A large turtle is said to afford about eight pounds weight of
tortoise-shell; and Mr Schoepf states the range to be from
five to fifteen or twenty pounds, adding, that unless the ani¬
mal itself has attained the weight of a hundred and fifty
pounds, the shell is of little value.
“ In order,” says Dr Shaw, “ to bring tortoise-shell into
the particular form required on the part of the artist, it is
steeped in boiling water till it has acquired a proper degree
of softness, and immediately afterwards committed to the
pressure of a strong metallic mould of the figure required ;
and where it is necessary that pieces should be joined, so
as to compose a surface of considerable extent, the edges
of the respective pieces are first scraped or thinned ; and
being laid over each other during their heated state, are
committed to a strong press, by which means they are ef¬
fectually joined or agglutinated. These are the methods
also by which the various ornaments of gold, silver, &c. are
occasionally affixed to the tortoise-shell.”
“ The Greeks and Romans appear to have been pecu¬
liarly partial to this elegant ornamental article, with which
it was customary to decorate the doors and pillars of their
houses, their beds, &c. In the reign of Augustus this spe¬
cies of luxury seems to have been at its height in Rome.”2
“ The Egyptians,” says Mr Bruce, in the supplement to
his Travels, “ dealt very largely with the Romans in this
elegant article of commerce. Pliny tells us the cutting them
for fineering or inlaying was first practised by Carvillus Pol-
lio ; from which we should presume that the Romans were
ignorant of the art of separating the laminae by fire placed
in the inside of the shell when the meat is taken out. For
these scales, although they appear perfectly distinct and se¬
parate, do yet adhere, and oftener break than split, where
the mark of separation may be seen distinctly. Martial
says that beds were inlaid with it. Juvenal, and Apuleius
in his tenth book, mention that the Indian bed was all
over shining with tortoise-shell on the outside, and swelling
with stuffing of down within. The immense use made of
it in Rome may be guessed at by what we learn from Vel¬
leius Paterculus, who says, that when Alexandria was taken
by Julius Caesar, the magazines or warehouses were so full
of this article that he proposed to have made it the prin¬
cipal ornament of his triumph, as he did ivory afterwards
1 One of the most remarkable modes of capturing turtles is that mentioned by Mr Salt. When that gentleman was at Mosarn.
bique he received a present of a fish of the genus Echeneis, which the inhabitants assured him they were in the habit of employing,
bv securing it by a cord to a boat, after which it would fasten itself by a sucker on the head to the breastplate of the first turtle it
met with, and so firm ly that the latter might be drawn towards the boat and captured.
* General Zoology, iii. 91.
R E P T I L I A.
21
Cheloma. when triumphing for having happily finished the African
But of all the marine tortoises, the coriaceous turtle (Ch.
coriacea, Linn.) seems to attain to the greatest size, indivi¬
duals having been met with measuring eight feet in length,
and weighing about a thousand pounds. It differs from the
rest of its tribe, as well in its more lengthened form and
tapering termination, as in the softer or more leathery tex¬
ture of its shield, which is not formed into distinct plates,
but rather marked all over with small obscure subdivisions
or lineations, which do not interfere with the general smooth¬
ness of the surface. There are also three raised longitu¬
dinal ridges, which run from above the shoulders to the
posterior portion of the shield. (See Plate I., fig. 5.)
This species inhabits the Mediterranean Sea, has been fre¬
quently taken even along the outer coasts of France, and oc¬
casionally makes its way to our own island shores. In the
month of August 1729 a specimen was taken about three
leagues from Nantes, near the mouth of the Loire. It mea¬
sured above seven feet in length, and is said, when taken, to
have uttered a scream so loud and hideous as to have been
heard at the distance of a mile. Its mouth “ foamed with
rage, and exhaled a noisome vapour.” It no doubt, and very
naturally, objected to being lifted into a stinking slimy boat,
from its own beautiful translucent sea. In the year 1778 a
specimen was captured off the coast of Languedoc, which
measured seven feet five inches; and, in 1756, another was
> taken on the Cornwall coast, which, Dr Borlase says, “ mea¬
sured six feet nine inches from the tip of the nose to the end
of the shell, and ten feet four inches from the extremities
of the fore-fins extended, and was adjudged to weigh eight
hundred pounds.” According to Lacepede, the coriaceous
turtle is the species with which the Greeks were best ac¬
quainted, and he supposes it to have been particularly used
in the formation of the ancient harp or lyre, which was ori¬
ginally constructed by attaching strings or wires to the
carapace of one of these marine reptiles. “ We may add,”
says Dr Shaw, “ that the ribs or prominences on the back
of the shell bear an obscure resemblance to the strings of a
harp, and may have suggested the name of luth or lyre,
&y which it is called among the French, exclusive of the
use to which the shell was anciently applied.” This turtle
is reputed to be extremely fat, and it is eaten by the Car¬
thusians, although its flesh is coarse and bad.
Genus Chelys, Dumeril. Wide-mouthed turtles. This
little group resembles the preceding genus Emys in the feet
and claws. The carapace is much too small to admit of
the withdrawal of the head and limbs, which are propor¬
tionally large. The muzzle is prolonged into a little trunk,
but the most marked and peculiar character consists in
the deeply cleft transverse gape, which is not armed with
corneous mandibles, as in the other Chelomans, but rather
resembles that of the Batrachian genus Pipa.
The best known and most noted species is the matamata
( T. fimbria, Gm.), an animal of a very singular and rather
repulsive aspect, first described by M. Bruguiere.1 It mea¬
sures about a foot and a half in length. Its carapace is
oval, with raised pyramidal plates pointing backwards. The
neck and other parts of the body are furnished with pecu¬
liar projecting fringes, or wart-like appendages. This rep¬
tile is native to Guiana, and was once common in Cayenne;
but its numbers were long ago much thinned by the fisher¬
men, who prize it as an excellent and nutritious food. It
feeds on aquatic plants, and is said to wander by night to
some distance from the banks in search of pasture. The Sauna,
specimen described by M. Bruguiere was brought to him ''“■"V'—
alive, and was sustained for some time on bread and herbs.
It afterwards laid five or six eggs, one of which produced
a young turtle.
Genus Trionyx, Geoff. Soft turtles. These have no
plates or scales, but merely a soft skin enveloping their
carapace and plastron, neither of which are completely sup¬
ported by the bones, the ribs not reaching to the margins
of the shield, nor being united to each other except by a
portion of their length, and the parts analogous to the ster¬
nal ribs being replaced by simple cartilage, and the sternal
pieces, partly toothed as in the marine species, by no means
filling up the whole of the under surface. The feet, as in
the fresh-water tortoises, are palmated though not elon¬
gated, and only three of the toes are furnished with nails.
The corneous portion of the beak is clothed externally with
fleshy lips, and the snout is prolonged. The tail is short.
The species of this genus dwell in fresh waters, and the
flexible margins of their carapace are of use in swimming.
The Egyptian species or tyrse, the soft turtle of the Nile
(Test, triunguis, Forskal, Tr. TEyyptiacus, Geoff'.), some¬
times attains the length of three feet. Its shield is flattish,
and of a green colour, spotted with white. This reptile
devours young crocodiles the moment they are hatched,
and, according to Sonnini, is more serviceable in this way
than even the ichneumon.
An American species (Tr. ferox, Gmel.) inhabits the
rivers of the new world, from Guiana as far north as the
southern parts of the United States. It lies concealed in
reeds and rushes, seizes on birds and reptiles, preying also
on young caymans, and being in turn frequently devoured
by the elder members of that powerful family. It is it¬
self sought after as an article of food even by the human
race, its flesh being by some esteemed equal to that of the
green turtle. This species has been described as possess¬
ing considerable vigour and swiftness in its motions, and as
springing forward when attacked to meet its assailant with
fierceness and alacrity. It measures about a foot and a
half in length, and seems to have been first described by
Dr Garden in his correspondence with Pennant.2
Order IL—SAURIA. SAURIAN REPTILES.
In this order the heart is composed, as among the Che-
lonians, of two auricles and a ventricle, the latter being
sometimes divided by imperfect partitions. The ribs are
moveable, partly attached to the sternum, and are capable
of being raised and depressed for the purposes of respira¬
tion. The lungs extend more or less towards the hinder
portion of the body, and frequently enter far into the lower
part of the abdomen. Those in which the lungs are large
possess the singular faculty of changing the colour of their
skin, according as they are excited by their wants or pas¬
sions. The eggs are enveloped by a more or less consistent
covering, and the young are produced in the perfect state,
that is, they merely increase in size, without undergoing me¬
tamorphosis. The mouth is always armed with teeth ; and
the toes are furnished with nails, with very few exceptions.
The skin is clothed with scales, or with little scaly granules.
All the species have a tail, varying in length in the different
kinds, but almost always thick at the base. The majority
have four legs, although a few have only a single pair.
1 Journal d'Hist. Nat. 1792.
2 Phil. Trans. Ixi. 296. The chief works on the Chelonian reptiles are the following. J. G. Walbaum, Chelonographia oder bes-
chreibung einiger Schildkrceten, 1782. J. G. Schneider, Allgemeine Naturgcschichte der Schildhceten, nebst einen Systematischen berzekh-
nisse der einzelnen arten, 1783. J. 1). Schoepf, Historia Testudinum iconibus illustrata. A. F. Schweigger, Monographia Testudinum (in
the Archives de Kcenigsberg for 1812). Thomas Bell, F. It. S., Monograph of the Testudinata. J. Spix, Species Novae Testudinum et
t lianarum quas in itincre, &c., 1824. The various species are also enumerated by Mr Gray in his Synopsis Repiilium.
22
R E P T I L I A.
Sauna. The Saurian order of reptiles was included by Linnaeus
r°d« ^ under two genera, Draco and Lacerta. The latter has
v ^ v _ been greatly subdivided, in accordance with the number of
the feet, the form of the tongue, tail, and scales; and the
formation of several separate families has resulted from
the consideration of these important features. None of the
saurian reptiles are venomous, although the bite of several
of the larger kinds is to be avoided rather than otherwise.
They all appear to be what may be called carnivorous ;
that is, they feed on living prey. Many assume the torpid
state during the colder seasons of the year; but in their
more active condition they affect, according to the species,
a great diversity of situation ; some haunting obscure and
humid places, others rejoicing in a dry and sandy soil, ex¬
posed to the influence of the most radiant sun. Several are
aquatic; while many climb trees, or, avoiding “ leafy um¬
brage,” seek the surface of exposed and barren rocks. Their
form and outward adornment are as varied as their habits.
Some are remarkable for beauty of shape and brilliancy of
colour, while others present a repulsive aspect and a lurid
hue. Many are extremely small, entirely innocent, and na¬
turally familiar and confiding in their mode of life ; others
are of gigantic size, and distrustful and dangerous in their
disposition. How great the difference between the beauti¬
ful, bright-eyed lizard, which suns itself beside a cottage
window, and the huge cayman of America, stretched like a
blackened log along the desolate shore of some forsaken
river S
FAMILY I—CROCODILIDiE. CROCODILES IN
GENERAL.
The Crocodilidce take the first place in the Saurian or¬
der, a distinction to which they are well entitled from their
great magnitude and strength, and a ferocity which has ob¬
tained for them the appellation of the tyrants of the fresh
waters, both in the old and new world. They often attain
the size of ten and twelve feet, frequently that of fifteen
and twenty, and, more rarely, even that of twenty-five and
thirty. Inhabiting the margins of the mighty streams of
tropical climates, they are the terror of all who approach
them; they prey upon every animal which comes within
their reach ; and man himself is not free from their attacks,
for instances are by no means rare, both in ancient and mo¬
dern times, of their suddenly seizing upon human beings, and
carrying them off to their watery haunts. Hence these for¬
midable animals are never witnessed, especially in temperate
climates, but with the deepest interest. In the year 58 before
the common era, the edile Scaurus exhibited at Rome five
crocodiles from the Nile ; on another occasion, Strabo men¬
tions that the inhabitants of Denderah brought many to the
great capital of the world; but the most astonishing spec¬
tacle of this sdrt ever witnessed was when the Emperor Au¬
gustus caused the Flavinian Circus to be filled with water,
and there displayed thirty-six crocodiles, which wrere killed
by an equal number of men accustomed to fight with these
monsters. Popular curiosity continues unabated ; and the
intimate connection of the creatures in question with geo¬
logical investigations has more recently conferred upon
them a very different but not less important interest.
The Crocodilidae form an exceedingly natural group, close¬
ly associated by many common characters, of which the fol¬
lowing are the most striking. They all attain a great size.
Their tail is compressed laterally. The fore-feet have five Sauria.
toes ; the hind four, the three internal of which are furnish- Crocodili-
ed with nails, but all of them are more or less united by , ^ , i-
membranes. There is a single row of teeth in each jaw.
The tongue is fleshy, flat, and attached by nearly the whole
of its margin, a circumstance which led the ancients to be¬
lieve that crocodiles were destitute of this member. The
back and tail are covered with great scales or plates, which
are often pointed in their centre ; the scales on the abdomen
are not so thick and strong.
The nostrils of these amphibious creatures open at the
end of their snout by two small apertures, which shut with
valves. The lower jaw is prolonged behind the cranium,
which gives the appearance of motion to the upper jaw
when the mouth is opened, an idea entertained by the an¬
cients.1 Their external ears are shut at will by two fleshy
lips; their eye has three eyelids, two horizontal, like our
own, and the third, a membrana nictitans, capable of being
drawn from within outwards over the whole front of the
globe. Beneath the lower jaw, on either side, is a gland,
whose duct opens by a small slit a little within the lower
edge of the jaw ; it secretes an unctuous matter of a strong
musky smell, and is supposed by Mr Bell {Phil. Trans,
1827) to be a bait for attracting fish towards the sides of
the mouth. This gland, with others of a like nature situat¬
ed elsewhere, confers a smell which pervades the whole
animal. The vertebrae are to the number of sixty ; seven
are cervical, and these are so connected with each other by
bony processes that they impede lateral movements, so that
it is difficult for the animal to change its direction; and
hence, when a person is pursued, he may easily escape by
turning. Of all the Saurians, they are the only ones which
are destitute of clavicles. Besides the ordinary supply of
ribs, they have some which protect the abdomen without as¬
cending to the spine. Their lungs do not descend into the
abdomen, as in other reptiles of their order; and this, with
their heart of three cavities, where the blood from the lungs
does not mix with that from the body so freely as in the rest
of the Reptilia, associates them somewhat nearer to warm¬
blooded animals.
It would be interesting, did space permit, to enlarge upon
these physiological details. It is not a little curious, that in
the animals belonging to this group, two openings are found,
leading from the surface to the internal cavity of the abdo¬
men, a structure similar to that which prevails in a few ani¬
mals further down the scale. M. Geoffroy St Hilaire sup¬
poses that the superior energy of the crocodile in water is
due to this penetration of that fluid, and the consequent
conversion of the peritoneum into an additional respiratory
surface. Another singular circumstance is, that these ani¬
mals, as in some higher up the scale, are in the habit of
swallowing great stones. An officer in the Colombian navy,
who mentions this, tells us, that being somewhat incredu¬
lous on the point, he was satisfied of the fact by Bolivar,
who, in order to convince him, shot several alligators with
his rifle, and in the stomachs of all of them were found
stones varying in weight according to the size of the ani¬
mal. The largest killed was about seventeen feet in length,
and had within him a stone weighing from sixty to seventy
pounds. U pon their dispositions and habits we cannot greatly
dilate.
In relation to the geographical distribution of the Croco¬
dilidae, we may here remark, that they are entirely foreign
to Europe, and do not occur in New Holland, but are else-
1 The peculiar structure of the jaws, and the nature of their movement, among these reptiles, have formed the subject of frequent
argument. The fact, or rather the knowledge of it, although controverted by Perrault and Duverney, is as old as the time of He.
rodotus ; and Aristotle asserts that they can move both jaws : *(»sw,w£v»v olru ruv aiayavuv. “ Enfin, nous reviendrons encore sur la
circonstance, tout-a-fait particuliere, qui permet a la machoire superieure, ou plutot a toute la masse supe'rieure de la tete, de s’elever
en bascule, et de se mouvoir ainsi sur la machoire inferieure quand eelle-ci repose sur le terrain ou sur un plan fixe.” (Erpitologie
Geniralc, iii. 25.) See also Annales du Mus. ii. 311.
R E P T I L I A.
23
dae.
Sauria. where extensively spread over various regions of the earth.
Crocodili- 'pile caymans are peculiar to America, the crocodiles, pro¬
perly so called, are common to both worlds, and the gavials
have hitherto been found only in Continental India. The
following table will show the distribution of the family, and
the amount of species, in all the great divisions of our globe :
Asia.
Cayman 0
Crocodile 2
Gavial 1
Total species ...3
Both Asia
and Africa.
0
1
0
]
Africa. America. Doubtful.
0 5 0
1 2 2
0 0 0
1
2=14
Genus Gavialis, Cuv. and Geoff. We begin with the
very limited genus Gavial, which, so far as known, is con¬
fined to the old world, if not to the Asiatic continent. The
first description of one of these animals was given by our
celebrated countryman Edwards.1 Count Lacepede intro¬
duced the native name Gavial into our systematic works.
The most recent researches of Cuvier have scarcely suc¬
ceeded in determining whether there is more than one liv¬
ing species ; there appear, however, to be several fossil, and
hence additional interest is excited.
In this genus the snout is slender, and very much pro¬
longed ; the teeth are nearly uniform and alike; the fourth
of the under jaw, when the mouth is closed, locks not into
a foramen in the upper jaw, but into a lateral groove only;
the hind feet are denticulated on the outer margin, and pal-
mated to the extremity of the toes; and there is a deep
depression behind the eye.
G. longirostris, Cuv.; Crocodilus longirostris, Schn.; La-
certa Gangeticus, Gmel. The Great Gavial. The muzzle of
this species is almost cylindrical, and somewhat bent at its
extremity ; its head is singularly broad, especially towards
the back part; the length of its muzzle to that of its body
is as one to seven and a half. Its dental formulary is =
106. Its scales, as in all its congeners, supply excellent
specific characters. This animal appears to attain a great
size. Baron Cuvier received from Dr Wallich a specimen
of an individual captured near Calcutta, which was seven¬
teen feet long ; and from a fragment in the Paris museum,
it is calculated it must sometimes attain to nearly double
that size. Notwithstanding its great bulk, the very slen¬
der form of its muzzle renders it much less formidable than
the other and more numerous genus (Crocodilus), which also
frequents the Ganges. It feeds wholly upon fish, and is not
regarded as dangerous to man, a fact confirmatory of iElian’s
observation, that “ there are two kinds of crocodiles in the
Ganges, the one innocent, the other cruel.” Though it has
not hitherto been observed in other Asiatic rivers, it may
reasonably be supposed to exist elsewhere than in the
Ganges.
G. tenuirostris. Though the materials possessed by Ba¬
ron Cuvier did not enable him to come to a definitive con¬
clusion regarding the existence of the small gavial, yet upon
the whole he favoured its claims to being something more
than the young of the preceding species ; the existence of
some nearly allied fossil kinds favouring the conclusion.
There is no difference in the shape and arrangement of the
teeth or scales ; and the greater narrowness of the upper
and back part of the head, and of the orbital foramina, are
the only specific differences supplied. Its average size has
not been ascertained. Like the preceding, it frequents the
Ganges.
Genus Crocodilus, Cuv. The generic characters of
the true crocodiles are sufficiently distinct. They do not
possess the slender beak of the gavials ; the head is oblong,
and not half as broad as it is long ; the muzzle is oblong and Sauria._
depressed; the teeth, which are somewhat unequal in their Crocodili-
dimensions, are fifteen on each side in the lower jaw, and , ^ ,
nineteen in the upper; the fourth, which are the longest,
pass into furrows, and are not lodged in distinct foramina of
the upper jaw; the hind feet have usually a denticulated
crest at their outer margin; and the interval of their toes,
at all events the external ones, are palmated. There is a
deep hollow behind each eye.
Different species of crocodile are found in the hot regions
of Asia, Africa, and America. Many bear a very close re¬
semblance to each other, but about eight seem to be satisfac¬
torily established. These are, the species called chamses, or
temsach,—the common crocodile of the Nile; the biporcatus,
or double crested; the acutus, rhombifer, galeatus, and ca-
taphractus (Cuv.); to which are to be added the Gravesii
and Journei (of Bory de St Vincent). We begin with that
which has been longest, and perhaps is best known, the fa¬
mous crocodile of the Nile.
C. vulgaris, Cuv.; Temsach of the modern Egyptians;
Lacerta crocodilus, Linn. The length of the head of this
species is double that of the breadth ; the snout is very rag¬
ged and unequal, especially in the old; its eyes are more
asunder than in other species. Without entering into mi¬
nute details of the number and arrangement of the scales on
the neck, back, tail, &c. we shall only state, that six rows of
nearly equal-sized plates run all along the back, giving it
the appearance of mosaic. The colour is a bronzed green,
speckled with brown; underneath it is a yellowish-green.
These animals sometimes attain the enormous size of
thirty feet; “ and if we except,” says Lacepede, “ the ele¬
phant, the hippopotamus, some cetacea, and a few enormous
serpents, they have no equal in nature.” The female lays
her eggs twice or thrice in the year, but only during the
hot weather, and deposits them in the sand, where they are
hatched by the sun. They amount to about twenty ; and
are said to be hatched after fifteen or twenty days. They
are about twice the size of the goose’s egg, and it is stated
that the mother takes no charge whatever of them. Indeed
we believe that this maternal carelessness is characteristic
of the reptile race.
This species is frequently designated the crocodile of
the Nile, a name far from happy,—because other species
may inhabit its waters, and the one in question may be
more common elsewdiere. There seems, indeed, to be no
doubt that this same animal abounds in the Senegal and
other rivers of Western Africa; probably even in all the
rivers of that continent, and certainly in those of Madagas¬
car. Formerly it used to frequent the Nile as far down as
the Delta, but now we must ascend to its less frequented
portions before it is encountered. It was probably in re¬
ference to an individual of this species that Mungo Park re¬
lates the fact, that one of his guides across the river Gambia
was suddenly seized by a crocodile and pulled under water.
The negroes, however, are so familiar with these creatures,
and so skilful in meeting their attacks, that they generally
escape. On this occasion the negro thrust his fingers in the
crocodile’s eyes with so much violence that it quitted its
hold ; but seizing him again, he resorted to the same expe¬
dient, and with more success, as it again released him, ap¬
peared stupified, and swam down the river. Although its
flesh has a strong musky smell, yet the inhabitants of the
districts wherein it abounds frequently attach a high value
to it, as, according to the testimony of Herodotus, did also
some of the ancient Egyptians. A common method em¬
ployed by the Africans for destroying the crocodile is to
thrust the arm, well defended with ox-hides, down its throat,
and then to plunge a dagger into its vitals. The European
1 Phil. Trans. ] 75C.
24
R E P T I L I A.
Sauna, traveller will probably prefer avoiding such a close encoun-
Crocodili- j-er>
. d^‘ _ , Although we have hitherto treated of the common croco-
^~’v'^dile as one and distinct, yet it seems beyond doubt, that in
the wide habitat assigned to it, many varieties at least exist.
Cuvier remarks, that from the Senegal to the Ganges, and
even beyond it, there are crocodiles very like the common
one, which have the muzzle somewhat longer or narrower,
and have slight differences in the scales of their neck and
back, but which it is very difficult to distribute into distinct
species. He himself was not able to establish any; nor could
he with satisfaction adopt the four proposed by his eminent
colleague M. Geoffroy, viz. C. suchus, marginatus, lacu-
nosus, and complanaius.1 2 Of these, by far the most famous
is the suchus, which the last-named naturalist considers
identical with the sacred crocodile of the ancient Egyptians.
His theory is, that there existed a species of a small size,
having a narrow snout, and a disposition which was wholly
gentle and inoffensive, which affected the margin of the
river, and was thus the precursor of its inundations ; and
that it was to this species that the Egyptians rendered di¬
vine honours. The opposing view, advocated by Cuvier, is
that the favoured crocodile did not belong to any one species
or variety more than another, and, far from being less, was
even more ferocious ; but that it was the custom of the
priesthood to entertain, not a host of crocodiles, but only
one, or a few, of any given variety, under the name of
souchis, as the idol of a divinity who was represented by a
crocodile’s head; and that it was to this individual espe¬
cially that divine honours were paid, in the same way as
apis was the name of the sacred ox at Memphis, and mnevis
at Heliopolis. This favoured animal was always nourished
and adorned with extreme splendour, and after its death
was buried in the subterranean cells of the Labyrinth;
whilst throughout the district where these honours were
paid, the whole race of crocodiles were respected and pre¬
served. Cuvier assigns the following among other reasons
for the accuracy of his views, which we think conclu¬
sive : First, the crania of the buried and embalmed croco¬
diles do not belong to any one variety, but to all of them;
and, 2dly, there is the strongest historical proof that the
crocodiles in those districts where they were worshipped,
far from being less savage, were even more so than in
others, because from their impunity they became more
bold. Thus iElian reports, that in the district of Tyntyri-
tes, where they unsparingly destroyed the crocodiles, the
inhabitants could bathe and swim in the river securely,
whilst at Arsinoe they could not safely walk, far less draw
water from the river’s banks. The evidence that indivi¬
duals, when taken young, may be completely tamed, is equal¬
ly satisfactory. Thus Bruce relates, that on the western
shores of Africa, the negroes bring up crocodiles, which be¬
come so gentle as to let children play with them and ride
upon their backs; a fact which satisfactorily corroborates
the accounts of those religious processions, &c. in which the
sacred crocodile performed so essential and conspicuous a
part.
C. hiporcatus, Cuv. Dum ; C. porosus, Schn. Double
crested crocodile. This species is the common crocodile of
India and its archipelago, frequenting the Ganges and other
great rivers which empty themselves into the ocean, as also
those of Corea and China, Ceylon, Java, Timor, &c. It has a
strong resemblance to the Egyptian species ; but the cervical
scales are differently arranged, and the dorsal are smaller,
more numerous, and differently shaped. (See Plate I.,
fig. 6.) The appearance of the pores between the scales is
much more conspicuous than in the other species, and grows Sauna,
with their growth. Its colour is brownish, with black bands Crocodili-
on the back, and spots on the side. In the Paris museum v ^ -
there is one seventeen feet long, from the Ganges. In the
account of Macassar, or Celebes, we read, that in the great
river of that island, there are crocodiles so ferocious that
they do not confine themselves to making war on fish, but
assemble in troops to vratch the boats, and endeavour to
overturn them, that they may devour those who are in
them. It is the opinion in Java that these animals do not
devour their prey on capturing it; but bury it for a time
in the mud, that it may decay. This remark is so general¬
ly made of other species in different parts of the world, that
it would appear to be a prevailing habit among them.
C. acutus, Cuv. Dum. The slender-snouted crocodile, or
crocodile of St Domingo. This slender-snouted crocodile
is extremely common in the island of St Domingo, as well
as in Martinique, and the northern parts of South America.
Its most remarkable specific characters are the length of
the muzzle, which is bulged at its base; and the scales of
the back are differently disposed from those of the pre¬
ceding. The upper part of the body is of a deep green
colour, spotted and marbled with black; the under part is
pale green. Dr Descourtils states that this animal is more
flexible than is usually supposed, for it can introduce the
extremity of its tail into its mouth. On the same respect¬
able authority we learn that the males are not so numerous
as the females; that they fight furiously at the season of
reproduction; that the males are fit for generation at the
age of ten, and the females at that of eight or nine, their
fecundity not lasting more than four or five years,—a
statement which may well be questioned. The eggs are
deposited in spring, and hatched in a month. On issuing,
the young are only nine or ten inches long; their growth
continues for about twenty years, and some are as long as
sixteen feet. At the time of the escape of the young, the
female comes to scrape away the earth and let them out.
She conducts, defends, and feeds them, by disgorging her
own food for about three months, a space of time during
which the male would seek to devour them.
C. rhombifer, Cuv. Dum. Lozenge-scaled crocodile.
The habitat of this species has been ascertained only of late
years. It occurs in the island of Cuba, and probably inha¬
bits the other Antilles. Its specific characters are well
marked. Its chanfrin is extremely prominent, forming a se¬
micircle, whilst in the common crocodile it is only a gentle
elevation ; and the extremities are clad with much stronger
and more projecting scales than in the other species. Its
ground colour is green, bespeckled with small and very dis¬
tinct brown spots.
C, galeatus, Cuv. Dum. Helmeted crocodile. The
helmeted crocodile has been hitherto found only in Siam,
and is remarkable for tw7o bony triangular crests implanted,
the one behind, the other on the middle line of the head.
It has been taken ten feet long. C. biscutatus is now re¬
garded as an anomalous variety of C. acutus. C. cata-
phractus, the cuirassed crocodile, may be witnessed in the
museum of the London Royal College of Surgeons, and it
is very different, according to Cuvier, from all the others
described. The source from whence it was obtained is
unknowm.2 Its muzzle is longer and narrower than that of
the St Domingo crocodile, whose peculiar chanfrin it wants.
It is most easily distinguished by the armour on its neck ;
there are first two oval plates, then a row of four, then scaly
bands common to the neck and back, which together form
a cuirass as strong as that of any of the gavials or alligators.
1 These seem all to be now regarded as varieties of the common Egyptian crocodile,—C. vulgaris, Cuv. and Dum. See Erpetologte
Gtn6rale, iii. 104.
2 A specimen of a young individual was presented to the Paris museum as having been obtained from “ le grand Galbac, riviere qui
coule pres de Sierra de Leone.’’
II E P T I L I A.
Sauria. There still remain two other true crocodiles, described
Crocodili- by Graves,1 and which he regards as new; the C. Gra-
v ^ _ ^ves™ an<^ Journei of Bory de St Vincent. Both of them are
in the Bordeaux museum. The habitat of the former is
believed to be the Congo, and of the latter America. All
the bones of the Gravesii are as if pierced with small holes,
a character they possess in common with some of the alli¬
gators. Its head is of the shape of a slender isosceles tri¬
angle ; the extremity of the snout is rounded, and its sur¬
face covered with great obtuse tubercles, having no regu¬
lar arrangement. The ninth, tenth, and eleventh teeth of
the lower jaw are received into a furrow, as well as the
fourth. The colour of the upper part is a dark deep brown,
that of the lower a dull yellow. The snout of the Journei
is very slender, approaching to that of the gavials ; it is con¬
vex as well as long, and near its extremity is almost cylin¬
drical. The back of this species is of a deep yellowish
green; the flanks are yellowish, and the belly yellow.
Genus Alligator, Cuv. The alligators are by far the
most common representatives of this group in the new
world ; although, as wre have already seen, there are true
crocodiles in St Domingo, and probably in many other lo¬
calities. In most parts of America they are known by the
title of cayman, a name apparently of African origin, and
applied by the negroes, not to the alligators only, but indif¬
ferently to every species of the group. It does not seem
to be yet ascertained whether any true caymans are found
in the old world. Adanson thought he discovered one
in the Senegal; M. de Beauvais states that he saw one in
Guinea; and Cuvier thinks it most probable that they have
their representatives in our hemisphere. They possess all
the power and ferocity of the true crocodiles, and in many
places are found in astonishing numbers.
The head of the alligator is not so oblong as that of the
true crocodile ; the snout is broad and obtuse ; the teeth
are somewhat unequal, the number ranging from nineteen
to twenty-two on each side of each jaw ; the fourth of the
under jaw is received, not into a lateral furrow of the upper
one, but into a distinct foramen. Their feet are only semi-
palmated, and are not denticulated.
A. lucius, Cuv.; Croc. Cuvieri, Leach. Pike-muzzled
alligator. This is peculiarly the alligator of the southern
parts of North America, including Carolina, the Floridas,
and Louisiana. In the Mississippi it ascends as far as the
thirty-second degree north, a higher latitude than any spe¬
cies reaches in the old world. In these countries they fre¬
quent the muddy banks, and quite bury themselves in the
cold season, falling into a lethargic state before the setting
in of the frost.2 This sleep is so profound that they may
be almost cut to pieces without manifesting any sign of life ;
when the warm weather returns, they are soon roused in¬
to activity. According to Bose, their eggs are white, and
not larger than those of the turkey. They are good eat¬
ing, and are prized by the natives, though they partake of
the musky smell of the animal. As soon as they escape,
the young betake themselves to the water; but the vast
majority become the prey of turtles, fish, and amphibious
animals, not excluding the older of their own species.
During the first year they feed upon insects and very young
fish. Bose states that he preserved a brood of fifteen.
They ate only living insects ; and never captured them ex¬
cept when moving, upon which they darted at them with
great velocity. They appeared quite gentle when he took
them in his hand. At the end of the first year they are
still very feeble creatures; during the second they ac¬
quire their formidable teeth. The duration of their exist¬
ence is not precisely ascertained, but is supposed to equal
25
that of man. They never cast their skin ; and on acquiring Sauria.
their full size, few animals can injure them. They can fast Crocodili-
long. They live on frogs, fish, aquatic birds, on dogs, hogs, d0D'
cattle, and any animal they can catch ; when these go to 'v_''
the river to drink, they seize them by the muzzle or leg,
and draw them into the water to drown them. “ I used
often,” adds the traveller last named, “ to amuse myself,
bringing them from their retreats by making my dog bark.
Sometimes I used to advance and strike them with my stick,
at which they were little disturbed. They never thought
of attacking me, and deliberately retired when they found
their hunting promised no success.” Though slow on land,
they swim with great velocity. In Carolina they make deep
burrows, where they pass the whole winter, and even the
entire day in summer. Though usually met with on the
edges of rivers and lakes, they are sometimes also found in
ponds in woods. Bose often attempted to take them with
every kind of strong snare ; but these were invariably broken
to pieces. They are commonly taken with a strong hook
bated with a bird or small quadruped, and connected by a
chain to a tree. The Indians eat the tail only. At the
time of reproduction they fight furiously with each other,
and bellow as loud as bulls. They avoid the salt water and
proximity to the sea, because they are there exposed to the
attacks of sharks and the great turtle. In very warm dis¬
tricts in the Floridas, the rivers are sometimes quite crowd¬
ed with them, so that they almost interrupt the navigation.
The specific characters of the pike-headed alligator are
a flat snout, the sides of which are nearly parallel, uniting
in front in a regular curve. There are eighteen transverse
rows of scales on the back. The colour above is a deep
greenish brown, beneath white tinged with green, and the
flanks are regularly striated with the two colours. Catesby
has seen them fourteen feet long. Its hide, except at par¬
ticular spots, resists a musket ball; it is most vulnerable at
the inferior part of the belly, and round the eye.
The great alligator of North America certainly forms one
of the most remarkable features in the zoology of the-United
States. Whatever may be said of the African or South
American species, this huge reptile is usually neither shy
nor dangerous. Its ordinary motion on land is slow and
sluggish, a kind of laboured crawling, which leaves the track
of a lengthened trail upon the mud, like the keel of a small
vessel. When met with at any distance from the water, it
immediately squats, that is, lies as flat as it can, with its nose
upon the ground, and staring around with rolling eyes.
“ Should a man approach them,” says that accurate and ad¬
mirable describer Audubon, “ they do not attempt either
to make away or attack, but merely raise their body from
the ground for an instant, swelling themselves, and issuing
a dull blowing sound, not unlike that of a blacksmith’s bel¬
lows. Not the least danger need be apprehended; you
either kill them with ease, or leave them.” As if conscious
of their incapacity of self-defence, they seldom travel ex¬
cept during the night, being then less subject to disturb¬
ance, besides “ having a better chance to surprise a litter
of pigs, or of land-tortoises, for prey.” “ In Louisiana,” Mr
Audubon observes, “ all our lagoons, bayous, creeks, ponds,
lakes, and rivers, are well stocked with them ; they are
found wherever there is a sufficient quantity of water to
hide them, or to furnish them with food ; and they conti¬
nue thus in great numbers as high as the mouth of the Ar¬
kansas river, extending east to North Carolina, and as far
west as I have penetrated. On the Red River, before it
was navigated by steam-vessels, they were so extremely
abundant, that to see hundreds at a sight along the shores,
or on the immense rafts of floating or stranded timber, was
1 Ann. Gen. des Scien. Physiques, t. ii. p. 343.
a An individual, however, was observed by Messrs Dunbar and Hunter in latitude 32U north, in the month of December, while
the weather was very cold.
VOL. XIX.
I)
26
R E P T I L I A.
Sauna.
Crocodili-
dae.
quite a common occurrence, the smaller on the backs of the
larger, groaning, and uttering their bellowing noise, like
thousands of irritated bulls about to meet in fight but all
so careless of man, that unless shot at or positively disturb¬
ed, they remained motionless, suffering boats or canoes to
pass within a few yards of them without noticing them in
the least. The shores are yet trampled by them in such a
manner that their large tracks are seen as plentiful as those
of sheep in a fold.” It was in the Red River, it seems, that
so many thousands of these reptiles were killed, while a ma¬
nia prevailed for wearing boots and shoes made of crocodile
leather. This had fairly become an article of trade, many
of the squatters following for a time no other business.
But this leather, though handsome and pliant, exhibiting
all the regular lozenges of the scales, and capable of receiv¬
ing the highest polish, is not sufficiently firm or close-
grained to prevent for any length of time the ingress of
damp or moisture.
The power of this alligator lies chiefly in his jaws and
tail. The latter is admirably adapted to serve as an ally to
the former, because when curved into a semicircle it sweeps
everything towards the enormous mouth. “ Woe be to
him who goes within the reach of this tremendous instru¬
ment ; for, no matter how strong or muscular, if human, he
must suffer greatly if he escapes with life. The monster, as
he strikes, forces all objects within the circle towards his
jaws, which, as the tail makes a motion, are open to their
full stretch, thrown a little sidewise to receive the object,
and, like battering-rams, to bruise it shockingly in a moment.
The alligator, when searching after prey in the water, or at
its edge, swims so slowly towards it as not to ruffle the wa¬
ter. It approaches the object sidewise, body and head all
concealed, till sure of his stroke ; then, with a tremendous
blow, as quick as thought, the object is secured.” When
these giant reptiles are engaged in fishing, the flapping of
their tails upon the water may be heard at half a mile. In
the vicinity of Bayou Creek, on the Mississippi, there are
extensive shallow lakes and marshes, yearly overflowed by
the dreadful flooding of that mighty river, and stored with
myriads of fish of many different kinds—trouts, white perch,
cat-fish, alligatorgars or devil-fish. Thither, in the heats
of early autumn, after a burning summer sun has exhaled
a quantity of water, the squatter, planter, hunter, all pro¬
ceed in search of sport. The lakes are then not more than
two feet deep, with a fine sandy bottom, and much grassy
vegetation bearing seeds, keenly sought for by vast multi¬
tudes of water-fowl. In each lake is a deeper spot, called
the Alligator Hole, because dug and dwelt in by these rep¬
tiles. There they may be seen in numbers lying close to¬
gether. “ The fish that are already dying by thousands,
through the insufferable heat and stench of the water,
and the wounds of the different winged enemies constantly
in pursuit of them, resort to the alligator’s hole to receive
refreshment, with a hope of finding security also, and fol¬
low down the little currents flowing through the connecting
sluices; but no! for as the water recedes in the lake, they
are here confined. The alligators thrash them and devour
them whenever they feel hungry ; while the wood-ibis de¬
stroys all that make towards the shore. The hunter, anxious
to prove the value of his rifle, marks one of the eyes of the
largest alligator, and as the hair-trigger is touched, the al¬
ligator dies. Should the ball strike one inch astray from
the eye, the animal flounces, rolls over and over, beating Sauna,
furiously with his tail around him, frightening all his com- Croeodili-
panions, who sink immediately ; while the fishes, like blades v ^aB*
of burnished metal, leap in all directions out of the water, " v ^
so terrified are they at this uproar. Another and another
receives the shot in the eye, and expires ; yet those that do
not feel the fatal bullet pay no attention to the death of
their companions till the hunter approaches very close, when
they hide themselves for a few moments by sinking back¬
wards.” So disinclined are they to attack the human race,
that Mr Audubon and his companions have waded waist-
deep among hundreds of them. The cattle-drivers may be
often seen beating them away with sticks before crossing
with their beasts, for they will readily attack cattle, and
swim after such animals as dogs, deer, and even horses.
As soon as the cool autumnal air gives warning of the
approach of frosty weather, alligators leave the lakes to
seek for winter quarters, by burrowing beneath the roots of
trees, or covering themselves with earth. They speedily
become inactive; and to sit and ride on one, according to
Mr Audubon, who never rows in the same boat with Squire
Waterton, would now be no more difficult than for a child
to mount a rocking horse. The negroes kill them by se¬
parating, at a single blow, the tail from the body. They are
afterwards cut into large pieces, and boiled in a good quan¬
tity of water, from the surface of which the fat is collected in
large ladles. A single man often kills above a dozen alligators
in an evening, prepares his fire in the woods, and, by morn¬
ing, the oil is rendered. This oil is used for greasing the
machinery of steam-engines and cotton-mills ; and formerly,
when Indigo was made in Louisiana, it served (we know
not how) to assuage the overflowing of the boiling juice,
when a ladleful was thrown into the caldron. We would
have deemed the remedy more dangerous than the disease.
These reptiles emit a strong odour, and a large one may be
discovered by it at a distance of sixty yards. The smell
is musky, and, when strong, is insupportable. It is not,
however, perceptible when they are in the water, “ al¬
though I have,” says Mr Audubon, “ been so close to them
while fishing, as to throw the cork of my line upon their
heads to tease them.” He adds, that he has regularly
found in their interior round masses of a hard substance
resembling petrified wood. He has broken these with a
hammer, and found them brittle, and as hard as stones,
which they outwardly resemble. “ And as neither our
lakes nor rivers in the portion of the country I have hunt¬
ed them in, afford even a pebble as large as a common egg,
I have not been able to conceive how they are procured
by the animals if positively stones, or (if not) by what power
wood can become stone in their stomachs.” They are pro¬
bably concretions formed of indigestible animal substances,
or may themselves assist digestion.1 2 Mr Audubon has
often amused himself, when fishing where alligators abound¬
ed, by throwing an inflated bladder towards the one next
him in the water. It makes for ifr at once, flapping it to¬
wards its mouth, and trying to seize it, but in vain. The
light inflation floats aside, and in a few minutes many more
of these huge creatures are seen attempting to master the
delusive bladder, “ putting one in mind of a crowd of boys
running after a foot-ball.” A black bottle is also sometimes
thrown among them, tightly corked; but some one, more
active than the rest, will seize it greedily, and the crunched
1 The majority of authors who have written of crocodiles from personal observation, agree regarding the frequent cries of the
younger individuals, but seem to consider the older ones as seldom giving utterance to their feelings in that way. “ Au contraire,”
says Humboldt, “ le rugissement du crocodile adulte doit £tre tres rare, car ayant ve'cu pendant plusieurs anndes ou en couchant k
1’air fibre sur les bords de 1’Ordnoque, nous avons dte' presque toutes les nuits entoure's des crocodiles, nous n'avons jamais entendu
la voix de ces sauriens a taille gigantesque.” (Recueil d'Observ. de Zoologie, tom. i.)
8 “ Une particularity notable, mais qui parait assez constante chez les crocodiles, puisque tous les auteurs qui en ont fait 1’anatomie
en ont fait mention, c’est qu’on trouve dans leur estomac des cailloux de differentes grosseurs, qui semblent devoir servir h la tritura.
tion des alimens, comme les petits pierres qui se rencontrent dans le gesier ou I’estomac musculeux des oiseaux.” (Erpttologie Gcn£.
rale, iii. 27.)
K E P T I L I A.
27
Sauria.
Crocodili-
dae.
glass gives way within its ponderous jaws as easily as if
ground in a coarse mill.
During the season of love, in spring, the male alligator
is a fierce and dangerous animal, and possibly its observa¬
tion by different naturalists, at different seasons of the year,
may account for the contradictions which pervade the re¬
corded statements of its life and manners. When thus ex¬
cited, no man dares to swim or wade among them, or, as
Mr Audubon quietly observes, “ they are usually left alone
at this season,” a delicate piece of attention, which, we
doubt not, like other virtues, is its own reward. The fe¬
male prepares her nest about the first of June, choosing a
place about forty or fifty yards from the water, in some
thick bramble or cane, where she gathers leaves, sticks,
and rubbish of all kinds, carrying the materials in her
mouth as a hog does straw. As soon as a proper nidus
is formed, she lays about ten eggs, which she covers over
with more rubbish and mud; and proceeding in this man¬
ner, she deposits about fifty or sixty eggs in various layers.
The whole is then covered up, matted, and tangled toge¬
ther with long grasses, in such a manner that it is extreme¬
ly difficult to break it up. These eggs are in size like those
of a goose, but of a longer form, and are protected rather
by a parchment-like transparent substance than by shell.
Though they are not eaten either by hogs or vultures, the
female, now not only wary, but ferocious, watches near the
spot, visiting the water from time to time for food. The
nest is of course easily discovered, as she always goes and
returns the same way, and soon forms a conspicuous path
by the dragging of her giant form. According to Mr Au¬
dubon, to whom we stand indebted for these details, it is
not the heat of the sun which hatches the eggs, but that of
the nest itself,—a perfect hot-bed, from the mode of its for¬
mation. The young, as soon as excluded, force their way
through the walls of their putrescent chambers, and issue
forth all as beautiful and brisk as lizards. The female then
leads them to the lake, or more frequently, for greater se¬
curity, to some small detached bayou; for now the males,
their own ungentle fathers, will swallow them by hundreds,
and the wood-ibis and sand-hill cranes devour them.1
A. sclerops, Cuv.; Croc, sclerops, Schn. Spectacled al¬
ligator. This is more especially the alligator of Guiana and
Brazil. Its snout, though broad, has not the sides parallel, as
in the preceding, and is more triangular in its shape. The
lower edge of the orbits are very prominent, and a crest pro¬
jecting between them gives the appearance whence their spe¬
cific name is derived. Its colour is bluish-green above, and
irregularly marbled green and yellow, more or less pale, be¬
low. Azara speaks of a red variety, which is the most savage
of all. It acquires a great size. Cuvier has seen it fourteen
feet long; and in Surinam some have attained the length oi
twenty and twenty-four feet. In South America it extends
as far as 32° south latitude, the same distance from the
equator on the one side, as the preceding species reaches on
the other. It cannot run half so swiftly as man, and rarely
attacks him; but when the eggs are plundered, the female
defends them courageously. She lays, according oo some,
as many as sixty, and covers them with a few leaves or a
little straw. It passes the night in water, as Herodotus states
of the crocodile of the Nile, and during the day basks in the
sun on the banks. It has been stated, that in certain places,
when the morass is partially dried, the remaining water is
so crowded with caymans that nothing is to be seen but
their projecting backs.
It was probably over this species (the Yacare of Azara,
Jacare noir of Spix) that Mr Waterton obtained his far-
famed and well-known conquest; and of it also that he re¬
lates the following anecdote. “ One fine evening last year,
as the people of Angustura, said its governor, were saunter- Sauria. _
ing up and down here on the bank of the Oronoco, I was Lacertini.
within twenty yards of this place, when I saw a large cay- v ^ *
man rush out of the river, seize a man, and carry him
down, before any body had it in his power to assist him.
The screams of the poor fellow were terrible as the cayman
was running off with him. He plunged into the river with
his prey; we instantly lost sight of him, and never saw or
heard him more.” The negroes of South America sometimes
eat the flesh, notwithstanding its fetid and musky smell.
Azara tells us that they succeed in sticking it with an armed
harpoon, and after fatiguing it in the water, pull it out by
main force and despatch it.
A. palpebrosus, Cuv. Sony eyelid alligator. The muz¬
zle in this species is somewhat longer and less depressed
than in the preceding, and the margins of the orbits are
not projecting. The character, however, which at once dis¬
tinguishes it from all the other Crocodilidm is, that the
upper eyelid is wholly occupied with an osseous plate, divided
into three pieces by sutures. None of its congeners have
more than a small osseous particle near the inner angle. Its
teeth are ^ on each side of each jaw. The interval between
the two external toes is less palmated than in the other
species, from which it may be concluded to be more terres¬
trial. This animal inhabits Cayenne, and exhibits consider¬
able variation in its characters.
In addition to these clearly distinct species, naturalists
now recognise the two following, viz. the dog-headed cay¬
man, Al. cynocephalus, Dum. and Bib., and the black spot¬
ted cayman, Al. punctulatus, Spix.2
FAMILY II LACERTINIDjF. LIZARDS IN GENE¬
RAL.
The members of this family are characterised by a slen¬
der extensile tongue, terminated by two filaments, like that
of many snakes. All the four legs have five toes, separate,
of unequal size, especially the hinder ones, and furnished
with nails. The scales on the abdomen, and those beneath
the tail, are disposed in transverse parallel bands. A pro¬
duced portion of the skin, longitudinally cleft, and closing
by a sphincter, protects the eye, beneath the anterior angle
of which there is the vestige of a third eyelid. The false
ribs do not form an entire circle.
The species of this family are numerous and diversified,
and now constitute several generic groups. Like all other
reptiles, they are much more abundant in sultry than in
cold or temperate climates. “ I am positive,” says Mr
Bruce, alluding to the lizard tribe in general, “ that I can say
without exaggeration, that the number I saw one day, in the
great court of the temple of the sun at Balbec, amounted
to many thousands; the ground, the walls, and stones of
the ruined buildings were covered with them, and the va¬
rious colours of which they consisted made a very extraor¬
dinary appearance, glittering under the sun, in which they
lay sleeping and basking.” He adds, that the desert parts
of Syria, bordering on Arabia Deserta, abound with these
reptiles beyond the possibility of calculation.
The genus Monitor of Cuvier contains the largest spe¬
cies, some of them almost approaching to the size of croco¬
diles. They have teeth on both jaws, but none upon the
palate. The greater number have the tail compressed,
which aids their aquatic propensities. Their vicinity to wa¬
ter brings them into the frequent neighbourhood of croco¬
diles and caymans, and they are said to give warning of the
approach of these formidable reptiles by a shril1 whistle.
Hence probably their name of monitor. That of Tnpinam-
1 See “ Observations on the Natural History of the Alligator,” by John
naZ, ii. 270.
J. Audubon, Esq. in Edinburgh, New Philosophical Jour-
2 Erpetologie Generate, iii. 86-91.
28 R E P T I L I A;
Sauna, bis, which they often bear, was bestow'ed upon them by an guards (Sauvegardes, Cuv. the restricted genus Monitor of Sauna.
Ijtcertini- error of Seba’s, wdio, misconstruing a passage in Margrave, Fitzinger) have all the scales of the back and tail with- Facertini-
applied to these reptiles the designation of a tribe of people, out ridges. Their teeth are dentated, although those of ^
^ v first subdivision of the genus contains the Monitors the back part of the mouth become rounded by use or "" v'~w’
properly so called (genus Varanus, Dum.),1 distinguished age. Some have the tail more or less compressed, and
by small and numerous scales on the head, limbs, beneath the scales of the abdomen longer than broad. They dwell
the abdomen, and around the tail, the last-named portion by the banks of rivers. Such is the very large variegat-
being surmounted by a kind of keel formed by a double ed lizard (Z. tequixin), well represented by Madame Me-
range of projecting scales. The thighs wrant the peculiar rian at the end of her work on the insects of Surinam. It
range of pores observable among several other groups of inhabits Brazil, Guiana, &c. where it attains the length of
saurians. The species are confined exclusively to the an- six feet. It runs rapidly, and plunges into the water when
cient world, although Seba, and in later years Daudin, have pursued, although it can scarcely be said to swim. It feeds
stated the contrary. Travellers report that they prey on on insects, reptiles, the eggs of poultry and of other birds,
the eggs of water-fowl and on those of crocodiles, and that and is itself useful as an article of food. Others, distinguished
chameleons, young turtles, and fishes, have been found in by the name of ^4 wefw, scarcely differ from the preceding sec-
their stomachs. M. Leschenault de Latour even states that tions of the genus Teyus, except in the tail being rounded,
they combine together on the banks of lakes and rivers and no way compressed, and furnished, as well as the ab-
for the purpose of attacking such quadrupeds as come to domen, with transverse rows of square scales. The scales
assuage their thirst, and that he has seen them attempt to of the abdomen are rather broader than long. The species
drown a young stag which was trying to cross a river. He of this little group may be regarded as the lizards of Ame-
moreover found the thigh-bone of a sheep in one which he rica, that is, as representing in.’the new world the reptiles
dissected. which w-e so designate in the old ; but they differ in want-
The monitor of the Nile (Z. Nilotica, Linn. Varanus ing the molar teeth, the majority have no collar, and all the
Niloticus, Dum.), called Ouaran by the Arabs, has the scales upon the throat are small. Their heads also are more
teeth strong and conical, the posterior becoming rounded pyramidal, and they want the osseous plate above the or-
by age. The general colour is brown, with paler and darker bits. Several different species have been confounded un¬
points, forming various compartments, among which are der the title of Lacerta ameiva. The most generally dis-
transverse rows of large ocellated spots, which on the tail tributed is that named Teyus ameiva by Spix. (See Plate
become ring-like. The tail is rounded at the base, and II., fig. 2.) It is of a green colour, with vertical rows of
surmounted by a keel throughout its whole length. This white ocelli, bordered with black upon the flanks,
species grows to the length of five or six feet. A vulgar The genus Lacerta, Cuv., or lizards properly so called,
belief prevails among the Egyptians, that it is a young forms the second principal group of the Lacertine family,
crocodile hatched in drier earth than usual. Its figure is They have the back part of the palate armed with two rows
engraved on the ancient monuments of Egypt, probably in of teeth, and are further distinguished from the Ameivas and
connection with the fact of its preying on the eggs of the Safeguards by a collar beneath the neck, formed by a trans¬
crocodile. To the monitors also belong the animal called verse row of broad scales, separated from those of the ab-
scink (Z. scincus, Merr., but not of Linn., Var. arenarius, domen by a space, on which there are only minute scales,
Dum.), a small species, very abundant in Libya, Syria, as on the throat. A portion also of the bones of the crani-
Egypt, and Arabia, where it frequents rather dry and um projects over the orbits and temples, so that all the up-
sandy soils. It is called Ouaran el hard by the Arabs, per part of the head is provided with a bony buckler.
Its teeth are compressed, cutting, and pointed, the tail al- Lizards are remarkable for their lively movements, and
most without ridge, and a great part of it rounded. Its light and elegant forms. Their colours are also often bril-
habits are more terrestrial than those of the preceding, and liant. They pass the winter in a state of torpidity, and are
it may be regarded as identical with the land-crocodile of always active and vivacious in proportion to the power of
Llerodotus. The jugglers of Cairo pluck out its teeth, and the solar heat. They are often seen stretching themselves
then employ it in the performance of tricks. Many other on rocks or stones, however heated, and brandishing from
monitors are found both in Africa and India.2 time to time their forked tongues, a motion which in some
The second subdivision of Baron Cuvier’s monitors con- countries has induced the belief of their being venomous,
sists of such as have angular plates upon the head, and an unfounded idea, we need scarcely say, no creatures be-
large rectangular scales beneath the abdomen and around ing more innocent. They are by no means difficult to tame,
the tail. The skin of the throat is clothed with small scales, but in a state of nature we have usually found them very
and forms a couple of transverse folds. There is a row of timorous, although M. Bory St Vincent regards them as be-
pores upon the thighs. ing as bold as they are beautiful. “ Nous en avons vu plu-
This subdivision corresponds to the genus Teyus of sieurs saisir bravement au museau des chiens d’arret qui
Merrem, and several minor groups may be indicated in it. les avaient surpris dans quelque pelouse seche, et ne pas
For example, those called Dracaenae by Lacepede have the lacher prise malgre les secouses violentes et les efforts que
scales raised up into ridges, as among the crocodile tribe, faisaicnt ces chiens pour se delivrent.” They are by no
and forming crests along the tail, which is compressed. An means devoid of intelligence, and, though shy and fearful, are
eatable species {Mon. crocodilinus, Merr.) occurs in Guiana, decidedly inquisitive in regard to what takes place around
where it inhabits holes in the vicinity of marshes. It is them. When raising themselves as high as their little
said to swim with difficulty, to run rather swiftly, to climb limbs permit, in order to enlarge their “ visible diurnal
trees with facility, and to bite severely. It attains the sphere,” they often exhibit themselves to a quiet and con-
length of six feet, and is characterized by some scattered cealed spectator in attitudes of great beauty. They fre-
ridges of scales upon the back. Another and much quently show themselves more alarmed for birds and quad-
smaller species {Trac. bicarinatd) likewise inhabits South rupeds than for the human race, and they will even ac-
America. (See Plate II., fig 1.) The little group of safe- quire a certain degree of tameness when domiciled near
L he term Monitor is somewhat injudiciously applied to this restricted group, in as far as it does not contain the species originaDv
so named, that is, the grande tauvegarde d'Amerique^—Lacerta tequixin of Linn, and Shaw.
2 The genera Varanus and Heloderma form a distinct family (Varaniens) in the system of MM. Dumeril and Bibron. Of the former
genus, four are Asiatic, two are from New Holland, one is from the Papous, one from Timor, and three are of African origin. Heloderma
horridum (the sole species) is the only American member of the family.
KEPT
Sauria, the dwelling of a gently-disposed lover of nature. They
Lacertini- fear cats and children. Lizards change their skins, like most
d*' other reptiles, and the difference between the brightness
and brilliancy of their old and new attire has caused the
description by naturalists of many species which have no
foundation in reality. Although belonging to the cold¬
blooded classes, they are warmly attached to their females,
and frequent battles take place among the males for the
possession of their fair companions. The eggs are covered
by a pale-coloured membranous skin, and are hatched by
the heat of the sun, whether in the body of the basking
parent, or after exclusion. The eggs themselves increase
in size considerably, as the creature contained within deve¬
lops its parts. The reptiles of this group are never volun¬
tarily found in water. They dislike that element, and avoid
it, being bad swimmers; nevertheless, when pursued down
steepish banks, we have seen them swim across small ditches
to gain the other side and avoid persecution. One of the
most singular attributes of these creatures consists in their
extreme fragility. When running up a bank, or otherwise
attempting to escape from danger, if even a light glove or
handkerchief is cast upon them, several inches of the ter¬
minal portion of their body comes riggling off, and will
twist about among the grass for a considerable period with
great liveliness, while the body with its head and four legs
proceeds upon its way rejoicing. The tail even appears to
rest itself from riggling for a time, and if touched with a
pin, or otherwise incommoded, will then resume its move¬
ments with such an apparent character of discomposure, as
if it were expressing its dislike at the annoyance.
Although several anatomists, proceeding upon their too
exclusive knowledge of the higher classes of creation, in
which there is no reproduction of important parts, have
doubted the extent and universality of this inherent power
in reptiles, there is yet no fact in natural history more sa¬
tisfactorily determined. When we refer to the satisfaction
of the subject, we allude chiefly to the feelings of the ex¬
perimenter, those of the creatures in question being, we
fear, in such a crisis, but sparingly consulted. In nume¬
rous reptiles, the limbs, and a great portion of the poste¬
rior part of the body, may be cut off without more than a
temporary inconvenience, the removal being not only speedy,
but complete. Blumenbach, one of our highest modern
authorities, has repeated1 the experiment alluded to by
Pliny.2 He destroyed with an iron point the eyes of the
green lizard, and placing the poor creature in a vessel with
some fresh earth, which he deposited in moist soil, he found,
after the lapse of a brief period, that the organs of sight
were entirely reproduced,—“ in integrum restitutos.” Li¬
zards and reptiles of the genus Scincus, of which the tail
has been either intentionally or accidentally broken off, are
found to reproduce it speedily. The newer portion is re¬
cognisable externally by the form and colour of the scales,
and on dissection the vertebrae are found replaced by
pieces of a more cartilaginous nature, which probably ne¬
ver acquire the hardness or consistency of bone. Many ex¬
periments have shown the facility with which the limbs and
tail of water-newts, and other aquatic reptiles, may be re¬
produced.3 4 “ Qu’il nous soit permit,” says M. Dumeril,
rather winningly, “ de consigner ici une de nos experi¬
ences : nous avons emporte avec les ciseaux les trois quarts
de la tete d’un triton marbre. Get animal, place isolement
au fond d’un large bocal de crystal, ou nous avions soin de
conserver de I’eau fraiche a la nauieur d’un demi-pouce, en
ILIA. 29
prenant la precaution de la renouveler au moins une foi? Sauria.
chaque jour, a continue de vivre et d’agir lentement. C’e- Lacemm-
tait un cas bien curieux pour la physiologic ; car ce triton ^
prive de quatre sens principaux, les narines, la langue, les
yeux, et les oreilles, c’etait reduit a ne vivre exterieurement
que par le toucher. Cependant il avait la conscience de son
existence; il marchait lentement et avec precaution ; de
temps a autre, et a des grands intervalles, il portait le
moignon de son cou vers la surface de I’eau, et dans les
premier jours on le voyait faire des efforts pour respirer.
Nous avons vu, pendant au moins trois mois, se faire un
travail de reproduction et de cicatrisation telle qu’il n’est
reste aucune ouverture ni pour les poumons ni pour les
aliments. Par malheur, cet animal a peri au bout des trois
premiers mois d’observations suivies, peut-etre par le de-
faut de soins d’une personne a laquelle nous 1’avions re-
commande pendant une absence. Mais on a conserve le
sujet dans les collections du museum, et quand nous en
parlons dans nos cours, nous le faisions voir a nu pour qu’on
puisse constater la smgularite du fait d’un animal qui a vecu
sans tete, et surtout pour demontrer la possibilite et la ne-
cessite, ^meme chez les Batracians, d’une sorte de respira¬
tion par la peau.”1
We may observe, that in all the tentative experiments
which have been hitherto made upon this subject, it has
been perceived that these renewals are favoured by warmth
and retarded by cold. As an article of diet, lizards are
scarcely ever used in Europe, unless in years of peculiar
scarcity. Their flesh is said to possess a sudorific quality.
The species of this genus are numerous in many conti¬
nental countries (from fifteen to twenty different European
kinds being known to naturalists), but are few in Britain.
Of the former, one of the most beautiful is the ocellated li¬
zard (Z. ocellata, Daudin), well known in Spain, Italy, and
the south of France. It likewise occurs in Barbary, and,
generally speaking, over a great portion of the basin of the
Mediterranean; but being extremely sensible to cold, it is
not likely to extend into Kamtschatka, as some suppose. It
may be kept alive within doors in Spain throughout the
winter (it naturally then assumes the torpid state), but will
perish if dug up from its retreat, and exposed to cold ap¬
proaching to the freezing point. This magnificent reptile
sometimes attains the length, even in Europe, of two feet,
although its more usual length is from twelve to fifteen
inches. Its proportions are rather ample, that is, somewhat
thicker than usual, yet it is by no means devoid of elegance;
and although it can scarcely be said to be ornamented with
those tints of azure, green, and gold, which Lacepede has
lavished on it, with more of poetical fancy than precision, it
yet is pleasingly adorned. The back is black, beset with
numerous circles of green or yellow distributed in great
profusion, and showing like pearly beads upon a darker
ground. The head is beautifully marbled with green and
black, as are also the upper portions of the thighs and feet.
The tail is brownish, and all the under parts are of a green¬
ish yellow. “ Le lezard dont il est question est innocent,
mais hardi; il fuit au moindre bruit, non lachement, s’arre-
tant de distances en distances pour observer la cause de sa
crainte, et si on le presse de trop pres il se jette sur 1’assail-
lant en faisant entendre un certain soufflement qui rappelle
en petit celui qui font entendre les oies en colere. Comme
on en trouvait beaucoup aux environs d’une baronie de
Saint Magne, ou nous avons passe les premiers temps de
notre jeunesse, et que nous en avons ete souvent violem-
1 Specimen Physiologice Comparativoe, p. Si. 5 Hisloria Mundi, lib. xxix. chap. 38 ; and /Elian, edit. Schneid. lib. v. 47.
3 On this very curious physiological subject the reader may consult the following works: Plateretti, Su le reproducione delle gambe
e della coda delle Salamandre aquajuole. Scelt. de Opusc. interes. vol. xxvii. p. 18. Spallanzani, Sopra le reproduzioni animali, Fisica Ani-
male e Vegetabile, 1768. Murray, Commentatio de rcdintegratione parlium nexu suo solutarum vel amissarum, 1787- Bonnet, Sur la ri*
production des membres de la Salamandre aquatiquc, CEuvres d’Hist. Nat. et de Philos, t. v. p. 177-
4 Erpetologie Ge/ncraley i. 209.
30 B, E P T
Sauria. ment mordus en leur faisant la petite guerre que I’enfance
a<f«tini" ^vre ^ tou^ ce nous pouvons affirmer que leur dent
^ . no produit aucun mauvais effet apres la douleur du moment.
II suffit d’avoir vu un seul grand lezard vert, pour s’etonner
que Linne ait pu confondre cette espece avec le lezard
gris.”1
It has been observed by the prince of Musignano (C. L,
Bonaparte), that the Linnaean term agilis has been applied
by the naturalists of dilferent countries to that species of
lizard which was most common or best known in their own.
In this way several distinct kinds have been described un¬
der one name, and regarded as identical. The true L. agi¬
lis of Linn, is a northern species, which becomes rare in
Italy, but is sufficiently common in France, and extends
into Denmark and Sweden. Its history as a British reptile
has been clearly illustrated only within a recent period by
Mr Jenyns and others ; for the so-called L. agilis of the ge¬
nerality of British authors ought not to be so named.2 The
actual species varies as usual in colour and markings; but
the most common hue of the upper parts is sandy-brown,
with obscure longitudinal fasciae of a darker brown, and a
lateral series of black rounded spots, each marked with a
yellowish-white dot or Ih.e in the centre. “ It is more ti¬
mid,” says Mr Bell, “ and far less easily rendered familiar,
than the beautiful green lizard (L. viridis) of Guernsey and
the south of Europe. This latter species may be readily
tamed, and taught to come to the hand for its food, and to
drink from the hollow of the palm of any one to whom it is
accustomed. It will lie coiled up between the two hands,
enjoying the warmth, and not offering to escape. But it is
very different from the present species, which appears not
to be susceptible of any such attachment. It will indeed
attempt to bite any one who handles it, which 1 have never
known to occur with L. viridis. When in confinement it
ceases to feed, conceals itself with extreme timidity when
approached, and ultimately pines and dies.” Mr Bell has
bestowed the English name of sand-lizard on this L. agilis.
Our only other British species is the common viviparous
lizard (Z. vivipara, Jacquin, Zootoca vivipara, Bell3) con¬
founded with the true L. agilis by many authors. “ This
agile and pretty little creature,” Mr Bell observes, “ is the
common inhabitant of almost all our heaths and 'banks in
most of the districts of England, and extending even into
Scotland; it is also one of the few reptiles found in Ire¬
land. On the continent its range does not appear to be
very extensive; it is not found in Italy, nor, I believe, in
ILIA.
France, and is very probably confined in a great measure Sauria.
to our own latitude. Its movements are beautifully gracile Iguanidae.
as well as rapid; it comes out of its hiding-place during the '"'“""'V'"*1'
warm parts of the day, from the early spring till autumn
has far advanced, basking in the sun, and turning its head
with a sudden motion the instant that an insect comes with¬
in its view; and, darting like lightning upon its prey, it seizes
it with its little sharp teeth, and speedily swallows it.” This
species also varies greatly in its external aspect. The pre¬
vailing ground colour of the upper parts is greenish brown,
with a dark brown dorsal line often interrupted; a broad
fascia extends parallel with this on each side, commencing
behind the eyes, and extending to a greater or less distance
down the tail; and between these and the former are often
one or more rows of black dots, and similar ones occur in
many individuals in the broad lateral fascia. The under
side of the body and base of the tail are orange, spotted
with black in the male; in the female grayish brown with¬
out spots. In reference to Mr Bell’s excellent account of
this reptile, we take leave to add, that although it is no doubt
entitled to the character of an ovo-viviparous species, the
young are not always born at once from the body of the
mother, that is, already freed from the encumbrance of the
egg. We have several times kept gravid females in our pos¬
session, and on two occasions the membranous eggs were
deposited unbroken, and the young lay within them for from
two hours till a day and a half before they made their ap¬
pearance. Their movements, however, were visible through
the walls of their prison from the moment they were laid.
The more limited genus Algyra of Cuvier has the
tongue, teeth, and pores of the lizards; but the scales on
the back and tail are ridged, those on the abdomen smooth
and imbricated, and the collar is wanting. In the genus
Tachydromus, Daudin, the scales on the back, and those
beneath the tail and abdomen, are square and ridged ; the
collar on the neck is absent, as well as the pores on the
thighs, but on either side of the anal aperture there is a ve¬
sicle opening by a pore. The body and tail are both much
elongated. The species run with great swiftness. See
Plate II., fig. 3.)
FAMILY III—IGUANIDA:. IGUANAS.4
In this family the general form, the lengthened tail, the
free and unequal toes, resemble those parts in the lizard
1 Dictionnaire Classique d'Hist. Nat. ix. 339.
2 See Jenyns’s British Vertebrate Atiimals, p. 291 ; and Bell’s History of British Reptiles, p. 22.
3 Mr Bell assigns as one of the generic characters by which this species differs from his restricted genus Lacerta, that the nalate is
toothless, while it is armed in that last named. ^
4 The great family of the Iguanida; is divided by MM. Dume'ril and Bibron into forty-six genera, containing 146 species the de¬
tailed descriptions of which occupy about 550 closely-printed pages in the work of those authors. (See Erp'ttologie Generate tom. ivA
We regret that our restricted limits debar us from following their extended system, but we shall here present a tabular view of the
genera and amount of species, partitioned in accordance with their geographical distribution.
Genera. Europe.
Sub-Family Pleurodoxtes.
Poly crus o
Laemanctus ()
Urostrophus o
Nerops  
Anolis  
Corythophanes o
Basiliscus o
Aloponotus o
Amblyrhincus o
Iguana o
Metopoceros  
Cyclura o
Brachylophus 0
Enyalius o
Opryessa 0
Uperanodoij 0
Asia.
Africa. America.
Australasia and
Polynesia.
Total Species.
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
1
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
3
5
1
1
25
2
2
1
3
3
1
3
0
2
1
1
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
3
5
1
1
25
O
2
1
8
3
1
3
1
2
1
1
,0
54
0
55
Carry over.
K £ P T I L I A.
31
Sauria. tribe, and the eyes, ears, and other characters are similar,
Iguamdse. but the tongue is thick, fleshy, not extensile, and, instead
of being terminated by two filaments, is merely notched at
the extremity.
Sect. 1.—No teeth on the palate. Agamians, Cuv.
a. Tail surrounded by rings composed of large scales,
which are frequently spiny. Stelliones, Cuv.
In the genus Cordylus of Gronovius, not only the tail,
but even the back and abdomen, are furnished with large
scales placed in transverse rows. The head, as in the com¬
mon lizards, is provided with a bony buckler, and covered
with plates. In several species the points of the scales of
the tail form spinous circles, and there are also little spines
on the sides of the back, on the shoulders, and outside the
thighs. The last-named parts have a line of very large
pores. The Cape of Good Hope produces several species,
which have been long confounded in systematic works un¬
der the name of Lacerta cordylus, Linn. They are some¬
what larger than the common green lizard of Europe, and
like it feed on insects.
In the genus Stellio of Daudin, the spines of the tail
are of medium size, the back part of the head is bulged
by the muscles of the jaws, the back and thighs are here
and there beset with scales of larger size, sometimes spiny,
and little groups of spines surround the ears. The thighs
want the pores. The tail is long and pointed. Only a
single species seems distinctly known to naturalists,—St.
vulgaris (L. stellio, Linn.), a reptile very common in Egypt,
and throughout the Levant. It measures about a foot in
length, and is of an olive hue shaded with black. It is the
koscordylus of the modern Greeks (hardun of the Arabs),
and is not unfrequently named the rough lizard, in con¬
sequence of the unusually hispid appearance of the whole of
its upper surface. The Mahommedans slay this species
wrathfully, from a feeling that a peculiar downward incli¬
nation of its head is in mockery of their own reverential mo¬
tions while engaged in prayer. The species called stellio
by ancient writers was so named on account of its being
marked by spots resembling stars, and was probably fn no Sauria.
way allied to the genus to which in after times the title was Iguanid*.
applied. v ^
The genus Doryphorus, Cuv. (a name too nearly resem
bling one already bestowed upon a group of insects), re¬
sembles the preceding in the absence of pores, but the
body is not beset with groups of spines. (See Plate II.,
fig. 4.) The azure lizard (A. azurea, Linn.) may serve
as an example. The genus Uromastix, Cuv., may be
described as composed of stellions, of which the hind head
is not inflated ; all the scales of the body small, smooth, and
uniform, except those of the upper surface of the tail, which
are large, spiny, and projecting. There is a series of pores
upon the thighs. Stellio spinipes of Daudin is a Uromas¬
tix. It is found in the deserts which encompass Egypt,
and is supposed by Belon, although without sufficient proof,
to have been the land-crocodile of the ancients. It measures
from two to three feet, has an inflated body of a fine grass-
green colour, with small spines upon the thighs, as well as
on the upper portion of the tail.
b. Scales on the tail imbricated. Agamce, Daud.
In the ordinary or restricted genus Agama, scales raised
into points or tubercles beset different parts of the body,
and especially the ears, with spiny projections, isolated or
in groups. There is sometimes a row upon the nape of the
neck, but not forming a compressed crest as in Calotes.
The skin of the throat is loose, transversely folded, and
susceptible of dilatation. A species from New Holland
(Ag. barbata, Cuv.) is remarkable for its size and extraor¬
dinary formation. A series of large spiny scales, disposed
in transverse bands, prevails along the back and tail. The
throat, often much inflated, is furnished with long pointed
scales, forming a kind of beard-like appendage ; and similar
scales beset the sides, and form two oblique crests behind
the ears. There are yellow spots upon the abdomen, bor¬
dered with black. Another of this genus is the muricated
lizard of Shaw (Z. muricatd), likewise a native of New
Holland. In some the body is enlarged or inflated, so as
Genera. Europe.
Brought over 0
Leiosaurus 0
Hypsibatus 0
Holotropis 0
Proctotretus  0
Tropidolepis 0
Phry nosoma 0
Callisaurus  0
Tropidogaster  0
Microlophus  0
Ecphymotus ...0
Stenocercus 0
Strobilurus  0
Trachycyclus 0
Oplurus 0
Doryphorus 0
Sub-Family Achodontes.
Istiurus 0
Calotes 0
Lophyrus 0
Lyriocephalus 0
Otocryptis 0
Ceratophora 0
Sitana 0
Chlamydosaurus 0
Draco 0
Leiolepis 0
Grammatophora 0
Agama 0
Phrynocephalus  0
Stellio 1
Uromastix    0
Asia.
1
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
2
5
4
1
1
1
1
0
8
1
0
o
3
J
1
Africa.
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
America.
54
2
2
2
10
8
3
1
1
4
1
1
1
1
o
l
Australasia and
Polynesia.
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
Total Species.
55
o
2
2
10
8
3
1
1
4
1
1
l
1
2
1
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
8
1
0
3
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
1
0
0
0
0
0
0
1
0
0
4
0
0
0
l
3
5
4
1
i
l
I
1
8
1
4
10
4
2
5
32
12
04
146
32
R E P T 1 L I A.
Saura. to appear orbicular, as in A. orbicularis, a South American
Iguanidae. reptile, which, from its thickened form and broadened head,
seems at first sight a connecting link between the frogs and
lizards.
The genus Trapelus, Cuv., has the teeth and general form
of Agama, but the scales are small and spineless. There
are no pores on the thighs. T. Egyptius, Geoff., is a small
species, in which the body is sometimes inflated. It can
change its colour even more rapidly than the chameleon.
This genus is not easily distinguished from some thick and
slightly spined species of Agarna, to which indeed the ge¬
nera Leiolepis, Tropidolepis, and Leposoma, are nearly allied,
and for the descriptive characters of which we may refer
the reader to systematic works. The genus Calotes, Cuv.,
differs from Agama in being regularly covered with scales
disposed tile-ways, often keeled and pointed, as well on the
body as on the limbs, and tail, which is of great length.
The scales on the middle of the back are more or less rais¬
ed and compressed, forming a crest or ridge of variable ex¬
tent. There are neither wattles nor pores upon the thighs,
—characters which sufficiently distinguish them from the
Iguanas proper. The best-known species is that called
the galeot lizard (A. calotes, Linn.), of a variable colour,
but usually of a fine light blue, with transverse lines of
white upon the sides. There are two rows of spines behind
the ear, and a lengthened ridge along the back. Its eggs
are fusiform, or spindle-shaped. This curious reptile is
native to the East Indies, and is called chameleon in the Mo¬
luccas, though it scarcely changes its colour. It is said to
wander about upon the roofs of houses in quest of spiders;
and Lacepede observes that it is reported to prey even on
rats, and to fight with serpents. When out of temper, its
throat becomes so inflated as to give it a frightful aspect.
If authors are correct, its distribution must be very exten¬
sive, as it is said to occur not only in the East Indies, but
in Arabia and Barbary. It certainly, however, does not in¬
habit Spain, as some have said. In the genus Lophyrus,
Dumeril, the scales of the body resemble those of Agama,
and the palisade-like ridge upon the back is even higher
than in Calotes. The tail is compressed. To this genus
belongs Agama gigantea of Khul, remarkable for the height
of, its crest above the neck. Two bony ridges continued
from the muzzle terminate in a point on each side above
the eye, and join upon the temples. It is a native of India.
In Lyriocephaujs, Merrem, we find a species in which
the bony crest above the eyes is even more marked than in
the preceding, and terminates behind on each side in a sharp
point. This strange reptile is found in Bengal and other
parts of the East, and is said to live on grain. (See Plate
n., fig. s.) „ , ,
The preceding generic groups, from Agama downwards,
are all more or less allied to the Agamce of Daudin. We
now proceed to a brief consideration of certain genera, of
which the relationship is more remote.
The genus Istiurus of Cuvier is distinguished by an
elevated cutting crest, which extends to a portion of the
tail, and is supported by the high spinal processes of the
vertebrae. This crest is scaly like the rest of the body,
and the scales of the abdomen and tail are small, and rather
of a square form. There are no teeth on the palate, but
those of the other parts of the mouth are strong, compress¬
ed, and without dentation. The thighs bear a row of pores.
The skin of the throat is loose, but does not form a dew¬
lap. To this genus belongs that very remarkable animal
the Amboyna lizard (A. Amboinensis, Gm.), first described
by Valentyn, and afterwards with great accuracy and an
excellent figure by Dr Albert Schlosser in 1768. The
back is spined, but the regular ridge only commences at
the base of the tail, over a portion of which it extends, like
a broad upright fin. The head and neck are green, va¬
ried by transverse whitish undulations ; the back and tail
are brown, with a slight cast of blue or purple; and the Sauna,
sides and abdomen are grayish, spotted by means of round Iguanidae.
white scales. It resides, according to Valentyn, in the Y
vicinity of fresh waters, and is frequently observed on the
banks of rising grounds as well as on the lowlier kinds of
shrubs which vegetate near the water, but does not ascend
the taller trees. When disturbed by the approach of man
or beast, it instantly dives, and hides itself among the rocks
or stones beneath the banks. When captured, it does not in
any way defend itself, but seems stupified. It may be caught
by a noose or snare, and its flesh is said to be white and
sweet, although of a penetrating odour. It is highly esteemed
as food by many, and is itself accustomed to prey both on
insects and vegetable substances. It sometimes attains a
length of nearly four feet.
The genus Draco, Linn., may be distinguished at a
glance from all other Saurian reptiles, by the singular pecu¬
liarity of six false ribs, which, instead of conforming as usual
to the shape of the body, extend from it at right angles,
and supporting a produced portion of the skin, present the
appearance of a pair of wings. They support the animal in
the air, as it leaps from branch to branch, but have no pro¬
pelling power, and so cannot raise it in the least degree.
In relation to their other characters, these so-called dragons
are of small size, and covered all over by imbricated scales,
of which those on the tail and limbs are keeled. The tongue
is fleshy, not very extensile, and slightly notched. Be¬
neath the throat there is a long pointed dewlap, supported
by the tail of the hyoid bone; and on its sides are two
others of smaller size, sustained by the horns of the same
bone. The tail is long; there is a small dentation on the
nape of the neck; and the thighs have no pores. Each jaw
is furnished with four small incisor teeth, with a pair of
long-pointed canines, and twelve triangular three-lobed
grinders. The genus may be said to combine the scales
and dewlaps of the Iguanas, with the head and teeth of the
Steilions. (See Plate II., fig. 6.)
All the known species of Draco inhabit the East Indies,
and have derived their generic appellation from their sup¬
posed resemblance to the fictitious Dragons of antiquity.
In all ages, and in most countries, the imagination of timid
or fantastic men has produced a belief in the existence of
fabulous beings, of monstrous forms and irresistible fero¬
city, which carried devastation into provinces, guarded the
entrance to sacred places, or watched over “ sunless heaps”
of hidden gold. The heroic history of Greece, and the
darker superstitions of the Germanic people, are alike per¬
vaded by these fond beliefs. “ Rendered celebrated,” says
Lacepede, “ by the songs of Greece and Rome, the prin¬
cipal ornament of pious fables imagined in more recent
times, conquered by heroes, and even by youthful heroines,
who were contending for a divine law, and adopted by a
second mythology, which placed the fairies on the throne of
the enchantress of old, the Dragon became the emblem of
the splendid actions of valiant knights, and has enlivened
modern as it animated ancient poetry. Proclaimed by the
severe voice of history, everywhere described, everywhere
celebrated, everywhere dreaded ; exhibited under all forms,
always clothed with tremendous power, and immolating his
victims by a single glance; transporting himself through
the midst of clouds with the rapidity of lightning, dissi¬
pating the darkness of night by the terrific splendour of
his glaring eyes, uniting the agility of the eagle, the strength
of the lion, and the magnitude of the giant serpent; some¬
times presented under a human figure, endowed with an
intelligence almost divine, and adored, even in our own
days, in the great empires of the East,— the Dragon, in
short, has been all in all, and everywhere to be lound, ex¬
cept in nature.”
The existence of these animals has not been altogether
discredited even in modern times. About the middle of
R E P T I L I A.
33
Sauria. last century, a Hamburg merchant greatly prided himself
Iguatudae. on t]ie possession of a famous dragon, which he valued at
v 10,000 florins. It was however discovered by the pene¬
trating eye of the then youthful Linnaeus to be a gross de¬
ception, formed by a combination of the skins of snakes,
the teeth of weasels, and other absurd and heterogeneous
elements, “ non Naturae sed artis opus eximium.” It is
said that the great Swedish naturalist was obliged to flee
the city to avoid the wrath of the enraged proprietor. A
similar fraud seems to have been practised in our own coun¬
try towards the close of the seventeenth century, and is thus
related by Dr Grainger, from a note of Dr Zachary Grey,
in his edition of Hudibras. “ Mr Smith of Bedford ob¬
serves to me, on the word dragon, as follows: Mr Jacob
Robart, botany professor1 of Oxford, did, about forty years
ago, find a dead rat in the Physic Garden, which he made
to resemble the common picture of dragons, by altering its
head and tail, and thrusting in taper sticks, which distend¬
ed the skin on each side, till it mimicked wings. He let it
dry as hard as possible. The learned immediately pro¬
nounced it a dragon; and one of them sent an accurate
description of it to Dr Magliabechi, librarian to the Grand
Duke of Tuscany ; several copies of verses were wrote on
so rare a subject; but at last Mr Robart owned the cheat;
however, it was looked upon as a masterpiece of art, and as
such deposited in the museum, or anatomy school, where I
saw it some years after.”
We need hardly here observe, that the actual dragons, or
Dracories of naturalists, are harmless animals, of small size
though extraordinary forms, which inhabit chiefly the
insular forests of the Indian Ocean. (See Plate II., fig.
6.) In these umbrageous places they pursue their insect
prey, descending but rarely to the ground, on which they
walk with difficulty. According to Van Ernest, a Dutch
naturalist, they couple among the branches, and the female
deposits her eggs in hollow trees, under favour of a south
exposure. We are doubtful regarding their amphibious
propensities, as reported by M. Palisot de Beauvois, who
remarked one in the kingdom of Benin, which he was un¬
able to procure, because it was swimming in the water. Now
Baron Cuvier states that “ les especes connues viennent
toutes des hides Orientales."
Three distinct species of Draco are described by M.
Daudin-, who was the first to discriminate their characters.
D. lineatus (volans, Linn.) has the body varied above with
blue and gray, the wings brown, with longitudinal stripes
of white. I), viridis is green, the wings gray, with brown
bands. This is the species described by Seba under the
name of winged, dragon of America, and afterwards figured
by that author as the flying dragon of Africa, in neither of
which countries is it ever found. It is said by Bontius to
be not uncommon in Java, where it will shoot from tree to
tree for a distance of thirty yards, producing a perceptible
noise by the vibration of its wings. With a view to render
itself specifically lighter, it inflates its yellowish goitres when
it flies. D.fuscus is brown above, paler beneath ; the wings
likewise brown. Eight species are now known to natu¬
ralists.
The genus Sitana, Cuv., possesses the teeth of the pre¬
ceding ; the limbs and body are covered with scales imbri¬
cated and keeled, the thighs are without pores, but the false
ribs are not expanded. The species are distinguished by an
enormous dewlap, which extends as far as the middle of
the abdomen, and is more than twice the height of the body.
We know not that there is any other described than the
Pondicherry species {Sit. Ponticeriana), a small reptile of
a fawn-colour, with a range of large rhomboidal spots along
the back. (See Plate II., fig. 7.)
Sect. 2.— Teeth on the Palate.
Genus Iguana, Cuv. Iguanas properly so called. These
have the body and tail covered with small imbricated scales.
A row of spines or raised scales, compressed and pointed,
prevails along the back; and beneath the throat there is a
compressed and pendant dewlap, or gular pouch, of which
the margin is supported by a cartilaginous production of
the hyoid bone. The thighs bear a line of tubercular pores
like those of lizards, and the head is covered with plates.
Each jaw supports a range of compressed triangular teeth
with dentated cutting edges, and there are moreover two
small rows of teeth on the posterior margin of the palate.
I he common iguana (/. tuberculata, Laur., Lac. iguana,
Linn.) is naturally of a greenish-yellow colour above, mottled
with pure green, the tail ringed with brown ; the under
parts of a paler hue. The scales of the dorsal crest are
large and spinous, and there is a conspicuous rounded plate
beneath the tympanum, at the angle of the jaws. The sides
of the neck bear some pyramidal scales mingled with the
others, and the anterior edge of the dewlap is dentated
like the back. This species measures from four to five feet
in length, and is extensively spread over many of the warmer
countries of America, where it is held in high esteem as an
article of diet, though by many regarded as by no means
healthful. It dwells chiefly among trees, feeding on fruits,
grain, and leaves, and is sometimes seen to enter the water.
The female deposits her eggs in the sand. They equal in
size those of a pigeon, have scarcely any albumen, and afford
excellent eating. The common method of catching this
reptile is by casting a noose over its head, and then draw¬
ing it from its position. It seldom makes an effort to escape,
but stands staring at its antagonist, at the same time inflat¬
ing its throat in a most extraordinary manner.
“ Guanas,” says Catesby, “ are of various sizes, from two
to five feet in length ; their mouths are furnished with ex¬
ceeding small teeth, but their jaws armed with a long beak,
with which they bite with great strength; they inhabit warm
countries only, and are rarely to be met with anywhere north
or south of the tropics. Many of the Bahama Islands abound
with them, where they nestle in hollow rocks and trees ;
their eggs have not a hard shell, like those of alligators, but
a skin only, like those of a turtle, and are esteemed a good
food. They lay a great number of eggs at a time in the
earth, which are there hatched by the sun’s heat. These
guanas are a great part of the subsistence of the inhabitants
of the Bahama Islands, for which purpose they visit many
of the remote hayes and islands, in their sloops to catch
them, which they do by dogs trained up for that purpose,
which are so dexterous as not often to kill them, which, if
they do, they serve only, for present spending ; if otherwise,
they sew up their mouths to prevent their biting, and put
them into the hold of their sloop till they have catched a
sufficient number, which they either carry alive for sale to
Carolina, or salt and barrel up for the use of their families
at home. These guanas feed wholly on vegetables and
fruit, particularly on a kind of fungus growing at the roots
of trees, and on the fruits of the different kinds of annonas.
Their flesh is easy of digestion, delicate, and well tasted ;
they are sometimes roasted ; but the more common way is
to boil them, taking out the leaves of fat, which are melted
and clarified, and put into a calabash or dish, into which
they dip the flesh of the guana as they eat it. It is remark¬
able that this fat, which adheres to the inside of the abdo¬
men, imbibes the colour of the fruit the animal eats last,
which I have frequently seen tinged of a pale red, yellow,
or sometimes of a purple colour, which last was from eating
theprunus maritima, which fruit, at the same time, I took out
Sauria
Iguanid*
VOL. XIX.
1 He was rather superintendent of the garden than professor properly so railed.
E
34
R E P T I L I A.
Sauria. of them. Though they are not amphibious, they are said
Iguanidae. to keep under water above an hour. When they swim, they
k use not their feet, but clap them close to their body, and
guide themselves with their tails ; they swallow all they eat
whole. They cannot run fast, their holes being a greater
security to them than their heels. They are so impatient
of cold that they rarely appear out ol their holes but when
the sun shines.”
“ The guana,” observes Browne, in his .Natural History
of Jamaica, “ like most of the tribe, lives a very considerable
time without food, and changes its colour with the weather,
or the native moisture of its place of residence. I have
kept a grown guana about the house for more than two
months; it was very fierce and ill natured at the beginning,
but after some days it grew more tame, and would at length
pass the greatest part of the day upon the bed or couch,
but it went out always at night. I have never observed it
to eat anything, except what imperceptible particles it had
lapped up in the air; for it frequently threw out its forked
tongue, like the cameleon, as it walked along. The flesh
of this creature is liked by many people, and frequently
served up in fricassees at their tables, in which state they
are often preferred to the best fowls. rIhe guana may be
easily tamed while young, and is both an innocent and a
beautiful creature in that state.”
The horned iguana of St Domingo {Jg- cornuta, Cuv.)
is distinguished from the common kind by an osseous coni¬
cal point between the eyes, and two raised scales upon the
nostrils. The neck is not tuberculated. This species mea¬
sures about four feet in length, and is frequently found on
the hills of St Domingo, between Artibonite and Gonaiyes.
It lives on fruits, insects, and small birds, which it seizes
with surprising agility, and during the day it couches on
trees and rocks to watch for its prey. ^ During the night,
and throughout the greatest heats of the hot season, it
retires among the chambered rocks, or into the hollows
of old trees, and there passes many months in a state
of lethargy. This iguana is considered by the negroes as a
great delicacy, and they accordingly search for it with avi¬
dity. According to the report of the colonists, its flesh re¬
sembles in flavour that of the roe-buck, and the maroon
dogs make great slaughter among these reptiles.1
The naked necked iguana (Ig- nudicollis, Cuy.) re¬
sembles the preceding species in its dorsal crest, but it does
net possess either the large plates beneath the tympanum,
nor the scattered tubercles on the sides of the neck, lire
upper part of the cranium is furnished with gibbous plates,
the occiput is tubercular, and the dewlap or gular pouch
is slightly dentated, and only on its anterior portion. Its
native regions are Brazil and Guadaloupe, not India, as
Laurenti supposes. (See Plate II., fig- 8.) Several other
species are described by naturalists.
In the genus Ophryessa, Boie, the scales are small and
imbricated ; a dorsal crest, not greatly projecting, is prolong¬
ed upon the tail, which is compressed. T he teeth resemble
those of the preceding genus, but there is neither dewlap
nor pores. The supercilious lizard of the older authors
( Oph. svperciliosa) may be named as an example. It is an
American species, of a fawn-colour, with a festooned band
of brown along the flanks, and measures from twelve to
sixteen inches. It derives its specific name fi’om a pecu¬
liar membranous ridge which occupies the region of the
eyebrow.
The genus Basiliscus, Daudin, has the scales of small
size, and the raised ridge on the back and tail is continu¬
ous, and supported by the spiny processes of the vertebrae,
after the fashion of the tail in the Amboyna lizard, as al¬
ready mentioned in our brief notice of the genus Istiurus.
The name of Basilisc as naturally recalls to mind the Sauria.
fabled stories of antiquity as that of'Dragon. It was sup- Iguamdae.
posed to be the most poisonous and malignant of'creatures,
its very aspect being regarded as fatal to the unhappy be¬
holder. It exercised its tyrannous sway amid the burning
and desert sands of Africa, and obliged each meaner rep¬
tile to keep at a respectful distance.
Sibilaque effundens cunctas terrentia pestes,
Ante venena nocens, late sibi submovet omne
Yulgus, et in vacua regnat Basiliscus arena.
But the animals now known to naturalists under the
name of Basilisc, we are happy to say, are harmless crea¬
tures, of very innocent manners, although of most extraor¬
dinary aspect. They do not occur in Africa, as Lucan
feigns, nor in India, as Seba alleges, but in South America,
especially Guiana, as Daudin has determined. The best
known is the mitred species (B. mitratus, L. Basiliscus,
Linn.), distinguished by a membranous crest upon the oc¬
ciput, somewhat in the form of a cowl or hood, and sup¬
ported by cartilage. It is of a bluish colour, with two
white bands, one behind the eye and another behind the
maxillae. It measures from two to three feet in length, and
feeds on grains.
In the genus Polychrus, Cuv. there is no dorsal crest,
the head is covered with plates, and the tail is long and
slender. The extensile skin of the throat is capable of be¬
ing formed into a gular pouch at the will of the animal,
and this genus possesses the power of changing colour like
the cameleons. Their lungs are likewise very voluminous,
filling up a great portion of the body, and subdividing
into various branches. Their false ribs, too, like those
of the cameleon, encompass the abdomen, and so unite as
to form entire circles. The marbled lizard (Lac. marmo-
rata, Linn.) may be named as an example. It is of a red¬
dish-gray colour, marbled with transverse irregular bands
of brownish red, sometimes mingled with blue. The tail
is of great length. This species is frequent in Guiana.
The genus Anolius, Cuv. combines with the form of
the preceding a very peculiar and distinctive character,
the skin of the toes being enlarged beneath the ante-penul¬
timate joint, into an oval disk, transversely striated on the
under surface, which aids the animal in climbing, which it
is otherwise enabled well to do by means of its crooked
claws. The body and tail are moreover chagrined with
minute scales, and the majority bear a dewlap or goitre-like
expansion beneath the throat, which they not only inflate,
but cause to change both in form and colour, in accordance
with their various moods of love or anger. Indeed seve¬
ral of the species at least equal the cameleon in their power
of assuming frequent and rapid alternations in the colour
of their skin. Like these creatures, too, and the genus
Polychrus, the ribs form entire circles. The species are
peculiar to America, and several cf them are even naturally
of familiar habits, frequenting the vicinity of human habi¬
tations.
In some there is a crest upon the tail, supported by the
spiny processes of the vertebrae, as in Istiurus and Basilis¬
cus. Such is the great crested Anolis (An. velifer, Cuv.),
which measures about a foot in length. The crest extends
over one half of the tail, and is supported by from twelve
to fifteen rays ; the dewlap reaches to beneath the
belly. (See Plate III., fig. 2.) It is found in the An¬
tilles.
In others the tail is round, or only slightly compressed.
The species of this section of the genus are numerous,
and have been frequently confounded under one or two
specific names. They inhabit the warmer parts of con-
1 Griffith’s Animal Kingdom, ix. 225.
KEPT
Sauria. tinental America and the West Indies, and change colour
Geckotidse. wHj) surprising facility, especially in warm weather. They
feed on insects, and scarcely equal the size of the gray
lizard of Europe. They capture their prey with great
alacrity; and the different individuals are said to fight
fiercely when they meet each other. We may mention as
an example the red-throat lizard, called by Catesby the
green lizard of Jamaica (L. bullaris, Linn.). Its muzzle is
short, speckled with brown, the eyelids projecting, and the
prevailing colour a grassy green. It is common in Jamaica,
where it frequents hedges and trees, but does not enter
houses. When approached or angered it protrudes its gu-
lar pouch, which speedily becomes as bright as a cherry.
This peculiar change may be regarded as a kind of menace,
to deter its enemy from closer quarters. It is incapable of
inflicting the slightest injury by its bite or otherwise. An¬
other species is Catesby’s green Carolina lizard (An. Caro-
linensis), which is of a beautiful golden green, the muzzle
flat and elongated. This kind is said by Catesby to be very
common in Carolina, where it frequents houses, and be¬
comes in a manner familiar, so as to sport about tables and
windows, catching flies with great dexterity. It is seen
chiefly in summer, retreating in winter into hollow trees,
where it assumes the torpid state. Sometimes, when tempt¬
ed by delusive sunshine, it re-appears, and on the return of
chilly weather becomes enfeebled by the cold and dies.
Its colour changes frequently from green to brown, accord¬
ing to the temperature.
FAMILY IY.—GECKOTIDA1.
This family consists of what may be termed the noctur¬
nal lizards, all of which bear a strong resemblance to each
other. Baron Cuvier regards them as constituting a single
genus, divisible according to the form and structure of the
toes, as after mentioned.
The genus Gecko may be characterized as consisting of
Saurian reptiles, of not so lank a form as those of the pre¬
ceding genera. They are rather of a flattened shape, es¬
pecially about the head; the feet are of medium size, and
the toes of nearly equal length. Their gait is heavy and
crawling. Their eyes are large, and the pupil extremely
contractile under the influence of light, so that they usual¬
ly keep themselves concealed throughout the day in dark
or sombre places. Their eyelids are very short, and with¬
draw entirely between the eye and the orbit, which be¬
stows on these animals a very peculiar physiognomy. Their
tongue is fleshy, not extensile; the jaws are furnished all
around with a row of very small close-set teeth ; the pa¬
late is toothless. The skin is chagrined above with very
small granular scales, among which some larger tubercles
are often dispersed; the under parts are covered by flat¬
fish scales scarcely so small, and imbricated. The pores
on the thigh are not here regarded as a generic character,
being absent in some and present in others. The tail is
marked by circular folds, as in the genus Anolis ; but when
mutilated, it has been noticed to renew itself without these
ILIA. 35
folds. This genus is numerous and widely spread, oc- Sauria.
curring both in the old world and the new.1 The dull and peckotiriae.
doleful aspect of the geckoes, and a certain resemblance 'L1,_
which they bear to toads and newts, render them liable to
the imputation of poisonous properties,—an assumption
without proof, and altogether against analogy.
The majority of the species have the toes enlarged for
a greater or less extent, and furnished beneath with regu¬
lar folds upon the skin, which, by some peculiar action,
enable them to adhere to smooth surfaces, to ascend per¬
pendicular walls, and even to creep in a reversed position
along a ceiling. The claws are retractile in different ways,
and preserve their points and cutting edges; and these
characters, combined with the contractile nature of the
pupil, has induced a comparison of the geckoes among
reptiles to the feline tribes among carnivorous quadrupeds.
The claws, however, vary in the different species, and in
some are altogether wanting. It is in accordance with the
particular structure of the toes in different species that the
geckoes have been subdivided into several separate groups,
which some authors regard as constituting so many distinct
genera.2
Sect. 1.—Platydactyli. Toes widened throughout, and
furnished beneath with transverse scales.
In certain species of this section of the genus the nails
are entirely wanting, and the thumb is very small. They
are rather ornamental in their aspect, covered over by tu¬
bercles, and adorned by lively colours. They occur in the
Isle of France. Some have no pores upon the thighs : such
are G. inunguis, Cuv., of a violet colour above, white be¬
neath, with a black line along the sides ; and G. ocellatusy
Oppel, of a gray hue, covered with brown spots, with white
centres. Some possess the pores, as G. Cepediensis, a yel¬
lowish-red coloured species, marbled with blue, and marked
with white along the sides.
In other platydactylous geckoes the nails are wanting
only on the thumbs, and on the second and fifth toes of all
the feet, and there are no pores upon the thighs. To this
little group belongs the wall-gecko, a European species
(G. fascicularis, Baud.), called Terrentola by the Italians.
It is of a deep-gray colour, with a rough head; all the
upper parts beset with tubercles, each of which is formed
of three or four others of smaller size. It is a creature of
a most unseemly aspect, which hides itself in the holes of
walls, or beneath heaps of stones, and moreover covers its
body with dust and ordure. It, however, delights also in
sunshine, and is said not to occur in damp or very sombre
situations. In winter it lies inert, but not torpid. It in¬
habits the countries around the Mediterranean, and ven¬
tures as far north as Provence and Languedoc. A nearly
allied species occurs in Egypt and Barbary,—G. AEgyp-
liacus, Cuv. Its tubercles are round and simple, more pro¬
jecting on the sides.
The greater number of the platydactylous species want
the nails only on the four thumbs, and have a range of
pores anterior to the anus. G. guttatus, Baud, has a red¬
dish coloured body, spotted with white, and beset by round-
i
The following table exhibits a view of the geographical distribution
Generic Groups. Europe. Asia. Africa.
Platydactylus 1 5 5
Hemidactylus 1 5 1
Ptyodactvlus 0 0 2
Phyllodactylus 0 0 1
Splieriodactylus 0 0 0
Gymnodactylus 0 'A 2
Stenodactylus 0 0 1
2 3
1 3
1 0
3 3
3 0
2 2
0 1
Total
Species.
17
12
4
8
0 3
0 9
0 2
of the Geckotidcc, so far as known at this time
Locality
Unknown.
1
1
1
1
.2 13
12
Totals 
* See Erpitologie Gen6rale, iii. 290.
? 2
12
4
65
36 REFT
Sauria. ed slightly projecting tubercles. The scales on the under
Geckotidse. part 0f t]ie tap are SqUare an(j imbricated. Seba describes
v "r_ v ^“^this as a Ceylonese species, and adds, that the name of
gecko is applied to it on account of its cry resembling that
word. It is believed to occur throughout the Indian Ar¬
chipelago. A belief prevails in the native country of this
and other species, that an acrimonious fluid exudes from
the lamellae of the feet, and remaining on fruit, or other
edible vegetation, is productive of injury to those who swal¬
low it. A species is described by Bontius in his history
of Java, under the name of Indian Salamander; and that
old author states that the Javanese are said to hold it up
by the tail until it discharges a foam or sanies from the
mouth, with which they poison their arrows.
Sect. 2.— Hemydactyli. Base of the toes furnished with
an oval disk, formed beneath by a double row of scales
en chevron ; from the centre of this disk the second joint
springs, and bears the third or nail at its extremity.
All the known species of the hemydactylous division
have five nails on each foot, and a range of pores on each
side of the anus. The scales beneath the tail are in the
form of broad bands, like those of many serpents. A gray¬
ish red kind ( G. verruculatus, Cuv.) occurs in the southern
countries of Europe. The body is beset with small, conical,
slightly rounded tubercles, and circles of the same surround
the tail. A nearly allied species ((r. mabuia, Cuv.) is wide¬
ly spread over the warmer parts of the new world, where it
often enters dwelling-houses, occurring apparently identi¬
cal both in Bengal and Pondicherry. Cuvier presumes it
may have been transported thither accidentally in ships.
A species more peculiar to India is G. marginatus, Cuv. of
which the body is margined, and the tail flattened horizon¬
tally, with its edges sharp and slightly fringed.
Sect. 3.—Thecadactyli. Toes enlarged throughout their
entire length, and furnished with transverse scales, which
are divided by a deep longitudinal furrow, wherein the
claw may lie entirely concealed.
Such as are clearly known do not want the claws except
upon the thumbs. They have no pores upon the thighs,
and the scales upon the tail are small. As an example,
may be named the smooth, or, as it is sometimes called,
the perfoliated gecko (G.lcevis, Daud., Stellio perfoliatus,
Schneid.). The tail of this species in the natural or normal
state is long, and surrounded by the usual fold ; but it is
easily fractured, and the reproduced portion often assumes
a bulbous form, with a tapering termination, not unlike a
small turnip with its root. In this accidental condition it
was formerly described as a distinct species, under the title
of Lacerta rapicauda.
Sect. 4.—Ptyodactyli. Toes dilated only at the tips, and
striated below. The dilatation is cleft, and the nail placed
in the fissure. The whole of the toes are furnished with
curved claws.
In some the toes are free, and the tail rounded. Such
is G. lobatus, Geoff., sometimes named the house-gecko. It
is smooth, or at least both scales and tubercles are very
small, the general colour reddish-gray speckled with brown.
This species is common in houses in many of the countries
on the southern and eastern parts of the Mediterranean. It
is known in Cairo by the unlovely name of abon burs, or
father of the leprosy, because il is supposed to produce that
dreadful malady by poisoning provisions with its feet. Has-
selquist relates that he saw at Cairo two women and a girl
ftt the point of death, in consequence of their having eaten
ILIA.
some cheese over which this creature chanced to crawl. Sauria.
He likewise mentions a man who, having laid hold of
gecko, his hand became instantaneously covered with red Y ^ ”
inflamed pustules, which were as itchy as those produced
by the stinging of a nettle. Cats are said to eat these rep¬
tiles ; and they are driven from the Egyptian kitchens by
the odour of garlic. The house-gecko feeds on insects, and
its eggs are equal in size to a small nut. Its voice resem¬
bles that of a frog.
In others the tail is bordered on both sides by a mem¬
brane, and the feet are semi-palmated. Baron Cuvier is of
opinion that they are probably aquatic- The species are
truly singular in their external aspect. Such is the fimbri¬
ated gecko ( G. fimbriatus, Cuv.), of which the form is much
depressed, and the tail bordered by a lateral margin, which
is also visible on the sides of the body, where, however, it
becomes fringed or slashed. It is a native of Madagascar,
where it is erroneously held in great dread. In Lacepede’s
opinion, it connects together the cameleons, geckoes, and
water-newts. It measures eight or nine inches in length ;
and lives in trees, leaping from branch to branch. The
colours of this species, like those of the cameleon, are very
changeable, at least on the upper surface, the under por¬
tion being usually of a bright yellow. “ These changes,”
says Dr Shaw, “ we are informed, have been observed in
the living animal by Mons. Bruyeres in its native country,
viz. Madagascar, where it is not very uncommon, and where,
though a harmless animal, it is held in great abhorrence by
the natives, who consider it of a poisonous nature, and fly
from it with precipitation, pretending that it darts on their
breast, and adheres with such force by its fringed mem¬
brane, that it cannot be separated from the skin without the
assistance of a razor. The principal cause of this popular
dread of the animal is its habit of running open mouthed
towards the spectator, instead of attempting to escape wThen
discovered. Its chief residence is on the branches of trees,
where it lives on insects, holding itself secure by coiling its
tail, short as it is, half round the twig on which it sits. It
chiefly appears in rainy weather, when it moves with con¬
siderable agility, often springing from bough to bough. On
the ground it walks but slowly, the fore-legs being shorter
than the hinder.”1
An equally singular species of this section is the scollop¬
tailed gecko (G. caudiverbera), which has no fringe upon
the body, but a very peculiarly indented margination on
each side of the tail. It is of a blackish colour, measures
above a foot in length, and was found by M. Feuille in a
fountain of the Cordilleras. Some confusion exists in sys¬
tematic works between this species and that figured by Seba
under the name of Salamandra aquatica ex Arabia.
Sect. 5.—Spheriodactyli. Toes terminated by a small
cushion without folds; the claws retractile.
Such species as have the cushion double or notched in
front are natives of the Cape of Good Hope and the East
Indies. Example, G. porphyrins, Daud. More frequently
the cushion is rounded and simple, as in the species called
the spitting gecko ( G. sputator. Lac.), a small reptile, pleas¬
ingly marked by transverse bands of brown upon a reddish
ground. It inhabits houses in St Domingo. A lizard de¬
scribed by Sparman under the same specific name, if not
identical with the species just named, no doubt pertains to
this genus. It is said when disturbed by a near approach
to eject from its mouth a black and acrimonious fluid into
the face of the spectator, causing an inflammation of the
skin, which, however, is allayed by rubbing the part affect¬
ed with camphorated spirits of wine.
Finally, there are Saurians which, with all the characters
1 General Zoology, iii 274.
R E P T I L I A.
37
Sauria. of the geckoes, exhibit no enlargement of the toes, although
Chamse- their claws, five in number, are nevertheless retractile. They
leonidae. ^ a^. presenf compose three genera, as follows :
jn Stenodactylus the tail is round, the toes striated
beneath, and dentated on the edges. Sten. guttatus is an
Egyptian species, of a gray colour, sprinkled with whitish
spots; the skin smooth. In Gymnodactylus, Spix, the
toes are slender and bare, and the tail rounded. Example,
Gym. geckoides, Spix. In Phyllurus, Cuv., the toes re¬
semble those of the preceding; but the tail is flattened ho¬
rizontally, and shaped like a leaf. The only known species
is Ph. platura, from New South Wales, described by White
under the name of broad-tailed lizard.1 It measures about
six inches in length, and is of a brownish-gray colour, beset
with tubercles. (See Plate III., fig. 3.)
FAMILY V CHAMA3LEONIDAL CAMELEONS.
This family consists solely of the genus Chamaxeo, dis¬
tinguished by the following characters. The entire surface
is chagrined with small granular scales, the body is com¬
pressed, the dorsal edge narrow; the tail is rounded and
prehensile. There are five toes on each foot, arranged as it
were in twro groups, three in one, and two in the other, in
some measure resembling the foot of a scansorial bird : but
the toes of each group are connate, or enclosed within the
skin, as far as the claws. The tongue is fleshy, cylindrical,
extensile, and of great length. The teeth are trilobed.
The eyes are large in themselves, but almost entirely co¬
vered over by the skin, except a small opening opposite the
pupil; and each eye has the power of movement indepen¬
dent of the other. There are no external ears, and the oc¬
ciput rises in a pyramidal form. The first ribs unite with
the sternum, and the succeeding ones meet each other so
as to form a circle around the abdomen. The lungs are of
vast extent, and according to their state of collapse or in¬
flation, greatly affect the form and aspect of the animal.
This, with its long powder of abstinence, may have given
rise to the common belief that it feeds on air.2
Cameleons are insectivorous reptiles, of which the slow
pace, the extraordinary form, the awkward movements, the
vivacity of eye, and the marvellous rapidity of tongue, have
excited the wonder of mankind from the earliest ages.
Their change of colour, by no means so marked or sudden
as supposed, has nothing to do with the hue of the objects
by which they are surrounded, but bears relation physically
to the degree of light or obscurity to which they are ex¬
posed, morally to the state of their own feelings of fear or
anger, and physiologically and directly to the action of the
lungs upon the circulating system. “ En effet,’’ says Cu¬
vier, “leur poumon les rend plus ou moins transparents, con-
traint plus ou moins le sang a refluer vers la peau, colore
meme ce fluide plus ou moins vivement, selon qu’il se rem-
plit ou se vide d’air.” “ The general or usual colour in the
chameleon,” says Dr Shaw, “ so far as I have been able to
ascertain from my own observation of such as have been
brought into this country in a living state, are from a blu¬
ish-ash colour (its natural tinge) to a green and sometimes
yellowish colour, spotted unequally with red. If the animal
be exposed to a full sunshine, the unilluminated side gene¬
rally appears, within the space of some minutes, of a pale
yellow, with large rounded patches or spots of red brown.
On reversing the situation of the animal the same change v
takes place in an opposite direction, the side which was be¬
fore in the shade now becoming either brown or ash colour,
while the other side becomes yellow and red; but these
changes are subject to much variety, both as to intensity ot
colours and disposition of spots.”3
Authors of all ages have differed greatly in opinion re¬
garding the causes of the change of colour in cameleons.
The phenomenon, though remarkable, and strongly exem¬
plified in these creatures, is by no means peculiar to them,
but occurs, as we have noted in the course of this article,
among many others of the reptile race, especially in such
as, the general envelope not adhering closely to the muscles,
receive a portion of air beneath the skin. It is also observ¬
able in many mollusca, particularly the cuttle-fish tribe. But
to recur to the cameleon. Aristotle and many other authors
have maintained that the change of colour only took place
when the animal inflated itself. Pliny repeats the opinion
(which has since prevailed) that it assumed the colours of
the bodies by which it wTas surrounded, with the exception
of red and white. Wormius was among the first to main¬
tain that the changes in question were due to the emotions
of the reptile. Solinus assigns as the cause the reflexion
of the luminous rays. Kircher supports the theory of vo¬
lition and emotion. Goddard adopts the same explanation,
with the addition that the colours at the same time bear a
relation to neighbouring bodies. Hasselquist and Linnaeus
refer to the pigmentum as the cause. Finally, the majority
of modern authors who have written on the subject (and
their name is legion) have sought to explain the phenome¬
non either by the modifications of the respiratory system,
by these modifications combined with the state of the pul¬
monary circulation, or by the transposition of the various
layers which are believed to exist in the pigmentum.4
We may state briefly in regard to the geographical dis¬
tribution of the cameleons, that Africa is their characteris¬
tic country. Of the fourteen species known to naturalists,
the whole occur there or in the adjacent islands, especially
Madagascar; three species, however, are not exclusively
African, Cham, di/epis, Leach, being found in Georgia,
Cham, vulgaris in the south of Europe, and Cham, bjjidus
in continental India, the Moluccas, Isle of France, and New
Holland. They are thus entirely unknown in America.
These reptiles dwell habitually among shrubs or trees.
“ Nous avons observe,” says M. Bory de St Vincent, “ des
cameleons en liberte, fixes sur les rameaux des arbustes,
qu’ils tenaient fortement serres entre leur doigts, a peu pres
comme le font les perroquets dont le pied presente une cer-
taine analogic avec les leurs ; ils etaient aussi immobiles
que s’ils eussent ete des imitations artificielles. Leurs yeux
seulement, dont la prunelle brillait comme une pierre pre-
cieuse au milieu d’une globe blanchatre perce d’un petit
trou etincelant, roulaient en tout sens, et tandis que I’un
regardait par devant, 1’autre observait les objets situes en
arriere. Quelquefois le mouvement anguleux d’une pate
comme disloqu6e, lentement suivi de celui de la suivante ct
du deroulement de la queue, qui servait de cinquieme point
d’appui au cameleon, determinait un tardif avancement de
quelques lignes. Dans cet etat de paix, au milieu du feuil-
Sauria.
Chamse-
leonid®.
1 Voyage to New South Wales, pi. 32; and Naturalist's Miscellany, pi. 65.
2 “ All which considered,” says Sir Thomas Brown, in his Vulgar Errors, “ severer heads will he apt enough to conceive the vul¬
gar opinion of this animal to be not much unlike that of the Astumi, or men without mouths, in Pliny ; suitable unto the relation of
the mares in Spain, and their subventaneous conceptions from the western wind ; and in some way more unreasonable than the fig¬
ment of Rabican, the famous horse in Ariosto, which, being conceived by flame and wind, never tasted grass, or fed on any grosser pro-
vender than air; for this way of nutrition was answerable unto the principles of his generation ; which being not airy, but gross and
seminal in the chameleon, unto its conservation there is required a solid pasture, and a food congenerous unto the principles of its na¬
ture”
2 General Zoology, iii. 256.
4 For a summary on this subject, see a paper by Dr Spittal in the Edin. New Phil. Journ. for 1829, p. 292.
38 R E P T I L I A.
Sauria. lage des lentisques, sa couleur etait d’un blanc assez pur,
Clmrnaj- tirant sur le jaunatre. Saisi, il se gonflait d’abord et ne
eonu ae. fajsa;t nu] effort pGur gyiter le danger ; sans doute il en sen-
tait 1’inutilite ; mais bientot on voyait circuler sur toutes
les parties de son corps des teintes diverses dues au sang,
pousse vers la peau par la dilatation de ses vastes poumons.
Le cameleon, rendu a lui-meme, ne tardait point a repren-
dre sa couleur blanchatre que la mort rembrunit. Du reste,
le plus innocent de tons les animaux, ce cameleon change-
ant, qui ne cherche jamais a mordre, vit de mouches qu’il
guette ; lorsque celles-ci passent a sa portee, son corps, sa
tete, ses membres demeurent immobiles ; mais il a calcule la
portee de sa langue, il la lance comme un trait; et I’animal
aile, malgre son agilite et la promptitude de son vol, se
trouve colle au bouton visqueux qui le rapport en un clin-
d’ceil dans la bouche de son ennemi.
“ On a imprime, dans la plupart des livres d’histoire natu-
relle, qu’on ne trouvait des cameleons que dans les parties les
plus chaudes des regions intertropicales. Ces animaux s’y
plaisent sans doute, mais non seulement ils depassent les tro-
piques, ils s’elevent encore beaucoup au nord dans la zone
temperee, puisque nous en avons trouve frequemment dans
le midi de I’Espagne. L’espece de Barbaric y est aussi
commune autour de la baie de Cadix, ou lorsque, pour les
operations de la siege, nous faisions abattre des pins sur la
rive gauche du Guadalete, nous en trouvions communement
entre les rameaux dont se formaient la cime de ces arbres.
On en voit dans quelques maisons, qui demeurent fort long-
temps, sans remuer, suspendus a des ficelles sur lesquelles
on les a places comme objets de curiosite ; les chats en sont
assez friands, et ceux qu’on tient en captivite finissent ordi-
nairement par les griffes de ces tigres domestiques.”1
The best-known species is Cham, vulgaris, often called
the African cameleon {Lac. Africana, Gm.), an ill-select¬
ed name, in as far as several other kinds occur in Africa,
and the species in question spreads from the south of Spain
through many intermediate countries into India. The
hood is pointed, and raised into a ridge on its anterior por¬
tion, the dorsal ridge is dentated as far as the middle of the
back, the inferior one as far as the anus. The granules of
the skin are equal and closely set. In the female the hood
is ot smaller size, and the dentations of the ridge less
strongly marked. It is to this species, which measures about
a foot and a half in length, that our preceding quotations
apply, and that is also referred to in most of the general
observations on cameleons found in books. (See Plate
III., fig. 1.)
1 he female deposits her eggs to the number of thirty, in
an excavation which she hollows in the ground, and after¬
wards covers over with loose earth, “ servendosi,” says Va-
lisnieri, “ a questo lavoro delle sole zampe di dietro, come i
gatti, quando nascondono et cuoprono le loro sozzure, non
contenta della cavata terra vi ramassd e ammonticello delle
foglie secche, della paglia, e degli stecchetti avendovi inal-
zato sopra una collinetta di copertura.2
We shall here mention briefly a few of the most distinct¬
ly known of the other species of the genus.3 Cham, tigris,
Cuv., has the hood or helmet small, and is distinguished by
a compressed dentated wattle beneath the end of the lower
jaw. Its body is beset with black points, and the granules
are fine and equal. It inhabits the Seychelle Islands. An
allied species {Cham, verrucosus, Cuv.) has larger granules
mingled with the others, and there is a series of parallel
warts on the sides of the back. It is a native of the Mau¬
ritius. Cham, pumitus, Daud., has the hood directed back¬
wards, and scattered warts upon the sides, limbs, and tail;
and beneath the throat are numerous compressed finely-
toothed wattles, which vary in different individuals. It oc- Sauria.
curs in the south of Africa, the Isle of France, and the Sey- Scincidae.
chelles. Cuvier is of opinion, that Cham. Seichellensis of ^ v -'
Kind is merely the female of this species. The Senegal
kind, Cham, ptaniceps, Merr. {Lac. chameleon, Gm ), has the
hood flattened, almost without ridge, and horizontally of a
parabolic form. It occurs in Barbary, and has likewise been
seen in Georgia. Cham, pardalis, Cuv., from the Isle of
France, is marked irregularly with black round spots, bor¬
dered with white. A peculiar species from the Moluccas
is distinguished by two large compressed prominences pro¬
jecting in front of the muzzle. It is the Cham, bifurcus of
M. Brogniart.
FAMILY VI—SCINCIDiE.
Distinguishable by their short legs, their unextensile
tongue, and their scales of equal size, which cover the body
and tail like tiles.
In the genus Scincus, Daud., the legs are rather short,
the body of almost equal size with the tail, without any oc¬
cipital enlargement, crest, or dewlap, the scales uniform,
shining, and disposed like those of a carp. Some of the
species assume a fusiform or spindle shape, others are nearly
cylindrical, and more or less lengthened, resembling cer¬
tain Ophidians, especially those of the genus Anguis, with
which they are likewise connected by several internal rela¬
tions. The tongue is fleshy, little extensile, and but slightly
cleft; and the jaws are furnished all around with small close-
set teeth. The toes are free.
A few have teeth upon the palate. Of these is the com¬
mon or officinal scink {Sc. officinalis, Schn., Lac. scincus,
Linn.), which measures six or eight inches in length. The
tail is shorter than the body, and the proportional length
considerable from the snout to the shoulder. The general
colour is a silvery yellow hue, with transverse blackish bands.
It is very abundant in Libya, Syria, Arabia, and Egypt, and
is frequently imported from Alexandria into Europe. It
frequents rather dry and sandy soils, and is remarkable for
the extraordinary rapidity with which it burrows, vanishing
almost instantaneously, and seeming, as Bruce has well ex-
pi essed it, “ rather to have found a hole than to have made
one.” This is the reptile called el adda by the Arabs. It
was once held in high estimation as an article in the Materia
Medica, its flesh being regarded as advantageous in leprous
and many other cases. A much larger species (6c. Cgprius)
occurs in the Levant, and some of the Mediterranean Islands,
Sc. rufescens is widely spread over India, and Sc. trivitta-
tus is common at the Cape of Good Hope. To this group
also belongs the galley-wasp of Jamaica (Sc. occidua,
Shaw), a large reptile of nearly two feet in length. We
are not acquainted with its modern history, and it possesses
no poison apparatus, though Browne in his Natural History
of Jamaica, informs us that it is reckoned the most veno¬
mous reptile in the island, and that it is believed no crea¬
ture can recover from its bite. The author, however, just¬
ly regards this as a popular error.
Other species of this genus have no teeth upon the pa¬
late. Such is *$c. ocellatus, Schneid., well known in the
southern countries of Europe, the Mediterranean Islands,
Egypt, &c. Ihe West Indies, the Moluccas, and New
Holland, produce analogous kinds, some of them remark¬
able for their size.
The genus Seps of Daudin differs from the preceding in
having the body so elongated as to resemble that of a ser¬
pent (a conformation well expressed by the namesZaeerta
* Diction. Class, d Hist. Nat., iii. 96. 2 Istoria del Carceleonte Africano.
See a paper by Mr Gray, in the Philosophical Magazine, vol. ii. p. 209; and Erp'dologic Generate, iii. 203.
REPTILIA.
39
Sauria. serpens, Angais quadrupes, &c., which certain species bore);
Scincidae. their legs are extremely small, and the two paiis placed at
v—V"—' a great distance from each other. (See Plate III., fig. 4.)
The lungs in this genus begin to exhibit an inequality of
size. Indeed, we may here observe that in the few re¬
maining groups of Saurian reptiles with which we are still
to be engaged, there is a manifest approximation to the
true serpents or Ophidian race, in the diminution of the
feet, the entire disappearance, in certain species, of either
the anterior or posterior pair, and the elongated form of the
body. Indeed, on the one hand, Lacerta apoda of Pallas
is actually now classed with the Ophidians (being placed
at their head), although on each side of the anus there is a
prominence containing a small bone analogous to the femur,
and pertaining to a true pelvis concealed beneath the skin ;
while on the other, certain systematic writers range our
Anguis fragihs, and other snakes usually so called, among
the Saurian reptiles. But to return to our remaining genera,
which may really be said to hold their legs and feet by a
precarious tenure, so subject are they to variation—the five¬
toed seps {S. pentadactylus, Lac. serpens, I .inn.) inhabits
the East Indies, while a four-toed species (S. tetradactylus),
and a third with only three toes (S. tridactylus), both being
viviparous, occur in the Isle de Gres. Another three-toed
species (S. chalcides) is native to the south of Europe, and
is named cecellci by the Italians. It dwells in meadows,
feeding on spiders, slugs, &c., and runs rapidly by means
of a snake-like wriggling motion, without using its feet.
It is also viviparous. " A more peculiar kind, known under
the name of serpent-lizard {S. monodactylus, Lac. anguina,
Linn.), occurs at the Cape of Good Hope. Its legs are
nothing more than small footless undivided appendages.
This is the vermis serpentiformis ex Africa of Seba, said
by some authors to be found in great plenty in the water
and about the rocks in I able Bay.
The genus Bipes, Lacep., makes a still nearer approach
to the serpents, as its name indicates. It scarcely differs
from Seps, except in the entire absence of the fore-legs.
It forms, as it were, the stepping-stone to Anguis. (See
Plate III., fig. 5.) A species from New Holland {B. lepi-
dopoda, Lacep.), examined by Baron Cuvier, although its
hinder extremities showed themselves externally only under
the form of a pair of small oblong scaly plates, was yet
found on dissection to possess a femur, tibia, peroneum, and
four metatarsal bones without phalanges. To this genus
likewise belongs an African species, the Anguis bipes,
Linn., and another of larger size from Brazil, described by
Spix under the name of Pygopus cariococca.
The genus called Chalcides by Daudin is likewise
characterized by a long and serpent-like body, but there
are four legs (as in Seps), and the scales, instead of over¬
lapping like tiles, are rectangular, and form transverse
bands, which do not encroach upon each other. (See Plate
III., fig. 6.)
Certain species have a groove on each side of the body,
and the tympanum still very obvious. Of these, an East
Indian kind (Chal. seps, Lac. seps, Linn.) has five toes,
while another {dial, tetradactylus) has only four. Others
have the tympanum concealed, and conduct directly to
diirotes, and through it to the ophidian genus Amphisbeena.
Examples, Chal. pentadactylus, which, as its name implies,
is a five-toed species, and Chal. hetcrodactylus {Het. im-
bricatus, Spix), which has four toes to the front feet and
five to the hinder. Chal. abdominalis, Thunberg, has four
toes on each foot. Lastly, Chal.ftavescens, Gray {Chal.
monodactylus, Daudin), is distinguished by five anterior Ophidian
and three posterior toes, so reduced in size as to resemble Reptiles,
small tubercles, and so ill defined by nature (to our percep-
tions, though no doubt wisely formed in relation to the end
in view), that zoologists still differ as to their exact amount.
The species alluded to is native to Guiana.
The genus Chirotes, Cuv., resembles Chalcides in its
verticiilated scales, and is allied to Amphisbezna by the
blunted form of its head; but it is distinguished from the
former by the absence of the hind legs, and from the latter
by the presence of the fore ones. (See Plate III., fig. 7.)
The only known species is the lumbriciform lizard of Shaw
{Chir. lumbricoides,—canaliculatus of Lac.), a native of
Mexico, and first described by Lacepede. It has two short
anterior feet (each with four toes, and the rudiments of a
fifth), well organized interiorly, and attached to a small
sternum by means of shoulder-blades and clavicles; but
the head, vertebrae, and the general skeleton closely re¬
semble those of the genus Amphisbcena. It is of a flesh
colour, and measures eight or ten inches long, with a cir¬
cumference like that of the little finger. It is surrounded
by about 220 semi-rings upon the back, and as many on
the abdomen, which meet upon the sides in alternation.
The tongue of this species is but slightly extensile, and
terminates in two little horny points. Its eye is extremely
small, and the tympanum invisible outwardly, being covered
by the skin. On dissection, Baron Cuvier could detect in
this reptile only a single large lung, with the vestige of a
small one, as in serpents. It preys on insects.
Order III.—OPHIDIA, OR SERPENT-SHAPED
REPTILES.
The exact lines of demarcation which separate the pri¬
mary orders of the reptile race are somewhat difficult to
draw, as in truth must always be the case wherever there
are strong affinities of form and habits. Natura nonfacit
saltum is a saying the truth of which the student of her
manifold wonders must ever remember; and in our present
department especially there are several very singular
creatures, which so combine the characters of two conti¬
guous orders that well-instructed naturalists differ as to
whether they should terminate the one or commence the
other. Thus Baron Cuvier’s last Ophidian genus is Ccecilia,
which Professor Bell regards as a Batrachian reptile, or
rather as belonging to his separate class Amphibia, which,
after the example of Blainville and Latreille, he constitutes
by means of the entire Batrachian order.1 Thus also La¬
certa apoda of Pallas, though furnished on each side with
a small bone analogous to the femur, and pertaining to an
actual pelvis concealed beneath the skin, is yet classed by
the great French anatomist with the Ophidians, being, so
to say, the “ very head and front of their offending ;”2 while
several systematic writers range our Anguis fragilis, and
other snakes commonly so called, among the lizards. An
American reptile, Anguis centralis of Linn., now forms
Daudin’s genus Ophisaurus, the name of which (derived
from o<pts, serpent, and aavpos, lizard) implies the peculiar
combination now referred to. The Saurian genus Seps,
described at the conclusion of our former order, is cha¬
racterized by Cuvier as having an elongated body, “ tout-
a-fait semblable a celui d’un orvet” {Anguis); and, on the
other hand, the same author enters upon his Ophidian order
by means of the Anguidce, or slow-worms, which he simply
describes as “ des seps sans pieds.” These, and other
1 Encyclopaedia of Anatomy and Physiology, part i. p. 91. These amphibian orders are as follows 1st, Amphipneurta, containing the
Sirens and Proteans; 2d, Anoura, the frogs and toads; 3d, Urodela, the salamanders; 4th, Abranchia, the genera Menopoma and Am-
phiuma; and 5th, Apoda, the genus Caecilia. “ It is easy,” adds Mr Swainson, “ to perceive that this last passes into the first ""ea
of the dipod Sirens, and thus the whole form a circular group more or less perfect in its connecting links. (Carnet Cyclopaedia, o .
cxvi. p 86.) 8 See R^ne Animab il
40 KEPT
Ophidian examples which it would be easy to adduce, demonstrate
lieptiles. cl0se connection which subsists between the Saurian
's'“~ and Ophidian orders.
It has indeed been customary to class among serpents
whatever reptiles combined the absence of limbs with an
extremely lengthened form of body; but a more rigorous
observation will demonstrate that several species which, in
accordance with that principle, will take their place as ser¬
pents, are yet in their prevailing organic structure removed
from them" in most essential points, the chief resemblance
being that of the external and extremely lengthened form.
Now this attenuated aspect, and absence of all the ordinary
locomotive members, are likewise exhibited by several
Saurian reptiles, and of course in an increased degree as
they actually approach the serpent or Ophidian tribes; but
the two characters just mentioned do not convert them
from one order to another, being still held as it were in
subordination to the general structure.1
We commence our description of Ophidians with the
animals that have the general form of serpents; but yet
differ from them anatomically so much that they cannot be
considered as true Serpents ; and have been judiciously
separated from them by M. Schlegel. We divide Ophi¬
dians into the groups Caecilia, Amphisbasna, Anguis,
and Serpens.
(LECILID^E, OR BLIND WORMS.
The character of this group is fully given in the descrip¬
tion of the only genus.
Genus Cecilia. Eyes extremely small, almost con¬
cealed beneath the skin, sometimes wanting. Skin smooth,
viscous, furrowed by annular folds, apparently naked, but
exhibiting in its thickness certain slender scales, regularly
disposed on many transverse ridges between the wrinkles
of the skin. Head depressed, anus nearly terminal, tail
consequently short or almost wanting. Ribs too short to
surround the trunk. Vertebrae articulated by facets like
hollowed cones filled with gelatinous cartilage, as in fishes
and some Batraehia; the cranium united to the first ver¬
tebra by tw’o tubercles, also as in Batrachian reptiles. I he
orbits, covered by the maxillary bones, are only pierced by
a very small hole; and the bones of the temples cover the
temporal fossae in such a way that the head exhibits supe¬
riorly nothing but a continuous bony buckler. (See Plate
IV., fig. 1 d.) The hyoid bone, composed of three pair of
arches, is so constructed as almost to lead to the belief that
in early age there were gills. The maxillary and palatine
teeth are ranged on two concentric lines, as in the genus
Proteus, but are frequently sharp and curved backwards,
as in true serpents. The nostrils open at the back part of
the palate, and the lower jaw has no moveable pedicle, the
tympanic bone being encased with the other bones in the
buckler of the cranium. The auricle of the heart is not
sufficiently divided to be described as double; but the
second lung is rudimentary, as among the genuine Ophi¬
dians. The liver is divided into many transverse foliations.
We know nothing of the natural history or habits of the
animals of this genus. They are said to dwell in marshy
ground, several feet below the surface. They probably
prey on worms and insects, although vegetable matters,
mould, and sand, have been found in their intestines.
ILIA.
In certain species the muzzle is obtuse, the skin loose, Ophidian
the folds conspicuous, and there are twm small hairs near Reptiles,
the nostrils. To this section belongs Ccec. annulate/, of
Spix, a Brazilian species of subterranean habits. It is of
a blackish hue, with upwards of eighty annular folds, and
circularly marked with white. The teeth are conical.
Others have the folds more numerous, or rather in the
form of serrated transverse striae. Such is Ccec. glutinosa,
Linn., from Ceylon, a blackish-coloured reptile, marked by
a longitudinal band of white on either side, and charac¬
terized by 350 folds, which unite beneath in an acute
angle. We have figured a nearly allied species from Ame¬
rica, Ccec. bivittata of the French naturalists. (See Plate V.,
fig. 3.) Finally, a few have the folds almost effaced, the
body long and slender, and the muzzle projecting. Ccec.
lumbricoides, Daudin,2 is entirely blind, of a blackish colour,
two feet long, and not thicker than a quill. Baron Cuvier
possessed the skeleton of a Caecilia more than six feet long.3
There were 225 vertebrae, but the external characters were
unknown.
AMPHISB^NIDAE, PROGRESSING EITHER WAY.
The lower jaw still continues, as among the preceding
groups, supported by a tympanic bone, articulated directly
to the cranium, the two branches of that jaw being soldered
together anteriorly, while those of the upper one are fixed
to the cranium and the intermaxillary bone. This forma¬
tion both produces an equality of dimension between the
head and the rest of the body, and also prevents that pecu¬
liar power of dilatation for which the genuine serpents are
so remarkable. (See Plate IV., fig. 1 a.) Their general
form, according to Cuvier, “ leur permet de marcher egale-
ment bien dans les deux sens,” a fact, however, which that
great observer does not seem to state as from the “ ocular
proof,” and for the confirmation of which we have sought
in vain in the work of any well-instructed traveller. The
bony frame-work of the orbit is incomplete behind, the eye
is extremely small, and the body is covered with circular
plates. The windpipe is elongated, the heart placed far
backwards, and the anus situate close to the extremity of
the body. None of the known species is venomous. Of
the two genera, the one is closely related to Chalets and
Chirotis, the other to Anguis and Acontias.
Genus Amphisbaena, Linn. The entire body covered
by circular ranges of plates. A range of pores anterior to
the anus. Teeth of a conical form, numerous on the jaws,
none upon the palate; only a single lung.
The species are South American reptiles, to which an
ancient classical name has been with no great propriety
applied. (See Plate IV., fig. 2.) The white one, Amph.
alba, Linn., measures from a foot and a half to two feet in
length, and is proportionably of a bulky form.4 It inhabits
Brazil, where its native name of Ibriaram signifies “lord
of the earth.” It was first described by Marcgrave, who,
however, states erroneously that it is venomous, and wall
wound either with head or tail. It preys on insects, and
is often found near ant-hills. Another species, from Mar¬
tinique (Amph. cceca, Cuv,), is stone-blind.
It may be observed in passing, that the genus Leposter-
non of Spix is composed of Amphisbaense, of which the
anterior part of the body is furnished below with several
1 “ Un examen comparatif,” observes M. Schlegel, “ des objets m’a demontrd que ces Sauriens anomaux, e’est-a-dire, a formes alongees
et a extremites rudimentaires, appartiennent toujours par I’ensemble de leur organisation a quelque espece de I’une ou I’autre des fa¬
milies de cet ordre, parmi lesquelles ils doivent etre distribugs. On ne peut nier, par example, qu’il y a un passage graduel des Scinques
a I’Anguis et aux Acontias, par 1’intermede des Scinques brachypus, decreensis, serpens, seps, du Pygodactyle et du Bipes,—etres moins
differens entre eux par leur organisation que par leurs formes, et qui ne composent qu’une seule famille, celle des Scinco'ides, de laquelle
on ne saurait exclure ni les Ablephares ni les Gymnophthalmes. Le meme passage graduel existe dans la famille des Lezards, des genres
Lacerta et Tachydromus au Monodactyle ; on y peut ajouter comme espece anomale le Pygopus. On pourrait rapprocher dans la methode
le Tetradactyle, le Chalcis, le Pseudopus, et POphisaurus. Viennent enfin la famille des Amphisbenes,—Chirotes, Leposternon, Am-
phisbsena, et celle des Typhlops,—Typhlops, Rhinophis, Uropeltis.” (Physionomie des Serpens, i. p. 2.)
2 Reptiles, viii. 92, 2. 3 Rlgne Animal, ii. 101, note. 4 Lacep. ii. pi. 21, 1.
K E P T I L I A.
Ophidian plates, which interrupt the ranging of the circular rings.
Reptiles. They have no pores anterior to the anus, the head is short,
V ^ v 7 and the muzzle slightly projecting. Example, Lep. nii-
crocephalus, Spix,—Amph. punctata of Prince Maximilian
(Neuwied).
Genus I yphlops, Schneider. Body covered with small
imbricated scales (as in Anguis, with which group the spe¬
cies were for a long time combined). Muzzle advanced,
furnished with plates. Tongue long and forked; eye in
the form of a minute point, scarcely visible through the
skin; anus almost terminal; one lung lour times larger
than the other.
These, as Cuvier remarks, are small serpent-like crea¬
tures, which bear a great resemblance to earth-worms.
They inhabit the warmer countries both of America and
the old world. Some have the head obtuse, and of equal
diameter with the body. Such is T. braminus, Cuv., the
punctulated slow-worm of Shaw, and Rondos taloolooparn
of Dr Russel.1 It is a diminutive reptile, measuring about
six inches in length, with the thickness of a hen’s quill.
It is of a cream-colour, powdered over with innumerable
black dots. It is common in Vizagapatam, and, according
to the author last named, is vulgarly reputed mischievous.
It is described as moving with great swiftness; and a spe¬
cimen immersed in spirits remained alive for more than ten
minutes. Others (and these the majority) have the muzzle
depressed and obtuse, and furnished anteriorly with several
plates. Example, T. reticulatus? A few have the front
of the muzzle covered by a single broad plate. Such is
T. subargenteus {Anguis lumbricalis, Linn, and Lacep.),
the silvery snake of Brown.3 Finally, there are one or
more peculiar species, in which the muzzle terminates in
a small conical point, and the posterior extremity is enve¬
loped by a horny buckler of an oval form. We here place
T. Philippinus, Cuv., which measures about eight inches
in length, and is entirely of a black colour. We presume
that Dr Shaw’s snouted slow-worm, Anguis nasuta (A.
rostrata of Weigel4), though differing in colour, is nearly
allied, and ought to be placed in the same genus.
ANGUID2E, OR SLOW-WO RMS.
These still exhibit the bony head, the teeth, the tongue
of Seps, and the eye is furnished with three eyelids. They
correspond to the ancient unrestricted genus Anguis of
Linnaeus, and are characterized externally by imbricated
scales covering the whole body. The species now form four
minor genera, of which the first three still exhibit beneath
the skin certain small bones corresponding to those of the
shoulder and pelvis.
Genus Pseudopus, Merrem. Tympanum visible exter¬
nally. A prominence on each side of the anus, containing
a small bone analogous to the femur, and appertaining to
a true pelvis hid beneath the skin. Rudiments of the an¬
terior extremities barely manifested by an inconspicuous
fold, containing no interior humerus. One of the lungs is
a quarter less than the other. The scales are thick and
imbricated, and between those of the back and belly are
some smaller scales, which produce a longitudinal furrow
on either side.
Of the species, the earliest known is P. Pallasii, Cuv.,
Lacerta apoda, Pallas,—discovered in the south of Russia
by the naturalist last named.3 It measures from one to
41
two feet in length, and the colours are ferruginous above, Ophidian
pale yellow beneath. The scales of the back are smooth, Reptiles,
those of the tail carinated. This species occurs also in
Hungary and Dalmatia, and the specimen figured by Dr
Shaw6 was procured in Greece by Dr John Sibthorpe, the
professor of botany in the university of Oxford. M. Dur-
ville discovered another species (which bears his name) in
the Archipelago.7 (See Plate IV., fig. 1.)
Genus Ophisauuus, Daudin. No external appearance
even of the hinder extremities, but the tympanum is still
apparent, and the scales exhibit a plication or folding upon
each side of the trunk. The smaller lung only equals a
third of the greater.8
The best known species is Oph. ventralis,—Anguis ven-
tralis, Linn.,—an American reptile, common in the southern
states of the Union. It is of a greenish yellow, spotted
above with black. Its tail is longer than its body, and the
creature itself is so brittle and easily broken, even in the
living state, as to be known by the name of glass serpent.
According to Catesby, “ a small blow of a stick causes the
body to separate, not only at the place struck, but at two
or three other places, the muscles being articulated quite
through the vertebrae.”9
Genus Anguis, Cuv. No extremities visible exter¬
nally. Tympanum concealed beneath the skin. Maxil¬
lary teeth compressed and hooked,—no teeth upon the
palate. Body surrounded by imbricated scales, without
plication on the sides. One of the lungs is a half less than
the other.
The English slow-worm, Anguis fragilis, is common
over a great part of Europe.10 It is very smooth, of a shin¬
ing brownish-gray above, inclining to reddish on the sides,
and bluish-black upon the under surface. It rarely mea¬
sures more than a foot in length. It lives on insects and
small mollusca, excavates circuitous holes in the earth, of
several feet in extent, and with more than one issue. It is
an innocent and gentle creature, remarkable for stiffening
itself so much when seized as sometimes to break in two.
Hence its specific name offragilis.
Genus Acontias, Cuv. No osseous pieces correspond¬
ing to the sternum and pelvis, the shoulder-blades and
clavicles. Anterior ribs united to each other interiorly by
cartilaginous prolongations. Teeth small and conical:
“Je crois,” says Cuvier, “ leur en avoir aperpu quelques-
unes au palais.”11 Muzzle inclosed in a kind of mask.
One lung of medium size, and another of very small dimen¬
sions.
To this genus belongs the speckled slow-worm of Shaw,
Anguis Meleagris, Linn., a native of the Cape of Good
Hope.12 Its tail is much shorter and more obtuse than that
of the British slow-worm. Its upper surface is spotted
longitudinally with brown. Africa produces other species,
one of which, according to Cuvier {Ac. caucus), is entirely
blind.
i
We now reach Baron Cuvier’s second great division, the
Ophidians, consisting of all those genera which exhibit
no vestige of either shoulder or sternum, but have a great
portion of the circumference of the body surrounded by
the ribs. The vertebrae articulate by means of a convex
facette at one end, entering into a concave facette of that
which follows. (See Plate V., fig. 2 a and 2 b.) The third
eyelid and the tympanum are wanting, but the osselet of
Serpents of the Coast of Coromandel, p. 48, pi. 43. 2 Scheuchzer, Fhvsica Sacra, pi. 747/ 4.
Cwd and Natural History of Jamaica, p. 460, pi. 44, fig. i. 4 BerUn Transactions, iii. p. 190.
Nov. Com. Petrop xxx. plate 9, fig. i. 6 General Zoology, iii. plate 86. ? Griffith’s Animal Kingdom, ix. 307
Of the cranium of this genus Cuvier has remarked, “ C’est une vraie tete de Saurien.” (Regne Animal, iii. 430.)
Carolina, ii. plate 59. '
12 ™C®P®d<>’ fiadrupAes Ovipares, ii. plate 19, 1. n Pdgne Animal, ii. 7
thesaurus, u. tab. 21, fig. 4. It is not found in the East Indies as both Seba and Shaw opposed.
VOL. XIX.
4*
42
R E P T I L I A.
Ophidian the ear exists beneath the skin, and its handle passes behind
Reptiles. tympanic bone. Several still manifest a remnant of
the posterior members hid beneath the skin, or even show¬
ing themselves externally under the form of small hooks.
The first two genera are scarcely entitled to the designa¬
tion of True Serpents; and Baron Cuviei has himseli drawn
a line between them and those which he names Serpents
properly so called, although the two terms seem not parti¬
cularly distinctive. The reptiles in question form the tribe
Double Marcheurs of Cuvier.
We now arrive, “ by lingering steps and slow, at the
genuine serpents.
SERPENTES, OR TRUE SERPENTS.
The principal characteristic of the serpent race consists
in an extremely elongated body, clothed with scales, des¬
titute of limbs, and furnished with a tail, or caudal extre¬
mity. Locomotion is effected by lateral undulations, aided
by the scales externally, and by the ribs whhin. Although
the general form, viewed in relation to its transverse di¬
mensions, is concentred to an extremely small diameter,
the different parts are capable of great enlargement, which
admits in many cases of their swallowing bodies bigger
than themselves. In conformity with this peculiar struc¬
ture, even the bony portions of the head are not so knit
together as in other animals, but, with the exception of the
parts which protect the brain, are capable of a ceitain de¬
gree of separation. (See Plate IV., fig. 1 6.) The de¬
velopment of the tympanic bones, their mode of attach¬
ment, the mobility which they enjoy from not being fixed to
the cranium by their lower extremity, and finally, the struc¬
ture of the under jaw, tho two branches of which are capabl e
of separation in consequence of being united by elastic
ligaments instead of symphysis, all combine to pioduce the
vast swallowing powers of these reptiles. The entire ab¬
sence of limbs is accompanied by an equal absence of those
solid portions, such as the sternum and pelvis, which unite
the limbs with the body. The ribs are free for the same
reason, and thus readily admit both of the occasional en¬
largement of the intestinal cavity, and of that extreme
pliancy of form for which all the species are remarkable,
whether they creep, climb, or swim. To facilitate these
various movements, the general envelope is minutely sub¬
divided into numerous compartments, the scales of the
lower surface being usually much larger than those of the
upper, and subserving the place of feet, the ribs being
attached to the lateral margin of the inner surface of these
abdominal plates. The space of bare skin between the
scales is greater among serpents than other leptiles, and on
the throat this bare expanse forms a longitudinal cleft,
known by the name of gular furrow.
The true serpents are closely connected to the Saurian
order by the preceding genera Amphisbeena and Typhlops,
which certainly form a passage from one of those great or¬
dinal groups to the other. It is these connecting links that
render precise definitions, drawn from a few apparent cha¬
racters, so difficult, if not impossible. “ II est tres facile,”
observes M. Schlegel, “ de se faire une idee d’un serpent,
lorsqu’on prend pour type une des especes ou tons les cha-
racteres de I’ordre se trouvent reunis; mais il est difficile
de consigner des marques distinctives qui separent d’une
maniere tranchee les Ophidiens des Sauriens.”l 2 Thus the
gular furrow which characterizes all serpents except the
genus Acrochordus, exists also among lizards, and several
other Saurian reptiles. A few Ophidians even exhibit Ophidian
vestiges of the hinder extremities analogous to what we Reptiles.^
may observe among the so-called apodal Saurians, although
there is reason to suspect that the parts alluded to repre¬
sent, in the latter the pelvis, in the former the actual ex¬
tremities.3 Perhaps the characters deduced from the bones
of the cranium would afford the best distinctions between
the two orders, were it not that in these, too, certain spe¬
cies of the genera Typhlops and Uropeltis make a near
approach to the true Ophidians. It may be well, however,
to state briefly the distinguishing features in the cranial
osteology of the latter order. The bones of the face in
serpents never form a fixed mass perforated by the nostrils,
and incased by sutures in each other; and the intermaxil¬
lary bone, trigonal, and compressed in its form, is always
free, and to a certain extent moveable, that is, never sol¬
dered by sutures to the maxillaries on either side. The
maxillaries themselves, when united to the anterior frontals,
are so merely by a narrow attachment, always preserving a
certain mobility; and the lateral margins of the nasal
bones are free throughout their whole extent. No Ophi¬
dian reptile has thick conical teeth perpendicularly incased;
they rather resemble hooks curved backwards, with sharp
points; and we believe that all serpents, with the exception
of the genus Oligodon, have the palate armed with teeth
resembling those on the maxillae, whilst in the Saurian
order the palatine teeth exist only in the form of small
irregular asperities.
From the preceding brief sketch, it may be inferred that
the most peculiar character of serpents consists in their
mode of locomotion, and their extraordinary powers of
deglutition. These conditions modify their entire organiza¬
tion, for the former determines the general shape of the
body, and the latter that of the internal parts. On exa¬
mining the position of the intestines, we find that these
organs, which in the majority of other vertebrated beings
occupy several spacious cavities, are in the Ophidians in¬
closed within a long and narrow cylinder. It is obvious
that this disposition cannot prevail without great changes
in the form of the viscera; and the disturbance alluded
to is even destructive of bilateral symmetry. We thus
find the heart sometimes far removed from, at others
closely approached towards, the head, according as the
stomach is more or less extended; it is thus also that
most frequently there is only a single lung, sometimes
extending in front of the heart, but usually placed behind
that organ, and almost always terminated by a species of
sack of greater or less extent, and serving as a reservoir of
air. The liver, for the same reason, assumes a narrow
ribbon shape, extending from the heart to the pylorus.
The gall-vessel, that it may not be interrupted in its func¬
tions by the repletion of the stomach, is removed from the
liver, and placed in the same curve of the duodenum as
that which receives the pancreas and the spleen. I he
stomach resembles a lengthened narrow cylinder, Then
follow the intestines, of which the numerous inflections are
filled with fat, and which, after descending in a straight
line, terminate in the cloaca. The lower portion of the
abdominal cavity not being sufficiently spacious for the
reception of the rest of the organs, there thence results an
anomalous disposition of the kidneys, testicles, and ovaries.
“ La verge enfin, et un organe secreteur, sont loges dans
la queue.” These peculiar forms, however, of the majority
of the internal parts of serpents exercise no influence over
their lunctions; for, on more minute investigation, we find
l Naturalists as we shall afterwards take occasion to notice, differ in their views regarding the exact nature of these outward ap-
T^nHao-es They are described by M. Mayer in the twelfth volume of the Academia Natu.ro> Cunosorum of Bonn.
^ Saisur la Physionomie des Serpens, par H. Schlegel, La Haye, two vols. 8vo, 1837. Of this the most recent and complete work
nn our present department with which we are acquainted, we have availed ourselves largely in the following treatise,
a We have exhibited these parts as they exist in the genus Boa. See Plate V., figs. 1, 1 a, and 1 b.
R E P T I L I A.
43
Ophidian
Reptiles.
that they vary not only in distinct species, but in different
individuals of the same species.
The disposition of the external organs, on the contrary,
present much more constant forms; but these parts are
modified by the habits of the species, whether arboreal, ter¬
restrial, or aquatic. The mode of locomotion is, however,
very uniform, the movement being nearly the same which
aids a serpent while gliding on the surface of the ground,
traversing the depths of lakes and rivers, or climbing around
the umbrageous branches of forest-trees. The lateral un¬
dulations of the body suffice for these progressions; and it
is chiefly the sea-snakes that make use of their tails, which
are expressly organized for that special purpose, acting as
a scull. The degree of rapidity depends in a great mea¬
sure on the nature of the surface in which the motion is
exercised. Serpents drag themselves along with difficulty
over glass or any polished body, but make their way with
great alacrity over any earthy irregular surface, or through
tangled vegetation. For the exercise of these movements,
it is of course necessary that the bones and muscles should
be fitly disposed; and every one who has examined a pro¬
perly prepared serpent must have been struck at once by
the multiplicity and uniformity of its parts. The ribs and
vertebrae are almost all alike in their formation, and it is
only towards the caudal extremity that the bones diminish
in bulk.
As all the vertebrae of serpents carry two ribs, the usual
distinctions of cervical, dorsal, and lumbar do not exist.
As the scaly plates or scuta of the abdomen have each two
ribs as their levers, their number corresponds to that of the
vertebrae, and the ribs are double that of the scuta. This
number varies not only with the species, but the indivi¬
duals, and to so surprising an extent that we not unfre-
quently find a difference in the same species, amounting to
thirty or even fifty vertebrae. The number of vertebrae of
the body, properly so called, rarely exceeds 300, and is
never fewer than 100; the vertebrae of the tail, on the
contrary, are sometimes reduced to five, although in other
cases they amount to from 150 to 200. The ribs are more
numerous in serpents than in any other class of created
beings, several having above 500,—that is 250, or upwards,
on each side of the spinal column. We here figure the
skeleton of the common ringed snake of England,—Tropi-
donotus natrix. (See Plate V., fig. 2.)
The muscles exhibit various modifications in the different
species. In some they are remarkable for their consider¬
able size, and for the extraordinary development of ten¬
dons, especially among the venomous kinds. This organi¬
zation is necessary for the production of that force and
energy with which their undulating movements are often
executed. The muscles which produce these effects are
situate along the sides of the back, and on the anterior
face of the vertebrae ; but as the ribs likewise exercise the
function of locomotive organs, the numerous muscles
which are attached to these parts greatly facilitate the
lateral movements. The muscles of serpents being greatly
interlaced, it becomes difficult to describe them singly, and
their comparison with analogous parts in their higher
orders is by no means easy. These anatomical details,
however, are not to be expected in the present publication.
We therefore refer the reader to the works of Home,1 Hiib-
ner,2 Duges,3 Duvernoy,4 Meckel,5 and Schlegel.6
The muscles of serpents, as of other reptiles, preserve
their irritability for a long time after what we may regard
as the actual death of the animal; for these creatures,
although deprived of their head, and divested of their skin,
will continue to exhibit muscular movements for several
weeks, if kept in a moist condition. Swammerdam, in his
Biblia Natures, has proved, both by his figures and descrip¬
tions of frogs, that even at that early period (1666), pe¬
culiar galvanic effect was demonstrated in the muscles of
these reptiles which at a future period gave rise to so much
important discoveries regarding the phenomena of voltaic
electricity.
A few words may be said regarding the supposed vestiges
of the hinder extremities observable in certain serpents.
Several species exhibit on each side of the anus a small
hook or crotchet, half concealed by scales. The existence
of these parts has been long recognised, but we believe it
is to Professor Mayer of Bonn that we owe a more precise
knowledge of their nature. The only Ophidian genera in
which they have been hitherto precisely observed are Tor-
trix, Python, and Boa. They are most developed among
the Boas, and the huge size of these reptiles admits of a
more satisfactory examination. (See Plate V., figs. 1, 1 a,
and 1 b.) These vestiges, then, consist of an assemblage
on each side, of three principal osseous pieces, and of two
small accessory portions attached at the point of articula¬
tion of the tibia and tarsus. The terminal bone, which
alone appears externally, is in the form of a crotchet,
covered by a hard and scaly skin. When a longitudinal
incision is made in the flesh, we find that the interior piece,
which is the most developed, more or less S-shaped, and
comparable to the tibia, is prolonged with its free extre¬
mity into the abdominal cavity. The middle portion, on
the contrary, which seems to represent the tarsus, is thick,
short, slightly arched, and completely concealed within the
flesh. This apparatus is moved by flexor and extensor
muscles of a sufficiently simple structure. The use of
these vestiges of the posterior members is still unknown.
Their feeble development debars the idea of their con¬
tributing in any way to locomotion. Certain observers
maintain that they are prehensile organs, which give firm¬
ness of position on whatever bodies are embraced by the
circumvolutions of the tail and trunk; or that they may
even subserve the generative process. They exist in both
sexes.
When in a state of entire repose, the majority of ser¬
pents love to roll themselves into a spiral mass, with the
head in the centre, slightly raised above the other portions.
Possessing the power of bending their bodies in all direc¬
tions, except directly backwards, we at the same time fre¬
quently find them simply extended on the ground or her¬
bage in a sinuous curve. To produce progressive motion,
they merely unrol the body, and bending it into successive
lateral sinuosities, bring into play the numerous points of
contact presented by the anterior extremities of the ribs,
and thus push along with great facility. These reptiles
are frequently observed to raise the anterior portion of
their body into an erect position, supporting themselves on
the tail and part of the abdomen, as if with a view to
survey the scene around them. The body itself is then
usually quite stiff and straight, although some assume a more
curved attitude, besides exhibiting a peculiar swelling or
enlargement of the neck. When suspended perpendicu¬
larly from the branch of a tree, the great Boas exhibit
scarcely any sign of life or motion. They descend simply
by dropping themselves downwards, their peculiar form
and great elasticity of structure preventing their receiving
any injury from the fall; and when they reach the ground,
this rapid movement, so far from proving hurtful, aids by
its impulsion their terrestrial progress.
The majority of serpents (both of the innocent and the
colubriform venomous kinds) defend themselves against the
Ophidian
Reptiles.
1 Phil. Trans, vol. x.; and Lectures on Comp. Anat. - Le Organis motoriis Boca canince.
3 Ann. des Sciences Nat. vol. xii. 4
6 \ergl. Anat. vol. iii. p. 130, et suiv. 6 Physiognomic des Serpens, vol. i. p. 18.
44 REFT
Ophidian attack of their enemies oy darting upon them, with the
Reptiles. iieac| elevated, so as to enable them to bite with greater
' v ' energy. A few, such as the Najas, raise a considerable
portion of the anterior of the body, so as to assume a very
singular position. Most of them give utterance to a sharp
hissing sound as a prelude to battle ; and they also produce
a peculiar blowing, by forcing the air rapidly through the
nostrils. Several species throw themselves upon their prey
with a great and sudden bound, usually seizing it by the
throat; while others encircle it by a tortuous embrace, thus
pressing it to death by sinewy folds. The venomous kinds
make use of the same means to obtain their food as they
do to defend themselves from threatened danger. Quietly
stretched along the earth, they will attack indifferently what¬
ever incommodes them ; but knowing the potency of their
empoisoned fangs, they are satisfied by the infliction of a
murderous bite, without recourse to muscular pressure.
As snakes swallow their food entire, and without masti¬
cation, their teeth serve merely to wound and retain their
prey, or to instil into it the envenomed fluid. This deadly
matter is the product of certain glands of the head. These
are of two kinds ; the one composed, like the salivary glands
of quadrupeds and birds, of numerous small granules, which
secrete a fluid analogous to saliva, and destined to prepare
the food for digestion ; the other, of a very different nature,
forming a thick sack, of which the interior is divided into
numerous compartments, and distilling a liquid which, by
its fatal effects on the principle of life, becomes a dreadful
instrument, of destruction. The salivary glands are com¬
mon alike to all Serpents, but scarcely a fourth of the
entire species are provided with those which secrete the
poison. The teeth which conduct this fatal fluid into the
wound are hollow and pierced at each extremity. They
are always situate towards the anterior end of the maxil¬
lary bone, are covered by the gums, which there form a kind
of sheath, and are always kept bent when in repose. The
rest of the teeth, and the whole of those of the innocuous
kinds, are solid, with the exception of the hollow which con¬
tains the nutritive organ of the tooth. Although these large
anterior fangs are characteristic of the poisonous kinds, we
yet find a considerable number of innocuous species, of va¬
rious genera, which have the jaws armed with one or two
teeth larger than the others, and usually furrowed by a
cleft extending along the anterior face. These grooved
teeth are always situate at the base or posterior extremity
of the maxillaries, and it is but seldom that we perceive a
second on the middle portion of the jaw. Their sole func¬
tion is believed to be the pouring into their wounded prey
an abundant supply of saliva secreted by the posterior part
of the salivary glands, which are most voluminous in the re¬
gion occupied by the teeth in question. The organization
of these posterior glands entirely resembles that of the or¬
dinary salivary ones ; and recent observation has demonstrat¬
ed, that the bite of species belonging to the genera Dry-
ophis, Dipsas, and others with furrowed teeth, is followed
by no fatal results, at least to the human race.1
In studying in detail the teeth of the Ophidian reptiles,
we may perceive a gradation from the solid to the hooked
teeth. Each tooth in fact consists, in its earliest develop¬
ment, of a kind of lamella with curved margins, so as to
open as it were on its anterior face. In the so-called solid
teeth, this opening has become filled by the union of the
margins at an early period ; it continues open for a longer
time in the hooks of the most venomous kinds, but in the
completed state they exhibit only the tw-o orifices destined
for the entrance and emission of the poison,—the lower one
I L I A.
continuing to preserve the character of a longitudinal cleft. Ophidian
In other poisonous species w'e find analogous fangs, but with Reptiles,
a continuing vestige of the groove which formerly united v
the two orifices. Finally, the furrow in the lengthened
posterior teeth of certain innocuous species, is nothing more
than the permanence of the groove now mentioned.
The solid teeth occur indifferently in all Ophidian rep¬
tiles ; but their number, form, and position, vary in the
different species. With the exception of the genus Oligo-
don, which is unprovided with palatine teeth, there are
always four rows of teeth in the upper jaw (see Plate
IV., fig. 1 c), and two in the lower. Intermaxillary
teeth are not observable, except in the genus Python,
and occasionally in Tortnx acyta/e,—the number rarely ex¬
ceeding four (see figure last referred to). These solid teeth
are usually all of equal length ; but in the Boas they enlarge
towards the extremity of the muzzle (fig. 11), while the
reverse is the case in several species of Coluber, Tropidono-
tus, &c. The Lycodons exhibit some teeth more largely
developed than the others at the anterior extremity of the
maxillaries ; those of Dryophis and Psammophis are rather
unequal, several being even greatly elongated towards the
centre of the jaw ; those of certain species of Dipsas, Homa-
lopsis, &c. are often furrowed; while other genera, such as
Xenodon, Coronella, and several kinds of Homalopsis, have
the base of the maxillaries armed with a strongly developed
tooth of a solid structure. The number of teeth, in general,
obviously varies in relation to the development of the maxil¬
laries, and of the dental bone of the lower jaw.
The poison-gland, which forms so peculiar a character of
the noxious kinds, is enclosed in a thickish tendinous en¬
velope, hard and tenacious to the touch, and diminishing
backwards into the form of a narrow ribbon, by which it
is attached to the articulation of the lower jaw. Anteriorly
this envelope is also restricted to a canal-shaped space,
which stretches along the maxillaries, and then descends
towards the orifice already mentioned, of the anterior face
of the base of the hooked fang. (See Plate IV., fig.
10.) Among the poisonous serpents properly so called,
this canal is folded when the fangs are in a state of repose,
but easily extends in conformity with the movement of the
maxillary bones. The interior of the poison-gland is sub¬
divided into a great number of minute cells, produced by
very slender partitions, which cross each other at an angle
more or less acute. To this peculiar structure, so dissimilar
to that of the salivary glands, is due the secretion called
poison, from its fatal effect when mingled with the blood of
any living creature. It is true, that the bite of even the
most innocent animal may sometimes produce the most dis¬
astrous results, by a concourse of peculiar circumstances,
such as the temperature of the climate, the psychological
or pathological condition of the creature bitten, or the rabid
fury of that which has aggressed, and for this reason the bite
of innocuous serpents may have sometimes proved deleterious
even to the human race ; but the poison of the injurious kinds
holds its noxious qualities in its very nature, although the
circumstances just alluded to may render more deadly its
destroying powers.
The poison of snakes, when fresh, may be described as a
transparent limpid fluid, of a greenish-yellow colour, slight¬
ly gluey, viscous, adhering to other objects when dried,
and evaporating without burning when exposed to fire. It
sinks in water, and when mingled with it by shaking, pro¬
duces a troubled and somewhat whitish appearance. It
partakes greatly of the nature of mucus ; and when placed
in contact with any re-active substance, we discover that it
’ The glands in the head of serpents have been discussed in numerous publications. See, among others, Ranby, Phil. Trans. No. 401, p. 377;
Tiedemann, Mem. de VAcad, de Munich, 1813, p. 25 ; Cloquet, Mem. du Mus., vii. p. 62; Demoulins ap. Magendie, Journ. de Physiol, iv. p.
274; Meckel, Archiv, i. 1 ; and Duvernoy, Ann. des Sciences Nat. xxvi. and xxx. Various observations bearing on the subject will also be
found in the well-known writings of Redi, Mead, Fontana, and other physiologists.
KEPT
Ophidian is neither acid nor alkaline; there is nothing peculiar in its
epti es.^ 0(]0ur, and when applied upon the tongue it produces a sen¬
sation resembling that of fresh fat. Our recorded notices
on the subject are, however, somewhat contradictory. Dr
Mead and his associates, in certain experiments on the
poison of the viper, inform us that that fluid, “ when dilut¬
ed with a little warm water, was very sharp and fiery when
tasted with the tip of the tongue, as if the tongue had been
struck through with something scalding or burning; this
sensation went off in two or three hours ; and one gentle¬
man who would not be satisfied without trying a large drop
undiluted, found his tongue swelled, with a little inflam¬
mation, and the soreness lasted two days.” The Abbe Fon¬
tana, on the contrary, describes it as of no particular acri¬
mony of taste, but rather resembling oil or gum; and Dr
Russel makes the same statement regarding the poison even
of the Cobra de Capello, a species much more venomous
than any viper. The accounts of its effect upon the sto¬
mach, when taken internally, also show that doctors differ.
It is long since Celsus said, “ nam venenum serpentis non
gustu sed in vulnere nocet.” Boerhaave quotes the well-
known case of Jacob Sozzi, who, at the court of the Duke
of Tuscany, is alleged to have taken three drams of this
poison, without experiencing any bad consequences; while
Fontana affirms, that although its internal effect is not like
that of a bite or puncture, it cannot be swallowed with im¬
punity. On this point the older authors, as Dr Shaw in¬
forms us, also disagree. Matthiolus asserts, that even when
sucked from a wound it has proved fatal; while others con¬
firm the prevailing opinion of ancient writers, and the ex¬
perience of Cato’s soldiery, that it is harmless when so re¬
ceived. The practice, indeed, of the Psylli and Marmari-
des of old,
Tame, at whose voice, spell-bound, the dread Cerastes lay,
probably proceeded upon this principle of suction. These
Psylli were African tribes, and were employed, according
to Lucan, by Cato, for the recovery of such of his men as
had been bitten by serpents during their march among the
Libyan deserts. The heroic Roman is also said to have
assured his followers, who feared to drink, even in “ a dry
and desert land,” of the translucent fountains, lest they too
should be infected by serpents, that, however noxious might
be the bite of these envenomed reptiles, yet the poison
must lose its effects when mingled with so pure an element.
And now with fiercer heat the desert glows,
And mid-day gleamings aggravate their woes ;
When, lo ! a spring amid the sandy plain
Shews its clear mouth to cheer the fainting train.
But round the guarded brink in thick array
Dire Aspics roll’d their congregated way,
And thirsting, in the midst, the dreadful Dipsas lay.
Blank horror seized their veins, and at the view
Back from the fount the troops recoiling flew.
When, wise above the crowd, by cares unquell’d,
Their awful leader thus their fears dispell’d :
Let not vain terrors now your minds enslave,
Nor dream the serpent brood can taint the wave ;
Urged by the fatal fang their poison kills,
But mixes harmless with those bubbling rills.
Dauntless he spoke, and bending as he stood,
Drank with cool courage the suspected flood.
The poison of the viper, according to Boerhaave, is ren¬
dered inactive by digestion in the stomach and bowels, so
that it will not afterwards exert its fatal influence on the
blood; “ for a whole ounce of this venom taken by the
mouth will not kill an animal, while at the same time a
small needle only dipped in the same fluid, and taking up
perhaps not more than the hundredth part of a drop, when
thrust into the blood of a living creature, almost infallibly
destroys.*1 The following is Bruce the traveller’s well-
I L I A. 45
known but extraordinary narrative. “ I will not hesitate Ophidian
to aver that I have seen at Cairo (and this may be seen Reptiles.
daily, without trouble or expense) a man who came from
above the catacombs, where the pits of the mummy-birds
are kept, who has taken a cerastes with his naked hand
from a number of others lying at the bottom of the tub,
has put it upon his bare head, covered it with the common
red cap he m ears, then taken it out, put it in his breast,
and tied it about his neck like a necklace; after which it
has been applied to a hen, and bit it, which has died in a
few minutes; and, to complete the experiment, the man
has taken it by the neck, and beginning at the tail, has ate
it as one would do a carrot or a stock of celery, without any
seeming repugnance.”
I his opinion, however, that the poison of snakes may be
taken internally without producing any troublesome effects,
has been recently contradicted by the experience of Dr
Hering, at Surinam. This traveller took at different times
various doses of the poison of a rattle-snake ( Crotalus mu-
tils') mixed with water, and suffered from its effects for up¬
wards of eight succeeding days. These manifested them¬
selves by pains in the larynx and other parts of the body,
by an increased secretion of mucus in the membranes of
the nose and oesophagus, and by frequent diarrhoea, accom¬
panied by pain in the rectum. To these symptoms were
added several others of a rather curious kind, attributable
to the influence which this poison seemed to exercise even
over the moral faculties.
By far the most deleterious effect, however, of this subtle
fluid is produced by its mingling with the blood, through
the medium of an inflicted wound. It then shows its mor¬
bid influence with a rapidity often frightful, and usually
proportioned to the quantity of the poison instilled, and to
the abundance with wThich the wounded part is furnished
with those vessels which bear the stream of life. For this
reason, of course, the bite of a large snake is more dan¬
gerous than that of a small one; and so also a wound in
the tongue, or in any vein, is almost always mortal, while
it not unfrequently happens, that when a hard or callous
part is bitten, no injurious results are found to follow. Cold¬
blooded animals are much less affected by the bite of a
snake than are quadrupeds or birds; and in the majority of
invertebrated tribes it produces no effect whatever. Gene¬
rally speaking, however, the smaller the victim, the more
deadly are the consequences of a wound. In Europe, the
human race seldom suffers fatally from the bite of a
viper; and it is supposed that the poison of several would
be required to kill a bullock or a horse. So at least say
many modern writers; yet we cannot help remembering
what Boerhaave tells us regarding a viper, wdiich, “ being
enraged by the members of the Tuscan Academy,” and
then suffered to bite the nose of a strong bull, the pon¬
derous creature died in a very short time. A small quad¬
ruped dies rapidly from an infliction of the slightest wound.
In tropical countries, however, where the poisonous species
are often of considerable size, and their venom is both more
abundant and in a state of higher concentration, the effects
are fatal both to man and beast. The activity of the poison,
in truth, increases with the temperature of the climate.
Various experiments have been tried, with a view to as¬
certain the strength of this animal poison in different spe¬
cies of serpents, and the best means of arresting its fatal
influence. 1 he observations of Laurentius, Fontana, Russel,
Davy, and Lenz, are familiar to the student of physiology,
but less satisfactory in their results than might be desired,
from the modifying effects of special circumstances. To
obtain well rectified general inferences, it would be neces¬
sary that numerous experiments should be tried with ser¬
pents of corresponding size, existing under similar circum-
See Shaw’s General Zoology, iii. p. 371,
46 E E P T
Ophidian stances, and in relation to victims of the same constitution ;
Reptiles. anc} by repeating these experiments with various kinds of
serpents, and taking the average effect of each kind as a
result, we might in a measure ascertain the different cha¬
racters of these animal poisons, of which we have as yet
but a meagre knowledge.
The effect of a serpent’s bite usually manifests itself
without delay. A sharp pain is felt in the part pierced by
the fangs, although the puncture is extremely minute, and
scarcely a drop of blood may flow ; swelling follows, and
inflammation soon declares itself. The progressive effects
upon other parts of the system are exhibited by a general
feebleness ; walking becomes painful, and respiration labo¬
rious and constrained ; the patient suffers from ardent
thirst, follow'ed by nausea, vomiting, glimmering of the
sight, and other symptoms, w'hich, combined with acute
bodily pains, often deprive the victim of his senses. Livid
spots sometimes surround the wound, the dread precursors
of that fatal gangrene which, spreading more extensively,
ere long puts a period to existence. “ His strength is
poured out like water, and all his bones are out of joint;
his heart is like wax, it is melted in the midst of his bowels.
His strength is dried up like a potsherd, and his tongue
cleaveth to his jaws, and he is brought unto the dust of
death.” Then, instead of the bloom of youth, the power
of manhood, or the pride of beauty, we behold but a
bloated corpse, the sad repulsive remnant of humanity. It
may be remarked, however, that the poison of these subtle
reptiles seems to deprive us of life under a considerable
variety of aspects. A lethargic torpor without pain is said
to follow the bite of the asp; and hence, we presume, its
preference by that luxurious queen for whom Antony “ lost
the world.” The fact, though doubted by medical ob¬
servers, seems in a great measure confirmed by the ex¬
amples adduced by Captain Gowdie, as recorded by Dr
Russell.1 Lucan of old has distinguished the poisonous
serpents that infested the march of the Roman army over
the deserts of Libya by the various symptoms which they
produced; but his dreadful catalogue should perhaps be
regarded rather as a piece of poetical embellishment than
as a historical relation. Yet it seems now believed, that
however the symptoms may vary, the nature and action of
the poison is the same in all, and is in most cases to be
counteracted by the same means. The virulence of the
bite even of individuals of the same species probably varies
according to the season of the year, just as their manners
and external aspect also vary, as so beautifully described
by Virgil:—
Potsquam exhausta palus, terraeque ardore dehiscunt;
Exilitin siccum, et flammantia lumina torquens
Saevit agris, asperque siti, atque exterritus, aestu.
Ne mihi turn molles sub dio carpere, somnos,
)? Neu dorso nemoris libeat jacuisse per herbas :
Cum positis novas exuviis nitidusque juventu,
Volvitur, aut catulos tectis aut ova relinquens,
Arduus ad Solem, et linguis micat ore trisulcis.2
1 he excessive rapidity with which death was frequently
produced by the bite of venomous serpents induced Dr
Mead to conclude that its fatal influence affected the ner¬
vous rather than the circulating system. But the experi¬
ments of Fontana go far to demonstrate that the venom of
the viper is perfectly innocent when applied to the nerves
only ; but that it acts immediately upon the blood, and
through the medium of that fluid destroys the irritability
of the muscular fibre, and so produces death.
In further illustration of this singular subject, we may
here give a brief account of the effect produced by the bite
of some remarkable salt-wrater snakes belonging to the
ILIA.
genus Hydrus {Hydroplus of our present treatise). Soon Ophidian
after the opening of the bar in the month of October 1815, Reptiles,
reports prevailed at Madras that a great shoal of sea-snakes '
had entered the river, and that many natives while crossing
had been bitten, and had died in consequence. A reward
was offered for each of these creatures captured and car¬
ried to the superintendent of police. Pandauls were
erected opposite to the two principal fords, and skilful na¬
tives, under the direction of Dr M'Kenzie (to whom we
are indebted for the information), were provided with
eau-de-luce and other remedies, and ordered to afford im¬
mediate aid to those who might be bitten. Many were
bitten accordingly (the snakes seeming in no way loathe to
expedite the result), and all exhibited the symptoms usually
consequent upon the action of a powerful animal poison ;
but none died. We shall state a couple of cases, with the
mode of treatment. A native woman, while crossing near
the custom-house, was seen, on emerging from the water,
to shake off something from her foot. This to several
spectators appeared to be a water-snake. The woman,
after advancing a few paces from the river, fell down, and
was immediately carried insensible to the pandaul. On
examining her feet, two small but distinct wounds were
perceived on the ankle of the right leg ; her skin was cold,
her face livid, her breathing laborious, her pulse scarcely
perceptible. A ligature was immediately placed above
the wound, which had been previously enlarged with a
lancet, and a piece of the carbonate of ammonia well
moistened with pure nitric acid applied, while thirty drops
of the eau-de-luce were administered nearly at the same
time in a glass of water. In five minutes more a similar
dose was poured down the throat, which seemed rather to
increase the spasmodic affection of the chest; but the
pulse at the wrist became distinct, though feeble. A third
dose was repeated in three minutes more, on which she
uttered a scream, and began to breathe more freely. Ten
minutes had now elapsed since she had been carried to the
pandaul, and in about three minutes more a tea-spoonful
of the eau-de-luce was given, which almost immediately pro¬
duced violent nausea, and a profuse perspiration. When a
little salt was put into her mouth, she declared it was not
salt, but sugar; and this the natives deemed an infallible
sign of still-continued danger. She soon, however, en¬
tirely recovered, and merely complained for three or four
days of a numbness in the limb above the wound. Another
case was that of a Lascar, who was bitten by a snake while
in the middle of the river. He advanced a few paces
aftei quitting the bank, and then fell down in violent con¬
vulsions. When brought in, his breathing was laborious,
his skin cold and clammy, his countenance livid, and his
pulse feeble at the wrist, but distinct at the temples. A
quantity of froth and foam was ejected from between his
closed teeth. He too recovered, after a similar mode of
treatment; but lie complained for many days that he had
no left leg. On another occasion a large healthy chicken
wTas exposed to the bite of a Hydrus major, four feet long.
It was bit in the foot, and in about ten minutes began to
droop, and to show a slight convulsive flutter of both
wings. In three minutes more it became convulsed, and at
the end of seventeen minutes from the infliction of the
wound it suddenly dropped down dead.3
Dr Russel has figured and described forty-three of the
most common serpents of Hindustan, and of these he found
only seven that were provided with poison-fangs. He in¬
forms us that a quantity of warm Madeira taken internally,
with an outward application of eau-de-luce on the punc¬
tures, was generally successful in curing the bite of even
the most venomous species. He also states that the me¬
in his work on the Serpents of the Coast of Coromandel.
3 Asiatic Researches, vol. xiii., p. 329.
2 Gear. lib. iii., 1. 432.
R E P T I L I A.
Ophidian dicine called die Tanjore pill was equally efficacious.
Reptiles. Each pill contains three-fourths of a grain of arsenious
acid. On comparing the effects of the poison of five of
the oriental species on brute animals, with those resulting
from the rattle-snake and European viper, Dr Russel re¬
marked that they all produced morbid symptoms nearly
the same, although they might differ in the degree of
their deleterious power, and the rapidity of its operation.
The tongue of serpents is remarkable for its great ex¬
tensibility. It is protected by a rather firm skin, becomes
very slender towards the anterior extremity, where it
divides into two slender filaments, and is capable of being
withdrawn into a kind of sheath, which opens in front of
the glottis. The position of these parts varies in the dif¬
ferent species, being placed, for example, very near the
muzzle in the genus Hydrophis, but much further back¬
wards among both the terrestrial and the tree serpents.
The tongue of the Ophidians in general, though extremely
similar to that of certain Saurians, such as Monitor, Tejus,
and other genera, yet differs in the far greater simplicity of
the harder parts by which it is supported; for we find, in
place of a hyoid bone, composed of several pieces, merely
a simple cartilaginous thread attached to the internal face
of the general integument of the gular region, with its two
extremities prolonged greatly backwards. This cartilage
is sometimes, as in Boa, intimately united to the muscles
of the throat, of which it intersects the fibres, its posterior
extremity being then attached to the skin on the sides of
the neck; but in the majority of cases, the horns of the
hyoid are free, closely approached, and prolonged into the
cavity of the chest, even as far as the heart. The tongue
of these reptiles seems in truth, by its construction, to be
a genuine organ of touch, and serving neither for taste nor
deglutition, being during the latter act inclosed within its
sheath. A little notch-like aperture at the end of the
muzzle, which exists in most serpents except the aquatic
kinds, admits the protrusion of the tongue without the ne¬
cessity of opening the mouth. This movement is usually
made very leisurely, although with extreme rapidity when
the individual is excited either by fear or passion.1
The use of the tongue in serpents is not exactly known.
Its narrow and cylindrical form would render it unapt to
aid the process of mastication, even were the teeth of a
nature to perform that process. They are continually
lancing it into the air, and may possibly in this way also
gather moisture from grass or other herbage. It is, how¬
ever, believed that they never drink. “On ignore,” says
M. Schlegel, “ si ies serpens boivent, et s’il est juste
d’opiner pour la negative; toutefois on n’ajamais aperpu
des fluides dans ceux donton a examine I’estomac.”2 Other
authors, however, are of a somewhat different opinion.
“Tout au plus,” say MM. Dumeril and Bibron, “cette
langue fort longue sert-elle, comme on 1’a observe quelque-
fois, a faire penetrer un pen de liquide dans la bouche, car
nous avons vu nous-meme des couleuvres taper ainsi I’eau
que nous avions placee aupres d’elles dans la cage ou nous
les tenions renfermees pour les observer a loisir.”J
The alimentary canal of the Ophidians is remarkable for
its great simplicity.4 The tesophagus and stomach form a
continuous canal, to the special parts of which it is difficult
to assign precise limits. The pancreas, according to M.
Schlegel, is always placed “ dans la premiere courbure qui
fait I’intestin ^ partir du pylore,” and varies in different
species both as to size and form. The spleen is of an oval
or somewhat globular shape, of a rather firm consistence,
and frequently concealed among the lobes of the pancreas,
with which it is sometimes intimately united. The liver in
47
Ophidian reptiles assumes a long ribbon-shaped form, more Ophidian
slender at either end, sometimes imperfectly divided into a Reptiles,
couple of lobes, and extending along the cesophagits and
stomach, from the heart as far as the pylorus. The hepatic
canal descends from its interior face towards the pancreas,
to conduct the bile into the small intestine. The gall¬
bladder, which is abundantly supplied, discharges its fluid
by a short conduit, which joins the hepatic canal at an angle
more or less acute. The kidneys, remarkable for their
lengthened form and symmetrical position, are divided into
a great number of small lobes, adhering to each other by
means of the cellular tissue.
Digestion, notwithstanding the activity of the gastric
juice, is sufficiently slow in serpents. It would appear, in
fact, that the juice in question exercises its influence chiefly
in the regions near the pylorus; for it has been found that
an animal withdrawn from the abdomen of a snake is always
decomposed towards its lower extremity, while the portion
lying nearer the oesophagus continues unconsumed. Indi¬
gestible portions, such as hair, feathers, &c., are said to be
sometimes ejected by the mouth; and, according to M.
Dieperink, when a serpent in a wild state is pursued soon
after it has swallowed a considerable prey, it will disgorge
it to facilitate the means of escape. In regard to the diges¬
tive faculty of serpents, one of the most remarkable cha¬
racters consists in the strong absorbing power of the intes¬
tines. When we examine their fecal remains, we find that
these exhibit as it were a dry extract of the entire prey, of
which the parts incapable of liquefaction remain not only
unaltered, but occupying precisely the same relative posi¬
tions which they held in the living animal. If, for example,
a rat has been swallowed, we find, in what at first appears
a dry and unformed heap, the muzzle, the long hairs upon
the cheeks, the down which covers the thin cartilage of the
ears, the hair, of various length and colour, which has
clothed the back, abdomen, and especially the tail, and
finally the nails, in a perfectly entire state. All fleshy or
softer substances have been completely absorbed; and the
earthy salts, which, by their union with the gelatine, give
consistence to the bones, still indicate by their colour the
position formerly occupied by these osseous portions. The
most complete natural analysis has been effected by means
of dissolution, compression, and absorption,—and of this
the desiccated mass already mentioned is the sole residuum.5
The infrequent meals of serpents are thus in a measure
compensated by the great profit which they derive from
each.
The mode in which these reptiles swallow their food is
sufficiently simple. They commence by getting the head
within their throat, and while the teeth of one jaw adhere
to the prey, the other jaw makes a forward movement, and,
fastening its teeth, draws the object inwards, till, by this
alternate action of the jaws, and chiefly of the under one,
deglutition is effected. The jaws, as we have already
hinted, are capable of a certain separation from each other
even at their basis, and an abundant supply of saliva being
at the same time poured out upon the victim, a body larger
in bulk than the snake itself is sometimes swallowed; and
as in this case the process is slow, and but a small portion
can enter the throat at a time, the reptile reposes for a
considerable period, even till, with distended mouth, it
seems gorged with putrefaction, presenting a hideous and
disgusting picture of gluttony and sloth. When the veno¬
mous kinds swallow their prey, they do not use their
poison-fangs, but lower these beautiful and highly-finished
instruments of destruction into the hollow of the gums,—
“ sheathing them as a sword.”
1 See Helmann, Vber den Tastsinn der Schlangen. 2 Physiognomie des Serpens, i. 97. 3 Erp. Gin. i. 135.
4 The digestive organs are described by Duvernoy in Ann. des Sciences Nat., and by Meckel in his Vergl. Anat.
5 Erp. Ginirale, i. 145.
48 KEPT
Ophidian The heart of Ophidian reptiles is usually of an elongated
^Reptiles.^ formj an(j js remarkable for its distant position from the
head.” It is composed of two spacious auricles, separated
from each other by a membranous division; the ventricle,
on the contrary, is imperfectly divided into two rather
narrow cavities by a partition which takes its origin from
the base of the heart, and loses itself amid the fleshy fibres
of that region. The walls of the auricle, although fleshy,
are slender,—those of the ventricle are of considerable
thickness, especially on the left side of that portion which
extends in the form of a conical appendage beneath the left
auricle. Each auricle communicates with the ventricle by
means of a broadish opening, susceptible of being closed by
a valve. The right auricle receives all the veins, which
form, with the exception of the left jugular, prior to passing
through the wall of the auricle, a kind of sac of greater or
less extent, which, in addition to the ordinary tunics, ex¬
hibits a distinct muscular coat. Two large valves serve to
close the common entrance of the veins into this auricle.
When the blood has attained the right chamber of the ven¬
tricle, it is driven into the pulmonary artery, of which the
embouchure offers two valves; comprised at its base in the
common trunk of the aortas, this artery curves itself be¬
neath the left aorta, and approaches the lung, of which it
margins the posterior face before entering the interior of
that organ. A single pulmonary vein, piercing the lung
behind the artery of the same denomination, carries the
oxidized blood into the left auricle, which is of a conoid
form, and less spacious than the right one. This oxidized
blood, after having passed into the left cavity, is pushed
towards the right side, where we find the embouchures of
the two aortas, of which each exhibits a pair of semicircular
valves, even when these openings are united into one.
We shall now devote a few lines to the respiratory or¬
gans. When we observe a serpent in a state of repose,—
“ as on the grassy herb
Fearless, unfeared, he sleeps,”—
we may see that its body alternately dilates and contracts
by the play of the ribs, and that this movement is repeated
slowly, yet at regular intervals. But we may also perceive
that the nostrils are closed for a longer, and consequently
an unconforming period, during one of which the body is
contracted and dilated perhaps thirty times. It results
from this observation that the lungs of Ophidians, besides
their ordinary function, fulfil that of serving as reservoirs of
atmospheric air, which, though replenished only by a single
inspiration, contain a quantity sufficient to admit a con¬
tinuous oxidation of the blood by the contraction of the
lungs. When the oxygen is totally absorbed, expiration
takes place, and a supply of fresh air is drawn in. The
configuration of the lungs undergoes many modifications in
the different races of Ophidian reptiles. The form is usually
that of a simple conical sac, extending from the heart to¬
ward the lower regions of the stomach, where it ends in a
membranous pouch. The trachea, composed of numerous
demi-rings united anteriorly by a membrane, terminates in
the origin of the lungs by an oblique opening. The latter
organ is divided more or less completely into two bronchi
in Boa, the majority of Tortrix, the genus Dips as, and
others; and in these we may perceive the vestige of a se¬
cond lobule of the lung, sometimes half as large as that on
the other side. A singular peculiarity is observable among
the sea-serpents. In Hydrophis colubrinus, for instance,
the tracheal pipe is prolonged into the hypochondriac region,
where it terminates in a membranous sac, extending to
within a couple of inches of the anus; but in place of a
membrane uniting the rings of the trachea, it is the lung
itself that envelopes that tube throughout its whole length.
ILIA.
The small size of the brain in serpents is obvious in all, Ophidian
and becomes very conspicuous in relation to the size of the Reptiles,
head, when we select for observation any of those species
in which the organs of manducation are strongly developed.
The two hemispheres are prolonged by restriction into the
olfactive lobule, so that the latter part is borne as it were
upon a pedicle. We observe the optic lobules on their
posterior face, and passing beneath the hemispheres towards
the eye, to form the optic nerve. The cerebellum is a very
small organ, situated behind the optic lobules almost uni¬
form with the spinal cord, or offering but an inconsiderable
enlargement. The grand sympathetic nerve is interlaced
at so many points with the par vagum, that it is next to
impossible to trace its origin with any certainty.
As to the intellectual faculties of these reptiles, we know
that Satan found
“ The serpent, subtlest beast of all the field;”
and we doubt not that, even in our own days, they may be
placed at least upon an equality with the Saurian and Che-
lonian orders. The reproductive power with which their
separate parts arp said to be endowed has probably been
the subject of some exaggeration ; and it seems certain that
when the tail or other important portion has been destroyed
by mutilation it is altogether incapable of being repro¬
duced. The sense of smell is believed to be by no means
acute in these reptiles. The nostrils vary in the different
genera in respect to form, size, and position. It may, how¬
ever, be stated as a constant rule, that the purely aquatic
species have the nostrils small, directed upwards, and for
the most part susceptible of being closed by means of a
valve, while those of the terrestrial and arboreal kinds are
usually lateral and open. Among the burrowing serpents
these openings are almost always of an orbicular form, and
of very small dimensions. In the genera Trigonocephalus
and Crotalus there is a cavity on each side of the muzzle,
behind the nostrils, of which the use is still unknown. The
eye is probably defective in the power of distant vision,
though sufficiently acute for all the ordinary purposes of a
serpent’s life. It is covered over by the external skin, of
which, however, the tunics in that quarter are extremely
thin and diaphanous, and present themselves under the form
of a hemispherical lamella adhering to the scaly plates which
surround the orbit. There is thus no apparent eyelid to
the visual organs of serpents, a slight edging of the skin
forming their only protection.1 The supposed absence of
this part wras presumed by the ancients, and has been re¬
corded in the writings even of modern anatomists of the
greatest skill. But more recent researches, undertaken by
M. Cloquet, and verified by Baron Cuvier and M. Dumeril,
have demonstrated that the eye of Ophidians is provided
w’ith a single lid, large though immoveable, and incased in
a projecting frame, which forms around the orbit a series of
scales, variable in number, though usually amounting to
seven or eight. When the general covering is renewed,
we find that a delicate coating of the eye is likewise thrown
off as a portion of the exuviae. The structure of the ear
in serpents seems to demonstrate that these creatures are
dull in their sense of hearing.
The general envelope of Ophidian reptiles forms a kind
of cuirass, which enables them to withstand the influence of
the elements and the effects of external accidents. To
conform to the movements pf the body, and the occasional
enlargement of its parts, this covering, we need scarcely
say, is composed of a multiplicity of separate compartments,
of which the smaller are called scales, the larger plates.
These parts are composed of much thicker layers of the
integument than the intervening portion, which consists of
a delicate skin, seldom visible except when the body is more
l “ Nous avons deja dit qu’il n’y avait pas de paupieres apparentes dans les serpens, et que ces animaux semblent, par cela meme
avoir I’ceii fixe, et etre toujours eveilles.” {Erp. Gen. i. 102.)
R E P T I L I A.
49
Ophidian than usually distended, and for this reason almost always
Reptiles, colourless, being unsubjected to the influence of light. In
v—certain species of the genus Tropidonotus, however, the
mucous membrane of the neck is so tinted as to exhibit a
beautiful vermilion red between the scales ; and the scales
themselves in many species exhibit colours, both fixed and
iridescent, of great brilliancy :—
“ With burnished neck of verdant gold, erect
Amidst their circling spires.”
1 he general tinting depends in a great measure upon the
condition of the epidermis, and is always freshest and purest
immediately after the casting of the slough or superficial
skin. 1 he total amount of longitudinal rows of scales is
almost always an unequal number, there being a single
range rather larger than the rest along the centre of the
dorsal region, with an equal number on either side ; but to
this rule Herpetodryas carinatus forms an exception (the
only one perhaps throughout the order), there being a
double central row of scales along the back. The form of
the scales is greatly varied, some being rounded on the mar¬
gins, others truncated at the extremity, or prolonged into a
sharpish point. The greater number are what naturalists
call imbricated, that is, lying slightly over each other like
the tiles of a house ; but almost all sea-serpents have the
scales of a hexagonal form, with the epidermis very thin.
I he median line of the lower parts is usually covered
by a range of broad scaly plates, of much larger dimensions
than the ordinary lateral and dorsal scales ; and the caudal
plates are generally different from those of the abdomen.
The latter form a single uniform range from the anus to the
throat, where they disappear. They are sometimes narrow,
as in the genera Boa, Tortrix, &c., and in such cases re¬
semble the scales of the back ; but in the far greater num¬
ber they are so broad as to encroach even on the flanks,
and thus occupy a large proportion of the circumference of
the body. The plates beneath the tail do not form a single
central range, except in Boa, Eryx, and a few other Ophi¬
dians, the majority of the order having the part in question
provided with a double row of plates. We may add that
the terminal plates of the abdomen also not unfrequently
partake of this divided character.
Ihe head of Ophidian reptiles is rarely clothed with
scales of a character similar to those of the body. They
are larger, and of a more determinate and symmetrical
form ; and as they offer distinctive characters of easy
application, they have received from M. Schlegel various
names, in accordance with the position they occupy, such
as vertical, occipital, superciliary, frontal, rostral, labial,
ocular, frenal, temporal, mental, and gular.1
The system of coloration which prevails among these
insidious creatures is very varied, and admits of numerous
exceptions to any general laws which we might attempt to
establish in its illustration. In numerous species there is a
beautiful accordance between the tinting of the body and
the colour of the places they inhabit; thus many tree-ser¬
pents are of a uniform greenish hue, exactly similar to that
of the foliage by which they are overshadowed, while
several kinds of Dendrophis and Dryiophis seem rather to
imitate the small and leafless branches. In the genus
Dipsas the colours recall to mind those of the mossy
trunks of ancient trees; fresh-water snakes are usually of
a sombre uniform hue; while the marine species partake of
those clearer tints of green and blue which beautify the
pellucid billows of the up-heaving sea. Such as dwell in
dry and desert lands are often to be scarcely distinguished
from the parched sand by which they are surrounded •
while others, which affect a more varied soil and richer
vegetation, are adorned with the gay and gorgeous colour¬
ing of flowers, or the metallic splendour of the mineral
kingdom. Several have their bodies encircled by alternate
bands of crimson and black upon a pearly-white or delicate
yellow ground, and present an aspect as richly adorned as
any we can discover throughout the entire range of the
animal world. Among the more beautiful may be men¬
tioned Coronella venustissima and coccinea, Lycodonformo-
sus, several species of Tortrix and Heterodon, the majority
of the genus Elaps, Naja lubrica, Dendrophis ornata, and
Dipsas macrorhina. Numerous other species are equally
remarkable, both for the splendour and diversity of colour
by which they are adorned; but as these bright hues are
subject to numerous causes of variation, from age, sex, and
season, it results that among no order of created beings is
the always uncertain character of colour to be less depended
on than among the subjects of our present dissertation. It
seems, however, established as a general law, that the
younger individuals have the liveliest and most distinct
tints, and that these in more aged examples are not unffe-
quently effaced, or fade away, as we find in Coluber canus
and melanurus, Homalopsis buccata, Xenodon severus, and
others. The power of speedy and spontaneous change of
colour does not, however, seem to be a possession of the
Ophidian order, as it is of so many of the Saurian tribes.
Yet a few of the arboreal serpents have been occa¬
sionally observed to modify their living tints from time to
time.
The natural colours of these creatures can scarcely be
judged of from specimens imported to our cabinets from
foreign climes. The spirit in which they are preserved is
not the spirit of beauty. Black, brown, ochry-yellow, and
several other tints, do not altogether lose their lustre ; and
Calamaria arctiventris and brachyorrhos, Tortrix macu-
lata and xenopeltis, Coronella rufula, Lycodon Hebe and
subcinctus, Coluber constrictor, xEsculapii, and melanurus,
and several kinds of Naja, Homalopsis, and Vipera, may
be named among those which are most easily preserved.
In discussing the various branches of natural history, it
is the practice of authors to state the uses of each particular
tribe of animals to the human race. We fear that in rela¬
tion to our present subjects a single paragraph may suffice.
Serpents certainly confer benefit by destroying other inju¬
rious creatures, such as small mammiferous vermin, worms,
insects, and mollusca of various kinds. They were formerly
used in medicine, though that practice, we believe, is now
confined to the ignorant and superstitious; yet it has been
recently stated that Dr Marikrosky, of'Rosenau in Hungary,
has employed the gall of serpents with success in epileptic
cases.2 It is well known that the flesh of the viper has
been highly esteemed, both by ancient and modern physi¬
cians, as a restorative and strengthening diet. This idea,
as Dr Shaw has well observed, seems to have originated
from the reptile casting its skin, a natural process, viewed
by the vulgar as a renovation of youth; and a snake being
made the emblem of health, and consecrated to Aesculapius,
may have depended on the same idea. The flesh of the
viper was used by the ancients in leprous and other cases.
“ The Greek physician Craterus, mentioned so often by
Cicero in his Epistles to Atticus, cured, as Porphyrins
relates, a miserable slave, whose skin in a strange manner
fell oft' from his bones, by advising him to feed on vipers’
flesh in the manner of fish. Antonius Musa, physician to
Octavius Caesar (Augustus), is said by Pliny to "have or¬
dered the eating of vipers in the case of otherwise incurable
idcers, which by this method were quickly healed; and
Galen says that those wrho are.afflicted with elephantiasis
are wonderfully relieved by eating vipers’ flesh dressed like
eels.”3 According to Lopez, the Negroes of the coast of
Congo eat roasted adders, and regard them as delicious
Ophidian
Reptiles.
1 See Physiognomie des Serpens, i. 60.
VOI.. XIX.
Ilufeland, Journ. Ann. 1831, cah. 10. a General Zoology, iii. 372.
G
50
R E P T I L I A.
Ophidian food. It is well known that the credulous Sir Kenelm
Reptiles. Digby, with a view to recover his wife, the Lady Venetia,
y**' from consumption, caused her to feed on capons fattened
with vipers. The flesh of the viper is still used in Italy and
Spain as a remedy in consumption. But we need not de¬
tain our readers with more of these, at best, ambiguous
views. To proceed with our natural history.
In European countries the copulation of serpents usually
takes place, in fine weather, during the months of April and
May, and three or four months elapse before the eggs are
laid. Incubation is effected within the body of the female ;
for on opening an egg immediately after exclusion, we
almost always find a foetus more or less developed, some¬
times entirely formed. In the latter case, the so-called
shell is merely a delicate membrane, through which the
young can force their way, even at the moment of par¬
turition. In the greater number of species, however, the
eggs are composed externally of a resistant covering re¬
sembling parchment, the young being very imperfectly
formed at the period of deposition, and requiring sometimes
a month or more before they are hatched. It is merely
this difference in the times of final exclusion that constitutes
the distinction between the viviparous and oviparous kinds,
these being otherwise essentially the same. All Ophidians
are in truth oviparous; and those naturalists are in error
who compare this seemingly viviparous generation to that
of mammiferous animals, in which the young are nourished
by the placenta of the mother. According to M. Her-
holdt,1 the conditions most favourable to the development
of these embryons are humidity, produced by a feeble
vegetable fermentation, with a proportional temperature
(between + 20° and + 6° R.), and under circumstances
likely to favour absorption and evaporation through the
external tunic of the egg. Hence their love of dunghills,
or heaps of leaves piled up in places open to the sun.
The supposition entertained by many is incorrect, that
poisonous serpents always produce living young, and that
the innocuous kinds as constantly deposit eggs. This di¬
versity in the generative process does not seem to bear
any relation to the organization of the species; at least we
find the two modes exemplified in nearly-related species of
. the same genus. Thus the harmless Coronella Icevis pro¬
duces young as lively as those of the common viper; Boa
murina is also viviparous; while the deadly Najas and
several others lay eggs. The number of young ones varies
in different species. M. Schlegel did not find above ten in
several kinds of Calamaria, from twenty to twenty-five in
the genus Coluber, and above thirty in Trigonocephalus
atrox. The offspring usually differ from their parents in
being of more lively colours, with the head blunter and
rounder, the eyes larger, and the scales and other appen¬
dages of the epidermis less raised. They are, however,
furnished with teeth exactly like those of their respective
parents, and of which they do not fail, when occasion offers,
to make speedy use. The venomous kinds instinctively
elevate and depress their poison-fangs, as if ready from
the first to defend themselves against that persecution to
which their race is subjected. The European kinds are
known to change their skins about five times every sum¬
mer ; that is, once a month from the end of April to the
beginning of September. They are capable of long-con¬
tinued abstinence, independent of the lethargic state into
which the northern species fall in winter. A Boa con¬
strictor sent from Surinam to Holland fasted continuously
for six months. The age to which serpents attain is to us
unknown.
Destitute of the power of long-continued locomotion, ser- Ophidian
pents never attempt to travel farfrom the placesof their birth; Reptiles,
and thus, even in our own days, they still represent more
accurately than do the other classes of the animal kingdom
the positions in which they may be supposed to have been
originally placed.
One of the most curious general facts in the distribution
of serpents is their apparent absence (at least so far as the
land species are concerned) from the numerous islands of
the vast Pacific Ocean,—a circumstance not altogether to
be accounted for by the isolation of these various groups,
seeing that those of the Indian Archipelago particularly
abound with serpents. Another fact seems still more
firmly established, that the reptiles of the New World are
all specifically different from those of the Old,—a peculiar
feature in the history of their class, in so far as some
quadrupeds and birds are common to both countries. At
the same time it may be borne in mind, that it is only the
species of very northern portions of the two continents
which are in any case identical, and that as these northern
portions are almost, if not entirely, destitute of reptile life,
the field is greatly narrowed, so far as that form of exist¬
ence is concerned. The snakes of South America are in
general very distinct from those of the northern portions of
the New World, although a few are identical. Several of
the southern species inhabit the West Indies and the
warmer parts of the United States, where they form what
may be termed climatic varieties. Other species more
characteristic of a large extent of North America, reach as
far south as Mexico and the Antilles. America in general,
especially its equatorial districts, is almost as rich in snakes
as the Indian islands. It is otherwise with New Holland,
where these reptiles are by no means numerous, but where
the species are peculiar to the country. The serpents of
Japan seem, without exception, to belong to a particular
species not hitherto observed in other quarters of the
world. The numerous islands of the great archipelago of
the Indian Ocean produce in several instances identical
species, and these, moreover, are not unfrequently the
same as those of Malacca, Bengal, Hindustan, and Ceylon.
If we may judge from the few known species, the serpents
of Madagascar may be regarded as peculiar to that vast
island. Africa, compared with other great equatorial con¬
tinents, cannot be said to be very rich in these reptiles.
Its southern portions produce species entirely different from
those of Europe and of other countries; but these species
have a wide range in Africa itself, being in many cases
spread over all its intertropical regions, and even its north¬
ern parts. These comparatively northern countries, in
addition to some peculiar species, produce several others
which likewise inhabit the shores of both sides of the Me¬
diterranean. Many of our European serpents are found
over a large portion of temperate Asia,—a region which
appears to produce but a small proportion of peculiar species.
The geographical distribution of families and genera,—
these being viewed as representing various leading forms,—
affords an equally curious subject of observation. We may
notice, in the first place, that the venomous sorts are dis¬
tributed, with the exception of a few islands, over what¬
ever countries produce serpents of any kind. These
venomous species bear no determinate co-relation, as is
often supposed, to intense heat; for they occur in cold
and temperate countries equally with innocuous kinds.
But their aggregate number is much more limited than
that of the latter ; for while we reckon the total number of
known Ophidians at 263,2 we do not find above fifty-seven
1 Oversigt. 1830, p. 4. _ . .
2 We here follow the computation of M. Schlegel, who probably proceeds upon the idea, that the actual species have heen nominally
multiplied by the misapplication (and duplication) of various names. The amount must have been considerably greater in Humboldt s
opinion, as that illustrious writer incidentally states that equatorial America produces 115 serpents out of the 320 which form the
Ophidian order. Daudin, even in his time, described about 313 supposed species, of which 80 are regarded as venomous and 233 as in-
KEPT
Ophidian of these endowed with injurious attributes,—that is, the
Reptiles, proportion is not much more than one to five. This pro-
portion, however, is not maintained throughout the various
countries of the globe,—the venomous kinds seeming to
be comparatively more numerous in open sterile countries.
Of this, Africa and New Holland furnish examples,—the
venomous species of the former continent being to the in¬
nocuous kinds as one to two or three, while of the ten
species (or thereabouts) of ascertained New Holland spe¬
cies, not fewer than seven are venomous. In general, the
number of individuals of each species is much more limited
among the venomous kinds, as these live in an isolated
manner, and rarely multiply so as to become abundant.
Local circumstances sometimes favour an exception to this
rule, as in the case of the Trigonocephalus lanceolatus of
Martinique and St Lucia, and that of the Dalmatian Vi-
perus ammodytes. The sea-snakes, all of which are poison¬
ous, are likewise of a gregarious nature.
Excepting the anomalous group called Tortrix, there
does not seem to exist any genus of serpents which is
spread over all countries capable of maintaining reptile
life; and this restriction seems to illustrate the intimate
relation which subsists between the organization of these
beings, and the countries they inhabit. For example, the
Colubers properly so called, which are destined to dwell in
countries which are either well wooded, or marshy with
abundant vegetation, have not yet been observed in New
Holland, and are so rare in South Africa that only a single
species has been found there, and that of a somewhat ano¬
malous nature, in so far as its characters exhibit an approach
to those of species which dwell by preference in sandy
deserts. A similar observation applies nearly to the genus
Coronella, composed of species which inhabit marshy
plains, or such as are covered by brushwood. None of
these occur in New Holland (which is noted for its fre¬
quent want of water), while the South African kinds differ
from the typical species of the genus. The tree-serpents
are characteristic of equatorial countries, inhabiting of
course only those portions which fulfil the conditions of
their existence,—that is, are well wooded. The three ge¬
nera which compose the family are found both in the Old
and New World ; but it is noticeable that the species of
the genus Dipsas of America do not attain to so great a
size as the majority of those of India; while the genus
Dryiophis in America forms a true geographical division
of the group, in so far as the dental system and muzzle are
less developed, and the pupil of the eye is orbicular. The
fresh-water snakes, comprised in the genera Tropidonotus
and Homalopsis, occur abundantly in countries rich in per¬
manent lakes, and watered by continuous rivers. They
are thus well known in Asia, America, and even Europe,
but are extremely rare in Africa, and unknown in New
Holland. The genus Homalopsis, indeed, which contains
the essentially aquatic species, does not occur in Africa,
but predominates in the New World, so rich and unrivalled
in its mighty reservoirs of water.
ILIA. 51
The geographical distribution of the Boas exhibits some Ophidian
facts worthy of record. The whole are peculiar to warm Reptiles,
countries. The genuine species are confined to South
America; their analogues in the ancient world being the
Pythons of India, although in the latter country we also
find several serpents very similar to Boas, but of very small
size, and of which none exists in the Western World, except
a single representative in the island of Cuba. The genus
Acrochordus ioxms, a limited group, entirely confined to the
East Indies. Of the venomous serpents, it is chiefly the
vipers, and perhaps a few rattle-snakes, which make their
way into temperate or colder countries, the majority of the
genera occurring in intertropical regions. Of the colubri-
form venomous serpents, the genus Elaps is the only one
which occurs in both worlds; and it is not improbable that
the American species will be found to constitute a geogra¬
phical group, distinguished by their peculiar coloration, and
certain small distinctions even in form. The Indian species
ot the genus last named are longitudinally striped, instead
of being ringed with red and black, while those of New
Holland present some anomalous features. The genus
Bungarus is proper to the East Indies, where also are
found certain Najas, although the majority of these prefer
a drier and more sandy soil,—a circumstance which ex¬
plains their greater predominance in Africa and New Hol¬
land. .The fact does not seem to admit of easy explana¬
tion, that salt-ioater serpents should be found almost ex¬
clusively in the Indian seas, from Malabar to the great
Pacific Ocean. In regard to the venomous kinds properly
so called, of the three genera of which that division is com¬
posed it may be observed, that one, Viperus, is proper to
the ancient world; that another, Crotalus, is confined to
the new; while a third, Trigonocephalus, occurs in both.
These last-named reptiles dwell in great forests or in well-
wooded countries, and for that reason are not observed
either in Africa or New Holland, where they are replaced
by vipers; but it may be mentioned that the viper of New
Holland is an anomalous species, while such as inhabit
Europe equally depart from the typical form, and tend
towards that of Trigonocephalus. In the genus just named
two divisions may be established,—one composed of spe¬
cies with the head clothed with scales, and which inhabit
more particularly tropical countries; another formed of
species with the head covered by scaly plates, and which
extend into temperate regions.
The preceding are a few of the most general facts in the
distribution of Ophidian reptiles. We shall now notice
some of those peculiarities which distinguish particular con¬
tinents,—and, first, of Europe. We here find no species of
the genera Calamaria, Heterodon, or Lycodon, no genuine
tree-serpents, no species of Homalopsis or Boa. We never
meet in Europe with any salt-water serpents, nor with any
of the colubriform venomous kinds; and the poisonous tribes
in general are represented merely by a few vipers. That
the entire order of Ophidian reptiles has its great centre
of dominion in sultry regions, is made manifest by the fact,
nocuous, which gives a greater proportion to the former than they are at present entitled to. Nearly 400 different kinds of serpents are
believed to exist in the Paris Museum, although we know not with what degree of critical accuracy that enumeration has been made •
but several Ophidians, not true serpents, are included in the lists of others, which are excluded in the enumeration of Schlegel.
We do not ourselves possess the means of ascertaining the total number of reptiles now known to naturalists ; but the following table
exhibits the amount (as in 1834) in the National Museum of Paris, compared with the number described in the works of three principal
writers on the class in question :— 1
Lacepgde, 1790.
‘ Chelonians  24
Saurians  56
Ophidians 172
Batrachians  40
Daudin, 1805.
62
88
315
91
Merrem, 1820.
62
83
348
87
French Museum, 1834.
97
168
391
190
292
556
580
84S
We may conclude this note by observing, that the unfortunate Wagler, in his Naturliches System der Amphibien, 4 vols., Munich, 1830,
with folio atlas of plates, has described no fewer than 248 genera of the reptile race.
52 REFT
Ophidian that the temperate and northern parts of Europe produce
Reptiles. no p{iCU]jar species, that is, no species which do not occur
" ‘ *' ™ equally, if not more abundantly, in the southern districts of
the continent, where we likewise find several kinds native
to the neighbouring countries of Asia and Africa. Limits,
however, may be assigned to several species, and this cir¬
cumstance naturally gives rise to some curious observations.
The common viper, for example, inhabits all the central
parts of Europe, and is even spread over temperate Asia
as far as Lake Baikal. It is well known in Sweden, spreads
westwards into Britain, is frequent in Jura, Islay, and some
others of our western islands, but is unknown in Ireland.
The western boundary, however, of the great mass of indi¬
viduals of this species may be stated to be the river Seine,
while the Alps appear to form its southern limit.1 In the
southern portion of western Europe our viper is replaced
by another species called the aspic ( Vipera aspis), which
spreads from Trieste over Italy into Sicily, through Swit¬
zerland and over France, passing beyond the Seine to¬
wards the Pyrenees, and into Spain. The southern parts
of the east of Europe produce a third species of this genus,
Vipera ammodytes, which we find to spread from Styria as
far as the south of Hungary, and into Greece, Dalmatia,
Sicily, and probably likewise Calabria. This distribution
of so nearly-allied species seems modified by, if not de¬
pendent on, the nature of the territories which each inha¬
bits. The first prefers, in general, heathy lands and places
of a rather moist and wooded character, the second affects a
dry and arid country, while the third rejoices in a rocky re¬
gion. No local or climatic varieties of these vipers have
been yet observed; but it is otherwise with several other
snakes, which have a widely extended distribution over Eu¬
rope ; for example, Coronella Icevis, and Tropidonotus na-
trix and viperinus. These species, of which the former two
inhabit almost the whole of northern and central Europe,
the last not extending further than the fiftieth degree of
north latitude, occur equally in the south of Europe, where
they form well-marked local varieties. Thus, in Spain, Trap,
viperinus has the back longitudinally rayed ; and a corre¬
sponding character occurs in Sardinia in relation to a spe¬
cies common in that island, while the Sicilian individuals
present some slight additional disparities. Coronella Iccvis
forms in Italy a peculiar climatic variety, of a paler hue
than usual, which extends as far north as Marseilles. Co¬
luber JEsculapii, which inhabits the south of Germany, is
also found in Dalmatia, Italy, and Provence. Col. viridi-
jlavus has been observed over all the south of Europe,
Greece, Hungary, Dalmatia, Italy, Sicily, Sardinia, and as
far north as France and Switzerland. Col. hippocrepis oc¬
curs in Spain and Sardinia, while Col. leopardinus is a na¬
tive of Sicily, Dalmatia, and Greece ; but, so far as known,
neither of these kinds is met with in Italy. Neither has
Psammophis lacertina, so common in Dalmatia, in Spain,
and a large portion of France, been ever found either in
Italy or the adjacent islands. The southern countries of
Europe produce several serpents which are not characte¬
rized by a great extent of distribution. Such are Xenodon
Michahellis of Spain, and Psommophis Dakin of Dalmatia
(the latter, however, which approaches the tree-serpents in
its slenderly elongated form, being found also in Greece),
and Tortrix eryx, confined to Greece as a European spe¬
cies, but elsewhere well known amid African and Asiatic
deserts.
A careful and more extended study of the distribution
of animal life in Africa would be found to illustrate many
curious relations both in descriptive zoology and physical
geography. No other continent furnishes more striking
proofs of the connection between the natural characters of
ILIA.
a country and its animal inhabitants. Thus, alter acquir- Ophidian
ing some knowledge of the physical constitution of Africa,. e^ iea°-
we might almost predicate the prevailing features of its na¬
tural history. The leading character of this continent is
the presence of vast sandy plains or deserts, and elevated
plateaus, of which the vegetation is either entirely extin¬
guished, or held by a precarious tenure. Acted upon con¬
tinually by a burning sun, the flat unvaried surface is alto¬
gether unfit for the production of those vapours which, in
a state of atmospheric condensation, produce our refreshing
showers of frequent moisture, and the more stormy acces¬
sories of hail and snow. The great mountain ranges being
few and far between, the intermediate regions possess no
perennial fountains of refreshing water, no “ clouds of morn¬
ing dew,” to clothe their arid wastes with verdure. Hence
the absence of that mighty power which in America slum¬
bers amid the most unpeopled wilderness, and makes, when
aided by the hand of man, the “ desert blossom as the rose.’
It results from the fact of so large a portion of Africa being
destitute of rivers, and consequently of forests and other
lowlier vegetation, that we there find but a small number
of those animals which inhabit woods and fresh waters,
while such as are fitted to scour over vast plains occur in
great abundance. Hence the absence of stags and the ex¬
istence of vast troops of antelopes ; hence also the scarcity
of squirrels and other wood-haunting Rodentia, and the in¬
crease of certain swift-footed terrestrial kinds. I he cha¬
racters of reptile life exhibit an equal conformity with the spi¬
rit of these observations. Africa produces perhaps a greater
number of land-tortoises than all other portions of the world
combined; but the fresh-water kinds, with the exception
of a single Emys, and one or two species of the genus Irio-
nyx, are nearly unknown, while frogs and toads are also
few in number. The same observation applies in reference
both to the aquatic serpents and the wood-loving kinds.
The genera Dryiophis and Homalopsis are entirely want¬
ing, and not more than one or two species are known of
each of the genera Dipsos, Dendrophis, and Tropidonotus.
In so vast a continent, however, in spite of its prevailing
character of aridity, there must be numerous exceptions;
and we know how far-flowing are the waters of the Nile
and the Niger, how lofty and continuous the mighty moun¬
tains of Abyssinia. Many an umbrageous river, we doubt
not, still rolls its crystal waters directly towards the all-ab¬
sorbing sea, or fills up the glassy depth of unimagined lakes,
whose beautiful shores are haunted by many unknown forms
of existence,—
Fair creatures, to whom Heaven
A calm and sinless life, with love, hath given.
Our knowledge of African snakes, however, is still insuf¬
ficient to admit of any accurate geographical sketch of their
distribution being laid before our readers, for we have no
data on which to assign limits to the majority even of the
best-known species. Egypt and Abyssinia, Algiers, a
part of Senegambia, the coast of Guinea, and the Cape,—
these are the chief points from which any precise know¬
ledge has been derived. Yet we may hazard the asser¬
tion, that Africa in general is much poorer in reptiles,
particularly serpents, than either Asia or America. The
number of genera is equally circumscribed; and the same
observation applies to our present class as has been made
in relation both to the higher animals and plants of Africa,
to wit, that the species of certain genera are very numerous,
and that several different kinds often inhabit the same places.
Towards the southern extremity of the continent we meet
with four species of the genus Coronella, as many of the
genus Noja, and three Vipers. The other genera which
1 It is indeed alleged to have been met with, though sparingly, in the valley of the To, and as far as the Florentine territory.
REFT
Ophidian occur there have each only a single representative. These
Reptiles. reptiles belong almost without exception to species pecu-
v liar to the African continent. Lycodon Horstokii and Nnja
rhombeata occur on the coast of Guinea, which produces
likewise Psammophis moniliger,—but a local variety, re¬
sembling that which is found in Egypt. In Senegambia we
find three species of tree-serpents, of the genus Dendro-
phis, which differ from those of the Cape, but of which one
(Den. picta) is spread over a vast extent of the Asiatic
world, as far south-eastwards as New Guinea. The inter-
tropical countries of Africa produce Python bivittatus, cha¬
racterized by an equally great extension, as it is found both
in Java and the Chinese empire. Viperus anetans of the
Cape is found as far north as Abyssinia, where it forms a
variety of a paler hue. Northern Africa produces several
serpents of species different from those of other parts of
that continent. Such are Tortrix eryx and Vipera echis,
which elsewhere inhabit as far south as Hindustan,—the Ce¬
rastes, a species of Dipsas, and several kinds of Coluber.
Other species, such as Naja haje and Psammophis monili¬
ger, differ more or less from their southern representatives.
The Mediterranean countries of Africa nourish several kinds
which occur in the south of Europe ; and this analogy be¬
tween the two continents is very striking when we com¬
pare, not the serpents alone, but the zoological productions
in general, of Barbary, with those of Portugal and Spain.
No serpents have been yet observed in the islands situate
within the radius of Africa, and it appears certain that they
do not exist in the Canary Islands.
The great island of Madagascar, of which the natural
productions are as yet but slightly known, appears to be
zoologically allied to Africa chiefly by the species of its
western side; and although the eastern slopes of its great
mountain chain exhibit features of an Asiatic character, its
totality presents a very distinct and peculiar complexion.
With the exception of Tropidonotus schistosus, all the
known serpents belong to particular and elsewhere undis¬
covered species. For example, the Langaya, an anoma¬
lous and very remarkable species of Dryiophis Herpetodryas
Goudotii and Bhodogaster, and Dipsas Gaimardii, are all
peculiar to Madagascar. The Mauritius produces a very
beautiful species, Coluber miniatus, and a small Boa (B.
Dussumieri) of an extremely attenuated form. From the
Seychelles Islands we know of no serpent but a species of
the genus Psammophis.
With the exception of its tv/o magnificent Indian penin¬
sulas, Asia is not so productive as might be expected of the
reptile race. The temperature of a vast portion of the lof¬
tier and central, and a fortiori of the northern districts, is
subjected to a low temperature during many months of the
year. We know that Northern Asia, Siberia more espe¬
cially, produces several animals of the higher orders, iden¬
tical with some which inhabit the more rigorous parts of
Europe ; but the alleged identity of the Siberian species of
Tropidonotus and Viperus may possibly require confirma¬
tion. A curious Ophidian, peculiar to the southern coun¬
tries of Siberia, is Trigonocephalus halys, intermediate or¬
ganically between the vipers of Europe and those species
of its own genus which have the head furnished with scaly
plates. The deserts to the south of the Caspian Sea, which
are prolonged on the one side into Hindustan, on the other
by means of the Iran, into Arabia and Syria, thus connect¬
ing with the desert tracts of Africa, produce a few species
common alike to corresponding portions of both continents.
We are still in almost total ignorance of the snakes of the
great plateaus and other portions of Central India.
The reptiles of Japan present this peculiarity, that while
the Batrachian and Chelonian orders exhibit several spe¬
cies identical with those of Europe (Rana esculenta and
temporaria, Hyla arborea, Emys vulgaris, &c.), the Sau¬
rian and Ophidian groups seem to consist of species alto-
ILIA. 53
gether unknown in Europe. However, we know as yet Ophidian
but in part, for the Japanese species hitherto collected com- Reptiles.^
prise, in addition to the genus Hydrophis, merely three spe¬
cies of Coluber, two of Tropidonotus, and a single Trigo¬
nocephalus.
The island of Ceylon, though not extremely remote from
the coast of Coromandel, produces several serpents not
known in continental India, such as Tortrix maculata, Ca-
lamaria scytale, Lycodon carinatus, and two species of Tri¬
gonocephalus.— Trig, hypnale and nigromarginatus. It is
along the Ceylonese shores that we first perceive certain
species of the genus Hydrophis, those singular snakes
which dwell exclusively in the sea, and occur from the
island in question over all the intertropical marine waters
east of Malabar, and as far as Polynesia. The number of
Ophidian species which inhabit the Gangetic Peninsula,
without spreading into the great islands of the Indian Ar¬
chipelago, is limited. Such, however, are Tortrix eryx,
Coronella Russelii and octolineata, several species of Co¬
luber and Lycodon, Dipsas trigonata, several kinds of Tro¬
pidonotus, Elaps trimaculatus, and some vipers. 1 he great
islands themselves, with their smaller dependencies, are re¬
garded by M. Schlegel as presenting a most interesting
field for the study of zoological geography, and the obser¬
vation of those local races, constituted by the diversities
observable in apparently identical species placed in differ¬
ent localities. These islands are of the first rank as to
size, situate within the tropics, covered by an abundant
vegetation, and inhabited by innumerable tribes of living
creatures of every class and kind. They are separated from
each other by seas of no great breadth, yet sufficient to
present, as matters are now constituted, an insurmountable
barrier to the migration of the majority of species. Now
when we find the same creatures inhabiting many different
and distant islands having no communication with each
other, we may reasonably infer that each insulated tract of
land has borne its own inhabitants since the relations of
our earth’s surface became as they now exist, and that the
individuals of each species form in every island a family
group, which will exhibit, w hen compared with the corre¬
sponding species in other islands, certain modifications pro¬
duced by the disparities of their position. Experience has
proved the accuracy of this assumption. It has not unfre-
quently happened, that the same species has been discover¬
ed to inhabit Sumatra, Java, Borneo, Timer the Celebes,
the Philippine Islands, and continental Asia, and in each
locality has been observed to present some constai t though
extremely slight distinction. Now it would never do to
regard these as so many distinct species. They are only
local or climatic varieties, the origin of which may be ob¬
scure or incomprehensible (as are many things besides), but
which wre doubt not would show their identity, by each re¬
cognising the individuals of their kind, and by breeding to¬
gether, could they be transported from one to another of
their sea-girt isles. Innumerable examples of these cli¬
matic differences might be adduced, were we to extend our
observations throughout the vast range of the animal king¬
dom ; but here a few examples from the reptile races must
suffice. The Najas from the isles of Sunda constantly differ
in several characters from those of Bengal and the Philip¬
pine Islands. Tortrix rufa from the Celebes is distinguish¬
able from individuals of the same species from Bengal and
Java, by the uniform tint of the back, and by two small
spots upon the occiput. Calamar oligodon of Java exhi¬
bits in Sumatra a difference in the dorsal tinting, and forms
in Ceylon and the Philippine Islands a third local variety
of great beauty. Analogous differences exist between the
individuals of Coronella baliodeira of Java and Sumatra.
Lycodon Hebe of Java is smaller in size, and not so pale in
colour, as that same species in Bengal, while those from
Timor are still more diminutive, and of darker hue. The
54 R E P T I L I A.
Ophidian beautiful Coluber melanurus inhabits Java, Sumatra, and
Reptiles. the Celebes; but the individuals from the last-named loca-
lity have the nape of the neck constantly adorned by an
angular black mark. Herpetodryas oxycephulus is of a
beautiful grass-green colour in Java; but this pure tint be¬
comes embrowned in Borneo, and in Celebes appears al¬
most black upon the dorsal region. Dendrophis picta in¬
habits almost all the intertropical countries of the Old World,
from Senegal to New Guinea, but varies considerably at
distant points of such a vast and surprising distribution.
Dryiophis nasuta of Bengal and the Mariannas has in Java
the abdomen rayed with yellow. Dryiophis prasina, com¬
mon in the isles of Sunda, exhibits a local variety in the
Celebes; and Tropidonotus quincunciatus, a species wide¬
ly spread through India, has in Java the spots confluent,
so that the dorsal portion seems rayed with black. Trop.
chrysargos of Sumatra bears a different aspect from that
species in the Celebes, while both vary from the individuals
found in Java. Homalopsis Schneideri, which is spread
from India to New Guinea, exhibits several varieties in
different regions. The great Python bivittatus occurs in
China, the isles of Sunda, both the Indian peninsulas, and
Ceylon, and is, moreover, distributed across Africa as far
as Senegambia. In this vast extent of territory it exhibits
some considerable variations, which, when the extreme dif¬
ferences merely are regarded, and the intermediate links
kept out of view, have caused it to be described, in its dif¬
ferent aspects, as distinct species, all however referable,
in Mr Schlegel’s opinion, to one and the same. Elapsfur-
catus and bivirgatus exhibit a different distribution of co¬
lours in Sumatra from what they do in Java; but it may
be stated as a general fact, that almost all the known ser¬
pents of the former island have been found also in the latter.
Indeed a considerable number of these insular Ophidians
occur likewise both in Hindustan and Bengal.
It is a singular circumstance, that the two most remark¬
able species of the genus Trigonocephalm ( Trig, puniceus
and rhodostomd) have hitherto been observed only in Java;
while Trig, viridis, so common in India, Bengal, Sumatra,
and Timor, does not occur in the first-named island. The
genus Bungarus, on the other hand, which inhabits Ceylon,
Hindustan, and Bengal, does not occur in any other of the
great eastern islands, except Java. In the Celebes we find
many peculiar forms of animal life, combined with others
well known elsewhere. Among the serpents we find there
a beautiful species of Herpetodryas (Herp. dipsas), and
Dipsas irregularis, which also occurs in Amboyna. Seve¬
ral species are absolutely the same as those of Java and Su¬
matra, although a few form permanent local varieties, which
exhibit some slight disparities of colour. Such are Tortrix
rufa, Coluber melanurus, Herpetodryas oxycephalus, Dryio¬
phis prasina, Dipsas dendrophilus, and Tropidonotus chry-
sargus. Of the Moluccas our knowledge is extremely
slight, being confined chiefly to the island of Amboyna. We
there find three or four serpents, likewise known as Javanese
species ; but it does not appear that the isles of Sunda pro¬
duce Lycodon modestus, Boa carinata, Dendrophis rhodo-
pleuron, or Python amethystinus. Timor is in some mea¬
sure intermediate in its productions between Java and the
Moluccas. Its Python is perhaps different from that of
Amboyna, and it produces a singular Homalopsis (//. leu-
cobalid). Lycodon Hebe is there of a deeper tint than in
Java; and Coluber radiatus is represented in Timor by Col.
subradiatus,—a species analogous, but not the same. New
Guinea and the adjacent islands produce several new spe¬
cies. We know little of the reptiles of the Philippines,
though a few have been collected in the environs of Ma¬
nilla, in the island of Lu^on ; and these clearly establish the
curious fact, that the species of that island bear a strong
analogy to those of Ceylon,—not a few being identical.
The Naja of the Philippines belongs to the ordinary variety
of N. tripudians, as it occurs in India, and which always Ophidian
differs in some measure from the same species from the isles Beptnes.
of Sunda. J
The vast insular continent of New Holland is as yet but
slightly known, most of its ascertained productions having
been sent only from a few limited localities; but the anoma¬
lous and extraordinary character of its productions may
even now be fairly inferred. The snakes seem peculiar,
and almost all belong to the venomous division. No water
species have as yet been seen there. It has already been ob¬
served, that the innumerable islands of the great Pacific
Ocean are believed to be unproductive of serpents. The
Mariannas, however, form an exception to this general rule,
and Dampier mentions green serpents as inhabitants of the
Gallipagos.
A few brief notices of the serpents of the New World may
terminate the geographical department of our subject. On
comparing the species of the two great continents of Ame¬
rica with each other, we observe some interesting parallels.
The rattle-snake, Crotalus horridus, so common over a large
extent of South America, is represented in the northern
territories by Crot. durissus, as is Coronella venustissima by
Cor. coccinea. This kind of comparison, however, applies
but to a few species, for the majority of kinds produced by
one of the continents differ from those of the other. Thus,
the genera Tortrix, Dipsas, Dendrophis, Boa, have as yet
been found only in South America, or as far north as the
Antilles, while Tropidonotus, on the contrary, is not found
in the' southern continent, though frequent in the northern,
from which it likewise extends to parts of the West Indies.
A small number, however, of southern species are found
also in North America, such as Calamaria melanocephala,
Lycodon clelia, Coronella cobella,Herpetodryas cursor, Dryi¬
ophis Catesbyi, Elaps corallinus, Homalopsis carinicauda ;
while in like manner Heterodon platyrhinus, and Herpeto¬
dryas (Bstivus, which may be regarded rather as northern
species, have been ascertained to inhabit Brazil. The fol¬
lowing species of North American reptiles also inhabit the
Antilles; Calamaria striatula, Coronella coccinea, Hetero¬
don platyrhinus, Coluber constrictor, Herpetodryas oestivus
and cursor, Tropidonotus bipunctatus, fasciatvs, and sau-
rita. Those next named also occur in the Antilles, although
their proper country is South America; Calamaria me¬
lanocephala, Coronella reyince, Lycodon clelia, Dendrophys
liocercus, Dryiophis Catesbyi and aurata, Dipsas annulata,
Homalopsis angulata, Boa constrictor and cenchria, and
Elaps corallinus. The species peculiar to these West In¬
dian islands are very few in number, the most characteris¬
tic being Psammophis Antillensis, Trigonocephalus lanceo-
latus, Dendrophis Catesbyi, and Boa melanura. On com¬
paring the snakes of Guiana with those of Brazil, we find
many species common to both countries, several, however,
forming local varieties more or less distinct, as in the cases
of Herpelodryas lineatus and Olfersii, Coluberpoecilostoma,
&c. Certain species are peculiar to one or other of the
countries above named,—for example, Calamaria badia,
Xenodon typhlus, Coluber corais, Herpetodryas Boddaertii,
Dendrophis aurata, Dryiophis Catesbyi and argentea, Ho¬
malopsis plicatilis, Elaps lemniscatus and Surinamensis, &c.
have never been seen except in Guiana; while Calamaria
Blumii, Coronella Merremii, Xenodon Scholtii and rhinos-
toma, Lycodon formosus, Herpetodryas serra, Homalopsis
carinicauda and Martii, are found only in Brazil. Other
species, again, appear as it were to represent each other in
these parts of South America, so that we may place in
parallel, Coronella venustissima, Dipsas Mikani, Wegeli,
leucocephala, and Nattereri, and Trigonocephalus Jararaca,
of Brazil, with Coronella venusta, Dipsas nebulata, Ca¬
tesbyi, macrorhina, punctatissima, and Trigonocephalus
atrox of Guiana. The other parts of South America are
too little known to admit of any detailed comparison ; but it
REPT1LIA.
Ophidian may be observed, that of the species discovered in Chili,
Reptiles, several are entirely new, and distinct from such as exist on
this side the Cordilleras.1
Notwithstanding the interest of the subject, we must now
bring our general observations to a close, and proceed with
a brief systematic sketch of the principal genera and species,
referring the reader to M. Schlegel’s work (and to those of
the other Erpetologists here quoted) for more minute de¬
tails. In conformity with the views of the author just nam¬
ed, we preserve the ancient subdivision of venomous and
non-venomous kinds. The constant character of the for¬
mer consists in being provided with a gland of a cellular
structure, which secretes a very deleterious poison. Maxil¬
lary teeth, called fangs, of much greater length than the
others, hollow interiorly, and furnished with openings at
either extremity, for the entrance and exit of the poison,
are the potent weapons with which these insidious reptiles
inflict their fatal wounds. It is difficult, if not impossible,
to assign to these serpents any certain character of exter¬
nal distinction, although there is something in their general
aspect which points them out, even to the uninitiated, as
dangerous neighbours. Their natural habits also offer this
distinction, that the venomous kinds are almost always either
terrestrial or marine, although Trig, viridis is slightly arbo¬
real, and certain species of Noja occasionally occur in fresh
water. But the colubriform venomous kinds so greatly re¬
semble the innocent species, that professed naturalists have
sometimes combined them with each other. Their most
common characters consist in a thickish rounded muzzle,
and a short, thick, conical tail. The marine serpents may
be recognised by their flattened tails.
The constitution of the following families bears relation
rather to the habits of life than the organic structure of the
species they respectively contain. We follow the classifi¬
cation of M. Schlegel.
FIRST PRIMARY DIVISION. NON-VENOMOUS
SERPENTS.
Family I.—Burrowing Serpents.
Genus Tortrix. Body cylindrical, of nearly equal di¬
mensions throughout; head small, obtuse, and covered by
imperfectly developed plates; eyes small; nostrils narrow ;
gape not widely cleft; teeth short and conical; tail short.
(Plate V., fig. 6.)
The species of this genus (which in M. Schlegel’s work
includes also Eryx and Xenopeltis of other authors) inha¬
bit the warmer countries of both the Old and New World,
preferring dry and sandy districts, in which they form nar¬
row excavations. T. eryx occurs over a vast extent of ter¬
ritory, from Egypt to Hindustan, and is met with in the
southern parts of Europe. The ground colour of the dor¬
sal region is a beautiful red with numerous confluent spots,
and bands of blackish brown ; the under parts are yellow,
the whole covered by small scales. The muzzle is obliquely
truncated at the end. Length about two and a half feet.
Abdominal plates 195, caudal twenty. Six other species are
known, of which T. scytale is American, and, of all un¬
doubtedly Ophidian reptiles, makes the nearest approach to
those ambiguous genera Typhlops and Amphisbcena?
Family II.— Worm-like Serpents.
Genus Calamaria. Body small and cylindrical, termi¬
nated by a short conical tail. Head uniform with the body.
Plates in the muzzle few in number.
The majority of the genus have the lower surface of a
fine vermilion hue, a colour frequent among reptiles which
55
inhabit low and moist abodes. They seldom exceed a foot Nor.-veno.
in length, and are found in both the Americas, in Africa, mous
Southern Asia, New Holland, and the Indian Archipelago. ^Serpents^
There are eighteen described species, of which one of the
most curious is Cal. lumbricoidea of Boie.3 Its body, though
sometimes several feet long, does not exceed the thickness
of a swan’s quill. The colour is blackish-blue above, bluish
below, with blackish spots, and a yellow ray along the sides.
The scales are smooth, square, and disposed in thirteen rows.
Abdominal plates from 190 to 217, caudal from sixteen to
twenty-three. Eighteen species are known.
Family III.— Terrestrial Serpents.
Genus Coronella. Body somewhat pentagonal, thick¬
ening towards the centre. Head distinguishable from the
neck, sometimes very broad at the base, depressed, the
muzzle short, obtuse, and slightly truncated. Scales smooth,
and disposed in from seventeen to nineteen longitudinal
rows. Abdominal and caudal plates about 180 -p 40.
The species of this genus are very alert in their move¬
ments, and defend themselves, when attacked, with great
energy and perseverance. They are dispersed over almost
all parts of the world (preferring plains and humid places),
but have not as yet been observed in Japan or New Holland,
and are rather rare in Asia. Specimens from South Ame¬
rica are very frequent in collections. Cor. Icevis is a well-
known European species, which occurs in France, Germany,
Switzerland, Italy, and, from Sparmann’s description, ap¬
pears to be among the number of the few Ophidians which
inhabit Sweden.4 It is of a shining bay colour, ornament¬
ed by irregular black marks, which form a peculiar design
upon the head. The under surface is yellowish, marked
with square black spots. There are twenty-one rows of
scales, and the plates are 175 -j- 55. This species is vivi¬
parous, that is, the young are hatched within the body of
the mother. When attacked, it attempts to escape with
great celerity, and when foiled in that intention, it fights
with energy, bites furiously, and will scarcely allow itself to
be taken alive. It cannot be lifted by the end of the tail
(at least with impunity), as many serpents may, as it pos¬
sesses the power of bending its body upwards, and wound¬
ing the hand of its captor. However, its bite, though dis¬
agreeable, is in no way dangerous. It is an excellent swimmer,
butdoesnot enter the water willingly. It is very fond of mice.
About fourteen other species are known to naturalists.
Genus Xenodon. General form heavy, head broad,
muzzle short and truncated, body thick, abdomen flattened.
Upper jaws provided posteriorly with a solid, elongated,
compressed tooth. Scales smooth, and dispersed in rather
oblique ranges, especially on the neck, which is capable of
expansion. Plates of the head short and broad.
Of this genus the species are eight in number, and of these
the individuals are by no means abundant. They are of
large size, sometimes measuring from three to four feet in
length, and, being thick in proportion, present a somewhat
formidable aspect. They are usually characterized by a
grayish-blue tint, and occur chiefly in Java and intertropi-
cal America. None have been as yet found in Africa or
New Holland, but Xen. Michahelles inhabits the south of
France and Spain.5 This species is distinguished by its
short conical head, terminated by a prominent rostral plate.
It has twenty-seven rows of scales, and 216 60 plates.
Genus Heterodon. Head not very distinguishable from
the general form, which is slightly pentagonal, and almost
of equal thickness throughout. Abdomen somewhat angu¬
lar, and narrower than in Xenodon. Tail very short, and
furnished beneath with divided plates. Rostral plate al-
See Physiognomic des Serpents (distribution geographique), i. p. 195, et seq. * Museum Adolph. Fred. pi. 6, fig. 2.
3 Erpetologie 'de Java, pi. 22. 4 Neue Schwed. Ahhandl. xvi. 180, pi. 7, f’. A, B.
5 Figured by Wagler under tbe title of Rhinechis Agassizii. leones, pi. 25.
R E P T I L I A.
56
Non-veno- ways prominent, sometimes prolonged into a small up-
mous turned trunk. Three species are known.
Serpents. yyjj j.]ie Species are natives of the New World. The pre-
vailing colour is red, ringed or spotted by a deeper hue.
Their manners are unknown, but it is presumed that they
inhabit a dry and sandy soil. We shall here name only the
harlequin snake of America {Het. coccineus), which in¬
habits Louisiana and the southern states.1 The ground
colour is a bright yellow, tending more or less to brown up¬
on the back, which is adorned with above twenty broad round
or oval spots, of a purplish-red colour, bordered with black.
Its brilliant tints are effaced soon after death. “ This beau¬
tiful snake,” says M. Audubon, alluding, we believe, to our
present species, “ is rather rare in the United States, where
I have observed it only in the south. It glides through the
grass with ease, and ascends to the tops of bushes, and
among the branches of fallen trees, to bask in the sun.
Children are fond of catching it on account of its beauty.
It feeds principally on insects, such as flies, and small Co-
leoptera.”2 This seems the species described by Herrera in
his History of the West Indies, as inhabiting Mexico and
the Floridas, where it is known by the name of Madre de
Hormigas, on account of its frequenting the society of ants.
Genus Lycodon. Form usually thin, sometimes ex¬
tremely slender. Anterior maxillary teeth longer than the
others. Vertical and anterior frontal plates small and
shortened, the occipitals rather long.
The species inhabit both the Old and New World. The
prevailing tint is of an earthy hue, passing more or less in¬
to brownish or ochry-yellow, the majority of species being
ornamented by a collar of a clearer colour. Several kinds
are ringed with black, white, and red. The abdominal
plates usually amount to 200, the caudal vary from fifty to
a hundred. We know little of the habits of these reptiles,
of which above a dozen species have been collected in dif¬
ferent parts of the intertropical world.
Genus Coluber. This genus, as originally established
by Linnaeus, contained all the Ophidian reptiles with sub¬
divided caudal plates. The venomous kinds were after¬
wards removed, and the genus itself partitioned into seve¬
ral groups; but even then the genus Coluber properly so
called continued to contain a vast amount of species. MM.
Boie and Schlegel restricted it still farther; and although
it is difficult to apply the distinctive notes of these writers,
the genus is natural in itself, when we seek to recognise
it rather by the general bearing and physiognomy of the
species, than by means of isolated characters.
It contains all those innocuous serpents of considerable
size, which hold, as it were, by the form and proportion of
their particular parts, a central position among the other
Ophidians. Their bodies, less contracted than those of the
fresh-water kinds, are yet by no means so slender as those
of the arboreal species. Their head is not so lengthened
as that of the latter, but is less broad than that of the aqua¬
tic sorts. The tail, modified in accordance with the nature
of the species, varies in its form, as these resemble or re¬
cede from the conterminous groups in their mode of life.
It is thus that certain species of the genus Coluber are
closely connected with Tropidonotus, or even Homalopsis,
while others are linked with Herpetodryas, Psammophis,
Coronella, or Xenodon. The muzzle is usually broad, thick,
rounded, rather short, the nostrils lateral, open, and oblong.
The head is always laterally angular, from whence results
the lateral position of the eyes, of which the pupil is orbicu¬
lar in form. The body varies in proportional thickness in
the different species, but is usually compressed, and slightly
pentagonal. The abdomen is generally broad, convex, Non.veno-
rarely angular, and is covered by numerous plates, more mous
closely set together than in other serpents, and sometimes Serpents,
amounting to nearly 300. The tail is almost always cylin- V'J‘r~
drical and pointed, generally of medium length, rarely slen¬
der and elongated, occasionally short and conic, its inferior
portion furnished with divided plates. 12 sp. are known.
Almost all the countries of the earth, of winch the nature
of the soil and climate is not altogether opposed to the ex¬
istence of the Ophidian order, are inhabited by the genus
Coluber. Only a single species, however, has been found in
Southern Africa, and not one has yet occurred in New Hol¬
land. Their habits are what may be termed terrestrial, that
is, they rarely enter water of their own accord, although se¬
veral climb among shrubs and bushes w ith some celerity in
search of prey. Several kinds occur in Europe, and those
from intertropical countries measure in some instances from
seven to eight feet. They are rarely adorned wfith bril¬
liant colours, brown being the prevailing hue. Of some
the markings are uniform, while others are spotted or lon¬
gitudinally rayed. Of the European species, one of the
best known and most extensively distributed is Col. JEscula-
pii, which sometimes attains to the length of from four to
five feet. The colour of the upper parts is olive-brown,
beneath yellowish, or marbled with gray, with a paler collar.
Abdominal plates 228, caudal seventy-nine.3 We have notes
on the history of this species from MM. Host and Lenz. It
is described as being extremely active in its movements,
climbing trees with facility, but avoiding contact with
water. It is oviparous, and feeds on lizards, frogs, and
small birds, but takes no nourishment in captivity. When
attacked, it defends itself with great determination; but when
captured, becomes tame in a few days. In the museum of
Vienna, several specimens of this iEsculapian snake are
preserved alive; and their manners are so gentle that chil¬
dren make playthings of them, and handle them for hours
at pleasure.
The ancient Greeks adored the god of medicine in va¬
rious places under diverse forms, but frequently in the guise
of a serpent, as an emblem of sagacity, and an animal en¬
dowed with so many sanatory qualities, that several Hel¬
lenic peoples regarded the creature itself as the very Deity.
It was especially so with the inhabitants of Epidaurus (a
flourishing city of Peloponnesus), who in a sacred grove, the
favourite abode of serpents, erected a magnificent temple in
honour of these by us abhorred reptiles. The Roman people,
when terrified by a great pestilence, which ravaged the ca¬
pital (in their year 461), sent an embassy to Epidaurus in
search of this imaginary god, whom they might have found
in sufficient abundance near at hand. They entertained
these slimy deities in the island formed by the Tiber, and
where we may still see their figure sculptured in marble in
the gardens of St Bartholomew.4 Chandler tells us, in his
Travels, that the environs of Epidaurus still abound in harm¬
less serpents.
The only other species we shall here notice is Coluber
quater-radiotus, remarkable as being the largest of the
Ophidian reptiles of Europe. According to Metaxa (in
his Monograph of the Serpents of the Environs of Rome),
it sometimes attains the length of seven feet. It occurs in
Italy, the south of France and Spain, Dalmatia, Hungary,
&c. Its prevailing colour is an ochry-yellow passing into
browm, and somewhat deeper on the under surface. Two
lines of darker brown run along the flanks, and a blackish
line passes from the eye to the corner of the mouth. This
species, in spite of its great size and formidable aspect, is
1 Catesby s Carolina, pi. 60. s Ornithological Biography, vol. i. p. 278; and Birds of America, pi. 52.
s Jacquin, Collectan. iv. 356. pi. 26 (Fem.), 27 (Mas).
4 Metaxa, p. 37 ;—and Aldrovandus, Serp. pi. 240. The above is not the species called Col. JEsculapii by Linnaus, who misapplied the
title to one ol the coial snakes of America,—Coronella venustissima of modern authors.
mous
Serpents.
mous110 f*treme y Sent^e in its manners, and does not attempt to
bite even when seized in its native haunts. It is very com-
_ mon in the fields near Tivoli, but is usually found on hill-
sides. There is a passage in Pliny1 which relates that the
lioas of Italy sometimes attain to so great a size that the
entire body of an infant was found in the interior of one
slain dining the reign of the Emperor Claudius. The spe-
cies just noticed is certainly the largest of all the Roman
serpents, but its natural attributes in no way favour the re¬
ception of this preposterous story.2 The largest species of
the genus is Coluber corals of Surinam. There are twenty-
seven different species described by M. Schlegel.
Genus Herpetodryas. This genus was established by
the late M. Boie for the reception of certain species of Colu¬
ber ( Col. carinatus, &c.), which combine the aspect and phy¬
siognomy of the preceding genus (to which they are close¬
ly allied) with the lengthened form and much of the habits
°f .the arboreal serpents. Their colours are usually of a
uniform greenish hue, sometimes passing into brown, or oc¬
casionally longitudinally rayed. The tail is generally long
and slender, a character which, combined with the narrow
and very angular abdomen, announces their arboreal dispo¬
sition. Their manners are wild and distrustful, and they
inhabit the warmer regions of both the Old and New World,
with the exceptions, so far as yet known, of Africa and New
Holland. We shall here name only Herp. carinatus, a Bra¬
zilian species, also common in Surinam. It is remarkable
for having two central rows of dorsal scales, so that the total
number of rows forms an equal number, a character unique
in the Ophidian order. It varies greatly in its external
markings.3 Schlegel describes nineteen species.
Genus Psammophis. This little group may also be re¬
garded as a dismemberment from Coluber, and brings us into
still closer contact with the genuine tree-serpents. They
offer an anomaly in their dentition, in as far as their poste¬
rior teeth, and those of the centre, are usually longer than
the others, and furrowed. The head is elongated, the ver¬
tical plate very narrow. Some have the body thin and long
drawn out, while others are more compact like Coluber.
I he species occur in India, Africa, and America ; and Psam.
lacertina is an European example well known in Dalmatia.4
I hey all prefer sandy soils, and prey chiefly upon Saurian
reptiles. Green and brown are the prevailing colours, al¬
though several are longitudinally rayed, or have the head
adorned by linear figures. Schlegel mentions eight species.
Family IV.—Arboreal or Tree-Serpents.
The members of this family are characteristic of the great
forests of the tropical countries of Asia and America. They
are rare in Africa, still more so in New Holland, and Eu¬
rope produces only a few anomalous species. Their form
is in general extremely elongated, they pass the greater
portion of their time in trees and bushes, and prey both on
birds and lizards.
Genus Dendrophis. Body compressed ; abdomen (and
sometimes the tail) angular, and furnished with very broad
plates; scales narrow and elongated. Tail very slender.
Head lengthened. Eye large, the pupil orbicular. (See
Plate IV., fig. 5.)
I hese reptiles inhabit both the western and eastern
world, but are rare in New Holland, and unknown in Eu¬
rope. They climb trees with great facility, and are ex¬
tremely quick in their general movements. * They are fre¬
quently adorned by lively colours. Nearly a dozen species
are known to naturalists. Schlegel has ten species.
R E P T I L I A.
57
Serpents.
Genus Dryiophis. Muzzle slender and projecting. Ge- Non-veno-
neral form greatly elongated, the body compressed, the mou9
abdomen convex. Eye of moderate size.
The species of this genus are among the most remarkable
of the innocuous serpents, their shape being so extraordi¬
narily lengthened out, that many measure nearly five feet
in length, and are yet no thicker than the little finger.
Hence their Anglo-American name of coach-whip snakes,
of one of which, first described by Catesby, it was absurdly
believed by the Indians, “ that it will by a jerk of its tail
separate a man in two parts.”5 The tail, of extreme slender¬
ness, always measures half the length of the whole body ;
and the muzzle is often drawn out in the form of a pointed
proboscis. These reptiles inhabit the torrid zone, or the
countries near the tropics, in Asia and the two Americas.
Although unknown in the continent of Africa, a species
(Z). langahd) occurs in Madagascar. The genus admits of a
geographical division,—those of the ancient continent being
characterized by grooved maxillary teeth, and the pupil of
the eye elongated horizontally, while such as inhabit Ame¬
rica have the teeth less developed, and the pupil orbicular.
We may briefly notice Dryiophis nasuta (the Passeriki
of Russel),6 a remarkable species of a beautiful grass-
green colour above, the lower surface paler, and marbled
with red. A white or yellow ray extends from behind the
eye to the commissure of the lips, and another very distinct
one passes along each side of the abdomen and tail. The
muzzle is very sharp, and is terminated by a moveable
fleshy appendage. (See Plate IV., figs. 7 and 9.) This kind
occurs over a great extent of India and the great eastern
islands, and is frequent in the environs of Vizagapatam.
It lives in trees, and its manners are described as being
even ferocious. Its bite, however, is attended by no other
bad consequences than the pain of the wound; but the
common people deem it dangerous, as directing its attacks
chiefly at the eyes of the passers by. There is an Indian
whip-snake (probably not of this genus) common in the Con-
can, where it is described as concealing itself among the fo¬
liage of trees, from which it darts at cattle grazing below, ge¬
nerally also aiming at the eye. A bull which was thus wound¬
ed at Dazagon tore up the ground with extreme fury, and
died in half an hour, foaming at the mouth. This habit of
the reptile is truly singular,—for it seems to proceed neither
from resentment nor from fear, nor yet from the impulse of
appetite, but seems, “ more than any other known fact in
natural history, to partake of that frightful and mysterious
principle of evil, which tempts our own species so often to
tyrannize for mere wantonness of power.”?
The species already named as a native of Madagascar,
Dryiophis langaha, Schlegel, partakes of those anomalous
attributes which characterize so many animal products of
that extraordinary island. It measures between tw o and
three feet in length, and is of a beautiful reddish-brown
colour above, the under surface being of a deep though
lively yellow', spotted with brown, especially beneath the tail;
but its most peculiar character is seen in the muzzle, which
is prolonged into a fleshy appendage of half an inch in
length, covered with small scales, and of variable form, be¬
ing in some cases sharp-pointed, in others compressed and
enlarged, or leaf-shaped. This curious reptile seems to
have been first (we believe inaccurately) described by M.
Bruguieres,8 and has since been banded about through va¬
rious genera.9 It is classed by M. Schlcgel (we presume
after due examination),10 among the innocuous, that is, the
non-venomous kinds,—although the natives of Madagascar
7 Quarterly Review, xii. 183.
8 Journal de Physique, xxiv. 132, piate 2.
2 V111\c‘ . .. 4 Fleisohman, Nov. Gen. pi. 2.
3 $rdrUpedeS Oeiparcs, ii. 163, pi. 7, fig. 1. 5 Carolina, ii. plate 54.
9 VVagler, Serp. Braz. pi. 7 and 12. 6 Indian Sei-pents, plate 12 and 13.
sch„s*.^r?rr5tWp-Quad'0eip-iL 499:-£aw ^ m. 571, ^
10 Physiognomic des Serpents, ii. 143.
VOE. XIX.
11
58 KEPT
Non-veno- are said to hold it in great dread, from the belief of its be-
mous ing a highly poisonous species.1 Schlegel has 7 species,
erpents^ Genus Dipsas. Head thick, broad, obtuse; the body
vigorous, but much compressed. Pupil of the eye usually
vertical. (Plate V., fig. 7.)
This genus comprises all those tree-serpents which, re¬
sembling the Colubers (and so far differing from the two
preceding genera) in the bulkier proportion of their parts,
are distinguished by their compressed bodies and more
slender tails. Both the size and colours differ greatly ac¬
cording to the species, some of which do not measure more
than fourteen inches, while others extend to five or six feet.
South America and the East Indies are their characteristic
countries, although a somewhat anomalous species is found
in Egypt and Dalmatia. The genuine Dipsas dwell habit¬
ually in trees, concealing themselves amid dense foliage,
from whence they dart upon their unsuspecting prey. The
largest species known to naturalists is Dip. dendrophila, a
Javanese reptile, which sometimes measures seven feet in
length. The ground-colour is a beautiful lustrous black,
with steel-blue reflections, paler on the under surface ;
and the body is encircled by from forty-five to fifty trans¬
verse narrow bands of a fine golden yellow.2 Dip. fallax
is, we presume, the sole European species,—if the reptile
so named really pertains to our present genus.3 4 Its habits
offer great disparity, at least M. Cantraine found it in Dal¬
matia in the month of December, creeping slowly among
the ruins of an ancient castle. It had previously been
found in the Levant by Olivier, and was more recently ob¬
served in the Morea by M. Bory St Vincent. Fleischman
informs us that it lives under stones, stirs abroad only in
the early morning and towards evening, avoids water, and
feeds on insects, lizards, and mice. Twenty-five species of
this genus are described by M. Schlegel.
Family V.—Fresh-water Serpents.
The members of this group are more or less allied to Co¬
luber in their organization. They inhabit the water, or at
least frequently enter into that element, and prefer the
banks of rivers and the shores of lakes to situations more
remote from moisture. It does not follow that all snakes
endowed with analogous instincts and manners belong to
this group, because the majority of the Boas, and almost
all the Colubers, nearly correspond in their habits of life,
and are yet very dissimilar in their structure. In this fa¬
mily there are combined those serpents which, having many
mutual relations in their form and physiognomy, constitute
a very natural assemblage, though by no means distantly
separated from all other subdivisions. It is composed of
two genera, of which the first exhibits, with fewr exceptions,
nothing remarkable in its organization,—while the second
is characterized by several singular features.
Genus 1 ropidonotus. Head broad, body rather bulky,
abdomen broad and convex, tail short.
The majority of this genus inhabit Asia, especially the
Indian Archipelago. Southern Africa produces only a
single species; Europe two, which occur on both sides of
the Mediterranean basin. The same restricted number is
found in Japan, and several are native to North America.
• -N0116 is known to inhabit either South America or New
Holland. Certain species are widely distributed, while
others are confined within narrow limits. They usually
occur along the shady, wooded banks of lakes and rivers,
where they prey on frogs and fishes. They swim with great
dexterity, and are capable of continuing for a length of
time beneath the surface. Although they can both creep
1 Gen. Zool. iii. 572.
* Wagler, leones, i. pi. b.
ILIA.
and climb with considerable swiftness, they usually prefer Non-veno-
to escape from threatened danger by plunging into water. mous
Many species never remove from the close vicinity of that SerPents.
element; others inhabit plains subject to inundation ; and a " " v^
few are found to dwell in moist umbrageous forests, even
on the sides and towards the summits of high mountains.
Certain species are gregarious; while some are solitary,
dwelling in the deserted holes of small quadrupeds. Such
as inhabit temperate climates fall into a lethargic state in
winter. The whole are oviparous ; but the eggs of many,
even when newly laid, contain young in a state of consi¬
derable advancement. Schlegel describes nineteen species.
The first species we shall notice is Tropidonotus natrix
(Coluber natrix, Linn., Natrix torquata, Ray), the best-
known and most generally-diffused of European serpents,
and one of the few which inhabit the cold and cloudy clime
of Britain. We have exhibited its osteology on Plate
V., fig. 2. It is subject to great variation of colour, but
the prevailing tint is a pale ashy-blue tinged with green,
and relieved by a series of black spots or bands. The
undersurface is dusky blue, with mottlings of yellowish white.
The collar is white or yellow, bordered posteriorly by deep
black ; and the plates of the head are extremely regular in
their form. The length ranges from two and a half to four,
or occasionally five feet. The female is always the larger.
I his reptile has been studied and described by a host of
European writers. It is not characterized by any wildness
or ferocity, is easily tamed, and rarely bites even when
seized. “ II m’est cependant arrive,” says M. Schlegel,
“ qu’etant encore tres-jeune, et m’etant approche du bord d’un
bois, ou une societe nombreuse de ces serpens s’etait eta-
blie pour faire leur ponte, un Tropidonote d’une taille enorme
m’attaqua avec fureur, tandis que plusieurs autres s’echap-
paient dans les trous dont la terre etait percee.”4 The
ringed snake, as our present species is generally named,
prefers to take possession of the subterranean dwelling of
a mouse or mole to commencing an excavation for itself.
Being fond of warmth and shelter, it often approaches hu¬
man habitations, and readily lays its eggs in dunghills. Yet
it is often met with in the remotest wilds, or in thick um¬
brageous forests, and sometimes at a height of several thou¬
sand feet above the level of the sea. But on the whole it
prefers the vicinity of tranquil waters, where it dives fre¬
quently in search of fishes, as well as of frogs and other
batrachian reptiles. Although it possesses the power of re¬
maining under water for nearly half an hour, it is not or¬
ganized for a continued abode in that element; and when
frequently forced from shore, its swimming powers become
exhausted, and it is “ found drowned.” It is extremely
voracious, and will swallow a great number of frogs at a
meal. It hybernates, in cold and temperate countries, from
the month of October or November, seeking profounder
excavations, where frost can scarcely enter. It leaves its
retreat in March or April, according to the region it inha¬
bits, and casts its skin once a month till the end of August.
In that month also it lays its eggs, to the number of two
dozen or more. As the species pairs in April, it follows
that these eggs take five months to be developed in the ovi¬
ducts, though they are hatched in about three weeks after
deposition. Their form is oval, and they measure about
an inch and three lines in length. The young, when first
visible, measure from six to eight inches. This species
abounds over all France and Germany. It does not inha¬
bit the maritime parts of Holland, but is common in Guel-
derland and the province of Drenthe. It is well known in
Italy, Sicily, and Sardinia, as well as in Denmark, Sweden,
and Norway, and extends over a great portion of temperate
3 It is the Tarlophis fallax of Fleischman’s Dissertatio. nl 1
4 Phydog. ii. 3U4. ‘ *
REP TIL I A.
59
Non-veno- Asia, as far as Lake Baikal. It is a common species in
mous England, where it occurs in woods and hedges, as well as
Serpents. jn jyj;r Jenyns informs us, that it is particularly
abundant in the fens of Cambridgeshire, where it sometimes
attains a great size.1 We shall merely add, that it is eaten
in several continental countries. Col. viperinus, another
European species, pertains to this genus ; as do also a con-
aiderable amount of exotic kinds, which we cannot here so
much as name.
Genus Homalopsis. Body bulky, head very thick,
muzzle short and rounded ; eyes and nostrils small, and
opening upwards ; form usually cylindrical, sometimes slight¬
ly compressed ; abdomen broad and convex ; tail short, co¬
nical, robust.
This genus inhabits the great fresh waters of the inter
tropical countries both of Asia and America, although it
seems less extended than the preceding, being seldom seen
beyond the tropics. A Bengal species occurs also in Java,
and a few are found identically the same in both the Ame¬
ricas. The majority attain a considerable size ; but though
as thick as a man’s arm, they rarely exceed the length of
four feet. Their heavy inelegant forms, small insidious
eyes, and large gaping mouths, confer upon them a peculiar
and repelling physiognomy ; yet they are quite innocuous,
in spite of the malignity of their aspect, a proof that we
should never judge from appearance. These are the most
truly aquatic of all the fresh-water serpents, passing almost
their entire lives submerged, and feeding chiefly on fish.
They are endowed with great muscular strength and strong
powers of locomotion in their favourite element. Their
colours are usually dark and lugubrious,—a schistose gray,
brown, olive, or a blackish hue prevailing over the upper
surface ; while a yellower tint, with large square spots, is
frequent on the abdominal region. We are acquainted
with few details regarding their habits of life; and the spe¬
cies are rare in collections, probably in consequence of their
fish-like activity in the water rendering their capture diffi¬
cult. They are distributed over a variety of genera by dif¬
ferent naturalists; and M. Schlegel describes fourteen spe¬
cies, among which are included Horn, herpeton (Erpeton
tentaculatus, Lac.2), a serpent remarkable for two fleshy ap¬
pendages covered with scales, which extend from the ter¬
mination of the muzzle. (See Plate IV., fig. 4.) The
abdominal plates are scarcely broader than the other scales,
and each is surmounted by a couple of ridges. Its native
country is unknown.
Family VI.—Boas.
This family, according to M. Schlegel’s views, compre¬
hends the greater number of those species which modern
naturalists have comprised under the genera Boa, Python,
and Acrochordus. It is one of the most natural of the en¬
tire order, and has been too often erroneously separated,
merely on the consideration of a few unimportant charac¬
ters. We here find species, some of them the largest of
the Ophidian race, distinguished by a prehensile tail, and
a body possessing the power of twisting itself around other
bodies with great force and facility. The surface is en¬
compassed by numerous small scales, which advance upon
the head and encroach on the abdomen, so that the former
part never exhibits the regularly-formed plates of the Co¬
lubers, while those of the latter are unusually narrow. The
vertical position of the nostrils and small-sized eyes an- Non-veno.
nounce a combination of aquatic with terrestrial habits of mous
life. The first genus, that of Boa properly so called, is cha-. ^rpen s. ^
racterized by simple plates beneath the tail; the second,
Python, peculiar to the ancient world, exhibits the sub-
caudal plates divided, a supernumerary bone on the upper
margin of the orbits, and intermaxillary teeth; the third,
Acrochordus, is destitute of anal hooks, and has the surface
entirely covered over by small granular unimbricated scales.
All these generic groups have many characters in common,
both in habits and organization, and we shall here point
out a few of their generalities.
The term Boa, according to Pliny,3 is derived from Bos,
because the young of these reptiles are wont to nourish
themselves on cow’s milk.4 We are farther informed by
that credulous author, of the great Boa slain in the Vatican,
within the abdomen of which was found an entire infant.
Linnaeus applied the name to all serpents provided with
simple sub-caudal plates. It is obvious that his genus,
founded on a character of such slight importance, while it
excludes the Pythons, necessarily brings together several
heterogeneous groups. The defect in the modern arrange¬
ment of these reptiles arises chiefly from the practice of
viewing a single and often subordinate character, and rul¬
ing, as it were, the forms of nature in simple accordance
with its absence or existence. We thus find the Pythons
almost always separated from the Boas, and placed in the
genus Coluber, while the Acrochordi, estranged from both,
comprise two distinct genera, sometimes placed among ve-
nomous serpents, sometimes classed with the innocuous
kinds. “ Nos temps,” says M. Schlegel, “ fertiles en inva¬
sions de toute sorte, ont vu demembrer la famille des Boas
en autant de divisions generiques que Ton en compte d’es-
peces, qui elles-memes sont multipliees sans le moindre
fondement de verite. II n’est pas rare de voir la meme
espece distribuee en deux ou trois genres differens, et ces
genres places au hazard parmi d’autres Couleuvres ou parmi
les viperes.” The opportunities enjoyed by the author just
named, of studying the various species, has led him to the
belief that these are much less numerous than generally
supposed. He thinks that the majority of such as exist in
nature are now in some measure known, and that they do
not amount to more than fifteen, including Acrochordus.
Various anomalies exist among the species when compared
among each other. Some are spread over a vast tract of
territory, while others are confined within narrow limits.
They are all, however, inhabitants of countries either si¬
tuate beneath the equator or near the tropics. They oc¬
cur in both the Old and New World, but none is found
in Europe, North America, or Japan. The South Ame¬
rican species are frequent in collections; those of the (so-
called) more ancient countries of the earth are rather rare.
Some are oviparous, others produce their young alive. The
Boas usually attain, in truth, to an enormous size, although
their actual dimensions have been greatly exaggerated.
Thus at the very name of Boa constrictor the imagination
is filled “ with folds voluminous and vast,” although the
species really so called scarcely ever exceeds ten or twelve
feet in length. The largest Ophidian reptiles in the world
are Boa murina and Python Schneideri and bivittatus ;
but it may be greatly doubted whether the first named,
which is the most gigantic of all, ever exceeds twenty-five
feet in these degenerate days, and we have no sufficient
1 British Vertebrate Animals, p. 296. Figured in Bell’s British Reptiles.
2 Annates des Mas., ii. 280, pi. 50 ; Gudrin, Iconog. Reptiles, pi. 20, fig. 3. 3 Hist. Nat. 8-14.
4 “ Quant aux veritable serpens, il n’en est pas qui machent rdellement, de meme qu’il est evident qu’aucun ne neut sucer ou
opdrer le vide dans la bouche, et que, par consequent, c’est un prejuge de croire que plusieurs de ces animaux, comme les Boas et les
Couleuvres, puissent teter ies vaches; outre I’absence des levres charnues,le defaut de voile du palais et de 1’epiglotte, qui rendraient
la succion impossible, il est evident que les crochets aceres et recourbes en arriere, qui garnissent leurs machoires et leur palais,
s’accrocheraient comme des hamecons aux tetines des mammiferes et qu’ils ne pourraient s’en detacher.” (Erj>. Gen. i. 135.)
60
REPTILIA.
Non-veno-reason for supposing that it was ever any larger in former
Serpents. times'1 ^Iie recitals of our travellers have been too often
v  —t drawn, not from their own observation (by no means ac¬
curate at the best), but merely from the popular belief of
ignorant and superstitious natives. The Pythons of the
Old World seldom exceed from eighteen to twenty feet
in length; and we can easily believe that one even of that
extent being met by a benighted traveller in some lone-
. some forest glade, or murky meadow, might be afterwards
described as something super-serpentine. Who in early
life (how few at any period) ever caught a trout of two
pounds or a pike of ten, without at least supposing that
the one weighed four, the other fifteen ? Yet who fears
the innocuous finny race, and how greatly must doubt and
dismay increase the seeming dimensions of a huge lugu¬
brious reptile, weaving its way through some “ wild wood,
dingle or bushy dell,” and dimly seen in sombre twilight
hours, by snatches of only four or five yards at a time ?
The same exaggeration prevails regarding both the size
of their natural prey, and its mode of capture. The la¬
mented Boie, who made numerous observations on the
Pythons of Asiatic countries, states that they particularly
attack only the smaller kinds of quadrupeds, although in¬
dividuals of unusual size sometimes swallow a young pig,
or that species of deer called muntjac. But the larger
mammiferous animals, and the human race more espe¬
cially, need entertain no reasonable expectation of attack;
and Prince Neuwied confirms this statement of the la¬
mented naturalist of Kiel, so far as concerns the great
species of the New World, which prey chiefly on birds and
reptiles.
Boas are said to be by no means difficult to tame. M.
Dieperink of Paramaribo informed M. Schlegel that he
was in the practice of keeping by him several different
kinds of live Boas, all of which lived in perfect harmony,
both among themselves and with other domestic animals.
Professor Reindwardt, however, was witness at Java to a
spectacle which proved that these great serpents are not
always as merciful as they are strong. A native of the
island having brought to the Baron Van Der Capellena
huge Python, and being desirous to make it leave a pannier
in which it was contained, the monster rose upon him sud¬
denly, and inflicted a severe wound, at once laying open
the fore-arm throughout its entire extent. It may be as
well, then, upon the whole, not to allow the serpents of
this family to sleep at large in the bed-chambers of any
other family where there are small children.
The members of our present group seize their prey sud¬
denly by ambuscade, usually lying in wait for it in the vi¬
cinity of water. They fix upon it with their teeth, and
then, if of tolerable size or strength, entwine their folds
around it, pressing out the breath of life, or even bruising
the body, and breaking the bones in pieces. To aid this
act of butchery, some of the species are said to keep their
tails twisted around a tree, to which they drag their reluc¬
tant victim,—making use at the same time of the hard and
gnarled trunk to give a still stronger stringency to their
dreadful coils, while the faint-hearted prey
Clamores simul horrendos ad sidera tollit.
When the animal attacked is of smaller size, it is merely Non-veno.
mouthed, always head foremost, covered with saliva to has. mous
ten putrefaction and aid deglutition, and afterwards swal- SerPents*
lowed at leisure. Ihese gigantic reptiles are endowed with ^ v '
great muscular force, which, however, they rarely exercise
in a state of captivity. They seem extremely lethargic
when imported into Europe ; many of them, if not gentle
in their manners, at least cannot be induced to bite by any
provocation j their movements are very slow, they rarely
eat, and the majority indeed die after a few months’ confine¬
ment, without having tasted food.
The following curious, and we doubt not accurate, ac¬
count of the swallowing powers of one of the great Asiatic
serpents, has been recorded by Mr Macleod. He calls the
species Boa constrictor, which, as it was captured in Bor¬
neo, it could not be. It belonged, we presume, to the
genus Python, and measured sixteen feet in length by about
eighteen inches in circumference. We shall make no apo¬
logy for the size of the ensuing extract, as it so clearly il¬
lustrates the peculiar manners and the mode of deglutition
of these Boa-like serpents.
“ The live stock for his use during the passage, consist¬
ing of six goats of the ordinary size, were sent with him on
board, five being considered as a fair allowance for as many
Months. At an early period of the voyage we had an ex¬
hibition of his talent in the way of eating, which was pub¬
licly performed on the quarter-deck, upon which he was
brought. The sliding door (of his cage) being opened, one
of the goats was thrust in, and the door of the cage shut.
The poor goat, as if instantly aware of all the horrors of its
perilous situation, immediately began to utter the most
piercing and distressing cries, butting instinctively at the
same time with its head towards the serpent, in self-defence.
The snake, which at first appeared scarcely to notice the
poor animal, soon began to stir a little, and turning his
head in the direction of the goat, he at length fixed a deadly
and malignant eye on the trembling victim, whose agony
and terror seemed to increase; for, previous to the snake
seizing his prey, it shook in every limb, but still continuing
its unavailing show of attack, by butting at the serpent,
which now became sufficiently animated to prepare for the
banquet. The first operation was that of darting out his
forked tongue, and at the same time rearing a little his
head ; then suddenly seizing the goat by the fore leg with
ns mouth, and throwing it down, it was encircled in an in¬
stant in his horrid folds. So quick, indeed, and so instanta¬
neous was the act, that it was impossible for the eye to fol¬
low the rapid convolution of his elongated body. It was
not a regular screw-like turn that was formed, but resem-
b ing lather a knot, one part of the body overlaying the
other, as if to add weight to the muscular pressure, the
more effectually to crush his object. During this time he
continued to grasp with his fangs, though it appeared an
unnecessary precaution, that part of the animal which he
had first seized. The poor goat, in the mean time, conti¬
nued its feeble and half-stifled cries for some minutes, but
they soon became more and more faint, and at last it ex-
pn-ed. The snake, however, retained it for a considerable
time m his grasp after it was apparently motionless. He
ject, however irreconcileable these may son etLes seem w h S otL^ " preVail Upon the sul>-
great size and unexampled voracity. « In the DmTcoIo^^^ rat}ier favours ^ idea of their
country an enormous serpent, in the body of which he found a deer of middle aae Cle-y®r purchased of the hunters of the
other individual of the same species also examined by the traveller, a wild he-goat waffound^with hshdras and a ShTrdh Y ^
den ly swallowed a porcupine with its quills. He adds, that a pregnant woman also became the nrev of a rentile of eV1~
in the island of Amboyna; and that this kind is sometimes kept for the nurnose of attart ™ tif i mi a.reP^lle.?f same genus
on the frontiers of Bengal. We need hardly be astonished at this, when Prince Maurice of Nassa^ onl nfTheT
Brazd, in the seventeenth century, assures us that he himself was an eye-witness of staos and oihor ominii * i • governors of
and even of a Dutch woman” (usually a considerable mammifer) “ beino- devonrod in V? •’ C other equally voluminous mammifera,
where he commanded.” Griffith’s Animal Kingdo^ iTwT ' S tlm m that reSion of South America
K E P T I L I A.
61
Non-veno- then slowly and cautiously unfolded himself, till the goat
mous fen dead from his monstrous embrace, when he began to
Serpents. prepare hi^eif for swallowing it. Placing his mouth in
front of the dead animal, he commenced by lubricating with
his saliva that part of the goat; and then taking its muzzle
into his mouth, which had, and indeed always has, the ap¬
pearance of a raw, lacerated wound, he sucked it in as far as
the horns would allow. These protuberances opposed some
little difficulty, not so much from their extent, as from their
points; however, they also in a very short time disappeared,
that is to say, externally ; but their progress was still to be
traced very distinctly on the outside, threatening every mo¬
ment to protrude through the skin. The victim had now de¬
scended as far as the shoulders; and it was an astonishing sight
to observe the extraordinary action of the snake’s muscles
when stretched to such an unnatural extent,—an extent
which must have utterly destroyed all muscular power in
any animal that was not, like himself, endowed with very
peculiar faculties of expansion and action at the same time.
When his head and neck had no other appearance than
that of a serpent’s skin, stuffed almost to bursting, still the
workings of the muscles were evident, and his power of
suction, as it is erroneously called, unabated; it was, in fact,
the effect of a contractile muscular power, assisted by two
rows of strong, hooked teeth. With all this, he must be so
formed as to be able to suspend, for a time, his respiration;
for it is impossible to conceive that the process of breathing
could be carried on while the mouth and throat were so
completely stuffed and expanded by the body of the goat,
and the lungs themselves (admitting the trachea to be ever
so hard) compressed, as they must have been, by its pas¬
sage downwards.
“ The whole operation of completely gorging the goat
occupied about two hours and twenty minutes; at the end
of which time the tumefaction was confined to the middle
part of the body, or stomach, the superior parts, which had
been so much distended, having resumed their natural di¬
mensions. He then coiled himself up again, and lay quietly
in his usual torpid state for about three weeks or a month,
when, his last meal appearing to be completely digested and
dissolved, he was presented with another goat, which he
killed and devoured with equal facility.”1
As the vessel, which was sailing from Batavia to Eng¬
land, approached the Cape of Good Hope, this gigantic rep¬
tile began to droop, as was at first supposed, from the in¬
creasing cold. It refused to kill some fowls which were
presented, and died before reaching St Helena. On dis¬
section, the coats of the stomach were found to be “ exco¬
riated and pierced by worms!” Nothing of either goat re¬
mained except a single horn. During a prior captivity of
some months at Whidah, in the kingdom of Dahomey, Mr
Macleod had enjoyed opportunities of observing snakes
“ double the size of the one just described.” These kill¬
ed their prey in the same manner; but from their supe¬
rior bulk were capable of swallowing much larger animals
than either goats or sheep. Governor Abson, who had re¬
sided for nearly forty years at Fort William, a settlement
of the African Company, used to describe some desperate
struggles which had taken place between these great ser¬
pents and various wild beasts, as well as smaller cattle. A
negro herdsman was once seized by the thigh, but the mon¬
ster, in attempting to entwine itself around him, got en¬
tangled by a tree, and the man being armed with a knife, Non-veno-
had presence of mind to inflict several severe gashes on
the neck and throat, which enabled him to disengage him- ^ ^ ^ >
self from the dreadful coils which were closing fast around
him. But he remained lame for life, in consequence of the
wound and heavy pressure inflicted by the jaws.
The natural colours, which are various in this family,
disappear speedily after death. Some are brown upon a
yellowish ground, others exhibit a uniformly greenish hue,
red prevails among certain species, while a few are nearly
black. Almost all are more or less spotted ; and it has
been observed that, unlike the smaller tribes of serpents,
these markings continue equally, or rather more distinct, as
the individual increases in years. The body of the Boas is
thickest at the middle, tapers towards either end, and is
always considerably compressed. The abdomen is broad,
and slightly convex or keeled. The tail is shaped like the
body, but is more slender, not very conical, and usually
terminates in a blunted point. It is always prehensile, that
is, possesses the power of rolling inwards upon itself, or
forming convolutions around other bodies. I he scales in
general are rather small, and as they encroach considerably
on the under surface, it follows that the abdominal plates
are narrower than usual. There are sometimes from sixty
to seventy ranges of scales, and about two hundred and fifty
abdominal plates. The number of these, however, is greater
in the Boas of the ancient world than among the American
species, which moreover differ in several other respects;
while the genus Acrochordus is distinguished from all its
congeners by the small granular scales which clothe the
entire surface, and of which a double series prevails along
the median line of the abdomen, forming a kind of project¬
ing ridge or keel.
The head of the Boas is always distinguishable from the
trunk, being thick, rather lengthened, conical, depressed,
and terminated by a muzzle for the most part elongated, and
truncated at the point. The eyes are placed at some dis¬
tance from the nostrils, and are lateral in the terrestrial
species, of which the head is flattened above, and more or
less angular on the sides ; but the more aquatic kinds have
the eyes rather vertical. These organs are always small
in our present family, and, excepting Acrochordus, have the
pupil horizontally elongated. The nostrils are broad, close¬
ly approached to the end of the muzzle, and in some are
placed upon its summit. They open upwards in the genus
just named, and assume a tubular form. All the species
are provided with palatine teeth, nearly as much developed
as the maxillary ones; but there are no intermaxillary teeth
except among the Pythons. The glands of the head are
less developed in this family than among the majority of
Ophidian reptiles.
Genus Boa. No intermaxillary teeth. Space between the
orbits formed solely by the frontals properly so called. Sub-
caudal plates simple.2 (See Plate IV., figs. 8-11.)
This restricted genus includes the largest of Ophidian
reptiles, and although composed chiefly of South American
snakes, it also contains three Asiatic species, which, though
of much smaller size, cannot be regarded otherwise than as
a geographical division.
Boa constrictor, Linn., is a middle-sized species, which
rarely exceeds the length of ten or twelve feet.3 It is of a
reddish tint, elegantly marked by irregular reticulations of
1 Macleod’s Voyage of the Alceste, p. 290.
3 This is the prevailing character of these parts, although we find in this, as in many other cases, a difficulty in seizing upon single
determinate features of constant application. Thus we sometimes meet with several divided plates in the sub-caudal region of these
so-called Boas.
3 The true B. constrictor is often confounded with the more gigantic B. murina, and its dimensions have in consequence been
greatly exaggerated. We doubt if any existing species ever attains to the alleged size of the so-called B. constrictor. Mr Swain-
son, however” who has travelled in South America, and is himself a zealous student of the facts of zoology, both as reconkvi in books
and as existing in nature, states that the young individuals frequent in our menageries are mere pigmies in comparison to the j
R E P T I L I A.
62
Non-veno-brownish black, and other hues, and is subject to a great
Serpents variety aspect, so far as colour is concerned. It is, how-
. , ever, well characterized by the small smooth scales which
cover both head and body, and of which there are sixtv-
seven rows. The head is heart-shaped, and the tail short.
Abdominal plates 243, caudal fifty-eight. This species is na¬
tive to the intertropical countries of South America, and not
only have its size and voracity been greatly exaggerated,
but many traits have been applied to it which truly belong
only to the Pythons of the ancient continent. Thus the
very name of Devin, bestowed upon it by Lacepede, is bor¬
rowed from what Bosman relates of the worship accorded
by the negroes to certain African reptiles. It is met with
in Surinam and Brazil, in woody districts, being sometimes
seen suspended from the branch of a tree, sometimes con¬
cealed in the hollows of rocks, or beneath an ancient trunk.
It is feared by no one, is often killed with a short walking-
stick, and is commonly known by the name of Jiboya. It
feeds on small and middle-sized mammalia, such as mice, rats,
agoutis, pacas, and capybaras, as well as on various reptiles,
A hunter, however, assured the Prince of Neuwied, that
his dog on one occasion would have fallen a victim to a
Boa of this species, had he not contrived to shoot it during
the combat. The true constrictor does not enter the water.
The Brazilians take it by means of gins, and employ its
skin for making boots and saddle-cloths. They also use its
fat. All engraved representations of this species, having
been made from ill-prepared museum specimens, are worse
than indifferent.1
The rat-eating; Boa, B. murina, Linn. (Z?. Anaconda,
Baud.2 B. aquatica, Neuw.3), is the largest Ophidian rep¬
tile of America, and probably the most gigantic of known
species. It is distinguished in Brazil by the title of Cucu-
riuba, and passes a great portion of its time in the water,
either swimming about in various directions, or floating
lazily with the current. It dives with great dexterity, can
remain for a length of time beneath the surface, and is said
to prey on fish as well as quadrupeds. It is tenacious of
life, and is killed by the natives either with bow or musket
in the water, or with sticks when met with on shore, where
its movements are somewhat sluggish. Both its skin and
fat are used for various purposes, and its flesh is eaten by
the Botocudes. M. Fermin measured one which had at¬
tained the length of twenty-three and a half feet; and the
Prince of Neuwied was assured by the natives that it is
often much longer, although he himself never sawr one above
twenty feet. This species exhibits less varied markings
than the preceding. The general hue of the upper parts
is sooty brown, with two rows of orbicular blackish spots
along the back. The under surface and sides are of an
ochry yellow, the latter marked with a double row of ir¬
regular eye-shaped spots, which confound themselves with
numerous squarer spots upon the belly. The nostrils are
vertical, the eyes also directed upwards. The head is of
an elongated form, with a rounded muzzle. Abdominal Non-veno-
plates 250, caudal sixty-six. 1110118
1 he other species of this genus are B. cenchria, canina ^crPent8^
(Plate IV. figs. 8-11), hortulana from South America; B.
Dussumieri, from a small island near the Mauritius; B.
carinata, from the Moluccas and New Guinea; B. conica,
from Bengal; and B. melanura, from the island of Cuba.
Schlegel describes nine species.
Genus Python. Several intermaxillary teeth. Upper
portion of the orbit formed by a particular bone incased
among the three frontals, and named super-orbital by Cu¬
vier. Sub-caudal plates usually divided. Lips hollowed
out in front. Plates of the head larger and more regular
than in Boa. (See Plate IV., figs. \ b, \ c, and 3; and Plate
V., fig. 5.)
This genus was established by M. Daudin for the recep¬
tion of the great serpents of the ancient world. Brown,
black, and yellow, are their prevailing colours. Certain of
the species equal (some say exceed) the Boas of America
in size, for example the Ular-sawa {Python bivittatus,
Khul, Col. Javanicus, Shaw). This species is of a Yellowish
tint, relieved by a pattern of broad alternate brown spots.
The top of the head is margined by two rays of the ground
colour. The flanks are variously adorned by black and
white, and the under surface is marked by deep square
spots. There are sixty-three ranges of smooth small scales,
270 abdominal and seventy caudal plates. This great rep¬
tile is spread, according to M. Schlegel, over a vast extent
of territory, being known to occur from the western coast
of Africa, over the whole of intertropical Asia, as far east
as China and the island of Java. It is said to attain the
length of twenty-five feet, and individuals of twenty feet
in length have been seen and described by trustworthy
naturalists. A fine specimen lived for some time in Hol¬
land, and was observed to be slow in its movements, mild
in its temper, and never inclined to bite even when pro¬
voked. It was kept in a large box enveloped in woollen
cloths, where it lay in continued tranquillity, and suffered
itself to be drawn out for frequent exhibition without ma¬
nifesting any signs of anger or impatience. We suspect
that the senses of this, and of other large tropical snakes, are
so far benumbed by the change of climate in Europe as to
produce stupefaction rather than tameness. The specimen
in question was presented with food every eight days, which,
however, it often refused for several successive times. It
was most easily excited to eat by the sight of a live rabbit,
into the head of which it would fix its teeth, and then, pia-
within a fold of its body, deprived it almost instantly
of life. After the commission of this murder, it was in no
hurry to swallow its victim, but sometimes licked it for a
while, occasionally taking two or three hours to effect the
final deglutition. This is supposed to be the Pedda-voda
of Dr Kussel, called rock-snake by the Anglo-Indians.4
We do not happen to know to what extent this or any
adults, “which have been often found to exceed forty feet in length” {Cabinet Cyclopcedia, vol. cxvi n Hal VPt he dne« w
as a result of observation, or as connected with his own knowledge as well as hehef. A single specLen of s.Slilnt? ,
be the wonder of Europe, and would make a fortune for its owner. A Dutch friend of Mr ^Tatertorfskin'ed^a^Rnn 7
"i13 sPecies) t^Hty'two feet long, with a pair of stag’s horns in its mouth. It had swallowed the stin- hnf en l ? ( ^ n° if3
digeste^the'Udv “Wandrthe? fhehoJn^woufd’d3^ ^ ^ With that, mouthful tilHts sTomadi ha
. • , • , tnen iiorns would drop out. It was in this expectant nlipdit thaf tho i *4. 1
going m his canoe up the river, and sent a ball through its head {Wanderings in South hir^edh n 20m ^Phe I ’ ^ G Wa
bagged by Mr Waterloo after “ a sharp fray in the den, the rotten sticks living on all shl7 and eachnart LfS’in g(?
measured rather more than fourteen feet in length. It was of the kind callerf
portion to its length than any other snake of the forest, that an individual of the ex enHust s^e7“ is as thfck ns a 7 P
Boa of twenty-four. Its jaw, are „ e„e„3ile, that Mr Waterton, after skinning his s^eikt/co^kjly'geS l^d “
1 See Scheuchzer, Biblia Sacra, pi. 746, fig. 1Lacep. Quad. Ovip. ii. pi. 16, fig. 1 ;_Daudin Revtiles v nl 62 fio- l
various figures of our B constrictor in Seba’s Thesaurus, and from these Laurenti'seems to have composed iuch snecifs as 7
formosmimus, Rex serpentum, diviniloquus, and several others composea suen species as Constncto
* Reptiles, v. 161, pi. 63. ‘ 3 . .. . „
R E P T I L I A.
Non-veno- other species of Python may have attained in ancient times,
1110113 but it is probably from some misconceived view of our pre-
. erPeilt3' sen(; species tliat the marvellous traditions regarding almost
immeasurable serpents have been derived. Who has not read
of that enormous reptile which spread dismay even through a
Roman army? It is thus related by Valerius Maximus, from
one of the lost books of Livy, by whom it is said to have been
recorded at greater length. “ And since we are on the sub¬
ject of uncommon phenomena, we may here mention the
serpent so eloquently and accurately (!) recorded by Livy,
who says, that near the river Bagrada in Africa, a snake
was seen of so enormous a magnitude as to prevent the
army of Attilius Regulus from the use of the river; and
after snatching up several soldiers with its enormous mouth,
and devouring them, and killing several more by striking
and squeezing them by the spine of its tail, was at length
destroyed by assailing it with all the force of military en¬
gines and showers of stones, after it had withstood the at¬
tack of their spears and darts ; that it was regarded by the
whole army as a more formidable enemy than even Car¬
thage itself; and that the whole adjacent region, being taint¬
ed with the pestilential effluvia proceeding from its remains,
and the waters with its blood, the Roman army was obliged
to move its station : he also adds, that the skin of the mon¬
ster, measuring 120 feet in length, was sent to Rome as a
trophy.” The learned Frienshemius, having had the ad¬
vantage of living a thousand years or two after the histo¬
rian of the Punic war, has given a still more circumstantial
account of this bloody broil in his Suppiementa Liviana.
He there informs us, that “ it caused so much trouble to
Regulus, that he found it necessary to contest the posses¬
sion of the river with it, by employing the whole force of
his army; during which a considerable number of soldiers
were lost, while the serpent could neither be vanquished nor
wounded, the strong armour of its scales easily repelling
the force of all the weapons that were directed against it;
upon which recourse was had to battering engines, with
which the animal was attacked in the manner of a fortified
tower, and was thus at length overpowered. Several dis¬
charges were made against it without success, till its back
being broken by an immense stone” (we admire detailed ac¬
counts of ancient actions), “ the formidable monster began
to lose its powers, and was yet with difficulty destroyed,
after having diffused such a horror among the army, that
they confessed they would rather attack Carthage itself than
such another monster.” Probably such another was not
then at hand, and we believe has never been seen since ;
but the anecdote itself holds out great encouragement to
modern travellers. It is, we doubt not, to Python bivittatus
that Bosman and other writers refer, when they mention
the religious veneration with which some great African ser¬
pents are regarded by the natives. But we must conclude
our imperfect notice of this genus by stating, that of the
remaining species, P. Schneideri (Plate IV., fig. 3, and
Plate V., fig. 5) is found in Malacca, Java, Sumatra, and
Amboyna ; P. amethystinus, in Saparua, a small island op¬
posite Amboyna (a nearly identical kind being found in
Timor, Samao, and New Ireland); and P. Peronii in New
Holland.
Genus Acrochordus. Head rounded, eyes extremely
small, rather vertical, pupil orbicular, nostrils tubular, nearly
terminal, opening forwards or upwards. Tail strongly pre¬
hensile, and, in common with the trunk, compressed. Anal
hooks wanting. Whole body covered by small scales, and
the abdomen furnished with a kind of keel beset with scales.
Teeth as in the Boas proper.
The anomalous reptiles of our present genus may be said
to combine the characters of the Boas and sea-serpents.
Their dentition resembles that of the former, while the
63
position of the eyes and nostrils, the compact closure of the Venomous
mouth, compressed form of the body, the existence of the Serpents,
abdominal crest, and absence of anal hooks, assimilate them
to the latter. They are, however, easily distinguished by
being destitute of poison-fangs. Want of attention to the
latter character, and some confused and contradictory data
furnished by foreign naturalists, have caused several errors
in the arrangement of the species, which are very few in
number. They inhabit the intertropical countries of Asia,
are extremely aquatic in their propensities, and are external¬
ly distinguished by a somewhat sombre colouring,—brown
and a yellowish hue being the prevailing tints. The Ja¬
vanese species, Acrochordus Javanicus, is of a deep earthen-
brown colour, irregularly marbled. Its form is thick, the
head short and obtuse, the tail slender in proportion to the
other parts. It attains a total length of eight feet, with the
thickness of a man’s arm, and was first described by Horn-
stedt, from a specimen taken in a large pepper-ground near
Sangasan in Java.1 Ac. fasciatus is also of a brown colour,
but with paler bands upon the sides, the general form much
more slender, and the dimensions considerably less.2 It is
more extended in its distribution than the preceding, being
found in Pondicherry, New Guinea, Sumatra, Java, and
Timor. It forms (it is said erroneously) the genus Chersy-
drus of Baron Cuvier,—the great French naturalist having
been informed by M. Leschenhault that the snake in ques¬
tion was extremely poisonous, and dwelt in the beds of the
rivers of Java. The accuracy of the former assertion has
been since disproved. No other species are distinctly
known.
SECOND PRIMARY DIVISION.—VENOMOUS SER¬
PENTS.
Family I.— Colubriform Venomous Serpents.
The poisonous species here assembled, although provided
with envenomed fangs, so nearly resemble the Colubers in
their general external forms as to be easily mistaken for them
by an inexperienced eye. They also partake in some points
of the features of the sea-serpents, but are distinguished by
wanting the flattened tail; while from the concluding family
of venomous serpents properly so called, they are kept apart
by the bulkier proportions, thick triangular heads, vertical
pupils, and carinated scales, which characterize the species
last alluded to. At the same time it must be admitted,
that those rigorous and distinct demarcations which so many
lovers of nature desire to establish, but which so few can
find, occur as seldom here as in other departments of zoo¬
logy,—several species in each family showing a strong ten¬
dency of transition towards another.
The reptiles of our present family have a more slenderly
elongated form than those of other poisonous groups. Their
trunk is in general a good deal drawn out, sometimes cylin¬
drical, or slightly compressed. Their tail, like that of all
poisonous species, is rather short, conical, and rounded at
the extremity. Their head, almost always of nearly equal
dimensions with the neck, is small, short, and obtuse at the
extremity. The eyes are rather small, sometimes vertical,
the pupil always orbicular. The nostrils, always lateral and
rather open, are pierced in a large plate on each side of the
muzzle. The scales are not numerous, of medium size, and
always smooth,—except in Naja hcemachates, in which they
seem surmounted by a keel. The abdomen is constantly
convex, and furnished with plates of greater or less extent,
according to the species. But what particularly charac¬
terizes this family is, that all the genera of which it is com¬
posed have the crown of the head covered by nine plates,
1 Act. Stockh. 1787 ; and Journ. de Physique, 1788.
Shaw, Gen. Zool. iii. pi. 130.
64 REFT
Venomous modelled after the type of those of Coluber. The poison
Serpents, apparatus is much less developed than among other venom-
ous kinds; but the fangs, though short, are strong. The
species inhabit the warmer countries of both the New and
Old World, but do not occur in Europe. They form three
generic groups, as after mentioned.
Genus Elajps. Body slender and cylindrical, of nearly
equal size throughout, and usually encompassed by fifteen
rows of broad, smooth scales. Head elongated, and not
strongly distinguishable from the trunk.
This genus was established by Schneider,1 and now con¬
tains all those slender-bodied venomous kinds, which by
their elongated forms remind us of Tortrix and Calamaria,
They attain to no great size, seldom reaching three or four
feet in length, and scarcely exceeding a finger’s thickness
in diameter. Their colours are often bright and beautiful,
a combination of red and black being frequent among them.
They prefer countries covered by an abundant vegetation,
concealing themselves amid the herbs of the meadows, or
the loftier luxuriance of the forest; and with this circum¬
stance we may connect the fact, that only a single species
is found in Africa, all the others occurring in tropical Ame¬
rica, New Holland, the Indian Archipelago, and Bengal,—
the latter country, however, producing likewise only a soli¬
tary instance in Elaps trimaculatus. Their agility is by no
means great, and they prey chiefly on other reptiles,—birds
being probably too active, quadrupeds too large, and fish
too aquatic for creatures of slowish movement, small size,
and terrestrial habits. We cannot here.detail the species,
of which eleven are described by M. Schlegel, but must
rest satisfied by referring, as examples, to a few figures,
such as E. Corallinus {Nova Acta, x. pi. 4), E. Surina-
mensis {Seba, ii. pi. 86, fig. 2), E. collaris {Erpetol. de
Java, pi. 45), E. trimaculatus (Russel, Ind. Serp. i. pi. 8).
Genus Dendraspis. The only known species of this
genus was first described by Professor Traill in Jameson’s
Edinburgh Journal. From his dislike to institute a new
genus from a single species, he proposed for it the name of
Elaps Jamesoni, as it most nearly approached that genus of
poisonous reptiles. His specimen was sent to him from
South America; but since that, M. Schlegel has received
several specimens from Western Africa, of which it is cer¬
tainly a native. From its narrow abdomen and habit of a
tree snake, M. Schlegel suggested to Professor Traill the
generic name of Dendraspis, which has been adopted, and
the specific name remains.
Genus Bungarus. Form more robust than that of
Elaps. Head broad, depressed, rounded terminally, and to¬
wards the sides ; abdomen convex; tail robust; dorsal line
furnished with a row of hexagonal scales larger than the
rest; sub-caudal plates simple.
To this genus belong the Bungarum pamma of Russel
{Ind. Serp. i. pi. 3), B. annularis, Daudin, and the Geedi
Paragoodoo of the former author, B. semifasciatus of Khul
and Schlegel. Both species inhabit India, as well as Java
and Ceylon. The natives of India, who are said generally
to exaggerate the noxious character of their serpents, assert
that the bite of the latter produces immediate death, al¬
though Dr Russel’s experiments go to prove that it is sel¬
dom fatal to chickens in less than half an hour, or to dogs
in a shorter period than an hour and a half. A Geedi
Paragoodoo was made to bite a large dog on the thigh,
near the groin, where it held fast for more than twenty
seconds, but the fangs scarcely penetrated farther than the
skin. The dog howled much when first wounded, but on
being set at liberty walked about for a time without mani¬
festing any peculiar symptoms. In ten minutes, however,
he drew up the wounded leg, continuing to stand on the
other three; in a quarter of an hour he crouched, and
ILIA
howled again, and the thigh became paralytic, though the Venomous
poor creature was still able to raise himself: in twenty-five Serpents,
minutes both thighs were paralytic; and in the course of
the second hour he became greatly disordered, grew ap¬
parently torpid, lay panting on one side, and died in about
two hours, without convulsions. Another dog of smaller
size expired in one hour and ten minutes, after being
strongly convulsed for some minutes prior to its death.
Genus Naja. General form robust; body not cylin¬
drical, but thickening in the middle, and tapering towards
either end ; tail lengthened and conical; abdomen broad
and convex ; head well distinguished from the trunk ; eyes
large and lateral; neck capable of inflation.
This genus contains the famous hooded or spectacle-
snakes called cobras de capello by the Portuguese, the ma¬
jority having the power of raising the anterior ribs, so as to
produce a peculiar disk-like inflation of the neck or upper
portion of the body. The species are peculiar to the an¬
cient world,—if New Holland, which produces two, and was
unknown to the ancients, may be classed therein. M. Schle¬
gel describes ten different kinds, many of which, however,
are arranged in separate genera by other writers, but which
that author regards as forming an uninterrupted series,
closely connected with each other, and of which the fore¬
most exhibit the announced generic characteristics in great
strength and precision, while the others gradually depart
from the type, and form a passage to the vipers.
The hooded snake, commonly so called {Coluber naja of
the older writers, Naja tripudians of the recent systema-
tists), is one of the most noted as well as noxious of the In¬
dian reptiles. Its general length is from three to four feet,
and the diameter of its body about an inch and a quarter.
The inflated portion is marked above by a large conspi¬
cuous patch, closelyresembling the figure of an old-fashioned
pair of spectacles. The usual colour of the upper parts is
pale ferruginous brown, the under being of a bluish-white
occasionally tinged with yellow. The terminal portion
tapers gradually, and ends in a rather slender sharp-pointed
extremity. In India this dreaded species is more univer¬
sally known than any other. It is frequently exhibited as
a public show, and being carried about in a covered basket,
is made to assume ^ kind of dancing motion (a modification,
we presume, of some natural and instinctive movement) for
the amusement of the public. Raising itself up on its lower
extremity, and moving its head and body alternately from
side to side, the insidious creature seems pleased by keep¬
ing time with the measured melody of “ flutes and soft re¬
corders.” We presume that a love of music is natural to
certain serpents ; and that this fact was observed of old in
Palestine, is probable from the expression of the inspired
Psalmist, who compares the ungodly to the deaf adder,
which “stoppeth her ears, and refuseth to hear the voice
of the charmer.” Chateaubriand relates that he was an eye¬
witness, on the banks of the Genesee, to the fact of a native
appeasing the wrath of a rattle-snake (which he even caused
to follow him) merely by the music of his flute. The
dancing snakes of India are usually, though not universally,
deprived of their poison-fangs. “ When the music ceases,”
says Mr Forbes, “the snakes appear motionless; but if not
immediately covered up in the basket, the spectators are
liable to fatal accidents. Among my drawings is that of a
cobra de capello which danced for an hour on the table while
I painted it, during which I frequently handled it to ob¬
serve the beauty of the spots, and especially the spectacles
on the hood, not doubting but that its venomous fangs had
been previously extracted. But the next morning my upper
servant, who was a zealous Mussulman, came to me in great
haste, and desired I would instantly retire and praise the
Almighty for my good fortune. Not understanding his
1 Hist. Amphib. ii. p. 289.
REPTILIA.
65
Venomous meaning, I told him that I had already performed my devo-
Serpents. tions, and had not so many stated prayers as the followers of
his prophet. Mohammed then informed me, that while pur¬
chasing some fruit in the bazaar he observed the man who had
been with me the preceding evening entertaining the coun¬
try people with his dancing snakes ; they, according to their
usual custom, sat on the ground around him, when, either
from the music stopping too suddenly, or from some other
cause irritating the vicious reptile which I had often handled,
it darted at the throat of a young woman, and inflicted a
wound of which she died in half an hour.”1 * A similar fate
had nearly befallen an artist employed by Professor Rein-
wardt to paint the portrait of a living Naja. It had in some
way disengaged its bands, and seemed to have prepared itself
to attack the unsuspecting painter the moment he entered
his apartment. He there found it supported on its tail, its
body raised, its neck dilated, its head advanced, and then
giving utterance to some hissing sounds, it threw a quantity
of saliva upon the very man who was about to hand it down
to posterity, but who fortunately effected an instantaneous
retreat before it came to closer quarters. We doubt not
the painter loved the picturesque, although that was not the
time to gaze with admiration on the fierce intruder.
Dr Russel informs us that he never knew the bite of a
hooded snake prove mortal to a dog in much less than half
an hour, although it kills chickens in less than half a minute.
Now the rattle-snake has been known to kill a dog in less
than two minutes. Yet the use of the lunar caustic, which
in the hands of the Abbe Fontana proved so efficacious
when applied as remedial to the bite of the viper, was
found of little or no avail in India as a counteraction to the
venom of the cobra de capello? We shall conclude our
notices of this species by observing that the Ceylonese
jugglers, according to Dr Davy, use it without extracting
the fangs, the only means which they employ to avoid its
vengeance being courage and agility. It is in fact held in
veneration by the natives of that island, who carefully avoid
it, offer it no injury, and put it out of doors unhurt when it
happens to enter their dwellings.3 The root of Ophiorhyza
mungos is believed in India to be a specific against the bite
of the cobra de capello.
Another noted species is the Naja haje {Coluber haje,
Linn.), which plays the same part in the history and super¬
stitions of the African tribes as the preceding does in those
of the Asiatic nations. The ancient Egyptians named it
Ouro, a term which signifies king, and which the Greeks
adopted into their language in the word Ouraios. It is
frequently represented in various Egyptian antiquities,
whether as drawn in colours, sculptured on the covers of
sarcophagi, or cast in bronze. One of the great creative
spirits of the world, called Cneph, Cnouphis, or Ammon, in
the cosmogony of Egypt, was represented in their sym¬
bolical writings under the form of a serpent winding itself
around a globe, or placed in the centre of a disk.
The jugglers of modern Egypt, especially of Cairo, use
this Naja in their pretended sorceries. These people affect
to be descendants of the ancient Psylli, and boast of in¬
heriting from their ancestors the power of subduing and
commanding the most poisonous reptiles. The principal
feat which they execute consists in making the Naja counter¬
feit death, or they change it into a rod. This they seem to
effect by pressing the neck of the creature between their
fingers, so as to produce a kind of catalepsy, which renders
it stiff and motionless. This is rather a singular fact when
considered in connection with the scriptural narrative, where
the rods of the magicians, when thrown down, are con¬
verted into serpents.4 According to M. Geoffroy, the Venomous
species is still sufficiently common in Egypt, occurring both Serpents,
in fields and ditches. “ Les cultivateurs sont done exposes
& le rencontrer frequemment; mais quoiqu’ils n’ignorent pas
le danger de sa morsure, sa presence ne les empeche nulle-
ment de vaquer & leur travaux ordinaires ; connaissant bien
les habitudes du redoubtable reptile, ils savent qu’ils n’au-
raient a craindre d’etre attaques par lui, que s’ils venaient
a commetre Fimprudence de s’en approcher. En effet, tant
qu’ils se tiennent a quelque distance, 1’haje se contente de
les suivre du regard, en elevant sa tete et en prenant 1’at-
titude dans laquelle les fig. 4 et 5 le represent.”5 The
African Naja attains to about the same size as the Asiatic,
and greatly resembles it in general aspect; but its neck is
less capable of inflation, and its muzzle more conical. It
is usually of a yellowish-brown colour above, varied with
numerous black and white spots; the under surface whitish,
although some individuals exhibit broad black spots or bands
on the abdomen. The Cape Naja is regarded by M. Schlegel
merely as a climatic variety of that now mentioned.
The Australian species {Naja porphyried) was first de¬
scribed by Dr Shaw.6 It belongs to the genus Oploce-
phalus of Baron Cuvier, and we place it here on the au¬
thority of M. Schlegel. According to M. Lesson it is
greatly dreaded at Port Jackson, and several convicts are
said to have died of its bite in a quarter of an hour. It is
common in the sandy brushwood of the shores of Botany
Bay. Its movements are full of force and vigour, its agility
remarkable, and it defends itself when attacked with great
hardihood.7 Another New Holland species is Naja curta,
said to bear resemblance to a viper. It is probably the
only colubriform venomous reptile which exhibits a some¬
what vertically elongated pupil.
Family II.—Sea-Serpents.
Our present family is placed here on the supposition that
all the species which it contains are poisonous. Several
naturalists, proceeding on certain data given by Dr Russel,
have maintained the contrary opinion ; but long-continued
researches on the part of M. Schlegel have led to the con¬
clusion that there is really no exception to the rule. Great
confusion prevails in the synonymy of the species, chiefly
owing to the absence of good figures and accurate compara¬
tive descriptions,—even Dr Russel’s plates, which are the
most numerous, being insufficient to lead to a rigorous
determination of the species. The specimens themselves
are obtained with great difficulty, and are consequently rare
in our collections.
We have not sufficiently precise information on which to
settle the geographical boundaries of the marine family of
serpents. That species occur in the Persian and Arabian
gulfs is by no means improbable; but the fact is inferred
rather from some passages in ancient writers than from
modern observation ; and we know that the authors of anti¬
quity, at least in some instances, mistook certain eel-formed
fishes for actual snakes. Schneider, indeed8 (whose com¬
petence as a scholar no naturalist would dare to doubt) has
quoted several classical writers to demonstrate a remote
knowledge of sea-serpents; but that knowledge seems too
superficially and vaguely expressed to be altogether trusted
or even understood. iElian records that “ the seas of India
produce hydras with flattened tails.”9
Modern naturalists are believed to be in error who assert
their occurrence in the Atlantic Ocean, no proper proof hav¬
ing been yet adduced of any of these species inhabiting it.
1 Oriental Memoirs, i. p. 44. 2 Edinburgh Cabinet Library, vol. viii. 3 Ceylon, p. S3, et seq.
4 “ Then Pharaoh also called the wise men and the sorcerers: now the magicians of Egypt, they also did in like manner with their
enchantments; for they cast down every man his rod, and they became serpents; but Aaron’s rod swallowed up their rods.” (Exod.
vii. 11, 12.) 6 Descrip, de VEgypte, Atlas, Reptiles, pi. 7. 6 Zoology of New Holland, pi. 10.
7 Voyage de la Coquille, Zoologie, ii. p. 55. 8 Hist. Amphib. i. p. 255. 9 All. 1. 16, chap. 8.
VOL. XIX. I
66 KEPT
Venomous M. Schlegel characterizes the statement as an “ assertion
^Serpents. que je pu[s contredire avec certitude.” Believing that
there are more things in heaven and earth than are
“ dreamt of in our philosophy,” and desiring to bear in
mind the sentiment of the inspired apostle, that “ if any
man think that he knoweth any thing, he knoweth nothing
yet as he ought to know,” we shall content ourselves by
stating that sea-serpents have not yet been observed in the
Atlantic Ocean. M. Schlegel’s researches have led him to
believe that they are confined “ aux mers intertropicales,
ou voisines des tropiques, comprises entre le 90me et les
230me degres de longit. or. du meridien de Ferro.”1 We
shall here state the chief of the actual localities. Several
species were received by Dr Russel from among the nu¬
merous islands called Sunderabunds, which form the delta
of the Ganges. The same author likewise obtained many
from different points along the coast of Coromandel. Sir
Stamford Raffles mentions three species which frequent the
coasts of Sumatra.2 The Dutch voyagers have observed
only a single species on the coast of Java, but they have
met with several among the Moluccas, near Timor, Banda,
and the shores of New Guinea. Dr Strauss transmitted
two species from the Celebes. M. Von Siebold observed
them to abound in the China Sea, and met with many in the
course of his passage from Java to Japan, from the region
of the equator as far north as the 27th degree. Eschholtz
has incidentally observed,3 that the fishermen of the Phi¬
lippine Islands capture Acrochordus fasciatus in the Bay
of Manilla, and that this reptile cannot move upon the
land. Now it so happens that the Acrochordi correctly
so called never inhabit the sea; and it may therefore be
inferred that the observer last named had in view, not an
Acrochordus, but a sea-snake or Hydrophis. It is long
since Dampier told us of those which he saw along the
western shores of New Holland ;4 as did afterwards Sir Jo¬
seph Banks along the eastern coast, from the 20th to the
10th degree of north latitude. Forster, as Schneider has
recorded, found Hyd. pelamys abundant near Otaheite.
The habits of these reptiles are indicated here and there
by different writers. Dr Russel describes their aquatic
movements as active and elegant, but they have scarcely
any locomotive power on land, and speedily die when either
brought ashore or placed in fresh water. He found in the
abdomen of a female Hydrophis nine perfectly formed
young, each of which was enclosed in an egg or envelope,
from which (the matured condition) it may be inferred that
they are viviparous. It would also seem that their manners
are milder than those of the generality of poisonous species.
Dr Russel, at least, assures us in regard to Hyd. gracilis,
that no provocation would induce it to bite any object pre¬
sented to it. Neither could M. Lesson succeed in his dis¬
interested attempts to make Hyd. pelamys wound any poul¬
try, though he kindly put them together alive into a copper
bathing tub.5 The observations received from M. Von
Siebold by M. Schlegel confirm the belief of other naturalists,
that these reptiles, though assuredly dangerous from their
poisonous qualities, are not of a highly ferocious nature.
The former traveller fell in with vast numbers while sailing
from Batavia to Japan, all of the small species, elsewhere
so frequent and widely spread, known to naturalists by the
specific name of pelamys. Their movements were by no
means rapid, although they glided through the water with
grace and activity, raising their heads from time to time
above the waves, for the purpose probably of respiration.
Their motion is produced and directed by an action of
the tail, accompanied by a lateral and undulating movement
ILIA.
of the other parts of the body. They were easily enough Venomous
entrapped in wooden buckets, and glided through the sai- Serpents,
lors’ hands without attempting to bite them,—the said sailors -v—
having probably been previously informed that they were eels.
“ Le Professeur Reinwardt,” says Schlegel, “ confirme ce que
M. von Siebold rapporte relativement au caractere doux et
tranquille de ces animaux.”6 We cannot, however, help
thinking that this alleged sweetness of temper and tran¬
quillity are in some measure inconsistent with the cases of
the native woman and Lascar already reported in our in¬
troductory observations. The comparatively slow move¬
ments also do not accord with what we are elsewhere in¬
formed by M. Lesson. “ Le 27 Juillet,” says that natu¬
ralist, “ par une journee brulante, nous fumes pris de calme
sur les cotes de la Nouvelle Guinee. De nombreux ser¬
pens marins passerent le long de la corvette, et un embar-
cation que le capitaine fit mettre a la mer nous permit de
les chasser. Nous atteignimes apres de longues pursuites
une Pelamide, dont 1’agilite etait extreme, et les mouve-
mens de natation des plus rapides.”7
We owe some interesting observations on the manners
of these marine serpents to M. Peron,8 although it may be
doubted whether that voyager did not occasionally take
his notes from too great a distance, especially in reference
to size and colour. No other credible author has ever de¬
scribed any of these species as attaining to so great a length
as twelve feet; the usual dimensions, we may here observe,
varying from two and a half to five feet. However, M.
Peron describes those he saw as gliding lightly in great
numbers on the surface of the sea, and waging destruc¬
tive war against a shoal of small herrings, which fled pre¬
cipitately towards deeper water. The haunts of these
snakes are by no means confined to the shallow shores, or
even the vicinity of continents or islands, for they are
often met with many hundred miles from land. On open¬
ing their stomach, our navigator found it filled with small
fish, and various marine Crustacea; but the reptiles them¬
selves became the frequent prey of sharks, in the interior
of which their half-digested remains were often found. It
naturally became a subject of surprise, that creatures so
light and active should so often fall victims to an enemy of
such weight and sluggishness; but after more lengthened
observation, a peculiarity in the habits of the former was
thought sufficient to account for their capture. These ser¬
pents were often seen as if asleep, and floating on the
waves, and so profound was their repose, that a large ves¬
sel, “ with all its bravery on,” might pass close by without
their being disturbed by its surging prow, its huge furrow,
or the loud voices of the garrulous sailors (Frenchmen, of
course). M. Peron supposes that it is in this state of le¬
thargy that the lazy sharks swallow them at their leisure.
As to the cause of the torpor itself, he naturally enough
suggests that it may arise, as among the terrestrial races,
from repletion, and the indolence indulged in by all ser¬
pents during the digestive process. “ Ces reptiles,” he
adds, “ nagent et plongent avec une egale facilite: souvent
a 1’instant meme ou nous croyons pouvoir les saisir avec nos
filets, ils disparaissaient a nos yeux ; et, s’enfon^ant a de
grandes profondeurs sous les flots, ils restaient une demi-
heure et plus sans remonter a leur surface, ou ne parais-
saient qu’a de tres-grandes distances du point ou nous les
avions vus plonger.”9
The general ground-colour of the majority of these rep¬
tiles is yellowish, varying towards green, blue, or white,
and often relieved by blackish rings, or broad lozenge¬
shaped spots, disposed transversely along the dorsal re-
1 Physiog. des Serpents, ii. p. 491. < Voyages, iv. p. 107 and 113. ? Loc. cit.
2 Phil. Trans, xiii. part ii. p. 334. * Coquille, ii. p. 58. 8 Voyage, p. 105 and 129.
* In Kotzebue’s Neue Reise, Anh. p. 32. 6 Physiog. ii. p. 493. s Loc. cit.
REP’
Venomous gion. The colours seem less subject to variation than
Serpents. among the other Ophidians, and there is no external dif-
V'J^Y ference between the sexes. All the species are included
by M. Schlegel in the following genus.
Genus Hydrophis. Head small, uniform with the
trunk. Nostrils vertical, of an orbicular form, and capable
of being closed by a valve. Eye small, pupil orbicular.
Fangs but slightly developed, and always followed by se¬
veral other teeth, solid though slender. Body tapering
towards both extremities. Scales lozenge-shaped or hex¬
agonal, not imbricated, covered by a thin epidermis, and
surmounted by a tubercle, of which there are two on the
median range of the abdomen. The abdominal scales
scarcely larger than the others. Tail broad, flattened la¬
terally, and performing the functions of an oar or rudder.
Lungs often prolonged into a reservoir of air as far as the
commencement of the caudal region.
Of this genus there are seven species, the particular
characters of which we cannot here detail, although their
general attributes may be made out from the preceding
observations. (See Plate V., fig. 4.)
The most common kind is Hyd. pelamys of Oken1 * (An-
guis platura, Linn.), of a comparatively thickish form, the
head much elongated, the median line of the abdomen in¬
dicated by a suture formed by two rows of scales. It is
of a blackish brown above, beneath yellow; the tail, and
sometimes the entire body, varied by these colours. It is
the most extensively distributed of the genus, being found
wherever any sea-snakes occur. It seems to be the black
backed hydrus of Shaw (Hydrus bicolor, Schneid.); and
in India rejoices in the euphonious name of Nalla Wah-
lagillee Pam} Of general occurrence in the Asiatic seas,
it is also common round the coasts of Otaheite, where it
is relished as an article of food, and known under the title
of Etoonatoree.
Family III.—Most Poisonous Serpents.
The species of this family are the most venomous of all,
and may, for the most part, be recognised by something
especially repulsive and forbidding in their aspect. Their
form is rather thick and heavy, their tail short, their head
extremely broad, depressed, and somewhat heart-shaped;
rarely protected by plates, but usually covered by scales
resembling those of the dorsal region ; the eyes are small,
deeply seated in the sides of the head, and shaded by pro¬
jecting superciliary plates, the pupil vertical; the upper
lip is inflated, and falls over the lengthened fangs; the
body is usually beset by scales of a lanceolated form, sur¬
mounted by a ridge, except in one or two species of Tri-
gonocephalus, in wdiich they are smooth.
Their habits and modes of life likewise present some
disparities when compared with those of the preceding
groups. Being of a lethargic nature and slow of move¬
ment, they seldom wander about in search of prey, but
keep themselves coiled up till it approaches closely, and
then springing upon it by a sudden straightening of the
body, they inflict a fatal wound, which needs no repeti¬
tion. There seems reason to believe that this mode of
attack is peculiar to the present family, the other poisonous
kinds pursuing their prey, and holding on when they have
seized it, while the poisonous serpents properly so called
are satisfied by sinking their envenomed fangs into the
flesh of their victim. Their gape is very wide, their fangs
long and sharp, their poison abundant and in a state of
high concentration, and the wound is inflicted suddenly,
DILI A. 67
with great force. The result is left to nature, and is in Venomous
consequence both sure and speedy. Serpents.
We have said that the poison-fangs are more developed
than among the other Ophidians. They alone occupy
the maxillaries, being never followed by any small solid
teeth, though these occur along the palate and at the extre¬
mity of the lower jaw. The nostrils are in some spacious,
in others narrow, and vary also in their position. They
are followed in certain species by a deep pit or hollow,
scooped in the sides of the muzzle, and connected wdth a
broad cavity in the upper maxillaries. This character (of
which, however, we know not the function) seems analo¬
gous in some measure to the larmiers of ruminating quad¬
rupeds, and has been employed for the distribution of these
serpents into several groups. Such as are distinguished by
this nasal pit inhabit the forests of tropical countries, and
consist of two genera, Trigonocephalus and Crotalus, of
which the former (native both to Asia and America) is
chiefly found in moist and sombre woods, or places covered
by an abundant vegetation; while the latter (peculiar to
the western world) prefers a somewhat drier and more
barren soil. Such as possess no nasal excavation are com¬
prized in the genus Viperus. They affect a more open,
sandy soil, and occur exclusively in the ancient continents
and New Holland. We shall briefly survey these different
groups, in the order now named.
Genus Trigonocephalus. Head, as in other members
of the family, heart-shaped or triangular, extremely broad
behind, and consequently very distinguishable from the
neck. Tail terminated by a conical corneous plate.
The poison apparatus of these reptiles is developed in
the highest degree ; and as the species sometimes attain a
length of five or six feet, they may be regarded as among
the most redoubtable of venomous serpents. They all fre¬
quent wooded or shady situations, or moist meadows in the
immediate vicinity of forest-land. The abdomen is al¬
ways broad, rather convex, and furnished with plates, which
vary, according to the species, from 140 to about 270. The
tail is always short, conical, and usually somewhat slender.
The snb-caudal plates vary from forty to seventy; and of
these some are simple, others divided into two. The body
is often marked by large irregular or lozenge-shaped spots
upon a brownish or yellowish ground. Some, however, are
reddish, others of a greenish hue, and there is frequently a
line of deeper hue behind the eye. The species are rare
in collections. None occur in Europe or Africa. Ame¬
rica and the intertropical countries of Asia produce a large
majority. The genus is divisible into two sections, accord¬
ing as the head is covered with scales or with plates.
One of the most noted species of the first section is Trig,
lanceolatus, a native of the West Indies.3 The general co¬
lour is greenish yellow, paler beneath, and variously marked
with specks, spots, and bands of brown. A broad brown
line, bordered with white, proceeds from the eye towards
the mouth. We have a good account of the habits and his¬
tory of this reptile from Colonel Moreau de Jonnes.4 He
tells us of one killed by an officer which measured above
seven feet and a half in length ; and still greater (but per¬
haps less accurate) measurements are given by Dutertre5
and Labat.6 In the bodies of such females as were ex¬
amined, he found some fifty or sixty young ones, which,
when the period of their birth arrives, issue forth completely
formed, and much inclined to bite. In the adult state they
prey chiefly on rats, which, though not indigenous to these
islands, are now in all probability as 10,000 to one com¬
pared with the native quadrupeds. The snakes in question
1 Naturcjesch. vol. iii. part ii. p. 279. - Indian Serpents, i. 47, pi. 41.
3 Quad. Ovip. ii. p. 121, pi. 5, fig. 1. Also described by Dr Shaw, under the title of Coluber megwra. Gen. Zool. iii. 406.
4 Monographic du Trigonocephale des Antilles. 5 Hist. Gen. des Antilles habitees par les Frangois.
8 Nouveau Voyage aux Antilles, contenant lKIHst. Nat.
REPTILIA.
68
Venomous have also multiplied prodigiously in St Lucia and Marti-
Serpents. njquej vvhere from sixty to eighty may be killed during the
cutting of a single field of sugar-cane. According to M.
Moreau de Jonnes, they people the marshes, the culti¬
vated grounds, the forests, the banks of rivers, and even
the summits of the mountains. The observer just named
encountered one on the very edge of the crater of that
naked mountain which overhangs the town of St Pierre, in
Martinique, at an elevation of more than 5000 feet; and he
feared it the more from the excessive lassitude under which
he himself at that time laboured. His alarm was not with¬
out cause, for only a few days before, a fisherman at the
foot of the mountain had been attacked by a similar reptile,
which issued from its concealment among the basalts of the
shore, and no efforts could save his life. These dreaded
serpents are sometimes found in holes made by rats or land-
crabs. They also enter hen-roosts and poultry-yards, and
sometimes creep into dwelling-houses, chiefly, however, the
huts of the negroes. But the sugar-plantations are their
favourite places of resort. “ Je n’ai jamais trouve,” says
our author, “ de serpent stationnaire, qu’il ne fut dans une
position offensive. L’action par laquelle le reptile prend
cette position, s’exprimer aux Antilles par le verbe lover.
Elle consiste a contourner en spirale toute la longueur de
son corps, qui forme quatre cercles egaux en diametre, super¬
poses les uns au dessus des autres, et sous le dernier duquels
la queue est placee comme point central d’appui, de resort
et de pivot. La tete, qui termine le cercle superior, est re¬
tiree en arriere. Quand I’animal s’elance sur une proie, il
fait effort sur la queue, et deroule subitement les quatre
cercles qui semblent se debander.” This species preys on
birds as well as quadrupeds, and the former manifest their
hatred by vain and clamorous cries whenever they behold
their “ arch destroyer.” It avoids the brilliant equatorial
light, and usually dwells in shaded places, seeking what it
may devour chiefly towards sunset, or during cloudy wea¬
ther.1 The distribution of this species is rather remarkable.
It does not extend throughout the whole of the Antilles,
nor is it found even in the majority of those islands. “ By
a chance equally singular, fortunate, and inexplicable, it is
confined to the islands of Martinique, St Lucia, and Be-
conia alone; and there is no proof, as has been pretended,
that it is common in the American continent. Neverthe¬
less, a tradition exists among the Indigenes, that it was in¬
troduced into Martinique by the Arronages, a horde which
inhabited near the mouth of the Orinoco, and which, impelled
by sentiments of hatred and vengeance against the Carribs
of that island, made them this fatal present, and let loose
in their forests this serpent, which was brought over in cala¬
bashes. But according to another popular opinion in the
same country, the Trigonocephalus is aboriginal of Marti¬
nique, and cannot live elsewhere, not even in Guadaloupe.
Some, however, think differently, and explain the pheno- Venomou*
menon by the existence of the dog-headed serpent, which Serpentb.
is believed to be a Boa, and which, common in Dominica ''“"■'v'"*-"
and St Vincent, has delivered these islands from the Trigo¬
nocephalus.”2
Of the second section of this genus, comprising such as
have the head covered by plates instead of scales, we may
here name Trig, rhodostoma, which is of a thicker and
more vigorous form than the other species. The body ta¬
pers towards either end, the tail is short and acuminated,
the abdomen broad, and the back prolonged into a well-
marked keel. The colour is reddish brown, paler on the
back, the sides adorned by broad, deep, triangular spots,
the fibdomen white. The summit of the head is black,
surrounded by a broad streak of pale red, which descends
the sides of the neck to combine with the beautiful rose-
colour which tinges the lateral parts of the head, and from
which it is separated by a black band proceeding from be¬
hind the eye. The iris is of a golden yellow. “ L’expres-
sion sauvage de sa physiognomie,” says M. Schlegel, “ est,
pour ainsi dire, adoucie par la nature et la conformation des
plaques ecailleuses qui semblables a celles de la plupart des
couleuvres, ont la surface unie et luisante.”3 This species
inhabits the western parts of Java, where it conceals itself
in tangled vegetation, and makes its way at times into fields
and gardens. It preys chiefly on frogs, and is itself attack¬
ed by a species of civet cat which occurs in Java. It is
greatly dreaded by the natives on account of its deadly
poison; and during M. Khul’s residence at Buitenzorg, two
labourers bitten by it died in five minutes. Although a
viviparous reptile, the foetus is enclosed in a coriaceous en¬
velope, as large as a pigeon’s egg. The species is figured
by Russel.4
The only other example of the genus we need here no¬
tice is Trig, cenchris, which inhabits the southern provinces
of the United States. Its occipital plates are of small di¬
mensions, and are sometimes even wanting. The ground
colour is grayish brown, marked by broad transverse bands
of a more coppery hue. The abdomen is yellowish, marked
by dark irregular spots. The point of the tail is usually
black, and all the parts are minutely speckled by that co¬
lour. It is a sluggish, slow-moving reptile, very poisonous,
but not given to bite, except in self-defence, when it main¬
tains its position courageously. It has been described by
different authors under a great variety of names, and by
some under more than one at a time.5 It is the Mokassin
snake of the Anglo-Americans, thus called on account of
the resemblance of its colour to the piece of dress so named
by the native tribes. It is figured by M. Daudin.6
Genus Crotalus. This dreaded genus contains the
rattle-snakes, and is distinguished from the preceding by a
more robust form, a thicker head, and a tail either armed
! MonograpUe p. 37. a Phys, des Serpens, ii. 547.
5 ymnnh s Animal Kingdom, ix. 350. 4 Indian Serpents, ii. pi. 21.
18 k0*"1 *'^e brown and the black viper of Catesby’s Carolina, pi. 44 and 45; it is once figured, and at least twice described, by
Dr Shaw, as Col. Cacodaemon and Tisiphone, Gen. Zool. iii. pp. 377 and 406 ; it is the Pelias Niger of Merrem, Tentamen, p. 149 ; and
had been previously described by Linnaeus as a Boa {B. Contortrix, xii. ed. p. 373). M. Schlegel, indeed, supposes that it is also the
Coluber Constrictor of the great Swedish naturalist. The Boa just named is believed to be identical with the hog-nosed snake of Cates-
by (Car. n. pi. 56), and may be identical with the preceding nominal species, none of which seem to exceed the size of our common
viper ; but Col. Constrictor of America is usually described as of different habits and much larger dimensions. It is the black snake
of Catesby (Car. ii. pi. 40). “ This,” observes that author, “ is a large and very long snake, some being six feet in length. They
are all over of a shining black, never changing their colour, and are very nimble and beneficial in killing rats, which they pursue
with w onderful agility to the roofs and all parts of houses and barns, where rats are able to run, for which service they are preserved
by most of the inhabitants. ^ They are bold and furious, leaping at and biting those that attack them, though no harm ensues, their
bite not being venomous. It is said in Carolina that they will attack and swallow rattle-snakes. It is certain most or all snakes will
devour one another, not only of their own, but of other kinds, which I have often seen ; one, after a long struggle, swallowing another
but little less than itself. They are the most numerous of all snakes.” “ Many ridiculous frights,” says Mr Pennant, u have hap¬
pened from this innocent reptile. As every one in America is full of the dread of the rattle-snake, they are apt to fly at the sight of
any of the serpent kind. This pursues, soon overtakes, and twisting round the legs of the fugitive, soon brings him to the ground;
but he happily receives no hurt, but what may result from the fright. All the mischief this species does is to the housewives, for it
will skim their milk-pans of the cream, and rob their hen-roosts of all the eggs.” ( Arctic Zoology, Appendix, p, 92.)
« Reptiles, v. 358, pi. 70, figs. 3 and 4, and 60, fig. 25. ’tv
REFT
Venomous by a peculiar oigan called the rattle, or prolonged into a
Serpents. ^ sharpened point. There are four species, all peculiar to
America. These are often confounded, even by systematic
writers; and it is by no means easy to apply the general at¬
tributes assigned by travellers to the proper species, which
no doubt differ from each other.
It seems ascertained, however, that the bite of all these
reptiles is extremely dangerous, the slightest prick of their
envenomed fangs, in any part of the body well supplied
with blood-vessels, being sufficient to kill almost any animal.
Laurenti says, that a person bitten by a Crotalus experiences
a swelling of the entire body, the tongue becomes prodi¬
giously inflamed, an unextinguishable thirst takes place,
the edges of the wound become gangrened, and the unfor¬
tunate victim dies in frightful agony in five or six minutes.
Different experiments made in Carolina by Captain Hall,
are related in the Philosophical Transactions. A rattle¬
snake, four feet long, was fastened to a stake, and being
made to bite three dogs, the first died in less than a quarter
of a minute; the second, in convulsions, in about two hours;
the third in about three hours. Four days after this, an¬
other dog was bitten by the same snake, and died in half a
minute; and then a second received the murderous fangs,
and died in four minutes. A common black snake, about
three feet long, and very vigorous, was next procured. The
reptiles bit each other,—the black snake dying in eight mi¬
nutes, the rattle-snake not seeming in any way affected by
its wound. Proceeding upon the supposition that “ none
but itself could be its parallel,” it was then made to inflict
a bite on its own body, and this suicidal deceit was followed
by the hoped-for consequence,—it died in less than twelve
minutes. The story is probably well known to all, though
not credited by so many, of a disagreeable kind of an heir¬
loom which once existed in an American family. A man
had been bitten through his boots by a rattle-snake, and
died. The boots afterwards descended into the successive
possession of two other persons, and killed them both,—an
envenomed fang having remained sticking in the leather.
As usual, we have contradictory accounts of the effects of
corresponding causes. We know that an Englishman who
was unfortunately bitten by a rattle-snake at Rouen, in
1827, expired in eight hours ; yet in the April of that
same year, at a meeting of the Academy of Sciences in
Paris, Professor Bose declared that he had seen more than
thirty persons who had been bitten by rattle-snakes, not
one of whom had died. According to Kalm, even the
largest animals, such as horses and oxen, die almost instant¬
ly. Dogs longer resist this fatal action. Most animals ex¬
hibit an instinctive horror on nearing one of these death¬
dealing creatures. “ I have often,” says M. Bose, “ amused
myself by trying to force my horse and dog to approach
one of these animals. But they would sooner have allowed
themselves to be knocked down upon the spot than have
come near them.” Yet Mr Audubon informs us that the
mocking-bird of America, so strong and overpowering is
the instinct of parental love, does not hesitate to attack the
rattle-snake when it approaches too near its nest,—that it
will strike it on the head, pick out its eyes, and eventually
put it to death.
The so-called rattle of these reptiles consists of a series
of hollow, vertically flattened, scaly pieces, of which the
posterior portion of one fits into the anterior portion of
that which follows. They are thus mechanically and some¬
what loosely connected together, without being actually
joined, so that when shaken they make a rattling or rustling
noise, resembling that produced by rumpled parchment.
When young there is at first but a single horny portion at
the end of the tail, and attached to the last caudal verte-
I L I A. 69
bra. Another is formed on the renewal of the skin, push- Venomom
ing its predecessor onwards, so that the first joint, which Serpents,
is closed at the end, continues to be the terminal one. M. ^ v "
Bose is of opinion that an additional joint is formed every
year, and that if the parts in question were not so often
broken off accidentally, we might thus determine the age of
each individual. They are, however, extremely fragile; and
M. Palisot de Beauvois infbrms us, that he frequently found
these rattles lying detached, in the course of his travels in
the United States.1 Their amount sometimes exceeds
thirty, but usually ranges from one to thirteen. Some say
that the noise may be heard at the distance of a hundred
feet, while Bose and others allege that it is scarcely audible
beyond some twelve or fifteen paces. We shall now briefly
notice the different species, the names of which, as already
hinted, have been frequently transposed by naturalists.
Crotalus horridus inhabits South America, and is known
to the Portuguese by the name of Carcavela. Its muzzle
is covered by three or four pairs of plates. The scales, which
are lozenge-shaped, and surmounted by a cutting keel, are
disposed in twenty-nine ranges. Abdominal plates 145,
sub-caudal twenty-five. The colour of the upper parts is
yellowish brown, relieved upon the back by a range of
broad, lozenge-shaped spots. This species measures from
four to six feet in length, and, dwelling in a sultry clime,
continues in a state of activity throughout the year. Some
singular peculiarities in its manners are narrated by natu¬
ralists. For example, M. Palisot de Beauvois states, that
during one of his journeys he observed a rattle-snake lying
on the path, and approached it as quietly as possible. When
he was about to strike it, it sprung its rattle, opened its
mouth very widely, and received into its throat five young
ones, each as thick as a goose’s quill. After ten minutes’
time, believing itself to be out of danger, it opened its mouth,
and allowed the exit of the young, which, however, re-en¬
tered on a fresh alarm. This curious fact has been testi¬
fied (if not confirmed) by another French gentleman, M.
Guillemart.
Crotalus durissus (Plate IV., figs. 6 and 10) is a more
northern species than the preceding, and to it we may
refer the numerous observations which have been made
by travellers and tourists on the rattle-snakes of North Ame¬
rica. It seems to inhabit from the southern side of the
Great Lakes as far as Mexico and California, extending
westwards to the foot of the Rocky Mountains, but not oc¬
curring to the north of the river St Lawrence. It has
only one or two pair of plates upon the muzzle, and the keel
upon the scales is less developed; the eyes are smaller, the
tints deeper, the spots frequently assume the form of bands,
and the tail is black. Abdominal plates 170, sub-caudal
twenty-two. As this species dwells in districts subjected
during winter to the influence of rigorous cold, it creeps in
autumn into covered places, or, hiding itself beneath masses
of sphagnum, falls into a state of lethargic repose. An in¬
dividual killed by M. Bose, and which did not measure more
than four feet in length, was found to have a hare in its in¬
terior. Its usual food consists of rats, squirrels, and other
small Rodentia. This serpent, commonly called the striped
rattle-snake, is said to traverse rivers, and even lakes, by
inflating its body like a bladder. “ The largest rattle-snake,”
says Catesby, alluding to one or other of these species, “which
I ever saw, was about eight feet in length, and weighing
between eight and nine pounds. This monster was sliding
into the house of Colonel Blake of Carolina, and had cer¬
tainly taken up his abode there undisturbed, had not the
domestic animals alarmed the family with their repeated
outcries ; the hogs, dogs, and poultry united in their hatred
to him, showing the greatest consternation, by erecting their
1 Latreille, Reptiles, vi. 73.
70 . KEPI
Venomous bristles and feathers, and expressing their wrath and indig-
^erpents.^ nation5 surrounded him, but carefully kept their distance,
^ while he, regardless of their threats, glided slowly along.”
“ It is not uncommon,” he adds, “ to have them come into
houses ; a very extraordinary instance of which occurred to
myself in the same gentleman’s house, in the month of
February 1723. The servant, in making the bed in a ground
room (but few minutes after I left it), on turning down the
sheets, discovered a rattle-snake coiled between the sheets
in the middle of the bed.” According to M. Audubon, the
skin of this species is used in making shoes.1 Mr Say in¬
forms us that it inhabits bare and sterile regions, and is
often found in the subterranean dwelling of a marmot, Arc-
tomys Ludoviciana.2 M. Becker of Darmstadt placed two
rabbits in a cage with this species, one of them being white,
the other reddish brown. The fierce reptile, which was ly¬
ing in a spiral form in the centre, sounded its rattle, and
raised and extended its head from time to time, but made
no attempt to seize its prey, although repeatedly provoked
by its keeper so to do. A black rabbit was then introdu¬
ced, which it bit instantaneously, and the victim was dead in
eight minutes.3
Crotalus miliaris is a small species of North America,
recognisable by its head clothed with nine well-developed
plates. The eyes are large, the general colour a reddish
brown, with three ranges of deeper spots. There are
t wenty-three rows of scales, and the lower plates are, ab¬
dominal 131, sub-caudal twenty-six. This snake was ob¬
served by Catesby in Carolina, and is described by Mr Say
(under the title of Crot. tergeminus) as an inhabitant of
those lonely sterile plains which stretch between the Mis¬
sissippi and the Rocky Mountains. It is regarded as more
dangerous than the preceding; its small size and peculiar
colour prevent its attracting notice, and its rattle is too
feeble to be heard at any distance. People are thus apt to
tread or even to sit down upon it unawares, and the con¬
sequences are as easily imagined as described. It lives on
frogs and insects, is by no means timid, but is easily killed
by the slightest blow. It was figured long ago both by
Seba4 and Catesby.5
Lastly, Crotalus mutus differs from the other species in
having the tail terminated by a hardened point instead of
rattle. Its head is clothed with scales. The back is keel¬
ed, and the scales are surmounted by a tubercular ridge.
Abdominal plates 227, sub-caudal forty-nine. This great
serpent inhabits Cayenne, Essequibo, Surinam, and other
parts of South America. It sometimes measures above ten
feet in length, and may be regarded as the most gigantic
of all poisonous reptiles. In its mode of life it somewhat
resembles Trigonocephalus (and is in fact described as a
species of that genus by Baron Cuvier6). But it is essen¬
tially a rattle-snake, though destitute of the particular part
from which these species derive their general name. It
seems the same as that described under the title of Curu-
cucu by Marcgrav.7 Its poison has been experimented on
by Dr Hering.8
Genus Vipera. Nasal pit wanting. Head usually co¬
vered by ridged lanceolated scales. General form thickish,
tapering towards each extremity. Tail short and conical.
. ^ he species of this genus, greatly restricted since the
time of Linnaeus, still exhibit a considerable diversity of
character when compared among each other. They inha¬
bit either open sandy plains, or desert heaths, where the
vegetation is not umbrageous. Hence their abundance in
ILIA.
Africa, and their comparative scarcity in other countries. Venomous
None occurs in America, a few are found in the drier dis- Serpents,
tricts of Asia, three inhabit Europe, and one (of a some- Y "
what anomalous nature) is native to New Holland.
1 he common viper of Great Britain, and of most parts of the
Continent ( Vipera berus, Daudin—Coluber berus, Linn.),9
is the most poisonous of European reptiles. It rarely ex¬
ceeds two feet in length. The upper portion of the head
is protected by a few plate-like scales, somewhat larger than
the others. T he usual colour is pale ashy brown above,
with a space between the eyes, and a patch on each side of
the occiput, deep brown or black. A zigzag band of black
(composed in some of confluent spots) extends along the
back from the nape to the tail; and there is also a parallel
row of small black spots on each side. The abdomen and
sub-caudal region are steel-blue, sometimes marbled by a
yellowish tint, sometimes uniform, or nearly black. The
abdominal plates are about a hundred and forty-five,—the
sub-caudal about thirty-five. This species is widely spread
over the central and northern parts of Europe, but some
uncertainty prevails regarding the so-called common viper
of Italy and other southern regions. M. Gistl describes
the viper of the environs of Munich as having an upturned
snout,10 which is a character of the aspic; and although
Metaxa enumerates Vipera berus and its varieties as occur¬
ring in the Roman territories,11 others are of opinion that
all its alleged localities are doubtful beyond the Alps.12 It
seems, however, to be found in the temperate parts of Si¬
beria, in Russia, Hungary, all Germany, parts of France,
Holland, Denmark, Sweden, and, we believe, Norway.
1 hough common in Great Britain, and many of the western
isles of Scotland, it is not indigenous in Ireland. Its verti¬
cal as well as horizontal range is considerable, for although
it affects the low wide heaths of Groninguen, Overyssel, and
Friesland, it also occurs on the summit of the Inselberg in
Thuringia, at an elevation of nearly three thousand feet
above the level of the sea. The viper preys chiefly on
mice and insects. A specimen, on the tail of which we
inadvertently tramped while crossing a moor in Glenmuick,
and which our friend Dr Greville struck down with his um¬
brella, was found on dissection to bave a large field-mouse
in its abdomen. Schlegel describes ten species.
The bite of this reptile is seldom fatal to animals of mo¬
derate size. We have several times seen sporting dogs bit¬
ten by vipers on the Scotch moors; and although the
cheek might swell, and a heaviness of spirits, and disincli¬
nation to distant ranging, usually ensued for a few hours, no
perceptible effect could be traced on the following day. A
sparrow, however, or even a pigeon, dies in a few minutes
after being bitten. Sheep usually escape without any seri¬
ous consequences. Fontana ascertained, that the hundredth
part of a grain of poison was sufficient to kill a sparrow, and
that a pigeon required six times that amount. From these
data he made a calculation, that it would take nearly three
grains to kill a man, and as a viper does not carry above two
grains of poison in its vesicles, and does not entirely exhaust
that quantity, even after many bites, it w^as concluded that
a human being might receive the bite of five or six vipers
without dying in consequence. Now this may be all ac¬
curately reasoned in its way, but as physiology is by no
means a science of calculation, we would not advise any
one to try the experiment. Several facts have been recently
adduced to prove, that the bite of this reptile is frequently
dangerous, and occasionally fatal. Dr Paulet, in his obser-
‘ Edinburgh New Phil. Journ. iii. 21. 4 Thesaurus, ii. pi. 95.
* Expedition to the Rocky Mountains, p. 234 and 236. 5 Carolina, pi. 42.
3 Ms, 18 8, p. 1132. 6 Trig, rhombifer, Regne Animal, ii. 90.
Vip. berus ot Cuvier, and of some other French naturalists, seems to be identical with the
France and Switzerland.
Isis for 1829, p. 1071. 11 Monograph of the Serpents of the Environs of Rome, p. 42.
7 Hist. Rerum Nat. Brasilice, lib. vi.
8 Neuw. Beitrag. p. 465.
aspic, vipera aspis,—a species common in
12 Physiog. des Serpens, ii. 597«
REFT
Schlegel’s vations on the viper of Fontainebleau, states, that an infant
Arrange- of seven years and a half, which was bitten beneath the
rnent. internal malleolus of the right foot, died at the end of seven-
teen hours,—while another infant of only two years, which
was bitten in the cheek, took two days to die. Dr Hervez
de Chegoni mentions the case of a woman, aged sixty-five
years, in good health, and of a sound constitution, who
having been bitten in the thigh only once by a single viper,
expired under the most deplorable symptoms in thirty-seven
hours.
The aspic, Vipera aspis, is a species nearly allied to the
preceding, of which it is by some regarded as a variety, and
of which it seems to assume the place in the south-western
countries of Europe, extending as far as the island of Sicily.1
Its form is more slender, its head larger, its top covered by
irregularly-formed scales, and the muzzle is slightly turned
up. The aspic is the species which served the experiments
of Redi, Charas, and Fontana. It inhabits the dry and
rocky countries of Italy, has been observed in Switzerland,
and is common in France from the 49th degree of north
latitude, spreading into Savoy, the Pyrenees, Spain, and
the Mediterranean shores. It is the viper of Fontaine¬
bleau, and is also found in the forest of Montmorency ; but
in Burgundy, and the more northern parts of France, it is
replaced by our common viper
New Holland produces a rare and remarkable species,
which some class as generically distinct, under the title of
Acanthophis. It is of a thickened form, with a slender
hard-pointed tail, the upper part of the head protected
ILIA. 71
by nine plates. The eye is surrounded by plates, of Schlegel’s
which the superciliary are elevated, and inclined towards Arrange-
the top of the head. It is the Vipera acanthophis of rnent-
M. Schlegel,—Acanthophis cerastinus, Lacepede.2 (See
Plate V., fig. 8.)
A still more remarkable and anomalous species is the
famous Vipera cerastes of Africa, figured and described by
Bruce the traveller,3 and also in the great French work on
Egypt.4 Its head is very broad, and heart-shaped; its
muzzle broad, obtuse, and rounded; its nostrils rather nar¬
row, vertical and terminal; and its scales surmounted by a
tubercular ridge. One of the superciliary scales on each
side is converted into a projecting horn-like process, curved
forwards; and the ancient name cerastes is no doubt de¬
rived from this peculiar character,—the Greek word /cepas
signifying horn.
Cornua praetendens immania fronte cerastes,
Dum torquet spinam sibilat ecce vagus.
It seldom much exceeds a foot in length, and inhabits the
sandy deserts of the north of Africa. Its description by
Bruce has been so often quoted that we shall rest satisfied
by the reference already given to the writings of that im¬
pugned author.
Very similar to the Vipera cerastes of Egypt is the
Vipera nasicorms of the western coast of Africa, which
has two of the scales on its snout elevated above the ge¬
neral surface. It was discovered during Captain Tuckey’s
voyage.
SCHLEGEL’S ARRANGEMENT OF SERPENTS.
Division I.—INNOCUOUS SPECIES.
Family I.—BURROWING SERPENTS.
Genus 1.—Tortrix.
Sp. 1. Tortrix scytale     South America.
... 2  rufa * Java, &c.
... 3.    maculata Ceylon.
... 4   Eryx   Asia.
... 5   pseud-eryx  .*. Australia.
... 6  xenopeltis Java, &c.
... 7   Boa.. New Ireland.
Fam. II.—VERMIFORM SERPENTS.
Gen. Calamaria.
Calamaria lumhricoidea ......Java, &c.
Sp. 1.
... 2.
... 3.
... 4.
... 5.
... 6.
... 7.
... 8.
... 9.
...10.
...11.
...12.
... 13.
... 14.
...15.
...16.
...17.
... 18.
Linnaei ...Java.
. Orbignyi   Chile.
. amoena  North America.
diadema Australia.
brachyorrhos Java, &c.
. badia  Cayenne.
, arctiventris .....Cape of Good Hope.
melanocephala America.
. punctata North America.
. oligodon Java, &c.
, scytale  Philippines, Ceylon.
striatula Martinique.
elapsoides Java.
Blumii South America.
coronata.... Coast of Guinea.
atrocincta Chile.
Coronella  ?
Fam. III.—TERRESTRIAL SERPENTS.
Gen. 1.—Coronella.
Sp. 1. Coronella venustissima   South America.
... 2 coccinea North America.
... 3 Merremmii Brazil.
... 4 Regina   Guyana, &c.
... 5 Cobella America.
... 6 baliodeira   Malayan Asia.
... 7 Isevis Europe.
... 8 Chilensis   Chile.
... 9 rhombeata Cape of Good Hope.
... 10.   rufescens Cape of Good Hope.
... 11 rufula   Cape of Good Hope.
... 12 Aurora Cape of Good Hope.
... 13 octolineata  Java, &c.
...14 Russeli Bengal.
Gen. 2.—Zenodon.
Sp. 1. Zenodon severus South America.
... 2 rhabdocephalus Brazil.
... 3 inornatus   Java.
... 4 purpurascens Java.
... 5 Schotti Brazil.
... 6 Michahellis Southern Europe.
... 7 typhlos   Guyana.
... 8 bicinctus Brazil.
Gen. 3.—Heterodon.
Sp. 1. Heterodon platyrhinus North America.
... 2   rhinostoma Brazil.
... 3 coccineus Mexico.
Gen. 4.—Lycodon.
Sp. 1. Lycodon Hebe.............. India, &c.
... 2 carinatus Ceylon.
1 Although the title of Aspic has been applied to this species, it is not the reptile so named in ancient days, which was not a European
species, but more probably the Naja haje of Africa.
2 Ann. du Mus. iv 100. 3 Travels, v. pi. 41.
4 Atlas, pi. 6, fig. 3, vol. xxv. 83.
72
Schlegel’s
Arrange¬
ment.
REPTILIA.
Sp. 3, Lycodon Jara  India.
... 4 geometricus *  ?
... 5 Horstokii Gold Coast, Cape of G.H.
... 6 ..unicolor * Guinea.
... 7.   formosus * Brazil.
g   Clelia * South America.
... 9.   subcinctus Bengal, Java.
... IQ modestus Amboina, &c.
... 11   Nympha Bengal.
...12 audax Paraguay.
...13   petolarius Guyana.
Gen. 5.—CoiiCBER.
Sp. 1. Coluber iEsculapii Southern Europe.
2  constrictor North America.
3    radiatus  Cochin China, &c.
... 4   subradiatus Timor.
... 5  Blumenbachii India.
... 6  korros Java, &c.
... 7  corais   Surinam.
... 8  melanurus Java.
... 9  panthorinus   Brazil.
... 10  virgatus Japan.
...11  quadrivirgatus Japan.
...12  diadema India.
...13  miniatus Isle of France.
... 14  variabilis South America.
...15  plumbeus South America.
90.16  poecilostoma   Surinam.
...17  canus   Southern Africa.
...18  Sayi Missouri.
...19  quadriradiatus Southern Europe.
... 20  viridiflavus Southern Europe.
... 21  Cliffordii   Northern Africa.
... 22  hippocrepis Shores of Mediterranean
... 23   fiorulentus Egypt.
... 24  trabalis Tartary.
... 25  guttatus North America.
... 26  leopardinus Southern Europe, &c.
...27  conspillatus Japan.
Gen. 6.—Herpetodryas.
Sp. 1. Herpetodryas carinatus South America.
... 2  serra Brazil.
... 3  viridissimus Surinam.
... 4  Olfersii Surinam and Brazil.
... 5  margaritiferus New Orleans.
“.. 6  Boddaertii Surinam.
... 7  sestivus America.
... 8  tricolor Java.
... 9  Goudotti   Madagascar.
...10  oxycephalus Java, &c.
... 11  lineatus South America.
...12  Helena Bengal.
...13   rhodogaster Madagascar.
...14   geminatus Java.
... 15  Psammophis New Orleans.
...16  Dendrophis Cayenne.
...17  Dipsas Celebes.
...18  getulus North America.
... 19  cursor America.
Gen. 7.—Psammophis.
Sp. 1. Psammophis lacertina   Shores of Mediterranean
... 2   moniliger Africa.
... 3 pulverulenta  India, &c.
... 4 Seychellensis Seychelles, &c.
... 5 Antillensis West Indies.
... 6 Dahlii Dalmatia.
... 7 elegans Western Africa.
... 8 Temminckii Chile.
Fam. IV.—TREE-SNAKES.
Genus 1.—Dendrophis.
Sp. 1. Dendrophis liocerus South America,
... 2 Catesbyi Hayti.
... 3 aurata Surinam.
... 4 picta Africa, Asia.
Sp. 5. Dendrophis formosa Sumatra, &c.
... 6   rhodopleuron Amboina.
... 7 ornata India, &c.
... 8   prasornata Senegal.
... 9   smaragdina  Gold Coast.
... 10 colubrina Cape of Good Hope.
Gen. 2.—Dryiophis.
A. of the Ancient World.
Sp. 1. Dryiophis nasuta India, &c.
... 2  Langaha Madagascar.
... 3  prasina India, &c.
B. of the New World.
Sp. 4. Dryiophis Catesbyi Cayenne, &c.
... 5  argentea   Cayenne, &c.
... 6  aurata .America.
Gen. 3.—Dipsas.
Sp. 1. Dipsas dendrophila Java, &c.
... 2  multimaculata ..Bengal, &c.
... 3  trigonata   Bengal.
... 4  cynodon Sumatra, &c.
... 5  Drapiezi Sumatra, &c.
... 6  irregularis Celebes, &c.
... 7  colubrina Madagascar.
... 8  Egyptiaca   Africa.
... 9  nebulata Surinam.
...10  Mikanii Brazil.
... 11  Weigeli Brazil.
... 12  Catesbyi Guyana.
...13  pavonia Guyana.
...14  bucephala   Sumatra.
... 15  Dieperinki Surinam.
... 16  Boa   Java.
... 17  carinata Java.
...18. ...... laevis Java.
... 19  leucocephala Brazil.
... 20  macrorhina   Guyana.
...21  Nattereri    .Brazil.
...22  punctatissima South America.
... 23  Daimardi Madagascar.
... 24  annulata South America, &c.
...25  fallax   Dalmatia, &c.
Fam. V.—FRESH-WATER SERPENTS.
Genus 1.—Tropidonotus.
Sp. 1. Tropidonotus natrix  Europe.
... 2  quincunciatus India.
... 3  umbratus India.
... 4  rhodomelas Java.
... 5  trianguligerus Java.
... 6  chrysargos Celebes.
... 7  subminiatus Java,
... 8  picturatus New Guinea.
... 9  tigrinus Japan.
...10  Vibakari Japan.
...11  stolatus India, &c.
...12  vittatus Java.
...13  schistosus India, &c.
...14  bipunctatus  Central America.
... 15  saurita North America.
... 16  faciatus North America.
... 17  viperinus Southern Europe, &c.
... 18  scaber Cape of Good Hope.
... 19  mortuarius Bengal.
Gen. 2.—Homalopsis.
Sp. 1. Homalopsis buccata  Java.
... 2  Schneider!  India, &c.
... 3  decussata Java.
... 4  leucobalia Timor.
... 5  plumbea Java.
... 6  Aer  India.
... 7  Sieboldii India.
... 8   carinicauda America.
... 9   angulata South America.
... 10  plicatilis Brazil, New Orleans.
... 11  Martii South America.
Schlegel’s
Arrange¬
ment.
R E P T I L I A.
Schlegel’s SP- 12- Homalopsis Reinwardtii Louisiana.
Arrange- •••   leopardina  f
ment. •••    Herpeton   ?
Fam. VI.—BOAFORM SERPENTS.
Sp. 3. Hydrophis nigrocincta Gulf of Bengal.
•” 4  gracilis Indian Seas.
•" ^  Pelamys Indian Seas.
••• "  pelamoides Indian Seas.
••• 7  colubrina Indian Seas.
Gen. 1.—Boa.
Sp. 1. Boa constrictor
... 2. ... murina 
... 3. ... cenchria....
... 4. ... canina 
... 5. ... hortulana ..
... 6. ... Dussumieri
... 7. ... carinata ...
... 8. ... conica 
... 9. ... melanura...
.South America.
.South America.
.South America.
•South America.
•South America.
• Mauritius.
.Moluccas.
• Bengal.
•Cuba.
Gen. 2.—Python.
Sp. 1. Python bivittatus Africa, Asia.
... 2  Schneideri Malacca, &c.
... 3 amethystinus  Amboina, &c.
... 4 Peronii Australia.
Gen. 3.—Ackochordtjs.
Sp. 1. Acrochordus Javanicus Java.
... 2  faciatus India, &c.
Fam. III.—VENOMOUS SERPENTS, PROPERLY SO CALLED.
Gen. 1.—Trigonocephalus.
A. Head covered by Scales.
Sp. 1. Trigonocephalus Jacaraca ...
••• 2 atrox  
••• ^ lanceolatus.
••• ^ bilineatus 
••• ^ nigromaculatus
••• 6 Wagleri  
• •• 7 viridis 
••• 8 puniceus  
• Brazil.
.Guyana.
•Antilles.
.South America.
.Ceylon.
• Sumatra.
.Sumatra, Celebes.
• Java.
... 9.
... 10.
... 11.
...12.
... 13.
B. With Plates on the Head.
 rhodostoma Java.
 hypnale Ceylon, &c.
 Halys Tartary.
 Blomhoffii Japan.
 cenchris North America.
Division II.—VENOMOUS SERPENTS.
Family I.—COLUBRIFORM VENOMOUS SERPENTS.
Genus 1.—Elaps.
Gen. 2.—Crotalus.
Sp. 1. Crotalus horridus,
... 2  durissus.
... 3  miliarius.
... 4  mutus 
.South America.
• North America.
.North America.
• South America.
A. American Species.
Sp. 1. Elaps corallinus  Central America.
... 2  lemniscatus Guyana.
... 3  Surinamensis Guyana.
B. African Species.
• •• 5  Hygeias Cape of Good Hope,
C. Asiatic Species.
collaris Indian Islands.
trimaculatus    India.
furcatus  Java, &c.
bivirgatus Java, &c.
D. Australian Species.
• >•19  Miilleri  New Guinea.
...11  coronatus Australia.
...12  Psammophis ..Australia.
Gen. 2.—Dendraspis.
Sp. 1. Dendraspis Jamesoni West Africa.
Gen. 3.—Bungarus.
Sp. 1. Bungarus annularis India.
... 2 semifasciatus India.
Gen. 4.—Naja.
Sp. 1. Naja tripudians 
... 2 Haje 
... 3 Bungarus 
... 4 bungaroides 
... 5 porphyrica   
... 6 hsemachates 
... 7 rhombeata 
... 8 lubrica  
... 9 Elaps 
... 10 curta  
.India.
•Egypt and Africa.
.Java, &c.
.Java, &c.
.Australia.
.Cape of Good Hope.
.Cape, and Gold Coast.
• Cape of Good Hope.
f
• Australia.
Fam. IL—SEA-SERPENTS.
Gen. 1.—Hydrophis.
Sp. 1. Hydrophis schistosa
... 2  striata...
Gulf of Bengal,
•Indian Seas.
Gen. 3.—Vipera.
Sp. 1. Vipera arietans
... 2 atropos 
... 3 cornuta 
... 4 Echis 
... 5 cerastes 
... 6 elegans 
... 7 berus 
... 8 aspis  
... 9 ammodytes..
... 10 acanthophis,
... 11 Nasicornis..
.Africa.
.Cape of Good Hope.
.Cape of Good Hope.
.India.
.Northern Africa.
.India.
.North & Central Europe.
.Southern Europe.
• Greece, &c.
.Australia.
•West Africa.
Order IV.—BATRACHIA. BATRACHIAN REP¬
TILES.
We now proceed to the fourth order of the class Rep-
tilia, the Batrachia, a name derived from Barpa^os, a frog,
and expressive of a general resemblance which very dis¬
tinctly marks the majority, although in truth many resemble
lizards, and a few have more the appearance of eels or
serpents. This tribe is one of the most singular in nature;
for, besides the naked body and remarkable sanguineous
circulation, they possess another peculiarity, which is re¬
garded by many naturalists as sufficient to constitute them
a distinct class rather than an order, viz., the change of
form which they undergo in their progress from the youn°-
to the adult state.
In this concluding order are ranked all those reptiles
which have neither the carapace of the Chelonia nor the
scales of the other orders.1 Their bodies therefore are
naked; their head is without any distinct neck or division ;
their toes are always distinct, and without claws ; they have
no external organs of reproduction, and usually undergo
metamorphoses. This change of form constitutes the Ba¬
trachia the principal step in the transition between terres¬
trial and aquatic vertebrata or fishes, and is one of the
most singular phenomena presented by animal life. Bred
wT3 lm5’ we„Per?ellv®’ has recently been discovered in South America, between the Batrachia and the Chelonia, which is no-
tning less than a frog furnished with a carapace and plastron.
VOL. XIX. K
73
Batrachia.
74 REFT
Batrachia. after the manner of fishes, from spawn-like ova, they pos-
^     sess for a time the essential characters of the finny race;
and yet, on the lapse of a few brief weeks, their pisciform
appearance vanishes, and leaving the water, they crawl
or leap about upon the earth, or climbing the stems of
forest trees, they dwell among the umbrageous branches.
In some the transition state, if we may say so, continues
permanent, the gills existing simultaneously with feeble
lungs, and a tail being combined with short external mem¬
bers. Of the structure of these curious animals more will
be said hereafter.
The ovum or egg of these reptiles is a round mass of
transparent nutritive jelly, in the centre of which appears
a small black globule. By degrees this shapeless globule
exhibits the appearance of a head and tail, and in this state
it emerges from its prison, and moves about briskly in the wa¬
ter. It is provided with a long fleshy tail, and a small horny
beak, and has no other visible member, except two feathery
tufts on the sides of the neck, which float loosely, and with¬
out protection, in the surrounding fluid. These, however,
are mere temporary organs ; for they serve the purpose of
respiration only until the proper gills are formed, and then
shrink or disappear.1 The true gills or branchiae are con¬
tained within the body, three or four in number on each side,
constructed on a plan similar to those of fishes; the water en¬
tering by the mouth, and escaping in some species by two
openings, and in others by one only. Retaining their aqua¬
tic constitution, the tadpoles (as in this intermediate state
they are often called) rapidly increase in size and activity for
some weeks. In the mean time the legs, of which r.o trace
was at first apparent, have commenced their growth. The
hind ones are the first to make their appearance externally,
although the anterior pair are as soon developed, and may
be seen at an early period folded beneath their transparent
covering. The animal at this period wears a very ambigu¬
ous appearance, partaking both of the form of the frog and
lizard, and swimming as well by the inflection of the tail as
by the irregular impulse of the feet.2 At this time the beak
falls off, and the true jaws, which originally were hid under
the skin, appear. The eye, too, which had been seen only
through a transparent spot in the tadpole’s skin, appears
complete and prominent. This interval is also employed
in acquiring the faculty of respiring atmospheric air. The
animal every now and then rises to the surface and takes
a mouthful of air, which is received into the newly formed
lungs, and then discharged. When the necessary internal
changes are at length completed, the tail, which has now
become a useless member, diminishes and disappears. The
gills, too, have by this time shrunk, their function being su¬
perseded by the lungs, and the animal emerging from the
water, begins a new mode of existence as a perfect reptile.
During its aquatic state the tadpole lives principally on
vegetable food, but in its perfect form much more upon
various insects; and there is a remarkable and correspond¬
ing change in its digestive organs, which assume the cha¬
racter of those of a carnivorous creature. Most of the
Batrachia, we may also remark, are oviparous, whilst not
a few of them are ovo-viviparous. It should, moreover,
ILIA.
be observed, that most of the species of this group, during Batrachia.
their aquatic condition, possess the extraordinary power of
suffering the privation of a part, or the whole, of one or
more of their members without vital injury, and of afterwards
renewing them as if no loss had been endured ; a proper¬
ty of which we have already made mention in our summary
account of lizards, and to which we may again briefly return
in our notice of the aquatic salamander
We shall now take a nearer view of the vascular and
respiratory systems of these animals. The circulation, in
the tadpole state, is in every respect analogous to that of
fishes : the blood is transmitted from a simple bilocular or
tvvo-lobed heart to the branchial arches, anti, after aeration
by the water, returns, and is circulated through the system.
The transition from this condition to that which the vascu¬
lar organs present in the perfect reptile state is very strik¬
ing. Originally three or four branchial trunks pass off
from each side of the heart, and terminate in the minute
network of the gills ; from this network the returning ves¬
sels take their origin, one from each of the gills, the first
of which goes to the head, and the other two conjoining,
convey the blood to the rest of the system, as in fishes.
But in addition to these vessels, there are some small un¬
developed ones, which effect a communication between the
vessels which go to the gills and those which return from
them; as also another which, given off from the heart,
unites with the aorta, to be distributed to the as yet rudi¬
mentary lungs. After the metamorphosis is begun, the
branches which connect the arteries of the gills with the
returning veins are greatly enlarged, so that a part of the
blood flows continuously through them without proceeding
to the gills at all, and the proper branchial vessels relatively
diminish ; and the last-named trunk, which wras the small,
est of all, becomes the largest, and an increased proportion
of blood is sent to the lungs. By a continuance of these
changes, the branchial vessels are finally obliterated, and
the communicating branches, at first only secondary and irre-
gular, now constitute part of the continuous and permanent
system of circulation.
The respiration of the Batrachia, after they have arrived
at their permanent mode of existence, is not less singular
than their circulation ; and this chiefly in two particulars,—
as it regards the lungs, and the function of the skin. If we
take a frog, for example,3 and watch its respiration, we can¬
not readily discover that it breathes at all; for it never opens
its mouth to receive air, and there is no motion of the sides
to indicate that it respires ; and yet, on any sudden alarm,
we see the animal blowing itself up, as if by some internal
power, though its mouth all the while continues closed.
We may perceive, however, that its throat is in frequent
motion, as if the frog were economizing its mouthful of air,
and transferring it backwards and forwards between its
mouth and lungs ; and if we direct our attention to the
nostrils, we may observe in them a twisting motion at each
movement of the jaws; for it is through the nostrils that
the frog receives all the air which it breathes. The jaws
are never open but for the purpose of eating ; and the sides
of the mouth form a sort of bellows, of which the nostrils
Phis change or conversion from external to internal gills is not very satisfactorily described by physiological observers. “ D£s
le moment ou les Batraciens sortent de I’oeuf, ces branchies sont apparentes au dehors, elles representent des especes de franges ou
de panaches colores situes sur les parties laterales du cou, et attaches sur les bords des fentes qui correspond a la gorge; elles per-
sistes sous cette forme, dans tons les Batraciens qui conservent leur queue, tant que leurs poumons ne sont pas assez developpes
pour servir uniquement a la respiration. Dans les Grenouilles et autres genres voisins sans queue, le premier etat ne dure que
pendant un temps tres court. Bientot 1 animal prend une autre forme, celle d’un tetard a ventre enorme confondu avec la tete et
avec une longue queue. Les brauchies sont alors cachees, et contenues duns une cavite ; I’eau arrive dans la bouche par les orifices des
narines,’’&c. (Erpitologie Generate, i. 182.)
* It appears that the great Lord Bacon had not practised his inductive philosophy so far as jmung frogs are concerned, for in his
Sylvu.Sylvarum he makes mention of their being sometimes observed with tails, in such years as have been more than usually pestilen¬
tial or unhealthy; and he then draws the conclusion that the appearance of such tailed reptiles, argueth a great disposition to putre¬
faction in the soile and aire. r > a o i r
3 See IIogee's Bridgewater Treatise, ii. 330.
R E P T I L I A. 75
Batrachia. are the inlets ; and by their alternate contraction and re-
laxation, the air is swallowed and forced into the windpipe,
so as to inflate the lungs. The tongue also contributes its
share in carrying on this function. This organ is remark¬
able in its connection, being fixed very differently in these
from what it is in most other animals. Its root is not si¬
tuated deep down the throat, but is attached superficially
at the fore-part of the lower jaw ; it is remarkably long,
and instead of inclining forward, is turned backwards, ex¬
tending down the throat, and so acts as a valve, affecting
the entrance and exit of air from the lungs. If the mouth
of the frog be forcibly kept open, it is suffocated, because
it is deprived of the power of swallowing the required air ;
and if the nostrils be closed, it in like manner can no longer
breathe. Hence the frog and allied genera may be said
rather to swallow air than to inhale it. Respiration, again,
is not carried on, as in most animals, by the chest, but by
the compression of the muscles of the abdomen ; and if these
are in any way injured or destroyed, the breathing ceases,
and the individual speedily dies. Nor is the function of
respiration in the Batrachia confined to the lungs ; for the
blood which circulates through the capillaries of the skin is
likewise aerated by communication with the atmosphere.
This kind of respiration, closely connected with the extras
ordinary perspiration for which these animals are celebrated,
is of such importance to them, that if impeded by covering
the skin with oil or other unctuous substance, death will
take place almost as soon as if the lungs were removed ;
and, on the other hand, the animal may be supported by it
alone, for a considerable time, if the temperature be not
too high,.—a physiological fact which, we apprehend, goes
a great way to account for the extraordinary power pos¬
sessed by many of these creatures (to which we shall af¬
terwards allude), of enduring, without detriment, a long,
protracted burial, enclosed in wood or stone
The reproductive act in these reptiles, somewhat inter¬
mediate between what occurs in terrestrial animals and
fishes, is so remarkable that it must not be passed by. We
shall borrow our illustration from what occurs in the frog,
the genus by much the best known in the order. The
embraces of the male occur only once a year, and in spring.
As soon as the sun’s influence is felt in their wintry resorts,
the black spongy knob at the base of the thumb of the
male augments in size, and his abdomen swells. On find¬
ing his mate, he mounts on her back, extends his arms
round her chest, and so locks the fingers of his hands into
each other, that, from the peculiar structure, they cannot
be separated. The two animals are thus inseparably join¬
ed, and so live and swim together for fifteen or twenty
days, or even for a month. If, under these circumstances,
the thumbs be cut off, the junction is at an end ; but if the
animal be decapitated, the grasping apparatus still performs
its mechanical office. During the period of this long em¬
brace, the spawn, as in fish, escapes in long floating cords
or chaplets, of a gelatinous fluid, crowded with the ova,
which is bedewed with the milt of the male. When the
spawning is completed, the male frog is able to dismount,
the fingers speedily regaining their flexibility, and the thumbs
their ordinary form. The reproductive power is very great,
the ova amounting to from 600 to upwards of 1000. Swam¬
merdam once reckoned 1100 from a single individual, and
Mon tbeil lard 1300.
It is remarked that these animals live to a gieat age, if
fortunate enough to escape the attacks of their enemies;
an instance will be given in the sequel, of an individual
whose history w'as traced for forty years. Their foes,
however, are very numerous. A number of quadrupeds,
birds, reptiles, and fishes, live habitually at their expense. Batrachia.
Serpents, pikes, vultures, and storks, destroy an immense Ranulse.
number of them. Without the intervention of the last-
named birds, Egypt, in particular, would swarm with frogs.
In several countries, certain species are sought after by
man ; and they are considered by competent judges as an
agreeable and wholesome food. The Batrachia have no
weapons either of offence or defence. Taken as an order,
they are certainly as harmless to man as any tribe of ani¬
mals ; and, as has been well remarked, though the forms
of many of the species offend our notions of beauty, and
their love-songs have gained them the character of “ hor¬
rible musicians,” there is certainly nothing to justify the
aversion and diseust with which they are so usually re¬
garded.
The Batrachia generally feed upon the larvae of aquatic
insects, on worms, small mollusca, flies, &c., and always
choose a prey which is living and in motion. Dead and
motionless animals are rejected by them. To obtain their
prey, they often remain fixed in one situation, with won¬
derful patience, watching till they believe it is within their
reach, and then darting at it with great rapidity, they at the
same time protrude their lengthened tongue, bedewed all
over with a viscid fluid. If we watch a frog when an insect
has approached sufficiently near it, we are surprised to ob¬
serve the insect suddenly disappear without our being able
to perceive what has become of it. This arises from the
frog having darted its tongue upon its victim with such
extreme quickness, and again withdrawn it with the adher¬
ing insect, that it is scarcely possible for the eye to follow
it in motion. Thus from the nature of their food, so far
from being prejudicial, they are very useful in gardens, by
extensively destroying those small slugs, &c. which are so
detrimental to plants of every kind.
FAMILY RANID/E.1 FROGS IN GENERAL.
All the members of the frog family (corresponding to the
great genus Rana of Linnaeus), have in their perfect state
four extremities and no tail. Their head is flat, their muzzle
rounded, their mouth very large. In the greater number
the tongue is not attached to the deeper part of the throat,
but to the edge of the lower jaw, and thence proceeds back¬
wards, and down the throat. Their front feet have only four
toes, and their hind five, sometimes exhibiting the rudi¬
ments of a sixth.
We cannot better bespeak a favourable consideration for
this despised group than in the words of an enthusiastic
naturalist. “We shall have considerable difficulty,” says
the eloquent Lacepede, “ in assigning to frogs the place
which they should occupy in the minds of our readers, such
as it really is in nature; but it is not less true, that if toads
had never existed, if we had not before our eye this horrid
object of comparison, which caricatures by its resemblance,
as it defiles by its approach, the frog would appear to us as
agreeable from its conformation, as distinguished by its qua¬
lities, and interesting from the phenomena it exhibits at the
different periods of its existence. We would behold it as
a useful animal, from which we have nothing to fear, whose
instinct is harmless, which unites an elegant form with supple
and slender limbs, and is adorned with pleasing colours,
rendered more vivid from the kind of natural varnish with
which the animal is constitutionally provided. And who
can regard with pain a being whose form is light, whose
movements are nimble, whose attitudes are graceful ? Let
us not deprive ourselves of an additional source of pleasure;
1 Although the patronymic termination in Uor is not classically correct in cases where the primitive has a feminine termination, we
nevertheless follow' in this matter the suggestion of Mr Kirby, and the example of Mr Macleay, who regards it as preferable to any
other yet devised, as well on account of uniformity, as euphonue grat a. See Horce Entomologicx, p. 23.
76
R E P T 1 L I A.
Batrachia. an(}5 ;n our peregrinations through the smiling fields, let us
. an^ ^ . nol; regret to see the banks of rivulets adorned by the co¬
lours of these harmless creatures, and animated by their
light and lively gambols. Let us contemplate their little
manoeuvres; observe them in the midst of stilly lakes, the
solitude of which they diminish without troubling the re¬
pose ; see them exhibit, under sheets of water, the most
agreeable tints, cleave the bosom of the tranquil stream, and
vary its silvery surface writh many a circling furrow.”
In summer these Ranidae are usually found in humid
places, in grassy meadows, and on the banks of streamlets,
into which, when approached, they usually leap and dive.
They swim admirably, by means of their webbed hind feet.
Frequently at the close of warm rains they spread themselves
through the country, and are so numerous as to be crowd¬
ed and pressed against each other in places where they had
never been observed before. To this appearance is owing
the popular belief of rains of frogs, which undoubtedly is
usually a mistake ; but raised by a hurricane, and thereby
transported to a great distance, such an occurrence is yet,
we believe, quite within the range of possibility. As soon
as the summer is over, and the weather begins to get cold,
these reptiles lose their natural activity, and give over feed¬
ing. When the cold becomes more considerable, they pro¬
tect themselves from its rigour by sinking into the mud in
deep water, in the holes of fountains, and even in the earth.
The quantities which sometimes thus collect in one place
are so considerable, that they have been known to cover the
soil to a foot in depth, and thousands may be taken in a few
minutes. Hearne informs us, in his voyage to the Icy Sea
of North America, that he many times found under the moss
frozen frogs, whose legs might be broken without their ex¬
hibiting any sign of life, but which resumed their energy with
returning warmth.
Genus Rana, Laurenti, Cuv. Frogs proper. This first
genus of the Ranidae has the body slender, the hind feet
very long, and more or less webbed; their skin is smooth ;
their upper jaw is furnished all round with a row of minute
sharp teeth, and there is an interrupted transverse range in
the middle of the palate. The males have on each side,
beneath the ears, a fine membranaceous bag, which they
expand with air when they croak. They leap and swim ad¬
mirably. (See Plate VI., fig. 1.)
The skeleton of the frogs does not present any trace of
ribs ; and the breast-bone, very large, with collar-bones at¬
tached, is merely cartilaginous. The cranium is almost prism
shaped, flattened above, and very broad behind, and is less
round than in the toads. The vertebrae are ten in number.
1 he muscles have a considerable resemblance in arrange¬
ment to those of man, and are very strong, very irritable,
and very sensible to the action of galvanism. The muzzle
in frogs is somewhat more acute than that of toads ; and the
nostiils are visible at the summit. Their orbits are large,
and are directed upwards; the eye is large and brilliant,
and surrounded by a bright golden circle. The lids are
three in number, and all horizontal; the upper one is a mere
projection of the skin ; the lower is more mobile; and the
third, which is quite transparent, moves from below upwards,
and is most of all in action. We have already dwelt so fully
OILthf habits of the whole group, that little requires to be
added in this place. It is, however, a curious circumstance,
that these animals, like many other inhabitants of the water,
can become habituated to the very high temneratures of
thermal springs. Thus Reaumur'mentions that he had
known one found alive in water about 111° Fahrenheit; and
Spallanzani mentions an example of this kind where, in the
baths of Pisa, they were exposed to a temperature of 138°.
The power of voice in frogs, commonly called croaking,’
is exercised by the different species in very different de¬
grees ; a remark which is also applicable to the genus Bufo
in their more limited range of expression. It is more par¬
ticular! y during the time of rain, and in hot days, in the Batrachia.
evening and morning, that they indulge in their harmonious Ranidae.
concert. I he noise which they make becomes sometimes
insupportable.^ It is principally the males which croak;
their voice being stronger in consequence of the two sacs
which they possess on the sides of the neck, and which
swell out under the effort. As for the female, she has only
a slight swelling in her throat, and produces but a feeble
note. During the feudal regime in France, when all the
castles were surrounded by water, it is said that it was the
business of the serfs to attack the frogs, and prevent them
from disturbing the morning repose of the lordly inmates.
It is rather remarkable that these creatures should be so
much esteemed as delicious food in some countries, and so
much despised and even abhorred in others. The ancients
appear not to have discovered the nutritive virtues of frogs,
nor their value in the science of gastronomy. In the six¬
teenth century, however, they were served up at the best
tables on the continent. In Britain this kind of aliment is
held in detestation, whilst in France and other European
countries a very great consumption takes place. They are
captured in various ways ; either with lines, or small nets,
or by means of a rake. Sometimes they are pursued at
night, and with torches, the light of which attracts them.
In Vienna, where they are rather favourites, they are fat¬
tened in froggeries constructed for the express purpose.
Though one species of frog is called par excellence the
edible, yet several others partake of this distinction. In
Germany all parts of these animals are eaten, the skin and
offals excepted. In France it is the hinder quarters alone
which are used. They are dressed like fish, with white
sauce, and in wine, or they are fried or even spitted. A
foreign species of great size, to be afterwards mentioned
(fR. grunniens), which abounds in the West Indies, is often
domesticated there for the use of the table. The flesh is
white and delicate; it is fricasseed like fowl; and two frogs
make a good dish. Nor is it frogs proper alone which are
used in this way. The abhorred toads are habitually eaten
by the negroes, both in Africa and America; and there
seems to be little doubt that even in Paris the thighs of these
animals are constantly sold for those of frogs.
We now proceed to a rapid sketch of the most remark¬
able species.
A. esculenta, Linn. The edible frog, green frog, or com¬
mon frog of France. The colours of the green frog vary so
much, that different individuals might almost be taken for
a diversity of species. It is often of a beautiful green co¬
lour, spotted with black, with three yellow stripes on the
back, and the belly yellowish. This description generally
holds good in the environs of Paris. Those in the rivers
and ditches of Lombardy have the back of a uniform green
colour. Another variety, which has been observed in Hol¬
land, has the lips black, round black spots on its sides, and
the belly entirely white ; in Provence it has a reddish belly;
and in the neighbourhood of Beauvois, sombre green, with
tiansverse brownish spots upon the limbs, is found to be
the prevailing hue. It varies in size from two to three
inches, measured from the snout to the end of the body. It
abounds in all dead and still waters, and is pre-eminent
for its croaking powers. It is very common in France,
Italy, and Germany ; but is rare in Britain. It supplies, in
the former countries, a very wholesome and agreeable food.
It deposits its ova in small bundles, in the pools. This species
seldom removes far from the margin of some quiet stream¬
let, into wdiich it plunges on the least noise. It swims in
the same manner as man, with its head above the surface.
It may be often seen amusing itself among aquatic plants,
darting after insects on the wing, mounting upon the um¬
brageous leaves, or squatted on the bank, with its snout pro¬
jecting as if to court the rays of the sun, in which it de¬
lights, even during the most scorching days. It is indeed
REFT
flatrachia. most agile in this hind of weather, and leaps with the great-
Itanidae. est liveliness. It feeds solely upon living objects, and will
swallow no animal whose motions do not prove it to be in
life. Its voracity is so extreme, that it may be captured
with almost anything which is made to move, and will dart
at a hook when baited with a rose or poppy leaf. With the
warmth of autumn the gaiety of the green frog ceases;
and as winter becomes severe, it entirely disappears, plun¬
ging deep into the mud to secure an asylum from the cold.
Here they often crowd together, as if for the purpose of
keeping each other warm.
1{. temporaria, Linn.; R.fusca terrestris, Roes. The com¬
mon frog of Britain. The red frog of the French. This
species, the most common in Britain, and also abundant
throughout Europe, has the same elegant and slender form
as the preceding, and differs from it merely in its colour,
which is often of a russet hue, like that of decayed leaves,
varied in front with black spots between its brilliant eyes
and upper lip. These spots sometimes assume the form of
whiskers passing down the neck. It is of the same size as
the preceding, and is met with from early spring-time
till towards the close of autumn, leaping in woods and mea¬
dows, sheltering itself beneath hedges, and penetrating
into cottage-gardens, where it ought to be protected, as
waging deadly war with destructive snails and insects. It
nroves quite as good eating as the green frog, and in France
is often placed upon the table. It is by no means so great
a croaker as the preceding species; and those accustomed
to the latter think it does not croak at all. It is most ge¬
nerally found upon land in the summer season ; and while
the green frog rarely abandons the immediate neighbour¬
hood of still or gently flowing waters, this species is often
found in brushwood, remote from the banks of streams. At
the approach of winter it retires into fountains and ponds of
pure water, usually, it is alleged, avoiding miry places. Nor
does it bury itself in mud like its congener ; for numbers
of these frogs may be taken during the winter by making
holes in the ice. It lays its ova at a later season than the
green frog, and the development of its tadpole is slower.
Likt the preceding, it presents many varieties of colour,
which it would be tedious here to name.
Under the appellation of R. cultripes, Cuv., may be noted
a frog which occurs in the south of France, bespeckled with
black spots, its feet extensively webbed, and especially re¬
markable for having a vestige of a sixth toe, armed with a
horny and cutting nail. The spotted frog (I?, punctata,
Daudin) occurs in the neighbourhood of Paris, though not
very common. It rarUv exceeds an inch in length. Its
gray colour is relieved b) a number of green spots over the
body, and a black spot behind the eye, and it is said to
change its colour when alarmed. Its toes are only partially
webbed. The folded frog {R. plicata, Daudin) is found in
the most southern parts of France. It is of the same di¬
minutive size as the last, of a brown colour above, and gray
beneath; the fingers quite free, the toes semi-palmated. It
is particularly distinguished by having two folds of the skin
on each flank; and there are four large brown spots on the
chest and arms. Our knowledge of the brawling frog (R.
clamitans, Bose) is due to the indefatigable Bose, who dis¬
covered it in the marshes near Charlestown, United States.
It is about two inches long, of a dull ash colour, spotted
with black, the upper lip green. Its vivacity is extreme,
and it is by far the most lively of all known frogs, so that
it is extremely difficult to catch it if it once makes its es¬
cape. It does not remove far from water, and when hunt¬
ed, shoots into the stream with a sharp cry. Its continual
croak is almost insupportable.
The bull-frog of the Americans, R. pipiens, Linn., is one
of the largest species of the genus, being three or four
inches broad, and six or eight long; and when measured
with extended legs, its entire length is about eighteen inch-
I L I A. 77
es. The hind limbs are long, stout, and deeply palmated. Batrachia.
It is of a dull green colour, varied with black, and relieved Ranid*.
by a coppery yellow circle which surrounds the tympanum," v "
and marks the situation of the ear. It abounds in Caro¬
lina and Virginia, remaining at the entrance of its hole,
near some fountain, into which it precipitates itself on the
least alarm. Catesby affirms that it utters sounds very
much resembling the bellowing of a bull, and with greater
force when at the bottom of the water. During the sum¬
mer evenings, and in dry weather, it makes indeed a most
astounding noise. It is exceedingly partial to young ducks
and goslings, which it swallows whole, and will proceed to
a considerable distance from its home in search of prey. As
the voracity of this species is proportioned to its bulk, it is
rare to find more than a single pair in each marsh. This
frog is very difficult to catch ; it is only during the night,
and when it removes a little from its haunt, that it is pos¬
sible to procure an individual. When on level ground it
makes leaps of from six to eight feet in length. Baron Cu¬
vier justly remarks, that several species go under the gene¬
ral name of bull-frog in America.
The grunting frog, R. grunniens, Daudin, is of the same
large dimensions as the preceding, and inhabits the Flori-
das and the West Indies, where it has been accurately ob¬
served by M. Moreau de Jonnes. It is vulgarly designated
a toad, because it frequents shady and humid places, and
not the vicinity of waters, as the other frogs. In its habits it
is nocturnal, and its strength is so great that at a single
spring it can clear a wall five feet high. It is very torpid
during the dry season, but resumes its vivacity when the
rains set in. It is this frog which is often domesticated in
the West Indies for the use of the table, and becomes to®
lerably familiar; the flesh is white and delicate, and two
frogs form a very good dish. The argus frog of Shaw, R.
ocellata, Linn., is often mistaken for the preceding. It in¬
habits Pennsylvania and Carolina, and was first figured by
Seba. It is one of the largest of the genus, equalling if not
exceeding the bull-frog in size, and being stronger; it is of a
pale reddish-brown colour, striped with chestnut; the feet
are unwebbed, and each joint is furnished with a kind of
tubercle. The laughing frog, R. ridibunda, Gmel., accord¬
ing to Pallas, is common about the Ural and the Caspian Sea.
It is of great size, weighing half a pound. It always keeps
in the water, and in the evening utters its croakings in a
way that resembles a horselaugh. The paradoxical frog,
R. paradoxica, Linn., the jackie of the French, is remark¬
able for the great size of its tadpole state in proportion to
the adult animal. The loss of its enormous tail, and of the
envelopes of its body, induces a great diminution in bulk ;
its length in the tadpole state being seven or eight inches,
while that of the body when transformed is only three.
Thus many of the first observers were led to the conclusion
that it was the frog which was metamorphosed into the tad¬
pole, or, as they declared, into a fish. This species is green,
spotted with brown, and is especially recognised by irre¬
gular stripes of a brown colour running along the limbs.
The male has a gular sac, and the hind foot is provided
with a supplemental toe. It inhabits Guiana. Our readers
will bear in mind that in the preceding list we have not at¬
tempted more than to give a specimen of the distinctive
characters and habits of some of the best-established species.
Many more have been described and catalogued in systema¬
tic works.
Genus Ceratophris, Boie, Cuvier. This genus is dis¬
tinguished by the great size of the head, by the skin being
rough, and engrained in whole or in part, and by a mem¬
branous or horn-like prominence on each eye-lid. (See
Plate VI., fig. 2.) In certain species the tympanum is
hid beneath the skin. The species are found in South
America and Asia. The horned frog (C. varius, Boie,
Rana cornuta, Seba) is certainly one of the most singular of
78 KEPT
Batrachia. the Batrachia, having an aspect exceedingly deformed. This
^ arises not so much from the general shape of the animal, as
^ trom the extraordinary structure of the upper eyelids, which
are so formed as to resemble a pair of strange sharp-pointed
horns, while the width of the mouth exceeds that of its con¬
geners, and equals half the length of its body. Seba, in fact,
describes it as having two sharp horns on its head, within
which its eyes are situated ; and Schneider more accurate¬
ly, as a pair of accuminated callous processes, of a conical
shape, placed upon the eyelids. The colour is grayish yel¬
low, striped with brown. The body is rough, with pointed
spines. The head is very large and thick, and the tongue
proportionably so. Baron Cuvier assigns five species to this
genus, from the works of Seba, Daudin, Spix, and Prince
Maximilian. In Mr Gray’s catalogue an additional one is
furnished by Mr Wagler, the habitat of which is Asia.
Genus Dactvlethra, Cuv. The south of Africa, ac¬
cording to Cuvier, produces a group of Batrachians which
resemble the frogs in their teeth, their smooth skin, their
pointed toes, those of the hind feet being deeply webbed,
and the inner three having their extremity enveloped in
a conical nail, which is black ; their head is small, and
their mouth not very large. The tongue, attached deep
in the throat, is fleshy and large; their tympanum not ap¬
parent. These numerous distinctive characters have induced
the baron to constitute a new genus under the above name,
from bajiTvXr^px, a thimble. The smooth toad, crapaud lisse
of Daudin (Pipa bufonia of Merrem), belongs to it.
Genus Hyla, Laurenti; Calamita, Schn. The tree-
frogs of the English,—Rainettes of French authors. The
Hylm were first separated from the frogs and toads by Lau¬
renti, and his arrangement is now universally followed.
They differ from the other genera in having all the extre¬
mities of their toes enlarged, and rounded into a kind of
disk or cushion, usually covered with a viscid humour,
which enables them to attach themselves firmly to foreign
bodies, and to climb trees. (See Plate VI., fig. 3.) Trees,
in fact, constitute their abode during the whole of sum¬
mer, and there they hunt for food. They, however, pro¬
duce their ova in water, and shelter themselves in the mud
during winter. They have a gular pouch, and are good
croakers.
The disks with which the toes of the tree-frogs are pro¬
vided are simply fleshy, and in the form of lentils. Exa¬
mined with the microscope, they appear like porous sieves,
from which a glutinous fluid slowly exudes ; they are usual¬
ly somewhat concave, and are sometimes furnished with a
distinct fold. By means of this apparatus the species can
attach themselves to smooth surfaces ; they can leap from
branch to branch, and can traverse twigs when agitated by
the wind. They may be regarded as among the most nimble
of their kind. They are, however, more tranquil than many,
and watch most patiently for prey. In the day time, and
especially when the sun’s heat is great, they are said to shel¬
ter themselves among the thick foliage, putting themselves
in motion on the approach of evening, and then sporting with
delight. 1 he croaking of these animals is similar to that of
the proper frogs, but stronger, though not quite so sharp. It
is most frequently heard in wet weather; but on a beautiful
summer evening the traveller is sometimes surprised by a
vast group of these hoarse musicians, assembled on the tops
of the highest trees. They feed on the insect tribes. Late
in the season they retire to the water, where they pass the
winter in a kind of lethargy, and remain there till the spawn¬
ing season has elapsed. Some Indian species deposit their
eggs on the under side of leaves hanging over water ; and
General Hardwicke has observed them place their ova on
a leaf which stood over a pail of water, so that the young
dropt into the fluid beneath. There is not a single species
of the tree-frog in the British isles; they occur, how¬
ever, frequently in the more favoured climes of Europe,
ILIA.
and superabound m warmer regions. The number of as- Batrachia.
certained species is not inferior to that of the frogs pro- Rankae.
per. They are among the most interesting of the race, ^ v-^
and many of them are very beautiful.
H. Arborea, Cuv.; R. Arborea, Lin. Common tree-
frog. In beauty of colouring, as well as in elegance of
form, and general agility of movement, the tree-frog
exceeds every other European species. It is found in
I ranee, Germany, and Italy ; but more towards the south
than north. It avoids dry situations and mountainous fo¬
rests, and delights in humid woods, in hedges bordering on
marshes, and in parks and gardens ornamented with water.
Its principal sojourn during the summer months is the up¬
per parts of trees, searching for insects, which it catches
with extreme alacrity, stealing softly upon them, as a cat
towards a mouse, and seizing them with a sudden spring
of frequently more than a yard in height. It often sus¬
pends itself by its feet, or by a single foot, or even by its
abdomen and drawn-up toes from a twig, or the under por¬
tion of a leaf, thus continuing beneath the shade. It is
among the smallest of European frogs. Its colour is green
above, more or less bright; its belly whitish, and covered
with numerous small tubercles; a dark violet-coloured
streak runs along the flanks; and the limbs are reddish.
The body is smooth above, and rather short and plump;
the hind legs are very long and slender. The fore feet
have four toes, the hind five, and all of them terminate in
dilated flattish tips. 1 he surface of the abdomen is very
remarkable, being so granular, adhesive, and elastic, that
it enables the animal to adhere almost to anything, even,
it is said, to polished glass, at whatever inclination, or in
whatever position it is placed. The spawn is deposited to¬
wards the end of April, and the perfect animal appears in
August, when it ascends the neighbouring trees, and as¬
sorts with its parents. Being very noisy on the approach
of rain, this species is considered as an excellent barome¬
ter ; and in the German Ephemerides there is an account of
one which was kept in a state of domestication for seven
years, and gave the greatest satisfaction from being pecu¬
liarly weather-wise.
I he Zebra hyla, H. calamita, Gray, Calamita maxi¬
ma, Schn., appears to be one of the largest of these slen¬
der-bodied frogs, a specimen described by Seba having
attained the length of five inches. It is a native of Caro¬
lina and Virginia. It is of a rufous-browm colour, striped
with chestnut bands; all its feet are webbed, and the toes
orbicular. I he Merian hyla, H. Meriana, Gray, Rana
Meriana, Shaw, first depicted and described by Maria
Merian, in her Surinam, merits a distinct notice. It is
about three times the size of the common hyla; and on
each side of the neck has a remarkable protuberance, re¬
sembling an obtusely conical inflated pouch; its hind feet
are distinctly w'ebbed. It is of a brownish-green colour
above, and is variegated with patches of yellow. It is found
sometimes on trees, and sometimes in water. Mad. Me¬
rian states that they have external ears, and that the balls
on their toes facilitate their progress over the soft marshes
which they frequent. The H. tibiatrix, Laurenti, is an
American species, and is said by Seba to croak in a melo¬
dious manner during very hot weather after the setting of
the sun, while in the cold and rainy season it is silent, con¬
cealing itself at the bottom of the waters.
H. lateralis, Catesby, has been observed in Carolina,
and also, it is said, in Surinam. It is usually found attached
underneath the leaves of trees, concealing itself, and lying
secure from birds and serpents, its most dangerous foes.
They are sometimes found in vast heaps, the bushes and
woods being completely covered with them ; and their
croaking may be heard at the distance of whole leagues.
Ihey make prodigious leaps, and hence in the United
States are called the crickets of the savannahs, their cry
REFT
Uatrachia. also resembling the noise made by that insect. H. tine-
Itanidae. toria, Cuv. R. tinctoria, Lin. or Dying Hyla, has a singu-
lar property assigned it, apparently on good authority. It
is said that by its means the American Indians partially
change the plumage of their parrots from green to red.
With this object in view, they pluck out the green feathers
when the bird is young, and rub the wounded skin with the
blood of the hyla, after which the feathers spring up of a
fine red or yellow colour. It inhabits Surinam and Guiana,
requenting the woods nearly the whole year, concealing
itself in clefts of trees, and under the bark in cold nights,
and resorting to water only for the purpose of reproduc¬
tion. Cuvier has enumerated, as among the largest and
most beautiful, the H. bicolor of Daudin and Spix; it is
of a celestial blue colour above, and of a rosy tint below.
He has catalogued several additional species; and Mr
Gray’s list is very extensive, including some species from
New Holland.
Genus Bufo. The generic characters of this group,
which includes the toads, are, a body thick, short, clumsy,
and generally covered with warts and pimples, with a glan¬
dular pad behind the ears, from all of which distils a milky
fetid humour ; there are usually no teeth ; the hind feet are
frequently short, and hence the species rather crawl than
leap; and they are genei'ally found at a considerable dis¬
tance from water. By Linnaeus they were incorporated in
the same genus with the frogs, and so close is their resem¬
blance, that that arrangement is still sometimes followed.
Toads have in all times and places been regarded as dis¬
gusting animals, and sometimes even as objects of horror.
They are usually believed to be venomous, and are conse¬
quently subjected to proscription and extermination. It
will be found, however, on examination, as has been ob¬
served by a noted naturalist, that these animals are compa¬
ratively harmless, that the study of their organization in¬
volves much interest, and that their history presents a crowd
of facts equally curious and important. A slight sketch of
the structure and habits of these despised animals having
already appeared in our general remarks on the order, we
shall here allude only to a few distinguishing traits.
The European toads are stated to have only eight verte¬
brae, and some as few as seven. Though generally describ¬
ed as wanting teeth, yet some species have them on the
gums, large and curved. The tongue is not forked, as in
most of the frogs; nor do they possess the gular pouches,
which give to the frogs their peculiarly resounding voices.
The glandular cushion-like body behind the ears, sometimes
stated as the most distinct mark of the genus, is considered
by Schneider as nothing else than the parotid gland, well
known in man as the seat of that disease called the mumps,—
with what degree of accuracy we are not prepared to say.
The toads, in general, are heavy sluggish animals in com¬
parison with frogs, and sometimes even crawl with difficulty.
The cuticular excretion usually regarded as so offensive
is possessed by frogs as well as toads ; but is much more
abundant in the latter. It is alleged that the toad can at
will increase the secretion of this viscous humour, and cause
it to distil like dew from all its pores. The most important
use, as previously suggested, is probably connected with re¬
spiration ; the one usually assigned is, that it defends the
animal from the heat of the sun and the dryness of the air.
This abundant perspiration must, of course, maintain the
species at a lowr temperature; and Adanson states the fact
to be so well known, that the negroes in traversing the burn¬
ing sands of Senegal are in the habit of applying a live crea¬
ture of this kind to the forehead for the purpose of cooling
it. These reptiles have the power of emitting another se¬
cretion, which is regarded as a weapon of defence and of¬
fence. It is discharged from the lower gut, is shot forth in
a small stream, and often occasions apprehensions from its
supposed venomous nature. When toads are surprised and
ILIA. 79
alarmed, instead of seeking safety in flight, tney make a dead Batracffa
halt, swell out their body, making it hard and elastic, and Banidat.
distil this humour from its surface in augmented quantities,
They also make efforts to bite, without, however, inflicting
any injury. The direct application of the fluids proceeding
from the common toad to the human skin is innocuous, and
the idea that it confers a poisonous quality upon vegetables,
fruits, and mushrooms, is entirely groundless.
The process of spawning in the toad is carried on much
in the same way as in the frog. In the latter the ova ap¬
pear imbedded in a glairy continuous mass, which has been
compared to a cord or chaplet: in the toad two of these
cords appear together, the united length of which would
extend to about twenty feet. Ten or twelve days after de¬
position, the eggs acquire double their volume ; the tadpoles
issue forth about the twentieth day, and acquire their gills
two or three days after.
Though the taste is not likely to become prevalent, there
is no doubt that toads have been made familiar pets. Mr
Pennant gives a curious account of one having lived in a
kind of domestic state for the space of more than forty years,
and of having been, in a great degree, reclaimed from its
natural shyness and desire of concealment. On the ap¬
proach of its master, and on the lighting of the candles at
night, it left, its retreat, and came to demand its regular
evening meal. It grew to a very large size, and attracted
many curious visitors. It was often brought to table, and
fed upon various insects, which it seized with avidity, with¬
out being embarrassed by the presence of company. Its
favourite retreat was beneath the steps of the house-door;
and it had all the appearance of surviving many additional
years, when it was attacked and destroyed by a raven.
But the most curious trait in the history of the toad, is
its alleged power of being encased and buried for a long
period of time without food or respiration, and of reviving
again when reintroduced to light and air. Not that the
toad is singular among the Batrachia for this faculty, for its
congeners are likewise celebrated on account of it. Nor
would it appear to be confined to this order, for similar sto¬
ries are told of serpents, and even of fish, insects, &c. The
attention of the French academy was directed to this sub¬
ject about the year 1771, from its having been stated, that
upon pulling down a wall of a mansion belonging to the
Duke of Orleans, and which was forty years old, a toad
which proved to be alive, was found in it, its hind feet be¬
ing actually entrapt and imbedded in the mortar. Stimu¬
lated by the interest which this story excited, M. Herri-
saut, in presence of the academy, enclosed three toads in
as many boxes, surrounding them with a thick coating of
plaster, and deposited them in an apartment of the academy.
Here they were left untouched for eighteen months, when,
on being examined, two of them were found alive, and the
third dead. The former were re-enclosed, and on a second
examination some months after, were found dead. The
animals were completely impacted and imbedded, without
leaving any space for surrounding air. Notwithstanding the
apparently conclusive nature of these experiments, the pos¬
sibility of such long endurance was still denied by many,.—.
the more so, as the fact was as inexplicable as extraordinary.
Dr Edwards, however, performed somewhat similar expe¬
riments in Paris in the year 1817, by shutting up toads ef¬
fectively in plaster, when he found that they lived for a long
period ; and additional light was thrown upon the subject by
that observer discovering, that when the plaster was made
impervious to air, as by sinking the whole mass in water,
the toads speedily perished. From this it follows, that ow¬
ing to the porosity of the plaster, a portion of air still pene¬
trates to the imprisoned toad, sufficient to maintain its vital
functions in that low state in which we often see these rep¬
tiles during hybernation, or when completely frozen. The
importance, under these circumstances, of the cuticular re-
80
R E P T I L I A.
JSatrachia. spiration already mentioned, is obvious. Analogous phe-
Ilanidae. norr[ena are observable in other classes of the animal king-
Y_^' dom. Thus, the reviving powers of the Rotifer redivivus,
though so astonishing, are now undisputed ; and no one
doubts Franklin’s anecdote of the apparently dead flies, which
he took from a fresh-drawn bottle of Madeira, and revived
in the sun. Many drowned insects, to all appearance dead,
are made to renew their vital powers when sprinkled over
with dry warm sand, or pounded plaster; and it appears
that in like manner, a certain feeble life, capable under al¬
tered circumstances of quick and strong increase, lingers
long in many reptiles.
The great majority of the instances of imprisoned toads
and frogs is said to have occurred in growing trees, hard
wood, coal, and in sandstones and other rocks not of a very
dense or impenetrable consistence. The fact has been
long and frequently alleged, and the difficulty of account¬
ing for it forms the chief ground of the prevailing scepti¬
cism. The wonder produced is forcibly though quaintly
expressed in a Latin inscription written in letters of gold,
framed with a coat of arms, and hung over a mantle-piece
of sandstone, formerly in Chillingham Castle. In this sand¬
stone there was a deep excavation, believed for ages to have
been the living tomb of one of these creatures. We give
a translation of a part of this document.
Hither, Stagyrite!
If you would see a phenomenon more wonderful than Euripus,
Come hither;
Let seas ebb and flow as they may, and let him he a lunatic
Who despoils the moon of her honours.
Behold here a novelty, such as neither Africa presents to thee.
Nor the Nile with her fabulous sands;
A fire and pure flame
Existing, though shut out from vital air.
From the dark recesses of the cut rock which you see,
The hands of the obstetrical stone-cutter gave light
To a living toad !!
In illustration of this alleged phenomenon, wre shall adduce
but a single recent instance out of many. On the 25th of
July 1832, four men made affidavit, “ that they were asto¬
nished, on splitting a large block of millstone grit on Stain-
more, more than a ton weight, by a living yellow frog spring¬
ing out of a cavity in the centre of the said solid rock,
where it had been as closely imbedded as a watch in its outer
case, without any communication with the surface nearer
than eight inches. This frog was conveyed to Brough,
Westmoreland, and given to Mr Rumney, surgeon, in whose
possession it now (Jan. 21, 1833) continues in a healthy
living state.”
We have already mentioned, that however disgusting may
be their qualities in the apprehension of many, toads are
eaten greedily by savage tribes, and not seldom, though un¬
wittingly, by the more fastidious inhabitants of the gay and
splendid capitals of Europe. We now proceed to allude
more particularly to a few of the species.
The common toad {B. vulgaris,—Rana bufo, Linn.) is
of a russet or brownish-gray colour, sometimes olive, and
even blackish. It is covered with numerous round tubercles
on the back, and with smaller ones beneath. The hind feet
are semi-palmated. It is found throughout Europe (most
abundantly in its western parts), and is common in this coun¬
try. It usually sojourns in obscure and sheltered places, and
passes the winter in holes which it finds or makes for itself.
It spawns in water in March and April; the ova are very
small and numerous, suspended in two cords of transparent
jelly. The tadpole is blackish, and remarkably small when
it loses its tail and acquires its feet. The branchial aperture
is on the left side. This toad is long lived, fifteen years being
assigned as not unfrequent. Its cry has a distant resem¬
blance to the barking of a dog, and during summer it croaks Batrachia.
feebly. 5 & & . Ranidae.
Many toads possess a strong disgusting smell. Of this ^
kind are the rush toad {Rana bufo calamita, Gmeh), of
which the colour and size much resemble those of the com¬
mon toad, the cushions behind its ears being somewhat less.
Its hind feet are not at all webbed, and it has a pouch or
sac under its throat. Its pace differs from that of most of
the toad tribe, as it runs nearly after the manner of a mouse,
with the body and limbs somewhat raised. It is chiefly a
nocturnal animal. The ova are contained in two cords ; and
the evolution of the ova is so speedy, that the tadpoles li¬
berate themselves in the space of five or six days. During
spring it frequents places overgrown with reeds, and croaks
loudly. When handled or irritated it pours forth its cutane¬
ous exudation, and squirts its other fluid to a distance of three
or four feet, and thus diffuses an intolerable odour, resemb¬
ling the smoke of gunpowder, but stronger, and so perma¬
nent, that if it fall upon furniture it cannot be got rid of for
months. Analogous to, if not identical with the preced¬
ing, is R. calamita of Laurenti, the natter-jack of British
Erpetologists,—mephetic toad of Dr Shaw. In general ap¬
pearance it resembles our common toad, but the eyes are
more projecting, with the eyelids greatly elevated above
the crown, and there is a line of bright yellow along the
middle of the back. This reptile was first remarked as
British by the late Sir Joseph Banks, in Lincolnshire, and
has since been met with on many heaths near London, as
well as in Cambridgeshire and Norfolk. Except during the
spawning season, it appears to affect dry and sandy districts.
It is of much more active habits than the common toad,
its pace “ being a kind of shuffling run.”1 It never leaps.
The broion toad, B. fuscus, Laurenti, is also distinguish¬
ed by an offensive discharge; but in addition to the gun-
powder-smoke smell, and overpowering it, there is an ex¬
tremely strong odour of garlick or onions, which produces
the same effects upon the eyes as do these vegetables. The
whole of the skin of this animal is nearly smooth, and
the hind limbs are long and deeply webbed. It leaps well,
and prefers the neighbourhood of water. Its ova are depo¬
sited in a single cord, which, however, is thicker than the
double one of the common toad. The tadpole of this spe¬
cies arrives at a great size before it attains its complete
form, so that, according to Roesel, it is considered by the
country people as a kind of fish, and is eaten accordingly.
The variable or green toad, B. variabilis, Cuv., Rana va-
riabilis, Gmel. and Pallas, B. viridis of Schneider and Shaw,
is a third species, likewise characterized by a most disa¬
greeable smell, resembling that of the rank and deadly night¬
shade, but more powerful, and soon contaminating any close
apartment. This kind is a native of Germany, the south
of France, and other parts of Europe. It derives its spe¬
cific name from the tints of its colour undergoing striking
changes as it sleeps or wakes, or is exposed to sun or
shade. It is called the green toad from its spots being of
that colour. Pallas’s account of it is as follows: The gene¬
ral colour is pale or whitish, becoming in hot sunshine entire¬
ly gray ; when asleep the spots only appear gray, and when
torpid the general hue is flesh-coloured.
The obstetric toad, B. obstetricus of Laurenti, is a small
grayish reptile which inhabits France, and affords an exam¬
ple of a very curious instinct. The process of spawning is
not conducted by this species in the w ater, but on land, and
there the male assists the female to get rid of her eggs,
which amount to about sixty. These he attaches in small
bundles to his thighs by means of an adhesive fluid, and
for weeks carries them about with great care. When
the young are ready to escape, he seeks some stagnant wra-
Jenyns’s British Vertebrate Animals, 303.
R E P T I L I A.
Ratrachia. ter, and there deposits them in safety, the tadpole soon is-
^ Ramdae. suing an(t swimming immediately. The 'prickly toady
’ v ^ " B. spinosus of Daudin, which derives its name from strong
projections on its tubercles, seems also to possess a singu¬
lar peculiarity. It is never met with on the surface of the
soil, and is only procured by means of the plough. The
country people are persuaded it never leaves its retreat vo¬
luntarily ; and Daudin suspects that it deposits its ova in
the earth, in humid places, near the subterranean sources
of water.
Most of the toads of tropical climates are remarkable for
their great size. Of this we give an instance in the ma¬
rine toad, Rana marina, Gmel., a native of South America,
the length of whose body extends to nearly a foot. It is
also remarkable for its vost-aural projections, which are an
inch long, and oval shaped. The feet are not webbed ; the
toes are terminated with round knobs, and furnished with
short claws resembling the human nails in miniature. There
are many other recorded species of toads proper, on which,
however, we cannot dwell; and we now proceed to seve¬
ral genera which have recently been separated from the
group.
Genus Bombinator. This genus differs from the other
toads only in having the tympanum, or soft covering of the
ear, hid under the skin. Rhinella of Fitzinger (Oxyr-
hyncus of Spix) is distinguished by a prolonged muzzle.
(See Plate VI., fig. 4.) M. Gay has lately informed us
{Ann. des Sc. Nat. Airil 1836, p. 224) that in Chili
there is a genus allied to Rhinella, consisting of several
agreeably-coloured species, which are always viviparous.
In the same locality he made a similar remark regarding
several species of snakes. To these two genera succeed the
Otilopha of Cuvier, which has also an acute snout, and
on each side of the head a projecting crest extending to the
gland called parotid. In the genus Breviceps of Merrem
(part of Fitzinger’s genus Engystoma), neither the tym¬
panum nor parotids are apparent; the body is oval, the head
and mouth are remarkably small, and the feet scarcely at
all webbed. (See Plate VI., fig. 5.) We shall here in¬
troduce a very few species belonging to these genera.
To the genus Bombinator belongs B. bombinus {Rana
bambino, Gmel.), which is the smallest and most aquatic
of the European toads. It is gray or brown above, black¬
ish blue with orange spots beneath. The hind feet are
completely webbed, and nearly as long as those of frogs,
so that it leaps nearly as well as they do. It affects mo¬
rasses. Of the genus Rhinella, Spix has depicted and de¬
scribed five species, most of which, according to Cuvier, it
is difficult to distinguish from the proper toads. The mitred
toad of English writers, the margaritfera of Gmelin, is usual¬
ly adduced as a type of the genus Otilopha. It is a native
of Brazil, and about the size of the common toad ; it is ru¬
fous brown above and whitish beneath, beset with nume¬
rous small tubercles of a bluish or pearly cast, whence the
French name crapand perle ; but its principal characteris¬
tic is the subtriangular form of its head, the sides of which,
beyond eacheye, project into an angular protuberance. From
the nose likewise an elevated white line runs along each side
of the head, over the shoulder, to the sides; the fore feet
are unwebbed, the hind are partly so. Genuine specimens
of the genus Breviceps present animals not a little singular
in their forms. Such are the short-headed and the indistinct
toad of British authors, the Rana breviceps and R. systoma
of Schneider. They are oval-shaped like eggs, with scarcely
any projecting head ; and one of them has actually been
called the headless toad {Rana acephala, Schn.). The short-
headed toad is a very small animal, about half the size of
the common toad ; the head is completely blended and in¬
corporated with the thorax, and the surface is rather wrinkled
than tuberculous. It is a native of Africa. R. systo¬
ma comes from the East Indies, and has a thick rounded
VOL. XIX.
body, with a head so lost in the general outline that the Batrachia.
mouth is scarcely apparent; the legs, too, are peculiarly Ranifise.
short, and appear almost as if imbedded in the wrinkled skin
of the sides.
We now advance to the genus Pipa, which is universally
distinguished from the toads. Its generic characters are
the following : The body is flattened horizontally ; the head
is broad and triangular ; the tongue is so adherent that it
appears to be wanting (it is often said to be so) ; the tym¬
panum is hid beneath the skin ; the small eyes are placed
toward the margin of the lower jaw; the extremities of all
the fingers are divided into four small points ; and finally,
the male has an enormously sized larynx, like a triangular
osseous box, which encloses two moveable ossiculi which
occasionally close the branchiae. Of this genus, that well-
known and most singular animal commonly called the
Surinam toad {Pipa Surinamensis, Laurenti,—Rana pipa
of Linnaeus), may be taken as a type. It seems to have
been introduced to the notice of naturalists at the close of
the seventeenth century, and was first described by the ce¬
lebrated Ruysch. It is one of the most uncouth and hi¬
deous of nature’s creatures, and is especially signalized for
some of the most extraordinary phenomena regarding the
growth of its young which are to be found throughout the
range of the animal kingdom. The size of the Surinam
toad considerably exceeds that of our common species.
The mouth is very wide ; the hands are tetradactylous ; the
fingers long and slender, and each divided at the tip into
four distinct processes, all of which, when narrowly inspect¬
ed with a glass, are found to be again subdivided in nearly
a similar manner. The web of the hind feet reaches to the
tips of the toes. The male is rather larger than the female,
sometimes attaining the length of seven inches. The back
is studded with granules, which are somewhat more nume¬
rous and larger on the female; the skin round the neck, in
both sexes, forms a kind of loose wrinkled collar. The
general colour of both is a dark blackish brown. This rep¬
tile has been long celebrated for the manner in w hich its
young are perpetuated; and on this account it has become
the object of much attention. It was for a time supposed
that the ova issued from the deeper seated parts of the back,
and were then enclosed in small cells on its surface till they
were regularly hatched. Later observations in correcting
this mistake have demonstrated a not less peculiar history.
The precise truth was first made known by Dr Fermin,
who had an opportunity, during his residence at Surinam,
to investigate the creature’s structure in a more satisfactory
manner than had previously been practicable. His account
is, that the female Pipa spawns at the brink of some stag¬
nant water, and that the male immediately collects and
amasses the heap of ova, and after impregnation deposits
them with great care on the back of the female, where they
are received into cellules which at this period are open
for their reception, but speedily close upon them. They
are there retained to the time of their second birth, which
happens in somewhat less than three months. During this
period the cells gradually enlarge, till the young emerge
from the back of the parent in a completely formed state.
During the time of their concealment, however, they under¬
go the usual change which is effected upon their congeners,
being first hatched from the ova in the form of a tadpole;
and then, after gradually acquiring their perfect shape,
losing their tail, and so forth, they are extruded from the
cellules. This strange process has since been examined
and verified by Camper, Spallanzani, Blumenbach, and other
naturalists, and is now established as a phenomenon equally
true as extraordinary. Fermin found the brood he observ¬
ed amount to seventy-five, and the period of their extrusion
as young Pipas occupied five days. When they had made
their escape, the female, having rubbed the epidermis from
her back on some hard substance, returned to land. This
L
82 R E P T I L I A.
Batrachia. species lives in the fresh waters of South America, and some-
s^la™an* times in obscure houses in Cayenne and Surinam, where it
v ^ndae^ is called tedo and curucu. According to Seba and Madame
Merian, the negroes of the colonies use its flesh as food.
Spix has figured another species, P. curururrt nearly
resembling the above, which affects the bottoms of lakes in
Brazil. That author assures us that the female does not
receive and hatch its young in the alveola on her back.
Another kind is preserved in the Paris museum,—a true
Pipa according to Cuvier, from the Rio Negro. It is quite
smooth, and has a narrower head than the common species.
The baron names it Pipa Icevis.
FAMILY SALAMANDRIDAD. NEWTS OR SALAMAN¬
DERS.
We have now reached a group of which the name has
been celebrated from remote antiquity, and the history en¬
compassed by fables in every age. “ It was on the fortu¬
nate soil of ancient Greece, in the bosom of a wise and war¬
like nation, where imagination, favoured by a happy clime,
exaggerated even the wonders of creative power, that the
reputation of the salamander originated.”1 It was among
that fanciful people that an obscure and changeful reptile
was as it were consecrated to posterity by a fantastic but
immortal name.
But the times of superstitious fiction regarding the once
famous salamander are now for ever passed and gone, and
it is only to be regretted that they have not carried along
with them the ignorant prejudice which still remains re¬
specting a few harmless reptiles. “ The daughter of fire,”
with her “ frame of icy crystal,” is now nearly forgotten ;
and for unchanging love and unflinching courage, other
and more fitting emblems have been long invented. The
ancient story of the salamander enduring fire and extin¬
guishing flame is now recognised only as an idle tale ; and
scarcely less so its faculty of poisoning vegetables, and its
other pernicious powers. These gross errors being swept
away, more room is left to investigate whatever is instruc¬
tive in the history of those once widely abused, but really
interesting creatures.
As the salamanders resemble in many respects the fore¬
going genera of the order, many of the details which have
previously been stated equally apply to them. This remark
relates also to the extraordinary metamorphoses they un¬
dergo, but with some striking variations. We here find
examples of a species of reproduction not uncommon among
fish, and met with, as already mentioned, among certain
lizards. We allude to that mode of birth known under the
name of ovo-viviparous. The mode we have been hitherto
contemplating resembles that of birds in being strictly ovi¬
parous. The ova or eggs are extruded from the parent,
and under the influence of heat the young are in due time
hatched. In the salamanders, however, another stage in¬
tervenes. When the ova have arrived at the state in which,
in the other Batrachia, they are wont to be expelled, in
these they are retained for some time after their develop¬
ment has begun. The eggs are, in fact, never laid, but are
hatched in the interior of the parents ; so that they bring
forth living offspring, although originally contained in eggs.
These eggs, by a natural process, are deposited in certain
bags, which are called oviducts. In the salamander there
are five of these, each of which contains six, or eight, or
more young, and there they are nourished by a peculiar
fluid, and do not issue forth till they have undergone their
metamorphoses, that is, have acquired their feet and other
organs. They are deposited in or near marshes.
In our general remarks on the Batrachia, we traced, in Batrachia.
a few words, the changes which take place in the respi- Salaman.
ratory system of this group. We saw that being first ex- ri ^
ercised in water, it was for a time precisely analogous to J*_ Y_’*‘r
that of fishes; and that terminating on land, it perfectly
corresponded with that of land animals. In the salaman¬
ders there is this peculiarity,—that while one section of
them ere long become terrestrial in their structure and
habits, another division continues aquatic for life. But so
far as respiration is concerned, the same complete meta¬
morphosis takes place in these latter as in the former ; their
gills vanish, regular lungs are completed, and yet the aqua¬
tic salamander, water-newt, or triton as it is sometimes call¬
ed, continues a constant inhabitant of the wrater. The spe¬
cies are in fact habitual inmates of that element, and yet
inhale the vital breath of heaven; and in this respect com¬
pletely correspond to the cetaceous or whale tribes, with
whose peculiarities, on a scale so greatly more gigantic,
naturalists have been long acquainted. Like them they
must regularly come to the surface, inflate their lungs, de¬
scend to their w eedy homes, and after a time return again
for air,—repeating this process as often as their exigencies
may require. Peculiar characters distinguish the circulating
system of the Cete, as compared with that of other Mam¬
malia ; and we have little doubt that parallel features occur
among the tritons, although we are not aware that this point
has been as yet investigated.
When speaking of toads, we took occasion to make a few
remarks on the cuticular secretion, for which they, in com¬
mon with other Batrachia, are remarkable. The salaman¬
ders have on this account been still more celebrated; and
there seems no reason to doubt that the fable of their
withstanding the effects of fire has originated from this
peculiarity. The humour is in them found to possess more
concentric virtue, having withal a more offensive odour,
and a more acrid taste. Count Lacepede says, that if a
drop of it come in contact with the tongue, it produces the
sensation of burning; so that it really proves a defence
against many animals which would otherwise devour them.
It is more especially when they are irritated and alarmed,
and particularly if exposed to fire, that they distil the secre¬
tion in quantities, and envelope themselves in a damp co¬
vering, which, for a brief period, might possibly prevent
their being consumed. Hence, then, may have originated
the ancient opinion that these animals could live not only
on land and in water, but also in fire; and from the slender
germ of that same peculiarity has no doubt spread the mon¬
strous statement of Pliny, that these creatures infested the
herbage of a country to such a vast extent as even to cause
the extinction of entire nations !
Another remarkable peculiarity of the salamanders, more
especially of the aquatic kind, which has been successfully
elucidated by Spallanzani, is common to them, and in some
measure to the tadpole state of the other Batrachia. We
allude to that surprising power whereby, when repeatedly
deprived of even an important portion of their body, that
portion is as frequently renewed. This property is not un¬
known among some of the lower orders of creation, but in
none is it more striking than in these reptiles. Thus, in the
triton, the whole limb may be removed, and by and by
we find it completely restored, and furnished with perfect
bones, muscles, nerves, &c. In other instances an eye has
been extracted, and speedily a new and perfect one is found
to have supplied its place. These renewals are more com¬
plete than such as take place among the true lizards, for¬
merly alluded to.
The salamander group are distinguished by the following
peculiarities. They have an elongated body, four feet, and
1 Griffith’s Animal Kingdom, ix. 464.
R E P T I L I A.
83
Batrachia. a lengthened tail, which gives them a general resemblance
Salaman- lizards. Their head is flat, and the ear entirely hid
dridse. jn t|le without any apparent tympanum, there being
" ^ only a small cartilage over the external aperture. Both
jaws are furnislied with numerous small teeth, and two simi¬
lar rows occur upon the palate. The tongue resembles that
of frogs, but there is no third eyelid. They have a skele¬
ton with fourteen dorsal vertebrae, and remarkably small
rudiments of ribs, but without any osseous sternum ; the
pelvis is simply suspended from the spine by ligaments.
They have four fingers and five toes. As we have already
stated, they respire like the preceding genera. The arms
of the tadpole are developed before the legs, contrary to
what happens in the animals already reviewed.
Salamanders are divided into the terrestrial and aquatic.
We commence with the former.
Genus Salamandra, Laur. Terrestrial salamanders.
(See Plate VI., fig. 6.) In their perfect state these reptiles
have a round tail; they remain in water only during their
tadpole state (which is brief), or while in the act of re¬
production. Their ova are inclosed in oviducts.
These salamanders, though not unfrequent in Europe,
and in warmer regions, seem never to have been observed
in Britain. They take up their abode in damp ground, and
amidst brushwood, in ditches and shady places, in subter¬
ranean caverns and among old ruins. They are feeble, timid,
stupid creatures, which live on worms, snails, flies, and other
insects, and apparently on rich mould. They appear almost
entirely deaf and dumb, and show no dread either of man,
or of other animals stronger than themselves. If thrown into
water, they immediately attempt to escape from it. They are
capable of enduring most serious mutilation without appa¬
rently suffering from it; if, however, they are plunged into
vinegar or alcohol, or are sprinkled with salt or tobacco,
they are killed in a moment. We may now enumerate
a few of the species. The spotted salamander, S. maculosa,
Laur,, of the usual length of six or eight inches, sometimes
more, is one of the largest, and most widely spread through
Europe. It is of a shining black colour, with two bright
yellow stripes on its flanks, and of a livid blue colour be¬
neath. It has conspicuous glands (parotids) behind its occi¬
put, and along its sides are rows of tubercles, from whence,
when alarmed, a milky humour flows, bitter to the taste, of
a strong smell, and injurious to the life of very small ani¬
mals. Its tail is of a roundish or cylindrical form, tapering
to the extremity. It affects humid places, and retires into
subterranean holes, under large stones and roots of trees.
The brain of this reptile is said to be so small as not to
equal the diameter of the spinal marrow, and its perceptive
powers are proportionally dull. The black salamander, S.
atra, Laur., is not above half the size of the foregoing; it
is black, and devoid of spots above, and of a yellowish hue
beneath. It is rare in France, but is found in the Alps,
and is abundant in the mountainous regions of Southern
Germany. (See Plate VI., fig. 6.) The funereal sala¬
mander {S.funebris) is six or eight feet long, of a deep-
brown colour. It was observed by Bory St Vincent in
the hottest and dampest parts of Andalusia. This species
issued in dozens from their retreats at night, and speedily
advanced towards destruction near the bivouac fires, by
which they were attracted. Into these they would ap¬
parently have themselves advanced, had not the soldiers cast
them amid the flames, where they remained for a few mo¬
ments as if unhurt, thus far supporting their incombustible
reputation. We need scarcely add, however, that they very
speedily died roasted, as any other small animal would have
done under a similar predicament.
Among the foreign salamanders a great number inhabit
North America; and these are said to be destitute of the
occipital glands. Palisot and Bose have each described a
new species. Thunberg has also discovered one in Japan,
to which the natives ascribe medicinal virtues of the most Batradna
valuable kind. The spectacled salamander, S. perspicil- Salaman-
lata of fiavi, has only four toes on the hind feet. It is black dridae.
above, and yellow spotted with black beneath, with a yel-
low line between the eyes. It is found in the Apennines.
Genus Triton, Laur. Aquatic salamanders. We now
turn to the aquatic group, commonly called newts, which
have a tail always compressed vertically, and pass a great
portion of their lives in water. (See Plate VI., fig. 7.)
These are the animals experimented on by Spallanzani,
and so celebrated for their reproductive powers. An¬
other faculty, scarcely less singular, is that which M. Dufay
has recognised them as possessing,— we mean their power
of remaining frozen for a length of time in ice without mor¬
tal injury. Their ova are fecundated by the milt being
mixed with the.ambient water, and penetrating with it into
the oviducts. After a certain sojourn there, the young issue
in long gelatinous cords, from which they do not effect their
escape till several days after their extrusion. The branchiae
continue for a longer or shorter period in different species.
Few have been accurately observed in Europe, and doubts
remain about their specific determination, because they
change their colours with their age, and differ according
both to sex and season. The crests and other ornaments
of the males, also, are only fully developed during spring.
If winter surprises them still wearing gills, these parts are
then maintained throughout the colder season, and even
continue to increase.
The following are species which have been accurately
characterized. The marbled salamander, S. marmorata,
Lat. ( Triton Gesnerii of Laurenti), has the skin chagrined,
pale green above, spotted with large irregular brown blotches,
and browm spotted with white beneath. A red line runs
along the back, which in the male forms a kind of crest,
marked with black spots. The crested triton, S. cristata,
Lat., has the skin chagrined, brown above spotted with
black, and orange beneath similarly spotted ; the flanks are
spotted with white. The crest of the male is high, acutely
serrated, and embroidered with violet during the love sea¬
son. This is our great water-newt ( T. palustris, Flem. and
Jen.), by no means uncommon in Britain during summer
in ponds and ditches, and sometimes found in autumn out
of water, in damp and shady situations. M. Bibron, who
lately read a paper on these tritons to the London Zoologi¬
cal Society, stated that he had found this and the preceding
species indigenous to Britain ; and that the distinguishing
characteristic consists in this, that in the crested species
the upper lip is so largely developed that it overlaps the
under one posteriorly when the jaws are closed, a condition
never present, in the marmorata. The spotted triton, S. al-
pestris, Bechst., has a chagrined skin, and is slaty and brown
coloured above, and orange or red beneath ; whilst S.punc¬
tata, Lat. ( T. punctatus, Bonap.), has a smooth skin, light
browm above, pale reddish beneath, and spotted everywhere
with black. The crest is festooned, and its toes somewhat
enlarged, but not webbed. This is the common (or small¬
er) water-newt of Britain. It is subject to considerable va¬
riation, and is often found on land. A third British species
is the striped eft, T. vittatus of Gray. Finally, T. palmata,
Lat., is brown on the back, black and brown on the head,
lighter on the flanks, and spotted with black. The male has
three small crests on its back; the toes are dilated and web¬
bed, and the tail terminates in a slender membranaceous fin.
North America is rich in aquatic salamanders; but our know¬
ledge of these, as of many European species, is too obscure
to admit of their precise classification. Baron Cuvier has
well remarked, that a good monograph of this interesting
group, with accurate plates, is a great desideratum.
We have now to conclude the present article with a few
brief notices of certain very remarkable genera, some of
84
R E P T I L I A.
Batracliia. which differ considerably from all the members of the two
Genus preceding families, while others are by no means remotely
m°"°" allied to the salamanders. They are all aquatic ; and while
iv—^ . some lose their gills at so early a period as to have misled
observers into the belief that they never at any time possess¬
ed these organs, others retain them throughout their lives,
even after the development of internal lungs,—thus exhibit¬
ing, as we observed at the commencement of our treatise, the
only truly amphibious animals of the vertebrated kingdom.
a. No apparent branchice.
Genus Menopoma, Harlan; Abranchus, ejusd. We
have here a form resembling that of the salamanders. The
eyes are obvious, the feet well developed, and there is an
orifice on each side of the neck. Besides the range of de¬
licate teeth around the jaws, there is a parallel range upon
the anterior portion of the palate. The only species known
is the great salamander of North America (N. gigantea, Bar¬
ton), called Hellbender in the United States. It measures
from fifteen to eighteen inches in length, the colour of a
blackish blue, and dwells in the rivers of the interior, and
the great lakes.1 (See Plate VI., fig. 8.)
Genus Amphiuma, Garden. The species of this genus
have also an orifice on each side of the neck ; but the
body is much lengthened, and the legs and feet but slight¬
ly developed. Their palatine teeth form two longitudinal
rows. Amph. tridactylum, Cuv. is distinguished by three
toes to all the feet.2 Another species, Amph. didactylum,
{Amph. means, Garden and Harian), has only two toes.
The body is long and cylindrical, the head depressed and
obtuse; the tail compressed, with a sharpened ridge above,
but blunt below. The fore feet are formed like tentacu-
la. The colour is blackish gray above, and pale beneath,
without spot or stripe. The observed size varies from six
inches to two feet. This species inhabits ponds in the vi¬
cinity of New Orleans, and is met with in other parts of
the southern states. It is sometimes found deeply sunk
in mud, lying concealed like an earthworm, even at the
depth of several feet. It is greatly dreaded, though with¬
out any reason, by the negroes, who name it the serpent of
Congo.
b. Branchice apparent and persistant.
Genus Axolotus. The only known species of this genus,
which we may name Ax. pisciformis (the specific title be¬
stowed by Shaw), so entirely resembles the larva state of an
aquatic salamander, that it is even yet regarded by some as
an incompleted reptile. It was so regarded by Baron Cuvier
in his contribution to Humboldt’s Voyage ;3 and even in his
latest work he yielded rather to the opinion of others than
his own conviction. “ Ce n’est encore qu’avec doute que je
place 1’axolote parmi les genres a branchies permanentes,
mais tant des temoins assurent qu’il ne les perd pas, qui
je m’y vois oblige.”4 The species in question measures
from eight to ten inches in length, and is of a gray co¬
lour, spotted with black. It has four toes to the anterior
feet, and five to the hinder, and there are three long
tufted branchiae on each side. (See Plate VII., fig. 1.)
It inhabits the lake on which the town of Mexico stands,
and is naturally subjected at times to a low temperature.
The specimens brought home by Mr Bullock were from an
elevation of 8000 feet. That collector informed us that at
certain seasons they stock the markets, and are eaten in
great quantities by the peasants. Sir Everard Home has
published an account of their anatomical structure. He is
decidedly of opinion that they are not larvae, but completed Batracliia.
reptiles.6 Grenus
Genus Menobranchus, Harlan ; Necturus, Rafinesque. ^ Siren.
Here there are only four toes to each foot. (See Plate v^—'
VII., fig. 2.) There is a single range of teeth on the in-
termaxillaries, and another, parallel, but more extended, on
the maxillaries. The best-known species is M. lateralis
{Triton lateralis, Say), a large reptile which sometimes
attains the length of two or three feet, and inhabits the
great lakes of North America.6
Genus Proteus, Laurenti. Distinguished by having
three toes to the anterior feet, and only two to the hinder.
The only known species is P. anguinus {Siren anguina,
Schneid.), an animal resembling an eel with legs, of a
pale rose or flesh colour, and measuring from ten to twelve
inches in length, with a diameter seldom exceeding half an
inch. The muzzle is depressed and elongated : both jaws
are furnished with teeth, and the tongue is free in front,
but not very moveable. The eye is excessivery small, and
covered over by a kind of tegument. The ears are also
covered over more substantially, as among the salamanders.
Besides the internal lungs, there are three feathered pills or
branchiae on each side of the posterior portion of the head.
The skeleton resembles that of the salamanders, except that
there are many more vertebrae, and fewer rudiments of ribs.
The osteology of the head, however, is entirely different,
and approximates that of the siren. The heart, composed
of a single ventricle and auricle, is plated Detween the
fore legs, and the lungs have the form of simple slender
tubes, terminated by a vesicular dilatation. This truly re¬
markable reptile is found occasionally in a noted and ro¬
mantic lake called Zirknitz (the Lugea Palus of the an¬
cients), about six German miles from Labac, in the duchy
of Carniola. From this lake, as extraordinary as its slimy
inhabitant, the waters retire during the summer season by
numerous subterranean outlets, leaving the ground fit for
pasture and the cultivation of millet. In the month of Oc¬
tober they return again with great force, springing out of the
subterranean passages from a vast depth, till the lake is
amply filled. It is situated in a hollow or valley, surround¬
ed by rocky and wooded hills, in which are great caverns,
and is supplied by rivulets running into it from the adjoin¬
ing mountain regions. According to M. Schreibers, to
whom we owe the first correct account of the proteus,7 its
proper locality is Lake Sittich, one of several which com¬
municate with that already named. Its more characteristic
abode is probably among the subterranean canals which
are known to connect together those peculiar lakes of Car¬
niola. All its characters, in fact, present the aspect of a
subterranean animal. It has a pale, bleached, ghost-like
aspect, and its small, opake, skin-covered eyes bear but
small resemblance to the brilliant visual organs of other
reptiles.
We come, finally, to the genus Siren, Linn., in which
the posterior legs are entirely wanting, and the anterior
pair furnished with four toes. We have it in our power to
state several particulars in the history and structure of a
species of this genus from personal observation,—a mode
of acquiring knowledge which, however desirable, has by
no means been granted us in regard to the majority of
the groups discussed in this exposition of the reptile race.
We never, like Colonel Bory St Vincent, tossed a salaman¬
der into the fire,—we never, like Mr Waterton, rode on the
back of an alligator,—we never waded waist deep, with Mr
Audubon, among hundreds of these huge reptiles,—we
never sailed, like Wordsworth’s Highland boy, in a turtle’s
1 Annals of the Lyceum of New York, i. pi. 17.
2 Mem. du Mas. xiv. pi. 1 ; and Journal of the Academy of Sciences of Philadsiph a, vol. iii.
* Recherches sur les Reptiles douteux, p. 123. < Regne Animal ii. 119.
6 Phil Trans, for 1824, part ii. 8 Annals of the Lyceum of New York, i. pi. 16. ’ 7 Phil. Trans, for 1801.
R E P T I L I A.
85
Siren.
Batrachia. shell,—and our practical experience, even of green fat, is
Genus far from extensive;—but we have watched a siren from the
, far west; andjas the history of the species in question cannot
fail to throw light on the nature and attributes of others to
which it is related, and as it is in itself a very extraordinary
and interesting reptile, we shall make no apology for the
length of the following observations.
The Gardenian siren [Siren lacertina, Linn.), so named in
remembrance of Dr Garden, by whom it seems to have been
first observed, in its general form and aspect bears a great
resemblance to an eel, but is at once to be distinguished
from a fish by its anterior arms. The fine specimen long
preserved alive by Dr Patrick Neill of Edinburgh was ori¬
ginally transmitted by Dr Farmer of Charlestown, South
Carolina, to Dr Munro. It measured one foot five inches
in length, and about four inches in circumference. (See
Plate VII., fig. 3.) Its colour was deep blackish-brown,
rather paler beneath, w here it was partially tinged with a blu¬
ish hue, and marked all over with numerous small, irregu¬
lar, pale, ashy-brown spots, not very perceptible except on a
rather close inspection. The muzzle was blunt, depressed,
sub-rounded or slightly square, and considerably narrower
than the hinder portion of the head. The nostrils, which
are inconspicuous, are placed near the anterior angle of the
upper jaw. The head is broad and flat. The eyes are dim,
of an obscure blue, and there is no very obvious distinction
of colour between the iris and pupil, both appearing as if
seen through a semi-transparent membrane. The gills con¬
sist of three fleshy peduncles, which increase in size from
the first to the last. They are beautifully branched from
beneath and along their lateral and terminal edges, and
these little branches are divided and subdivided into still
more minute ramifications. This elegant fringe-work forms
the true gills, the central and fleshy stalks serving merely
as their support. Beneath, and rather in advance of these
bodies, are three vertical clefts, through which the wTater is
ejected backwards from the interior of the mouth upon the
gills, though with a much more languid and less perceptible
action than in fishes. These clefts or branchial perfora¬
tions are sustained and kept in separation by four arches,
which Garden, Ellis, and Camper appear to have mistaken
for gills, although both Linnaeus and John Hunter took a
more accurate view of the matter.1
The general surface of this siren is very smooth and
shining ; and if there are any scales, as some have said, they
are not apparent to the naked eye. Towards the tail its
form becomes thin and compressed, and that part is mar¬
gined for several inches both above and below, as well as
around its terminal point, by a narrow membrane or fin,
which no doubt greatly aids its movements through the water.
The earliest notice of this singular reptile appears to have
been communicated by Dr Garden to Linnaeus through the
medium of Mr Ellis in the year 1765. He described the
simultaneous existence of lungs and gills, and concluded
that it was a perfect animal, chiefly because there did not
exist in Carolina any species of salamander, or other aqua¬
tic creature, of equal size, of which it could be regarded as
the larva. It was in consequence of the information re¬
ceived regarding this species that Linnaeus, though with
hesitation, founded his order of Amphibia meantes, of which
the most peculiar character consisted in there being “ bran¬
chiae et pulmones simul.” The great Swedish naturalist
appears to have been particularly interested by the peculi¬
arities of the siren ; for in his reply to Mr Ellis, acknow¬
ledging receipt of Dr Garden’s “ very rare two-footed ani¬
mal with gills and lungs,” he observes that nothing had ever
Siren.
exercised his thoughts so much, nor was there anything he Batrachia.
so greatly desired to know, as the real nature of so extraor- (ienus
dinary a creature. s
Although Ellis and Hunter wisely regarded the siren as
a perfect animal, the propriety of this opinion was by no
means universally admitted. Pallas, not perceiving that
such metamorphoses as he supposed were rendered impos¬
sible by the absence of any germ of the hinder extremities,
even in the skeleton, still insisted that the siren was nothing
more than the larva of a four-footed salamander.2 A simi¬
lar opinion was maintained by Hermann,3 Lacepede,4 and
Schneider.5 About twenty years after the original disco¬
very of the animal, Camper (in 1785) examined a specimen
in the British Museum, the condition of which was so bad
that he was unable to detect the lungs ; whereupon he took
up and promulgated an entirely new view, according to
which, without reference to the existence of feet, he de¬
clared that the siren was a Jish. Gmelin, of course, imme¬
diately classed it with the eels, and it thus became the Mu~
rcena siren of his edition of the Systerna Natures ! What¬
ever may be thought of Dr Garden’s skill as an anatomist,
Camper’s conclusion was certainly somewhat precipitate, in
the face of so great an authority as that of John Hunter.
In the year 1800, Baron Cuvier received a young siren
from M. de Beauvois. The great French anatomist, whose
splendid labours have thrown such a flood of light on so
many obscure subjects of zoological science, was not likely
to lose the opportunity of settling this still disputed point.
In his first observations,6 and in an after and more ample
memoir,7 he has, we think, successfully shown that both the
proteus and siren are perfect, that is, completed animals,
belonging to different genera of Batrachian reptiles, but
quite distinct from either lizards or salamanders in any of
their progressive stages. Yet the opposite opinion (so te¬
nacious is error) does not continue without adherents. In
an elaborate essay by two Italian authors, Sig. Configliachi
and Rusconi, in w'hich the siren is incidentally mentioned,
these naturalists infer from analogy, that as the canal of the
nostrils is not so perforated as to open into the interior of
the mouth, so it must be incapable of respiring atmospheric
air, and would speedily die if removed from its liquid ele¬
ment.8
Now, the value of the living siren observed by Dr Neill
for six or seven successive seasons, consisted in this,—that
it demonstrated de facto, what had been previously a mat¬
ter of mere logical inference on the part of the anatomist.
During the long period of its confinement no change what¬
ever took place, either in its general aspect, or in the form
or structure of the feet and gills. Had it been a larva, it
would assuredly have lost these last-named organs during
the time of observation. But the most curious result re¬
garding this specimen was obtained accidentally, and hap¬
pily illustrates the very point on which it was most desirable
to obtain information. It is thus related by Dr Neill: “Al¬
though I certainly would not have made the experiment of
the fragility of the siren, by throwing it on the ground, and
although I wTould have hesitated to keep the animal out of
the water for several hours, while I knew that respectable
naturalists doubted if it would live more than a few minutes
out of that element, yet it so happened that the creature
on one occasion made of its own accord an experiment (if
it may be so called) illustrative of both points. The wa¬
ter-box itself (in which the siren dwelt) was ten inches
deep: it was placed on a plant trellis or shelf, close by the
lower end of the sloping roof-sash of the green-house, and
thus stood nearly three feet from the ground. At that pe-
1 See Phil. Trans. Ivi. 191 and 307. 2 Nov. Comm. Petrop. xix. 438. 3 Tabula Affinitatum Animalium, 256.
4 Hist. Nat. des Quadruples Ovipaires, 611. 5 Historia Amphibiorum, fascic. 1, 48. 6 Bulletin des Sciences, an 8, p. 106.
7 Recherches Anatomiques, &c., in Humboldt’s Recueil d'Observations de Zoologie, 98—117.
8 Del Proteo Anguino di Laurenti Monographia, Pavia, 1819.
86 R E P T
Index, riod the box happened to leak ; and the gardener therefore
filled it up with water between seven and eight o’clock in the
evening, at which time the siren was seen safely lodged in
the box. The door of the green-house was locked as usual
over night, and before it was opened in the morning, the
siren, to the great surprise of the gardener, was found lying
on a footpath which passes round the exterior of the green¬
house. I was speedily apprized of the circumstance, and on
examining the spot, we could most distinctly trace, by a
shining glaze, derived from its skin, the passage of the ani¬
mal through an edging of heath (£Wca herbacea), and across
a narrow flower-border, to a hole which he had scooped out
under the brick-wall of the green-house, in escaping from
within. The foundation of this wall, it may be remarked,
had intentionally been made shallow, or near to the surface,
for the purpose of permitting the roots of some shrubs,
planted in the conservatory style within, to penetrate to the
exterior border. We possess no data for fixing with cer¬
tainty the number of hours during which the animal had
been out of the water. The box, as already mentioned,
being leaky, was filled near to the brim between seven and
eight in the evening ; it seems likely that this filling up had
disturbed the animal, and that it had been enabled partly
to crawl and partly to glide over the margin, while the wa¬
ter yet stood high, or early in the night; for the water had
subsided five or six inches before morning. The escape of
so much water had formed, of the soil below, a kind of
sludge, probably somewhat analogous in character to the
‘ stiff clay’ of its native swamps, in which it is said some¬
times to burrow ; and this must have greatly facilitated the
first underground operations of the siren. Still, however,
as the excavation made was not less than eight inches in
depth, and nearly three feet in length, for the ascending
aperture on the outside sloped at an angle of about 30°, it
seems reasonable to conclude that the siren must have been
several hours hard at work in forming so extensive a tun¬
nel for itself. In further proof of its exertions, it may be
observed, that a considerable part of the dark-coloured epi¬
dermis, or covering of minute indistinct scales, was worn off
its snout, and the skin of the upper part of the back was
in different places ruffled. The morning was very cold,
and the mercury in a register-thermometer kept in the
green-house had been as low as 33° Fahrenheit at one pe¬
riod of the preceding night. The animal was observed about
seven a. m. lying doubled, or with the body bent round, but
not coiled, on the footpath. He was exceedingly benumbed,
being just able to show signs of life when lifted by the
gardener. Considering the evidence of long-continued ac¬
tive exertions during the night, it seems reasonable to ascribe
his almost torpid state when found, to the freezing cold
which he had encountered when he had made his w’ay fair¬
ly to the outside. When first restored to the watery ele¬
ment, the animal breathed hard, rushing to the surface, and
opening his mouth with a wide gape to inhale air. He soon
ILIA.
after sunk down, and let several strings of air-bubbles es- Index,
cape. The branchiae were doubtless to a certain degree
dried, and thus obstructed ; and it evidently took some time
before they could freely perform their accustomed office.
When, however, I again examined him several hours after¬
wards, he seemed perfectly contented to remain wholly un¬
der water; and on being touched, appeared as lively and as
well as ever. The decorticated portions of the back and
snout showed us the colour of the true skin below, which
w’as of a pale leaden hue.”1 2
During the first year and a half of the siren’s captivity
at Canonmills, his box (filled with moss and water) was
placed in a green-house, which merely excluded the severity
of winter. He was very sluggish all this time, exhibited
few signs of appetite, and from October to May entirely
declined food. In the spring of 1827 he was placed in a
hot-house intended for the culture of tropical plants, where
the temperature was generally about 65°. He there be¬
came much more lively, and soon began his song, which,
unlike the delusive voice of the ancient sirens, differed little
from the croaking of a frog. He then devoured small earth¬
worms with some avidity, and continued the practice with¬
out any lengthened intermission till his death in October
1831, after a captivity of nearly six years and a half, dur-^
ing which long period no structural change took place, nor
was the slightest tendency to any such change discernible.
The death of this reptile was occasioned, we doubt not, as
Dr Neill supposes, by the drying up of the fimbriae of the
branchial apparatus, consequent on its having again escaped
from its watery reservoir.^
We observed that the siren breathed air rather through
the mouth than the nose, and expelled it in the same man¬
ner when put into the water, from which it may be inferred,
that the nasal organ is in a rudimentary state (in the pro-
tens it is said not to exist at all), so far at least as concerns
the act of respiration. The eyes of the siren are dim and
motionless; and we did not perceive that an increase of
light caused any appearance of contraction or other change.
Yet the sight must be tolerably acute, as in pressing a fly
downwards under water with the point of a hair pencil, on
the side of the vessel in which the reptile lay, it made a
catch at the insect almost the moment it touched the sur¬
face, and immediately snapped it in two.3
Besides the species to which the preceding history and
observations apply, two others are known to naturalists as
inhabitants of the southern states of North America,—viz.,
the Siren striata of Le Conte, and the Siren intermedia of
that author.4 (j. W.)
—We are requested by the author of the article Physical
Geography to state here, that he had been led to assert, on what he
considered the best authority, that there were no serpents in Borneo
(art. 405) ; but he has since learned from the Rev. Mr Horsburgh,
resident in that island, that serpents are there abundant.—Ed.]
INDEX.
Page
Acanthophis  71
Acontias  41
Acrochordus  63
Agama  31
Agamaz  31
Agamians  31
Algyra  30
Alligator  25
Amboyna  32
Ameiva  28
Amphisbaena  40
Page
AMPHISEiENID^l  40
Amphiuma  84
Anguidae  41
Anguis  41
Anolius  34
Aspic  71
Axolotus  84
Basilisc  34
Basiliscus  34
BATRACHIA  73
Bipes  39
Page
Blind-worms  40
Boa  61
Boas  59
Bombinator  81
Breviceps  81
Bufo  79
Bungarus  64
Burrowing Serpents ... 55
Caecilia 
CjECILEDAE
Calaroaria..
40
40
55
Page
Calotes  32
Cameleons  37
Cerastes  71
Ceratophrys  77
Chalcides  39
Chamaeleo  37
CHAMAELEONIDjE   37
CHELONIA  16
Chelonia (genus)  18
Chelys  21
Chirotes  39
Page
Coluber  56
Colubriform Serpents.. 63
Cordylus  31
Coronella  55
Crocodiles  22
Crocodilidae  22
Crocodilus  23
Crotalus  68
Dactyleihra  78
Dendraspis  64
Dendrophis  57
1 Jameson’s JowrnaZ, January—April, 1828. .. ooo /iooo\
2 See New York Med. and Bhys. Jour, for June 1824 ; and Dr Neill’s additional notice in Edin. New Phil. Jour. xn. 298 (1832).
3 Ulus. Zool., vol. i., art. Siren. * See Ann. of Lyceum of New York, vol. i.; and Harlan’s Amer. Herpet., p. 6.
s
REP
Dipsas,
Page
.. 58
Repton
„ Doryphorus  31
Requista Dra^  32
Dryiophis  57
Elaps  64
Emys  17
Eryx  55
Fresh-water Serpents... 58
Frogs  75
Gavialis  23
Gavials  23
Gecko   35
Geckotid^;    35
Guanas  33
Gymnodactylus  37
Hemidactyli  36
Herpetodryas  57
Heterodon   55
Ilomalopsis  59
Hydraspis  18
Hydrophis.  67
■ its poison... 46
Hyla  78
Iguana  33
Iguanas   30
Iguanid^:   30
Istiurus  32
Lacerta  28
Laceetinidae  27
Page
Leposternon  40
Lizards  27
Lophyrus  32
Lycodon   56
Lyriocephalus  32
Menobranchus  84
Menopoma  84
Monitor  27
Nnja  64
Natter-jack  80
Natrix  58
Newts  82
Non-venomous Ser¬
pents   55
OPHIDIA  39
Ophisaurus  41
Ophryessa   34
Otilopha  81
Phyllurus   37
Pipa  81
Platydactyli..   35
Poisonous Serpents .... 67
Polychrus  34
Proteus  84
Psanimophis  57
Pseudopus  41
Ptyodactyli ,... 36
Python  62
Rana  76
Page
Ranidae  75
Rattlesnakes    68
Reptiles,—
Definition of, &c.... 13
Patrachian  73
Chelonian  16
Ophidian  41
Saurian  21
Rhinella  81
Salamanders  83
Salamandra  83
SAI.AMANDRID.E  82
SAURIA  21
Sauve-gardes  28
Scincid^e  37
Scincus.  37
Sea-serpents  65
Seps  37
Serpents in general  39
Their definition .... 39
Vertebrae, muscles,
&c  43
Teeth and poison-
glands  44
Effects of their poi¬
son   45
Theory of its action. 46
Their tongue  47
Alimentary canal... 47
R E
Page
Serpents.
Digestion  47
Deglutition  47
Circulation  48
Respiration  48
Brain   48
General envelope... 48
Colours  49
Production   50
Geographical dis¬
tribution  50
Europe  51
Africa  52
Asia   53
America  54
Burrowing   55
Fresh-water  58
Non-venomous  55
Poisonous  67
Sea  65
Terrestrial  55
Tree  57
True  42
Venomous  63
Worm-like  55
Siren  84
Sitana  33
Slow-worms  41
Spheriodactyli  36
87
Page
Stellio  31
Stelliones  31
Stenodactylus  37
Tachydromus   30
Tadpoles  ... 74
Terrestrial Serpents ... 55
Testudo  17
Teyus  28
Thecadactyli   38
Toads  79
Tortoises  17
Tortrix  55
Trapelus  32
Tree-serpents  57
Trigonocephalus  67
Trionyx   21
Triton  83
Tropidonotus  58
True Serpents  42
Turtles  18
Typhlops  41
Uromastyx    31
Varanus  28
Venomous Serpents  43
Viper  70
Vipera  70
Worm-like Serpents.... 55
Xenodon  55
Xenopeltis  53
Resht
Resin.
REPTON, Humphry, an eminent landscape-gardener,
was born at Bury St Edmund’s in 1752, and was educated
for the mercantile profession. A course of bad success
soon occurred to determine his ultimate calling. He was
set up as a general merchant; but in no long time he met
with losses which discouraged him. In 1783, he became
confidential secretary to Mr Windham, secretary to the
lord-lieutenant of Ireland; but a disgust at politics sent
him back almost immediately to his country-house near
Aylesham, in Norfolk. No less unfortunate was his con¬
nection in 1784 with Palmer, the introducer of the mail-
coach system. He was obliged to take a small house at
Hare Street in Essex, and to try some new means of live¬
lihood. It was at this time that Repton began his suc¬
cessful career as a landscape-gardener. His good taste
and elegant acquirements procured him constant employ¬
ment. The works which he continued to publish on the
subjects of his calling increased his reputation. At the
time of his death, in 1818, there was scarcely a county in
England which did not contain beautiful examples of his
skill. Among the publications of Repton are the follow¬
ing:—Sketches and Hints on Landscape-Gardening, 4to,
1794; Observations on Landscape-Gardening, 4to, 1803;
Observations on the Changes in Landscape-Gardening, 8vo,
1806; and a treatise On the Introduction of Indian Ar¬
chitecture and Gardening, fol. 1808. These works, ac¬
companied by a memoir of the author, were reprinted in a
collected form in 1840 by the late Mr Loudon.
REPUBLIC. See Government.
REQUENA, a town of Spain, in the province of New
Castile, department and 64 miles S.E. of Cuenca. It occu¬
pies an elevated position among wild, rocky, pine-covered
mountains, but has an extensive view over a rich plain. It
is commanded by a castle, and has some traces of the walls
that anciently encircled it and made it a place of great
strength. The streets are straight, and the houses well
built. The chief edifices are three churches and two former
convents, the one now the town-hall, the other the barracks.
In the principal square is a fountain. The inhabitants are
chiefly employed in farming, and weaving of silks ; also in
dye-works, distilleries, flour-mills, and other manufactories.
Some trade is carried on with Valencia and Castile in agri¬
cultural prtjduee and manufactured goods. Pop. 10,404.
REQUISTA, a village of France, in the department of
Aveyron, arrondissement and 20 miles S. of Rodez. It has
some trade in cheese, butter, and yarn. Pop. 4380.
RESHT, or Reshd, a town of Persia, capital of the pro¬
vince of Ghilan, stands in the midst of a wood, near the
coast of the Caspian, 150 miles N.W. of Teheran. The
streets are for the most part well paved, and the houses
built in a superior manner. Large bazaars, partially open
and partially roofed in, form the principal buildings in the
town. Resht is the most unhealthy place in Ghilan, a pro¬
vince which is proverbial in Persia for its insalubrity. The
chief manufacture of the town is silk-weaving ; and the
trade is very active, being carried on with Astrakhan,
through the port of Enzillee on the Caspian, about 18 miles
off; and by land with the principal towns of Persia. Near
the port is a Russian colony of fishermen. Pop. about
60,000.
RESIN, or Rosin, is the name commonly applied in
commerce to the colophony, or solid residuum, obtained by
distilling common turpentine, which consists of from 10 to
25 per cent, of the essential oil called spirit of turpentine,
and the remainder of the brittle, brown transparent rosin,
the composition of which is of a complicated nature, the
following products being all obtained from this substance :
— Terebene, colophene, resinein, retinaptha or toluole, re-
tiny le or cumole, retinole, napthalin, metanapthalin, be¬
sides others less known. All these substances are combi¬
nations in different proportions of hydrogen and carbon,
and are called chemically hydro-carbons. Of late a
valuable compound, resembling in most respects a vege¬
table oil, has been manufactured from rosin, and is now
extensively manufactured both in Europe and America.
It is about the colour of rape-oil, and is largely used in
adulterating the common vegetable oils.
This rosin-oil is a combination of the retinaptha Cu H8
retinyle Ci8H12 retinole C32HIG and the metanapthalin
C40H16 and is separated from the other constituents by
distillation. Several attempts have been made from time
to time to use the gas which is formed by the decomposi¬
tion of rosin-oil in the place of the coal-gas in ordinary use.
The most extensive attempt of the kind was made at
Southport in Lancashire, which formerly was lighted with
rosin gas. The expense of its production in a neighbour¬
hood where coal is plentiful has, however, led to its use
being abandoned.
88 RES
Resina Rosin is completely soluble in alkaline leys, and is con-
11 sequently available in the manufacture of the commoner
^siftance kinds of soap, and is for this purpose very extensively
f s'y employed. It is also used for a variety of purposes in
" t]ie ar(.s an(j manufactures, and in the composition of various
pharmaceutical preparations, such as plasters and ointments,
but is employed internally only in horse medicines.
Many plants of the nat. ord. Coniferce yield turpentine
and rosin abundantly; but so plentiful is the supply yielded
by two species (Pinus Tceda, Lambert, and P. palustris,
Lambert), which are amongst the commonest forest trees
of the United States, that nearly all the turpentine used
in this country is imported from America. The quantity
received in the various ports of this kingdom in 1858 was
12,043 tons. It is imported in barrels, each containing about
2^- cwt., and is in colour and consistency much like honey.
There are other resins besides that procured from tur¬
pentine : they are usually termed gums or gum-resins. The
following are the best known and most useful:—
Copal—Which is supposed to be yielded by some species
of the genus Hymenaea, large tropical trees of the nat.
ord. Leguminosce. There are two kinds in commerce,—the
Indian, which is received from Bombay in irregular-shaped
fragments of a straw colour, and transparent when in thin
pieces; the other is from Sierra Leone and other ports of
Western Africa. This kind is in much larger lumps, vary¬
ing in size from a hen’s egg to that of a man’s fist, and is
imported in very large quantities. It is less valuable than
the Indian variety, being coarser and less translucent: both
are used exclusively in the manufacture of varnishes. There
is a Brazilian species, but it is not well known. Mastic is
the produce of Pistacia lentiscus (Linn.) It is brought
chiefly from Mogadore and other North African ports.
Two kinds occur in commerce; the better sort is in small
roundish tears of a yellowish colour, slightly translucent.
It is picked from the mastic bushes. The other sort is in
irregular masses which have fallen from the branches to the
earth, and are consequently mixed with many impurities.
Both are used in the manufacture of the fine varnish used
for varnishing prints, maps, and drawings.
Several other resins are used in small quantities in medi¬
cines, but are not of much importance. The imports of
gum-resins in 1858 were:—Copal (also called gum animi)
8900 cwt. ; mastic, 1100 cwt.; olibanum, 120 cwt.; assa-
fcetida, 1316 cwt. ; guaiacum, 73 cwt. ; benzoin, 104 cwt.;
ammoniacum, 126 cwt.; euphorbium, 27 cwt. The less
known ones were entered as gums unenumerated conse¬
quently their separate quantities are unknown, (t. c. A.)
RESINA, a town of the kingdom of Naples, in the pro¬
vince, on the shore of the bay, and 6 miles S.E.of Naples. It
is built on the streams of lava and volcanic alluvium beneath
which Herculaneum lies buried 70 feet deep. Numerous
villas and country seats of the aristocracy of Naples stand
in the vicinity; the chief of them is La Favorita, belong¬
ing to the Duke of Salerno. Resina is the most con¬
venient place from which to begin the ascent of Vesuvius.
Pop. 11,000.
RESISTANCE OF FLUIDS. Resistance, or Re¬
sisting Force, denotes in general any power which acts in
an opposite direction to another, so as to destroy or dimi¬
nish its effect. (See Mechanics, Hydrodynamics, and
Pneumatics.) Of all the resistances of bodies to each
other, there is undoubtedly none of greater importance
than the resistance or re-action of fluids. It is here that
wTe must look for a theory of naval architecture; for the
impulse of the air, which is our moving power, must be
modified so as to produce every motion we want by the
form and disposition of our sails; and the resistance of the
water, which is the force to be overcome, must also be mo¬
dified to our purpose, in order that the ship may not drive
like a log to leeward, but, on the contrary, may ply to wind-
RES
ward; that she may answer her helm briskly, and be easy Resistance
in all her motions on the surface of the ocean. The im- of Plaids,
pulse of wind and water makes these elements ready and
indefatigable servants in a thousand shapes for driving our
machines, and we should lose much of their service did we
remain ignorant of the laws of their action; they would
sometimes become terrible masters if we did not fall upon
methods of eluding or softening their attacks. We cannot
read the accounts of the naval exertions of Phoenicia, Car¬
thage, and of Rome,—exertions which have hardly been
surpassed by anything of modern date,—without believing
that the ancients possessed much practical and experimen¬
tal knowledge of this subject. It was not perhaps pos¬
sessed by them in a strict and systematic form, as it is now
taught by our mathematicians ; but the master-builders, in
their dockyards, did undoubtedly exercise their genius in
marking those circumstances of form and dimension which
were, in fact, accompanied with the desirable properties of
a ship, and thus frame to themselves maxims of naval archi¬
tecture in the same manner as we do now. The ancients
had not made any great progress in the physico-mathema-
cal sciences, which consist chiefly in the application of an¬
alysis to the phenomena of nature; and in this branch, in
particular, they could make none, because they had not the
means of investigation. A knowledge of the motions and
actions of fluids is accessible only to those who are fami¬
liarly acquainted with the fluxionary mathematics ; and
without this key there is no admittance. Even when pos¬
sessed of this guide, our progress has been very xslow, hesi¬
tating, and devious; and we have not yet been able to
establish any set of doctrines which are susceptible of an
easy and confident application to the arts of life. If we
have advanced farther than the ancients, it is because we
have come after them, and have profited by their labours,
and even by their mistakes.
Sir Isaac Newton was the first who attempted to make
the motions and actions of fluids the subject of mathema¬
tical discussion. He had invented the method of fluxions
long before he engaged in his physical researches, and he
proceeded in these sua mathesi facem prccferente. Yet
even with this guide he was often obliged to grope his way,
and to try various bye-paths, in the hope of obtaining a
legitimate theory. Having exerted all his powers in esta¬
blishing a theory of the lunar motions, he was obliged to
rest contented with an approximation instead of a perfect
solution of the problem which ascertains the motions of
three bodies mutually acting on each other. This con¬
vinced him that it was in vain to expect an accurate inves¬
tigation of the motions and actions of fluids, where millions
of unseen particles combine their influence. He therefore
endeavoured to find some particular case of the problem
which would admit of an accurate determination, and at the
same time furnish circumstances of analogy or resemblance
sufficiently numerous for giving the limits of those other
cases that did not admit of this accurate investigation.
Newton figured to himself a hypothetical collection of
matter possessing the characteristic property of fluidity,
viz., the quaquaversum propagation of pressure, and the
most perfect intermobility of parts, and forming a physical
whole or aggregate, whose parts were connected by mecha¬
nical forces determined both in degree and in direction, so
that the determination of certain important circumstances
of the motion of the parts might be rendered susceptible of
precise investigation. And he concluded that the laws
which he should discover in these motions must have a great
analogy with the laws of the motions of real fluids; and
from this hypothesis he deduced a series of propositions
which form the basis of almost all the theories of the im¬
pulse and resistance of fluids which have been offered to the
public since his time. It must be acknowledged that the
results of this theory agree but ill with experiment, and
RET
Retford.
that, in the way in which it has been prosecuted by subse-
J quent mathematicians, it proceeds on principles or assump¬
tions which are not only gratuitous, but even false. But
with all its imperfections, it still furnishes (as was expected
by its illustrious author) many propositions of immense
practical use, they being the limits to which the real phe¬
nomena of the impulse and resistance of fluids really ap¬
proximate ; so that when the law by which the phenomena
deviate from the theory is once determined by a well-chosen
series of experiments, this hypothetical theory becomes al¬
most as valuable as a true one. It continues to be the
groundwork of all our practical knowledge of the subject.
We know by experience that force must be applied to a
body in order that it may move through a fluid, such as air
or water; and that a body projected with any velocity is
gradually retarded in its motion, and generally brought to
rest. Analogy leads us to imagine that there is a force
acting in the opposite direction, or opposing the motion,
and that this force resides in or is exerted by the fluid;
and the phenomena resemble those which accompany the
known resistance of active beings, such as animals; there-
fore we give to this supposed force the metaphorical name
of resistance. We also know that a fluid in motion
w'ill hurry a solid body along with the stream, and that force
is required to maintain it in its place. A similar analogy
makes us suppose that the fluid exerts force, in the same
manner as when an active being impels the body before
him; therefore we call this the Impulsion of a Fluid.
And as our knowledge of nature teaches us that the mutual
actions of bodies are in every case equal and opposite, and
that the observed change of motion is only the indication
and measure of the changing force, the forces are the same,
whether we call them impulsions or resistances, when the
relative motions are the same, and therefore depend entirely
on these relative motions. The force, therefore, which is
necessary for keeping a body immoveable in a stream of
water flowing with a certain velocity, is the same with what
is required for moving this body with this velocity through
stagnant water. A body in motion appears to be resisted
by a stagnant fluid, because it is a law of nature that force
must be employed in order to put any body in motion.
Now the body cannot move forward without putting the
contiguous fluid in motion, and force must be employed for
producing this motion. In like manner, a quiescent body
is impelled by a stream of fluid, because the motion of the
contiguous fluid is diminished by this solid obstacle; the
resistance, therefore, or impulse, no way differs from the
ordinary communications of motion among solid bodies.
Experiments on this subject have been made by Sir Isaac
Newton, D. Bernoulli, Du Buat, Sir Charles Knowles,
Euler, D’Alembert, S’Gravesende, Coulomb, Hutton, and
Vince. A detailed account of the theories of those authors
will be found in the article Hydrodynamics, ii., c. 3.
RE I FORD, East, a market-town, municipal and par¬
liamentary borough of England, in Nottinghamshire, on
the right bank of the Idle, here crossed by a bridge lead¬
ing to West Retford, 33 miles N.N.E. of Nottingham, and
138 N.N.W. of London. It is well built and paved; and
has a large, irregular market-place, with a pillar in the
centre, occupying the site of a more ancient cross. West
Retford is a smaller and more modern town; and South
Retford is a name given to an enlargement of the town
towards the south that has recently been made. The
parish church of East Retford is a large edifice, of various
dates and in various styles, surmounted by a lofty square
tower; that of West Retford is smaller, but very elegant.
In a suburb of the town called Moorgate stands a Gothic
chapel of ease; and the other places of worship belong to
Independents, Baptists, Wesleyans, and other dissenters.
The town-hall is a handsome structure. A free grammar
school, national and infant schools, a literary and scientific
VOL. XIX.
RET
institution, with a library, are founded for the instruction of
the town ; while an hospital, alms-houses, and various other
establishments form the charitable institutions. Few ma¬
nufactories of any kind exist here: the town is supported
chiefly by retail trade with the surrounding country, the
principal articles of commerce being coal, corn, hops, and
dairy produce. Weekly markets and annual fairs are held
here. The borough is governed by a mayor, three other
aldermen, and twelve councillors; and returns two mem¬
bers to Parliament. Pop. (1851) of the municipal borough,
2943 ; of the parliamentary borough, 46,054.
RE 1HEL, a town of France, capital of an arrondissement
in the department of Ardennes, on a steep slope on the
right bank of the Aisne, 22 miles S.W. of Mezieres. Its
broad, straight streets are lined with houses generally ill
built, and frequently only of wood. A large market-house,
several churches, a theatre, and prisons, are the chief build¬
ings of the town. The principal church is a remarkable
building, formed by the union of two placed side by side;
and it is decorated with bas-reliefs and other sculptures.
Three ancient gates of the town still remain. Rethel has
a college, agricultural society, chamber of manufactures,
and court of law. It is a busy place, manufacturing leather,
woollen cloth, and other articles, in which there is also an
active trade. Pop. (1856), 7214.
RETICLE. See Micrometer.
RETICULA I ION. Among the devices which man has
invented for securing to himself the “dominion over the fish
of the sea and over the fowl of the air,” the net is conspicuous.
Netting therefore becomes an art of some importance; and
among the varieties of it, fishing-net making is the most im¬
portant. Fishing-nets are simple but ingenious contrivances,
admirably adapted to their use ; for when wet they are easily
dried, when torn easily mended. They offer little resistance
when drawn out of the water, whereby the labour of haul¬
ing them is greatly diminished ; the risk of their being
overthrown or carried away by tides, currents, or storms is
lessened ; and the more shy fish are not so easily scared
away as they otherwise would be by toils more densely
wrought. I he sand, the mud, the young fry and spawn,
the small insects and other animals inhabiting the waters,
find a free passage through the meshes, and thus much
wanton destruction of animal life is prevented, whilst a
larger abundance and a more regular supply of fish is ob¬
tained than by any other mode. Netting differs from weav¬
ing in this, that where the threads or cords cross each other
they are tied into hard knots, so that each mesh is incapable
of enlargement or diminution. The forms of nets vary ac¬
cording to the manner in which they are intended to act,
and this is either by entangling the fish in their complicated
folds, as in the trammel; receiving them into pockets, as in
the trawl; suspending them by the body in the meshes, as in
the mackerel-net; imprisoning them within their labyrinth¬
like chambers, as in the stake-net; or drawing them to
shore, as in the seine. The parts of a net are the head or
upper margin, along which the corks are strung upon a
rope called the head-rope ; the foot is the opposite or lower
margin, which carries the foot-rope, on which in many
cases leaden plummets are made fast. The meshes are
the squares composing the net. The width of a net is ex¬
pressed by the term over, as a day-net is three fathoms
long and one over or wide. The lever is the first row of
a net. There are also accrues, false meshes, or quarterings,
which are loops inserted in any given row, by which the
number of meshes is increased. To bread or breathe a
net is to make a net. Dead netting is a piece without
either accrues or stole (stolen) meshes, which last means
that a mesh is taken away by netting into two meshes of
the preceding row at once, thereby diminishing the net at
any part. With respect to the tools used in netting, the
needle is the instrument used for holding and netting the
H
89
R6thel
II
Reticula¬
tion.
t
90
RETICULATION.
it is made with an eye E, a tongue T,
The twine is
15
Pig. 1. Pig. 2. Fig. 3.
material to be netted
anda/or^ F (fig. 1).
wound on it by being passed alter¬
nately between the fork and round
the tongue, so that the turns of the
string lie parallel to the length of
the needle, and are kept on by the
tongue and fork. A short needle,
about 4 inches long, should be set
apart for mending. A spool or
mesh-pin is a piece of wood on
which the loops are formed, as in
fig. 2 ; or it may be formed flat, as
in fig. 3 ; the circumference of the
spool determining the size of the ,
loops. Each loop contains two sides {/pA
of the square mesh ; therefore, sup- [j (J
posing that it be required to make
a mesh 1 inch square,—that is,
measuring 1 inch from knot to knot,—a spool 2 inches in
circumference must be used. Large meshes may be formed
by giving the twine two or more turns round the spool, as
occasion may require, or the spool may be made flat, and of
a sufficient width, having a portion cut away to admit the
finger and thumb to grasp it conveniently (fig. 3). A pair
of round-pointed scissors, so as to be carried conveniently
in the pocket, and a knife, are likewise useful. To return on
your work is when, in breading a cylindrical net, you stop
at any given point, turn your work and net back again, in¬
stead of going on round and round, as in forming the regard
of the hoop net, which is a slit made in that engine,
through which the fisherman introduces his hand to extract
the fish caught therein, when he goes to look {regarder,
French) what success he has had. Taught, tight; the
twine is pulled taught when a knot is made. 2. The
method of making the loop or stitch in netting can be
taught, but it is not easy to describe it in writing. 3. The
same may be said of making accrues. 4. The bend-knot is
constantly required for uniting two ends of twine together,
and it is made as shown in fig. 4, in which
A and B are to be joined. 5. The art of
mending is of great importance ; for if
the fisherman cannot mend an occasional
rent, he will soon be obliged to have a new
net. The amateur netter and game-
keeper often neglects this part of the art
of reticulation, and a bungling confusion
of threads, drawn together anyhow, serv¬
ing rather to increase the mischief, is sub¬
stituted for a neat and efficient repair. In order to explain
the method to be pursued, we will suppose that a net
(fig. 5) has an injury in the middle of the space indicated
Pig. 4.
by the dotted lines. We must begin by cutting the net,—
that is, the hole must be enlarged, not only by removing
that portion which is actually torn, but by cutting into the
sound parts. The parts to be cut away are marked by the
transverse lines b, a, a, a ; c, b, a, a, a, d, below the knots of
the original net. It will be observed that, whereas at a, a, a,
c, a, a, a, d, two sides of the meshes are cut, one only is re- Reticula-
moved at bb. In performing this manoeuvre, the workman tion-
must have the net hung before him in its proper position,—
viz., in the order in which the rows were netted, as in fig. 5.
This requires attention, because if either of the sides c or
d were uppermost, the mischief would be increased when
he came to cut away according to the above instructions.
The next thing to be done is to unpick the knots of the
old meshes, a, a, a, a, a, a ; but the lateral knots c, d must
not be unpicked, for that would destroy the adjoining sound
meshes; for the same reason, only one side of the meshes
bb\s cut. We must suppose, then, that the meshes repre¬
sented by the dotted lines are entirely removed; the next
thing to be done is to replace them. It is evident that
this cannot be properly accomplished unless the inserted
meshes resemble as accurately as possible those that have
been removed. A practised hand will effect this without
a spool; but some skilful workmen think that it is less
troublesome, and that the required regularity of the meshes
is better insured if a spool be used suitable to the meshes
of the old net. Having filled a small needle with twine,
make fast the end above the knot at K (fig. 5), hold the
spool and needle in the usual way, and take up the loops
L, M, N, as in common netting; when at N, lay aside the
spool, and make the side NO. This is done by means of
the bend-knot, the angle P being the bend or loop of the
knot. The second row is now to be netted in the same
way as the first, and so on with the rest, the single side at
the end of each row being managed as at NO, and leading
down to the row beneath. We have supposed the work¬
man to have begun and ended this first row, netting from
left to right; to work back the second row, he has simply
to get on the other side of his net, or to turn the latter
over, as may be most convenient, and thus to net on as
usual from left to right, changing at the end of each row
either the position of his net or of his own person. We
shall next suppose that the required number of rows save
one is completed ; we must insert a junction row between
the row QRST, and that of the old net VWXY. This is
done without a spool, by making the side TV fast at V
with a bend-knot round the loop of the old net at V ; then
the side VS, with a bend-knot at S, round the loop of the
new piece at S: then the sides SW, WR, RX, XQ, QY,
in the same manner. Care must be taken that these sides
be of the same length as the sides of the other meshes. At
the beginning K and the end Y of your work, leave ends
e, e to prevent the knot slipping. In fig. 5 three rows have
been removed ; and it will be seen that those loops which
have only one side removed are diagonally opposite to each
other; and thus it is when an uneven number of rows is to
be cut away; but when an even number is removed, those
loops of which only one side is cut are at opposite angles of
the orifice, but on the same side of the square. 6. Oblong
and square netting.—If it be required to have a net with
meshes setting in squares with their sides accurately at
right angles with each other, like the squares in a sash-
window frame, the following method is to be pursued.
Net one loop for the first row, draw the spool out and net
two loops for the second row, the additional loop being ob¬
tained by taking up that one loop which formed the first
row twice, or, as it is technically termed, by setting in a
false mesh. The second row will thus consist of two loops.
Remove the spool, begin the third row, which is to consist
of three loops, the additional one being gained as before.
Continue thus adding a loop at the end of each row until
you have made your half square as large as you require,
the two selvages on each side of the netting forming two
sides of the square; then, before you begin to form the
other two sides of the square, net one row of dead netting,
—i.e,, do not increase or diminish anywhere; but at the
end of the following rows set in a stole mesh,—i.e., take up
RETICULATION.
Reticula- the last two loops of the row together. The net will at
tion* last be reduced to one loop again, and will, when stretched
out, form a complete square, and all the meshes will stand
square with each other. But supposing you want the net
to be longer than it is wide, and yet the meshes composing
it to be square, as in the other, you are to proceed as fol¬
lows :—Form half a square as before, the length of one side
of which will determine the width of the oblong to be
made. When this is done, you must set in a false mesh
at the end of one row, and a stole mesh at the end of the
other row. Continue thus adding and diminishing alter¬
nately, until your oblong is of the required length, and this
is ascertained by measuring the long side of the netting
from the corner to the last knot. Finish off by taking two
loops up at once at the end of each row. In the ob¬
long you need not net a row of plain loops before you
begin to finish off, as was done in the square net. Oblong
and square nets, when worked as now directed, will when
finished appear in the shape of a lozenge, and so will
all the meshes of which they are composed; but when
stretched out with the sides at right angles, each to the
other, the whole net will assume its proper shape. It adds
to the finished appearance of the net if, on making the
last loop of the net, the spool be withdrawn before the knot
is taught, and then draw the twine up; the last loop is
thus as it were absorbed, instead of remaining there to
spoil the neatness of the work. The single loop, too, with
which the net was begun may have its knot sufficiently
loosened to enable the workman to tighten up the loop and
make it vanish, as he did at the other end. A little prac¬
tice will make this clear. Many net-makers consider it a
great saving both of time and twine to make their hay-wet?,,
and the like, after this manner; besides which, the selvage
thus formed along each side of the net affords sufficient
strength without any additional cord to border it. 7. How
to net a round or cylindrical net without having to join.—
Net any given number of loops, and when you come to
the end of the row, instead of turning the net over to net a
second, keep the spool in the last loop, and with the needle
pick up the first loop of the row just finished, and net into
it in the usual manner, and thus the row will be united.
Continue to take up each loop on your right hand in suc¬
cession, as in ordinary netting, and thus go on netting round
and round until you have obtained the required length. The
rows will resemble the turns of a spiral spring descending
from the top to the bottom. 8. How to make a bag-net from
a square.—Net a piece of dead netting containing any given
number of loops in the row, observing always an odd num¬
ber. as 3, 5, 7, 9, 11, according to the proposed size of the
bag ; net double the number of rows that there are loops
in the row save one, as 5, 9, 13, 17, 21. This done, draw
the foundation string,—viz., the string on which you netted
the lever, and fix it in the middle of your square, then net
round and round it. The corner loops must be carefully
worked for the first few rounds to make them set even. It
is always in the workman’s power to increase the circum¬
ference of the bag as he proceeds from the bottom to the
mouth, by setting \w false meshes. In doing this, however,
he must observe regularity, and take care to insert his quar-
terings at equal distances, else the net will be lop-sided and
distorted. 9. Of joining two nets together.—Apply one net
on the other, supposing each to contain the same number
of meshes in the rows to be united, and that the meshes
are of the same size ; then, with a spool a full quarter less in
size than that on which the nets were breaded, net one row
along the margins to be joined, taking up two loops on the
needle,—i.e., one mesh of each net together ; or if the ob¬
ject be to join the first with the last row of the same net,
the two rows must be accurately placed one upon the other,
by folding the net over on itself; then proceed as before.
Sea-nets, such as those for herrings and mackerel, which
91
are made in rands or breadths, are joined rand to rand Reticula-
lengthways, or along the selvages. The former are com- tion.
posed of three breadths, each thirty-two yards long by fifty '
loops deep, on a spool three inches in circumference. At
the close of each year the lowest rand, which goes deepest
into the sea, is removed, and a new one joined on at the
top of the net; so that the rand which was uppermost now
becomes second, and that which was second is now the
lowest. This latter is removed at the end of the next sea¬
son, when the same rule is observed in replacing it, and
so on every year; thus the whole of the original net is re¬
newed every three years. This operation is called by net-
makers giving the net a new jacket. Another mode of
joining, and when performed carefully it is the neatest, is
by uniting the two nets, or the two margins of one net, in
the same way as the last row of the new piece is joined to
the meshes of the old net in mending. The first-made side
of the inserted ox joining work must be twice as long as
the rest, as also the last side of the suture; for they in
fact are equivalent to tvjo sides of a mesh.
The following description of specific nets will serve to
furnish examples of the foregoing rules, and of the mode of
mounting nets, which yet remains to be noticed:—The
casting-net is netted round and round (see No. 7 in this
article); the number of the loops for the lever vary, as well
as their size, according as it is intended for gudgeons, &c.,
or minnoxvs ; in either case, it would be a great loss of la¬
bour if the whole net were made on one spool so small as
it is necessary the lower part of the net should be. Spools,
therefore, of different circumferences are used, diminishing
gradually from the largest for the top, to the smallest for
the tuck. The following will form a good-sized net for
gudgeons and larger fish:—Fill the needle with double
twine; net four rounds with a spool two inches and a half
circumference on a lever of thirty-six loops ; then use
single twine, and in the fifth row set in twelve false meshes ;
net two rounds dead netting, and then set m false meshes
in the same line with the others, having taken care to set
in the quarterings of the fifth row to as to divide the circle
into equal parts. Net two feet down on the first spool,
then one foot down on each of seven other spools, each
spool being an eighth of an inch less than the preceding
one. Continue to set in quarterings in their proper places,
and at the commencement of the eighth foot set in four ad¬
ditional false meshes equidistantly between the original
quarterings, and continue putting in the accrues until you
have netted a foot and a half more, having taken to your
eighth spool at the beginning of the ninth foot; then net four
rows dead netting in double twine ; take your ninth spool,
and net two feet six inches of dead netting for the tuck, the
last two rounds in double twine. Have a stout line with
leaden bullets threaded on it, and sew this line, with run¬
ning stitches, through each mesh, along the lowest row of
the net, the interval between each lead being two inches.
This weighted margin is then turned upwards and inwards,
and made fast to the double twine-work above the tuck, at
about every foot of the circumference, by means of ratlines
three inches long. The lead-line should be about a foot
less in length than the row of the tuck to which it is sewn.
The leads are made iast to the line by being tied at each
end to prevent slipping and the holes should be bored as
near the size of the line as possible. The trammel consists
of three separate layers of nettings, and derives its name
from its conformation (trois mailles, French), because it
ensnares by threefold meshes. The three parts consist of
two out-wallings and the lint; this latter is suspended
loosely between the two former, it being made twice their
length and twice their depth. The two out-wallings are
of the same size. The length and depth of this net
vary according to the service it is intended to perform,
either in fishing or fowling; the same may be said of the
RETICULATION.
92
Reticula- size of the meshes ; those of tlie out-wallings, however, are
tion. generally five times larger from knot to knot than those of
the lint. All the parts should be netted four square (as
oblong and square netting is sometimes called, see No. 6 in
this article), the lint in twine as fine as may be consistent
with the required strength, and the out-wallings with much
stouter material in proportion. These, when finished, are
to be mounted. Fix each of the four corners of one out-
walling to four pegs driven into the ground, which should
be cleared of rubbish, &c. The out-walling is to be
stretched tight. Pass all round the lint, through each
mesh, a stout line of twine as thick as that of which the
out-wallings are made. This line, and likewise the lint at
its four corners, is made fast to the four pegs ; the former is
drawn tight from peg to peg ; but the latter, being longer
and wider, hangs loosely. The meshes of the lint should
be as equally distributed along the line as possible. Over
the lint is applied the other out-ioalling, the four corners of
which are to be fastened to the four pegs. If the net is in¬
tended for fishing, a stout cord must be threaded with
round flat corks two inches diameter, and half an inch thick,
more or less. This cord is to be fixed along the head of
the net by means of pieces of twine whipped two or three
times round, and embracing the line of the lint, the mar¬
gins of each out-ivalling, and the cord itself. The twine
is tied into a firm knot at those points where the cord meets
the angles of the out-walling’s meshes. The floats are
placed about six inches apart, and are pierced so as to em¬
brace the head-rope firmly. This last is made fast down
each side of the net, at the angles of the meshes of the out-
wallings ; but it has here no floats ; it is extended along the
bottom of the net, where it is called the foot-rope, and is
weighted with small plates of lead rolled and beaten round
it with a hammer, as a tag is fixed round a boot-lace, at
about every three inches. The cord that thus surrounds
the net must be bent into a loop at each end of the top of
the net, for to these is to be made fast a draw-rope when
the net is shot. Some net-makers also tie the three layers
of net together at each angle of the meshes of the out-
wallings throughout the area of the net, to give additional
strength, and to prevent the lint getting huddled together
at the bottom when suspended in the water or drawn along
the ground. This net acts thus:—The fish or fowl passes
through the large mesh of the out-walling, strikes against
the lint, which, hanging loosely, yields, and protrudes
through the corresponding mesh of the other out-walling,
and thus forms a ccecum, into which the animal falls, and is
entangled. The hoop-net consists of two parts ; the body,
and the valve, funnel, or gullet, which are united in the
manner hereafter to be described. Begin with the body at
its lower or pointed end, and work up to its entrance, thus :
Net thirty-seven loops round on a spool four inches circum¬
ference, one row. Take a spool two inches circumference,
and net twenty rows of dead netting. In the next row set
in five false meshes equidistantly, then twenty rows of dead
netting, then a row with false meshes ; repeat this ma¬
noeuvre ; then net thirty-six rows of dead netting, and the
next row in double twine; thus you have an upper and a
lower row, as shown in fig. 5, the dotted lines representing
the lower row. Cut off the thread which has worked the
upper row, leaving an end; empty your needle, and wind
on it the thread that proceeds from the lower row, and
work on with the single twine as follow's, taking care, how¬
ever, to pick up only the loops of the lower i'ow as you go
round. Net on the same spool fourteen rows of dead net¬
ting, then at equal distances in the circumference of the
fifteenth row set in eight stole meshes, then net two rows of
dead netting, in the next row eight stole meshes in a line
with the others ; repeat this action three times more. After
you have for the fifth time set in your stole meshes, net a
row of plain netting ; lay aside the two-inch spool, and take
a twelve-inch and net one row. The valve is now finished, Reticula-
and must be reflected inwards to gain its right, position* tl0n*
You now take your needle, charged with single twine, and
join on to that end which was left at. the upper row where
the valve issued from the body of the engine; with the
two-inch spool net eleven row's of dead netting. In the
next row set in five false meshes at equal distances each
from the other, and continue to set in these at every third
row eleven times in the same line. This done, make seven
row's of deoA netting, then one row on a four-inch spool in
double twine. Through this last row a pliant stick is passed,
about six feet long, and bent into a boiv (BBB, fig. 6); a
B
piece of cord keeps the extremities in place, answering to
the string of the archer’s bow; the lower meshes of the
net’s mouth are strung on this cord. A weight is generally
attached to the bow at its extremities, somewhere towards
BB. Four hoops are lashed round the net at HHHH, to
prevent its collapsing; these are larger as they proceed from
the point to the mouth, and are made of slighter wood than
the bow, the smallest being about one foot three inches
diameter, and the largest two feet.
Some hoop-nets have more than one valve. In that case
the hoops must always be placed at the entrance of the
valves, and many netters make a row of double twdne at
those parts, to give additional strength where there is most
strain on the netting. The large loops at the bottom of
the funnel are tied together in fasces of equal number of
loops, to four lines, and these are made fast to another line
which is threaded through the last row of meshes belonging
to the point of the body, and which, being drawn tight,
closes up the entrance at that part. All the lines are then
tied to a support at P, and thus the net is kept extended.
The principle of this engine is analogous to that of the com¬
mon mouse-trap. When there is only one valve (as in fig.
6, V), the fisherman withdraws the fish by loosing the line
that closes the body of the net at P; but when there are
more valves than one, he makes a regard in the body be¬
tween each hoop. A regardis thus made: Net round and
round, and when arrived at the part wherein you wish to
put a regard, return on your work ; and when you again
come to the place where you altered your mode of netting,
return again; and thus continue until you have made the
regard of sufficient length, then work round and round as
before.
A tunnel for partridges is made like the hoop-net, but
without valves.
The trawl is a very large and rapacious net, and much
discussion has been held as to whether it should be per¬
mitted. It appears, however, that under proper restrictions
it is not detrimental to the fisheries. This net is composed
of two separate pieces, called the upper the lower leaf;
the meshes are about two inches square. For the under
leaf or blade, net 160 loops in double twine, two rows ; then
with single twine net a plain row; in the next, set in a stole
mesh at about the sixth mesh from the beginning, and an¬
other at about the sixth mesh from the end of the row ; net
three rows of dead netting, then set in stole meshes as be¬
fore ; repeat this once again, afterwards go on setting in
Fig. 7.
R E T I C U
Reticula- stole meshes less frequently,—i.e., leave five rows of dead
tion- netting between, until the width of the blade is reduced to
thirty-six meshes, then net about five feet for the hose or
ail H (fig. 7). The wings are
now to be set on to this leaf.
For this purpose, you must be¬
gin working at the other extre¬
mity, or top of the leaf as at T
or t; net fifty-six loops and
stop ; return on your work ; net
again to the end of your row
(the third), and here, quite at
the extremity, set in a false
mesh; but when, in the course
of netting row after row, you
come to the false meshes, do
not take them up, but let them
hang, as is shown at B and B of
the icings W and W. At the
commencement of every row
which alternates with those to
which you add a false mesh, at
about three loops from the be¬
ginning, set in’ a stole mesh:
thus the false meshes will al¬
ways be on one side, and the
stole meshes on the other side
of the wing, which will thus be
diminished at last to eighteen meshes. When this is
effected, net two rows in double twine, not adding or dimi¬
nishing. Thus one wing is done; net the other in the
same way, and take care that the one is exactly the same
as the other. The under leaf being now finished, we pass
on to the structure of the upper blade (fig. 8). Net 180
loops in double twine, two rows; 1
then with single twine forty rows of “
dead netting ; diminish evenly and
gradually from 188 to 160 meshes,
taking notice that, this reduction
must be made before you come to
a level with the double vows whence
the wings rose in the other blade.
Diminish from 160 to 36, as you
did when working down the lower
leaf, making the hose as before.
The blades being now finished,
must be joined together dowm their
sides, as the sides of a sack are;
and a rope, acting as a binding
along the seams, is sewn on, in the
same way as the head-rope of the
trammel. Round the top of the
upper blade a rope is strung through
the meshes, and carried round the
bosom BBB (fig. 7), being sewn to,
and not threaded through, the
hanging false loops of the wings
W, W. The two blades are then
sewn together at certain parts to
foxvnpockets, in the direction of A, A, A, A, A, A; o, o, o, o, o, o,
being the orifices of the pockets. At L, L loops of rope are
bent, to which lines are hitched for hauling the net out of
the sea into the boat. The two blades or leaves must be ex¬
actly of the same length ; for, when joined, the top row of
the wings must be even with the top row of the back of the
net or upper blade, and the hose should meet no less accu¬
rately at the bottom. When the trawl is in the sea, a long
beam of about thirty feet in length, and seven inches in cir¬
cumference, is lashed to the top of the net, keeping the
wings and back extended from point to point. This beam
is let into irons, called trawl-heads, at each extremity, which
RATION. 93
serve to sink it. A heavy rope, usually made of old netting, Reticula-
tightly twisted and bound round with strong twine, is lashed tion.
along the bosom of the net. Thus mounted, the engine
is lowered into the sea, being trailed or trawled along the
bot tom by means of a rope attached to the boat’s mast, and
communicating with each end of the beam by a bridle. The
bosom touches the ground, and the upper blade and beam
floats over it; the bosom's rope disturbs the fish at the bot¬
tom ; they are, however, stopped from escaping by striking
against the upper blade, which extends over the bosom, so
they swim down the trawl to the hose ; but this is tied up,
so they next attempt to return towards the mouth of the
net; but in their way they fall into the pockets, which only
open inwards towards the hose, and thus are secured. A
day-net is used for catching larks from 14th September to
14th November ; after that, until 25th February, tbe tram¬
mel. The reason of this is, that during the latter division of
the season the weather usually is cloudy, and the doring-
glass of the day-net cannot act. The structure of this net
is very simple, and is represented in fig. 9. The thread
Fig. 9.
should be very fine, as also that used for the trammels ;
the meshes three-quarters of an inch from knot to knot;
two pieces of oblong netting, measuring three fathoms by
one, are extended to their full width, by being lashed to
light staves of the required length, one at each end. These
two leaves are to be laid on the ground exactly opposite
each other, so accurately that when they are drawn over,
the two margins m, m shall touch each other. Each leaf
is to be staked down with pegs at the lower corners, at
G, G, G, G. Lines B<7 and V>g are to be stretched from the
top of the stakes B, B, and fastened firmly to the ground
by the pegs g, g. Other lines are to be stretched from the
head of the stakes b and b, in the direction of bC, bC, and
fixed to the ground by a peg C and C. Other lines F and
F are to proceed from the head of each stake b, b, and are
to be joined at H to the main line, which draws the leaves
over; F, F should each be at least a fathom long. In the
centre D is to be placed the doring-glass, whence proceeds
a line E. The fowler retires to his ambuscade, and with
his left hand he plays the doring-glass with the line E, and
holds the main line H in his right; when the birds are seen
playing around the glass, and within reach of the net, he
pulls the leaves over with a quick jerk, and thus secures
them. The doring-glass is thus made:—Take a piece of
wood (AC, fig. 10) nine inches
long and one and a half thick,
cut out in the shape of an arch,
and the edges at the top be¬
velled off so as to make it a
six-sided figure. This bow is
to be painted red, and covered
with pieces of looking-glass
along the sides and at each
end; a wooden peg B, six
inches long and three-fourths of an inch in circumference
94
E E T
E E T
Ketimo. a little pointed at the end, with a hole at I, through
—which the line E (fig. 9) is threaded, must be
fixed to the under surface of the arch, at
the centre. Take another piece of wood six
inches thick and one foot long (fig. 11), sharp¬
ened at the end in order to fix it in the
ground ; cut out a mortise in it two inches high,
and one inch and three-fourths deep; bore a
hole at N and O, large enough to receive the
peg B (fig. 10). This device is made to act
by winding up the string round the peg several
turns, and then pulling it; then letting it wind
itself up again, and then jerking it again ; thus Fig 11.
making the glass revolve briskly, as children do their toy
wind-mills.
The various nets above described may be modified, al¬
tered, and combined, as occasion requires. It would be
endless to enter into these minutiae, or to give a catalogue
of the different nets used, with the technical name for each
in different parts of the kingdom. We shall therefore con¬
clude with a few general observations. 1. In all cases use
twine as fine as circumstances will permit, and make the
meshes as large as is consistent with the object in view ;
for the nets will be thereby more easily dried, lighter, and
more efficient. 2. In filling the needle double, draw the
twine from separate balls. 3. Take great care to dry the
nets thoroughly, and hang them up away from walls, where
rats and mice cannot get at them. 4. Mend them imme¬
diately. 5. Keep them well tanned, or immersed in Kyan’s
Patent as often as may be necessary; but never use tar
and oil. This mixture has been proved to be inefficient as
a preservative, and to be so offensive to the fish as to drive
many away from the nets thus prepared, and to impart an
unpleasant flavour to those that are caught in them. 6. If
you wish to dye the nets green, russet, yellow, &c., for
fowling or other purposes, send them to the nearest dyer
or tanner, as the. cheapest and best mode of treatment.
Machines have at various times been invented for making
nets. Jacquard, the inventor of the celebrated weaving
apparatus which gives his name to the loom to which it is
attached, was the first to construct a machine of this kind.
He was prompted thereto by seeing an advertisement of¬
fering a reward for such a machine, and although he had
not previously directed his attention to mechanical inven¬
tion, he succeeded without much difficulty. Napoleon I.,
who was attentive to every display of talent likely to be
turned to account in his contest with Great Britain, no
sooner heard of the invention than he sent to Lyons and
ordered Jacquard to be brought to Paris. This was done;
and no sooner did the emperor see him than he exclaimed,
as coarsely as profanely, “ Are you the man that pretends
to do what God Almighty cannot—tie a knot in a stretched
string ?” Ibe net-making machine did not produce much
fruit, but it served to develop the latent mechanical genius
of the inventor. Other machines intended to effect a si¬
milar object have not met with much favour. Nor need we
be surprised at this when it is considered that the demand
for nets is for the most part met by those who use them,
and fishermen and others have a good deal of leisure which
cannot be better employed than in mending and making
the machines on which they depend for subsistence. Gar¬
deners, school-boys, and even females also amuse themselves
profitably in netting; and a very easy exertion is sufficient
to supply the quantity of net required. The meshes of
the healds of looms, through which the warp passes, are
sometimes made by a net-making machine. Lace-net is
manufactured by machinery, as described in the article
-L'ace- (c. b.) (c.t.)
ULTIMO, or Rettimo (anc. Pithymna), a sea-port town
of the island of Crete, on the N. coast, 38 miles W. of
Candia. It has a citadel, a harbour (now so choked up as
to be very shallow), and a considerable trade in oil and soap. Retz.
Pop. 6000.
RETZ, Jean Francois Paul de Gondi, Cardinal de,
a celebrated politician, was born of a rich and powerful
house at Montmirail in 1614. In accordance with the wish
of his father, he entered the church ; but his youthful con¬
duct was glaringly inconsistent with his profession. A
passion for the daring and the romantic was his ruling mo¬
tive. He gloried in fighting duels and carrying on love-
intrigues. He was especially ambitious to become the
leader of a popular faction, and the declared foe of tyrants.
It is true that he frequently settled down to his studies;
but at those times his attention was chiefly engrossed with
the deeds of Catiline, and other great conspirators of anti¬
quity. So fierce, indeed, did his revolutionary enthusiasm
become, that he entered into a plot for assassinating Car¬
dinal Richelieu. “ It would have been an act,” said he, in
justification of himself, “ which ancient Rome would have
admired ” Gondi, however, soon saw occasion to lay aside
his wayward impetuosity, and to adopt a new mode of gra-
tifying his romantic love of effect. The fiery politician
now subsided into the meek-eyed churchman. He became
addicted to religious duties and religious company. He
advocated the doctrines of the church, and on one occasion
was the means of converting a Protestant gentleman. His
appointment in 1643 to be coadjutor to his uncle the Arch¬
bishop of Paris only increased his ecclesiastical zeal. He
began to be a great stickler for the forms and observances
of the church. All the mere outward duties of his office
were performed with astonishing thoroughness. He even
plunged himself into debt, in order that he might practise
Christian liberality to the utmost. It was not until the
civil broils of the Fronde had broken out in 1648 that he
ceased to play the part of a religious devotee. Gondi was
then induced by his love of political excitement, and his
desire of becoming a popular leader, to mingle in the con¬
test. Dexterous, eloquent, generous-hearted, and free from
all mercenary motives, he soon became the most influential
man among the Frondeurs. xhere was no one who was
more successful in advancing the interests of the party, and
at the same time in providing for his own safety. As lono-
as the rebellion appeared successful, he managed to mode°
rate and check the wayward and discordant impulses of his
accomplices. When it was clear that it would effect
nothing, he came out of it, in 1651, with a cardinal’s hat.
It was not long, however, before De Retz was subjected to
a severe course of punishment on account of his political
career. In 1652 Cardinal Mazarin threw him into prison.
He escaped indeed in 1654 ; but the persecuting influence
of his adversary followed him wherever he went. For
seven years he wandered about the Continent beset with
poverty and danger. Not until Mazarin had died, in 1661,
was he able to effect his reconciliation with Louis XIV.,
and to return to France. The remainder of De Retz’s
career presents a striking contrast with the former part.
Misfortune had now stripped away all his romantic love of
effect, and had allowed the other qualities of his fine dispo¬
sition to come into play. No longer fond of public acti¬
vity, he resigned the see of Paris, and devoted himself to
the peaceful pursuits of private life. His first act was to
sell his estates. With one part of the proceeds he paid his
immense debts, and with the other part he assisted his
friends and relieved the poor. He then sat down to write
his Memoires, and to recall and criticise with impartial
spirit the noisy and eventful scenes of his bygone days.
1 bus did he live an honourable, benevolent, and eloquent
old man, till death closed his career on the 24th of August
1679. Ihe Memoires of De Retz are characterized by
Voltaire as “ written with an air of grandeur, an impetuo¬
sity of genius, and an inequality which are the image of
his conduct.” The best edition is that in 4 vols. 8vo, Am-
R E U
Reuchlin. sterdam, 1731. An English translation, by P. Davall, was
published in 4 vols. 12mo, London, 1774.
REUCH'LIN, or Capnio (a Greek equivalent), Johann,
a scholar illustrious for his services in the revival of letters
and liberation of thought in the fifteenth and following cen¬
turies, was born at Pforzheim 28th December 1455. It is
stated, on the authority of an ancient chronicle, that his
father George was a common messenger; at all events, he
was of the humblest ranks of life. A younger brother,
Dionysius, who afterwards rose to some distinction, and a
sister, Elizabeth, completed the family. At school his
sweetness of voice and natural talent for music were re¬
marked, and he was placed in the choir of the chapel of
the margrave, who, pleased with his talents, his progress in
grammar, and the sweetness of his disposition, sent him to
Paris in 1473 with his son Frederic, afterwards bishop of
Utrecht. Here he perfected himself in Latin, and applied
himself to Greek under Hermonymus of Sparta, the se¬
cond teacher of Greek in Paris, Georgius Tiphemas having
been the first. He also profited by the instructions of
Johannes & Lapide, Tardivus, and Robert Gaguin, sup¬
porting himself partly by copying parts of Greek authors
for richer students. At the end of 1474 he went to Basle,
where, while teaching Latin and Greek, he improved his
knowledge of the latter under Andronicus Contoblacas.
Here also, or previously at Paris, he came under the in¬
fluence of Wessel {Lux Mundi) who encouraged him in
his Greek studies and initiated him in the elements of
Hebrew. At Basle he had access to the valuable Greek
manuscripts brought thither at the time of the council by
the Cardinal de Ragusio. His simpler method of instruc¬
tion, and the freer exercise of thought and speculation with
which he familiarized his pupils in expounding the original
text of Aristotle, attracted many, and also brought him
much envy and enmity. Having remained at Basle four
years, he went to Orleans to study the civil and canon law,
and while there taught Latin and Greek with great reputa¬
tion. He continued these studies in 1480 at Poitiers, and
in 1481, having received there the highest degree in law,
he returned to his native country, fixing his residence at
Tubingen, a town recommended to him by the society of
learned men connected with the new university founded
by Eberhard im Bart (“ the Bearded”), and by the well-
known enlightenment of that prince. Here he practised
as advocate with great prosperity, and married. Having
been taken into Eberhard’s confidence, he accompanied
him to Rome in 1482, where the regard and esteem he
conciliated by his learning, his purer Latin, and eloquence,
confirmed him in Eberhard’s favour, who till his death,
24th February 1496, continued to employ him in diplo¬
matic business. More important for Reuchlin himself was
his intercourse at Rome and Florence, during his two visits
to Italy in 1482 and 1489 with Chalcondylas, Marsilius
Ficinus, Politianus, and Pico di Mirandola, for from that
intercourse his studies and speculations received an entirely
new direction.
On his return to Germany in 1482 he remained at Stutt-
gardt with Eberhard. In 1484 he was nominated assessor
of the supreme court, and during the life of Eberhard was
engaged in many missions which need not be enumerated
here. Being employed at the court of the Emperor Fre¬
derick IIL, he so gained the esteem of that potentate as to
be ennobled, and presented by him with a valuable Hebrew
MS. of the Bible, now preserved in the library of Durlach.
From the emperor’s Jewish physician, Jakob Jehiel Loanz,
he received further instruction in Hebrew. On the death
of Eberhard a revolution took place in the court of Wur-
temberg. Eberhard the younger, who succeeded, dismissed
his predecessor’s counsellors, and a previous adviser of his
own, Holzinger, who had been, at Reuchlin’s suggestion,
thrown into prison, was restored to favour. Reuchlin, who
R E U 95
had everything to fear, fled, first to Worms, and then, on Reuchlin.
the invitation ofhiswarm friend Johann von Dalberg, Bishop
of Worms, to Heidelberg. Here his life seems to have
been one of pleasant labour in the most congenial society.
He did much for the university : arranged and increased its
library, wrote a Manual of Civil Law for the Bursa or
law college, made various translations of Greek books,
wrote an epitome of universal history, and procured the
erection in 1498 of a Greek chair, to which his brother
Dionysius was called from Tubingen. He also wrote a
comedy entitled Sergius, aimed at Holzinger, and satiriz¬
ing the dissolute lives of the monks, but was dissuaded by
Dalberg from having it acted, and substituted another, Sce-
nica Progymnasmata, an imitation of Patelin. Another
visit to Rome in 1498, in the cause of Philip the elector-
palatine, who had been excommunicated by the Pope for
the detention of some monastic revenues, he turned to ad¬
vantage by availing himself of the instructions in Hebrew
ofObadiah Sphorno, a learned Jew, who exacted, how'ever,
a heavy price for his lessons. His meeting with Argyro-
pulus, then teaching Greek at Rome, and astonishing him
by expounding a passage of Thucydides, is well known.
He returned, having succeeded in his mission, and brought
with him many manuscripts and printed works. While in
Rome a counter revolution had taken place in Wiirtem-
berg ; Eberhard had been deposed, and a council appointed
till the majority of Ulric. Reuchlin, therefore, returned to
Stuttgardt, resolved to devote himself entirely to learning.
He was again, however, pressed into public business, being
appointed (1501) judge of the Swabian League (renewed in
1500), an office he filled for eleven years. With the duties
of this office, and the toils of his profession, he contrived to
unite laborious study, the fruit of which appeared in 1506
in his great work Linguce Hebraicce Rudirnenta, a work
important for that time not only in a philological point of
view, but as rendering possible that free study of the ori¬
ginal Scriptures on which the religious emancipation that
was shortly to follow could only have securely founded
itself. Besides this work, he put forth many Latin transla¬
tions of small Greek works ; and by his extensive corre¬
spondence exerted great influence in directing the studies
of earnest scholars. It is clear also, from an inspection of
this correspondence, that, while by no means a profound or
systematic thinker, or advocate of formulas, his sound dis¬
cernment of the true end, and proper methods of education,
contributed powerfully to its elevation in Germany, and its
liberation from an oppressive pedantry. It may be re¬
marked here also, that these letters are of the highest
value for the literary history of a period which, in regard
to the subsequent revolution, may be called the period of
causes, and which has been too exclusively studied from
fixed dogmatic stand-points. While to Luther, as chief, is
due the positive Reformation, by proclaiming a return to
Scripture and free thought as the basis of a purer Chris¬
tianity, yet previous to Luther’s outburst there had long
been going on round Reuchlin, as a centre, a quiet move¬
ment of free intelligence which could not fail, in spite of
its merely negative and unreligious character, to come at
last into open collision with the dominant ignorance and
superstition. Only an occasion was wanting; and this
occurred in 1509. Johann Pfefferkorn, a converted (or
rather apostate) Jew of Cologne, and protege of the Domi¬
nicans there, who had already distinguished himself by
writing against his former faith, procured, with the assist¬
ance of the monks, an order from the Emperor Maximilian
that the Jews should give up to be burnt all their books
hostile to Christianity. Finding the execution of this order
very difficult, partly on account of the restriction stated,
partly from the rarity of zeal like his own, he petitioned
ibr a new mandate, removing the restriction, and ordering
the destruction of all Jewish books but the Bible The
96
R E U
Reuchlin. emperor named a commission to consider the question, of
v'—V-1^ whom Reuchlin was one. He accordingly forwarded his
Opinion to the Elector of Mentz in August 1510. In
this able document, which, with the one presently to be
mentioned, will be found in Von der Hardt’s Histor. Liter.
JReformationis, the reasoning is almost entirely based on the
mischievous results to Christian learning and zeal of the
proposed destruction, but there are indications of a sound
doctrine concerning liberty of conscience, and true percep¬
tion of the real nature of religion, which cannot be propagated
by violence, that must have appeared very strange to the
monks of Cologne. The Opinion getting abroad by treach¬
ery, Pfefferkorn published a virulent personal reply, en¬
titled Handspiegel (‘‘ Mirror”), to which Reuchlin returned
an Augenspiegel (“ Spectacles”). Frightened at the violent
measures the Colognese were taking against this book and
the author, he was yet unable to concede the essence of his
position, and accordingly the Klare Verstentnus in Teutsch,
which he published in 1512 by way of sedative, was as
offensive as his two previous tracts. His enemies selected
Judaizing propositions from it, and published them. Reuch¬
lin replied in a Defensio contra Calumniatores Colonienses.
In 1513, the emperor having imposed silence on both par¬
ties, the Dominicans called forth Hochstraten, a Dutch
inquisitor, who took charge of the affair as a heresy. We
need not follow his proceedings, remarkable only for irre¬
gularity and failure. On appeal to Rome in 1516,'the Pope
(Leo X.) appointed a commission, which by a majority de¬
cided in favour of Reuchlin ; but Hochstraten, by means,
it was said, of bribery, procured from the Pope a manda-
tum de supersedendo putting off a settlement of the busi¬
ness at his pleasure. In the meantime the literary warfare
raged in Germany : a confederacy of Reuchlinists, the most
active of whom were Ulrich von Hutten and Willibald
Pirckheimer, was formed; and on the other side, Ortuinus
Gratius, a Dominican and professor at Cologne, published,
under Pfefferkorn’s name, many libels against Reuchlin,
while Hochstraten sought, among other modes of attack,
to find heresy in Reuchlin’s cabalistic writings. All these
libels and epigrams have perished, but the Epistolce Ob-
scurorum Virorum, which astounded the combatants on
both sides in 1516 (part second, 1517), remains an un¬
surpassed masterpiece of the cruellest and most truthful
satire. The laughers, and they are the most of the world,
were now all on one side, and the laugh could only be re¬
doubled by the Lamentationes Obscurorum Virorum, which
appeared in 1517 as an answer. To answer a laugh is, in
any way, a hopeless thing, but to answer it by a lamenta¬
tion is a desperate thing. In the war between Franz von
R E U
Sickingen and Duke Ulrich of Wiirtemberg, Reuchlin
vyas obliged to leave Stuttgardt, and retired, by the invita¬
tion of Duke William of Bavaria, to Ingoldstadt, November
1519. While there, his process was settled by the inter¬
vention of Sickingen, who sent an embassy to Cologne,
threatening that, unless they paid Reuchlin his expenses,
and made him compensation and apology, he would make
war on the city. 1 he conditions were, after some attempts
at compromise, complied with. At Ingoldstadt he received
a pension of 200 gold crowns annually from the duke ; and
lectured on Hebrew and Greek to a great concourse of
students. He returned in 1521 to Stuttgardt, on account
of the plague appearing in Ingoldstadt, and was immediately
invited by the university of Tubingen to teach there. He
removed thither, and began his labours, but falling ih, re¬
turned to Stuttgardt, where he died of jaundice, Decem¬
ber 21, 1521. Erasmus, a cold and timid friend when
Reuchlin was alive, wrote the dialogue entitled Apotheosis
Capnionis, and introduced him into heaven.
Reuchlin was in his age regarded with singular admira¬
tion and affection by scholars of all countries ; and Germany
still regards him, as well she may, as the patriarch of her
erudition. Of his cabalistic philosophy a full account, and a
rather one-sided one, will be found in the fourth volume of
Brucker s Histor. Crit. Philos. He derived it partly from
Mirandola, and partly from his study of the forged cabalistic
books of the Jews. A full list of Reuchlin’s works will be
found in the supplement to Jbcher’s Lexikon. His library
has been mostly incorporated in that of Carlsruhe. A por¬
trait of him exists in the university of Giessen, (w. h.c.)
REUS, a town of Spain, Catalonia, in the province and
9 miles W. of Tarragona, stands at the foot of a chain of
hills in a fertile plain, about 4 miles from the sea. It is a
bustling, flourishing town, forming a striking contrast to
the decaying grandeur of its neighbour city Tarragona.
One portion, however, is as old as 1151; the rest w-as^built
about six centuries later. This modern town is regularly
laid out, with broad streets and squares; cold in winter,
and exposed during the summer to the rays of a glaring
sun, from which the more ancient town is sheltered by its
narrow and crooked lanes. The houses are generally well
built: many of the public squares are adorned with foun¬
tains; and the largest of them, which is the chief place of
resort for the people, is surrounded with unde colonnades.
I he large Tuscan town-house, with its spacious halls en¬
riched with paintings and statues, is one of the chief build¬
ings ; the plain Gothic parish church lifts high its hexagonal
tower; the college and schools are accommodated in the
splendid buildings of a former Franciscan convent; a Car¬
melite convent has likewise given place to the hospital, to
which belongs the theatre of the town ; and there is also an
orphan asylum, and a large new prison. Silk, cotton, and
linen are the chief produce of the industry of Reus ; dyeing,
bleaching, tanning, distilling, and other operations are also
carried on. The prosperity of the citizens is attested by
their many fine villas scattered round the town. The
trade too is very considerable; the weekly markets de¬
termine the prices of various articles throughout Spain.
There is a railway from this place to Tarragona; and a
canal connecting Reus with the port of Salou, which is very
exposed, and safe only in summer. By this port the pro¬
duce of the country and of the manufactories in the town
is exported abroad; while in return there is much import¬
ation of flour, timber, hides, live-stock, &c. During the
peninsular war Reus tamely submitted to the French in
1808, and in consequence was much impoverished by their
exactions under Macdonald. Pop. 28,084.
REUSS, the name of two principalities in Germany,
among the smallest of the states of the German Confe¬
deration, but which form the remains of a country that
was anciently much more extensive. The country, bounded
by Bohemia, Bavaria, and Thuringia, seemed to the Ger¬
man kings to be from its position and natural character, so
defended as not to require the protection of a margrave,
but was to be governed by officers of the crown; and ac-
coidingly divided into five bailiwicks ( Vogteieri), viz.,—
Weida, Plauen, Gera, Greiz, and Hof. Of these, Weida
and Geia belonged »n the twelfth century to Henry the
Rich, a prince probably descended from the ancient families
of Luxemburg, Schwartzburg, and Gleisberg, who after-
wards^ obtained possession of the other three bailiwicks.
His four sons, dividing the land among them, founded
the lines of Plauen, Greiz, Weida, and Gera. The three
last became extinct in 1236, 1532, and 1550 respectively;
from the first are descended the present princes of Reuss,
from Henry II., second son of Henry the Rich. The family
did not at, this time bear the name of Reuss, but this title
was introduced in the next generation. The son of Henry
II. left two sons, who were surnamed, from the nation¬
ality of their mothers, Henry the Bohemian and Henry
the Russian {Russe or Reusse). From the Bohemian de¬
scended a line of lords (Herren) of Plauen, which became
extinct in 1572 ; their possessions being lost in various
Reus
Reuss.
R E U
Keuss. ways to the surrounding states, till the last of them was
sold in 1569 by the last ot the family to the Elector of
Saxony. But the other family, with the name of Reuss
and a part of the original territory, was more durable. It
was, and still is, a peculiarity in this family, that all its mem¬
bers, in honour, it is said, of the Emperor Henry IV., who
first elevated the original Henry the Rich, bear the name of
Henry, and were distinguished at first by surnames, or by
the titles of Elder, Middle, and Younger; afterwards by
numbers, with the necessary provision that after reaching C.
in the elder branch, and at the end of each century in the
younger, they begin again with I. The two lines at present
existing are derived from two of the sons of Henry the
Peaceful, who died in 1535. Both branches were raised
in 1673 to the rank of counts of the empire and to that of
princes,—the elder or Reuss-Greiz line in 1778, and the
younger or Reuss-Schleiz in 1806. The younger line was
subdivided in 1666 into the branches of Gera, Schleiz, and
Lobenstein ; the first became extinct in 1802, and its posses¬
sions were governed in common by the others, till in 1848
the last prince of Reuss-Lobenstein, Henry LXXIL, abdi¬
cated in favour of the Prince of Reuss-Schleiz; so that there
now exist only the two principalities. The country consists
of two parts, separated from each other,— the more northerly
bounded N. by Prussia, S. by part of Saxe Weimar, E. and
W. by the two parts of Saxe Altenburg ; the more southerly
lying between Saxony and Bavaria on the S., and parts of
Schwartzburg, Prussia, and Saxe Weimar on the N. The
former and the western portion of the latter form the prin¬
cipality of Reuss-Schleiz, the remainder that of Reuss-
Greiz. The area and population of the two countries are :—
Sq. miles. Pop. (1855.)
Reuss-Greiz 144 35,159
Reuss-Schleiz 447 80,203
REV
97
Revel.
Total 591
115,362
A considerable part of the principalities is mountainous,
being occupied by branches of the Erzgebirge and Frank-
enwald. This part of the country is for the most part well
wooded ; but there are also valleys and small plains. The
principal rivers that water the country are the Saale and
its affluent the Elster, both flowing in general from S. to
N. Though in some parts light and sandy, yet the greater
part of the soil is fertile, and yields in both principalities the
ordinary productions of Germany. The climate is temper¬
ate. Among the mineral riches of the land are to be num¬
bered iron, salt, building-stone, slate, potters’ and porcelain
clay, and alum. Farming is largely carried on. Corn is
produced in Reuss-Greiz below, and in Reuss-Schleiz above
the demands of the inhabitants. In both there are also
raised potatoes, pulse, flax, and hops. Of the former, the
most important produce is timber, especially pines and firs;
the latter derives much of its wealth from the rearing of
cattle; and contained in 1849, 2074 horses, 29,677 horned
cattle, 33,419 sheep, 5046 goats, and 14,963 pigs. The
principal manufactures in both are those of woollen and cotton
fabrics; the larger principality manufactures also tobacco,
beer, brandy, pottery, and other articles. There are exported
manufactured articles, iron, timber, butter, and cattle. In
both principalities the government is in the hands of a prince,
limited in each by a separate diet. The highest law tri¬
bunal is the upper court of appeal at Jena, beneath which
there are courts at Greiz, Gera, and other places. The
princes and the great majority of their subjects are of the
Lutheran religion. Education is well provided for by nu¬
merous elementary schools, two Latin schools, a gymnasium,
and three normal seminaries ; the university of Jena is con¬
sidered the national one. The military force of Reuss-
Greiz is 609, that of Reuss-Schleiz 260; total, 869. The
annual public revenue of the former amounts to about
L.8400, of the latter L.38,000; the expenditure L.37,000.
VOL. XIX.
REUTLINGEN, a town of Wurtemberg, capital of the Reutlhigen
circle of Schwarzwald, at the foot of the Swabian Alp, on
the Echatz, the water of which flows through the town, 6
miles E. of Tubingen, and 20 S. of Stuttgardt. It is
stately old town, walled and moated, in an exquisitely beau¬
tiful position, with the long line of steep hills, the dark,
dense pine forests, green meadows, and rich, waving fields
of corn, all combining to enhance the picturesqueness of
the scenery, a fine view of which is obtained from the lofty
isolated hill Achalm, close at hand. The Protestant church
of St Mary is considered the finest ecclesiastical building
in Wurtemberg; it is of elegant proportions, and contains
some curious ancient ornaments. A large, handsome town-
hall, and a Franciscan convent, now occupied by govern¬
ment offices, are among the other edifices of the town.
There are here too several schools and a public library ;
manufactures of woollen cloth, cotton, leather, hats, &c.;
and a considerable trade in these, as well as in the produce
of the country. Reutlingen formerly belonged to the counts
of Achalm, the ruins of whose castle, on the hill of that
name, are still to be seen. Pop. (1855) 12,367.
REVEL, or Reval (Esth. Talline, Russ. Kolyvan), a
seaport of European Russia, capital of the government of
Esthonia, on a bay of the same name, on the S. coast of the
Gulf of Finland, 200 miles W.S.W. of St Petersburg. It
consists of an upper and a lower town; the former, on a
steep rocky eminence, contains the cathedral and castle,
and is encircled with walls and towers. This is the best
quarter, and in it are most of the houses of the nobility.
In the lower town the streets are narrow and irregular, but
many of the houses are well built of brick. Revel has also
two suburbs. The cathedral is an edifice of an incongruous
architectural character, with a lofty and elegant tower, and
contains many interesting tombs. In the same part of the
town stands the hall of the nobility, where the Diets of
Esthonia used to assemble. The church of St Olai, re¬
cently rebuilt, after a conflagration in 1820, contains many
relics, including the archives and library, of a much higher
antiquity, the original having been built in 1329. It is the
cathedral church of the lower town, and is in the early Gothic
style, with beautiful lancet windows. St Nicholas is another
large church, with a massive square tower, and contains
many antique monuments and works of art. The oldest
church in the town, however, is the Esthonian, which is
mentioned as early as 1284. A modernized town-house,
the admiralty, and several guild-halls for the various cor¬
porations, the chiefbeingthatof the Black Heads (NcAwwzerc
Haiipter), a once famous club of merchants for the defence
of the city, are among the public buildings. For education
there is a gymnasium, founded by Gustavus Adolphus, and
various other schools; also public libraries, a theatre, hos¬
pital, &c. The imperial palace of Catherinenthal, founded
by Peter the Great, and bequeathed by him to Revel, is a
favourite resort of the townsfolk during the summer. The
manufactures of the place include leather, cotton goods,
hosiery, hats, earthenware, mirrors, &c. The trade, though
still considerable, both by sea and land, has within the last
twenty years greatly fallen off, being transferred to St Peters¬
burg and Riga, or even to Pernau and Libau. Revel was
once one of the most flourishing of the Hanse towns. It has
large and excellent harbours for merchantmen and men-of-
war, the latter occupied by a division of the Russian Baltic
fleet. On the island Nargen, at the entrance of the harbour,
stands a lighthouse. Revel was founded about 1218 by Val-
demar II. of Denmark ; and afterwards, along with Esthonia,
it belonged to Sweden, Brandenburg, and the Teutonic
knights, and to Peter the Great. Pop. (1855) 27,905.
Revel, a town ofFrance, department of Haute-Garonne,
29 miles E.S.E. of Toulouse, on a hill overlooking a beau¬
tiful and fertile country. It has manufactures of linen and
cotton cloth, hosiery, hats, leather, tiles, &c. Pop. 5960.
N
98 REVELATIO
Kevelation, REVELATION, Book OF. The following topics in
Book of. relation to this book demand examination :—1. The person
'S"»V»*/ by whom it was written. 2. Its canonical authority, ge¬
nuineness, and authenticity. 3. The time and place at
which it was written. 4. Its unity. 5. The class of writ-
tings to which it belongs. 6. The object for which it was
originally written. 7. Its contents.
1. The Person by whom it was Written.—The author
styles himself John, but not an apostle (i. 4, 9; xxii. 8).
Hence some have attributed the book to another John,
usually designated the presbyter. The chief argument for
believing that there was another John besides the apostle
exists in a passage from Papias of Hierapolis, preserved in
Eusebius {Hist. Eccles. iii. 39). In this fragment several of
the apostles, among whom is John, are mentioned; while im¬
mediately after, the presbyter John is specified along with
Aristion. In addition to Papias, Dionysius of Alexandria
(Euseb. Hist. Eccles. vii. 25), Eusebius himself {Hist.
Eccles. iii. 39), and Jerome {Catal. Scriptor. Ecclesiast.),
allude to the presbyter. We must therefore believe with
Liicke, Bleek, Credner, Neander, Hitzig, and indeed all the
ablest critics who have had occasion to speak of this point,
that there were two Johns,—one the apostle, the other the
presbyter. It has been much debated which of the two wrote
the book before us. On the Continent the prevailing cur¬
rent of opinion, if not in favour of the presbyter, is at least
against the apostle. In England the latter is still regarded
as the writer, more perhaps by a kind of traditional belief
than as the result of enlightened examination.
The arguments against assigning the authorship to the
apostle John are the following:—The apocalyptic writer
calls himself John, while the evangelist never does so.
The language of the book is entirely different from that of
the fourth Gospel and the three Epistles of John the apostle.
It is characterized by strong Hebraisms and ruggednesses,
by negligences of expression and grammatical inaccuracies ;
while it exhibits the absence of pure Greek words and of
the apostle’s favourite expressions. The style is besides
unlike that which appears in the Gospel and Epistles. It is
alleged likewise that the doctrinal‘aspect of the Apocalypse
is different from that of the apostle’s acknowledged writings.
Such are the arguments advanced by De Wette. They
are chiefly based on the investigations of Ewald and Liicke.
It will be observed, however, that they are all internal,
and do no more than prepare the way for proving that
John the presbyter was the writer. Let us glance at the
external evidence adduced for the same purpose.
In the third century Dionysius of Alexandria ascribed
the book to John the presbyter, not to John the apostle
(Euseb. Hist. Eccles. vii. 32). The testimony of this writer
has been so often and so much insisted on that it is un¬
necessary to give it here. However, there is no direct
evidence in favour of the opinion that John the presbyter
wrote the Apocalypse. Many internal considerations have
been adduced to show that John the apostle was not the
author; but no direct argument has been advanced to prove
that John the presbyter was the writer. Others think that
a disciple of John undertook to write on a subject which
he had received from the apostle; and Hitzig has lately
written a treatise to prove that the writer is John Mark,
the same from whom the second Gospel proceeded. His
arguments are mainly based on parallelisms of language and
construction {Ueber Johannes Marcus undseine Schriften,
oder welchcr Johannes hat die Offenbarunu verfasst ?
Zurich, 8vo, 1843.)
Justin Martyr is the earliest writer who attributes it to
John the apostle {Dial, cum Tryphi) Tertullian, Clement
of Alexandria, and Origen ascribe it to the apostle. The
internal evidence in favour of John the apostle, urged by
De Wette, Liicke, Lwald, and Credner, at considerable
length, bears mainly upon the language of the writing,
N, BOOK OF.
characterized as it is by strong Hebraisms, deficient as it Revelation,
also is in purely Greek idioms, and contrary as are some of Book of.
the Gospel statements to those of the Epistles. Some have
attempted to turn aside the force of those arguments by
resorting to the hypothesis, that the book was originally
written in Hebrew, and then translated into Greek. This,
however, is contradicted by the most decisive internal evi¬
dence, and is in itself highly improbable. One circum¬
stance to be taken into account is, that the nature of the
gospel is widely different from that of the Apocalypse.
The latter is a prophetic book—a poetical composition—
while the former is a simple record in prose of the discourses
of Jesus in the days of his flesh. It is apparent too, that
John in the Apocalpyse imitates the manner of Ezekiel
and Daniel. The New Testament prophet conforms to the
diction and symbolic features of the former seers. “ If the
question should be urged, why John chose these models ?
the obvious answer is, that he conformed to the taste of
the times in which he lived. The numerous apocryphal
works of an apocalyptic nature which were composed nearly
at the same time with the Apocalypse, such as the book of
Enoch, the ascension of Isaiah, the Testament of the twelve
patriarchs, many of the sibylline oracles, the fourth book
of Ezra, the Pastor of Hermas, and many others which are
lost, all testify to the taste and feelings of the times when,
or near which, the Apocalypse was written. If this method
of writing was more grateful to the time in which John
lived, it is a good reason for his preferring it. (Stuart, in
the Bibliotheca Sacra, pp. 353, 354.) In view of the
whole question, we are disposed to abide by the ancient
opinion, that John the apostle wrote the Apocalypse. Ec¬
clesiastical tradition clearly favours this view; while the
internal grounds so carefully drawn out and earnestly urged
by recent German critics, do not appear sufficiently strong
to overturn it. When such grounds are soberly examined,
after being divested of all the extravagance with which they
are associated ; when the nature of the subjects discussed
is seen to be such as the fourth Gospel does not present; an
impartial critic will probably rest in the opinion, that both
writings proceeded from the same author.
The entire question of authorship, so much debated in
Germany, is more curious than profitable. The book may
not have been written by an apostle, and yet be equal in
authoiity to any acknowledged production of an apostle.
2. Its Canonical Authority, Authenticity, and Genuine¬
ness—We shall first of all consider the external testimonies
adverse to its canonicity.
The Alogi or Antimontanists in the second century,
ascribed all Johns writings, including the Apocalypse, to
Cerinthus, as Epiphanius relates. It is obvious that no
weight can be attached to these assertions. Caius of Rome,
from opposition to Montanism, ventured to make the same
statement, as we learn from Eusebius {Hist. Eccles. iii. 28).
I he 8oth of the “ Apostolic Canons,” which are supposed
to belong to the fourth century, does not mention the Apo¬
calypse among the apostolic writings. In the “ Constitu¬
tions also, which probably originated in Syria and the
adjacent regions, there is no notice of the book. Chrysos¬
tom, 1 heodoret, Iheodore of Mopsuestia, the theologians
of Nisibis, Junilms, Cyril, Gregory of Nazianzen, Euthalius,
all probably agreed in rejecting the Apocalypse. At the
time of the Reformation the controversy respecting the
Apocalypse was revived. Erasmus speaks suspiciously con¬
cerning it, while Luther expresses himself very vehemently
against it. With Semler a new opposition to it began.
I hat distinguished critic was unfavourable to its authenti¬
city. He was followed by Oeder, Merkel, Michaelis,
Heinrichs, Bretschneider, Ewald, De Wette, Schott, Bleek,
Liicke, Neander, Credner, E. Reuss, Hitzig, Tinius, &c.
It should, however, be distinctly observed that most of
these recent critics go no farther than to deny that John
REVELATIO
Revelation, the apostle was the writer; which may certainly be done
Book of. without impugning its indirectly apostolic authority. They
do not exclude it from the canon as a divinely-inspired
writing; although in attacking its direct apostolicity, some
may imagine that they ruin its canonical credit.
We shall now allude to the evidence in favour of its
canonicity. The earliest witness for it is Papias, as we
learn from Andreas and Arethas of Cappadocia, in their
preface to Commentaries on the Apocalypse. (Havernick’s
Lucubrationis Criticce ad Apoc. speclantes, Regiom. 1842,
8vo, No. 1, p. 4, sq.) Melito, Bishop of Sardis, one of the
seven apocalyptic churches, wrote a work exclusively on
this book. Jerome, in his catalogue of illustrious men,
explicitly distinguishes two works, one respecting the devil,
the other relative to the Apocalypse. Theophilus, Bishop
of Antioch (Euseb. iv. 24), in his book against Hermogenes,
drew many proofs and arguments from the Revelation ; so
also Apollonius of Ephesus, according to the same ecclesi¬
astical historian (v. 18). The testimony of Irenaeus is most
important, because he was in early life acquainted with
Polycarp, who was John’s disciple, and because he resided
in Asia Minor, where John himself abode during the latter
part of his life. In one place he says, “It was seen no
long time ago, but almost in our age, towards the end of
Domitian’s reignwhile he frequently quotes it elsewhere
as the Revelation of John, the disciple of the Lord. To
these may be added the testimony of the martyrs at Lyons,
of Nepos (Euseb. vii. 23), Methodius of Tyre, Didymus of
Alexandria, Cyprian, Lactantius, Augustine, Athanasius,
Basil the Great, Epiphanius of Cyprus, Jerome, Ephrem
the Syrian, Rufinus the presbyter, Isidore of Pelusium,
Hilary of Poictou, Cyril of Alexandria, Arethas and An¬
dreas of Cappadocia, the Synod of Hippo (a.d. 393, canon
36), the Synod of Toledo (a.d. 633), the third council of
Carthage (a.d. 397), Victorin ofPettaw in Pannonia, Diony¬
sius the Areopagite, Sulpicius Severus, Joh. Damascenus,
CEcumenius, Amphilochius, Novatus and his followers, the
Manichees, the Donatists, the Arians, the latter Arnobius,
Rhaban Maurus, Isidore of Spain, Commodian, and others.
At the period of the Reformation Flacius strenuously up¬
held the authority of the Apocalypse, and since his day
able defenders of it have not been wanting. Twells, C. F.
Schmid, J. F. Reuss, Knittel, Storr, Luderwald, Hartwig,
Kleuker, Herder, Donker Curtins, Hanlein, Bertholdt,
Eichhorn, Hug, Feilmoser, KolthofF, Olshausen, J. P.
Lange (Tholuck’s Lit. Anzeig. 1838), Dannemann, Haver-
nick {Evangel. Kirchenzeit, 1834, and Lucub. Criticce),
Guerike, Schnitzer {Allgem. Literaturzeit. 1841), Zeller
{Deutsche Jahrb. 1841),and others. Thus the general tenor
of the external evidence is clearly in favour of the canonical
authority, while internal circumstances amply confirm it.
The style, language, and manner of the book, cannot be
mistaken. In dignity and sublimity it is equal to any of the
New Testament writings, if not superior to them all. The
variety and force of the images impress the mind of every
reader with conceptions of a divine origin. Surely no un¬
inspired man could have written in such a strain.
3. TheTime and Place at which it was Written.—In as¬
certaining these points there is considerable difficulty. The
prevalent opinion is, that the book was written a.d. 96 or
97, at Patmos or Epihesus, after Domitian’s death, —i.e.,
under Nerva. So Mill, Le Clerc, Basnage, Lardner, Wood-
' house, and others suppose. In view of all the circumstances
of the case, which cannot here be fully entered into, we are
inclined to believe that it was written at Patmos in the time
of Nero, a.d. 67 or 68, a date fixed upon long ago by Sir
Isaac Newton.
4. Unitg of the Rook.—A few writers have thought that
the Apocalpyse was written at different times by the same
author, as Grotius, Hammond, and Bleek; or by different
authors, as Vogel. Such dismemberment is now aban-
N, BOOK OF. 99
doned. Even De Wette allows that no reasonable doubts Revelation,
can be entertained of its unity. Book of.
5. The Class of Writings to which it belongs. — Pareus
seems to have been the first who started the idea of its
being a dramatic poem. The same opinion was also ex¬
pressed by Hartwig. But the genius of Eichhorn wrought
out the suggestion into a theory pervaded by great sym-
metryr and beauty. Hence the opinion that it forms a re¬
gular dramatic poem is associated with his name alone. As
this theory, however, is now abandoned by all expositors,
it needs no refutation.
6. The Object for which it was originally Written.—The
books of the New Testament, like those of the Old, were de¬
signed to promote the instruction of God’s people in all
ages. They were adapted to teach, exhort, and reprove all
mankind. They do not belong to the class of ephemeral
writings that have long since fulfilled the purpose for which
they were originally composed. Their object was not merely
a local or partial one. So of the Apocalypse. It is suited to
all. “ Blessed is he that readeth, and they that hear the
words of this prophecy.” But this general characteristic is
perfectly consistent with the fact, that it arose out of specific
circumstances, and was primarily meant to subserve a de¬
finite end. When first written, it was destined to suit the
peculiar circumstances of the early Christians.
7. Its Contents.—The body of the work is contained in
chaps, iv.-xxii. 6, and is almost entirely a series of symbolic
•representations. To this is prefixed a prologue (i.-iv.) A
brief epilogue is subjoined (xxii. 6-21). After the prologue
or introduction, which is peculiarly fitted to admonish and
console amid suffering, we come to the body of the work
itself, commencing with the fourth chapter. This may be
appropriately divided into three parts,—(1.) iv.-xi.; (2.)
xii.-xix.; (3.) xx.-xxii. 5.
By far the greater number of works on the Apocalypse
are of no value, the authors having failed to perceive the
primary purpose of the apostle. We shall only mention a
few. The best book on the literature of the Apocalypse is
that of Liicke, published in 1832. It is both copious and
excellent. In addition to it may be mentioned the Intro¬
ductions of Michaelis, Haenlein, Eichhorn, Bertholdt, Hug,
Feilmoser, De Wette, Credner, Schott, Guerike ; and the
of Samuel Davidson, London, 1848. Bleek’s
Beitrdge zur Kritik der Offenbarung Johannis (in the
Zeitschrft of Schleiermacher, De Wette, and Liicke, ii.
252 sq.) ; Kleuker, Ueber Ursprung und Zwech der Of-
fenbar. Johannis ; Steudel, Ueber die richtige Auffassung
der Apocalypse (in Bengel’s iV. Archiv. iv. 2); the trea¬
tises of KolthofF, Lange, and Dannermann, already referred
to ; Knittel’s Beitrdge zur Kritik uber Johannis Offenba¬
rung ; Vogel’s Commentatio de Apoc. Johannis, pt. i. vii.;
Neander’s History of the Planting and Training of the
Christian Church ; Olshausen’s Proof of the Genuineness
of the Writings of the New Testament (translated by Fos-
dick, Andover, 1838); Lardner’s Credibility of the Gospel
History, vols. i. and iii. 4to edition ; Havernick, in the
Evangelische Kirchenzeitung, and Lucubrationes, already
quoted.
The principal commentaries on the Apoclypse are those
of Pareus, Grotius, Vitringa, Eichhorn, Heinrichs, Scholz,
Ewald, Tinius, Bossuet, Alcassar, Hentenius, Salmeron,
Herrenschneider, Hagen, and Hengstenberg’s Revela¬
tions of St John Expounded for those who Search the
Scriptures. Of English works, Lowman’s Commentary has
been highly esteemed, though his scheme is wrong. Mede’s
Claris, and the Commentary attached to it, have had great
influence on subsequent writers ; Faber’s Sacred Calendar
of Prophecy is able and ingenious, but radically wrong;
Sir Isaac Newton’s Observations on the Apocalypse, and
Bishop Newton’s Remarks, are generally incorrect. Cun-
ninghame has written various treatises illustrative of the
100 R E V
Revelation Apocalypse, but his lucubrations are dark and doubtful,
f Woodhouse’s Commentary is prevaded by commendable
Review.^ and sobriety, though he has greatly deviated from
the right mode of interpretation. We specially recom¬
mend Hammond and Lee {Six Sermons on the Study oj
the Holy Scriptures, London, 1830, 8vo). English apo¬
calyptic literature has of late years greatly accumulated;
and we can only mention the following :—Horce Apocalyp-
ticce, London, 1848; Moses Stuart, A Commentary on the
Apocalypse, third edition, London, 1854, a voluminous and
exhaustive treatise; Albert Barnes, A Commentary on the
Book of Bevelation, 1851, published both in America and
London; Desprez, The Apocalypse fulfilled in the Con¬
summation of the Mosaic Economy, and the coming of the
Son of Man, an Answer to the “Apocalyptic Sketches'”
and “ The End,” by Dr Gumming, second edition, Lon¬
don, 1855.
Revelation. See Theology.
REVEREND, a title of respect given to ecclesiastics.
In England, bishops are right reverend, and archbishops
most reverend. In France, before the Revolution, the
bishops, archbishops, and abbots were all alike most reverend.
In Scotland, the clergy individually are reverend, a synod is
very reverend, and the General Assembly is venerable.
REVERSION, in the law of England, has two signifi¬
cations; the one of which is, an estate left, which continues
during a particular state in being; and the other is the
returning of the land, after the particular estate is ended;
and it is further said to be an interest in lands when the
possession of it fails, or where the estate, which was for a
time parted with, returns to the granters or their heirs.
But according to the usual definition of a reversion, it is
the residue of an estate left in the granter, after a parti¬
cular estate granted away ceases, continuing in the granter
of such an estate.
The difference between a remainder and a reversion
consists in this, that the remainder may belong to any man
except the granter; whereas the reversion returns to him
who conveyed the lands.
Reversion, in annuities. See Annuities.
REVIEW, the name ordinarily employed by literary
usage to designate that species of periodical publication
containing a collection of critical essays. The first review,
properly so called, was the Journal des Savans, commenced
at Paris on the 30th May 1665. The most noted modern
French journals of this class are the Revue Fran^aise and
Des Deux Mondes. The French “ revues” are conducted
on a different plan from the English. With the former the
form of a review is not preserved, tales, poetry, &c., being ad¬
mitted indiscriminately; and the name of the contributor
must be attached. The first publication of this kind in Eng¬
land was the Monthly Review, begun in 1749. However, it
was reserved for the Edinburgh Review, commenced in
1802, and the Quarterly, in 1809, to inaugurate a new era
in criticism. Since the beginning almost of the present
century the review has been the favourite organ of all sects
and parties for disseminating their peculiar views on reli¬
gion, politics, or literature. For the most part, the leading
reviews appear quarterly, although the tendency seems to
be increasing of having monthly, or in some cases weekly
reviews. A good specimen of the latter species of journal
is to be had in the Saturday Review (1856). The pre¬
vailing period, however, of publishing the review is quar¬
terly ; and all the principal organs of that class published
at the present day, viz., the Edinburgh (1802), Quarterly
(1809), North American (1815), Westminster (1824),
Southern American (1828), Calcutta (1843), North British
(1844), British Quarterly (1844), National (1855), Bent¬
ley's (1859), and a number of others, are of this description.
In England the management of a review is placed in the
hands of an editor, the publisher being alone responsible in
R E W
all monetary affairs connected with the publication. The Revolution
articles are for the most part anonymous; and the reviewer
confines himself, although not very strictly, to the produc- Rewah-
tion of a review or general essay on some work or works,
placed at the head of his article, which he either notices in
detail, or which serve to indicate the general character of his
subject. The pay of writers in reviews is various, depend¬
ing on the means of the review, and likewise on the rules
adopted by the editor. In Germany reviews have taken
even a deeper root than in England; and the Gottinger
Gelehrte Anzeige which is the oldest publication of the
kind, still maintains a high character.
REVOLUTION of 1688. See Britain.
REVOLVER. See Gun-Making.
REWA CAUNTA, a division of India, Guzerat, in the
presidency of Bombay, lying between N. Lat. 21. 23. and
23. 33., E. Long. 73. 3. and 74. 18, and bounded on the
N. by Myhee Caunta, E. by the small states of Banswarra,
Dohud, Jabooah, Alice, and Akrauna, S. by the British col-
lectorate of Candeish and the district of Wusravee, and W.
by the collectorates of Kaira and Sura. It comprises the
following states:—
Name.
Square
Afiles.
Popula¬
tion.
Revenue.
Annual
amount of
Subsidy,
Tribute,
or other
Payment.
Military
Resources.
Barreah  
Loonawarra ..
Oodepoor 
Rajpeepla 
Soauth  
Mewasi chiefs.
870
500
1059
1650
425
375
64,380
37,000
78,366
122,100
31,450
27,750
L.
5765
4000
7400
20,397
2000
L.
1200
1920
1050
6000
700
6761
Total.
4879
361,046
17,631
211
150
438
384
140
Barreeah is tributary to the British, whose protection it
enjoys; Loonawarra is protected by the British, and tribu¬
tary to Scindia and the Guicowar; Soauth is protected by
the British, and tributary to Scindia; the others in like
manner tributary to the Guicowar.
REWAH, or Baghelcund, an independent state of
India, bounded on the N. by the British districts of Alla¬
habad and Mirzapore, E. by the latter and the native state
Korea, S. by the British districts of Sohagepoor and Saugor
and Nerbudda, and W. by that of Saugor and Nerbudda
and by Bundelcund, lying between N. Lat. 23. 20. and
25. 10., E. Long. 80. 40. and 82. 52; length, from E. to
W., about 140 miles; breadth, 120; area, 9827 square miles.
A considerable part of the county, its western and north¬
western portion, is occupied with hills, rising in three suc¬
cessive terraces from the level of the plain. The first of
these averages from 500 to 530 feet high, the second from
900 to 1200 feet, and the third attains a still greater height.
Sandstone, limestone, schist, and quartz are the principal
geological constituents of the hills. Most of Rewah be¬
longs to the valley of the Son, an affluent of the Ganges,
which flows through the country in an irregular course
generally towards the N. and E., receiving from the left
the Mahanuddee, and various smaller streams from both
sides. The north-western portion is very well cultivated,
and produces large crops; wheat, barley, and peas being
chiefly raised. Cattle and sheep are kept in large numbers.
Much of the surface, however, is unfit for cultivation, and
a great part is occupied by wood, which furnishes tinjber
to the British districts in the valley of the Ganges. The
inhabitants are Rajpoots, and of the Brahminical religion;
they are governed by a rajah, who is bound by treaty, since
1813, to receive a permanent British agent. His revenue
is estimated at L.200,000, and his military force exceeds
8000 men. Pop. 1,200,000.
R E Y
Reynolds. The capital is a town of the same name, on the Beher,
v. J an affluent of the Tons, which flows into the Ganges, 131
miles S.W. of Allahabad. The town is inclosed by two
lofty and thick walls, flanked with towers, and the large
ruinous palace of the rajah by a third of similar construc¬
tion. It is a mean and poor-looking place, with a popula¬
tion of 7000.
REYNOLDS, Sir Joshua, a celebrated English painter,
was born at Plympton, a small town in Devonshire, on the
16th July 1723. His father was minister of the parish, and
also master of the grammar school; and being a man of
learning and philanthropy, he was beloved and respected
by all to whom he was known. Such a man, it will natu¬
rally be supposed, was assiduous in the cultivation of the
minds of his children, amongst whom his son Joshua shone
conspicuous, by displaying at a very early period a supe¬
riority of genius and the rudiments of a con ect taste.
At an early age he grew passionately fond of painting, and,
by the perusal of Richardson,s theory of that art, was de¬
termined to make it his profession through life. At his
own earnest request, therefore, he was removed to London;
and about the year 1742 became a pupil to Hudson, a De¬
vonshire man, who was the most eminent painter of his
day, although very little real ability was implied in that
distinction, and was preceptor to several who afterwards
excelled in the art. One of the first advices which he gave
to Reynolds was to copy carefully Guercino’s drawings.
This was done with such "skill that many of the copies are
said to be now preserved in the cabinets of the curious as
the originals of that very great master.
About the year 1749 Reynolds went to Italy under
the auspices and in the company of Lord (then Commo¬
dore) Keppel, who was appointed to the command of the
British squadron in the Mediterranean. In this garden of
the world, this magical seat of the arts, he failed not to visit
the schools of the great masters, to study the productions
of different ages, and to contemplate with unvvearied atten¬
tion the various beauties which are characteristic of each.
His labour here, as has been observed of another painter,
was “ the labour of love, not the task of the hirelingand
how much he profited by it is known to all Europe.
Having remained about two years in Italy, and studied
the language as well as the arts"of the country with great
success, he returned to England, improved by travel and
refined by education. On the road to London from the
port where he landed, he accidentally found in the inn
where he lodged Johnson’s Life of Savage; and was so
taken with the charms of composition and the masterly de¬
lineation of character displayed in that performance, that,
having begun to read it whilst leaning with his arm on the
chimney-piece, he continued in that attitude, insensible of
pain, till he was hardly able to raise his hand to his head.
The admiration of the work naturally led him to seek the
acquaintance of its author, who continued one of his most
sincere admirers and warmest friends till 1784, when they
were separated by death.
The first thing that distinguished him after his return
KEY 101
to his native country was a full-length portrait of Commo- Reynolds,
dore Keppel, which in the polite circles was spoken of in
terms of the highest encomium, and testified to what a de¬
gree of eminence he had arrived in his profession, i his
was followed by a portrait of Lord Edgecumbe and a few
others, which at once introduced him to the first business
in portrait-painting; and that branch of the art he culti¬
vated with such success as will for ever establish his fame
with all descriptions of refined society. Having painted
some of the first-rate beauties of the age, the polite world
flocked to see the graces and the charms of his pencil; and
he soon became the most fashionable painter, not only in
England, but in all Europe. He has indeed preserved
the resemblance of so many illustrious characters that we
feel the less regret for his having left behind him so few
historical paintings; though what he has done in that way
shows him to have been qualified to excel in both depart¬
ments.1 The only landscape, perhaps, which he ever
painted, except those beautiful and chaste ones which com¬
pose the backgrounds of many of his portraits, is a “ View on
the Thames from Richmond,” which in 1784 was exhibited
by the Society for Promoting Painting and Design in
Liverpool.
In 1764 Reynolds had the merit of being the first pro¬
moter of that club which, having long existed without a
name, became at last distinguished by the appellation of the
Literary Club. Upon the foundation of the Royal Aca¬
demy of Painting, Sculpture, and Architecture, he was
appointed president; and his acknowledged excellence in
his profession made the appointment acceptable to all the
lovers of art. To add to the dignity of this new institution,
his Majesty conferred on the president the honour of knight¬
hood ; and Sir Joshua delivered his first discourse at the
opening of the academy in the beginning of the month of
January 1769. The merit of that discourse has been uni¬
versally admitted among painters; and it contains some
directions respecting the proper mode of prosecuting their
studies, to which every student of every art would do well
to pay attention. “ I would chiefly recommend,” says he,
“ that an implicit obedience to the rules of art, as established
by the practice of the great masters, should be exacted from
the young students. That those models which have passed
through the approbation of ages should be considered by
them as perfect and infallible guides; as subjects for their
imitation, not their criticism. I am confident that this is the
only efficacious method of making a progress in the arts ;
and that he who sets out with doubting will find life finished
before he becomes master of the rudiments. For it may
be laid down as a maxim, that he who begins by presuming
on his own sense has ended his studies as soon as he has
commenced them. Every opportunity, therefore, should
be taken to discountenance that false and vulgar opinion,
that rules are the fetters of genius. They are fetters only
to men of no genius; as that armour which upon the strong
becomes an ornament and a defence, upon the weak and
misshapen turns into a load, and cripples the body which it
was made to protect.”
1 As the lovers of painting may wish to have a catalogue of this great master’s historical pieces, we subjoin the following: Hope
nursing Love • Venus chastising Cupid for having learned to cast accounts ; Count Ugolino in the Dungeon ; the Calling of Samuel;
Ariadne - a Captain of Banditti; a Beggar Boy; a Lady in the character of St Agnes; Thais; Dionysius the Areopagite; an infant
Jupiter •’ Master Crewe in the character of Henry VIII.; the Death of Dido ; a Child asleep; Cupid sleeping; Covent Garden Cupid ;
Cupid in the Clouds ; Cupids painting ; a Boy laughing ; Master Herbert in the character of Bacchus ; Hebe ; Miss Meyer in the charac¬
ter of Hebe- Madonna, a head ; the Blackguard Mercury ; a little Boy (Samuel) praying; an old Man reading ; Love loosing the zone of
Beauty • the Children in the Wood; Cleopatra dissolving the Pearl; Garrick in the character of Kitely; Garrick between Tragedy and
Comedy - Mrs Abingdon in the character of Comedy; a Child surrounded by Guardian Angels; Aliss Beauclerc in the character of
Spenser’s Una ; Resignation; the Duchess of Manchester in the character of Diana; Lady Blake in the character of Juno; Mrs Sheridan
in the character of St Cecilia; Edwin, from Beattie’s Minstrel; the Nativity, Four Cardinal Virtues, and Faith, Hope, and Charity, for
the window of New College Chapel, Oxford; the Studious Boy ; a Bacchante; a daughter of Lord W. Gordon as an Angel; the Holy
Family • the Cottagers, from Thomson ; the Vestal; the Careful Shepherdess; a Gipsy telling Fortunes; the infant Hercules strangling
the Serpent; the Mouse-trap Girl; Venus; Cornelia and her Children; the Bird; Melancholy; Mrs Siddons in Tragedy; Head of
Lear; Mrs Talmash in the character of Miranda, with Prospero and Caliban; Robin Goodfellow Death of Cardinal Beaufort; Mac¬
beth, with the Cauldron of the Witches. . i
Mv-Md
102 BEY
Reynolds. Each succeeding year, on the distribution of the prizes,
Sir Joshua delivered to the students a discourse of equal
merit with this; and perhaps we do not hazard too much
when we say that, from the whole collected, the lover of
belles lettres and the fine arts will acquire juster notions
of what is meant by taste in general, and better rules for
acquiring a correct taste, than from multitudes of those
volumes which have been professedly written on the sub¬
ject.
In the autumn of 1785 he went to Brussels, where he
expended about L.1000 on the purchase of paintings, which,
having been taken from the different monasteries and reli¬
gious houses in Flanders and Germany, were then exposed
to sale by the command of the Emperor Joseph. Gains¬
borough and he had engaged to paint each other’s portraits ;
and the canvas for both being actually stretched, Sir Joshua
gave one sitting to his distinguished rival; but, to the regret
of every admirer of the art, the unexpected death of the
latter prevented all further progress.
In 1790 he was anxiously desirous to procure the vacant
professorship of perspective in the academy for Bononi,
an Italian architect; but that artist not having been yet
elected an associate, was of course no academician, and it
became necessary to raise him to these situations in order
to qualify him for being a professor. Gilpin being his
competitor for the associateship, the numbers on the ballot
proved equal, when the president by his casting-vote decided
the election in favour of his friend, who was thereby ad¬
vanced so far towards the professorship. Soon after this,
an academic seat being vacant, Sir Joshua exerted all his
influence to obtain it for Bononi; but finding himself out¬
voted by a majority of two to one, he quitted the chair
with great dissatisfaction, and next day sent to the secre¬
tary of the academy a formal resignation of the office, w hich
for twenty-one years he had filled with honour to himself
and his country. His indignation, however, subsiding, he
suffered himself to be prevailed upon to return to the chair,
which within a year and a half he was again desirous to quit
for a better reason.
Finding a disease of languor, occasioned by an enlarge¬
ment of the liver, to which he had for some time been sub¬
ject, increase upon him, and daily expecting the total loss
of sight, he wrote a letter to the academy, intimating his
intention to resign the office of president on account of
bodily infirmities, which disabled him from executing the
duties of it to his own satisfaction. The academicians re¬
ceived this intelligence with the respectful concern due to
the talents and virtues of their president; and either then
did enter, or designed to enter, into a resolution, honour¬
able to all parties, namely, that a deputation from the whole
body of the academy should wait upon him, and inform
him of their wish that the authority and privileges of the
office of president might be his during his life; declaring
their willingness to permit the performance of any of its
duties which might be irksome to him by a deputy.
From this period Sir Joshua never painted more. The
last effort of his pencil was the portrait of Charles James
Fox, which was executed in his best style, and shows that
his fancy, his imagination, and his other great powers in the
art which he professed, remained unabated to the end of
his life. When the last touches were given to this picture5
“ The hand of Reynolds fell, to rise no more.”
On Thursday the 23d February 1792 the world was de¬
prived of this amiable man and excellent artist, at the age
of sixty-eight years; a man than whom no one, according
to Johnson, had passed through life with more observation
of men and manners. The following character of him is
said to be the production of Mr Burke :—
“ Sir Joshua Reynolds was, on very many accounts, one
of the most memorable men of his time; he was the first
Englishman who added the praise of the elegant arts to the
R H iE
other glories of his country. In taste, in grace, in facility, Rhabdo-
in happy invention, and in the richness and harmony of l°gy
colouring, he was equal to the great masters of the re- II
nowned ages. In portrait he went beyond them ; for he
communicated to that description of the art in which Eng-
lish artists are the most engaged, a variety, a fancy, and a
dignity, derived from the higher branches, which even
those who professed them in a superior manner did not
always preserve when they delineated individual nature.
His portraits remind the spectator of the invention of his¬
tory and the amenity of landscape. In painting portraits
he appears not to be raised upon that platform, but to de¬
scend to it from a higher sphere. His paintings illustrate
his lessons, and his lessons seem to be derived from his
paintings. He possessed the theory as perfectly as the
practice of his art. To be such a painter, he was a pro¬
found and penetrating philosopher. In full happiness of
foreign and domestic fame, admired by the expert in art
and by the learned in science, courted by the great, caressed
by sovereign powers, and celebrated by distinguished poets,
his native humility, modesty, and candour never forsook
him, even on surprise or provocation ; nor was the least
degree of arrogance or assumption visible to the scrutiniz¬
ing eye in any part of his conduct or discourse. His
talents of every kind, powerful from nature, and not meanly
cultivated in letters, his social virtues in all the relations
and all the habitudes of life, rendered him the centre of a
very great and unparalleled variety of agreeable societies,
which will be dissipated by his death. Fie had too much
merit not to excite some jealousy, too much innocence to
provoke any enmity. The loss of no man of his time can
be felt with more sincere, general, and unmixed sorrow.”
(See Arts, Fine, and Painting.)
Memoirs of Sir Joshua Reynolds have been written hy
James Northcote and by Beechey, and very recently by
William Cotton. Cotton has likewise published catalogues
illustrative of Sir Joshua’s art (1859).
RHABDOLOGY. (See Napier, John.)
RHADAMANTHUS (ePaSd/«iv#os), a son of Zeus
and Europa according to Homer {11. xiv., 322), and ac¬
cording to others a son of Hephaestus (Paus. viii. 53 § 2).
Having fled from his brother to Boeotia, he there mar¬
ried Alcmene, and led a life of such signal integrity and
justice that at his death he was appointed one of the three
judges of the infernal regions, and had his abode in
Elysium.
RHJ5TIA, a country of ancient Europe, was bounded
on the N. by Vindelicia, on the E. by Noricum, on the S.
by Italy, and on the W. by the district of the Helvetii. It
was a most romantic territory. The Alpes Rhaeticae, and
Mons Adula traversed it in all directions. Between the
offshoots of these hills lay many a well-watered pastoral
valley. The pastures were covered with flocks ; and at in¬
tervals there appeared those vineyards out of which the
favourite wine of Augustus was produced. The Rhaetians,
when they were invaded by the Romans, shortly before the
Christian era, were chiefly composed of fierce Celtic free¬
booters. They struggled savagely with the legions for
their mountain homes. The very women shot arrows ; and
when their missiles failed, threw their children in the face
of their foes. Yet the Rhaetians lost every vestige of in¬
dependence. Their armies were completely routed in
15 b.C. by Drusus and Tiberius. Their language not long
afterwards was displaced by the Latin. Their country
continued to be a Roman province, at one time by itself, at
another time in conjunction with Vindelicia (to which it
then extended its name). Nor after the fall of the empire
did they recover their liberty. The Ostrogoths kept them
in subjection until the Boioarii finally settled down in
their country. The chief town in Rhaetia was Tridentum
{Trent).
R H A
Rhamnus RHAMNUS, an ancient town of Greece, was situated
II. on the eastern coast of Attica, about 60 stadia N. from
x eglum- Marathon, and received its name from the shrub rhamnus,
“ v-*- which grew in its neighbourhood. The fame of the city
was chiefly derived from its temple of Nemesis. That
edifice, according to the commonly received opinion, was
built shortly after the victory of Marathon, and was adorned
by Phidias with a colossal image of the patron goddess.
The fragments of its columns and great statue are still seen
beyond the wall of the ruined city, on the same platform,
with the remains of another and smaller temple.
RHAPSODIST ('ptn^wSds, from 'pdn-Tw, I string together,
and a song), is strictly one who strings songs together,
and is usually applied to a class of persons who earned
their living by reciting the poems of Homer. These poems
came accordingly to be divided into certain lengths called
rhapsodies,—that is, lays, fyttes, or cantos. (Liddell and
Scott’s Lexicon.) In modern usage, the rhapsodist is one
who composes rhapsodies, or collections of thoughts into a
new whole, without any natural connection or necessary de¬
pendence.
RHAZES, or Razes, the Latinized name of Moham¬
med Ibn-Zakaria Abu-Beker Al-Razi, a most distinguished
Arabian physician, who was born at Rai, in the province
of Khorassan, about 852. His professional studies were
not begun in early life. At the age of thirty he was only
known as a dexterous performer on the guitar. It was not
until he was beyond forty that he vigorously applied him¬
self to the study of medicine at Bagdad. Rhazes then
took a high place in his profession. The directorship of
the famous hospital of Bagdad was conferred upon him.
Neighbouring princes frequently applied for his advice. In
particular, Almansour of Khorassan (in honour of whom he
called one of his books Ketdb Almansouri), liberally patron¬
ized him. His fame increased until he was reckoned the
most learned physician of his day. He had mastered phi¬
losophy, alchemy, and astronomy. He had travelled far in
quest of knowledge. He had also written above 200
treatises on professional subjects. A characteristic anec¬
dote is told regarding the close of the life of Rhazes. Hap¬
pening from some cause not sufficiently ascertained to be
struck with blindness, he called in a surgeon to operate
upon his eyes. The operation was just about to be made,
when he asked the surgeon how many optic membranes
there were. The surgeon could not answer. Upon this
he would not allow him to touch his eyes, and remained
blind till his death in 932. The following is a list of those
works of Rhazes which have been translated into Latin :—
Liber de Secretis qui Aphorismorum appellatur, Bologna,
1489; Havi sen Continens, in 2 vols. folio, Venice, 1509;
Libri Decern ad Almansorem, folio, Venice, 1510; and
De Variolis et Morbillis, Arabice et Latine ; cura et im-
pensis Johannis Channing, in 8vo, London, 1766. An
English translation of this last work, made directly from
the original Arabic, was published by Dr Greenhill, 8vo,
London, 1847.
RHEGIUM (the modern Reggio), an ancient Greek
city in Italy, was situated on the Sicilian straits, at the end
of the Bruttian peninsula. The town seems to have been
in existence before the historical period, but its importance
did not begin till the eighth century b.c. A colony from
Chalcis, along with some exiles from Messenia, then settled
in it, and commenced to form themselves gradually into a
regular corporation. The government was placed in the
hands of a council consisting of 1000 Messenians. The
laws of Charondas of Catana were afterwards adopted as a
constitution. In course of time the state was so consoli¬
dated as to be able to extend its sovereignty over the small
towns in the neighbourhood. The prosperity of Rhegium,
however, received a still greater stimulus after Anaxilas
had established a tyranny in 494 B.c. Its foreign policy
R H E 103
became more decidedly aggressive. Zancle, on the oppo¬
site side of the strait was subdued, and under the name of
Messana, was made a colony of the Messenians. The pro¬
montory of Scyllaeum was fortified and turned into a naval
station. The command of the straits was thus effectually
maintained against the Tyrrhenian pirates. At the same
time, the state enjoyed great internal order. The tyrant
Anaxilas and the regent Micythus ruled in succession with
great justice and moderation. It was not until the acces¬
sion of the two sons of Anaxilas that the people became
turbulent, and, rising in rebellion, overthrew the monarchy
in 461 B.c. In 399 B.c. a long course of severe disaster
began to befall Rhegium. Dionysius the Syracusan
tyrant, enraged at its opposition to his schemes of conquest,
doomed it to destruction. Every attempt to avert his
vengeance, both by force and negotiation, was ultimately
unsuccessful. In 387 b.c. he starved it into capitulation,
massacred or sold the inhabitants, and levelled the houses
with the dust. It is true that the city was shortly after¬
wards rebuilt, and regained, in course of time, a great part
of its prosperity ; but it was only to meet with another cala¬
mity. In 280 b.c., alarmed at the successes of Pyrrhus,
King of Epirus, the citizens applied to the Romans for as¬
sistance. The request was granted, and 4000 Campanians
were sent to garrison the town. These ruthless soldiers
had not been long there before they rose against the in¬
habitants. They slew all the men, fortified themselves
within the town, and were not reduced till ten years after¬
wards. During the subsequent period of ancient history,
Rhegium, though still retaining its importance, continued
subject to foreign dominion. As long as Rome was supreme
in Italy, it acknowledged the sway of that city. After the
dismemberment of the empire it passed through the hands
of various conquerors, until it was taken and made a part
of the kingdom of the Two Sicilies by Robert Guiscard in
1060. (See Reggio.)
RHEIMS, or Reims, a town of France, the largest, but
not the capital of the department of Marne, stands in a
plain amid vine-covered hills, on the Vesle, an affluent of
the Aisne, 27 miles N.N.W. of Chalons, and 82 E.N.E. of
Paris. It is encircled by a moat and ramparts, which have
been planted with trees, and now form an agreeable pub¬
lic walk. The four ancient gates once bore the names
of Mars, Venus, Ceres, and Bacchus; the first of them
consists of a triumphal arch, whose graceful Corinthian
columns contrast beautifully with the Gothic structures
about it. A modern gate was opened beside it in the six¬
teenth century, and another was opened in honour of Louis
XVI. in 1774. Though one of the oldest towns in
France, the streets of Rheims do not in general present that
picturesque appearance which often accompanies antiquity;
some of them indeed are quite modern. The houses,
seldom more than one or two storeys high, have a very dull
and uniform aspect. The great glory of the place is the
cathedral of the metropolitan see of France, which is con¬
sidered by many to be the most magnificent church north
of the Alps. It was built by Robert de Coucy (1212-41),
but its towers are still unfinished, so as to detract from the
perfection of the building. Nothing is more striking about
the exterior than the unity and harmony of the whole,
notwithstanding the many statues and other ornaments
with which it is profusely embellished. The interior has
much resemblance to that of Westminster Abbey, only it
is bolder and simpler, much more so than the exterior ; but
the exceedingly brilliant painted glass in the windows
throws over the whole “ a dim religious light,” which sup¬
plies the place of more elaborate decorations. There are
few monuments in the cathedral now ; the most remarkable
being a white marble sarcophagus of Jovinus, an ancient
prefect of Rheims. The abbey of St Remi is older than
the cathedral, having been built partly in the eleventh and
Rheims.
104 R H E
Rhenanus partly in the twelfth century; partly too at later epochs,
II . so that it is a curious medley of different styles. Much
v etorlc'y injury, now quite repaired, was done to it at the Revolution :
"h archbishops and nobles were torn up from its vaults ; and
the Sainte Ampoule, the heaven-descended oil-flask for
anointing the regal heads of France, was publicly broken in
pieces, though a fragment of it mysteriously re-appeared at
the coronation of Charles X. The town-hall is a handsome
modern building, with a statue of Louis XIII. in front. A
theatre, college, public library, and various schools are
among the establishments of the town. The chief manu¬
facture is that of woollen cloth, which has its centre here;
hosiery, soap, candles, biscuits, and gingerbread are also
produced; and dyeing, brewing, tanning, &c., are carried
on. The principal article of trade is the wine of Cham¬
pagne ; but besides this, agricultural produce, woollen and
cotton stuffs are exported here. Besides being the see of
an archbishop, Rheims contains courts of law and a chamber
of commerce. Previous to the invasion of Julius Caesar the
town was called Durocorlorum, and was the capital of the
Remi, a native tribe, from whom the modern name is de¬
rived. Under the Romans it was a place of much import¬
ance, the capital of Belgica Secunda, adorned with fine
buildings, and probably the seat of a school of learning.
Christianity is said to have been introduced and the cathe¬
dral founded in the fourth century. Soon after, the bar¬
barian hordes invaded Gaul; but in 496 Clovis and his
Franks were converted and baptized here. The cathedral
of Rheims has been the scene of the consecration of most of
the French monarchs, from Philip Augustus in 1179, till
that of Charles X. Of these ceremonies, probably none
had been more interesting than that which took place in
1429, when Charles VII. was crowned here ; Joan of Arc,
bearing her sacred banner, kneeling with tears of joy before
the sovereign whom she had restored to his throne. The
town was taken by the Russians in 1814, but before they
had been in possession many hours Napoleon came down
upon them, and gained here one of his last successes before
victory deserted his standards. Rheims is celebrated as the
birthplace of the statesman Colbert and the Abbe Pluche.
Pop. (1856) 48,350.
RHENANUS, Beatus, one of the revivers of learn¬
ing in Germany, was the son of a wealthy butcher, and
was born at Schlettstadt in 1485. From his youth upwards,
the greatest facilities for acquiring knowlege were enjoyed
H H E
by him. He studied at Paris under the ablest teachers of Rhenus
which that city could boast. He then resided for some II .
time at Basel, in the learned society of Erasmus and Ge- v etorIC'
lenius. His succession to his father’s fortune in 1520 in- ^ v~*1’
creased his advantages. Retiring to his native city, he was
enabled to devote the remainder of his life exclusively to
the quiet and congenial pursuits of his study. The result
of this propitious career was, that Rhenanus at his death,
in 1547, left a long list of publications. Among these was
the Editio Princeps of Paterculus, the manuscript of
which he discovered in the monastery of Murbach. There
was also an original work entitled Rerum Germanicarum
Libri Tres, folio, Basel, 1531, a work which has been often
reprinted.
RHENUS. See Rhine.
RHETICUS, or Rh^eticus, the surname which George
Joachim derived, from having been a native of that part of
the Tyrol which was anciently the territory of the Rhaeti.
This eminent scholar was born at Feldkirch in 1514, and
was appointed professor of elementary mathematics at
Wittenberg in 1537. His first appearance before the pub¬
lic was in the character of an enthusiastic convert to the
newly-broached opinions of Copernicus. No sooner had
he adopted these opinions than, resigning his chair, he re¬
paired to Frauenberg to sit at the feet of their great pro¬
mulgator. All his energy was forthwith devoted to the
new system. His aid was given in completing it. His
pen was employed in advocating it. His power of per¬
suasion was used to get its founder to lay it before the pub¬
lic. Nor did he desist when it was ready for the press.
Receiving the manuscript he superintended the printing,
and placed the new work in the hand of the expiring
author. Rheticus now commenced his great treatise,
Opus Palatinum de Triangulis. It exacted from him the
most arduous and the most patient labour. He continued
to work at it, while he occupied his old chair at Witten¬
berg, while he taught mathematics at Leipsic, and while
he travelled over different parts of the Continent. His
toil was not yet over when he died in Hungary in 1576.
The Opus Palatinum of Rheticus was published by Otho
in 1596, and was found to contain the most extensive tri¬
gonometrical table that had hitherto appeared. This table
was rendered still more complete by Pitiscus, the learned
philologist, and published under the name of Thesaurus
Mathematicus, folio, 1613.
RHETORIC.
Opinions as L The name Rhetoric is exceedingly flexible. In any
to the just sense it signifies the theory of certain processes of
function of communication, all of which have language for their
rhetoric. instrument.
When, again, ideas expressible by language are thought
worthy of being made communicable both widely and
permanently, the expression of them is recorded, and con¬
stitutes what may rightly be called a literary work. The
literary character is stamped on such works, more or less
deeply, by the fact of their being recorded ; whatever may
have been the occasion that gave them birth, and whether
it may have been to the eye or to the ear that they were
in the first instance addressed. Works so preserved, be¬
sides being the only specimens accessible to patient criti¬
cism, are reasonably presumed to be the best in their several
kinds: from the study of them, accordingly, are deduced
systematic expositions of the laws governing the processes
which they severally exemplify ; and such faws are justly
held to be binding on all similar processes, even though
they should assert no claim to a place in the literary record.
The processes, therefore, which rhetoric aims at analysing,
may correctly be described as being Literary. Ought we,
however, to place under that name the whole theory of
literature—-the theory of each and all of its departments ?
If we ought not, between what points is the line of exten¬
sion to be drawn? The name, like every other that has
long been in use, suggests to every one certain precise
ideas; and to these, for the avoidance of confusion, due
deference must be paid in any technical meaning that is to
be attached to it.
When Rhetoric is said to be the Theory of Eloquence,
a description is offered which will be accepted pretty gene¬
rally. It leads us promptly to a limitation of the sphere.
It rhetoric, theorizing admittedly processes which are
literary, exhausts the theory of literature, poetry must be
held to be a species of eloquence. But the word eloquence
can hardly by any one be taken in a meaning so wide as to
make this inclusion natural, or to save a theory which
adopts it from the risk of frequent misapprehension.
Popularly, indeed, we limit the name eloquence to an
extent which cannot altogether be prevented from embar¬
rassing the expression of rhetorical doctrines: we are apt
R H E T
Introduc- t0 COnfine it exclusively to compositions of an imaginative
tl0n‘ or passionate cast. Within this narrowed meaning there
lies yet another, which restricts the name to spoken ora¬
tory ; but this is not likely to mislead.
As to the function of rhetoric, accordingly, there have
been entertained diverse opinions. The principal of these
are four. These, however, as it will immediately appear,
are practically brought, by inevitable short-comings in the
analysis, within shorter distances from each other than they
may at first seem to hold.
In the first place, the name has been applied to the
whole theory of literature or literary composition. 1 his
view guides the outline of Campbell’s Philosophy of Rhe¬
toric ; although the treatise, left incomplete, hardly carries
the analysis of poetry further than a few hints on style.
It has already been said that this widest meaning of the
term is inadmissible.
Secondly, the name has been applied to the theory of all
kinds of literature that are not poetical. Eloquence being
that which is theorized in rhetoric, the whole realm of
literature is in this view distributed into two provinces,
designable severally as eloquence and poetry.—It is well
to say, thus early, that this is a just distribution; but only
with the proviso, that the two provinces be distinguished
from each other according to a sound principle. Literary
works should be disposed, primarily, according to their
several purposes ; since it is the character of the purpose
that determines for a process its paramount laws. Elo¬
quence and poetry, then, are separated by difference of
purpose. All literary processes having a certain purpose
are correctly comprehended under the name Poetry, lo
cover all literary processes having any other purpose, no
apter name can be found than Eloquence ; and the theo¬
rizing of all such processes is embraced correspondingly
under the name of Rhetoric.—A caution, however, must
here be given, and pressed very emphatically. The two¬
fold distribution of the whole range of literature becomes
utterly deceptive, and precludes the construction of a true
theory for either department, when it is founded, as it has
been oftener than not, on a principle which ought to yield
only lower steps of classification,—namely, that of form.
This is the principle which is adopted when all literary
compositions are divided into two kinds, poetry and prose ;
for the name poetry is thus intended to cover all literary
works written in verse, and to exclude all others. I he
just contrary of prose is not poetry, but verse : the two are
merely names for forms into which words may be thrown.
Whether a work is poetical or not is a question to be de¬
termined by its purpose : it may not be poetical, although
its language is metrically modulated ; it may be poetical,
although its language, not having such modulation, must be
called prose. It is the fact, no doubt, that prose is not,
and cannot rightly be, adopted as the form of poetry which
is designed to be either pure or elevated ; and accordingly,
the language is metrical in all works which are currently
and universally called poetical. So, contrariwise, in. all
nations and times that yield works calling for criticism,
prose is taken as the form of every composition aiming
distinctively at any effect not poetical. Therefore the identi¬
fication of prose with eloquence does, in effect, submit to ex¬
amination all works which are the fruit of processes justly
falling within the description of eloquence. But it takes
in likewise certain kinds of works which ought to be ex¬
cluded ; and the mistake which lies at the root must vitiate
all the broadest of the inferences to be afterwards drawn.
This mistake does, in fact, pervade almost all attempts that
have been made, in this country at least, to construct rhe¬
torical systems which should be valid for all works not
poetical/ The design has been announced as being the
laying down of rules for prose composition ; and, the execu¬
tion of the design rising seldom if ever above questions of
VOL. XIX.
O R I C. 105
style, the consequences of the vicious assumption have not Introduc-
been brought into a prominence sufficient to secure their t*on•
detection.
In each of the two views which are still to be described,
rhetoric is treated as being specifically and properly the
theory of oratory. The forms and conditions of public
speaking are assumed as data; and kinds of eloquence
which are addressed exclusively to the eye of the reader,
either receive no notice or supply but occasional illustration.
Within those limits this question is raised:—whether all
oratorical processes should be analysed, or only certain of
them ? Oratory may aim at no further effect than the
generation of belief or explicit knowledge, through asser¬
tion or argumentation, or both ; and the processes available
for this purpose may be said to constitute argumentative
eloquence. Again, those processes being pre-supposed,
oratory may aim at the generation of desire and volition,
through the representation of emotive images; and the
relative processes may be said to constitute persuasive
eloquence. Many rhetoricians have treated processes of
both kinds: many have restricted their field to the latter
of the two.
Thirdly, then, there have been included, under the name
of rhetoric, the theories both of argumentative and of
persuasive oratory, no immediate cognizance being taken
of any other processes. This was the view prevalent, with
perhaps no exception, among the Greek and Roman
theorists; it was especially adopted both by Aristotle and
by Cicero. It is thus that the function of rhetoric is de¬
termined by Archbishop Whately.
Fourthly, rhetoric has been considered as being exclu¬
sively the theory of persuasive oratory. Argumentative
eloquence has been excluded from its sphere, on one or
another of several grounds. It has been alleged by some
that the process is exhaustively theorized in logic ; that
there is no difference, practically appreciable, between a
process of inference and the communication of that process.
By others the communication of inference has been made
the object of a special theory, to which, in scholastic times,
there was sometimes given the name ot Dialectics in one
of its several meanings. Yet, again, it has been main¬
tained, and oftenest on the north of the Tweed, that we
can derive no practical advantage from subjecting either
inference or the communication of it to any systematic or
scientific analysis whatever.
2. The questions thus raised, with others not yet hinted The design
at, will be answered in the explanations now to be offered ofthl9
of the views which have dictated the plan of the following tredtise<
summary.
The attempt to sketch a few of the outlines in a theory
of eloquence is here undertaken in a spirit, which not only
gives a dominant tone to the whole inquiry, but prescribes
a selection, not in all respects usual, of questions to be
inquired into. The spirit is that of thorough distrust in
mere rules of art, accompanied by a faith not less peremp¬
tory in those principles on which the rules, if sound, must
be founded. If a theory of literature, or of any of its
departments, deserves the name it assumes, it is not the
road-book of a country perfectly known, through which all
men who will submit to guidance may travel with equal
safety and equal ease. It is but the code of instructions
issued to persons who are arming themselves for an ex¬
ploring expedition : it indicates distant points to be aimed
at, and warns against deviations which would lead utterly
astray ; but it does most of all towards preparing the ad¬
venturer for his task, if it can mark out with clearness the
boundaries of unknown tracts, where he must place his
sole reliance on his native genius, and skill, and vigour.
Such a theory is valuable in proportion to the power with
which it prompts thinking, and to the comprehensiveness
106
RHETORIC.
Introduc- with which it embraces and methodizes the problems
ti°n. that ought to be reflected on.
Now, not only does every department of literature inos¬
culate with every other; but, besides this, literature as a
whole is no hermit-cell, filling a sequestered nook in the
world of thought. Parallel with the processes which it
must adopt are certain other processes, aiming at similar
ends by the use of different methods. Literature, again,
in common with all those kindred developments of human
energy, obeys laws which are really the very same laws
that govern common life.
Considerations like these suggest some preliminary
inquiries, the result of which will lay, or ought to lay,
for all doctrines properly rhetorical, the only foundation
that is broad and firm enough to bear them.
I. In the first of the two introductory divisions, the
design is that of fixing the place of Eloquence as a mem¬
ber in a group of processes, which will be spoken of as
Arts of Communication. The only Literary processes
of this system are Eloquence and Poetry ; to those which
are not literary is usually confined the name of Fine Arts.
Some correctness of apprehension in regard to the generic
character of the group, is indispensable for the formation of
a true creed as to the specific character of any one of the
members. All of them obey certain laws in common, and
therefore are most instructively studied together, down
even to a point far beyond that which can here be reached:
they illustrate each other not less aptly by the differences
imposed on them by differences either in their purposes or
in their instruments.
Further, the two literary arts of communication resemble
a two-stemmed tree, whose trunks spring from the same
root, and whose branches appear, when seen from a dis¬
tance, to make up but one magnificent mass of foliage.
The comparison between them is instructive through in¬
numerable features both of similarity and of difference.
The truth is, that the theory of literature is one organic
whole, and should be studied as one system. Not only,
however, is such treatment here forbidden, alike by the
large space that would be required, and by regard to the
reasonable meaning of the title prescribed for the present
article; but, likewise, the theory of the nobler art of the
two has already, in this work, been sketched by a masterly
pencil. (See Poetry.) Nevertheless, many of the facts
which it is here sought to subject to law, receive elucida¬
tions so pertinent from facts developed in the other great
province of literature, that our speculations in Rhetoric
will be found, especially in their later stages, to make not
infrequent incursions into the domain of Poetics.
II. The second of the introductory divisions is a Psycho¬
logical Outline.
The maxim must again be urged, that rules of art are
worse than futile, unless they prompt reflection on their
reasons. All the laws of literature, except those (few and
obvious) which depend on physical conditions, are, in com¬
mon with all others that directly govern any department of
man’s conscious activity, laws of the human mind or co¬
rollaries drawn from these. Rhetoric reposes on Psychology.
Now, though we look no deeper than nomenclature, pre¬
liminary explanations are seen to be advisable if not
necessary. The use of words and phrases descriptive of
mental changes is so loose and fluctuating, that exactitude
of analysis cannot be reached without exact detei’mination
of the meaning in which the leading terms of this kind are
to be used. Here, especially, certain processes are to be
exhibited as involving the excitement of Imagination, of
Emotion, of Desire: there is not one of the three names
that has not several significations ; which of these is here
assigned technically to each ? But the best or only ade¬
quate explanation of a name is the description or analysis of
the thing; and the aptest explanation of a series of related
names is that which describes the denoted facts in relation
to each other. The call for prefatory statement of psycho¬
logical doctrines could only be superseded by something
which cannot be had; that is, by the power of referring to
some one system, familiarly known both to writer and to
readers, and accepted at all points by the one party as well
as by the other.
There is to be offered, accordingly, a sketch of some
psychological doctrines, which afterwards will either be
appealed to directly in proof of rhetorical rules, or will
modify indirectly the aspect in which the rules are pre¬
sented ; or which, if any of them should not have either
of these effects, may suggest speculation on questions
lying beyond and above the scope of an elementary
treatise. The scheme from which those doctrines are
taken has been developed gradually as the basis of instruc¬
tion to pupils. Well-informed readers will perceive that
it borrows freely from many quarters. It has owed very
much to the suggestions scattered through the Discussions
and Dissertations of Sir William Hamilton, and much also
to sources from which that distinguished philosopher has
himself drawn. In the final elaboration of the outline,
also, such advantage has been taken as the time allowed,
of that systematization of psychological doctrines which
is supplied by the recent publication of Hamilton’s Meta¬
physical Lectures.
III. The body of the treatise is designed for throwing
out hints towards the formation of a rhetorical scheme,
which would assume as correct the second of the four opi¬
nions as to the province assignable to eloquence. A com¬
plete system of rhetoric ought to theorize all literary pro¬
cesses, all departments of literature, whose distinctive pur¬
pose is not poetical.
Nevertheless, those narrow methods of treatment, which
were described as the third and fourth, are faulty only be¬
cause narrow, not as being erroneous; and they may be
adopted, both safely and conveniently, as the basis of any
theory aiming at full comprehensiveness.
A few words may be sufficient for explaining the view
thus generally stated.
All possible processes of communication through lan¬
guage are reducible to four, distinguishable by these
names,—Exposition, Argumentation, Persuasion, Poetical
Representation. The last of the four does not fall within
our cognizance, unless incidentally. The other three ex¬
haust all the possibilities of method, for language which is
used for the attainment of any purpose not poetical. The
complete performance of each of them is exemplified in an
oration, or other discourse, which aims at exciting volition
through motives which must be aroused by antecedent
conviction : in such a discourse, exposition is made the
groundwork of argumentation, and that again of persuasion.
But all other kinds of literary composition, not poetical, are
constituted by those very processes, performed in whole or
in part, and combined in diversified degrees of complexity.
A complete theory of these three elementary and normal
processes would lay down all the laws governing the pro¬
cesses which are complex. If such a theory were reached,
it would leave for answer, as to each of the mixed kinds of
literary composition, three questions only : first, which of
the elementary processes enter, and which wholly, which in
part, into its constitution; secondly, which one of the con¬
stituents is the process leading towards that which is the
paramount purpose of the work, and which of them are no
more than ministerial; thirdly, what are the relations,—as of
comparative efficiency, means of operation, and the like,—
between those processes merely subsidiary, and that one
into which, as they flow on, they successively deliver their
tribute. In a word, the theory of the processes constituting
oratory is the true basis of the universal theory of elo¬
quence.
Introduc¬
tion.
Organiza¬
tion of
Literature
and Art.
Art and
science—
the arts of
communi¬
cation.
R H E T
Accordingly, our business will be the analysis of the
three normal processes, Exposition, Argumentation, and
Persuasion. 1 his procedure should yield a skeleton-theory
of eloquence. Towards the clothing of the bones with
flesh and blood, very little can at present be contributed.
The application of the elementary laws to even the princi¬
pal among the complex departments of literature, would
require a fulness of illustration which is inadmissible; and
the large additional demand on the patience of readers
might not seem to be justified by such results as could be
presented, in the execution of a design which (perhaps be¬
cause thought to be erroneous or barren) does not appear
to have been as yet distinctly entertained, and has certainly
not yet been systematically prosecuted. It must suffice to
have offered this prefatory protest against the completeness
of the merely oratorical treatment of Rhetoric ; and to throw
out, as occasion may arise, a few hints illustrative of the
opinion thus set forth as to the genuine structure of a com¬
plete theory of eloquence.
The practical issue is, that the treatment of the topic has
its outline determined by the third of the opinions as to the
function of rhetoric. But even the fourth opinion will in
some degree affect the scheme.—The analysis of the first
two of the three processes supplies disappointingly few ma¬
terials towards that systematic application to complex in¬
stances, which has been asserted to be essential for com¬
pleteness in the theory of eloquence. As to exposition,
although one aspect of it was taken under the especial
patronage of Aristotle, hardly any laws can be assigned
that touch it properly as a means of communication: suc¬
cess in it is mainly dependent on considerations not in any
way rhetorical. The fact is significant, since this is the
process which is paramount in history and biography. As
O R l c. 107
to argumentation, again, the uses of its rhetorical laws are Organiza-
directive rather than critical, a circumstance symptomatic .tion of
of artificiality; and, further, these uses hardly emerge un- literature
less in reference to cases of complicated reasoning in con- vand 'Art'y
tingent matter, cases occurring frequently in oratory proper, ” v ^
but much less common in works strictly literary.—It is not
till we reach the process of persuasion, that it is found pos¬
sible to elicit laws entitled to claim a commanding place in
the code of philosophical criticism. The laws assignable
for persuasion justify this claim by their possession of three
characteristics: they are resolvable, unequivocally and
easily, into principles of man’s mental constitution; they
possess some efficiency as cautionary guides to performance,
and much as suggestive canons of critical judgment; and
they govern instances diversified so variously, that there
is no department of literature over which they do not
exercise some influence. Communication, in short, so long
as it seeks to operate exclusively on the rational nature of
man, obeys but few universal laws that affect it in its com¬
municative character,—few laws except those which rule
the matter communicated, and the thinking which is
brought to bear on it. Communication comes under the
sway of wide and imperative laws of its own, as soon as it
passes onward to the endeavour to generate imagination
and emotion. The quarter over which the theory of com¬
munication exerts its most active power is the very quarter
in which that theory teaches, as the most imperative of its
lessons, its own impotence to handle the weapons which
native strength of imagination wields with ease,—its own
blindness to pierce into the deepest part of those emotive
relations, which animate the oratorical picture and idealize
the poetic dream.
I. THE ORGANIZATION OF LITERATURE AND ART.
3. The compass of the field which lies before us, in this
stage of our inquiries, may be identified when we describe
it, in common phrase, as containing Literature and Art, or
Literature and the Fine Arts. Our hasty survey is intended
for mapping out the ground, in such a way as to indicate the
character and boundaries of its several sections.
It is covered by a large system of processes, which will
here be spoken of as Arts of Communication.
The name “ art” being thus taken to signify processes,
not their theories, a group of cognate processes may be called
an Art, when they are found to possess two characteristics.
First, they must be performable voluntarily, for the attain¬
ment of a preformed purpose; secondly, this condition be¬
ing purified, they will still not come up to the idea of art,
until their laws have been more or less thoroughly deter¬
mined and systematized. If, on this footing, we still wish
to retain the use of the current antithesis between the
terms art and science, there is only one way of consistently
doing so.
The theory of an art, its system of laws, will be called a
Science. If, indeed, the name of science is to be bestowed
only on systems of knowledge that are in all points both
exact and complete, the roll of sciences must always be
very short. But imperfection ought not to be a bar; and
there may be convenience in sometimes giving the name
of sciences to the theories now in question.
If the terms art and science are accepted in the meanings
thus explained, the distinction most commonly taken be¬
tween art and science may, if we will, be recognised as
separating science into two sections. The theory of an art
is a Practical Science so far as it lays down rules of art,
whether directive or critical; the theory of an art is a Spe¬
culative Science, so far as it assigns the reasons of the rules.
This secondary distinction is narrow and slippery. But it
may sometimes be useful as reminding us, that a rule of art
which cannot be philosophically justified is merely empirical
and therefore unsafe ; and that, both in the study and in the
practice of the higher arts, like those with which we are now
concerned, a rule has no value whatever, unless for those who
have apprehended firmly the principle on which it is founded.
Every art, indeed, must draw its principles from without:
it must gather its data, not from one but always from more
than one, of those systems of knowledge which serve other
uses also, and each of which, indeed, has been or ought to
have been constructed, in the first instance, with exclusive
regard to the speculative point of view.
All arts are processes of change. Every step is the
working of a change: the result, also, is a change, the
effecting of which was the purpose towards which the steps
were adopted as a means. If all the objects on which an
art works its changes are corporeal, or if its result, though
mental, rises no higher than sensation (physical comfort,
for example), the theory of the art will receive all its
data from the physical or mathematico-physical sciences.
Similarly, if all the changes worked by an art are mental, the
art will derive the basis of its theory from the philosophy of
mind,—that is, from psychology, the central and original
science of that great cycle. If an art works changes on ob¬
jects of both kinds, it must borrow data both from the phi¬
losophy of body and from that of mind. But, in such a
case, the character of the result will decisively direct all the
leading steps towards the one side or the other: the rules
which properly constitute the theory of the art will be
developments, either wholly of laws physical, or wholly of
laws mental; and the subordinate laws, whose operation is
merely a condition of the possibility of the art, may be
silently assumed.
In all processes describable as arts of communication,
108
Organiza¬
tion of
Literature
and Art.
Literature
and art—
the pro¬
cesses and
their theo¬
ries.
KHETOJFtIC
man attempts to work on the mind of man, either individu¬
ally or collectively. Each of them is constituted by steps,
in which, mental states having arisen in one mind, it is at¬
tempted to communicate these to some other mind or
minds; and the purpose of all is the effecting, in that other
mind or minds, of changes of one kind or another. Many
processes falling within this description (for example, the
process of education) are complex in the extreme : the com¬
municative process has to be repeated indefinitely often;
and it has to be engrafted on antecedent processes, requir¬
ing to be separately theorized.
As normal specimens of the arts of communication, there
may be taken those processes which are embraced under
the name of Literature, and those others to which (too nar¬
rowly) is usually confined the name of the Fine Arts. All
processes of the first class fall within two arts,—Eloquence
and Poetry. Among processes of the second class there are
only three arts which can be considered as being at once
pure and complete,—Music, Painting, Sculpture. If the
theories of those five arts can be established, the ground is
laid broadly enough for the theorization of all other arts of
communication, so far as they are merely communicative.
4. The character of an art is primarily and most widely
determined by the character of its purpose. All the arts
of communication have this in common; that the effects
they aim at producing are mental changes, and changes
rising higher than sensation. Consequently the paramount
laws of all of them are laws of mind.
The consideration of purpose yields, further, a primary
distribution of those arts into two classes. Their primary
and paramount differences are founded on differences in the
mental states, the modes of mind, which they severally aim
at communicating. It is only secondarily, for the forma¬
tion of genera within each of those two classes, that account
can be taken of those differences which arise out of differ¬
ences in the means or instruments.
Having regard to purpose, then, we have first to set
aside, as constituting the first of the two classes, all those
of our five arts which have for their distinctive and par¬
amount purpose the excitement of feelings (specifically
emotions) having a certain character. These are oftenest
called feelings of Beauty. At the cost of a little anticipa¬
tion, they may be described as feelings of imaginative
pleasure, or as pleasing emotions consequent on imagina¬
tion. All arts entertaining this purpose have a claim equally
strong to be called Fine Arts ; and all of them will here re¬
ceive that name. Indeed this phrase is merely an indis¬
tinct translation of terms common to all the continental
tongues, and more correctly rendered, “the beautiful arts,”
or “ the arts of beauty.” The fine arts of our roll, then,
are four of the five: poetry is a fine art, as properly as
music, painting, and sculpture.
The universal theory of the fine arts, the system of laws
which is obeyed by all of them, and by the study of which
the way ought to be prepared for the study of each of the
special theories, has received the name of ./Esthetics. The
word is but indistinctly descriptive, and has likewise been
used philosophically in other meanings. But it suggests
significantly the working of all the processes towards feel¬
ing ; and no substitute that has been proposed is free from
faults of other kinds.
Overagainst those arts stands the second class of our arts
of communicatiojj, into which must be admitted all pro¬
cesses aiming distinctively at the communication of any
mental state different from imaginative pleasure. For pro¬
cesses of this class we cannot gain a name, till we have
descended to the consideration of the means or instruments.
Then, also, the true rank of poetry will appear.
Plain it is, that instruments may be fully available for
the end entertained by the fine arts, and yet quite inade¬
quate for the attainment of all the purposes aimed at by the
processes constituting the second class. The truth goes
even farther: while several instruments are adequate for
the first purpose, there is only one instrument fully ade¬
quate for any of the others. All these other purposes are,
for the uses of theory, reducible to two (the purposes of
communication being thus, in all, no more than three).
First, the design may be to generate cognition or thought,
in the form of Belief, Judgment, Explicit Knowledge;
secondly, the design may be to generate Volition (an act of
will), through Imagination and consequent Desire or Aver¬
sion. It is conceivable (rather than likely) that in com¬
munication the modes of mind aimed at shall not be either
of the two here named. But if so, they must be modes
which are steps towards the one or the other of the two;
and a complete theory of the processes leading to the two
must have accounted for each of the steps.
For the generation of Belief and Volition through com¬
munication, no instrument is fully available except Lan¬
guage, Articulate Speech, spoken or recorded. Belief con¬
sists in, volition presupposes, clear thinking of the character
and relations of objects; and such thinking cannot be con¬
veyed from mind to mind,—cannot, indeed, take place even
in one mind,—through any machinery less powerful and
flexible than words.
Accordingly, the only processes of communication ad¬
missible into our second class are those which may, in a
just sense of the word, be held to be contained in and con¬
stitute the Art of Eloquence. To the theory of that art
there has been allowed, ever since the Greeks bestowed it,
the name of Rhetoric.
Further, processes which communicate through language,
and those which communicate otherwise, may conveniently
be distinguished as Literary and Non-literary. Eloquence
is, among the communicative arts which are not fine arts,
the only one that is literary. Among processes of the other
class, Poetry is the one fine art which is literary ; the others
are not discriminated exactly enough till they are described
as being Fine Arts Non-literary.
If we were to enter on a particular consideration of the
several theories of all those arts, the differences of instru¬
ment would come decisively forward, and dictate a distri¬
bution guiding our course of study.
On the one hand would stand the Theory of Literature ;
or, as it has aptly been called, the Philosophy of (literary)
Criticism,—a name hinting, significantly and instructively,
that the use of theory here is critical rather than directive.
This theory is constituted and exhausted by two special
theories, or sciences, if that word be allowed : by the theory
of Eloquence, which is Rhetoric; by the theory of Poetry,
which likewise may retain its old name Poetics or Poetic.
The psychological prsecognita, the instrumental presup¬
positions, required by the theory of literature, are derived from
the science of Grammar; that word being understood in the
wide meaning it ought to have, as including both the uni¬
versal theory of language, and the special theory of the
tongue on whose literature the doctrines are designed to
bear. The frontier, indeed, which fences off rhetoric on
its lowest side from grammar is as loosely drawn as most
of those other lines of demarcation, forced on us by the
necessity of apportioning human labour. All laws of Style
might be said to be, in strictness, grammatical, not rhe¬
torical ; but by the total exclusion of these the practical
uses of rhetorical study would be injuriously cramped. On
its higher side, again, rhetoric finds itself to be often
brought into direct and useful contact with poetics; and
it may learn much, by contrast, from the general doc¬
trines of aesthetics, with something now and then tfom the
special theories of the several fine arts. Poetics, while
standing in intimate relations with rhetoric, is necessarily
in close alliance both with aesthetics, on which its own uni-
Organiza-
tion of
Literature
and Art.
Organiza¬
tion of
Literature
and Art.
R H E T
versa) laws are founded, and with those special develop¬
ments of aesthetical laws which rule music and the arts of
design.
The physical praecognita of the theory of literature are
so narrow, and so patent, as scarcely to require being al¬
luded to. The case stands very differently with the non¬
literary fine arts. On all of them, though not with equal
breadth of application, their nature imposes it, as a condi¬
tion prerequisite, that those objects of perception which are
their instruments shall be on the wdiole sensuously agree¬
able. With the harmony of colours, which is thus a condi¬
tion imposed on painting, and weighing, though lightly, on
sculpture, we are not concerned. But we are interested in
the harmony of sounds, which penetrates so deeply into the
essence of music as to threaten continually an ignoring of
the higher capabilities of the art. Poetry, being a fine art,
and operating through sounds, has to accept audible harmony,
in a certain modification, as one of its precedent conditions ;
and the melody of language gives a fine and attractive charm
to the higher and more imaginative efforts of eloquence.
Among the differences in procedure, necessarily modify¬
ing the results likewise, which are imposed on the several
arts of communication by the differing character of their
instruments, there may here be indicated, in brief, one or
two which will soon supply us with instructive points of
comparison. On the rhetorical side, these affect exclu¬
sively processes in which the excitement of imagination is
a step.
The difference which pierces deepest is that which sepa¬
rates the literary arts and the non-literary.—The latter excite
imagination directly: the excitative power is in the work
of art itself, constituted by the group of visible forms and
colours, or the series of audible sounds. We see the work
or we hear it; and, if the perception ceases, our image
might supposably be a mere representation of that which
we had perceived. Indeed the object actually perceived
plays so prominent a part, as to incline towards misleading
both theory and practice. The cardinal doctrine, that all
the fine arts work their genuine effect only by exciting the
imagination of the recipient, is hardly questioned in its
application to poetry. But it is not so obvious, nor yet so
readily admitted, that the same law rules the arts of design.
For here the force and clearness of the perception tend not
only to tempt away from the imaginative effort, but also to
hamper its freedom when it is instituted ; and, beyond all
doubt, the mere sight of a picture or a statue imparts a cer¬
tain kind of pleasure to many minds, whose sluggishness of
imagination incapacitates them almost utterly from profit¬
ing by the higher suggestiveness of the work. In regard
to°music there occur similar doubts, traceable, however, to
other causes. The organic gratification derivable from
harmony of sound is so intense and so fine, that it is apt to
monopolize the attention of one who is keenly susceptible
to it; and, further, the images directly suggested by music
are vague and indistinct, not rising into clearness and pre¬
cision unless in minds which exercise an independent force
of fantasy, closely allied to that which generates the poetic
mootl.—In imaginative eloquence, exactly as in poetry, the
instrument through which the effect is produced, that which
is communicated and excitative, is not really the words, but
the thoughts which the words signify. Notice will be parti¬
cularly invited hereafter to some of the interesting conse¬
quences flowing from the merely mediative function of
language, and from the symbolic and conventional character
of the words by which it is constituted.
Another difference, secondary but yet very important,
subsists between the arts of design on the one hand, and
the other arts of our list on the other. The former repre¬
sent in space ; the latter represent in time. It will be
shown that this contrariety, which is oftenest put to use in
the theory of poetry, is also fruitful for eloquence both in
o R I C. 109
restrictions and in licences, both of which are not infre-
quently ignored. Literature
and Art.
5. When it has been thought worth while to characterise
thus systematically the theories of arts, some explanation
may be proposed as to the practical bearing which the theory t.lons
is likely to have on the relative art. tween arts
No defence is needed for the dignity and value of spe- and their
eolation as speculation. Equally needless is it to say, that theories,
every practical science has speculative relations, which
might justify its claim to attention though its practical use¬
fulness should be very small. The theory of every art has
a general speculative value, as being (if rightly founded
and constructed) an organised system of truths : the theory
of all the arts now in question has also a specific speculative
value, as being the product of systematic thinking, applied
worthily to the monuments of literature and refined art.
The thoughts, and images, and feelings which are poured
out by the hand of genius, cannot be imbibed by us with¬
out the rise of an earnest longing to discover some at
least of the laws, in virtue of which it has become possible
so to elevate, and inspire, and move us. Inquisition into
the laws of literature, and its kindred arts, would be alike
inevitable and praiseworthy ; although it should be certain,
as it never can be in regard to any speculative truth what¬
ever, that the attainment of even a complete system of
laws for the kind of processes examined must remain prac¬
tically barren.
The theory of an art can have but either or both of two
practical uses. It is Directive, so far as it is efficient for
guidance in the construction of new works: it is Critical,
so far as it assists in the just estimation of works already
constructed. Of no art whatever can the best possible
theory serve either use in any but a most imperfect degree.
The higher and wider an art is in the results it aims at, the
weaker does its theory become in both aspects; and, when
we reach arts having the elevated and far-reaching character
of those we have here to do with, the directive use of theo¬
retic laws has nearly vanished, while even the critical use
has shrunk within narrow bounds. In the lowest arts that
are conceivable, successful performance has individual ap¬
titude as a condition precedent: in arts of high compass
this aptitude assumes, more and more as we rise, the cha¬
racter of that which is called genius. Such laws as can be
assigned come then to have a direct value that is only
negative. They are warnings that disobedience will,
though the native power be present, impair or destroy the
effect aimed at—The discovery of the assignable laws
rests primarily on the study of works already in existence ;
the laws cannot confidently be pronounced to be sound,
unless the possibility of mistake is excluded by a wide
range of antecedent experience. Even such laws are
obeyed by genius, rather in accordance with its own ima¬
ginative instincts, than in consequence of distinct and ge¬
neralised thought. Nor do such laws as are assignable
serve any higher office than that of being guards about the
doorways of the temple : genius sits alone and unap¬
proachable in the sanctuary which is within. But theory
has given us something well worth having, if it has only
taught us how far law, consciously generalized and intelli¬
gibly promulgated, can penetrate into the heart of those
mysteries, in the midst of which the poet, the orator, and
the artist live and work through feeling rather than thought.
It is much if there can be drawn, though it should be but
dimly and waveringly, the line beyond and above which
rules cease to have so much as critical force.
In a way generally and distantly suggestive, however,
rules have a positive efficiency ; an efficiency which, even
in the arts of communication and in the most ambitious
phases of these, may be made to manifest itself vigorously
in criticism, and to affect beneficially performance likewise.
RHETORIC.
110
Data for It is said that in the history of the arts practice precedes
Literature tt>e0I7 ’ and the assertion is correct in a sense which the
andArt!"6 forgoing hints imply. It is not true, even of the arts of
v ^ ^ ^ j communication, that any of them, or any department of
any, is ever practised in the absence of all intelligent ap¬
prehension of its governing laws. But it is true that all of
these arts are practised, and attain eminent success, before
the attempt is deliberately made to discover all the disco¬
verable laws, and to digest these into a theoretical code.
A theory, however, being once attained, cannot but exercise
and deserve to exercise influence on the subsequent history
of its art, so far as it is sound and limited to its legitimate
duties. Such influence belongs rightfully to those wide
theorems, in which it is possible to exhibit the character of
literature and art as an organic system, and the characte¬
ristics, generic and specific, of each of the members by
which the system is formed ; and it belongs with equal right
to many particular laws, or cautions, or hints, which are va¬
lidly deduced from the ruling principles of communicative
art as a whole, and of each ot its constituent sections. Vio¬
lation of the particular laws will involve error proportional
to the width of the law disobeyed ; error which, though no
exposure of it should be made by reference to reasons, will
be discovered to be error by the native instincts of those
to whom the work is addressed. Violation of the wider
laws will work still more hurtfully : and this, like the other,
will be punished and betrayed by failure in result; by
failure which, sooner or later, is certain to be suffered, and
which will be speedy or immediate if public taste and judg¬
ment be refined and correct.
Not to be overlooked is a class of facts, which is interesting
in itself, while it often embarrasses attempts at applying the
laws of art to individual works, especially in literature. The
theory of an art must be founded on an exact determina¬
tion of its purpose and procedure, as these are exhibited in
the purest instances that are possible. Now, in the actual
uses of the non-literary arts there is some scope, in com¬
munication through language there is large scope and
almost continual occasion, for combination of purposes and
consequent complication of processes.
In respect of literature, it has already been asserted, that
those genuine departments of it which are not poetical in
aim, are really combinations of three normal processes, or of
certain of their steps ; and, if our business had led us to
close scrutiny of poetry, we should have found reason for
believing that its genuine kinds likewise are to be regarded
as similarly products of a very few elementary forms. The
difficulties which are thus raised, even when eloquence and
poetry remain faithful, each to its own distinctive vocation,
must make literature chaotic and criticism feeble and inco¬
herent, unless the paramount principles of communication,
and at least some of their nearest corollaries, be steadily
kept in sight. Powerful effect cannot be worked by any
literary work without unity of purpose; and the character
of the purpose will determine that of the processes,—both
of the process which leads to the main result, and of those
which are grouped round it as leading to the attainment of
aims that are subsidiary.
1 here may be combined in one work, however, processes
which ought not to have been so, because leading towards
or up to purposes which are irreconcileable and mutually
destructive. 1 herefore, in all those complications which
are so common, the question of legitimacy or illegitimacy
must be firmly dealt with. Every art of communication is
tempted to struggle for the enlargement of its sphere ;
mutual borrowings take place between processes the most
hard to be harmonized: and, while this dangerous ambition
often paralyzes instantly the work in which it is indulged,
it imparts still oftener nothing better than the momentary
vigour of a feverish paroxysm succeeded byutter exhaustion.
In one sort of cases, the purpose of the art is neither lost
sight of nor mixed up with the purpose of others ; but the
means appropriate to it are enlarged by the addition of
means which are foreign. There arises no risk of throwing
the process out of the class it should belong to ; and, the
laws thus retaining firm hold, the error, when gross, is easily
discoverable, and almost always exposed. In this way the
arts of design borrow from each other; and each of them
sometimes, but most unwisely, borrows objects or aspects
from poetry. It is a fact coming closer to our inquiries, that
poetry often seeks to represent objects and aspects of ob¬
jects, not representable unless through the means available
to painting and sculpture. Eloquence imitates the error ;
and it will be dealt with hereafter.
Cases of another sort are much more dangerous and
troublesome. They consist in complications, interferences,
or uncertainties of purpose. Out of these spring works of
art, which, when their divergence carries them so far that
they do not acknowledge as paramount the laws of any one
art, really constitute composite classes, in which theory is
set fairly at defiance. Literature is especially open to for¬
mations of this cast, on account of the precision of language
and its indomitable elasticity ; and accordingly few genera¬
tions have wanted occasion for paying just admiration to
the fine thinking, or imagination, or feeling exhibited in
works which, still veering doubtfully, like a ship under
shifting breezes, between the aim of poetry and aims not
poetical, are only dazzling effusions of genius, not thought¬
ful and enduring monuments of literary art. In the early
and spontaneous development of literature and the arts of
design, an approach is made to this treacherous ground ; but
the simple old poets and artists are protected against its
dangers by their own strong simplicity as well as by the com¬
parative poverty of their means. It is not till the literature
of a nation has passed through its summer-glories, and is de¬
scending into the coolness of its autumn, that the boundaries
separating the provinces are wilfully overstepped : they are
so by men of high literary powers, ambitious of gaining ori¬
ginality of effect through forms unlike the old, and through
aims in which the old ones are perplexingly intermingled.
An instance, for which no good defence can be offered, is the
didactic poem : in the prose novel and romance there is an
instance which might be defended by a thousand plausible
reasons, and by a few that are strong enough to vindicate
for it its place as a somewhat rebellious dependence of the
poetical empire.
II. THE DATA FOR THEORIES OF LITERATURE AND ART.
The prin- 6. All the actual phenomena of mind are complex. This
ciplps of . ought to be the first and fundamental article in every psy-
cafmethod" ^holo§ical creeth We must not take it for granted, that
factois or elements which we can think of separately are
always possible in isolation. But it is through different
combinations and modifications of a very few "elementary
factois, that actual phenomena of mind gain their indefinite
diversity of character; and therefore the abstractive and
ideal separation must be carried up to the very highest
point which analytic thinking will allow.
The arrangement of mental facts in named classes is
equivalent to an assertion, that each class obeys laws, for
which the name is an abridged expression; and the com¬
pass and mutual bearing of those laws is indicable through
the ordination of the classes, as exclusive of each other, or
as descending in regular order of specification.
Every mental fact is doubly related. It is related pri¬
marily to the mind, which is its subject; and out of this
subjective relation arise its widest and overruling laws,—the
characteristics which appear to belong to it when it is con-
Data for
Theories of
Literature
and Art.
RHETORIC.
Ill
Data for sidered as a function of mind,—those which would suffer no
Theories of change through any change of object. It is related, se-
Literature COndarily, to the object or objects with which it brings the
and Art. mjn[j jnt0 communication ; and out of this objective rela-
tion arise subordinate and modifying laws,—laws in virtue
of which every subjective law puts on different characters
according to the different objects with which, in a given
case, it connects the mind. When this principle is applied
to the framing of a synthetic psychological scheme, it yields
a distribution of all mental laws into orders, which become
narrower and narrower. In the study of those orders, we
take our departure from subjective laws which are univer¬
sal, as governing all mental facts: wre pass thence to sub¬
jective laws which are particular, each governing only cer¬
tain kinds of facts; and thence we travel downwards still,
in several degrees, through narrower and narrower groups
of objective laws, which are closer and closer particulariza¬
tions of the subjective laws that are particular.
The uni- y. ^]1 mental ]aws which are both subjective and uni-
ofmlnd—8 versa^ are virtually covered by this assertion : that all men-
a tal facts are facts either of Consciousness or of Retention,
ness and (1.) Consciousness is the mind s knowledge of its own
retention, phenomena; a knowledge necessarily including a know¬
ledge of the objects. All mental phenomena, that is, all
mental facts of which we have direct cognisance, are facts
of consciousness. All the kinds of mental phenomena, all
forms of mental manifestation, are modes or varieties of con¬
sciousness. Thus also, in the last analysis, all modes of
consciousness are facts of knowledge or cognition.
Consciousness, considered more closely, is the mind’s
knowledge of all that is Present to it in time and in space.
But we can and do and must think of objects, which are not
present in either of those relations. Especially it is true,
that we do and must think of the Past; and it is through
the past that we think of the Distant. We remember what
we seemed to have forgotten: that which has once been
known does not lose its relation to the mind through our
ceasing to think of it. Through the past and the distant
also, we are able to think of the Possible.
(2.) Facts of Consciousness are Retained by the mind ;
but the retention occurs unconsciously, out of conscious¬
ness. That a fact of consciousness which a mind has once
had, continues, when it is past, to stand related to that mind,
—to be an attribute of it, a step in its history by which sub¬
sequent steps may be consciously influenced,—is a truth
which we cannot prove directly, since we have no imme¬
diate knowledge of such a relation ; but it is a truth demon¬
strable ex impossibili, through that conscious revival of the
old fact, which could not take place but for the unconscious
retention of it.
Thus there is one class of cases, indisputably real and
immensely wide, in which mental facts are not phenomena,
that is, facts directly observable; cases in which they are
facts latent, detectible only through their consequences.
Therefore it requires only another step (but that a wide
one) to carry us into Leibnitz’s hypothesis of modifications
of mind, which, instead of merely becoming latent, are
latent from the beginning.—It happens very frequently
that a thought now in the mind cannot be accounted for,
unless we suppose it to be the result of an antecedent
mental process, of none of whose steps are we now con¬
scious. It is commonly maintained that those steps must
have taken place in consciousness, but have been forgotten
through a want of attention. It has been alleged, however,
as a less strained supposition, that the missing steps, though
actually occurring, have never been in consciousness at all.
The hypothesis might yield a plausible solution of some
difficult cases in which the rhetorical student is interested.
(3.) The Past, then, having been retained unconsciously,
comes again into consciousness, indirectly, in a kind of fact
which, regarded from different points of view, may be called Data;for
either Reproduction or Representation. The object of this Literature
new fact is a thought constituted, in whole or in part, by a^Art6
factors or elements similar to those which constituted either v j
a past fact of consciousness, or more than one such fact. The
new fact may thus be said to reproduce the old, or to repre¬
sent it,—in respect that the former makes present to us, and
thus brings within the sphere of consciousness, something
which we can think of as equivalent to the latter.
In this way consciousness yields us two kinds of know¬
ledge. We have an Immediate or Presentative Know¬
ledge of that which is present, but of that only ; and, through
and in such knowledge, we have a Mediate or Representa¬
tive Knowledge of that which is not present, but once was
so. The distinction affects all modes of consciousness to
this effect; that past phenomena belonging to all of them
may be reproduced, and thus known mediately. But so
much as we require here to learn, in regard to the specific
laws of both kinds of knowledge, will be considered more
aptly at a later stage.
8. All possible modes of consciousness are primarily dis-
tributable into Two great Classes, distinguished by a differ- tions of tho
ence very deeply marked, and related by a law which is for elementary
our purpose extremely valuable. But the characteristics modes of
of those two classes will become clearer when, by taking a conscious-
second step of specification, we have got possession of names ness'
to which precise ideas are attachable.
Examined more closely, but still with a reference as
purely subjective as the nature of mind will allow, the two
classes are found to be constituted by Four several and dis¬
tinguishable Modes of Consciousness, which may be de¬
scribed as Elementary. These, in some or other of their
objectively determined varieties, are the factors of all com¬
plex mental phenomena.
All mental phenomena, then, must be facts either of
Feeling, of Knowing, of Wishing, or of Willing.—Under
the name of Feeling come all facts which, by a further re¬
duction still subjective, are describable as being facts either
of Pleasure or of Pain. It is convenient, also, to lay down
at once the broadest of the objective distinctions separating
the kinds of feeling. A Sensation is a feeling whose ex¬
citant is a phenomenon of the body of the subject: an Emo¬
tion (the “ sentiment” of Hamilton and others) is a feeling
whose excitant is a phenomenon of the consciousness of the
subject.—Under the name of Knowing or Cognition come
all facts which could rightly be said, in the current termi¬
nology, to be operations of intellectual powers or of powers
or faculties of the understanding.—The term Wishing is
here used to denote operations referable to the “active
powers” or “ active principles” of Reid and Stewart; being
extended, however, so as to embrace both of their alterna¬
tive forms. A positive wish is a Desire; a negative wish
is an Aversion.—The term Willing or Volition is used in
its universally-received sense, and is equivalent to such
words as Resolution or Determination.
Let us now fall back on the primary distinction of all those
modes into Two Classes. The first class contains Feeling
alone; the other three modes constitute the second class.
The classification arises out of the antithetical correlation
between subject and object. The relation of the phenomenon
to the mind of which it is an attribute is constant and un¬
alterable ; the relation of the phenomenon to that with
which it connects the mind is occasional and variable. The
differences between all modes of consciousness, down to
their narrowest objective varieties, consist simply in varie¬
ties of the objective relation, modifying by reaction the re¬
lation which is subjective. Feeling stands alone, as being,
through its objective relations, the one mode in which con¬
sciousness is imperfect, merely rudimental, and yields a
knowledge that is confused. The other three modes stand
112 R H E T
Data for together, in respect that in them, through their objective
Theories of rela tions, consciousness is perfect, fully developed, and
and'^Art'6 a knowledge that is clear.
v  ^ Alike in Knowing, in Wishing, and in Willing, the mind
has consciousness of an object, which either is actually, or
is thinkable as being, different from the mind itself. In
Cognition pure, the mind has such consciousness, but it has
nothing more : it rests in contemplation of the object; the
balance of the two counter-relations is in equilibrium. In
neither of the other two perfect modes is that consciousness
lost or even obscured: they differ from cognition, and rise
above it, because in each of them a new element is added.
But the addition made in Wishing throws the fact towards
the subjective side; the further addition made in Willing
throws it towards the objective. In Desire or Aversion,
the mind is bent backward or downward towards the thought
of itself. The object is thought of as standing towards the
mind in a relation which is imperfect and unsatisfactory:
the idea of change has come up; and the mental state is
one of transition. In Willing there are all the elements of
Wishing; but there is also something which is new and
higher. On the idea of change there is engrafted the idea
of power to effect change : the mind, through the exercise
of its own energies, thinks itself into the closest possible
relation to its object: the equipoise of relations, disturbed
by wishing, is restored; but while in cognition the equi¬
poise was determined for the mind, it is now determined
by it. Thus, wishing is indeed more than pure cognition,
and willing is more than wishing ; but in neither does there
disappear that thinking of an object, which is the charac¬
teristic mark of cognition proper.
The want of this characteristic mark is the distinctive
feature of Feeling; and the want sets this mode in contra¬
dictory opposition to the other three. In feeling pure and
proper, in being conscious of pleasure or of pain, the mind
knows merely a state or modification of its own : it cannot
know anything else, without rising into a higher mode.
Some object or other must have been the excitant; but, so
long as the mind merely feels, that object is hidden from
it. Pure feeling has no object beyond itself, no object
either actual or even thinkable. The objective relation is
the slightest that allows consciousness to be possible. If
we are to suppose that any one mode of consciousness can,
at a given time, possess the mind to the entire exclusion of
all others, we must admit that the mind, in being conscious
merely of pleasure or of pain, is conscious only in the very
lowest degree.
Here, if anywhere, is to be found the root of that plurality
of conflicting elements, out of which the mind strives in¬
cessantly to rise into the unity of clear consciousness. The
germ cannot be detected through any working out of the
concrete and complex antithesis between understanding
and will, knowledge and endeavour. It is to be sought in
the recognition of consciousness as being itself knowledge ;
and in the subsequent acknowledgment of the distinction
between that one phase, in which the mind falls back on
the mere knowledge of its own states, and those higher and
successively ascending phases, in which it knows and desires
and strives after an object real or thinkable. There is a
plain contrariety of character between the one imperfect
mode of consciousness on the one side, and the three per¬
fect modes on the other.
But there is likewise between the two kinds a close and
indissoluble connection; and it is for the sake of this con¬
nection that the relations of feeling to other mental modes
are here important.
9. The doctrine to be maintained is this.—In the first
place, whatever other complexities may be discoverable,
every actual phenomenon of consciousness is at least com¬
plex to this extent, that it contains two simultaneous fac-
0 R I C.
tors: the one referable to one of the perfect modes, a cog- Data for
nition, a wish, or a volition ; the other belonging to the Theories of
imperfect mode, that is, a feeling.—Secondly, the pheno- Lit®r»ture
menon derives its unity from the necessary predominance van
of the one factor over the other. The subjective factor ""
(feeling), and the objecto-subjective factor (cognition, wish, ^.he rel.a'
or will), co-exist in an inverse ratio ; and the factor which is feeHn° to
the more intense obscures the other, or may by possibility the higher
conceal it. The complex phenomenon is named and thought modes of
of by us, and may often be treated safely even for philoso- conscioua-
phical ends, by reference to the factor which is predominantness-
over the other.— Thirdly, in any continuous mental process
or series of successive steps, those steps in which the perfect
factors are predominant are the most obviously important,
and therefore attract notice most readily. Thus we might
be tempted to describe the necessary antecedents of action
proper as being three only,—cognition, wish, volition. But
the feelings which those overruling elements have kept
under while themselves present, tend continually to rise
into prominence in their turn ; so that a mental state which
we should describe as being distinctively an emotion, may
consciously occur between any two of the three leading
steps.—Fourthly, these intervening emotions, so called,
which are properly complex states having emotion as the
ruling factor, must be of very short duration: the mind
spontaneously tends to rise into some of the higher modes,
or into a state in which one of the higher modes is pre¬
dominant. Yet in every energetic process of mind, such
flashes of emotion, such sinkings back from intellection
or the modes still higher into intervals in which the pre¬
dominating consciousness is only of pleasure or pain, are
incessant and unmistakeable. It may even be alleged, that
the vigour of a mental process is proportional to the de¬
gree in which feeling thus wells upwards: indeed it is only
So that we obtain the full consciousness of that pleasure
or pain, of that effect worked or workable on our own being
by the objects we contemplate, out of which springs the very
life equally of thought and desire and will. Thus, for in¬
stance, a vivid image obscures for a moment the concomi¬
tant pleasure ; but immediately the emotion recurs with an
intensity proportional to that of the image which had at
first overpowered it.
That feeling is, very frequently indeed, consciously co¬
existent in time with the higher modes of consciousness,
is an assertion which is not contradicted either by ordinary
thinking or by any sound philosophical doctrine. Most
men would admit that a thought or desire or act of will is,
usually at least, either pleasant or painful in one degree or
another. Hints or direct assertions to the same effect are
common in psychological systems, though left unworked
by reason of the little attention that has been given to feel¬
ing; and doubts as to the simultaneity would hardly be
prompted, unless by misunderstanding of the doctrine (true
in one sense, and false in many others), that the mind can¬
not be in more than one state at the same time. The one
real difficulty is, the accounting for cases of seeming ex¬
ception ; and this difficulty is removed by the law of the
inverse ratio. Without seeking for any solution more
abstruse, such as that of latent modifications, we can easily
conceive how either element of the complex fact, being
known but obscurely at the time of its occurrence, and
being therefore unattended to, may gain no hold of con¬
sciousness strong enough to make it be retained and repro¬
duced.
The law of the inverse ratio, propounded by Hamilton,
and by him elaborately illustrated in its specific application
to the counter-relations between Sensation and Perception,
is by him also extended to the relations between Feeling
of all kinds and Cognition of all kinds. If the law be ad¬
mitted at all, it is not easy to see how it can be arrested at
• this point of development. Wishing and willing, having
RHETORIC.
113
Data for cognitions as their necessary antecedents, and being them-
Theories of selves not less than cognitions, but more, must carry
^and^A*116 t^rou§^ them all the conditions of cognition. And
van r ’j the extension of the doctrine over the whole sphere of
“ v consciousness, to the completion of the antithesis between
feeling and the perfect modes, seems to be imperatively
required, for placing in full light the wide function of feel¬
ing, exercised so incessantly, yet so apt to be overlooked.
The doctrine has thus been pressed to its complete de¬
velopment, in order that the processes afterwards to be
explained may be open to receive the deepest grounding
of which they are capable. But the use which must ne¬
cessarily be made of the doctrine in the present inquiry is
limited in two directions.
These psychological data are chiefly required for our
analysis of the mental process which issues in action. In
that process, let it take the very simplest form of which it
is susceptible, there are three governing and predominat¬
ingly objective steps, distinct and successive. There is, first,
a fact of Cognition, and specifically of Imagination, a fact in
which an object is imagined: there is, secondly, a fact of
Wishing, in which (the positive form being at present ade¬
quate as an example) the object is Desired: there is,
thirdly, a fact of Volition, in which there is resolved on
an action, judged likely to produce the attainment of the
object. Now, the character of this process is most insuffi¬
ciently understood, unless due account is taken also of the
repeated emergence of Emotion, the subjective concomitant
or condition of those objective changes. The character of
the emotion, the manner in which it is modified by the
character of the excitant, cannot be thoroughly accounted
for, unless on the supposition of the original simultaneity.
But, as it has already been asserted, if the objective step
has been energetic,—if the cognition has been distinct, the
desire intense, the volition vigorous,—the concomitant emo¬
tion, subdued at the time, will come back with a rebound,
and present itself as the determining feature in a succeed¬
ing mental fact. In this way emotion may intervene con¬
sciously and energetically between any two of the objective
steps, and cannot fail to do so if consciousness is in due
activity. The rise of the mind from the image to the
desire, and thence to the volition, will take place, not with
the uninterrupted swell of an inundation, but with an al¬
ternation like that of the flowing tide of the sea. Ascend¬
ing waves of thought carry us steadily upward; yet, after
each of these, there is a reflux into emotion : we fall back
for a moment on self-contemplation, with no loss of ground,
and with a resulting increase in the power of the impulse.
Feeling exercises, as if by a repetition of quick electric
shocks, its characteristic function, of mediating between
mind and its objects, of keeping awake and heightening the
mind’s interest in the persons and things with which it
deals, by incessantly recalling to it their effects on its own
internal state.
Now, in the first place, the appeal to the primary doc¬
trine being kept open, in order that difficulties may be ex¬
plainable and rules philosophically justifiable, it will usually
be alike safe and convenient, that we accommodate both our
treatment and our names to such cases as those which were
last described; to cases in which, the objective steps taking
place vigorously, the concomitant emotions recur as interme¬
diate steps. It must be asserted emphatically, that the men¬
tal process which Persuasion aims at exciting is not rightly
excited unless it has this character; unless, through the
energy of each cognitive or higher step, the emotion does
recur as the prominent and distinctive factor of a step suc¬
ceeding. Thus, the first step, in which the emotion is de¬
cisively in the back-ground, may be described as consisting
essentially in the formation of the Image: a second step,
which should intervene between the image and the desire,
may correspondingly be described as an Emotion.
VOL. XIX.
Secondly, though we are interested in the whole process Data for
down to its consummation in action, all rhetorical rules that Theories of
can confidently be prescribed bear only on the two steps ^a1^r^Ure
last noted, the first two in the series : the originating ob- van r
jective step,—that is, the fact of Imagination ; the subjec- Y~'"'
tive step which next interrupts the objective series,—that
is, the fact of Emotion.
Explanations are now called for as to each of the four
elementary modes of consciousness separately.
10. The doctrine of Feeling has necessarily been in The laws
great part anticipated. of feeling
It has been asserted that, primarily and subjectively, ~sensa'
Feeling must be either Pleasure or Pain. Every state ^ataan
receiving either of those names is distinctively a feeling;
and the actuality and importance of such states ought to
secure for feeling, in every psychological scheme, a place
very unlike the obscure corner which, in our country at
least, has usually been allotted to it. Contrariwise, a feel¬
ing which is neither pleasant nor painful is a thing incon¬
ceivable. But pleasure or pain absolute should be distin¬
guished from pleasure or pain relative, which is consequent
on the diminished intensity of a feeling of the opposite
kind. So, further, there are certainly mixed states of feel¬
ing in which, however, either pleasure or pain must predo¬
minate. Moderate degrees of pleasure or of pain are de¬
signate by such names as the Agreeable or Disagreeable;
and in the complex ideas signified by such names as Hap¬
piness or Misery, continuity of pain or of pleasure seems
to be the element indicated most prominently.
There has been stated, also, the objective distribution of
feelings into Sensations and Emotions, distinguishable by
the character of their antecedents or excitants, these being
respectively phenomena of the bodily organism of the sub¬
ject or of his consciousness. This principle of distinction
is quite reconcileable with the doctrine of the simultaneity
of feeling with the higher modes of mind.
Of the many specific distributions both of Sensations
and of Emotions, which emerge through relations to the
diversified kinds of excitants, there are but few which here
concern us.
It is of some interest to us, and would be of much if we
aimed at a universal theory of the fine arts, to note the
difference between two varieties of Sensation, both of which
place the subject (all sensations do not) in relation to bodies
external to his own.—The first contains those sensations
which are the subjective concomitants of ordinary percep¬
tion.—The second is peculiar to two of the senses, those
which are most decidedly objective it contains those pe¬
culiar sensations of sight and hearing, which are excited by
colours and sounds related harmonically. Sensations ot
this group have great aesthetical value, as being preliminary
conditions of the operation of the non-literary fine arts;
while a modified pleasure from melody of sounds has a
corresponding though less prominent place in literature
likewise, operating more widely in poetry, less widely in
eloquence.
Of the indefinitely numerous classifications of emotion
which emerge when it is regarded from different points of
view, there are two which claim our notice.—We are in¬
terested, though but indirectly, in the distinction which
separates emotions excited by cognition of objects placed
in moral relations to us, from those excited by objects con¬
templated as in relations of any other kind. Emotions of the
former group are the moving power in mental processes
ruled by conscience, the moral faculty.—The other objec¬
tive distinction tells more closely on our inquiries. Emo¬
tions, whether pleasant or painful, excited by our cognition of
objects placed in certain relations to us, tend to rise directly
into wishes,—into desire in certain cases, into aversion in
others. Emotions excited by our cognition of objects
p
RHETORIC.
314
Data for placed in certain other relations to us have not that ten-
Theories of dency, but tend to fall back into cognition; and such emo-
Literature t;ions are always pleasant, or have pleasure as their over-
vand ruling characteristic. This Emotive Pleasure, not excitative
Y * of desire or aversion, but purely Contemplative, is, as we
shall soon have occasion to observe more exactly, concomi¬
tant in the first instance, and consequent in its recurrence,
on a cognition specifically describable as a fact of Imagina¬
tion. If, looking back to the view we have already ob¬
tained of the process issuing in action, we re-consider the
first two steps, the image and the emotion, we shall under¬
stand the circumstances in which this contemplative plea¬
sure arises, by supposing that process to be arrested at the
second step: the emotion, instead of passing on to desire,
reverts into imagination or some other phase of intellec¬
tion. A state of pleasing emotion, having such an origin
and such an effect, is the mental state towards the genera¬
tion of which poetry and the other fine arts characteristi¬
cally strive: poetry is, then and then only, purely and ex¬
clusively poetical, when the pleasure which it excites fulfils
those conditions; and the broadest distinction between per¬
suasive eloquence and poetry is before us, when we regard
the former as generative of the complete process which is
consummated in action, the latter as generating the earlier
steps of that process, but these only. The name of Beauty,
originally and strictly applicable to visible objects, in refer¬
ence to certain of the feelings which the cognition of them
awakens, has been currently extended in our philosophical
and critical literature, so as to embrace all varieties of this
contemplative pleasure immediately consequent on an act
of imagination.
If we were to attempt accounting fully for the rise of
such imaginative pleasures, we should be thrown back
gradually on the question as to the origin of pleasure gene¬
rally ; and this inquiry would issue in the theory, which
determines all pleasure to arise out of the consciousness of
mental activity, exerted on objects which neither confine
nor overstrain it. Among the many specific modifications,
however, which this law receives, and which must be
brought to light before the theory can be applied to any
given case, there is one which, as being operative widely
and incessantly both in persuasion and in poetical represen¬
tation, has for us great value.
The modification alluded to is yielded by the great Law
of Sympathy, expressible, with small alteration, in the
words of Adam Smith: The mind has a tendency to ex¬
perience feelings which it perceives to be manifested by
others. It is not here needed to propose the problem,
whether this strong and beneficent tendency be an ultimate
law of mind, or whether it may be resolved into laws still
simpler and deeper. The law must be accepted in the
shape in which we know it to be operative; and in the
later stages of our inquiry it will seldom be far out of our
view.
The laws 11* The theory of Cognition, supplying the data for infer-
of cogni- ences in ontology or metaphysics proper, is the favourite
battle-field of philosophical controversy. With the more
—imatrina- Pro^oun(^ °f ^ie analytic problems raised in it we are not
tiou and ^iei e ^^rectly concerned. The theory of comparative judg-
conception. ment, again, though we require to use it in some degree,
is supplied by any reasonably correct system of logic.
What we cannot command so readily, while we need it
especially, is a clear and consistent theory of Imagination ;
and even of the kind of cognitive facts so named, the cha¬
racter cannot be fully elucidated without some consideration
of its relations to other phases of intellection.
The widest of all distinctions within the sphere of cog¬
nition, is that which the logicians mark by the two names,
Apprehension and Judgment. Every fact of knowledge
must have the one or the other of the forms so called; no
such fact can have both, or neither. Judgment, that is, Data for
cognition expressible by a proposition, is knowledge expli- Theories of
cit, evolved, complete: in the proposition something is literature
affirmed or denied of something. Apprehension, that is, van(^
cognition expressible by a term, is knowledge implied,
unevolved, incomplete : in the term there is neither affirma¬
tion nor denial. Yet the idea denoted by the term implies
or involves judgment antecedent, while it may also be a
step towards judgment consequent. When the names
Apprehension and Judgment are used in these logical
meanings, it might seem at first sight as if the difference
between the mental facts which they denote were purely
subjective: we might believe that our knowledge of any
object whatever may take indifferently either the one form
or the other. Closer scrutiny removes this impression.
Mental affirmations, guarded by the relative denials, lie at
the root of all cognition ; and this is saying, in other words,
that all knowledge takes its rise in the form of Judgment.
Accordingly, this formal distinction affects the next
widest of the distinctions between modes of cognition, that
which separates Knowledge Immediate from Knowledge
Mediate. The former is the root of all our knowledge ; the
latter grows out of it. In the former, the only object
known is something which is present, and which is the im¬
mediate object of our consciousness; in the latter, this
immediate object represents another object, which is re¬
mote, not present, but which is known through the medium
of the first. Between those two kinds of knowledge there
is a formal difference. Every fact of Knowledge Imme¬
diate—every fact in which consciousness gives us know¬
ledge of a present object, and does not rest in that confused
state which is really no more than feeling,—must have the
form of Judgment; neither the complex fact as a whole,
nor any of its constitutive elements, can be thought other¬
wise than as a mental affirmation or denial. Knowledge
Mediate, on the contrary, may have either form; the alter¬
native, however, being determined by the circumstances.
Judgment, as being knowledge complete and explicit, is the
form which mediate knowledge takes when it is contem¬
plated as being a result, as that for the sake of which ante¬
cedent processes were instituted; while Apprehension, as
being knowledge implied, and therefore more quickly think¬
able, is the natural form ofknowledge which is contemplated
as only a step towards something beyond it, whether that
be a further cognition or a fact belonging to some other
mode. These considerations dictate, as convenient if not
perfectly exact, a distribution of cognitions; in which
knowledge immediate may be considered exclusively
under the form of judgment, while knowledge mediate
must be considered under both forms.
I. Our Immediate Cognitions, those intuitive beliefs on
which the whole structure of human knowledge is built up,
are of Individual objects only. This cardinal doctrine be¬
ing premised, all those deeper questions that lie under it
are for us unimportant. Nevertheless some of them must
be answered in outline, if it were only that we may be put
in possession of names for mental laws which must after¬
wards be referred to.
Our immediate knowledge, then, is constituted, in every
possible instance, by elements of two kinds. We know
objects, not absolutely, but under conditions or relations.
We have knowledge a posteriori,—that is, gained through
experience, a knowledge vast and always becoming wider;
but this knowledge is limited by a few fixed cognitions a
priori, necessary, as being independent of experience, and
constituting the laws or conditions of all d posteriori
knowledge, whether immediate or mediate. The indivi¬
dual objects of our immediate knowledge must be either
corporeal objects, or internal phenomena of the subject-
mind ; but our knowledge of objects of either kind is not
possible without the concurrence of cognitive elements be-
R II E T
Data for longing to both classes, d priori and a posteriori. The
Theories of individual object is given to us by experience; that is, in a
Literature c0gnjti0n a posteriori: the laws under which only we can
^an rt.^ j<novv jj- are in(jee(l incapable of operating unless in relation
^ to an object so given ; but they are native, mental, a priori
laws. The frequent necessity for considering separately
the two several kinds of elements, gives rise to a division of
names. Accordingly, our Immediate a posteriori know¬
ledge of corporeal objects has been called Perception,
External Perception, or Perceptive Consciousness; our
Immediate a posteriori knowledge of internal objects,
phenomena purely subjective to the ego, has been called
Internal Perception, or Self-Consciousness: and Hamilton
has generalized the two kinds by referring both to his Pre-
sentative Faculty. Our latent but inevitably evolvable
cognition of the a priori conditions of consciousness,
whether internal or perceptive, has been denoted by being
referred to an original power receiving different names ; as
Reason from Kant and most others; Common Sense
(awkwardly) from Reid ; the Regulative Faculty from Ha¬
milton.—But this abstractive separation of the two correla¬
tive elements must not blind us to the essential indivisibility
of the fact. Every individual fact, which we could cite as
an instance either of Perception or Self-Consciousness, is
really a fact of perception or of self-consciousness condi¬
tioned by the regulative laws of reason.
II. All the limitations of both kinds, which are imposed
on our immediate knowledge, necessarily continue to hem
in that knowledge, when, by becoming Mediate, it is deve¬
loped and made practically useful.
Its capability of becoming mediate is founded on two
mental laws.—First, The mind has that power of Retention
or Conservation, which was noticed as standing in relation
to consciousness at large. It can retain, out of conscious¬
ness, all mental phenomena which it has experienced, to
whatever mental mode these may belong; it can retain
alike a feeling, a cognition, a wish, a volition. Secondly,
The mind has, within certain limits, the power of Repro¬
duction. Past facts of consciousness, retained out of con¬
sciousness, may come into consciousness again ; and, on
being thus reproduced or represented, the past facts become
objects of new facts of consciousness. These new facts
must be specifically facts of cognition ; wherefore their
specific laws are here most aptly in place.
(I.) A new cognition, if it is thought of as the result of
a process of mediate knowledge, must take the form of
Judgment,—of knowledge explicit, mental affirmation or
denial. The process is one of comparison; the judgments
may be distinguished from judgments intuitive, by being
called Comparative ; and the theory of them, while for most
of our practical uses it is grounded firmly enough on com¬
mon sense, is systematically evolved in the science of
Eogic. The formation of comparative judgments is the
result which we shall have to consider as aimed at in the
processes to be theoretically described as Exposition and
Persuasion.
In regard to the objective varieties of comparative judg¬
ments, we are interested only in marking the progress by
which, beginning with application to individual objects, they
rise to embrace classes of objects.—All the compared ob¬
jects may be Individuals, each of which was formerly known
by us in a fact of immediate consciousness, and is now re¬
presented-. This is the only case in which the resulting
judgment can be the first comparative judgment which the
process contains. All other cases presuppose other compara¬
tive judgments, and therefore require a more severe exer¬
tion of mind. The presuppositions become more numerous,
and the mental strain grows more intense, with every new
introduction of a compared object which is not an indivi¬
dual but a Class. For a common term, which is the name
of a class, and is necessary for our compendious thinking of
o R i o. ns
that class, is merely an abbreviated definition of the class, Data for
which is itself a proposition, the expression of a judgment. Theories of
Such a judgment has been gained through the process literature
called Generalization; that is, a judgment, or series of and Art*
judgments, in which given individual objects are compared,
and formed into a class in respect of similar attributes ; or in
which, after the same manner, given classes are combined
into classes more extensive. In the process of Specifica¬
tion this procedure is exactly reversed.
(II.) I he last assertions in this cursory review of com¬
parative judgments have already led us into one section of
the doctrine previously propounded, that Apprehension is
the natural form of mediate cognitions, which are only
steps in processes leading to something beyond.
A term, which is the expression of a fact of Apprehen¬
sion, must belong to the one or the other of two kinds. It
may be a Singular Term, the name of an Individual; the
name of an object, which may or may not be actually divi¬
sible into several component objects, but which is thought
of from a point of view in which it is one object only. A
term, again, may be a Common Term, the name of a Class ;
and, as above hinted, this class may be constituted either
by individual objects, or by narrower classes. Now, the
name Apprehension being conveniently confined to know¬
ledge that is mediate, as being of objects not present, the
distribution of apprehension into kinds runs parallel to the
distinction between terms singular and terms common.
The name Imagination belongs rightfully to all apprehen¬
sion of objects individual: the name Conception is fitly re¬
stricted to the apprehension of universal ; that is, of the
ideas denoted by common terms. The words Image and
Concept signify severally the two kinds of facts as regarded
from the objective side.
E Imagination is always Reproduction. It gives, as
objects of immediate cognition, mental states identical in
constitution with, and therefore accepted as representing,
facts of past consciousness, or factors or elements of such
facts. But it has two phases, differing directly in respect of
their antecedents, and hence deriving a difference in respect
of the remote objects which they represent. In the first of
these the remote object may be said to be the Past; in the
second, it may be said to be the Possible.
(1.) In the first case, the mind represents only one indi¬
vidual fact of past consciousness; and, it may be noted,
the representation is probably never complete. Here Ima¬
gination is Simply Reproductive.
This phase of imagination is governed, and the second
through it, by the great mental law usually called the Law
of Suggestion, or the Association of Ideas. The most
authoritative systematization of this law is Hamilton’s. All
phenomena of the same subject-mind are capable of sug¬
gesting each other; a mental fact given in present con¬
sciousness may suggest any other, which was formerly in
consciousness and has been retained. The suggestive
power is primarily given to mental facts either by their
identity of constitution, or by their original coexistence or
coadjacence in time. On the one hand, a present mental
fact may suggest any past fact constituted wholly or partly
by the same factors; on the other hand, a present mental
fact may suggest any fact which was formerly present with
it in consciousness at the same time, or as a step in the
same mental process. The suggestive power is modified,
or secondarily determined, by this law: that mental facts
are suggestible in proportion to their “ interest” for the
subject-mind; that is, in proportion to their tendency to
excite emotion. Out of these widest laws, primary and
secondary, arise others more specific and complex : and all
of these might, for use, be combined into the one doctrine ;
that the phenomena of the same mind suggest each other
through Resemblance, Contrariety (which implies resem¬
blance) or Contiguity.
116 R H E T
Data for Again, reproduction may be influenced by Will, though
Theories of not directly yet powerfully. A complex thought or a group
Literature 0f thoughts being present, we can will to concentrate con-
van(* •^rt,y sciousness on some one factor or member of it. I he case
exemplifies the process called Attention (or Abstractive
Attention), which will be examined immediately; and
the thought thus attended to may and will suggest others,
which, though related to it either by constitution or in
time, had been overlooked when it was contemplated only
with others.
Lastly, a past thought or other fact may be reproduced,
without our knowing that we had it before. We may even
believe that it is a new combination, produced by a process
issuing in imagination of the second and higher phase.
But this step may be followed by another, in which we
recognise the past fact, that is, know that the new fact re¬
presents a certain past fact. There is thus performed a
process which, beginning with Retention out of conscious¬
ness, proceeds in consciousness to the successive steps of
Reproduction and Recognition. When the process has thus
been completed, we say, not that we have imagined the
past fact, but that we have remembered it; and it would
be convenient if the name Memory could be applied, for
technical uses, to such a process as a whole. It is, how¬
ever, very frequently used to designate only one or another
of the constitutive steps. It is particularly to be observed,
that the reproduced thought is truly and essentially an
Image ; that, indeed, this reproduction of some one past
fact, in whole or in part, is the normal and radical instance
of Imagination. But till recognition has taken place, the
reproduction is virtually for us equivalent to imagination
not of the past, but of the possible. Therefore, and
because it is on our thinking of the possible that the
laws of imagination have the closest practical hold, the
name imagination comes to be seldom applied to simple
reproduction.
(2.) In short, the name is very usually, and writh little of
immediate harm, limited to that higher phase of imagina¬
tion, whose remote object is something which we can think
as possible, something whose individual existence we can
suppose without violation of any law of thought. Ima¬
gination of this character has been called Productive, and
(less safely) Creative. The antecedent process to which
its peculiarities are owing, would be indicated if we were
to call it Synthetic. It does not represent merely one past
fact or part of such : it represents two or more past facts,
or factors of such, combined under some relation which
gives to the combination an individual totality or unity.
Consequently it is the result of an antecedent process, which
never can have been very simple, and may have been over-
dowingly complex. It must have embraced, besides mo¬
difying and colouring flashes of emotion, two or more
distinguishable stages of cognition. First, more images
than one must have arisen in the mind, through acts, more
than one, of simple reproduction. Secondly, There must
have taken place judgments, in which there are compared
together, in respect of their mutual relations, either those
images as wholes, or factors or features of each, or the wholes
of some and parts of others. On these antecedents follows
the synthetic formation of the new image, an image of
something which as a whole had not been known or thought
of before. In short, imagination simply reproductive gains
its image from one retained fact of past consciousness ; ima¬
gination productive or synthetic,^—imagination in the com¬
mon meaning,—sometimes and aptly called Fantasy,—gains
its image from two or more facts of simple reproduction
followed by a series of comparisons.
The function of synthetic imagination cannot be exa¬
mined too closely by the student either of eloquence or of
poetry.
2. The remote object of Conception may be said to be
O R I C.
the Universal. A concept, the idea of a class, denotable Data for
by a common term, is really, as already asserted, an ab- Theories of
breviated and implied judgment, which would have been
explicitly denoted by a definition of the class. Further, ^ ’t
this implication, so necessary for rapid and easy thinking, v
cannot be reached otherwise than indirectly; the concept
can be thought only symbolically, as through words, arbi¬
trary symbols. These are adequate reasons, both for the
greater mental exertion required in the fact of conception,
and for the difficulty of harmonising conception with ima¬
gination. A common term does not directly suggest an
image. It does, indeed, tend to fall back into the image,
through the desire of the mind, in thinking of classes, to
make its intellection clearer through thought of the con¬
stitutive individuals. But the thought which it directly
suggests is the implied judgment; it raises the question of
truth or falsehood, which the thought suggested by an image
does not. The mood of mind excited by concepts,—that is,
specially, the tone of feeling,-—tends to weaken or destroy
the mood excited by images: and both this tendency, and
the comparative inefficacy of concepts to excite images even
indirectly, increase with the distance of the concept from
immediate cognition; or, in other words, with the increas¬
ing width of the classes which the concepts represent.
All these considerations are rhetorically very important.
12. The reason for adopting the term Wishing, to denote The laws of
the “ Active Principles” or “ Powers” of Stewart and other wishing
standard writers, was virtually assigned in the hint, that
wishes are of two kinds, Desire and Aversion. The received
theories confine attention to the former, the positive form,
neglecting the latter, the negative. Each implies the other;
and, though it is desire that is by far most frequently the
direct prompter of volition and consequent action, yet it is
a question of circumstances whether it may not be by aver¬
sion that this function shall be discharged. The theory is
not complete unless both forms be taken account of.
All wishes, as developed in the positive form, are re¬
ferable to one or another of the three kinds described by
Stewart as Appetites, Desires (in a narrow sense of that
word), and Affections. It is only with the latter two of
those classes that rhetorical inquiries are concerned; and,
for these or all the three, Stewart’s doctrine might serve our
present uses reasonably well, if there were worked into it
the few points that bear directly on aversions. But, even
for studies such as ours, increased clearness of apprehension
may perhaps be won through an analysis somewhat closer.
In the first place, all wishes are distinguishable objectively
into Two Orders. The first order contains Stewart’s Ap¬
petites and Desires, with the relative Aversions. These
may be described as Wishes Simple or Direct; and there
lies on the surface a reason for calling them Self-Regard¬
ing. The second and higher order contains Stewart’s
Affections. These may similarly be called Wishes Com¬
plex or Indirect^ and they may be spoken of also as Not-
Self-Regarding or as Sympathetic.
The analysis of wishes belonging to the first order will
open the way for the analysis of those belonging to the
second. But there may be prefixed a notice, that excep¬
tion is to be taken to the answer most commonly given to
the question, what is the object of a wish ? According to
Stewart, the objects of appetites and desires are things, and
things of different kinds; the objects (proper) of his affec¬
tions are persons. More exact inspection, it is thought,
entitles us to say, that all the objects of wishing are pri¬
marily of one and the same kind, the differences between
them going no further than modification.
I. The true object of a wish must be something, by the
existence of which the wish would be exhausted.—First,
then, the object of a Simple or Direct wish is in every con¬
ceivable case a state of the subject-mind, the mind that
RHETORIC.
117
Data for wishes. Secondly, that state is a feeling, either emotion or
Theories of sensation ; or it is a state in which, if it be thought of as
Literature cornp]ex or continuous, feeling is thought of as the predo-
and Art. mjnat;ng element. The object of a desire is a state of
pleasure; the object of an aversion is a state of pain.
Thirdly, this state is thought of as future; futurity is im¬
plied even in the desire of, or aversion to, the continuance
of a mental state which has already come into existence.
Fourthly, this future state of pleasure or pain of the sub¬
ject-mind must have been represented by the subject in an
antecedent fact of imagination; and, by reason of the na¬
ture of the object, this fact must have been specifically one
of Imagination Synthetic.—Through these features of the
object, this order of wishes is distributable into two classes.
The Appetites, and the relative aversions or loathings, are
Sensuous Wishes; the feeling imagined is a state of sen¬
sation. The Desires of Stewart (Propensities of other
authors) and their contraries, are wishes Non-Sensuous;
the feeling imagined is a state of emotion.
The elements which have been described are all the
elements which are absolutely essential to the object of a
direct or simple wish. But there is yet another element
which, though inessential, is seldom if ever absent, and which
in our everyday thinking receives more attention than the
others. We think of the object, our own future state of
feeling, in relation to something which has a tendency to
bring it into existence ; something which is a cause or a con¬
stituent of a cause, of which the mental state we desire or
are averse from is imagined as the effect. In unanalytic
consciousness the idea of this cause or con-cause usually
obtrudes itself so as to obscure,—and may often come up so
strongly as almost quite to conceal,—all the other consti¬
tutive ideas. It has this prominence for two sufficient rea¬
sons. In the first place, it is only when the idea of a cause
is incorporated into the idea of the object that a wish be¬
comes definite, precise, clear; without that idea it remains
vague, shadowy, describable perhaps as a longing—a longing
for something we know not what. In the second place,
and consequently, until the idea of a cause has arisen there
is no outlet towards volition; not only is volition subjec¬
tively impossible, but there cannot even arise the question,
whether the object of the wish is attainable.
It is a truth not to be overlooked, that, if this analysis be
correct, that idea of the object, out of which a direct wish
emerges, and towards which it tends, has inevitably a char¬
acter, not only of complexity, but also of greater or less in¬
distinctness and vacillation. This is in perfect harmony
with the character of wishing in itself, and with the func¬
tion which it discharges as a step in mental processes. Its
own character inclines towards indistinctness, in proportion
to the approach it makes to the subjectivity of feeling: its
transitive function, as mediating between cognition and
volition, compels it to vacillate, and even to relax its hold
on the central point of the idea, in proportion to the close¬
ness of its reference to action. The ultimate reference to
self, and to a state of feeling of which self is the subject,
can never be lost entirely in consciousness without disap¬
pearance of the character of the fact as a wish : but this re¬
ference is naturally and irresistibly forced into the back¬
ground by the necessity of giving prominence to the cause,
through which lies the only path to action.
These considerations go far to account for the prevalent
opinion as to the objects of the facts which we commonly
describe as appetite and desire. They may be said, indeed,
to justify our using, in description of the object of such a
wish, forms of expression implying no analysis going deeper
than the datum of unreflective consciousness ; and conve¬
nience and clearness concur in driving us on such expres¬
sions. But the result of the more accurate dissection must
not thus be allowed to slip out of view ; and opportunities
may often occur for appealing to it.
II. In regard to the Affections (of Stewart) the first and Data for
chief doctrine to be asserted is this.—All the four charac- Theories of
teristics of the objects of Simple wishes belong also to the ob-
jects of these wishes, the Complex: the description is correct )
for these as for those. It must be maintained, without qua-
lification, that the true object of an affection, benevolent or
malevolent, is a mental state of the subject, not of any
other person or persons. The seeming paradox requires to
be justified.—The description of the object, complete for
simple wishes, is not complete for wishes that are complex.
The object of a wish belonging to this order has two cha¬
racteristics in addition to the four. First, the idea of cause,
inessential to the object of the lower order of wishes, be¬
comes essential here. Secondly, this cause must be a
mental state, and specifically a feeling, pleasant or painful,
sensation or emotion, of some conscious and sensitive being
or beings different from the subject. How, then, do we
account for the prominence which, in our consciousness of
an affection, is unquestionably held by the idea of the per¬
son we commonly speak of as the object ? It is accounted
for on the same principle as the corresponding difficulty in
the former case ; but here the answer is even easier. The
idea of cause, and of a state of the person loved or disliked
as being the cause, cannot but come up in a wish of this
character: the wish is not possible without it. It is, further,
the state of that person, not our own state, that will be
directly affected by the subsequent volition. Therefore our
consciousness is ruled over, or even monopolized, by the
thought of that person and of the state in which our volition
will place him.—To all conceivable objections, again, there
is this reply. An affection of mine would not be exhausted
by the pleasure or pain, the happiness or misery, of the
person to whom I wish well or ill: it could not be ex¬
hausted till I should come to know that state of his, and to
experience the correspondent emotion. Yet here, as in
the other case, our phraseology is conveniently modelled
on the unanalytic view; the more correct doctrine being
reserved for use when the other threatens to lead astray.
Nor does the doctrine really raise any ethical difficulties.
The moral relations of the affections, indeed, do not come
out clearly, until distinct account is thus taken of the sub¬
jective reference made in the last resort by all of them. It
is only thus that we recognise precisely the functions of the
two great laws, which govern affections and the consequent
volitions and actions.—The law of Sympathy originates the
pleasure which attends our imagination of the pleasure or
pain of others, the pain which attends our imagination of
their pain or misery. The law of Duty, a higher law, the
highest of all laws,—the law in virtue of which we have
pleasure in the thought of that which is right, and pain in the
thought of that which is wrong,—discharges, in regard to the
affections, a double function. It intensifies and sublimates
the sympathetic pleasure which is concomitant on good¬
will to our fellow-men: and, when there has been excited
the pleasure incident to ill-will, it supplies the place of the
sympathetic check, and opens the mind to new images sug¬
gestive of worthy emotions. Sympathy is actually pleasant;
a good conscience is actually pleasant: both of these truths
are laws in our nature ; and woe to us if our nature were
not so ruled! Nor is this a resolution of affection into
selfishness. Small risk does that man incur of undue re- *
gard to self, whose unhappiness is greatest, not in remem¬
bering disappointment of his own desires, but in witnessing
the miseries of others; the man who has learned to find
his highest happiness, not in the nourishment or gratifica¬
tion of wishes which do not pass beyond himself, but in
the sympathetic contemplation of the wellbeing of others,
and in the conscientious wish to promote their happiness
or alleviate their suffering.
It is further to be noticed that, when the object of
wishes has been identified correctly, the question whether
118
RHETORIC.
Data for
Theories of
Literature
and Art.
an Affection is a desire or an aversion is seen to be quite
different from the question, whether it is Benevolent or
Malevolent. Good-will and ill-will may alike, according
to circumstances, develop themselves in either form. In
being conscious of a benevolent affection, I may either de¬
sire for the person thought of a state describahle as pleasure
or happiness; or I may be averse to his being the suhiect
of a state of pain or misery. In being conscious of a male¬
volent affection my position is alternative in the opposite
way.
The laws 13. In regard to Willing, we are here bound chiefly to
of volition keep in sight the real and radical distinctions which sepa-
the ante- rate a volition from the antecedent wish.
action8 °f They are different even when regarded subjectively, or as
states of mind. Indeed, though a volition must be pre¬
ceded by a wish, there are wishes which though they might
be succeeded by volition are not so; and there are wishes
which cannot be so succeeded. This is a point which will
by-and-by be put to special use.
Again, wishing and willing must be both different in
character, and non-concurrent in time, in respect of the
difference of their objects, and the relations in which the
objects stand to each other. This distinction is clear even
on the common view as to the objects of wishing: it
emerges with added strength of evidence on the more ana¬
lytic view of the character of those objects. In a given
process embracing both mental facts, the two objects are re¬
garded by us in a light which pre-supposes both their non¬
identity, and the difference between the wish and the voli¬
tion. While we still look forward to the consequent ac¬
tion as future, we consider the object of the wish as an end
or purpose, the object of the volition as a means towards
that end: during and after performance of the action, the
object of the volition is for us a cause, the object of the
wish is the relative effect. The distinction is obvious as
to Simple Wishes. It holds also as to Wishes Complex :
for though the idea of a cause is there necessary, it is only
the idea of a cause intervening between the object of the
wish and that cause which is the object of the volition.
The object of a volition, that which I will, is a fact,
either of my own mind or of my own body, which I know
or believe myself to have the power of bringing into ex¬
istence ; and I will it because I know or believe it to be a
cause, or one of the elements making up a cause, either
adequate to produce as its effect the state of feeling which
had been the object of an antecedent desire, or adequate to
avert the state which had been the object of an antecedent
aversion. The object of a volition is, in one word, an Ac¬
tion : a fact consequent on volition is the only kind of fact
to which the name of action is strictly and properly appli¬
cable.
Further, as the object of a wish must have been ima¬
gined antecedently, so must it have been with the object of
a volition. We cannot but know what we will; and the
nature of the case precludes cognition in any other form
than that of imagination. An image of the act must inter¬
vene between the wish and the resulting volition. In the
volitional stage, as in the preceding, the rapidity of the pro¬
cess may doubtless be so great that the two successive facts
shall not at the time be distinguishable from each other:
but their real consecution and difference must not be lost
sight of. Ihe circumstance produces a complication which
should be noted by the student of eloquence.
I he process may, and with effects not less important
rhetorically, be complicated still further by the interven¬
tion of processes of Deliberation. This name indicates a
series of comparative judgments: the things compared are
two or more judgments inconsistent with each other; and,
if the progress towards action is not broken off, the issue
must be a judgment accepting one of them as true to the
rejection of the others. We may and do deliberate as to Data for
both of the objects,—as to the object of the wish and as to Theories of
the object of the volition,—as to the end, and as to the Literature
means: and hence the imagining of each of the two sue- van(* ^rt'/
cessive objects may be preceded, delayed, and conditioned
by an elaborate series of inferences.
14. In the psychological outline now closed, there has Bearings of
in effect been anticipated the theory of Persuasion ; that the psycho-
is, the section of Rhetoric which is at once the mostlogicallaws
thorough and the most extensively available for use. sion—the*
t For, in performing completely the process called persua- character
sion, what we aim at is the generation of volition in the minds of atten-
of other men ; and there have come up before us here, one tion-
after another, all the steps of the process which issues in
volition, that is, of the process which, in persuasion, we seek
to originate in the minds of others. In the simplest view
that is even conceivable, that process involves the following
successive steps (feeling being in the meantime overlooked):
a fact of imagination synthetic, yielding an image of the .
object of the wish ; a fact of wishing, in the form either of
desire or of aversion ; and lastly, the resulting fact of voli¬
tion. If, however, a dissection attempted in the last sec¬
tion be sound, the process must always be less simple.
There must first be imagination and consequent wish, re¬
ferable to the object which we are desirous of or averse
from for its own sake as end. There must next be ima¬
gination, referable to that action of our own which is regarded
as a means towards the satisfaction of the first wish; and
only out of this second image can the volition arise. Feel¬
ing, however,—and, specifically, emotion,—pleasure or pain,
really (as we must hold) accompanying each of those steps,
will necessarily, at some stage or other, and probably more
than once, emerge into an evanescent prominence, and for
a moment intervene between the facts which are distinc¬
tively objective.
It was hinted, however, that rhetorical rules cannot
grasp dlosely any but the first two of the steps thus de¬
scribed :—the Image and the subsequently emergent Emo¬
tion. It must likewise be kept in mind that, as also
hinted, these twTo steps are common to eloquence and to
poetry. Eloquence aims at continuing the process to its
consummation. Pure poetry aims at turning the process
back on its first step; and it is a question to be raised here¬
after, on account of its bearing on rhetorical points, what
effect is produced when poetry does aim at proceeding
further.
There has to be added one other doctrine, which could
not be explained satisfactorily till all our materials were
accumulated. I he problem regards the influence of will
on cognition or intellect; and it is raised by this question :—■
what is the real nature of that mental state, which we seem
to know so familiarly under the name of Attention.
Attention might be said to be the concentration of con¬
sciousness on certain objects. It is plain that attention is
often the result of volition : the knotty question is, whether
it is always so ? It may be that those are right, who hold
that an instinctive concentration of thought, an attention
not determined by will, is a necessary condition of all con¬
sciousness : but it is not easy to see one’s way through the
difficulties which stand between us and that conclusion.
At present it is enough to make this assertion :—that Atten¬
tion strictly so called, a concentration of thought deter¬
mined by will, is an indispensable condition of the rise of
consciousness above that confused state, of which feeling
is the norm. A fact of attention, in this sense of the word,
is a mental process, consequent on volition and its ante¬
cedents : it must either be constituted exclusively by cog¬
nitive facts, or have cognition as its first and determining
step; and lastly, it must involve what is usually called Ab¬
straction, or the throwing certain objects out of conscious-
R H E T
Processes ness and retaining others. Attention, then, and attention
constitut- which is voluntary and abstractive, is an antecedent and
ing Elo- peremptory condition of all cognition that is “clear” (in
quence. Leibnitz’s sense of the word); and such cognition must
precede all further progress of thought that is available for
any practical purpose whatever.
Accordingly every fact of clear cognition is properly an
action : it is a voluntary exertion of mental energy, having
had for its antecedent a process in which we have run up
the whole gamut of mental manifestation. In the sense
thus indicated, it may justly be alleged, of any mind exer¬
cising even the lowest degree of available intelligence, that
o R I C. 119
it is always active. A mind must act, that is, its phenomena Processes
must be directly consequent on its own volitions, it it is to constitut-
rise above the level of a dreaming idiocy. . _ _ ouence
For our use here, this doctrine ot attention supplies in- ^ ^ ^ ,
valuable corollaries. If the doctrine is accepted (and it
does appear to be almost a truism), the process by which
volition may be excited, is perceived to have a field infinitely
wider than that which at first it might seem to cover. The
theory bears directly, not on persuasion only, but on the
attempt to generate pure belief; and its applications, not
confined to eloquence, range far and sink deep in the realm
of poetry.
III. ANALYSIS OF THE PROCESSES CONSTITUTING THE ART OF ELOQUENCE.
The cha- 15. When we seek to identify those normal and elementary
racter and forms, into which all literary processes must be resolvable,
relations of we might perhaps expect to find those forms naturally de-
the pro- termined by the characteristic differences of the three
cesses of purp0SeS} with a distinctive view to one or another of which
cation communication must always be made. But the first of
through those purposes, the generation of belief or judgment, is
language, entertained in so many dissimilar shapes, and aimed at
from data so exceedingly various, that absolute similarity,
even in prominent features, is not to be looked for in all the
processes leading towards it. In recognising two distin¬
guishable kinds of processes, as each tending towards this
end, we accept the smallest number of distinctions that can
yield any clearness of doctrine.
While, therefore, the Purposes of communication by
language are only Three, the Processes relative (within
that sphere) to the attainment of these purposes must be set
down as Four.
First, The name of Exposition will here denote all pro¬
cesses, in which the generation of belief or explicit know¬
ledge is aimed at through any means other than argument.
Secondly, The name of Argumentation will suggest, at
once, processes in which, the generation of belief or explicit
knowledge being the purpose, the means used is argument
or proof.
Thirdly, The name of Persuasion is applied by common
consent to all processes, in which the end aimed at is the
generation of volition.
Fourthly, The name of Poetical Representation may
indicate all processes, in which language is used for the ge¬
neration of pleasure through imagination.
The substance of the Theory of Eloquence consists in
the analysis of the first three of those four processes ; and
these will next be taken in the order in which they have
been named: which order, likewise, as noted before (sec¬
tion 2), is that in which they occur when all of them are
completely incorporated into one discourse. In the same
section those weaknesses were touched on, which attach to
the theories of exposition and argumentation, and which
leave the theory of persuasion as the strong ground of a
rhetorical system.
I. THE PROCESS OF EXPOSITION.
The cha- 16. In the cursory examination, which is all that this
racter and process requires, the first point is the setting aside of those
varieties cases where the generation of belief is dependent on the
of the pro- matter asserted, from those where it is dependent on the
^ositf 6X' manner in which the assertion is made. Evidently it is
posi ion. 0f iatter kind that any firm hold can be
caught, even by the very few rhetorical laws here ob¬
tainable.
I. Belief may be commanded, without proof, by the cha¬
racter of that which is asserted. It may be a truth self-
evident to all men; am. that either as being a universal
condition of human knowledge, or as being vouched so
thoroughly by experience that it is admitted unhesitatingly
as a practical rule of life. Or it may be something which,
though not self-evident, is yet undoubtingly admitted by
those to whom it is stated.
In neither of these varieties of the first case are rules
properlv rhetorical either needed or attainable. 1 he task
of the speaker or writer is, at the utmost, nothing more than
that of reminding his hearers or readers of something which
supposably ought to be brought distinctly to their re¬
membrance. If anything else is requisite, it can only be
explanation of the words used ; and, in certain kinds of elo¬
quence, much time is often bestowed on such explanation,
involving not seldom much of argument. When the pro¬
cess is purely expository, the only qualifications required
by the party communicating are two : clear thinking, clear
and distinct apprehension of the objects treated ; perspi¬
cuous language, that clearness of expression which does not
necessarily attend clearness of thought, but towards which
clearness of thought leads, and which, when thought is ob¬
scure, cannot be attained unless through a momentary
accident.
II. Belief may be commanded, without proof, by the
manner of communication. Belief may thus be commanded
in either of two ways.
1. It may be generated by the aspect in which the as¬
sertion itself is made to appear. The alleged truth is so
represented that the recipient wishes it to be true. This
is really one of those complex cases, in which the several
communicative processes are fused wholly or partially into
each other. What is performed is, in fact, an incomplete
process of persuasion : that process is carried on to the for¬
mation of the wish ; and then the minds which are affected
by it are led aside towards belief instead of being urged fur¬
ther onwards to volition. Things which we desire to believe
are undoubtedly believed by us infinitely more readily than
things to which we are averse, or about which we are in¬
different; and a lively act of imagination, giving rise to an
intense wish, is a step which, especially in minds untrained
to the testing of evidence, stands close to positive belief, if
only no circumstances are obtruded which make the fact
in question to be impossible or highly improbable.
2. The belief may be generated by the aspect in which
the speaker or writer is able to represent his own character
and position. This variety of the process is the first of the
three Tricrrets explained in the Rhetoric of Aristotle. It is
the method of generating belief which he describes as re¬
siding in the exhibited character of the speaker,—as taking
effect when the discourse is so framed as to make the
speaker appear worthy of credit.
In a word, the case is one in which the writer or speaker
aims at taking the position of a witness; and, the dis¬
course being assumed to supply the only means which the
audience have of judging as to his character, he has to aim
at exhibiting himself as possessing all the qualifications of a
RHETORIC.
120
Processes witness who is trustworthy. In one who gives judicial tes-
constitut- timony, the essential qualifications are of two kinds, in-
ing Elo- tellectual and moral; and these are the quarters on which
quence. ^ c]earest ijg]lt must be thrown by the discourse, when
an orator or literary man strives to give to his words the
weight of testimony. Which of the two is the more im¬
portant, is a question of circumstances.
Clearly, in both respects, rules of art must be all but
powerless. That which the man is, will essentially deter¬
mine that which he can seem to be. The only field indeed
in which forethought and art may raise seeming far above
being, is not literature proper, framed for being pondered
over in the closet, but oratory proper, designed for oral
delivery. Just as a jury forms, from the manner in which
a witness gives his evidence, an impression favourable to
his intelligence and honesty; so may they, or any other
audience, especially a large and mixed one, be impressed
similarly towards a public speaker, by features of his
manner, which are really the fruit of elaborate study and
practice. The small literary efficiency of this means of im¬
pressing belief has almost banished it from notice in modern
works on rhetoric ; although its admirable oratorical power,
especially in the shape of skill in elocution, commended it
naturally to Aristotle, whose precepts had their chief prac¬
tical end in the instruction of public speakers. Weak,
however, as rhetorical theory is here, the points deserve to
be paused over for a moment.
(1.) In regard to the moral qualification, in its bearing
on communication strictly literary, very little can be elicited
with advantage. A literary man is presumably an honest
witness, ready to report his knowledge conscientiously and
correctly. He can hardly exhibit himself in any other
light, unless by betraying innate moral weakness or depra¬
vity. Yet literary statements affect us strongly, both with
prepossession and with prejudice, even when the moral
elevation or sinking is not very decided, or when the dif¬
ference extends no further than to disposition or temper.
There is all the unlikeness in the world between the dis¬
trust with which we learn to treat the assertions of the
savage and gloomy Swift, and the kindly confidence we
repose in what is said by the cheerful and kindly Addison ;
nor does the sympathetic glow which is shed over us by the
genial Goldsmith accompany us when our teaching is de¬
rived from the honest but arrogant Johnson.
(2.) The intellectual position of the writer must be esta¬
blished both as to opportunities, as to intelligence, and as
to knowledge. But, first, ostentation either of intellectual
power or of resulting knowledge would be a violation of the
first section of the rule, as tending to excite moral distrust;
and parade of ability or skill of any kind, by calling away
attention from the matter to admiration of the writer, would
cool the tendency to faith, even if its moral effect were not
directly adverse.
In the creation of impressions favourable to the intellec¬
tual character of the writer, the cast of his style is of great
importance ; although here, as in regard to most points
affecting language, little more can usefully be done than
the calling of attention to the principle. In Bentham’s
posthumous essay on Language, an attempt is made to ge¬
neralize this doctrine. Intellectual strength, it is said, is
indicated by a character of style which may be called Dig¬
nity or Self-possessedness. It has the effect of indicating
the writer’s mastery both over himself and over his matter.
It is distinguishable through its want of certain faults, espe¬
cially two: first, laxity, a general prevalence of offences
against perspicuity in the use of words ; and secondly, a
tendency to grope about among ideas without at once find¬
ing the right one, out of which arises a superfluity of ideas
as well as of words.
(3.) To those two essential qualifications of the witness,
Aristotle adds, for the orator, a third, Good-will towards
those whom he wishes to impress with belief. For oratory Processes
dealing with party-questions, the production of a favourable constitut-
impression in this direction is clearly of great moment. In inS Elo_
literature the circumstances give but seldom occasion for v (fueDce- ^
raising such questions. But in some kinds of literary com- ^
positions,—as, for instance, History,—there is continual oc¬
casion both for watching the means of fairly causing such
impressions, and for guarding against the distrust which
may spring up where the adverse inclination of the writer
is not or ought not to be concealed. When, before can¬
vassing proofs, we do distrust an historical statement bearing
on a party-question, our want of faith in the historian as
adverse to our own opinions is almost always complicated
by distrust in the assertion itself, as one which we are un¬
willing to believe.
Perhaps it is scarcely worth while to add, that the same
favourable impression, which may generate without proof a
belief that otherwise would have been totally absent, must,
d fortiori, be efficacious in facilitating beliefj in cases where
proof is offered but is not in itself sufficient.
II. THE PROCESS OF ARGUMENTATIOX.
(l.) THE CHARACTER OF ITS RHETORICAL THEORY.
17. This process must by us be studied for a purpose i0gjcaj
which may become the clearer, if we first contrast it with problem
another purpose, for which also it is analysed by a science and the
having a primary and preferable hold on it. rhetorical.
As a process of thought, Argumentation is subject to
Logical Laws : as a process of communicated thought, it is
subject to Rhetorical Laws. The process which we review,
being the process in which argumentative thought is com¬
municated, is not completely theorised unless, while its
rhetorical laws are directly laid down, its logical laws are
presupposed. The complete theory may be said to com¬
prehend the solutions of two several problems.
The first is the Logical problem. It may be expressed
thus. Given certain propositions as premises: it is required
to determine whether any conclusion, and what conclusion
if any, may validly be inferred from them.—The second
problem, the Rhetorical, is not enounced so easily, in a
shape at once sufficiently precise and sufficiently compre¬
hensive. The following may be taken as a fair exposition
of it. Given a certain proposition as a conclusion: it is
required to determine through what premises, and through
what use of those premises, the truth of the given conclu¬
sion may be made evident to persons who would not other¬
wise believe it.
The contrariety between the two problems should be
marked from several aspects.
The solution of the logical problem enables us to test
arguments: we take our stand on the data, the first two
steps in the argumentative process; and we find the con¬
clusion, the third step, or pronounce it impossible. The
solution is exact, exhaustive, and peremptory ; and it bears
directly on the instance given.—The solution of the rheto¬
rical problem is designed for enabling us to perform the
more difficult task of constructing arguments, and of con¬
structing them so that they shall be effective on other
minds than our own. We take our stand on the conclu¬
sion, the third step in the argumentative process; and we
seek the premises, the first and second steps, that these
may be adduced in proof of the conclusion. The solution
of the problem is approximate, incomplete, and probable
instead of being peremptory; and accordingly its use ex¬
tends no further than this, that it suggests to us the outline
of a method, by the wise use of which (besides collateral
advantages), the finding of premises to prove given conclu¬
sions may be made easier than it would be if it were set
about without the use of any method guided by law.
Processes
constitut¬
ing Elo¬
quence.
Compari¬
son of
schemes.
RHETORIC.
121
That, accordingly, in which we are aided by this section
of rhetoric, is first of all the Finding or Discovery of Pre¬
mises, the other aids being consequent and dependent on
this. It might be called likewise, in logical phrase, the
Finding of Middle Terms, or media of proof: for what
must be gained, in the first instance, is a term with which
we might successively compare each of the terms of our
given conclusion; and this term, the middle, being once
discovered, the construction of the premises with it and the
two others is a matter of course.
We express really the same analysis, but in a more
familiar shape, if we say that this essential part of the
rhetorical theory of argumentation aids us in the Finding
of Arguments. For the word “Argument,” strictly mean¬
ing the middle term, signifies very often, in common speech,
the assumed facts on which a conclusion is rested, and
often also the whole argumentative process.
Names of similar import described, among the classical
rhetoricians, this dialectical or semi-dialectical section of
rhetoric. It was the "Eipeo-is of the Greeks, the “Inventio”
of the Romans and schoolmen. What it dealt with was
called the Invention of Arguments in our own older lan¬
guage, when the distinction was not yet taken precisely
between invention and discovery.
(ll.) THE CLASSIFICATION OF ARGUMENTS.
18. In most of our modern systems of Rhetoric, the
theory of argumentation is a dead blank. Either an appeal
is taken to Logic as the only science which can give any
aid to the process ; or else we are told that both the one
science and the other are useless, and that the only guides
to be relied on are knowledge of the matter, and practised
sagacity, and sound sense.
The elaborate and special topical systems of the old
world have not been, and are not likely to be, recalled into
life by any one. But of systems of universal topics, in¬
tended to cover all departments of knowledge likely to be
argued about, without descending into the details of any,
there are more than one that have exhibited much acute¬
ness and ingenuity. Among those which, while they have
available points, are palpably deficient in generalization,
Priestley’s may be cited, for the sake of some features of
likeness which will come to light immediately. All argu¬
ments, says he, are founded on one or another of nine rela¬
tions. We must argue from premises which express one
or another of these things :—Definitions Adjuncts ; An¬
tecedents ; Consequents; Means ; Analogy ; Contrariety ;
Example; Authority.
It may be observed, likewise, that there is one recent
scheme of relations, which, though not applied by its author
to rhetorical use, might be so applied without much diffi¬
culty; while it is not only, as might be expected, highly
philosophical in conception, but also much closer than
Priestley’s to the scheme immediately to be explained.
This is the doctrine as to the Import of Propositions laid
down in Mill’s Logic. All propositions, says Mr Mill, must
import one or another of five things:—Existence; Co¬
existence ; Sequence ; Causation ; Resemblance.
We attain a simplicity yet greater, without losing any
principle that appears to be essential, when we recur to
that universal classification of all possible arguments, which
was expounded in the oldest and most celebrated of all
extant rhetorical treatises, and has been elucidated with
admirable effect in the best rhetorical work of our own
time.
Aristotle, in his Rhetoric, distributes all arguments into
three classes. His third class, the argument from 7rapa.8a.y1xa,
or Example, is easily identified; but much darkness has
rested on the question as to the nature and difference of
each of his first and second kinds—the argument from euco?,
VOL. XIX.
or Probability, and that from crr]p.uov, or Sign. The only Processes
interpretation that is rational or self-consistent is one which constitut-
is assigned by some of the commentators, such as Majora- ing E1°"
gius; and this reading, adopted by Archbishop Whately, v ^uence- j
may safely be believed to yield, as he alleges, the genuine
classification of Aristotle.
According to Whately’s scheme, the first kind of Argu¬
ment is the etKos of Aristotle; the argument from Ante¬
cedent Probability, which is described and analysed as
leading us from cause to effect. The second kind is Aris¬
totle’s <nr]p.eiov, the argument from Sign or Symptom, de¬
clared to lead, not strictly from effect to cause, but from a
symptom to the thing indicated by it. The third kind,
Aristotle’s TrapaSaypa, is the argument from Example.
What is now to be given is an explanation of the Aris¬
totelian scheme on this interpretation of it, and with much
use of suggestions supplied by the interpreter. An attempt
is made, however, to trace the rhetorical rules upwards to
their principles.
19. In arguing or inferring, we pass from the known to I116 Prir|-
the unknown ; from something which is assumed as known ciples of a
already, to something which is not known till it has been
inferred. Our inferred truth, the conclusion of our in- tQpjcs>
ference, must be one only: let it, for brevity, be called X.
Our known truth, the datum, is likewise one in the aspect
in which at first it naturally offers itself: let it be designated
as A.
But, though the truths which are the matter of inference
thus seem to be no more than two, the logical analysis,
which shows them to be necessarily three (for the cases of
immediate inference are reducible to the same principle
which rules the syllogism), is vindicated even without the
use of logical forms. From a known truth A, considered
simply and by itself, an unknown truth X cannot possibly
be inferred. We cannot from A infer X, unless on the
assumption that there exists some Relation between them.
This is our third truth, a second assumed truth :—that A
and X are in some way or other mutually related. Even
if we continue to express our reasoning in popular forms,
we either make this second assumption silently, or in¬
corporate it in the expression of our A. The assumption
is made in this case as really and as thoroughly as it is
made when, setting forth the inference in its developed
logical shape, we exhibit the assumption explicitly as a
second premise.
Taken strictly, then, the relation required is quite inde¬
pendent of all considerations derived from the uses to which
it may be put. It is net strictly a relation even between
the steps of the inference as such ; still less is it a relation
dependent on the forms the inference may take, or on the
purposes to which it may be applied. It is a relation of
matter, an objective relation: it is a relation between the
objects which are the matter of the inference.
Hence comes the doctrine from which our classification
of arguments must start.
I. From a known truth A we cannot infer an unknown
truth X, unless in virtue of some objective Relation assumed
to exist between A and X.
Accordingly, our classification of arguments ought to
rest on a classification of the relations between all objects
of thought. The construction of such a classification is a
high and deep problem in ontology or metaphysics proper;
and the experienced impossibility of reaching an exhaustive
solution of it entails imperfection on our transformation of
the solution into a practical shape. But it is not difficult
to gain an approximate solution, which is exact enough for
the application now needed.
Every thinkable relation of things must be placed by us
in the one or the other of two classes.
First, it may be a relation direct, real, or purely objec-
Q
122
RHETORIC.
Processes tive; that is, it may be a relation which we believe, rightly
constitut- or wrongly^ t0 subsist between the objects themselves
mfence" inc^viduaUy* One of the widest of such relations is that
v ' j of Causality. A may be a cause, and X the relative effect;
or A may be an effect, and X the relative cause. But
we have a generalization yet wider, and perhaps the very
widest that is possible, in the relation of Condition. A
condition of a thing is any thing but for which it would
not be what it is: A may be the condition, X the thing
conditioned, or contrariwise. Now our doctrine is this :—
that all direct or purely objective relations are merely modi¬
fications of this one relation of Condition.
Secondly, the relation may be indirect, conceptual, or ob-
jecto-subjective; that is, it may be a relation which is thought,
not as subsisting directly between the objects themselves,
but as established between them indirectly, through our
manner of thinking of them, or through the point of view
from which we regard them. All these indirect rela¬
tions, emergent through our own thinking, are resolvable
into the one relation of Resemblance, which founds the
process of classification. We think of A and X as being
like each other; and, in respect of this likeness, we think
of them as contained in one and the same class. Now, un¬
doubtedly, in all real knowledge, the relation of Resemblance
presupposes, and is no more than an imperfect evolution
of, some real relation between the objects as conditioning
and conditioned. But we are often able to discover a re¬
semblance justifying classification, while we have as yet an
imperfect apprehension of the real relation which is the
root: and, besides this, the thinking of the relation under
the form of resemblance between members of a class, gives
us all the conveniences and advantages of general or uni¬
versal reasoning, one especial advantage being the ability
to shift our point of view. Therefore, as well as for special
reasons which will immediately come to light, the relation
of Resemblance actually lies at the foundation of our in¬
ferences much oftener than the more decisive relation of
Condition.
Our classification of arguments, in fine, may rest on this
theorem.
II. All those Relations of objects in virtue of which
inference from A to X is possible, may practically be con¬
sidered as resolvable into these two,—Condition and Re¬
semblance.
Arguments, again, fall primarily into two classes, accord¬
ing as a relation of the one kind or of the other is that
which is assumed.
III. All arguments are reducible to the one or the other
of Two Classes. In arguments of the First Class, the
relation between A and X is that of Condition; in argu¬
ments of the Second Class, the relation between A and X
is that of Resemblance.
It cannot be noted too early, that these two classes of
arguments differ signally in logical validity ; not essentially,
indeed, but in the uses they are practically put to. Argu¬
ments of the first class admit of being so framed as to be
logically impregnable. Arguments of the second class,
having data such as they always receive in practice, cannot
be so framed as to escape from a logical fallacy. The
point is marked by Aristotle. It rests on a principle having
wide applications in philosophy; and the proof and illustra¬
tion of it will appear when we reach particulars.
In the meantime, our classification must be carried
down a step farther.
When the relation is that of Resemblance, the inference
holds equally from A to X, and backward from X to A.
Consequently arguments of the second class have no varia¬
tion affecting the inferential character.
But when the relation is that of Condition, it is far from
being a question indifferent, in which direction the in¬
ference is taken. An inference from a conditioning fact
to the fact which is conditioned, determined, or limited by Processes
it, is an inference very dissimilar in character to an infer- constitut-
ence the opposite way, from the conditioned fact to the in8 E1°'
fact which is its condition. Therefore arguments of the
first class fall into two genera. “
We have thus a final resolution of all arguments into
Three Kinds, which correspond, substantially and in order,
to Aristotle’s three kinds as understood by Whately.
IV. The first class of arguments being distributable into
two genera, the kinds of arguments which require separate
analysis are three in all.—1. In arguments of the First
Kind, A is a condition of X: we infer from condition to
thing conditioned. The direction of the inference will be
indicated if we describe these as Arguments from Condition.
2. In arguments of the Second Kind, A is conditioned by
X : we infer from a thing conditioned to something which
is a condition of it. The A being symptomatic of the X,
these are aptly called Arguments from Symptom, or from
Sign. 3. In arguments of the Third Kind, A and X re¬
semble each other, and in respect of the point of resem¬
blance are referred to the same class. These may be called
Arguments from Resemblance ox from Classification.
Each of these three kinds must now be examined more
nearly.
1. The Argument from Condition.
20. The theory of this kind of argument may be drawn
together in the five propositions following:—
I. If facts are known which are the sum or aggregate of
all the conditions determining a fact unknown, the unknown
fact may be inferred from these with positive certainty. It
is possible, therefore, to gain through the argument from
condition a conclusion which is demonstratively true. Cases
in which the data may be said to possess this character,
as embracing all the conditions which are immediate and
The cha¬
racter and
limits of
the argu¬
ment from
condition
—the rela¬
tion of
causality.
liable to variation, are frequent in reasonings about the
phenomena and events of the corporeal world.
II. If the known facts fall short, by even one, of making
up the aggregate of all the conditions, the conclusion in which
the unknown fact is inferred sinks to one degree or an¬
other of mere likelihood or probability. In reasonings
about mental phenomena, involving human character and
conduct, the data may be said to fall always short of the
aggregate of conditions; and this is the kind of matter for
dealing with which rhetorical rules are oftenest needed and
most likely to be appealed to. Therefore, in practice, this
kind of argument may be said to yield oftenest conclusions
having only a higher or lower degree of probability.
III. When the aggregate of the conditions is not made
up in the data, the degree of probability belonging to the
conclusion depends much less on the proportional number
of the conditions known, than on the character of them or
some of them. The decisive question is, whether among
the known conditions there be any which is describable
(popularly rather than philosophically) as the cause of the
fact dependent.
IV. If among the conditions of a dependent fact there be
discoverable some one which seems to exert, while the others
do not seem to exert, a positive power or efficiency in the
production of the dependent fact, we consider this efficient
condition as a cause, and the dependent fact as its effect.
If the cause or efficient condition is known to exist, there
arises a presumption for the existence of the effect; yield¬
ing a conclusion whose probability is proportional to the
probability of concurrence of all the negative conditions,
and is destroyed by evidence that any one of these nega¬
tive conditions is wanting. If the cause is not known to
exist, the existence of the effect is not made in the lowest
degree probable, even by the known concurrence of all the
negative conditions.
Processes
constitut¬
ing Elo¬
quence.
R H E T
V. This application of the idea of causality admits a
specification referable to reasonings in regard to human
character and conduct. If an act of will is one of the con¬
ditions of a fact, we hold this act of will to be the cause of
the fact. If the act of will is known to have taken place,
the occurrence of the consequent fact may be inferred with
a probability, modifiable or destroyable by the known oc¬
currence or non-occurrence of the other conditions. If the
act of will is not known or presumed to have taken place,
no probability of the occurrence of the consequent fact
is raised even by the known concurrence of all the other
conditions.
This kind of argument cannot be admitted to have been
theorized broadly enough, till it is traced beyond the idea
of cause into the higher idea of condition. The argument
plainly has its root in the thought, that the concurrence of
all the conditions of a fact must carry with it the fact which
is dependent on them. Our specificating of certain condi¬
tions as causes is only an after-thought: it suggests itself
to us as a limitation, under which we may still hold the infer¬
ence together, when it falls asunder in the attempt to grasp
it by the broader end.
That the thought of the causal relation is really inessen¬
tial, is proved by the easy and effective use of the argu¬
ment which may so often be made in reasonings about the
phenomena of body, in regard to which we truly never do
apprehend the causal nexus, becoming acquainted with laws
only, that is, with conditions affecting classes of objects.
Even in dealing with material objects, it is true, we are driven
on the search after true causes, in every case where we are
uncertain as to having been able to gather up all the cir¬
cumstances on which depends a fact w7e wish to determine.
But in doing so, we are beginning to tread on that boggy
ground in which physical science has so often lost her foot¬
ing. Our deductions begin to put on that character of un¬
certainty, which bedims more or less all our thinking about
mental attributes and events.
When we rise fairly into this higher sphere, and endea¬
voured to infer what has been or will be the course of
human actions, we see man’s rationally determined will
conflicting with other principles of his nature, and with the
wills of his fellow-men, and with the obstacles interposed by
things external and bodily ; and we are driven from the
field of demonstration, by the impossibility of knowing ex¬
actly all the secret facts out of which the complicated
struggle springs. But we seize and cling to that which is
our normal instance of causation, namely, the act of will.
If that act can be proved, we know that the clue is in our
hands; and the closer we can approach to the proof of it,
the nearer is the moment when we shall walk confidently
through the maze. Failing direct proof of the act of will,
we seek proof of those actuating antecedents which we call
motives; proof, that is, of desires or aversions which, na¬
turally or probably or inevitably, would issue in volition.
Arguing from motives, indeed, is one of the most com¬
mon instances of the uses to which this argument is put.
Concomitant circumstances (the dealing with which would
yield arguments of our second kind) raise the question,
whether a man committed a certain act. The means of
determination that will first be thought of by any of us
is the discovery, whether he was or was not actuated by
any wish which that act would have helped to gratify. If
we cannot discover the pre-existence of some such desire
or aversion, hardly any evidence short of actual observation
will either induce us to believe in his commission of the
act, or encourage us to hope that we should be able to
convince others. But let there be given the wish, the mo¬
tive : then the consequent volition, and the act in which it
is exhausted, become at once facts which are more or less
probable. Yet the complication and the doubt are not wiped
away. The proved motive may be checked by motives
123
counteracting; the desire to kill or to rob may be stifled by Processes
prudence, or by fear of shame, or by awakening conscience : constitut¬
or, if the internal history of the actor discloses no facts throw- ing E1°*
ing uncertainty on the event, the external circumstances v quence‘ t
may have made the act difficult or impossible. In a word, * v ^
from the antecedent and conditioning facts, taken by them¬
selves, we cannot infer the act with peremptory demonstra¬
tiveness, unless we have come into possession of an array
of conditioning data, possessing a completeness which never
perhaps was reached in any case, historical, judicial, or or¬
dinary, exposed to such doubt as to leave an opening for
argument in any shape. Therefore arguments drawn from
other sources will be required in corroboration.
The analysis of this argument has thus been carried far
enough to show what the kind of facts is among which ma¬
terials may be sought for it; and perhaps also far enough
to suggest some of its practical uses, and of the terms on
which these are attainable.
Two or three hints may be subjoined:—•
First, In the attempt to prove a fact, which we know to
have been preceded by certain other facts, our first busi¬
ness should be the identification of all those precedent facts
which seem to come up to the character of conditions.
Antecedents which are clearly not conditions will be set
aside as barren.
Secondly, Among the conditions, if clearly we do not
know all of them, our task is that of discovering which (it
may be one, or it may be a combination of more) appear
to have an efficient causal bearing on the fact to be proved.
All other conditions are often describable negatively, as
constituted, in Whately’s phrase, by the absence of obsta¬
cles. “ If,” says he, “ the cause be fully sufficient, and no
impediment intervene, the effect in question follows cer¬
tainly; and the nearer we approach to this, the stronger the
argument.”
Thirdly, The individual conditions of an individual fact
are often justly describable as being instances of a general or
universal law. Such a law, accordingly, may be stated in
its generalized form as a condition of the fact in question.
This view would supply the substance of an exact deduc¬
tive syllogism or syllogisms; and much is often to be gained,
in ease of convincing others, by starting from such a general
principle.
Fourthly, An argument of this kind may always be made
impregnable against logical attack, by an exact and candid
incorporation, into the premise, of the degree of probability
which is assigned to the conclusion.
Lastly, and contrariwise, The fallacy most likely to be
committed in the use of the argument is the over-statement,
in the conclusion, of the degree of probability which was
assumed in the premise.
2. The Argument from Symptom.
21. This kind of argument, the simplest of all, is suffi-The cha-
ciently theorized in one proposition. racter and
I. A fact being known which is conditioned by facts
unknown, each or any of the conditioning facts may be in-
ferred; and each of them, whatever be its character or its Sympt0m—
comparative importance, may alike be inferred with posi-the relation
tive certainty. of depend-
The correlation put in question, by this kind of argument ence-
and the preceding, displayed but a cloudy prospect when
we looked forward from facts conditioning to facts condi¬
tioned. If even one has failed among those facts which
are truly conditions, the dependent fact has not taken place;
and the possibility of such failure, so very seldom, if ever,
totally excludable in questions here interesting us, alloys
our conclusion with more or less of doubt.
When the correlation is viewed from the opposite quarter
of the horizon, it brightens with broad and steady light.
0 R I C.
124 R H E T
Processes Evidently our position is now such as to dispel all uncer-
constitut- tainty. If the dependent fact is known to have occurred,
ing Elo- ]lovv are we entitled to infer in regard to the condi-
^quence^ tions ? Why, that all of them must have occurred. For, if
v it were not so, if even one of them had failed, the dependent
fact would be non-existent. Therefore the dependent fact,
and its relation to the others, being justifiably assumed, it is
open to us to infer any one or more of the conditions at will.
It should be noticed also with emphasis, that the relation
of causality is here utterly ineffective. From the effect we
may of course infer the cause; but only because it is one
of the conditions. We may, from the same datum, infer
with equal certainty the most trifling or purely negative of
the conditions by which the efficiency of the cause was
limited ; and a condition of this character may be involved
so necessarily in the nature and origin of the dependent
fact, that it may thence be inferable quite peremptorily,
though the individual circumstances constituting the cause
should remain undiscoverable.
Nor does it happen seldom that a dependent fact, and all
questions as to its cause, derive their whole practical im¬
portance from the materials they yield for determining
some one of those seemingly insignificant conditions. Sup¬
pose a man to fall suddenly dead this afternoon. The cir¬
cumstances observed as attending his death, and those
which are detected on dissection of his body, are symptoms
from which medical men will, if required, endeavour to decide
what the disease was that killed him; yet their opinions
may rise no higher than conjecture, and though established,
might be valuable only in the interest of science. But of
his dying this afternoon it is a palpable condition, though
in no sense a cause, that he must have been alive this
morning; and his having been so may have opened to him
and his family the succession to valuable property. There
has recently been brought before the Scottish courts of law
a question of this very kind, stirred by the tragical fate of
Franklin’s Arctic expedition.
In the use of this argument, the point to be worked
most carefully is, the ascertaining that the facts sought to
be inferred are truly conditions of the given fact, and of no
other. They must not, on the one side, be circumstances
which might or might not have been antecedents of the
given fact; circumstances the non-occurrence of which
would have left it possible that the given fact might still
have occurred. They must not, on the other side, be
circumstances which, though symptomatic of the given
fact, are also symptomatic of some other fact or facts
different from it. The fallacy to which the argument is
exposed must consist in a violation of the one or the other,
or of both, of these cautions: in the assumption that X is a
condition of A when it is only an accidental and inessential
antecedent; or in the assumption that X can be a condi¬
tion of nothing but A, when it may be also a condition of
B or of C.
In attempting to infer from any one symptomatic fact, it
is very often out of our power, through the imperfection of
our acquaintance with the real relations between A and X,
to gain premises which shall be more than probable, or
capable of justifying more than a probable conclusion. We
are able to assert only this; that our X is more or less pro¬
bably a genuine condition of our A, and of it only. Herein
lies the weakness besetting single arguments of this kind.
It is x'emoved by the accumulation of symptoms, all of which
found arguments leading to the same conclusion; while all
of them converge in the closing argument, founded on the
mere fact of the accumulation of probabilities, on the im¬
possibility or high improbability of the concurrence being
consistent with any conclusion but that whereto each of
the separate arguments tends. Arguments Ifom symptom,
thus weak in isolation when the relations of the facts are
obscure, may safely be alleged to be capable of becoming,
0 R I C.
even in such a case, stronger by accumulation than argu- Processes
ments founded on any other kind of proof whatever. constitut-
Their weakness and their strength are alike instanced in inS E1°-
that with which we are familiar in law, especially in the v quence't
practice of criminal law, under the name of Circumstantial ^ * v ^
Evidence. Such evidence consists in facts founding argu¬
ments from symptom.
The doctrine of this kind of argument is not complete,
until there is added to it the result of an original analysis
made by Whately. This supplement is important enough
to deserve being placed as a second leading proposition.
II. The Argument from Testimony is really an argument
from symptom. Testimony is an assertion which would
not have been made if it had not been true : so far only as
the assertion and its truth bear this relation to each other,
does the case possess the genuine character of testimony.
The dependent fact, the A of the argument, is the fact that
the testimony has been given; the condition, the X, is the
fact that the testimony is true.
Faith in testimony is a rule of our conduct; distrust in
testimony is only the exception. Accordingly, in trials at law,
and elsewhere, also, when our knowledge of the facts comes
wholly from the evidence of witnesses, we silently over¬
look the character of the source so long as there is no reason
for suspecting that the source is tainted. We think out
our conclusions from the testified circumstances, with the
same confidence which we should have reposed in them if
they had occurred before our own eyes. We do not think
of the testimony as testimony, or probe it on that assump¬
tion, unless self-contradiction or other suspicious points
raise distinctly the question, whether the witness has or has
not told the truth.
3. The Argument from Resemblance.
22. This argument is easily recognisable when it is called The cha-
an Argument from Example. The question raised is, whether racter and
a given law, say P, is obeyed by an object x, whose sub- Emits
jection or non-subjection to that law we have it not in our the ar?u'
power to determine by observation. We hold ourselves™^/0111
entitled to assume that the law is obeyed in at least one in- blance—
stance,—that is, by the observed object a. On the strength the logical
of this known instance or example, we infer that the law is fiaw-
obeyed in the unknown instance also. The point on which
the theory of the argument rests, is the character of the
relation between the known example and the unknown.
They are referred to the same class (say S).
Our datum A is the assumption that a certain thing (say
P) is true of a known individual a (or it may be more than
one, but always fewer than all of the individuals constitut¬
ing its class) : our conclusion X is the assertion that the same
thing (P) is true of the individual x not known unless as
related to a. T he relation on which the inference hangs is
the fact, that a and x resemble each other in some point
different from that which is in question. This last step in
the dissection dictates the form of the inference. Resem¬
bling individuals are referred to the same class: therefore
that which is held to justify the inference from a io x is,
that the two individuals, the known and the unknown, are
members of one class (S). The risk of error arises from
this, that the comparison between a and x is made in regard
to some attribute different from that on the common pos¬
session of which the class S has been founded.
The argument takes a shape like this:—a is a P; but
both a and x are S’s; therefore x is a P.
It seems to be certain (though there is one high authority
to the contrary) that the reasoning is elliptical. An inter¬
mediate conclusion is taken for granted, but suppressed;
and there are really performed two successive acts of argu¬
mentation, both of which are explicable (though for the
first the explication might often be dispensed with, even for
Processes
constitut¬
ing Elo¬
quence.
R H E T
logical testing) into syllogisms. The first of the two syllo¬
gisms is Inductive, being an inference from the particular
or individual to the universal: the second is Deductive,
being an inference from the universal to the particular or
individual.
The skeleton of the inductive syllogism is laid bare in
this formula:—a is a P ; a is an S ; therefore all the S’s
are P’s. The conclusion gained by this induction becomes
the major premise of the deductive syllogism, which may
be formulized thus:—all the S’s are P’s ; a; is an S ; there¬
fore a; is a P.
The deductive syllogism requires but a passing glance.
Formally or logically it is faultless. If its conclusion is not
certainly true, this must be because of some weakness in the
assumptions it rests on. The minor premise, in which the
unknown instance x is asserted to belong to the class b, can
hardly ever be unwarranted. But its major premise has
been borrowed from the preceding syllogism; and the
method by which it was there come at is open to exception.
The inductive syllogism is logically fallacious. The flaw
is an illicit process of the minor, which consists in inferring
of “ all” where we were entitled to infer only of “ some,” or
“fewer than all.” The premises would justify the conclu¬
sion, that “some of the S’s are P’s:” they do not justify
the conclusion that “ all the S’s are P’s.”
The laws which are here operative prevail widely, not
only in processes of communication, but over the whole do¬
main of discovery and invention. The character of the
“ Inductive Philosophy” has been elucidated in various
sections of this Encyclopaedia, especially in the Prelimi¬
nary Dissertations. In one of the special articles an at¬
tempt was made to show briefly, in accordance with the
same principles which are here founded on, how, on the
one hand, all our practical inductions are necessarily faulty
in form; and how, on the other hand, all the laws which
have been laid down for inductive discovery, from Bacon to
Mill and Whewell, are nothing else than expedients by the
use of which the formal error may be reduced to a minimum
which is practically inappreciable. (Logic, especially §§ 102,
103.) The Perfect Induction, in which, from the sum of
all the constitutive particulars, we infer the constituted uni¬
versal, is logically faultless; but it is practically useless,
because our data never embrace all the particulars in any
case where it is worth while to infer at all. Our actual
processes of this sort are always Imperfect Inductions, in
which our known particulars fall short of the sum by a
larger or smaller proportion, and which therefore can logi¬
cally lead only to a conclusion falling correspondingly
short of universality.
The philosophical principles which rule Induction as the
great method of scientific discovery pass over without re¬
striction into the rhetorical field. The results of induction
there exhibit themselves as the foundation of that which is
the most popular and striking, but also the most dangerous,
of all kinds of argumentation.
The Argument from Example does exercise a peculiar
force of impression, especially on minds imperfectly accus¬
tomed to analysis, or allowed little timefor analysing. It seems
to make a direct appeal to experience. The two objects,
the known and the unknown, a and x, are, if the materials
are well selected, known to belong to one and the same
class, to have the same name, in respect that both of them
obey a certain law (the S). The a is likewise known to
belong to another class, to have another name, in respect
that it obeys another law (the P), which is the law whose
compass is really in question. The inference attempted is,
that x also obeys the law P. The principle of the infer¬
ence is, that the first law implies the second. If it really
does so, the conclusion will be true, though not rightly
inferred: if it does not, the conclusion will be false.
Whether the first law does imply the second, is a ques-
o K I c. 125
tion dependent on the exactness and success with which Processes
both laws have previously been examined. constitut-
The efficiency, again, of this antecedent scrutiny, will in®e^c°"
have been determined chiefly by the character of the matter v <^e ' ,
argued about. The leading distinction is that which was
indicated lately, between phenomena of the corporeal world
and phenomena of mind. The former, taken as a class,
admit of scrutiny, which, if instituted with adequate means,
leads, though often by a long and tangled path, to positive
knowledge in regard to all practical relations. The latter,
taken as a class, are wrapped up in relations so complicated
and obscure, that speculations as to human character and
conduct must always rest within some or other of the de¬
grees of mere probability. Universal laws are attainable,
but are too vague to yield individual applications that shall
be free from doubt; and laws of narrower compass inter¬
twine and conflict together so incessantly and perplexingly,
that the very satisfactory approach to certainty which we
may usually attain as to large classes of events, diminishes
as we narrow our classes, and dwindles into a succession of
conjectures when we seek to carry beyond the verge of
actual observation our acquaintance with the individual
steps of individual human actions.
It is evident, in short, that, in argumentation about ques¬
tions of the kind on which rhetorical rules have the firmest
bearing, the Argument from Example is much more effi¬
cient for impression than for rational conviction ; and hence
much more powerful when addressed to unanalytic minds
than when addressed to such as are acute in the taking of
distinctions.
The outline of the theory may be set forth as follows:—
I. An attribute being affirmable of one or more, but not
all, of the objects constituting a given class, we hold our¬
selves entitled to affirm the same attribute, with greater or
less probability, of another object in regard to which we
know only that it is included in that class. But the infer¬
ence rests on the assumption, that the attribute in question
is common to all the objects of the class, or is implied in
the attribute or law on which the class is founded. This
assumption is always reached illogically; and the truth or
probability of the conclusion to which it leads is dependent
on the amount of knowledge which is attainable, and has
antecedently been attained, in regard to the objects com¬
pared.
When we speak of an argument from Induction, we
mean, as has been seen, an argument embracing only the
first of the two syllogisms constituting this kind of argu¬
ment. The name of argument from Example or Instance
should belong specifically to the elliptical argument, which
passes over the universal conclusion to reach the particular
or individual. If we speak of an argument from Likeness
or Parallelism, we refer to this kind; and Analogy is an
indirect likeness, not very clearly separable from likeness
that is direct. Arguments from Unlikeness or Contrariety
also are referable to this kind; for unlikeness or contra¬
riety can subsist only between objects which are compar¬
able as belonging in some view or other to the same class.
When we speak of an Argument from Experience, we
really refer to the antecedents of the argument, to the
manner in which the data have been gained; and the ar¬
gument itself is from Induction or Example.
(ill.) APPLICATION OF THE CLASSIFICATION OF ARGUMENTS.
23. The leading use derivable from a classification of Cases on
arguments, and the only use of it which has been sys- which the
tematized thoroughly by rhetoricians or dialecticians, is^®”^
that which it is maintained to serve by aiding in the Dis¬
covery of Premises or media of proof.
That the discovery of premises may really be aided by the
possession of a well-digested stock of materials, is a truism.
RHETORIC.
126
Processes It is hardly less a truism, that the digesting of materials
constitut- may be facilitated immensely by the possession of a well¬
ing Elo- jgyised scheme of distributive principles. Now, it is doubt-
^quence. > |egs jrue jjla^ eVery special department of human know-
J v ledge, every kind of matter that supplies objects to be
reasoned about, has principles peculiar to itselfj and affect¬
ing very extensively the distribution of the truths which
constitute its system. But the rules of arrangement which
are dictated by the peculiar principles, say of a science or
of any other organizable collection of facts or laws, are no
more than subordinate. They are over-ridden by other
and wider principles,—principles which must be common to
the given department with others, and which dictate higher
rules of arrangement. These, again, fall similarly within
the sway of certain principles which are the widest of all,
and by which is prescribed the great outline of every system
of knowledge.
It is scarcely rash to say that, for all those departments
of knowledge whose objects are described as Contingent
Truths,—for all, in short, which fall beyond the sphere of
the exact sciences,—the highest principles of arrangement
that can be reached are those, or something very like those,
which lie at the base of the classification of arguments now
expounded. In this or that department of knowledge, and
in the application of arguments to this or that special pur¬
pose, the classification may be found to be quite barren of
suggestions ; but this will occur only because, for particular
reasons, the arguments which are available lie wholly within
one or another of the three divisions that have been chalked
out. When the arguments accessible and required are
such that they belong to different kinds from among our
three, it will be found that the threefold scheme supplies a
framework into which they will fall naturally and easily,
and within whose several compartments all subdivisions
prompted by the specific character of the matter will be
distributable without confusion or intermixture.
Nor, even if the threefold scheme is not directly used,
will the principles on which it stands be unfruitful of
suggestive hints to those who care to master them and
reflect on them.—The first point to be considered, when
the discovery of arguments is aimed at, is the character of
the conclusion for which we wish to find premises,—the
nature of the relation in virtue of which the known and the
unknown are connected in our thoughts, and are likely to
be connected in the thoughts of others. Is our conclusion
evidently a dependent fact ? Our search is guided first
and chiefly towards its conditions, the facts on which it is
dependent; and among these we dig for some fact which
may be accepted as a cause. If our conclusion is itself a
fact on which we know others to be consequent, our exer¬
tions are directed towards the finding out, among these, of
some which are not only consequent but dependent on it; of
some in regard to which we may be assured that, but for the
fact which is our conclusion, these could not be facts at all.
But we may not be able to avail ourselves of either of these
relations; and our incapacity may spring from either of
two sources. We may not be able to discover any known
fact as to which we can peremptorily assert, that it is directly
either a condition of our conclusion or conditioned by it;
or, still more frequently, although we can for ourselves
trace the relation of condition as connecting our conclusion
with some other fact, we may be satisfied that the connec¬
tion will either be hard to be understood, or unlikely to be
readily admitted by those whom we wish to convince. In
either of these events, we are driven on the search for
facts known to be in certain points similar to that which we
desire to establish: we found on that acknowledged simi¬
larity, and on the classification and nomenclature which
have their birth in it; and we found as strongly as we may
on the presumption, that similarity in certain features im¬
plies similarity in others more or less directly allied to them.
Still more likely is it to happen, that even in the quarter Processes
in which our strongest proofs are detected, these are found constitut-
insufficient to justify any reasonable expectation of our
being able to establish more than a probability in favour of v cluence- ^
our conclusion. Such a state of matters puts us on the search V ^
for concurrent proofs of other kinds. To cases of this sort
are referable considerations which will next be stated.
24. The several Kinds of Arguments possess different Applicabi-
degrees of Applicability to the different kinds of matter lity of the
most frequently treated in argumentative discourses. The several
doctrine in regard to these differences has been sketched kinds of .
by Whately briefly but satisfactorily; and to his exposition S
nothing needs to be added but a few features on the mar¬
gins of the plan.
Two remarks may be premised.—First, the cases in
which it is worth while to consider such questions of appli¬
cability are those in which, whether on account of the
character of the proposition to be established, or on account
of the position of the persons to be convinced, it is antici¬
pated that conviction will not be reached unless through
several arguments all pointing towards the desired conclu¬
sion. In the next place, though all the arguments con¬
verge towards one focus, they are likely to converge by
different paths, or to discharge different functions. Certain
of them, describable as Probatory, will be those on which
the stress of the proof mainly rests. Others will be Pre¬
paratory, serving the use of paving the way, whether by the
removal of prejudices or objections, or by the imparting of
prepossessions positively favourable. Others will be pro¬
perly Confirmatory, as strengthening positions which the
main group of arguments has not fortified beyond attack.
Practically considered, then, all the kinds of questions on
which rhetorical theory has any effective bearing may be
said to be three : Matters of Opinion, or, in other words,
questions of principle, or questions in which the conclusion
is a general or universal proposition, not the statement of
an individual fact: Questions as to Individual Facts that are
Past; Questions as to Individual Facts that are Future.
1. In the endeavour to generate belief in universal
propositions, the arguments chiefly available are those from
Condition. The weakness incident to each argument of
this kind, taken singly, may be cured by accumulation ;
several concurring probabilities may yield positive cer¬
tainty. These arguments are often aided, sometimes in the
way of preparation, sometimes in the way of corroboration,
by the authority of competent judges, which founds argu¬
ments from Testimony. In both ways, likewise, aid is
furnished by arguments from Example, which are most
efficient when close analysis cannot be relied on.
2. In the endeavour to generate belief in individual facts
or events that are past, arguments from Symptom are made
attainable by the nature of the case, and are those which
are chiefly available. Testimony, founding arguments refer¬
able to that class, holds a prominent place. In all difficult
cases, however, there are used, as preparatory or as corrobo¬
rative, or for both purposes, arguments from Condition,
(oftenest from motives), and arguments from Example.
3. In the endeavour to generate belief in individual facts
or events which are future, the argument from symptom is
of course excluded by the nature of the case. If the process
of conviction is attempted on fair and legitimate grounds, and
is addressed to minds competent in respect of ability and
knowledge, the body of the probation consists in arguments
from Condition ; and arguments from Example are intro¬
duced only in corroboration. But if the process is unfairly
conducted, or if the qualifications of the minds addressed
are poor, the functions of the two kinds of arguments are
very often and naturally reversed.
2o. It remains to be asked whether the materials that have
RHETOKIC.
127
Processes been collected, or others combinable with them, are capable
constitut- of suggesting any laws for the Arrangement of Arguments,
ing Elo- There are just three relations of arguments which have
quence. beeilj or can be, alleged to determine the order in which
they should be used. They might conceivably be arranged
The ar- either according to their Kind, or according to their Pur-
rangement p0se) 0r according to their Comparative Strength,
of argu- 0f these principles has dictated to rhetorical
meats. writers several canons, and particularly these two. It has
been advised by some to arrange arguments by the rule of the
climax, rising from the weakest to the strongest; and it has
been advised by others to arrange them by a rule borrowed
from military tactics, placing the weakest in the middle,
where their shortcomings may be covered by the stronger
forces that flank them on each wing. It is needless to
examine or contrast either these two conflicting rules or
any others derived from the same principle. For the prin¬
ciple itself is hollow and worthless. If an arrangement
seemingly prescribed by it should be found to be effective,
this can only be because there really lies under it a deeper
law, either that of kind or that of purpose. In reference to
strength, perhaps the only rule that could usefully be ga¬
thered is this: that arguments possessing no real force of
conviction over those to whom they are addressed ought
never to be used, unless they cannot possibly be dispensed
with.
The only rules of real value that can be laid down for
the order of arguments depend primarily on their kind,
and secondarily on their purpose.
1. In reference to Kind, it should first of all be accepted
as a rule, not to be violated unless for the most imperative
reason prompted by special emergency of purpose, that
arguments of the same kind are to be grouped together,
no intrusion by arguments of another kind being permitted.
A departure from this method cannot but give birth to
confusion both of thinking and of expression.
As to the order of the several kinds, when all are avail¬
able, required, and used, the natural and general arrange¬
ment is that in which the three kinds have now been
examined. Causal arguments raise an antecedent or pre¬
liminary likelihood in favour of the conclusion ; arguments
from symptom support the conclusion more or less firmly
by evidence derived from known facts seeming to stand in
dependence on it; and arguments from example remove
lingering doubts, by showing that the conclusion is at the
very least not inconsistent with that which experience has
shown to be true in similar or analogous cases.
2. The question of Purpose has, in effect, been raised in
the last paragraph. The rule for the ordinary and normal
arrangement of the three kinds of arguments is dictated by
the consideration, that each of the three does ordinarily
serve, better than the others, one of the three special pur¬
poses, preparation, direct probation, corroboration.
Purpose and kind, however, may and often do jar with
each other.
The largest class of cases is that in which the causal
relation is not likely to be distinctly apprehended, and in
which therefore the argument from condition is unfit to act
as preparatory. The remedy oftenest applicable is one
already noted for a different purpose : the office of prepa¬
ration is devolved on the argument from example.
The conflict between kind and purpose becomes yet
more decided, when an argumentative discourse is ad¬
dressed to persons labouring .under opinions or prejudices
strongly adverse to the conclusion which the debater de¬
sires them to entertain. Adverse prepossession, indeed,
is always to be supposed possible where the writer or
speaker has not the first word. Accordingly the question
here arises, What should be the place of Refutation ? The
unfavourable position of an argumentator who has to make
the refutation of an adversary the main part of his task,
may justify a farther deviation from rules than any other Processes
circumstances he could be placed in. The more deeply constitut-
the counter-opinion may be supposed to be rooted in the ing Elo-
minds of the recipients, the earlier should the refutatory quence.
treatment be entered on. An opinion which we wish to
sow cannot make even the beginnings of germination, till
opposing prejudices have been rooted out.
III. THE PROCESS OF PERSUASION.
26. To this process, as presenting the field on which are The cha-
won the most dazzling triumphs of oratory, the name ofracter of
Eloquence is very usually given by way of eminence ; and the theory
hence the distance is short to that closer limitation, hardly Persua_
less common, which refuses the name of Eloquence to all
communicative processes, except such as either entertain
the design of persuasion, or exhibit a preponderance of its
distinctive elements. Against all such limitations a protest
was taken at the beginning of this treatise.
It is true, however, that we have here that compartment
in the domain of Eloquence, which is not only the most
powerfully and generally interesting, but more readily sus¬
ceptible than any other of being subordinated to a theory
that is peculiar and independent. In imaginative and emo¬
tive eloquence, doubtless, much more thoroughly than in
that which is merely argumentative, brilliant success is un¬
attainable, unless when its foundation is laid in native
genius. Yet reflective study of the discoverable laws of
the process will not only guide and strengthen, for results
useful and even eminent, powers of all degrees below the
highest, but will teach to the highest powers themselves
much that may advantageously direct and plume their
flight. The ship that is bent on a dangerous voyage must
indeed be ably commanded and fully manned; but her
captain does not set sail till he has obtained the most ac¬
curate charts. The rhetorical laws of persuasion, though
their use presupposes the possession of an ability and know¬
ledge which they cannot impart, do yet possess extensive uses,
negative and cautionary. They are the charts of a broad
and stormy sea, whose currents are heady but not lawless,
and whose soundings, though deep, are not beyond the
reach of the plummet. Eloquence, in this its loftiest re¬
gion, not less than in regions that are humbler, is decisively
an art, a process whose steps are dictated by preformed
design, and whose theory is discoverable and has been
discovered. It stands in no way differently from other arts
demanding and rewarding the exertion of elevated energies,
in having, as conditions imposed on all applications of its
theory, such maxims as these : That the use of all rules of
art is chiefly no more than negative and prohibitory ; and
that, even for such purposes, the utility arises, not from the
rule itself, but from intelligent and complete apprehension
of its principle.
Our psychological analysis of the mental process which
may issue in volition, must now be kept carefully in
sight. In its normal shape, the process unfolds itself
as constituted by at least two steps which are character¬
istically cognitive or transcend cognition: the first, a
fact of Imagination ; the second, a fact of Wishing,
whether desire or aversion. On the latter of these the voli¬
tion follows. Not less incumbent on us is it to remember,
how this most prominent series of steps is modified by at¬
tendant Emotions. While it was maintained, in the psy¬
chological outline, that the emotion is really an obscure con¬
comitant of each of those steps, it was observed, also, that
the emotion may force itself into prominence as a step inter¬
vening between each two of them. Indeed, the substance
of one part of the doctrine which was laid down is this:
that in proportion to the force of the cognitive or higher
fact will be the certainty that the Emotion (at first over¬
powered by that fact) will recur, and in its turn become
128
RHETORIC.
Processes
constitut¬
ing Elo¬
quence.
prominent. It must now be alleged broadly, that Persua¬
sive Eloquence aims at the generation of a process in which
the cognitive and higher steps shall have such force as to
bring up a consequent emotion at every step. In the most
advanced stage of our researches we may have to glance at
cases proceeding far towards the completion of the process.
Complication also of the cognitive and higher steps, such
as those which were pointed out when we specially ex¬
amined volition, would suggest considerations having much
value for the dissection and treatment of complex and ex¬
ceptional cases. But such questions may be ignored while
we investigate the general theory of Persuasion. The main
reason why they are inessential is this: that the deter¬
mining steps in the process are the first two. The others
are ruled by these ; and, if repeated or varied, they must
be so through and after repetition and variation of these
their antecedents.
Let this, then, be remembered as a cardinal point:—that
the theory of Persuasion is virtually complete, when it
has determined the laws regulating the generation of the
first two steps: that in which the prominent fact is the
Imagination of the object, the wish for which is to be the
prompter towards action ; and, next, that in which the pro¬
minent fact is the Emotion which is consequent on the Image,
and which must be excited before the wish can have birth.
The process whose laws we have to seek is the generation,
through language, of Images excitative of Emotions tend¬
ing towards desire or aversion.
The field thus staked out may be fenced off in sections.
In the first place, we cannot safely, at any stage of our
survey, accept anything but the Images as our chief object
of scrutiny. Everything of specific doctrine that is at¬
tainable and useful relates primarily to the images; and it
relates to the one or the other of the two aspects which
must be combined in a complete inspection of them. The
positive and specific laws of persuasive eloquence, accord¬
ingly, fall into two sections. The first of these contains
Laws of Form ; and those laws fall into two sub-sec¬
tions ;—laws affecting the Images, and laws affecting the
consequent Emotions. In both parts of this section we
are absolved from all obligation to consider the further
tendency of the emotions. In other words, the laws here
emerging are common to Eloquence and Poetry. In
the second section we retire into our own exclusive ter¬
ritory. The laws contained in it are Laws of Matter; and
the question here arising is, what kinds of objects are, when
imaginatively represented, likely to operate, through desire
or aversion, towards the excitement of volition.
In the way, however, of introduction to these two groups
of determinate laws, certain considerations should be sug¬
gested, which, although not perfectly digestible into a sys¬
tem, may yet be methodized to a certain extent; and
which deserve to be classified, as forming a section of
preliminary and general doctrines. Our sections of laws
will thus be three.
(l.) LAWS OF PERSONAL RELATION.
The law of 27. Persuasion, like every other communicative process, is
—the^si1 a ^ame must llave at least tw0 players. The parties,
tions^rfth'e ^’s tlue’ attitudes which through all changes are op-
two par- posed to each other: the one is steadily aggressive, the
ties. other only defensive or receptive. Our chief attention is
rightly given to the active side; but the position of the
side which is comparatively passive can no more be neglected
with safety, in the attempt to understand the evolutions,
than it can be in the actual performance of them.
A maxim which might be called the Law of Adaptation
runs through the whole theory of communication, like the
heart-strand round which is twisted the cordage forming a
rope. The duty of the operator is not that of making good
his own position, but that of reconciling his own position Processes
with the position of the persons operated upon. This is constitut-
strictly the fact even in exposition and argumentation ; inS E1°"
and, in the performance of these processes in individual quence' ^
cases, the necessity of adaptation presses itself on every "~v^
intelligent debater. But in the general theorizing of
processes aiming at the communication of belief, the
maxim.is not forced into that prominence which it im¬
peratively exacts when we begin to look into the theory
of persuasion. In the attempt to generate belief, the com¬
municator and the recipient stand rather in different pos¬
tures than on different ground: in the attempt to excite
imagination and emotion the ground is different as well as
the posture. Here, therefore, the active party of the two
is urgently called on to consider the relation of the other.
Imagination, and consequent Emotion, are to be excited
by the discourse. Accordingly the images must be pre¬
sented both vividly and in their emotive relations; and the
communicator must possess adequately both imaginative
and emotive susceptibility; while, besides these qualifica¬
tions, he must also have power and skill of language suffi¬
cient for due expression both of the images and of the
emotions. It is no less true, on the other hand, that the
process, even if fitly performed, will fail of all effect, or be
but very partially successful, unless the recipients be on
their part fitly qualified. Fortunately, however, the quali¬
fications needed on this side are lower in degree and rarely
wanting. Susceptibility is quite as frequent and as keen in
those who hear or read as in those who speak or write.
Imagination, too, of that receptive character which can readily
form a scene or a character whose features are drawn for it
by a stronger hand, is a gift diffused with beneficent abun¬
dance ; and therefore the field of influence is widely open
for that self-dependent power, so much more rarely given,
which weds its scattered experiences into unions so novel
and inspires its images with a strength so life-like, that we
rightly call such imagination original, and exaggerate but
excusably in describing it as creative.
A further step of dissection is required, both for justify¬
ing one of the demands which are thus made on the orator,
and for founding more than one corollary which will find
a place hereafter.
It was asserted that one who is to excite others to feeling,
must himself not only imagine but feel. The assertion is
common-place and universally admitted: its reasons may
reward a little scrutiny. Those to whom emotive images
are imparted are acted on by them in each of two ways.
In the first place, the images operate Directly, through their
own objective force. An image representing an interesting-
object cannot fail, even though it should be inefficiently im¬
parted, to excite emotion in a mind which possesses activity
of imagination enabling it to frame the image for itself
from the hints that have been set before it. The same
image, if exhibited with the fulness and brightness of ora¬
torical genius, will excite emotion in minds which would
not be excitable under less energetic pi'ompting.
In the second place, the images operate Indirectly. They
do so when they are presented in an aspect shewing their
having excited, in the mind of the presenter, emotions of
the character which he desires to transfuse into the minds
of others. In a word, they operate through the great Law
of Sympathy. Of this mighty spring of human emotion,
and desire, and action, we must never allow ourselves quite
to lose sight while we endeavour to trace the workings of
emotive eloquence. If there were room for illustrative
description of its effects, these might most wisely be given
in the beautiful declamation with which Quintilian strives
to enforce the law of emotion on the orator. It should be
remarked particularly, however, that, in all attempts at
passionate excitation, sympathy must, whether we will or
not, be active either for us or against us. An image which
%
RHETORIC.
129
Processes vve have fancied but faintly or depicted but poorly, may
constitut- thence derive great emotive efficacy, if only it has evidently
ing Elo- affected ourselves deeply. An image strongly framed and
quence^ briliantly expressed may have its moving power multiplied
a thousandfold, by the evidence that it has deeply moved
ourselves. But if, even when such an image has been dis¬
played, we, the framers, are cold under its light, there is
imminent risk that those who watch us will be infected with
a sympathetic chill.
(ll.) LAWS OP FORM.
The formal
doctrine
of emotive
imagery.
28. Inquiry into the form of the emotive images,—the
manner in which they may be represented effectively,—calls
our attention necessarily towards the Words in which they
are expressed. All the laws of form gather some of their
data from truths directly involved in the functions of lan¬
guage ; and this is the fit place for so much as is genuine
and useful in those cumbrous Rules of Style, which have
been constructed as aids to imaginative and passionate elo¬
quence. But here, as elsewhere, the reasons of the rules
will occupy us more than the rules themselves.
The whole doctrine of this first and decisive step in the
process of persuasion, rests on those Laws of Imagination
which were outlined in our psychological introduction.
The deepest courses of the foundation are laid in that
primary law, which limits imagination to objects thought of
as Individuals.—Fencing the class of imaginable objects
round about by this impassable barrier, we must, however,
beware of shutting out certain kinds of objects, which,
though very abundant within the domain of imagination,
do often lie dangerously close to its frontiers. We must
steadily avoid the error of supposing, that objects of sense
are the only objects that can be imagined. In philosophical
strictness, indeed, such objects are imaginable only as
having been, or as being capable of becoming, objects of
perception ; that is, as having been, or being thought of as
being, factors or elements in mental facts. But in imagi¬
nation, as in perception, their objective characteristics mono¬
polize the attention so thoroughly, that the subjective side
vanishes altogether from spontaneous consciousness, and is
recognisable only through energetic reflection. It is like¬
wise true, that our imagining and remembering of objects
perceived is beyond all comparison more clear and vivid,
than our imagining and remembering of facts of conscious¬
ness in which perception has had no part. So widely does
this law rule, that our imagining of facts purely mental has
to be made clear and bright through analogies drawn from
our ideas of corporeal phenomena; a truth which is in¬
stanced in every word or phrase by which we strive to
express mental facts. This difference in ease of imagina-
bility, between objects of the one class and objects of the
other, will immediately be put to use. But it must be
remembered firmly that objects of the one class are imagi¬
nable as well as objects of the other. Nor is it too early
to note this truth on the other side; that, while our
imagination of corporeal objects is the more vivid, our ima¬
gination of mental phenomena is in a like degree the more
interesting or excitative of emotion. Indeed it is only
through their relation to mind that external objects, whether
perceived or imagined, are interesting or emotive at all.
Another point of doctrine having a broad applicability to
the theory of persuasion is this.—Imagination, of the kind
which has here been called synthetic, has a much wider sway
than that which we are apt to assign to it. The listener
who seems to be merely gathering in passively the sweet
fancies expressed in a recited poem, or the stirring pictures
painted by a fervid orator, is really, if he does form the
images for himself in the faintest degree, performing an
imaginative process of the very same kind,—a process con¬
stituted by facts obeying the same laws,^—as that which, in
VOL. XIX.
the mind of the poet or the orator, has given birth to the Processes
imagery by which his derived activity is prompted. The constitut-
difference between the two processes is a world-wide one ; in£ ®l0'
but, great as it is, it is nothing else than a difference in v quence-^
degree. The recipient must synthesize as well as the com- ^
municator; although he does synthesize from materials
whose exuberance makes his task easy, and is able after all
to form only a picture which almost always is as dim as the
last rays of twilight, in comparison with the tropical sun¬
shine of the imagery whose hints he strives to re-compose.
By thus placing ourselves close enough to the recipient
to see clearly the position he truly holds, we gain a glimpse
of the relations between him and the other party, which
invites us to examine more minutely the ground that lies
between them.—No image formed in one mind can, by
any medium of communication that is either possible or
conceivable, be transfused into any other mind with either
complete or exact similarity of elements. The image as it
lived in the mind of the original imaginer is one thing: the
image which the attempt to communicate it has evoked in
any other mind is another thing. Besides the immeasur¬
able shortcoming caused by that shortcoming in imaginative
power which was pointed to in the last paragraph, there is
a shortcoming (and this the only one against which any
precautions can be taken) arising from this fact:—that the
original image has been communicated through certain
media, each of which is inadequate in its own peculiar way,
but all of which have imperfection of efficacy as a common
characteristic, an imperfection disappointing to the inventor
and crippling to the mental mobility of those for whose
excitement the invention has been framed. What is the
most exquisite statue or the most masterly painting, to the
vision of grandeur or of beauty which hovered in the airy
dreamland of the artist’s fantasy, undimmed as yet by the
shadows of that common daylight in which he had to aim at
giving it visibility, and undeformed by the jarring of those
mechanical obstacles against which he was to contend in
giving a body to its likeness !
The fact lies straight in our path, that imperfections, dif¬
ferent both in kind and in the specific character of the
result, but still great and unavoidable, impede all attempts
at the communication of imagery through language. In
each of the points which are exposed to danger,—in respect
of completeness and in respect of exactness,—the commu¬
nicated image, the image raised in the recipient mind, is
made, by the imperfections specially incident to language,
to be more or less, and often very far, dissimilar and infe¬
rior to the image by the expression of which it was sug¬
gested. The picture or the statue is one visible thing:
an observant spectator, if he shuts his eyes and remembers
what he has seen, is in possession of an image which repre¬
sents with reasonable correctness the work of art, however
far it may fall short of the artist’s ideal. The suggestive
weakness of the arts of design lies in their tendency to let
us rest content with mere sight and memory, instead of
attempting to soar to the imagination of the artist’s creative
thought. The suggestive weakness belonging to language
operates in a different direction. If an image so commu¬
nicated is operative at all, it cannot be so by being merely
excitative of memory; for there is nothing to remember,
the words being mere symbols, empty till they suggest the
relative ideas. Suggestion must take place: poetry and
eloquence are excitative of imagination through suggestion,
association of ideas, and through that channel only: the
doctrine is of great value in the theory of both arts. But,
in either of two ways, the object suggested may not be of
the kind it should have been. On the one hand, the words
expressing the image may suggest some image widely dif¬
ferent; or, on the other hand, they may suggest some mental
process which is not imagination at all, or has not imagina
tion for its most prominent element.
R
R H E T
Processes The modifications under which the several failures thus
constitut- hinted at are most likely to occur, will appear in some
ing Elo- degree if we take them as illustrations ot two leading
quence. propositions, under which may be specificated all that is
^ essential to the formal doctrine of imagery designed to
excite emotion.
The laws of 29. (I.) The shortcomings incident to the result of
direct re- attempts at communicating emotive imagery through lan-
presenta- gUage, are traceable to Three several Characteristics inse-
tion—yma- par^]e from the method of communication.—First, The
communication takes place, not directly through perception
specifica- or simple reproduction, but through suggestive relations
tion. prompting an act of synthetic imagination. Secondly,
The suggestive ideas are communicated, not simultaneously,
but successively. Thirdly, The symbolic character of
words, while it is the foundation of their pre-eminence
among all media of communication, does yet impose on
them certain specific disqualifications.
(i.) Evidently, the restrictions imposed by the first of
these considerations do not well admit of being formulized
into specific rules. The doctrine, however, accompanies
us through all more minute inquiries, and is always to be
remembered as constituting a condition precedent, under
which only these have truth or value. Perhaps it may be
worth while to work out of it two corollaries, which, vague
as they are, come in contact at more points than one with
the relation between the communicator and the recipient.
First, The formation of the image by the mind recipient
is the easier, in proportion as the image which the words
are designed to express is the simpler, or constituted by
the fewer parts or elements capable of being separately
imagined.
Secondly, While the character of imaginable objects, and
that of the process issuing in synthetic imagination, concur
in making it impossible for any image so formed to be ab¬
solutely simple, an image expressed in words must, on ac¬
count of the indirect character of the method, be even less
simple, or must be constituted by a larger number of ima¬
ginable parts, than an image of the same object might have
been if it were the simple reproduction of what was given
in perception. Consequently, in representation of this
kind, the relation between the parts and the whole demands
a recognition especially emphatic. The formation of a
complex image by the mind recipient is the easier, in pro¬
portion as the image which the words are designed to ex¬
press possesses unity, or (to speak more accurately) syste¬
matic totality ; that is, in proportion as all the constitutive
ideas are evolved in subordination to one prominent and
paramount idea.
The pre-requisite for the application of these principles
to practice, is the successful striving, in the formation of the
image in the mind from which it is to issue, after the closest
possible approach to simplicity, and the utmost reduction of
complexity to its central and combining law. Such suc¬
cess can be won only by vigour both of imagination and of
judgment; and these are not the fruit of rules. Neverthe¬
less, the aiming at a mark too distant to be hit is excellent
practice for the shooter ; and in intellectual as in moral as¬
piration, the station which we struggle to attain cannot be
too high. We are helped also by every hint, which clears
up our idea either of the end we are to look to or of the
means which lie between us and it.
The hints thus thrown out stand in no real contradiction
to a maxim which has frequently been assigned by rhe¬
toricians from Cicero downwards. It recommends Circum¬
stantiality as an excellence in a word-picture drawn for the
purpose of aiding persuasion. That a certain complexity
of features is indispensable, was broadly asserted in our
second corollary* It may farther be allowed that emotive
images must generally have greater fulness of parts, and
O R I C.
consequently of expression, than that which is either re- Processes
quired or advantageous in the thinking and expression of constitut-
argument. But when circumstantiality is advised, it is ingElo-
only meant that there shall not be wanting circumstances,
features, incidents, sufficient both in number and in cha- ' ^
racter to suggest lively images, and to present these in in¬
teresting relations. It is a question of particulars, how far
the elaboration ought to go. Sometimes brevity, and a
brevity that is extreme, may be dictated by the position of
the auditors. Some of the most hasty of those thunder-
flashes which dazzle in the orations of Demosthenes, are
shot forth briefly, because they are references to facts as
familiar and as exciting as their daily life to every one who
heard him. Oftener account has to be taken of the powers
of the poet or orator. High genius possesses strong
tools, for the want of which ordinary talent must make up
by the use of others that work more slowly. But, on all
sides beyond and around, expatiation is hemmed in by the
principle of our corollaries. Fulness of detail tempts both
towards tediousness and towards confusion ; and the two
are equally hostile to the easy and vivid excitement of ima¬
gination in those who suffer under them.
(ii.) The law for which the ground is cleared in the
second of the characteristics laid down in our theorem, owes
the most valuable illustrations it has received, to Lessing, by
whom it was first distinctly exhibited and put to use, and
to Vischer, the latest of those who have systematically ex¬
pounded it. It comes to light most readily in a comparison
between the procedure of poetry and that adopted by the
arts of design; and it is in aesthetics only, or specially in
the theory of poetry, that it has hitherto been fully used.
But it rules not less directly in the imaginative section of
eloquence.
It rests on two pillars. On the one side stands the
peculiar nature of the process of communication by lan¬
guage, as working through succession: over against this
foundation stands the independent activity which must be
exerted by the receptive mind, and which may and must
be exerted more freely when language is its prompter than
in any other case.
While the arts of design represent in space, literature
represents in time. The former, therefore, barred from
representing change and succession, are strong in the re¬
presentation of simultaneity : visible objects of considerable
complexity are representable in sculpture ; and painting is
limited in its accumulation of features by nothing but the
bounds within which the eye can take in a scene as one
whole. Language, in its picturing forth of images, is not
indeed shut out from the representation of simultaneity so
utterly as those arts are from the representation of succes¬
sion : language, in its grasp of objects, is infinitely more
elastic than visual perception; and this mainly because it
hints to the mind rather than dictates to it, and is thus not
so truly the instrument of art as the mover of imagination
the real instrument. Still, in respect of the expressed
image (which, not the image raised in the recipient mind,
is here in view), language is on this side hemmed in within
a very narrow territory. Its strength, its characteristic
field of adventure, lies in the representation of change and
succession.
Therefore, in the first place, language, as a prompter of
imagination, has, as its royal appanage, the domain of
mind, not that of body. The field over which it bears
sway, the class of objects which its nature fits it for re¬
presenting, is constituted by mental phenomena, the very
essence of whose manifestation is succession and change,
phenomena which are not cognisable in consciousness other¬
wise than as successive changes. This is what its opera¬
tion in time empowers language to do. Let us ask, next,
what that operation prohibits it from doing.
Language, then, as a prompter of imagination, has hardly
Processes
constitut¬
ing Elo¬
quence.
RHETORIC.
131
any power at all in the direct representation of objects of
sense. Such an object must be simple in the extreme, if
words can paint it so as to excite an image at all like the
original. As to the giving of expression to the physical
characteristics of external things, the sciences descriptive of
body (especially those dealing with bodies organic) bear tes¬
timony to the difficulty which words have in performing the
task; though patient study of descriptions is there demanded
and granted, and though the resultant scientific idea of the
object is not required to come up to a complete reproduc¬
tion of its visible appearance. But he who, treating a cor¬
poreal object, designs his language-picture of it to he at the
utmost a sketch, from which a mind-picture of it shall be
painted by others, does, on the one hand, desire to create
in those other minds much more than a scientific skeleton ;
while, again, he is not entitled to expect that those minds
shall work out the result through exertions of untiring in¬
dustry. If the object is very complex, the features of it
which were first described may be absolutely forgotten be¬
fore the description arrives at the last: it will be impossible,
also, to avoid raising subordinate elements into so undue a
prominence as to generate confusion worse confounded;
and, over and above these difficulties, the weary pain of the
continuous effort which the receptive mind is commanded
to make, must throw it out of the imaginative mood either
into inertness or into conjectural questioning. Nor is this
all. If the receptive mind possesses its needful share of
imaginative activity, its own energy will speedily free it
from the dominion of its task-master. From some of the
earliest suggestions conveyed to it, it will begin to frame
fancies for itself: it will attend to these, not to the later
hints of its instructor ; or it will catch up these hints as
sounds are caught by a man half-asleep, and weave some of
them, with its own visions, into a web to which the words
it hears have lent but few threads either of warp or of
woof. In fine, when a description is vaunted as “ pictorial”
or “ graphic,” it may be that the epithets are used in a sense
in which they denote a real excellence. Oftener and more
naturally, they signify what is not a healthy growth of art,
but an excrescence symptomatic of disease.
How is the cure to be found or the distemper prevented ?
By the translation of simultaneity into succession ; by guid¬
ing our words to the representation, not of something which
is here or there, but of something which (standing in a
suggestive relation to it) was in time past, and is now
changing to something else, and will hereafter change into
yet another thing. Suggestive language represents bodies
through their changes: its sphere is action, not that which
acts or is acted on ; its world is a world of motion, not of
rest. Yet further, it cannot represent what has been called
the action of bodies, otherwise than through analogies with
action proper, the activity of mind, or with some or other of
those mental changes out of which action issues or in which
it seeks its consummation and its end. Individual changes
of body become known to us only through individual changes
which they excite in our minds. Even if the bodily change is
the thing which we desire to make the leading object of the
image,—yet the mental effect, whether feeling, or wish, or
volition, or thought, must come up and be expressed as that
which will individualize the image of the corporeal excitant.
If that which we desire to make the prominent feature of
the image be any of the relative mental changes, the cor¬
poreal attributes sink necessarily into the background.
The corporeal class of attributes will be the prominent
features if we aim chiefly at making the image vivid,—that
is, at intensifying the first step in the persuasive or poetical
process. The mental class of attributes will be the pro¬
minent features if we aim chiefly at making the image
emotive or interesting,—that is, at intensifying the second
step of the process. But neither class can ever be wanting
in our own formation of the image; and neither class can
ever fail to find expression in the words by which we com- Processes
municate that image. constitut-
The law, then, ^into which the hint thrown out in the ing E1°-
second characteristic has effloresced, may be drawn to a v <fuenc^ f
point in some such shape as this.—As a process operating ^ v
through succession and change, imaginative and emotive
representation through language has mental changes as¬
signed to it as constituting its distinctive sphere of objects :
and, in the endeavour to represent corporeal things, the
process is limited to the expression of changes loosely de-
scribable as actions, and standing related to action proper
and its mental concomitants.
(iii.) The third of the characteristics calls for less ex¬
planation. It points at the power which language has,
not only of exciting imagination, but of prompting think¬
ing proper,—that is, especially, the formation of concepts,
and general reasoning through these. As being symbols
through which we can think, and as being the only kind of
symbols through which we can think to good purpose, words
are essential conditions of our ability to extend our thoughts
beyond the individual to the universal, from objects taken
in isolation to classes which objects constitute. We are
enabled to do so through our possession of common terms,
the names of classes: by seizing hold of these, we swing
ourselves upward out of the clear but not elevated region
filled by singular terms, the names of individuals.
But the law of compensation rules in the whole world :
every good thing must have its price paid. Common
terms occur continually among our words; because the
idea of a class is continually springing up among our
thoughts. Consequently language is constantly tempt¬
ing ils out of the field of mere imagination, into one which
lies indeed on a higher level, but which yet, being a dif¬
ferent field, may be one we did not wish to enter. It
is absolutely impossible that an image expressed in words
should stop short with exciting the imagination of those
who receive it: it must excite judgment also ; it must set
them a-thinking; it must lead them, for a short way or a
long one, into trains of reasoning. This is, in one view, a
mighty and a blessed effect. Eloquence would be power¬
less were it not produced: poetry without it would be a
mere plaything; poetry is dignified by it with its preroga¬
tive as one of the great rulers (though a ruler not sitting
on the highest of the thrones) of human thought and of
moral activity. In a view which is raised more directly by
our present studies, the tendency even of imaginative lan¬
guage to prompt judgment is a weakness; and language used
in persuasive representation must be strengthened against it.
The weakness is universally acknowledged; and rhetori¬
cians, whether able or not to detect its most remote sources,
have hardly ever failed either to discover the remedy or
to describe it with sufficient clearness. A place is usually
given to it among the rules for attaining that quality of
style which is called Animation or Vivacity ; by which is
meant an aptness of language for exciting imagination and
emotion. The common rule may be fitted into the sys¬
tem here under exposition, by being framed in such a shape
as the following :— r
Singular terms, the names of objects thought of as indi¬
viduals, are the only terms which are directly suggestive of
Imagination only, to the exclusion of other modes of thought.
These, then, are the words fittest to excite images, and are
preferable to all others when they are obtainable, and when
no concurrent aim forbids their exclusive use. But com¬
mon terms, the names of classes,—which do not suggest
imagination (or individuality its object) otherwise than in¬
directly and incidentally,—must and should be of frequent
occurrence. Now, that indirect suggestiveness of individu¬
ality, which is possessed by common terms, is in the inverse
ratio of the extensiveness of the classes they denote, 01 m
the direct ratio of their specification or approach to individu-
132
Processes
constitut¬
ing Elo¬
quence.
The laws of
indirect re ■
presenta¬
tion,—
tropes and
figures.
R H E T
ality. Therefore, for the excitement of imagination, when
an idea may be expressed by either or any of two or more
common terms, the Less Extensive i erm should be pre¬
ferred to the more extensive. A special method, which is
both common and very effective, is the limitation of the
species or characterization of the individual by Descriptive
Epithets.
30. In the last section we have studied the nature and the
partially applicable remedies of certain failures in effect,
which are due to imperfections cleaving inseparably to the
process of communication by words. There will now pass
before us certain failures in effect, which may or may not
take place, but which do take place frequently, and which
are attributable, not to anything in the process, but to some¬
thing in the matter it works on, or in the relation of this
matter to the persons whom the communication is designed
to affect.
It is desired that by these persons the object represented
to them shall be imagined vividly, and shall excite conse¬
quent emotion. But the object may, while it is neverthe¬
less one which must be impressed as strongly as possible,
be either more or less difficult to imagine, or more or less
deficient in emotive interest; and this, either because of
its own nature, or (more frequently) because it is ill un¬
derstood or little cared about by those on whom the thought
of it is to be urged.
Against the evil issue thus threatened,—of inertness in
imagining, or coldness in feeling,—provision is ministered
through that broadly beneficent power of language, to de¬
note all objects and suggest all modes of consciousness,
which came in our way a little ago as one of the obstacles
impeding imaginative suggestion. Words prompt us, not
to imagine only, but to judge, reason, compare. Our
object cannot fail, no object can, to be susceptible of be¬
coming a term of comparison : for it must be classifiable,
through resemblance, analogy, or some other relation, with
innumerable other objects; and among these we shall cer¬
tainly be able to discover some, which do not labour under
any of the defects disqualifying the primary object. Such
secondary objects will suggest the primary one ; and, in
virtue of the laws of suggestion, the cognitions and feelings
which they have excited will be transferred to it, as ele¬
ments of a new mental fact of which it becomes the
object. The mental eye will now see the object in a shape
to which those others have given improved distinctness ;
the mental eye will now see it through a light into which
the warmth of their colours has been transfused.
These are questions touching the matter of images as
well as their form. But they are most conveniently treated
here, not later ; because the expedients dictated by the
answers to them issue in transformations of language. The
principle of these, as just explained, is hinted at, and the
kinds of expedients worth theorizing are named, in the fol¬
lowing proposition :—
(II.) The flexibilibity, and the compass, of the suggestive
power possessed by language, concur in bestowing on pro¬
cesses of suggestive representation which take language as
their vehicle the capacity both of vivifying imagination and
of'intensifying emotion, by the use of what may be called In¬
direct Representation. This consists in substituting, for the
image which it is desired to excite, the image of some
other object, relative to the object of the first and therefore
suggestive of it. The principal method of indirect re¬
presentation is the use of Figurative Language ; and the
introduction of Illustrative Examples rests on the same
principles.
Figurative language embraces two forms of expression:
Figures proper, and Tropes. The best of our English
books on style (Irving’s) takes exception both to the cor¬
rectness and to the usefulness of the distinction between
O R l C.
the two. But it must be said, with deference, that neither Processes
of the exceptions appears to be well founded. constitut-
Of the Trope proper the most prominent example is ing Clo¬
the Metaphor, which suggests through similarity. In the cluence.
trope, a word or phrase is turned from its usual and appro-
priate meaning; signifying most obviously one object, it is
used to denote another object, which in some way or other
is like the first. The Figure proper is exemplified in the
Apostrophe and the Exclamation. In the figure, the words
are used in their obvious and appropriate meanings ; but
the form into which they are combined is prompted by
emotion of the speaker. Another example, and a very
instructive one, is the Interrogation. The question is not
a figurative expression when it is really put with the wish
of obtaining an answer: it becomes figurative when it is
(and often and naturally it is) merely a passionate way of
expressing an assertion. I am not speaking figuratively if
I ask for information,—“ What o’clock do you suppose it to
be?” I am converting the question into a figure, if I
intend under it an indignant remonstrance against delay
in the arrival of a railway-train. There are, it must be
allowed, figurative forms of speech whose place is open to
controversy: the question arises, whether they are tropes
or figures. But the principle of the distinction is quite
broad enough for fixing the class even of these ; and, it
may be hinted, the fact of the doubt should teach caution
in the use of such forms; since it must arise from some
uncertainty or imperfection in their operation. The Simile
is the most notable of these. In a very strict view, it
might be denied to be a figurative expression at all. It
is merely an assertion that two objects are like each other:
it is the datum of a Metaphor. This relation, however,
leads to a description of the simile which is more just to
it: it is a metaphor in embryo, a metaphor in the first
stage of its development. The Allegory (proverbially the
most “ headstrong ” and dangerous of all figurative forms)
is easily disposed of: it is just a concatenated series of
metaphors.
In form, then, or as modes of expression, the Trope and
the Figure differ. Do they differ correspondingly in their
mode of operation on those to whom they are addressed ?
They do, on a principle which we have already recognised
as effecting very extensive differences in the steps of per¬
suasion. Tropes operate directly ; but Figures operate
indirectly.
A Trope directly excites the imagination to the forma¬
tion of the image wanted. Its motive power is rooted in
the character of the two correlated objects, and in the sug¬
gestive influence which that correlation exercises. The
result which a spoken trope produces, in the mind of the
hearer, is an image of the primary object under the change
of aspect caused by its being viewed from the side of the
secondary object; and the emotion which likewise is ex¬
cited is consequent on this step.
A Figure excites the imagination to the formation of the
image, not directly through any suggestion of an image
painted by the words, but indirectly through Sympathy.
The imagination does, in fact, seem to be excited by a
reflexed path, being preceded by emotion. A figure of
speech, as being prompted by emotion, is symptomatic of
emotion on the part of the speaker; and the recognition of
this fact rouses sympathetically a similar emotion in the
mind of the hearer. This communicated emotion leads
back to imagination of the cause which has moved the
mind of the speaker; this cause is, or suggests (but in a
changed and emotive aspect), the primary object, that which
the speaker wishes us to imagine ; and the emotion which
is to lead us to desire or aversion is consequent on those
antecedent steps.
If this analysis is in the main correct, it justifies more than
one practical corollary, exhibiting marked differences in
RHETORIC. 133
Processes comparative availability of the two kinds of figurative
constitut- expression.
ing Elo- First, Deliberate selection of objects and expressions,
quence. guided by intelligent application of rules, may aid much
towards the efficient use of tropes. But the use of figures
will always be inefficient, or even displeasing, unless when it
is prompted by genuine and spontaneous imagination and
emotion.
Secondly, The prevalence of tropes on the one hand,
or of figures on the other, tends, more than any other fea¬
ture referable to style, to determine the character of elo¬
quence as being more or less animated or passionate.
Figures, being symptoms of emotion, are tbe key-note of
animated communication ; although plainly the abuse or
over-abundance of them degrades eloquence into declama¬
tion or rant. A style which is poor in figures is not
relieved, by abundance of tropes, from the risk of being
deficient in the power of exciting strong emotion.
Thirdly, Tropes may be said to be equally effective in
their way, whether the words expressing them be heard or
only read. Figures do not reach the climax of their sug¬
gestiveness till they issue from the lips of a speaker. The
most pregnant expressions of emotion, recorded for calm
perusal in after-days, cannot work with a tithe of that sym¬
pathetic force and immediacy, which the spoken words pos¬
sess when they are aided by the voice, and the gestures,
and the countenance, and the whole living and present
activity of him who utters them.
Fourthly, Besides other restrictions and distinctions
which are almost self-evident, it follows that spoken ora¬
tory must owe very much of its suggestive effectiveness
to the prevalence of figures ; and that orations whose style
is deficient in figures will fall with comparative coldness on
the ear to which they are first addressed, even though rich¬
ness in tropes or in other forms of imagery may make them,
when recorded, singularly attractive to readers. Two of
the most eloquent of all men supply illustration by contrast.
The style of Burke is luxuriantly tropical; and of the few
figures which he uses, almost all belong to the least lively kinds.
Admirable as his speeches are, and finely and vigorously as
his scenes, and personages, and feelings strike us when we
study them in the closet, there is sufficient proof that his
impressiveness as a parliamentary orator fell infinitely short
of the fame he had and has through the publication of his
addresses. The one prominent characteristic of his style
goes far towards accounting for the fact. Of Demosthenes,
believed to have been the most effective of all public
speakers, it has been alleged that he has no tropes at all.
It is true that he has very few; and these are slightly and
sketchily touched. But in figures he abounds beyond any
other orator, ancient or modern. It is only in his business-
passages that he rests contented with a succession of calmly-
stated propositions. Whenever he is himself excited, and
wishes to excite his hearers, assertion rises into the figura¬
tive forms which it wins from passion ; and, especially, scene
after scene, and appeal after appeal, are poured forth in an
uninterrupted shower of vehement interrogation.
Thus much must suffice for the contrast between Tropes
and Figures. There is a little that may advantageously
be remarked in regard to the various phases emerging under
each of the two kinds separately.
As to Figures, their genuine differences of form are not
many; and the simplicity of the law on which their effect
rests makes most of those differences inessential. One
distinction at least is worth recollecting.—There are figures
which make no avowed appeal to sympathy; forms of
speech which might find place in a soliloquy. Such are
the Exclamation and the Apostrophe. These are favourite
figures in the oratory of Chatham, of a man who, proud
and self-reliant, though passionate, spoke as if to unload his
heart of its burden of indignation and scorn, seldom as if
caring even to awe his audience, and never with the air of Processes
condescending to conciliate them. Other figures are constitute
avowed appeals to sympathy; forms of speech implying ing E1°-
dialogue. Here the great example is the Interrogation. quen“®-
This is the figure which, incalculably oftener than any “v-*-
other, is used by Demosthenes. By him his audience was
never forgotten, never slighted: he is not satisfied with
pouring out his flood of passion, leaving it to overflow where
it might; he flings an image at them as if it were a boom-
erang, whose course is not finished till it has rebounded to
the hand of the thrower.
Of Tropes, almost as provokingly as of figures, the theory
has been hidden, by rhetoricians not looking deeper than
the words, behind a thick curtain of nomenclature. The
few names, which would have sufficed for denoting the
natural kinds, they have treated as boys treat a little snow¬
ball, which they roll along the ground till it has grown too
large to be moved farther. The winter’s toy is melted
by the first warm breath of spring; and the ventilation
which some thinking introduces is, unluckily, enough to
show that the cumbrous terminology which has been ap¬
plied to tropical language contains few items useable in a
rational theory of the mental character of tropes. But
tropes have been treated, by not a few rhetorical writers,
with great sagacity and good-sense. There is equal excel¬
lence of taste and of ability in this as in other parts of
Irving’s Elements of Composition, lately referred to ; and
Whately never fails to fortify his doctrines strongly against
assaultsffrom the practical side. For the tracing of tropes,
however, to their mental sources, we have still nothing so
instructive as the glimpses which were caught by the eye
of Campbell, piercing forward with a wonderful instinctive
acuteness from among the mists of a fragmentary psycho¬
logy. A systematic survey of the differences among tropes,
in respect both of their means and of their results, could
hardly yield any classification of them more satisfactory
than that which he proposed. “ Tropes,” says he, “ are
subservient to vivacity, by presenting to the mind some
image, which, from the original principles of our nature,
more strongly attaches the fancy than could have been
done by the proper terms whose place they occupy. They
produce this effect in these four cases: First, When they
can aptly represent a species by an individual, or a genus
by a species (the more general by the less general) ; Se¬
condly, When they serve to fix the attention on the most
interesting particular, or that with which the subject is
most intimately connected ; Thirdly, When they exhibit
things intelligible by things sensible ; Fourthly, When they
suggest things lifeless by things animate.” Let us see how
this scheme may be fitted into the system of laws which
it has here been sought to explain.
All tropes operate by substituting, in the first instance, the
image of a secondary object for the image of the object
which is primary. They become aids towards volition, as
towards poetical pleasure, either by vicifying the image
or by intensifying the consequent emotion: the secondary
object either is imagined more vividly than the primary ; or
it is more interesting, more excitative of feeling. The
choice of tropes depends on the question, whether it be
to the image or to the emotion that we design to impart
added strength.
Suppose it is desired to strengthen the Image. This is
to be effected by raising the image of a secondary object
which is more easily imaginable than the primary.—First,
then, if we are confined in our selection to objects of the
same great class,—phenomena of body or phenomena of
mind,—we cannot aid the formation of the image unless by
adopting the rule which directed us to substitute the less
extensive term for the more extensive. When, in so do¬
ing, we descend only from one class-name or common term
to another class-name which is narrower, we use one of the
134
RHETORIC.
Processes varieties of the trope which the old rhetoricians call Synec-
constitut- doche. When we descend from a class-name to a singular
ingElo- term, the trope is an Antonomasia. In both cases the sug-
v quence- gestive relation is coadjacence.—Secondly, if our primary
object is a body or a corporeal phenomenon, we cannot
facilitate the imagination of it by substituting a pheno¬
menon of mind. But if our primary object is a fact of
consciousness, it is in our power to facilitate the imagina¬
tion of it immensely, by substituting for it an object cor¬
poreal. Our trope is one of the kinds of the Metaphor,
and the prominent suggestive relation is Similarity ; though
undoubtedly, often or alw'ays, the chain has many intertwisted
links, some of which rest on coadjacence, and others on
contrariety.—For Campbell’s first class of tropes, and for his
third, places have thus been found, as ministering to the
strengthening of the image.
Again, let the design be to strengthen, not the image,
but the Emotion. The method of doing so is the substitu¬
tion of a secondary object which is more interesting than
the primary.—First, accordingly, the nature of the case may
shut out the possibility of exchange between mental states
and things external. If so,—the primary object being al¬
ways susceptible of dissection, either into parts simultane¬
ously combined, or into changes happening in succession,
•—our course must be the selection of that element, factor,
circumstance, which is more interesting than any other,
and substituting the image of this for that of the complex
object, whose complication had prevented this element
from attracting exact attention. Causes and effects may thus
be interchanged, things concomitant for each other, a part
individually thinkable for the individual whole of which it
is a constituent. Tropes of this flexible character embrace
some varieties of the Synecdoche, with all the various kinds
that have been clumsily ranged together under the name
of Metonymy. The suggestive relation is coadjacence.—
Secondly, A fact of consciousness would lose instead of
gaining interest by having a corporeal object substituted
for it. But, since a corporeal object really imbibes the whole
of its emotive interest from its relation to mind, increased
power of exciting emotion may and must be gained when
an object of that first class is displaced in favour of an
object belonging to the other. While a poet makes thought,
and passion, and wall more brilliantly imaginable for us, by
clothing them in the shapes and colours of inanimate na¬
ture, he makes nature and externality the source of the
profoundest feeling, and even the object of a fine ideal
sympathy, by animating them with the life, and activity,
and susceptibilities of mind. The latter is the higher and
more refined process of the two: it reigns especially in our
own recent poetry ; the principle of it is the life-blood of
fantasy to such poets as Wordsworth and Tennyson. The
trope here is Metaphor; and the prominent suggestive re¬
lation is Similarity.—Campbell’s second and fourth classes
of tropes are thus placed together, as ministering to the
strengthening of emotion.
(ill.) LAWS OF MATTER.
Choice of 31. In no application of persuasive eloquence, can a
circum- choice of objects be absolutely excluded. In the properly
stances ^ literary uses of the process the field of selection is almost
excUe voU- un^rn'te(^: 80 *s ^ !n some departments not exclusively
tion. literary ; as, for instance, the oratory of the pulpit. But
there is room for adoption and rejection, even in those pro¬
cesses of communication, which have decisively a character
of actual business dictating the outline of everything that
is to be said. No fact whatever is simple; every fact
which comes under practical discussion is in a high degree
complex: every such fact may be presented in many different
aspects; that is, through the exhibition of many different
features from among those by which its totality is consti¬
tuted. There is always scope for choice, therefore ; though
we look no further than to the event or other object
through the desire or dislike of which it is attempted to
arouse volition.
The boundaries of the ground are enlarged yet more,
when we fall back on a distinction which has already been
asserted to have a psychological basis. The completion of
the process of persuasion,—the leading of others through
wishing to volition,—involves consideration of other objects
besides those which are to be the objects of desire or aver¬
sion. The attainment or prevention of these is the end:
something else must be the means. In trying to persuade
a man, we call his attention to at least two objects in suc¬
cession : we invite him to desire the attainment of a; we
invite him to believe that his doing the act b will be the
means of the attainment; and therefore we invite him to
desire (and will) b also. Thus even the direct (or imme¬
diate) objects are at least two : a, the end, the fact or event
which is to be desired; b, the means, the act which is to be
willed.
Nor is this all. If it were all, or nearly all, persuasion
would be far from easy, perhaps ; but it would not be the
very difficult thing it often is. There will always be some
other object. There may, and probably will be, many
others, the exhibition of which is imperatively required for
assistance in representing with due effect the desirability
of the ultimate end, and the adequacy and possibility of
the means.
There is, in short, a triplicity of complications. First,
there is a complication of objects, as means, as ends, and as
standing related to both. Next, there is a complication of
processes: the imaginative representation, which is peculiar
to persuasion, is mixed up with appeals to the judgment,
either as exposition or as argumentation. Lastly, there is a
complication of times as the sphere of the objects. Both
the end and the means, the object of the desire and the
object of the volition, are thought as future: the objects
whose exhibition is required for setting those in their just
light may range through all the modes of time; they may
be future or present, but it will oftenest happen that most
of them are things past.
It is well, therefore, to inquire, whether the principles
which have yielded us a few subjective or formal laws of
persuasion, may not, when viewed from the objective side,
supply some corollaries having use as guides in the choice
of matter. The questions thus arising could hardly be
treated in a way better adapted for practical application,
than that in which they are treated by Campbell. His
classification of “ the circumstances chiefly instrumental in
operating on the passions,” will be the groundwork of the
very few doctrines that are now to be laid down.
The principles which should rule the choice of matter or
objects adequate for direct persuasive representation, may be
brought to a point in the following group of propositions.
The Emotive Interest, through which images presented
by language prompt wish and will, must, in the first place,
rest on the capacity of the objects to influence, favourably
or unfavourably, the well-being of some conscious and
sensitive being or beings. Secondly, the emotive interest
is most intense, when the persons whom the objects are ca¬
pable of affecting are the persons to whom the images are
addressed, and when, therefore, the personal interest is Di¬
rect. In all other cases the personal interest is Indirect,
arising through Sympathy; and sympathetic interest is
strong in proportion to the closeness of the relations, between
those to whom the images are addressed, and those on whom
the capacity of influence bears. Thirdly, the objects must
consequently be representable as events; and they must
p'ossess, in a higher or lower degree, two characteristics,
which are conditions of the power of events to excite lively
interest, whether direct or sympathetic. These character-
Processes
constitut¬
ing Elo¬
quence.
R H E T
Processes istics may be signified by the two words, Probability and
constitut- Importance ; and their nature may most easily be explained
ing Elo- by negations. 1. The events must not be merely imagi-
quence. nary^ antj tjlus destitute of all bearing on volition: they
‘"'v must be capable of exciting a belief (stronger or weaker,
but strong in proportion to the closeness of their relation to
the volition which is aimed at), in their actuality, whether
past, present, or future. 2. The events must not be purely
trifling or insignificant; which they may be either on
account of their own character and adjuncts, or (though
more rarely) on account of the persons concerned in them :
from the one reason or from the other, or from both, they
must derive such an importance as shall at least be suffi¬
cient to excite attention.
Campbell’s seven “ emotive circumstances ” are readily
reducible under the heads thus set forth ; and his analysis
is so apt and useful, as to supersede the necessity for any¬
thing beyond a few hints in the way of illustration.
Evidently, the qualifications of emotive objects rise in
efficacy according to the scale which our law indicates.
Probability and importance are conditions, but conditions
only: they have no proper causal efficiency. It may be
objected, indeed, that we shall certainly be interested keenly,
to the effect of wish at least if act and volition be impossible,
by a momentous occurrence, positively known as affecting
men many or distinguished. The answer to the objection is,
that this is a sympathetic interest, for which the truth and
importance of the event do no more than supply a ground¬
work. Equally clear is it, with no possible exception wide
enough to qualify the practical uses of the law, that the
strongest interest men in general can derive from sympathy,
be their hearts as warm and expansive as they may, is feeble
in comparison with that which inspires them in relation to
their own happiness or misery.
The two conditions may reward a little attention.
The actuality of the event may be believed to be certain,
morally or physically ; but it cannot be emotive if the like¬
lihood of it does not reach, at least, the low degree which is
indicable by such a word as plausibility. It seems correct,
also, to say, that the amount of likelihood which is the ut¬
most attainable for an event contemplated as future, would
be incalculably less effective if its object were a fact that is
past, or one that is contemporaneous. The impression of
probability to the extent which an individual case is thought
to require, may evidently give occasion to the introduction
of arguments, and will perhaps be, oftener than any other
emergency, the adequate reason for such introduction. For
the same end, the insinuation of belief through plausible
exposition may be, and often is, singularly effective. If we
had time to turn aside, and glance at the bearings (for there
are many such) of these doctrines on poetry, this question
might be put:—Whether the undisguised allegory, which
falls on most readers with so dead a coldness, is not stopped
at the very first stage of its passage towards emotive ex¬
citement, by the initial impression it makes of an unreality
which we cannot even fancy to be removed ?
As to the second pondition, one remark only is needed.
There is frequent risk that those whom we desire to interest
in an event, may think it to be, both in its own nature and
in respect of its causes and consequences, so unimportant,
that their attention can hardly be awakened to the imagina¬
tion of it by any considerations of this sort. But, unless
they are unusually low in the scale either of intelligence or
of susceptibility, they can scarcely fail to take some sympa¬
thetic interest in any event which is known to be actual,
and which affects any human being whatever. Towards
keenness of interest, however, especially in the absence of
personal relation, the importance of the persons having
part in the event is a very active instrument of excitement.
The last four of Campbell’s emotive circumstances are
reducible to one principle, by a generalization to which he
O It I C. 135
himself shows the way ; and the taking of one or two subor- Processes
dinate distinctions suffices to systematize completely this constitut-
part of his scheme.—Sympathetic interest, while it is or in£ E1°'
ought to be experienced by us towards all men, is quick- 1uence-
ened in a geometrical ratio as its sphere of objects is nar-
rowed, in convergence towards the circle within which
our personal affections revolve. Circumstances which imply
such an approach are actively suggestive to us of reflec¬
tions, which give to these an indirect power of excitement.
Such circumstances are, first, proximity of events in time ;
and, secondly, proximity of events in place. It must be a
question dependent on the concomitant features of a case,
which of the two shall be the more strongly emotive. But
both the one and the other move us, not otherwise than
by suggesting the relations on which emotion generative
of desire must directly rest; and the representation of an
event in which such relations are explicitly prominent,
must always be more effective than any indirect method
of excitation. We are moved intensely by events concern¬
ing those who stand in close relation with ourselves ; and,
while benevolent and sympathetic affections may, in some
finely-touched natures, be even more profound than those
which centre in self; so, for fiery and angry tempers, or
in circumstances which keenly irritate even tempers less
harsh or hasty, hatred and revenge may for a time quite
overpower regard for self. But, in all ordinary instances,
the objects most excitative of desire or aversion, and of
volition if action be possible, are undoubtedly events with
whose progress and consequences our own happiness or
suffering is known by us to be connected.
(IV.) SUPPLEMENTARY QUESTIONS.
32. There come up for consideration, lastly, two ques- Removal
tions, which, though they involve form, involve matter also, 0f unfa-
and which therefore could not aptly have been raised vourable
earlier. In the first place, persuasion, like argumentation, emotions,
may be attempted, not on minds open to its influence, but
on minds prepossessed against it. How, then, if at all, by
means different from argument, may emotions be got rid of,
which would prevent the rise of the desire or volition
aimed at ? In the next place, although eloquence is not
poetry, nor poetry eloquence, yet each of them has in it so
many of the elements of the other that their results must
sometimes coincide. Poetry has not infrequently been
made the spur to action : persuasive eloquence has always
been held to be, in some degree or other, amenable to tbe
laws of beauty or taste. What can be determined as to
the admissibility, into persuasion, of that imaginative plea¬
sure, not tending towards action, the excitement of which
is characteristic of poetry ? A question nearly allied is
this other ; What place is there in eloquence for appeals to
the sense of the ludicrous, through wit and humour ?
The answer to the first of these questions may be given
in the following shape. The answer to the second will
follow in the next section.
I. For the removal of Emotions Unfavourable to the ex¬
citement of the wish and volition, which in a given case per¬
suasion aims at, the methods most widely available are three.
—First, The allaying of the emotion may be attempted,
by the representation of the object in an aspect which does
not tend to excite the unfavourable emotion, and the con¬
templation of which, therefore, is inconsistent with the
continued intensity of the emotion. Secondly, The diver¬
sion of the emotion may be attempted, by the representa¬
tion of some other object, which tends to excite the
unfavourable emotion, and on which, therefore, it may be
expended harmlessly. Thirdly, The extinguishing of the
emotion may be attempted, by the representation of the
object in an aspect tending to excite some other emotion,
irreconcileable with the emotion which is to be removed.
136
Processes
constitut¬
ing Elo¬
quence.
R H E T
The three metliods which have thus been described rest
obviously on the same principle. 1 he mind can never be
totally blank ; and in those changes whose agitation is the
life of consciousness, emotion in some phase or other wells
up incessantly to the surface. All the methods, therefore,
are designed for converting the obstructive emotion into an
emotion which shall not obstruct.—The emotion may cease
to obstruct, if its intensity is diminished so far that it no
longer prompts any wish at all ; and here wrill emerge scope
for argumentation, as in proof of improbability, insignifi¬
cance, or want of real personal relation.—Again, the emo¬
tion may cease to obstruct, if there be suggested some
other object of thought, which indeed keeps the emotion
awake, but the character of which is such that the emotion
or consequent wish bearing on it shall not be incongruous
with the emotion and wish to which the persuasive process
is directed. When dislike is felt towards a person in whose
behalf we intercede, a hearing may be found for our words
in his favour, if he ceases, though it were but for a short
while, to be thought of as the object of the grudge, some
other victim being suggested who as well deserves it.—
Lastly, the emotion which is obnoxious may lose its hurt¬
fulness, if there can be conjured up some other emotion,
incompatible with the continued existence of it and its
volitional consequents. This declaration of open war
against an impeding emotion or desire, is more frequently
called for and more extensively possible than either of the
other methods of attack ; but in a majority of cases it can¬
not be brought to bear, unless through and after processes
of exposition or argumentation. The most signal of its
occasions are ministered by the diversity, and the frequent
incompatibility, of the relations in which every man stands
towards every object which he can think of as attainable
through exertions of his own. Hardly anything is there
that can seem desirable to us as giving free play to some
strong law of our nature, but the thought will arise, that the
gratification of that desire would be attended with the pain
consequent on disobedience to some other law. Well is it
for us when deliberation is prompt and firm, and when
choice is guided by wise and worthy motives. When
there is doubt, and especially when that doubt is deeply
founded, either on the character of the objects or on inter¬
nal weakness of our own, the door is open for the entrance
of influences from without, which may determine us with
momentous effect either towards good or towards evil.
Among such influences, powerful eloquence may be one
of the most active. We have brooded longingly over a
future act, which promises to gratify avarice, or hate, or
ambition : our inclination towards it may be cooled or
extinguished, by a startling representation of the gnawing
pain of the remorse by which one day it would surely be
followed ; and our imagination may then be sensitive to the
image of some other act, some act of forgiveness or self-
sacrifice, which, in satisfying conscience and the love owing
by man to man, would bestow the purest and highest hap¬
piness that can spring from within, but which, as being
adverse to our preconceived passion, we could not bear to
contemplate till that passion had been made to die away.
Unfortunately, likewise, the progress might be in the oppo¬
site direction: we might be made to sink from the nou¬
rishment of a wish virtuously and nobly prompted, to the
displacement of it by another, derived from mean and de¬
grading sources of enjoyment. One of the most obvious, as
well as most usually employed, of the antitheses which give
room for such diversions of emotion and desire, is that
which subsists between the serious and the ludicrous. Put
the case, that the obstacle which bars our being led towards
a certain wish or the consequent act, is our fear or our
hatred of a person who would be benefited by it. It could
rarely be possible, by force of mere words, whether argu¬
mentative or imaginative, to convert our ill-will directly
0 R I C.
into any benevolent affection. But even so, the ill-will Processes
might be rendered inoperative through feelings which, constitut-
though still prompted by a bad opinion of the person, could ing Elo-
not co-exist with our original desire of injuring or resisting cluence-
him. If a man is simply ridiculous, if our feeling towards
him is mere contempt, we cannot hate him cordially, and
shall not fear him at all. This case,—the diversion of
emotion and wish of a serious cast by the exhibition of the
object in an aspect which is ludicrous,—introduces us to the
second of the questions raised in the beginning of this sec¬
tion. For wit and humour rest on the emotion of the
ludicrous ; and they stand in relations which, though far
from being clear, are very intimate, to the imaginative
pleasure which is characteristic of poetry.
33. II. That Imaginative Pleasure, the excitement of Questions
which is the characteristic function of poetry, is so far in- as to the
consistent with the kind of emotion which issues in volition, persuasive
and the objects tending to excite these severally are in sc0Pf
most instances so unlike each other, that emotions of the pleasure
former class cannot in a process of persuasion be excited ^
either intensely or very frequently, without difficulty, or
without some risk of injury to the persuasive result. The
emotion of the ludicrous, also, as excited by Wit and
Humour, is indeed, oftener than purely poetical pleasure,
excitable by objects available towards persuasion; but
it likewise is equivocal in its effects, as not tending di¬
rectly towards action. Nevertheless, both pure poetical
pleasure, and the emotions excited by wit and humour, are
often useable with advantage in persuasion, under the
restriction always of being kept in subservience to the dis¬
tinctive purpose of the process. Especially it is true, that
the slight or moderate excitement of a pleasure properly
poetical or contemplative, not only is often a natural con¬
sequent of the contemplation of objects tending principally
towards the excitement of volition, but is even a condition
towards the full effect of persuasive eloquence in a culti¬
vated and refined state of society.
That, even in processes aiming at the purposes which
constitute the distinctive province of eloquence, there
is scope for the entertainment of the purpose which dis¬
tinguishes poetry,—is a proposition, the truth of which is
allowed, by implication, in doctrines which have a place,
and which, being important as well as true, deserve to have
a place, in every intelligent code of laws ever laid down to
guide the student of rhetoric. No reasonable doubt can
be thrown on the assertion, that certain elements truly
poetical are admissible in eloquence as subordinate ad¬
juncts and decorations. But difficulties begin to gather
about us, like thickening mists, when we strive to determine
analytically the relations between the means which sub¬
serve the poetical purpose, and those which subserve the
persuasive,—and when we seek to derive hence a code of
exact restrictions.
Such a code would bridge over, for passage from either
side, the gap on whose opposite sides poetry and eloquence
stand, covering ground which exhibits dissimilar landscapes,
but which hides strata illustrative of analogous formation.
The piers of the bridge, however, must be two : a theory of
eloquence, a theory of poetry. For the former of these,
there is given here no more than a plan ; and the attempt
even to design the latter, is forbidden alike by the purpose
of the treatise and by its limits. We can venture on
nothing beyond some hasty strokes, indicating a very few
features, in respect of which the two classes of processes
are least likely to conflict with each other.
It is in effect acknowledged by rhetoricians, that the
eftectiveness of eloquence is impaired, if not destroyed, by
the intrusion of anything excitative of emotions contradic¬
tory of those which it is the prerogative of poetry to excite.
For so much must be meant by the maxim, that neither in
Processes
constitut¬
ing Elo¬
quence.
RHETORIC.
137
persuasion, nor even in argumentation, should there be ad¬
mitted any object, or any treatment of any object, which
would offend against the laws of taste. The rule is sound
for any discourse intended to possess a character properly
literary ; that is, it is sound for the highest and worthiest
class of cases to which rhetorical precepts are applicable.
1 hough, likewise, taste should be understood as meaning
good taste, the rule would continue to be sound for all dis¬
courses whose hearers or readers possess a reasonable
amount of aesthetic cultivation. If the proviso be interpo¬
lated, that the taste of the audience, be it good or bad, is
to give the standard, the rule holds for all cases possible.
Every man is in some degree susceptible of a contempla¬
tive pleasure, incident to the exercise of his imagination ;
however widely the objects exciting that pleasure in a rude
and coarse mind may differ from those which would excite
it in a mind refined by nature and by training. And no
man can fail to be interrupted in his progress towards be¬
lief and desire, if the object be set before him in a light
which, independently of relations to action, affects him
with an unpleasant feeling. So much is admitted when the
question is considered from the negative side.
A positive rhetorical value is attached to poetical plea¬
sure, in rules commonly laid down for style. Obedience to
the laws of good taste is prescribed to language : it should,
we are told, possess the quality called Beauty or Elegance.
The rule is good for every composition of a class worthy
of being criticised, and for every writer or speaker who is
likely to reflect on his task in a thoughtful spirit. It is an
instructive fact, however, that no one has ever been able
to describe intelligibly any specific method (beyond rules
properly grammatical) of putting the maxim in practice.
The student of eloquence can only be told that, rules
which bear on or tend towards Perspicuity being duly
attended to, he will approach towards eloquence of style
in proportion to his success in making his style Animated,
—that is, in fitting it for the purpose of persuasion. The
study of language is often helpful towards the excitement
of imagination and of some consequent emotion ; but what
the character of that emotion is to be, is a question depend¬
ent, not on the words, but on the matter.
We reach higher ground on the positive side,—indeed
we gain a rule which is practically more useful than any
other relating to this question,—when we take account of a
doctrine on which great stress has been placed in several
preceding stages of our survey. In no use to which lan¬
guage can be put, is any quality of a composition more
valuable than its power of commanding attention. Now
Attention is excited by everything that is emotive. It is a
question not always met by one answer,—which of the two
shall arouse attention most effectively ; an object moving us
to pain, or one moving us to pleasure. So likewise, a positive
answer could not be given to this other question :—whether
attention will be attracted most keenly by an object raising
feelings which prompt towards action, or by one which raises
feelings not having that tendency. The chances are much
in favour of objects urging us towards desire and will; and,
for reasons lying in the same quarter, the chance is also, that
attention will be more keenly awakened by painful objects
than by pleasant ones. So much the less danger is there,
that objects such or so represented as to incline by both
paths in the opposite direction,—that is, away from ac¬
tion and away from pain,—should, if they are suggested
sparingly, interpose any serious check or wide diversion to
the course into which persuasion aims at inviting the mind.
Therefore, far from seldom, when both theme and audience
are favourable to the finer influences, persuasive eloquence
may warrantably seek to awaken or enliven or revive
attention, through images which do not immediately lead
beyond the play of fancy and the pleasure which is atten¬
dant on it. When, indeed, the use of such expedients is
VOL. XIX.
guided by genius and skill, the excitants of the poetic or Processes
semi-poetic vision and emotion may be gathered from among constitut-
the adjuncts of the very object on which action is to be ing Eh>-
directed; the transitory change of mood, too, is not unlikely quence-
to allow the gathering of new energy of consciousness; and
the check which for a moment threw the wave of feeling
backward upon thought, may give even a fiercer impulse
to the gush with which afterwards it plunges forward into
passion.
34. The legitimacy of the poetical element as an aid to The rela-
eloquence, not only as a powerful means of calling up at- tions be-
tention, but also as a direct step on the way towards the end tween per-
aimed at by persuasion, will be put on a ground yet broader, suasi011 an(i
and may perhaps be extended to more various applicabili-
ties, through the answer which may correctly be given to
a question now to be put.
Poetry and Persuasive Eloquence pursue for a certain
distance the very same track: at what point do their
routes necessarily diverge? More specially, they concur
in working through the excitement of Imagination and
consequent Emotion; persuasion, however, must have as
its next step the excitement of a Wish, whether it be
a desire or an aversion : must it be held, then, that poetry
cannot take this step,—that it would be unfaithful to its
function if it should excite the Wish that something were,
or that something were not? The answer is this. It is
not true that the excitement of desire, or even of its
contrary, is excluded from the competency of poetry.
Such an exclusion is quite inconsistent with all ordinary
opinions ; and it is very far indeed from being a necessary
consequence of that exact separation between poetic and
persuasive representation, which it has here been attempted
to illustrate. The bearings of the question could not be set
forth satisfactorily, without a full exposition of the theory
of poetry which is now founded on ; but a few hints, merely
flitting along the edge of one section in that theory,
will exhibit some of the data on which the answer must
depend.
Contrast, first of all, a poet’s warm description of poetry
with the colder one given by a philosopher. Let us think
especially of the third quality assigned to poetry, in those
pregnant words of Milton, seized on admiringly by Cole¬
ridge. “ Poetry,” says he, “ is simple, sensuous, passion¬
ate” Kant, on the other hand, asserts of the Beautiful,
that it is “without interest'” and with him, as with most
or all of the more recent Germans, all the emotions charac¬
teristic of poetry and the other fine arts are emotions of
beauty. The two doctrines are quite reconcileable ; but
both require some explanation.
It must be maintained firmly, as the central doctrine of
all the fine arts,—that, while their mode of operation is the
excitement of imagination, their end, the result for the
sake of which the operation is performed, is the excitement
of Emotion, of a state of mind which is a feeling. If it is
admitted that their end is pleasure, this is accepting the
doctrine, only specificating it (and correctly) by saying that
the emotion is pleasing. If the mental process which it ex¬
cites shall travel onward even by one step further, in that
normal development of consciousness which issues in action,
the art has, in its result (which presumably is due to some¬
thing in its procedure), trespassed on ground which it can¬
not continue to occupy without becoming an alien to its
native domain. But if it has taken the one step only, its
position is easily recoverable: the wish, the desire, the
longing, may generate only a new emotion, purely con¬
templative ; and,—such flowings and ebbings being suc¬
cessively prompted through successive images, whether
suggested by the poem or by the fancy of the reader,—wish
and emotion may float through the soul in a series of de¬
lightful alternations, each impelled and guided by some
s
138
RHETORIC.
Processes new image in the thronging train of airy fantasies. None
constitut- of the emotions can be more than momentary: no emotion
ing Elo- can be more. But it is for the sake of the emotion that
quence. the images and wishes are cherished; and, so long as the
^ poetical mood endures, it is back into emotion that wish
and image will incessantly fall. That which would most
effectually annihilate the poetical mood, that which most
certainly would make the mind cease to be susceptible
of the visionary emotion, would be the development of
the wish into a consequent volition. The calm lake which
has been darkened by a passing cloud, becomes again the
mirror of its woody bank as soon as the sunshine again
breaks out; but when the mountain blast has swept over it,
its surface, lashed into agitation, can no longer reflect the
brilliant shadow. This, then, is what must not happen as
the effect of poetry ; the transformation of desire into will.
If such a transformation should take place incidentally,
the mind which is the subject of it has been thrown down
into a mood which is anti-poetical, and from which it
cannot easily be elevated by the purest poetry which may
next be presented to it. If a work poetical in name aims at
such a transformation, it is really not a poem, but something
else: with the introduction of such a design, it has ceased
to be poetical, and has become persuasive. Understood
under these explanations, Kant’s proposition may be ac¬
cepted as equally true and important.
Not less important are doctrines, which may be supposed
to have been intended under the proposition which was
quoted as its counterpart. Towards that one among those
doctrines which here concerns us, the way has been opened
by the assertion, that the transition from emotion to desire
is not necessarily destructive of poetical effect. This asser¬
tion is not broad enough; for, though it is true, it contains
scarcely half of the truth. Not only is it true that poetry
may prompt wishes without being faithless to its vocation ;
it is true, moreover, that poetry does and must incessantly
prompt wishes in all their higher modes,—as good-will or
ill-will to persons, or as inclination or dislike to states of
our own, dependent on things. It is equally a truth, and
is a truth still more momentous, that to its capacity as a
prompter of wishes poetry owes the possession of powers,
the loss of which would degrade it into a mere toy, the play¬
thing of a few imaginative dreamers. That capacity is
not what makes poetry to be poetry: it is not what makes
any fine art to be a fine art. But so far as any fine art
can exercise that capacity without impairing its own pe¬
culiar functions, just by so far is that art elevated above
being a mere decoration of life and a mere pastime for
leisure ; the comparative freedom with which that capacity
can be subordinated to poetical ends, is the most active of
the causes which raise poetry immeasurably higher than
any other of the fine arts; and the fulness of diversified
suggestion with which, through that capacity, poetry can
people the visionary land conjured up by its spell, is the
fountain whence flow out the love and reverence with
which poetical art is honoured by the universal human
heart. That which confers the capacity is the symbolism
of language. By the manner in which words operate, arts
making them its vehicle are, as we have seen, shut out
from certain modes of representation which are open to
arts operating directly through perception. But, in their
own manner, through symbolic suggestion, words can re¬
present all conceivable objects. Therefore poetry em¬
braces, in its light but vigorous grasp, all those classes
of objects, to one of which separately each of the weaker
fine arts has its province confined; therefore also poetry
enters into sympathizing alliance with those processes of
real life and action, most of which the other fine arts have
neither hand to touch nor eye to see.
If we are to use the term Beauty as designative of ob¬
jects which excite the pure emotion of contemplative art,
whatever be the kind of process by which the emotion is Processes
awakened, the ordinary and obvious meaning of the word constitut-
must receive a very large widening. That which we should ing Elo-
naturally speak of as beautiful is an object of sight. Pleas- v <lueDce- ^
ing colour, or combinations of colour, may indeed be dis- “ v-*-
posed of rightly by being regarded as no more than
precedent conditions, and described as sensuously agree¬
able ; and, when this exclusion has been made, Beauty
proper is beauty of form. The arts of design are the oniy
fine arts whose works are beautiful in this sense. Even such
a work is not high in its class, unless the form which it
presents and suggests shall to Beauty add what is usually
called Expression,—that is, the capacity of suggesting emo¬
tions tending towards wish. Whether beauty of form is
possible in the absence of expression, is a question which,
though the answer is not far to seek, cannot be touched at
present. The two antithetical terms do, at least, denote the
predominance of the one or the otherof two diverse attributes.
The law of those arts might thus be said to be, that beauty
shall predominate over expression; intensity and fulness of
expression enliven and elevate a picture or a statue, but
expose it to the risk of overstepping its proper function.
Now, poetry has doubtless the power to suggest images
of beautiful forms. Not only, however, is the suggestion
vague, the same words exciting different images in every
two different minds; but, over and above, it subserves in
no more than a very slight degree the poetical effect. If
beauty is beauty of form, the law of poetry is not beauty,
but expression.
It is desirable, however, that we should be able to de¬
signate by one common name all phases of the pure con¬
templative emotion characteristic of all the fine arts; and
the word Beauty, originally given to sensuous agreeable¬
ness, and raised in the language of art to denote attributes
of form, offers itself temptingly for use. Of all objects
excitative of pure poetical emotion, it is convenient to say
that they are Beautiful; and it may not be unsafe to call
them so, if we can guarantee our steady remembrance of
the fact, that their beauty is Expressive Beauty. The ne¬
cessity for implication of the limiting epithet reminds us at
once of the world-wide sphere of poetical objects, and
of that tendency to put the objects to extraneous uses
by which poetry is beset more than any other art of its
class.
Terms being thus understood, Expressive Beauty might
be said to be the central law of poetry. Pure poetical
pleasure is generated by images which, whether they be
pictures of nature or of life, or of human consciousness as
it works within, are barred by their ideal character from all
immediate bearing, not only on action, but even on wishes
tending to action, either of our own or of others. The
glittering shower of fancies, and feelings, and longings,
which the fountain throws up, cannot flow outward to form
a brook, but incessantly, in sunshine and music, falls back
into the encircling basin. Poetry having no other elements
than these, would be pure ; but it would not be strong. It
would be lyrical in spirit, whatever it might be in form ;
and much more is demanded of it. If the poet would stir
up the heart from its depths, he must look abroad on life,
and feel the passions of humanity: he must conjure into
the circle of his art shapes expressive of the purest joy,
and the deepest suffering, and the most energetic action;
that, by sympathy, and hope, and fear, the atmosphere may
be agitated into healthy circulation.
Thus, from the heart of its empire, where it would only
be a sluggard-king dreaming on his day-bed, Poetry, justly
desiring active rule, and sometimes imprudently ambitious
of foreign conquest, travels outwards towards or up to the
frontiers of its dominions, and that by any of many
diverging paths. In every direction, as the distance in¬
creases, the operation of the central laws becomes weaker,
R H E T
Processes though spontaneous activity is developed more and more
constitut- energetically ; and, if the borders are fairly crossed, the
mg Elo‘ laws of the poetical realm cannot be enforced, unless as an
v queiice- j invader might impose on the conquered any laws he chooses
to bring with him.
When we remember that the sway of eloquence
stretches over all those contiguous territories which poetry
is so often tempted to reconnoitre or to visit, it becomes
plain that the two are actually connected by bonds much
stronger than those which show themselves on the surface.
If poetry, by drawing closer its relations with life and
action, can often inspire itself with increased force and
profundity of passion ; so eloquence may, though seldomer
and with less safety, rise to higher refinement and elevation
without essential loss of strength, through idealization of
imagery, and consequent softening of desire and emotion.
Poetry seeks its frontiers by two high roads, leading in
directions diametrically opposite. The one of these, point¬
ing as it were to the cold north, soon enters desert tracts,
and has few by-paths worth traversing: the other ushers
us into scenes where everything around is full of warm
interest and overflowing with luxuriant activity. In the
first of those quarters the principle of animation is the
emotion of the Ludicrous. When objects capable of ex¬
citing this feeling are contemplated from those idealized
points of view which exclude immediate reference to
action, they yield images whose aesthetical character is
describable by such names as Wit and Humour ; the for¬
mer of which may be said to have its objective root in
incongruity of ideas, the other in the incongruities of
human nature. It is so difficult to reconcile feelings of
this class with loftier and more worthy aspirations, that the
excitement of them is hardly admitted in any of the fine
arts, except painting and poetry ; while even in poetry
their sphere is narrow, in comparison at least with that
which belongs to serious emotion. In eloquence, they
have a scope which is very much wider; and, when the
character of the matter and purpose does allow either per¬
suasion or argumentation to call in the aid of the ludicrous,
the circumstances always allow, and often require for the
production of full effect, that the representation be idealized
or aesthetically softened in such a way as to make it rightly
describable as witty or humorous. It is on this side, in¬
deed, that eloquence, though coming in contact only with
one small frontier-province of poetry, touches the poetical
domain more closely than it can on the opposite or serious
side.
On this other side, poetry seeks to gather materials out
of all phases and all degrees of serious emotion and passion,
and desire and aversion. The kinds of the objects are not
more diverse than the uses to which the art strives to put
them. Milton’s phrase, already used, may be understood
widely enough to cover all varieties of the applications,
to which poetry thus seeks to put the seriously emotive re¬
lations of life and action. Let us say that poetry, when
it shoots off at this pole from the sphere of the purely
Beautiful, passes into that of the Passionate. We come
nearer to some of the problems which the name suggests,
by saying that the genera of the passionate are reducible
to two: the Sublime, which tends towards development in
the Epic ; the Pathetic, whose characteristic development
takes place in Tragedy.—In the Sublime, the predominant
emotion may be said to be an idealized modification of
Fear. Being so modified by being taken out of immediate
relation to action, and being modified further by specific
characteristics of the objects (which affect variously both
its kind and the degree of its intensity), fear becomes the
kernel of emotions to which perhaps all branches of the
sublime may be referred—Awe, Reverence, Wonder. If
the objects, as real, tend to excite emotions justly describable
by such names, it must be the fault of the poet if the same
o R I c. 139
emotions are not excitable by the poetical representation Processes
of them. But genius and skill of art may purify into those constitut-
phases the impressions made by objects, which, in the in£ Elo‘
reality, would be merely terrific or horrible ; while, con- v ^uence* y
trariwise, whatever be the character of the objects, want of
skill or coarseness of feeling in the poet may throw a work,
or a scene or image of it, out of the true province of
poetry, by giving predominance to the unidealized phases
of the emotions.—To the Pathetic, as a variety of the
passionate, would be referable all cases in which the
emotion, whatever be its kind, is aroused, not directly, but
through Sympathy. Sympathetic emotion, imaginatively
reflected or thrown back, falls into modifications of poetic
emotion, which, though by no means the only modifications
that may be called tragic, are those on which Tragedy is
dependent oftener and more widely than on any others.—
If the pathetic should rise so that it seems to merge in the
sublime, there is still this ground for a separation such as
that which has been hinted at, that the emotion of sub¬
limity generated through sympathy remains relative or
subjective, while there is another region of the sublime in
which emotion is excited directly,—that is, through thought
in which the prominent idea is that of the object.
35. The applicabilities of those distinctions to rhetorical Rhetorical
use can be but very rapidly touched on. applicabi-
In the first place, the idealization of passion has an inci-j^es.of tl10
dental and subsidiary use, which, though it cannot penetrate g^es
deeply into the matter principally treated, stretches over forth,
almost all kinds of composition that are not poetical in de¬
sign. It is often an apt means of awakening or enlivening
attention. Pleasure of any kind, and imaginative pleasure
not least, inclines us to concentrate our thoughts on the
objects that excite us; and the inclination is suggestively
transferable to objects with which those others are in
relation. Though the staple of a discourse should be
severe abstract reasoning, the mental eye may the more
promptly admit the clear and cold light of truth, if it has
been strengthened and excited by semi-poetic fancies
flickering on the distant horizon. On occasions not a few,
likewise, ideal imagery acts in the same direction, not only
in virtue of its own force, but also by raising preposses¬
sions in favour of the mind from which it springs.
Questions more doubtful confront us when we come to
consider specific adaptations, involving cases in which the
poetic mood might become a prominent feature in the
mental state excited.
The most delicate of all cases, is that of a discourse
designed for carrying on the process of persuasion to its
consummation. Such a discourse must have a practical
bearing so immediate, that hazard would almost always
be incurred by any aspiration rising, for more than a very
brief flight, above the level of actuality. Equally practical
in effect, and therefore equally intolerant of invitations
towards the contemplative, are most of those discourses in
which, though the persuasive process in its earlier stages
holds a conspicuous place, still it is really no more than
subsidiary, the purpose ultimately striven after being the
generation of belief, the enforcing on an audience acqui¬
escence in the truth of a proposition. In describing such
instances, however, we are taking it for granted, not only
that the occasion is in substance a matter of active busi¬
ness, but also that the effect on the recipients, be it what it
may, is designed to be immediate. But if judicial oratory
be held to fall within this description, with some applications
(certainly not all) of oratory to political and other social
questions, we are yet entitled to say that there are many
other cases, still oratorical rather than strictly literary, in
which the design is different, and the field raised more or
less above that of every-day life. Especially, it happens
very often, as in many discourses of a religious cast, that
140
RHETORIC.
Processes the end looked to lies beyond any mental state that is
constitut- excited at the moment. What is wished for is the excite-
ing El0' ment of such a frame of mind as shall prompt subsequent
v quenC^ , thought; so that, though volition should be the result
ultimately in view, it shall only spring up hereafter, seem¬
ingly from the spontaneous action of the resolving mind,
but really from germs which have been sown by the speaker.
The ground is thus enlarged on all sides ; and passionate
poetry surrenders many a spoil to the successful forays of
passionate eloquence, provided always the objects be such
that each of the arts may, in its own way, handle them to
advantage. It is, however, when the poetic voice is but
imperfectly modulated that oratory may most freely emulate
its tones. Eloquence of all kinds, indeed, speedily grows
languid in the rarefied atmosphere which fans the serenely
sensitive existence of the highest poetical art: if its
breathing is to be free and its action energetic, it must not
climb above those subalpine heights, on which the dense
air of real life has been relieved but in a slight degree from
the superincumbent pressure.
But, further, though the spirit of these restrictive cautions
must guide us everywhere, yet the quarter on which they
tell most strongly fills a space comparatively narrow in that
large territory, which is here claimed for Eloquence and
alleged to be subject to its laws. The mass of pure litera¬
ture is made up of works which owe their literary character,
not to circumstances raising them above the occasion that
prompted them, but to the intention with which they were
brought into existence. Those works are not intended for
generating one immediate effect,—notfor producingonestate
of mind, which both has little complexity, and is concentrated
on one group of objects. They are designed for pro¬
ducing a series of mental states, which shall expatiate over
many and diverse objects presented in succession ; and
they are designed for producing those states through de¬
liberate study, in which the reader’s thought works with
an independent activity, marvellously unlike the receptive
obedience with which the same mind would have been im¬
pelled to follow the same prompting if it had been pressed
with the hurry and force of oral declamation.
All such works issue, as it was asserted in one of the
prefatory sections, from a combination of more than one
of the three elementary and normal processes, and most of
them from a combination of all the three. It must carefully
be remembered, too, that, in instances which occur continu¬
ally, each of these processes is performed in part only ; there
is a turning off from the road after the earlier stages of the
journey. In the appeal to the judgment, the end desired
may be, not to establish belief, but only to prepare the way
for it: thus exposition may go no further than analysis of
ideas or explanation of words ; and the occasion may entitle
argumentation to rest in the suggestion of conjectures. Still
more frequent, and more frequent in pure literature than in
oratory, is the occurrence of a process, in which persuasion,
used only as an aid, is satisfied with the conjuring up of emo¬
tive images, or, at furthest, stops short with the raising of
vague desires. History, for instance, and its hand-maid Bio¬
graphy, are essentially expository. But in these kinds of
composition there is no phase of eloquence that may not co¬
operate with the main purpose, from the passionate picturing of
characters and events, to the calm inculcation of universal
truth. Nor would it be either just or safe to pronounce sen¬
tence of outlawry on certain branches of prose literature,
which dwell so temptingly on the very borders, that they
themselves are often doubtful to which of the two kingdoms
their allegiance is preferably due. The novel and romance
should be dealt with on this footing; that they are works
essentially poetical in design, but sacrificing purity and eleva¬
tion of aesthetic effect to the interest and variety of a biogra¬
phical kind of individualization, for which verse would not
allow scope. Many other kinds of literary works we have,
and some of these interesting and brilliant in a high de- Processes
to which there must be extended a tolerance still constitut-
gree,
more liberal, yet not so liberal as to absolve them from all
obedience to law. In such works the writer is content with
his position as the man of genius, without claiming also the
rank of a literary artist: he casts forth, because he chooses
to do so, the products of his vigorous reason, or rich ima¬
gination, or profound sensibility, without seeming to aspire
to the production of any one class of effects, and perhaps
without conjecturing or caring what might be the issue.
Evidently, even in those legitimate forms of literature in
which unity or totality of effect is firmly kept in view, there
is thus room for such a diversifying of the means of impres¬
sion as to preclude the possibility of passive subjection to
any specific code of laws. But, while every literary free¬
man resists to the death the fetters which pedantic rules
would rivet on him, no literary man can scorn with im¬
punity the constitutional code of that realm of thought, in
which, by attempting literary creation, he enrols himself as a
citizen.
Those assertions must be repeated which were our point
of departure. The distinct conception of one paramount
purpose is the root of everything that is really great and
strong in any department of literary art. The only pur¬
poses towards which literature can intelligently work are
those which have now been recognised. The processes
which have been represented as leading severally to the
attainment of those purposes are the norms of all literary
methods. Genius can, in a certain degree, achieve success
in spite of itself; it can force its way in defiance of obstacles
which it has reared up in its own path: vigour of thought,
of imagination, or of passion, can bear receptive minds
along with it, though its procedure should be incoherent;
and to kindred souls it can suggest results possessing a
symmetry which it had itself inadequately conceived. But
the finest or loftiest genius can give birth to no work of
art which shall ber either great or enduring, unless it has
learned, from reflection or from instinct, the few broad
principles on which the character of art depends. Laws
which are rooted in the nature of things never fail to
avenge themselves on those who disobey them.
ing Elo¬
quence.
APPENDIX.
THE LAWS OP PROSE STYLE.
36. Questions of Style, which are the prominent feature Outline of
in many systems of rhetoric, and the whole contents of many the prin-
others, have with us been made to stand far in the back- ciples rul-
ground. This is thought to be the place which becomes Prose
them. That characteristic manner of expression, which is ^
what we understand by the style peculiar to a writer or
speaker, may indeed have derived some of its points from
the study of models or of rules ; but it is determined mainly
by the cast of the man’s own intellect and character, and is
really peculiar or forcible in proportion to the amount in
which he possesses individual peculiarity or strength.
A general theory of communication can fitly consider
this question only:—what qualities must not be wanting in
language if the style constituted by the words is to be good,
—that is, if it is to be fit for serving the uses to which
language is put ? Adequate knowledge both of things and
names being presupposed, this answer is given :—that style
cannot be good unless it obeys laws belonging to each of
two several orders.—In the first place, there are laws, dis¬
obedience to which, if thorough-going, makes language
unfit to be a medium of communication for any purpose
whatever. These laws constitute the science of Grammar ;
and, in fact, a very large proportion ot the rules laid down
for style are grammatical, not rhetorical. These are the
most workable of all rules of style ; and they cannot be too
RHETORIC. 141
Processes sedulously attended to by the unpractised student of com-
constitut- position.—In the second place, there are laws, disobedience
ing Elo- t0 which unfits language only for some one purpose, leav-
quence. jng jt (un(jer limitations to be marked immediately) avail-
able for purposes which are different. These are the only
laws of style that are properly rhetorical; but they are
nothing else than the laws of the processes of communica¬
tion we have already studied, or corollaries drawn from
those laws by the easiest deduction. They have been
brought out already in illustration of the theory of the pro¬
cesses, at all points where they aptly served that use, and
were not too obvious to deserve being explicitly stated.
It may be well, however, to draw together under one
outline a digested sketch of the principles of both kinds,
within which must fall all specific Rules of Style. Poetical
composition, which commonly and most wisely adopts me¬
trical forms, is beyond our purview ; and, for the purposes
entertained by eloquence, the words may be held to be
always couched in the form of prose.
I. The Purposes of language being three, and none of the
three being absolutely excluded from the competency of
eloquence, Prose Language, if it is to be fit for the attain¬
ment of all the three, must have each of three specific
aptitudes. It is fitted for each of the three purposes by a
combination of certain qualities; and each of the combina¬
tions receives one name. It is fitted for the purpose en¬
tertained in exposition and argumentation by Perspicuity;
it is fitted for the purpose entertained in persuasion by
Animation or Vivacity; it is fitted for the purpose enter¬
tained in poetical representation by Beauty or Elegance.
Language is said to be Perspicuous,—or adequate for
communicating cognition or thought,—when it is free from
each of three faults. It must not be obscure,—that is,
convey no meaning clearly; it must not be ambiguous,—
that is, convey more meanings than one; it must not be
unintelligible,—that is, convey no meaning at all. But
language has not the degree of perspicuity it ought to
have, unless it conveys its one meaning readily as well as
clearly.
Language is said to be Animated, when it is adequate for
the purpose of persuasion. But the only element of this
adequacy for which rules of style can give any assistance,
is, or arises directly out of, the special aptitude of the words
for exciting Imagination, the first step in the process.
Language is said to be Elegant or Beautiful, when it
gratifies the taste,—that is, excites imaginative pleasure.
In respect of the words, this gratification stands yet more
closely related to persuasion than it does in respect of the
objects and their images.
II. Although each of these three names denotes a specific
aptitude for one purpose, yet the relations which connect
the purposes cause the second aptitude to be dependent on
the first, and the third to be dependent both on the first
and on the second. Language may be perspicuous without
being more: but it cannot be animated without being
perspicuous ; and it cannot rightly be said to be elegant
unless it be both perspicuous and animated.
Hence perspicuity is an essential quality of style: it can
never be dispensed with. The other two are occasional
qualities. In certain kinds of composition they would be
out of place ; in other kinds, they might safely be wanting;
and they might be absent in certain parts of compositions
which elsewhere admit or require them.
While, again, animation is dependent on perspicuity; so,
contrariwise, animation increases perspicuity in certain
cases, and lessens it in others. It increases perspicuity when,
by aiding in the excitement of imagination, it makes atten¬
tion more energetic. It lessens perspicuity when (as in
philosophical or other abstract discussions), the ideas re¬
quiring very wide terms for their full expression, the desire
of animation leads to the use of terms which are too narrow.
III. For the attainment of Perspicuity, Animation, and Processes
Elegance, severally, language must be brought to bear on the constitut-
specific purpose in respect of three particulars : the Choice ®l0"
of Words or Phrases, the Number of them, the Putting ^ quence- ^
Together of them.
1. (i.) So far as the Choice of words and phrases is
concerned, language is made Perspicuous by its posses¬
sion of two qualities: Purity and Precision. The former
consists in conformity to grammatical laws, which fits the
words for conveying some meaning ; the latter consists in
conformity to the thought of the speaker or writer, which
fits the words for conveying the meaning intended. When
the choice is spoken of as embracing phrases as well as
single words, there is designed such a description of this
one element of perspicuity as shall enable it to cover all
questions purely grammatical. Purity, then, grammatical
correctness, is, within certain limits (which it is never worth
while to transgress), a condition of perspicuity. It is on
perspicuity alone that grammatical considerations have a
direct bearing. But purity is not enough : therefore per¬
spicuity, though resting on grammar, is not wholly de¬
pendent on grammatical laws. The words must be precise
also ; which word, as here understood, has a wider meaning
than that which it often receives from critics and teachers of
style. Let us understand the term as embracing every¬
thing that makes a word or phrase to represent the desired
idea, to represent it exactly, to represent it completely, and
to represent no other : and its meaning will then compre¬
hend all the special rules (such as retrenchment of super¬
fluities), to the expression of which it is sometimes re¬
stricted.—(ii.) In respect to the Number of the words or
phrases, the only universal rule which can safely be pro¬
pounded does in truth merely remind us, that words are
but ministers of thought, that they should be used for a
purpose distinctly apprehended, and that, when not so used,
they are worse than useless. The number of words having
been used which is sufficient to convey the meaning per¬
spicuously, every additional word lessens perspicuity. The
words required may be few, or they may be many: no rule
can touch the exigences of individual cases.—(iii.) It is
through failure in the Combination of words and phrases,—
that is, in the construction of sentences,—oftener than
through any other fault, that persons untrained in compo¬
sition fall into obscurity or ambiguity. The books lay
down a few excellent rules for particular cases ; and some
of them are still more instructive through the collection of
examples. The whole doctrine may be gathered under
one principle. Clear thinking must have unity of object: a
complex thought, if clear, has some one element which pre¬
dominates over the rest, and in due subordination to which
all the others are placed. Every sentence is designed for
giving expression to one leading thought: let the sentence
be so framed that the pre-eminence of that thought shall
unequivocally be signified. Let the expression of sub¬
sidiary thoughts be grouped about the leading assertion in
such a way as to show their dependence on it; each inferior
member and clause being likewise so arranged that its own
unity be not lost sight of.
2. In the analysis of persuasion, we were brought so fre¬
quently on questions as to language, that the means of at¬
taining Animation of style can hardly now be described
otherwise than by borrowing from preceding illustrations.—
(i.) In the Choice of words and phrases, animation is at¬
tained through two methods : it is attained directly, by the
preference of the less extensive term to the more extensive ;
it is attained indirectly, by the preference of figurative ex¬
pressions to unfigurative.— (ii.) In regard to the Number
of words, the only rule must be that which was laid down
as affecting perspicuity. The caution, given some time ago,
may be repeated : that animation is likely to require a ful¬
ness of expression greater than that which would be appro-
142 E H E
Rheuma- priate to perspicuity.—(iii.) In the Construction of sen-
tism. tences, likewise, animation is governed by the same prin-
ciple as perspicuity : its great law is the law of unity.
3. The gratification of taste depends primarily on the
choice of objects ; and this is a point beyond our province.
So far, again, as the sense of Beauty is ministered to by
style, three hints only can be given.—(i.) The words can
have no direct power of exciting the emotion, unless as
being representative of images. But this is the source
which gives animation its power. Therefore the methods
of producing animation are efficient also for producing ele¬
gance : and on this side no further rule can be assigned,
(ii.) Words have, however, an indirect power of gratifying
taste, in so far as they are examples of systematic obedience
RHEUMATISM is a painful affection of fibrous and
muscular tissues, affecting principally the larger joints, and
places covered by muscles; as the wrists, elbows, knees,
hip-joint, back, and loins. The internal parts also, as the
heart and diaphragm, are considered capable of being
affected by rheumatism. When the joints about the back
and loins are affected, the complaint is called lumbago;
when the pain is in the hip-joint, it is called sciatica ; and
pleurodyne, or pain in the side, when the muscles of the
chest are affected. Rheumatism may occur either with
fever or without it; in the first case it is termed acute, and
in the second chronic rheumatism. Not long after the
application of the exciting cause, the patient feels pain and
stiffness in one or more joints when he attempts to move
them; this quickly increases till motion becomes almost
impossible, from the excessive pain attending it. Along
with this local and often very general pain there occur
very strong fever, much thirst, heat, and dryness of skin,
strength, fulness, and hardness of pulse. The feverish
symptoms are somewhat increased towards evening; and
when the patient gets warm in bed the pains are more se¬
vere. In a short time some of the affected joints swell, and
the pain is a little relieved, but by no means removed.
As to the causes of this malady, it may be remarked that
rheumatism is a disease of the constitution, and is induced by
a poison circulating in the blood, and probably carried from
one joint to another. The tendency to rheumatism is he¬
reditary ; and in some families this predisposition is very
marked, and the disease is excited by the most trifling
causes. Cold and damp are the most common causes of
the disease, and hence the poor suffer much from it. Per¬
sons who get their clothes wet or damp, and neglect to
change them, are often seized with rheumatism. Acute
rheumatism is most common between the ages of fifteen
and forty. It is not a dangerous disease as long as it is
confined to the joints, but there is always the risk of the
heart being attacked. Dr Parr remarks regarding the
diagnosis of this disease, that “rheumatism is often so
blended with gout as to prevent our seeing which is the
principal complaint. In general, rheumatism occurs in con¬
sequence of an evident cause, as cold; the gout without
any such cause. Rheumatism has no preceding complaints ;
gout is preceded by languor, flatulency, and indigestion ;
rheumatism is the disease of the strong and active ; gout, of
those advanced in life; rheumatism attacks the larger,
gout the smaller joints; rheumatic limbs, though swollen,
are not red like gouty. The fever of gout remits irregu-
larly ; that of rheumatism has exacerbations in the evening,
and remissions in the morning. These circumstances
will contribute to the distinction; but the cases so often
run into each other, and differ by shades so transient and
minute, that the greatest difficulty is found in the distinc¬
tion of particular complaints. Rheumatic pains in the chest
resemble pleurisy, and in the abdomen resemble inflamma¬
tion of the bowels. In each case, the soreness to the
E H E
to recognised laws ; and in so far also as this obedience is Rheuma-
evidence of skill and talent and knowledge, on the part of tism.
the writer or speaker. Therefore grammatical purity is an
element of elegance in style. In this view, a value which
is real, and far from being inconsiderable, belongs to the
cautions which treatises on style give so often, against in¬
correctnesses of expression which do not go far enough to
cause either obscurity or ambiguity, (iii.) Though melody
of language finds its consummation and favourite seat in
metrical compositions, yet prose also has, or may have, its
looser and more flexible rhythm. Therefore, even in
works not poetical, melody is an adjunct or element of ele¬
gance in style. (w. s.)
touch, the pain felt at the origin or insertions of the muscles,
while the more appropriate symptoms of the real inflamma¬
tion of the part are absent, will sufficiently mark the nature
of the disease.”
Acute rheumatism is to be considered as an inflamma¬
tory and febrile disease, and, as such, to be treated in the
first instance by cautious blood-letting, in quantity propor¬
tioned to the violence of the disease and the strength and
constitution of the patient. In all cases the bow'els must be
well opened. The best medicine for this purpose is a
draught containing half an ounce of Epsom salts, twenty
or thirty drops of antimonial wine, thirty drops of colchicum
wine, and an ounce of senna infusion. After the saline
purgative it is often advisable to bring out a copious sweat,
and to continue that sweat over the whole body for thirty-
six or forty-eight hours. The most effectual and approved
method of this is to employ the compound powder of ipeca-
cuan and opium, commonly called Dover’s powder; of this
we give 10 or 12 grains, having put flannels next the pa¬
tient’s skin, and put him in blankets. When this dose has
brought out a sweat, it is to be encouraged by drinking
plentifully of warm gruel or barley-water; but if it should
fail to occasion perspiration, another dose must be given at
an interval of four hours, and this repeated every four hours
till a copious sweat breaks out over the whole body. It
is proper to abstain from drinking till the sweat breaks
out, as drinking too soon after taking the powder is apt to
occasion vomiting. When the perspiration has continued
general and copious for a sufficient time, the load of bed¬
clothes is to be gradually diminished; the body is to be
rubbed dry with wrarm flannel, and great care taken for
some time not to expose it to cold. When the pain and
stiffness of the joints continue after the sweating, some sti¬
mulating embrocation is proper, as turpentine ointment, or
volatile liniment, or camphorated oil. If the pain still con¬
tinue obstinate, it may be necessary to apply a blister to any
of the joints or muscular parts that require it. The essence
of mustard, which has gained some reputation as an exter¬
nal application in rheumatism, is composed of oil of turpen¬
tine, camphor, and a portion of rosemary, to which is added
a small quantity of flour of mustard.
Chronic rheumatism is distinguished by the pained
parts being cold and stiff, and not easily made to perspire;
by being worse in cold weather than in warm ; by the pa¬
tient’s being very sensible to the changes of weather; and
by the general health being not very greatly impaired, at
least till the disease has continued many months. The
affected joints remain for a long time swollen and tender,
and occasionally permanently thickened and distorted.
The cure of chronic rheumatism is very difficult. Many expe¬
dients have been tried, and there is a necessity for varying
the treatment in almost all instances of it. Sweating and
friction are proper commencements, and these must be fol¬
lowed up by warm bathing, warm pumping, the use of the
Bath waters, or sometimes by sea-bathing, by electricity,
TL H I
R H I
143
Rhin. and the frequent use of the flesh-brush. The system is to
be invigorated by bark, wine, iron, and other tonics. The
ammoniated tincture of guaiac, in the dose of two or three
drachms, has been employed with success; also the oil of tur¬
pentine, from ten to thirty drops mixed with honey, or what
has been a good deal employed of late, cod-liver oil, from
half an ounce to an ounce. The above doses are to be
taken twice a-day, and persevered in for some time. Much
attention is to be paid to the wearing of proper clothing,
and not to expose the body to the vicissitudes of the weather,
and especially to avoid cold and damp. Much benefit is
often derived from wearing Pulvermacher’s electric chains.
RHIN, Bas, a department of France, bounded on the
N. by Rhenish Bavaria, E. by Baden, S. by the depart¬
ment of Haut-Rhin, and W. by those of Vosges, Meurthe,
and Moselle : length, from S.E. to N.W., 68 miles; aver¬
age breadth, 30 miles; area, 1914 square miles. It has
a general slope from the Vosges Mountains, extending
along the west of the department, to the Rhine, which
washes its eastern border in a parallel direction. In the
more elevated regions there are rugged and precipitous
rocks, shaggy with forests, along with deep, romantic glens:
in the lower tracts broad rich plains, with vine covered
hills, and some marshes near the bank of the Rhine. In
the former district the prevailing geological formations are
limestone, sandstone, and gypsum; the latter is composed
of tertiary deposits. The whole of the department is
watered by affluents of the Rhine. The largest of these is
the 111, which flows northwards, from Haut-Rhin, nearly
parallel to the main river; and after receiving from the
Vosges in this department the Lieporelle, Scheer, Andlau,
Eger, and Bruche, falls into the Rhine a short distance
below Strasburg. The Zorn, Moder, Surbach, and Lauter
flow from the mountains immediately into the Rhine. Of
these rivers, besides the Rhine, the 111 and the Moder are
navigable. Among the mineral resources of the country
are iron, coal, alum, slate, building-stone, and potters’ clay.
There are mineral springs at several places. The soil of
the country is generally fertile, except the marshy ground
along the Rhine and the barren tracts among the Vosges;
and cultivation is well and extensively carried on. The
winters are long and severe ; in the summer, which comes
on almost without any spring, sudden changes are not un¬
frequent ; but the autumn is in general exceedingly fine.
Corn, potatoes, pulse, beet-root, and hemp are the crops
chiefly raised. Tobacco has been for a long time culti¬
vated here. The vines, though reckoned inferior to those
of Haut-Rhin, produce several excellent wines. There
are in the department about 123,500 acres of corn land,
74,000 occupied by potatoes, 44,400 by vineyards, 158,000
by meadows, and 365,000 by forests. The meadows are
favourable for the rearing of cattle, which are numerous
and of a good breed. Pigs especially are bred in great
quantities, and form an important article of commerce. It
is estimated that there are 50,000 horses, 140,000 horned
cattle, 76,000 sheep, and 90,000 pigs. Manufactures are
extensively carried on: steel and cutlery, fire-arms, swords,
bayonets, surgical iustruments, woollen cloth, calico, leather,
beer, and chemical substances, are among the articles pro¬
duced. The trade is also considerable. Both the natural
and the manufactured products of the country are sent to
other parts of France, and to foreign lands ; much of the
timber being floated down the Rhine in large rafts, and
sawn up in Holland. Communication is facilitated by three
canals,—that between the Rhone and the Rhine, that be¬
tween the Marne and the Rhine, and that of the Bruche,
as well as by two railways,—from Paris to Strasburg, and
from Strasburg to Basel. Bas-Rhin contains four law courts
of the first instance, a tribunal of commerce, a lyceum,
normal seminary, six colleges, and 1000 elementary schools.
It belongs, along with Haut-Rhin, to the diocese of
Strasburg, and to the sixth military division, containing seven
fortified places. Its four arrondissements are as follows:—
Rhin.
Cantons. Communes. Pop. (1856).
Strasburg  12 161 242,145
Sarerne   7 165 102,119
Schelestadt   8 114 136,390
Weissembourg   6 102 83,201
Total  33 542 663,855
Rhix, Haut, a department of France, bounded on the
E. by Baden, S. by Switzerland and the department of
Doubs, W. by those of Haute-Saone and Vosges, and N.
by that of Bas-Rhin : length, 64 miles ; breadth, about 36 ;
area, 1477 square miles. Like the department already de¬
scribed, it lies in the valley of the Rhine, between that
river and the Vosges; the southern extremity being shut
in by the ramifications of Mount Jura. The summits of
the Vosges are all accessible, and not entirely destitute of
vegetation ; many of them being of a rounded form, are
called ballons. Upon the lower slopes there are extensive
forests, penetrated here and there with meadows, contain¬
ing cottages and farms. Lower down, the rich corn-fields
and sloping vineyards, the numerous towns and villages
that stud the country, present a beautiful scene, inclosed
by the silvery border of the Rhine on the east. Next to
this, the largest river in the department is the 111, which
rises in the Vosges, receives most of the other streams,
and carries their waters to the Rhine. A few of the rivers
in the S.W. flow into the Doubs, and thus belong to
the basin of the Rhone, The mountains in some parts
are formed of granitic and other primitive rocks; lower
down, sandstone, limestone, and marl are found; and in
the plain the tertiary formation prevails. Iron, granite,
porphyry, freestone, coal, and potters’ clay are among the
mineral productions of the department. The soil in the
centre of the plain is very good, though of inferior quality
near the mountains and the river. Agriculture is much
attended to. The produce of grain is generally sufficient
for the demand; that of wines superabundant; the best
kinds of Rhine wines raised in France are those which
come from this department. The same crops are generally
raised here as in Bas-Rhin. The extent of arable land is
about 240,000 acres, that of vineyards 29,000, of meadows
133,000, and of forests 350,000. Horses and cattle are
numerous and of good breeds ; there are calculated to be
in the country 25,000 horses, 100,000 horned cattle, 60,000
sheep, and 62,000 pigs. The climate is like that of Bas-
Rhin, only somewhat less mild. Manufactures are actively
carried on. Besides iron furnaces and forges, there are
manufactories of cotton and calico,—of the latter about
500,000 pieces are annually produced ; hosiery, leather,
ironmongery, clocks and watches, paper, and numerous
other articles are also produced. Colmar, Mulhausen, and
Thann are the chief manufacturing towns. Commerce is
actively carried on here ; wine, oil, hemp, timber, coal,
iron, and manufactured articles are exported. Communi¬
cation is promoted by the navigable rivers Rhine and 111;
by the Rhine and Rhone Canal, and by the railway from
Strasburg to Basel. There is an imperial court at Colmar
for the departments of Haut and Bas Rhin ; besides which,
this department has 3 subordinate tribunals, a lyceum, 4 col¬
leges, a normal seminary, 14 superior, and 736 elementary
schools. It is divided into 3 arrondissements as follows :—
Cantons. Communes. Pop. (1856).
Colmar  13 139 208,829
Altkirch  7 159 160,588
Belfort  9 191 130,025
Total  29 489 499,442
The inhabitants, both of this department and of that of
Bas-Rhin, are of German origin ; and a patois oi that lan-
144 R H I
Rhine, guage is generally spoken. A large proportion of the po-
pulation are Protestants, especially in the lower of the two
departments ; and there are many Jews, who, though uni¬
versally hated, have in their hands the most of the trade.
These two departments, which formed the province of
Alsace, once a part of Germany, came into the possession
of France by the peace of Westphalia in 1648.
RHINE (anc. Rhenus, Germ. Rhein, Fr. Rhin, Dutch
Rijn), one of the largest and most celebrated rivers of
Europe, has its source in Switzerland and its mouth in Hol¬
land; Germany on its right bank, and France for apart
of its course on the left. Politically it separates Germany
from France ; but if we define the country rather by the
language and character of the people than by the arbitrary
divisions of states, we must say that the Rhine flows
through the middle of Germany, having on both sides
German inhabitants, speaking the German language. The
name of the river, however, was originally Celtic, hren ; but
when the Celts were expelled by the Germans the name
also gave place to one of a similar sound, hrin, signifying
roaring. It is formed by three brooks from the N.E. slope
of Mount St Gotthart, in the canton of Grisons ; the moun¬
tain dividing between the Italian and German nations, and
sending almost from the same point the Rhone by the lake
of Geneva to the Mediterranean ; the Ticino, by lake
Maggiore to the Po; the Inn, by the Danube to the
Euxine; and the Rhine to the German Ocean. The Fore,
Middle, and Hinder Rhine are the names of the three
brooks which pour down from the glaciers over rocks and
cliffs in tumultuous noisy course, and unite to form the
river. Of these, the last, which is the largest, flows through
a most tremendous chasm, the Via Mala. For a length of
4 miles, perpendicular, sometimes overhanging, rocks rise to
the height of 1600 feet on either side of the river, which
rushes through the abyss, compressed in some places to
a width of 10 feet. The three streams unite above
Cur; and the i*iver thus formed flows northward through
Grisons, afterwards separating the county of Vaduz, be¬
longing to the Prince of Liechtenstein, and the Vorarl-
berg, belonging to Austria, on the right, from the Swiss
canton of St Gall on the left. It pursues this course
onwards to the Lake of Constance through a narrow valley,
which below Werdenberg assumes an entirely different
character, and is called the Upper Rhine valley, or Rheingau.
Instead of the bleak inhospitable rocks of the Grisons,
affording only meadows and pasture land, there is here a
mild climate, luxuriant vegetation, rich vineyards and
corn-fields, woods, and orchards, so as to render this one of
the most beautiful valleys of Germany. The chief town in
the valley is Rheineck, near the head of the Lake of Con¬
stance. Among the affluents of the Rhine above this
point the principal are the Plessur, Lanquart, and 111, from
the right; and from the left, the Tamina, rushing violently
down from Pfeffers into the still turbulent Rhine. At Cur
the river becomes navigable for boats. It enters the lake
of Constance sometimes with such force that its waters
meet those of the Argen and Schussach, which fall into it
from the opposite side. For some distance the stream can
be distinguished in the lake by its motion and its clearer
water among the deep green waves around. It leaves the
lake at Constance to enter another, the Lower or Lake of
Zell. After its exit from the latter it flows westwards, se¬
parating the grand duchy of Baden and the canton of
Schaffhausen from the cantons of Thurgau, Zurich, and
Aargau, and passing Schaffhausen, where it forms the finest
cataract in Europe, 300 feet broad and from 45 to 60
high. From a castle in the vicinity, the inhabitants call
the fall Lauffen, or Great Lauffen, to distinguish it from
another not so remarkable farther down the river. Not far
below Schafthausen the Rhine receives the Thur ; and at a
small village called Coblenz, the Aar, a considerable river
E H i
watering a great part of Switzerland, and augmented by Rhine,
the Reuss and the Limmat. As this last river has its
source not far from the Rhine, above Werdenberg, and is
separated from it only by an elevation of 20 feet, it has
been supposed that the Rhine itself anciently followed this
course, and flowed through the lakes of Wallenstadt and
Zurich into the Aar. Although at the confluence the Aar
is the larger of the two streams, yet as the Rhine preserves
its former course, carrying along with it the waters of the
other which flowed northwards, it still retains the name of
Rhine. By means of this affluent the Rhine receives the
waters of all the Swiss lakes it has not traversed, excepting
only that of Geneva j and the number of glaciers that go
to form the united stream is 270; so that before leaving
Switzerland the Rhine carries away almost all the waters
of that country. Below the confluence of the Aar the
Rhine passes the falls of Waldshut, Lauffenburg, Seck-
ingen, and Rheinfelden, and, flowing through Basel, enters
the second part of its course. At this point it turns to the
north, and leaving the narrow valleys through which it
had previously flowed, enters the broad and beautiful val¬
ley of the Rhine, stretching from the Black Forest
(Schwarzwald) on the E., to the Vosges and their continua¬
tion, the Hardt Mountains, on the W., a distance of 40 or
50 miles ; and from Basel, 200 miles northwards, to Mainz.
During this part of its course the Rhine separates Baden
on the E. from Alsace, now the French departments, Haut
and Bas Rhin, and the Rhenish palatinate, now a part of
Bavaria, on the W.; and afterwards traverses the grand
duchy of Hesse-Darmstadt. It passes by or near the towns
of Strasburg, Carlsruhe, Spire, Mannheim, and Worms,
and receives numerous affluents from the hills on either
side, the largest being the Neckar, rising on the E. slope
of the Black Forest, and flowing in a circuitous course
through Wurtemberg and Baden, till, after passing Heidel¬
berg, it joins the main river at Mannheim. With Mainz
ends the broad, rich, vine-covered valley of the Rhine.
Here, too, the Main enters the river, flowing in a zig-zag
course through Franconia from the Fichtelgebirge on the
E., its tawny waters not readily mingling with the bluish
Rhine. This river, sweeping round from between the
Donnersberg on the left, and the Odenwald on the right
enters a narrow defile which extends as far as Cologne, in¬
cluding some of the finest romantic scenery in Europe.
Between Mainz and Bingen the former northerly course
of the stream is turned by the Taunus Mountains towards
the west, and the southerly exposure and the shelter of the
heights behind renders this part of the banks the best for
the growth of the vine. The level country which the
Rhine incloses in a semicircle from Worms to Bingen is
known by the name of the Gau. At the latter place the
Rhine, receiving the Nahe from the W., turns again in a
N.W. direction, and forces its way through a long narrow
cleft in the mountains. At Coblenz it receives the Moselle
from the left, and a little way farther up the Lahn from
Nassau on the right. At this point, too, it enters the Prus¬
sian dominions, which it had below Bingen separated from
Nassau. Between Coblenz and Cologne the valley is
sometimes narrow, sometimes wider, combining the beauties
of both kinds which appear in the upper part of its course.
Besides the places already mentioned, Bonn is the principal
town here on the Rhine; and there are many old castles
and ruins celebrated in the history or legends of the
country. With Cologne begins the third and lowest por¬
tion of the Rhine. Here it emerges gradually from the
mountains into a low plain, flowing still north-west through
Prussia. It receives below Coblenz the Sieg, the Ruhr,
and the Lippe from the E., and the Erft from the W., and
passes the towns of Dusseldorf and Wesel before leaving
Prussia and entering Holland. A short distance below
this point the Rhine begins to separate into different chan-
R II I R H I 145
Rhine, nels. Near the village of Pannerden it divides into two;
the larger, which flows westwards, taking the name of
Waal, and the other retaining the name of Rhine, flowing
N.N.W. Further on, near Arnheim, a stream called the
Yssel is sent off from the Rhine towards the N., falling
into the Zuyder Zee. This channel was originally formed
by a canal cut by Drusus between the Rhine and Old
Yssel. A third division of the Rhine takes place at Wyck,
where the smaller and more northerly branch retains the
name Rhine, and flows past Utrecht and Leyden, while
the other stream takes the name of Leek. A fourth and
last division takes place at Utrecht into the Vecht, flowing
northwards to the Zuyder Zee, and the old Rhine (Oude
Rijn), which at one time lost itself in the sand, but has
now found an outlet by a canal made in 1807. The Waal,
after leaving the Rhine, unites with the Meuse or Maas,
which farther down sends off a branch on the left, called
the West Kil, and, flowing onwards, joins the Leek, passes
Rotterdam, and enters the ocean at the promontory called
the Hook of Holland. The West Kil expands into the
estuary Hollands Diep, and discharges its waters by a
channel on either side of the island of Over Flackee. Thus
the Rhine enters the sea by six mouths, though the name
is confined to one of the smallest. But it is probable that
this was once the main branch, and that its character has
been changed by various subsequent inundations. All the
branches of the river are connected by smaller streams and
artificial canals; and the whole country, from its lowness,
is so liable to inundations of the river or sea that it has to
be protected with embankments as far up as Wesel in
Prussia. These are generally 25 or 30 feet above the
lowest level of the river ; but notwithstanding all precau¬
tions the country is occasionally laid under water, to the
great loss of property and sometimes of lives. The whole
length of the Rhine is nearly 700 miles, and it drains an
area of more than 75,000 sq. miles. Its breadth at Basel
is 750 feet, near Strasburg 1000, at Mainz 1500, and at
Dusseldorf, the broadest part, 2300; its height at the
source 7650 feet above the sea, at Constance 1335, at
Basel 800, at Strasburg 453, at Mainz 274, and at Co¬
logne 110. It is navigable for ships and steamers as far as
Basel, about 570 miles from the sea; above that place it
is interrupted by cataracts, and navigated only by small
boats. From Basel to Strasburg it floats vessels from 25
to 30 tons burden; from thence to Mainz, 100 to 125;
onwards to Cologne, from 125 to 250 tons; and below
that town it is navigable for the largest ships. The waters
of the Rhine are connected by canals with those of the
Rhone, Danube, and Schelde. Although the free naviga¬
tion of the river is secured by the peace of Vienna, exorbi¬
tant tolls and dues are exacted by every one of the states
which it traverses or washes. The traffic is, however, very
great, both on the river itself and on the railways that line
its banks. The picturesque scenery and many historical and
romantic associations connected w ith the Rhine make it also a
place of resort for vast numbers of tourists from all countries,
and have rendered this king of German rivers the theme of
many a song and tradition among the people of Germany.
Rhine, Province of (Germ. Rheinprovinz), the most
westerly province of the Prussian monarchy, bounded on
the N. and N.E. by the province of Westphalia, E. by
Nassau, Hesse-Darmstadt, and Rhenish Bavaria, S. by
France, and W. by Belgium and Holland. It consists of five
governments, whose areas and population are as follows:—
Square Miles. Circles. Pop. (1855).
Cologne (Coin)  1,534 11 523,680
Dusseldorf  2,084 13 1,007,570
Coblenz  2,324 12 509,164
Treves (Trier)  2,779 13 506,535
Aix-la-Chapelle (^ac^en)... 1,601 11 436,352
10,322 60 2,983,301
The southern and eastern parts of the province are moun- Rhinoceros
tainous, while in the N.W. there is an extent of level II,
grourud, forming the plain of the Lower Rhine. Furthest v J
to the south is the rugged and woody Hunsriick, between
the Rhine, Moselle, and Nahe. The loftiest point in these
mountains, in that part called the Hochwald, has an ele¬
vation of 2526 feet. North of fyiese are some branches
of the Sauerland Mountains, which extend northwards on
the right bank of the Rhine as far as the Ruhr. Part of
the Westerwald also lies in this province; the most remark¬
able portion being the Siebengebirge, a basaltic group near
the Rhine above Bonn. Another chain of hills here is the
Eifel, a continuation of the Ardennes, extending between
the Aho and Moselle, as far as Coblenz. Forests cover
the loftier summits of the mountains, and vineyards their
lower slopes; the plains are occupied with rich pastures
and corn-fields. The chief river is the Rhine, which for
180 miles traverses the province, and receives most of the
other rivers that water it. Among its affluents the Moselle
is the largest, flowing from France through a deep narrow
valley into the left bank of the Rhine. From the same
side flow the Nahe and Erft; while the Sieg, Ruhr, and
Lippe, which flow in the opposite direction, traverse the
province for a part of their course. Agriculture is actively
carried on here. The extent of arable land in 1852 was
2,732,558 acres; of gardens and vineyards, 154,903 acres;
of meadows and pasture land, 1,256,836 acres; ofwmod,
2,031,773 acres; and of waste land, 605,252 acres. Live
stock are reared in considerable numbers ; and the province
contained in 1855, 122,511 horses, 889,789 horned cattle,
492,364 sheep, 127,031 goats, and 242,283 pigs. For
mineral wealth, this is the most important province of Prus¬
sia ; more than 35 per cent, of the total value of mineral
produce, or upwards of L.4,000,000, being derived from it
alone. Silver, iron, copper, lead, marble, porphyry, free¬
stone, basalt, coal, sulphur, alum, &c., are the productions
of the country. In manufacturing industry, the province
of the Rhine occupies the first rank, not only in the Prus¬
sian possessions, but in the whole of Germany. Cotton,
woollen, and silken stuffs; lace, paper, hardware, machinery
of all kinds, musical instruments, beer, brandy, chemical
substances, sugar, and tobacco, are among the articles pro¬
duced. Trade is also in a-flourishing condition here, and
is favoured by the Rhine steamers, and by the railways
which connect the principal towns with one another, and
with the centres of commerce in the adjacent countries.
The country now occupied by the province belonged, after
the fall of the Roman empire, to the Frankish monarchy,
afterwards to that of Lorraine, and finally to Germany.
The various officers appointed by Charlemagne, under the
title of Gaugrafen, gradually became independent of the
imperial power, and rose to be permanent and hereditary
possessors of the land; so that in the eleventh century the
country was divided among many independent states, in¬
cluding some of the possessions of the courts palatine, and
of the archbishops of Mainz, Treves, and Cologne,—the
three spiritual electors of the empire. Prussia had pre¬
viously to the present century only the principality of Mors
and the duchies of Cleve and Yeldern. At the time of
the peace of Luneville in 1801, there were here 100 sepa¬
rate states of the empire; the Rhine was then made the
frontier of France ; and the Prussian possessions fell to that
country. In 1814, not only these lands were restored to
Prussia, but the whole of the other states were united in a
mass, and added to that kingdom, of which they formed at
first the two provinces of Jiilieh-Cleve-Berg and Lower
Rhine, but were subsequently united into one.
RHINOCEROS. See Mammalia.
RHIO, or Riouw, a Dutch seaport in the East Indies,
on the small island of Bintang, off the south extremity of
the Malay peninsula, 50 miles S.E. of Singapore. It is a
Total,
VOL. XIX.
146 R H O
Rhode neat place, regularly laid out, consisting of a European and
Island. a Chinese town ; the former clean and handsome, the latter
somewhat dirty. It has a fort, governor s house, church,
and school. The harbour is large and safe, though the en¬
trance is difficult and dangerous. Rhio is a thriving town,
and has a very considerable trade. Pop. 6000.
RHODE ISLAND, the smallest of the United States of
North America, lying between N. Lat. 41. 18. and 42. 3.,
W. Long. 71. 6. and 71.55.; bounded on the N. and E. by
Massachusetts, S. by the Atlantic, and W. by Connecticut.
Its length from N. to S. is 47 miles; greatest breadth, 37 ;
area, 1306 square miles. The surface, though undulating
and broken, rises in no place to the elevation of mountains,
hardly even to what may be called hills; the highest point,
Mount Hope, in the E. of the state, being only 300 feet
above the sea. Narraganset Bay, a fine sheet of water,
stretches northwards from the Atlantic, and divides the
state into two unequal portions. Its length is about 30
miles, and its breadth about 12. It has various arms
stretching into the land, especially on the eastern side.
Among these are Mount Hope Bay, stretching to the N. E.;
Providence Bay, to the N.; and Greenwich Bay, to the
N.W. The greater part of the state lies to the W. of this
inlet, a small portion to the E., and some part is composed
of the islands in the bay. Rhode Island, which has given
its name to the state, has a length of 15 miles, an average
breadth of 3, and an area of about 50 square miles. The
fertility of its soil, and mildness and salubrity of its climate,
have made this a favourite place of resort, and obtained for it
the appellation of the Eden of America. To the W. of it
lies the island of Canonicut, to the N.W. Prudence Island ;
while Block Island, in the Atlantic, about 10 miles off the
coast, also belongs to this state. The rivers that water the
state are of no great length or volume, but flow with a con¬
siderable foil and a steady supply of water, so as to afford
good water-power. Providence River, flowing southwards
from Massachusetts into the north arm of Narraganset
Bay, with its affluents the Pawtucket and Pawtuxet, and
the Pawcatuck, which waters the S.W. of the state, and
falls into Stonington harbour in Connecticut, are the prin¬
cipal streams that flow through Rhode Island state. I he
mineral resources of the country are not of much import¬
ance. Iron, anthracite coal, limestone, marble, and ser¬
pentine have been obtained here ; but no mines, and only
a few quarries, are worked. The continental part of the
state has a soil aomposed of gravelly loam, which is pretty
fertile, though somewhat difficult of cultivation. On the
islands, where the formation is in general slaty, the soil is
more productive. Throughout the state the soil is more
suitable for grazing and dairy forming than for the plough.
Rhode Island itself is celebrated for its cattle and sheep,
butter and cheese. The whole extent of cultivated
land in the state amounted in 1850 to 356,487 acres, and
the produce was 539,201 bushels of maize, 215,232 of oats,
651,029 of potatoes, 5036 of grass seeds, 129,692 lb. of
wool, 995,670 lb. of butter, 316,508 lb. of cheese, and
74,818 tons of hay; besides more or less of rye, barley,
wheat, pulse, hops, &c. The value of orchard fruits
amounted to L. 13,328, that of market products to L.20,475,
that of live stock to L.319,293; and that of slaughtered
animals to L. 139,056. Oak, chestnut, walnut, and pine
trees are the chief kinds of timber grown in the state ; but
there are no extensive forests. The climate is mild and
temperate, not unlike that of Great Britain, the vicinity of
the ocean tending to moderate the heat of the summer and
the severity of the winter. Manufacturing industry is ex¬
tensively developed in Rhode Island, and is assisted by the
great amount of w-ater-power in the country. It contained
in 1850,1144 establishments, each producing goods upwards
of L.100 in value. Among these were 158 cotton factories,
with an aggregate capital of L. 1,335,000, employing 4959
R H 0
men and 5916 women, consuming L.755,950 worth of raw Rhode
materials, and producing goods to the value of L. 1,343,147; Island.
45 woollen factories, with a capital of L.202,600, employing
987 men and 771 women, consuming L.292,780 worth of
raw materials, and producing goods valued at L.496,209;
21 forges, furnaces, &c., with a capital of L.127,200,
employing 1020 men, consuming L.77,085 worth of raw
materials, and producing 11,208 tons of cast and wrought
iron, valued at L.198,144 ; several breweries and distilleries ;
and 10 tanneries, with a capital of L.8580, consuming
L.8460 worth of raw material, and producing manufactured
leather to the value of L. 15,632. In the manufacture of
cotton this state is, in proportion to its population, the first,
and in that of woollen stuffs the second among the states of
the Union. Ship-building is not so much attended to now
as it once was, owing to the failure of the necessary supply
of timber. An active commerce is carried on, both with
foreign countries and with the seaports of the United States.
Cotton and woollen stuffs, along with apples, cheese, and
butter, form the principal articles exported. The value of
the imports in 1852 was L.42,017, and that of the exports
L.37,325. The number of vessels built in the year was
14, tonnage 3205 ; the total tonnage of those owned in the
state 41,049, of those that entered 20,350, and of those
that cleared 16,929. Many of the ships are employed in
the whale, cod, and mackerel fishery. Internal communi¬
cation is provided for by railways, of which there were in
January 1857, 65 miles in operation, connecting Providence
the capital, with the chief towns in the adjacent states.
There are in Rhode Island 93 banks, 38 of which are in
Providence, besides 18 savings-banks, containing in May
1855 deposits to the amount of more than a million ster¬
ling. The executive power is vested in a governor, elected
annually by the people, along with a lieutenant-governor,
secretary of state, treasurer, and auditor, appointed in the
same way. The salary of the governor is L.200. Legisla¬
tive power is in the hands of a general assembly, consisting
of a senate, composed of the governor, lieutenant-governor,
and a member from each of the 32 towns in the state, and
a house of representatives of 72 members. The right of
voting, and of being elected to public office or membership
of the legislature, is granted to every citizen of the United
States owning real estate to the value of L.27, or L.l, 8s.
a year. The judicial establishments consist of a supreme
court and a court of common pleas; the former consists of
one chief and three associate justices ; the latter is held by
one member of the supreme court in each county of the
state. There is a state prison and a jail at Providence.
Considerable attention is paid by the government to edu¬
cation. There is a university at Providence, which is in a
flourishing condition. Besides this, there were, in 1850, 46
academies, with 75 teachers and 1601 scholars; and 416
primary public schools, with 518 teachers and 23,130 scho¬
lars. A normal school and a reformatory school are sup¬
ported by the state ; and there is a permanent school fund
of L.15,391. There were in the state, according to the
census of 1850, in all 221 places of worship, with 98,736
sittings ; of the former, 100 belonged to Baptists, 26 to
Episcopalians, 23 to Methodists, 21 to Congregationalists,
18 to Quakers, 7 each to Roman Catholics and Christians,
4 each to the Union Church, Unitarians, and Universalists,
2 each Swedenborgians and the Free Church, and 1 each
to Jews, Mariners, and Second Adventists. The total
amount of taxable property in Rhode Island in 1855 was
L.23,161,490. The country was originally occupied by the
Narraganset Indians, and was first colonized by Europeans
in 1636. Roger Williams, expelled from Massachusetts on
account of his religious and political opinions, descended
the Pawtucket, and settled on a piece of land which he
bought from the Indians, and called Providence, in acknow¬
ledgment of “ God’s merciful providence to him in his dis-
H II o
Rhodes, tress.” He was soon joined by a number of settlers; and
he not only was among the first who allowed perfect liberty
of conscience to men of all religions, but did much to en¬
lighten and elevate the natives, whom he restrained by
his mild influence from many acts of violence against his
former persecutors. Two years afterwards another settle¬
ment was formed at Newport, by William Coddington and
seventeen others, who had also been expelled from Massa¬
chusetts. Other settlements were subsequently formed;
and these were united under the title of Rhode Island and
Providence Plantations, and received a charter from Charles
II. in 1663. This being one of the most liberal granted in
America remained in force for 180 years. For a long time
after the settlement of the colony, the prosperity and hap¬
piness of its people is attested by the barrenness of its annals
in events. But in the revolutionary war the state played a
conspicuous part. From the beginning of the contest
Rhode Island was resolutely opposed to the British claims,
and sent delegates to the first Congress in 1765. In 1776
a strong British force, under Clinton and Parker, sailed
from New York, and occupied Rhode Island, blockading in
the harbour of Providence the squadron of Commodore
Hopkins. The Americans laid siege to Newport in 1778,
but without success ; and during their retreat an indecisive
action took place at Quaker Hill. In 1779 Newport was
abandoned by the British ; and in the following year a
French force arrived here, and the country was not further
molested by the British. Rhode Island was the last of the
original states to agree to the constitution, and only did so
in 1790. To the war with Britain in 1812 the majority in
this state was opposed ; and like the neighbouring states it
gave no support to the arms of the Union. In 1840 an
association was formed for the purpose of amending the
state constitution, and they called a convention for this pur¬
pose. A new constitution was framed, and supported by a
party in the state; but owing to the illegality with which it
had been prepared, was not recognised by the government,
who proceeded, by another convention, to draw up a second
constitution. The general excitement that prevailed, and
the attempts of the suffrage party, as they were called who
supported the illegal constitution, to obtain the government,
prevented the other scheme from coming into operation ;
but their designs were finally frustrated, and a third consti¬
tution framed, which was agreed to nearly unanimously in
1844. Rhode Island is divided into five counties as fol¬
lows :—
Pop. (1850). Capitals.
Bristol     8,514 Bristol.
Kent  15,068 E. Greenwich.
Newport 20,007 Newport.
Providence  87,525 Providence.
Washington  16,430 Kingston.
Total 147,544
RHODES, an island in the Aegean Sea, belonging to
the Turkish empire, lying off the S.W. coast of Asia Minor,
between N. Lat. 35. 52. and 36. 28, E. Long. 27. 40. and
28. 15.; about 10 miles S. of Cape Alepo. Its length is
about 45 miles from N.E. to S.W., its greatest breadth 18
miles, and its area nearly 424 square miles.
■Aspect of The island is diversified in its surface, and contains in
the coun- its centre an elevated mountain named Artemira (anciently
try* Atabyris) which commands a view of the whole island.
From this height there is a most extensive prospect of the
island around its base ; of the elevated coast of Asia Minor
on the N.; on the N.W. the Archipelago, studded with its
numerous islands ; on the S.W. is seen Mount Ida in Crete,
veiled in clouds; and on the S. and S.E. the vast expanse
of waters which wash the African shore. Here and there
on the island are seen ranges of moderately elevated hills,
on which are found numbers of ancient pines, planted by
the hand of nature. These forests were formerly very
R II O
147
thick, but they are now greatly thinned by the Turks, who Rhodes,
cut them down, and take no care to plant others in their
place. On the farther side of the nearest range of hills the
surface of the island falls lower, and several hills in the
form of amphitheatres extend their bases as far as the
sea.
Rhodes was famed in ancient times for its delightful Climate,
climate, and it still maintains its former reputation. The
air is pure and salubrious, and there is hardly a day through¬
out the year in which the sun is not visible. The winds
are liable to little variation; they blow from the west often
with great violence for nine months in the year, and at
other times from the north; and they moderate the sum¬
mer heats, which are chiefly felt during the months of July
and August, when the hot winds blow from the coast of
Anatolia.
Rhodes, in addition to its fine climate, is blessed with a Produce,
fertile soil, and produces a variety of the finest fruits and
vegetables. Numerous streams and rivulets, which take
their rise from the summit of Mount Artemira, water the
surrounding plains and valleys of the island. The inhabi¬
tants have a great taste for gardens; and around the vil¬
lages are several cultivated fields and orchards, containing
fig, pomegranate, and orange trees. On the sloping hills
carob-trees, and others both useful and agreeable, still grow
abundantly; the vine also holds its place, and produces a
species of wine which was highly valued by the ancients,
though it seems to have degenerated greatly in modern
times. The valleys afford rich pastures, and the plains
produce every species of grain : the wheat is of an excel¬
lent quality; and, but for the extortions of its barbarian
rulers, the island might be the seat of agriculture as well as
commerce, and might export large quantities of corn.
The commerce of the island has been, since 1846, in- Commerce,
creasing at a rapid rate. Many British manufactures are
imported by indirect routes, through Smyrna, Constanti¬
nople, Beyrout, and other places. Cotton stuffs, calicoes,
and gray linen are among the goods most in demand. It
is not so much, however, the peasantry of the island who
use these British goods, for they prefer their own home¬
made stuffs; but they are exported to the neighbouring
coast of Anatolia, between Boudroum and Adalia, and
thence conveyed into the interior. The following table
exhibits the shipping and trade of Rhodes from 1851 to
1855 :—
Number of
Vessels.
Tonnage.
Crews.
Value of
Imports.
Value of
Exports.
1851 ..
1852 ..
1853 ..
1854 ..
1855 ..
2031
2116
2287
2156
2803
100,027
112,847
114,222
115,882
134,502
9,139
15,101
15,985
15,615
18,065
L.39,561
140,721
143,577
187,545
181,704
L.15,477
30,770
52,357
109,923
108,884
The expansion of the trade has been very much owing to
the establishment of steam navigation direct to the island.
As yet there are no British steamers that call here; but
there are many which ply regularly on this line under the
French, Austrian, and Turkish flags.
The only town of any importance in the island is the Capital,
capital, Rhodes, which stands at the north-east extremity.
It rises in an imposing manner from the sea, on a gentle
slope in the form of an amphitheatre. It is surrounded
with walls and towers, and defended by a large moated
castle of great strength. These fortifications are all the
work of the Knights of St John. Above them rise the
domes and minarets of the mosques, and the tufted stems
of the palm-trees, which adorn this like most other oriental
towns. The interior of the city does not correspond to its
outward appearance. Those ancient streets which were
laid out with such art and on so great a scale, and that
148 R H O
Rhodes, uniform series of buildings which were monuments of taste,
have been succeeded by narrow winding streets, and build¬
ings without grace, ornament, or regularity. I here are
still some monuments which testify that the island was once
possessed by the Knights of Rhodes, namely, their arms,
which still adorn the fronts of several buildings, and their
tombstones in the church of St John ; the walls and towers
also bear marks of their heroic resistance to the Ottoman
arms. But there is no longer any monument of its gran¬
deur in times of antiquity; there is no theatre, no mag¬
nificent temple or spacious portico. The statues and
paintings for which Rhodes was famed in the early ages of
Greece and Rome have all been removed. Not a vestige
is to be seen of the Colossus, described as 70 cubits high,
and reckoned one of the wonders of the world. The streets
bear everywhere marks of desolation. One half of the
houses in the city are in ruins, and one half in the suburbs
are uninhabited, though those occupied by the Greek in¬
habitants are generally good stone buildings, surrounded
with gardens well stocked with all the fruits of the climate.
The principal buildings which remain are the church of St
John, which is become the principal mosque; the hospital,
whence the charity of the knights was liberally dispensed
to the faithful from all quarters of the world, and which has
been transformed into public granaries; the palace of the
grand-master, now the residence of the pasha; and the se¬
nate-house, which still contains some marbles and ancient
columns. Of the streets, the best and widest is a long
street which is still called the Street of the Knights. It is
perfectly straight, and formed of old houses, on which re¬
main the armorial bearings of the members of the order.
On some of these buildings are still seen the arms of the
Popes and of some of the royal and noble houses of
Europe.
Rhodes has at present two harbours. The least of these
lies towards the east, and its entrance is obstructed by a
barrier of rocks, so as to admit the entrance of but one ship
at a time. It is sufficiently sheltered, but by the negligence
of the Turks the sand has been suffered to accumulate until
it has been gradually almost choked up. The other har¬
bour is larger, and also in a bad condition: here frigates of
thirty guns may anchor, and are sheltered from the west
winds, though they are exposed to the north and north-east
winds. The two harbours are separated by a mole which
runs obliquely into the sea. At the eastern entrance is the
fort of St Elmo, with a light-house; but the light is very
feeble, and visible only a few miles. The town contains a
Turkish library and three Mohammedan colleges. Manu¬
factures of red leather and shoes are carried on here. Pop.
about 15,000. The sites of Lindus, Jalysus, and Camirus,
which in ancient times were the chief towns in the island,
are now marked by insignificant villages, with a few remains
of antiquity.
History. In the very earliest times the beauty and fertility of the
island seem to have brought it into notice : it is said to have
had several names; and the one that it has since retained
signifies probably the Island of Roses, from pdSov, a rose,
which was its symbol. After various poetical legends about
its original inhabitants, we learn that it was colonized by
the Dorians, who emigrated from their native land: and
that its cities, Lindus, Jalysus, and Camirus, formed, along
with Cos, Cnidus, and Halicarnassus, the Dorian Confe-
deracy, or Hexapolis, worshipping at the common sanctuary
of Apollo on the Triopian headland. The island was then
divided among the three confederate towns, and soon at¬
tained a flourishing condition, sending out colonies to the
coasts of Lycia, Cilicia, Sicily, Italy, Spain, and the Balearic
Islands. It was not till a later period, however, that Rhodes
became one of the great maritime and political powers in
Greece. After the Persian wars it belonged to the Athe¬
nian confederacy, and remained in subjection to it for the
D E S.
most part of the Peloponnesian war. But in 412 the aris- Rhodes,
tocratic party gained the ascendant, and the Rhodians de-
serted the Athenian cause. In 408 the new capital, Rhodes,
was built and peopled by the other three cities. The archi¬
tect was Hippodamus of Miletus, who had planned and em¬
bellished the Piraeus at Athens; and the new city soon
became one of the most splendid in the world, adorned with
magnificent buildings and exquisite works of art. When
Conon and his fleet restored the Athenian power by his
victory off Cnidus, Rhodes again embraced the victorious
cause; but her fidelity during the subsequent contests was
not very great. Sparta afterwards received the allegiance
of the island; and in the Social War (b.c. 157-5) it joined
the alliance against Athens ; and, with the assistance of the
Carian monarch Mausolus, succeeded in achieving independ¬
ence. But finding the power of that king dangerous to
their liberties, the Rhodians once more sued for the Athe¬
nian protection, which they obtained through the eloquence
of Demosthenes. But neither they nor the rest of Greece
could resist the overwhelming power of Macedonia, though
Memnon, a Rhodian, was one of the ablest generals under
the last Persian king, and attempted to check the career of
Alexander. Rhodes received a Macedonian garrison; but
it was expelled after the death of Alexander, and a resolute
resistance was begun to the Macedonian power. This
formed one of the most illustrious periods in the history of
the island. The capital was besieged in 303 B.c. by De¬
metrius Poliorcetes, with a large army and a complete train
of the artillery of that age. Although a breach was effected
in the walls, the desperate valour of the defenders foiled all
the attempts to carry it by assault, and cost the besiegers
the lives of some of their generals and a great number of
their soldiers. This heroic resistance obtained for the
Rhodians great renown; they enjoyed the friendship of
Rome, and obtained possession of some of the adjacent
islands and coasts. P'or arts as well as arms the island was
then renowned : ASschines, who had contended in eloquence
with the greatest of orators, opened a school of rhetoric
here ; Protogenes embellished the city with his paintings;
and Chares of Lindus with the celebrated statue, in which
“ the gigantic king of day
On his own Rhodes looks down;”
and the Rhodian laws, especially on maritime affairs, were
reckoned the best in antiquity, and many of them adopted
into the Roman code. The Colossus, not probably striding
over tbe harbour, stood for fifty-six years, till an earthquake
prostrated it in 224 B.c. Being the sovereigns of the seas,
the Rhodians by their fleets rendered good service to Rome,
with whom they were in alliance, and retained their inde¬
pendence for a long time. The severest blow they suffered
was from Cassius in 42 B.c., who plundered it even to the
bare temple walls in the desperate cause of liberty, for the
island had embraced the side of Caesar. Under the empire
the liberty of Rhodes was permitted and withdrawn accord¬
ing to the caprice of the sovereign. It continued a part of
the Roman empire; after its partition, of the Eastern, till
616 a.d., when Chosroes the Persian obtained possession
of it for a short time. It was subsequently conquered by
Moawiyah, one of Othman’s generals; but, recovered by
the Byzantine empire, it proved the last of their Asiatic
possessions that succumbed to the infidel. In 1308 it was
granted by the Emperor Emmanuel to the Knights of St
John, who soon after resisted a siege by the Sultan Oth-
man. They strengthened the natural advantages of the
place by skilful fortifications; and by discipline and equip¬
ments made themselves nearly a match for the superior
numbers of the Turks. Nor did the knights restrict their
efforts to self-defence; they conquered Smyrna, and esta¬
blished an outpost there in 1344; and at a later period
formed a league against the common enemy of Christendom.
II H O
Rhodo- But in 1401 Smyrna was taken by Timour: in 1480 Ma-
mann hornet II. besieged Rhodes with a vast train of artillery;
and, though then averted by the courage of its few defend-
Rhone. ers^ dow-nfaii 0f the place could not long be averted.
The last and most famous siege of Rhodes took place in
1522, when, after a desperate resistance for four months
to the overwhelming numbers of the Ottomans, the knights,
being left unassisted by all the European powers, capitu¬
lated on honourable terms, and evacuated the island. On
the first day of 1523, Villiers de Lisle Adam, the grand¬
master, embarked, the last of the small band, carrying away
all the property of the order, and leaving the ruins of their
city to the enemy. The knights subsequently settled in
Malta, where they also gained great renown. Rhodes has
since been in the possession of the Turks, and is now the
residence of the pasha of the Archipelago. Pop. 20,000,
chiefly Greeks, but including 5000 Turks and about 1000
Jews.
RHODOMANN, Laurentius, a German scholar, was
born at Sarswerfen in 1546, and was educated at the ex¬
pense of the Count of Stolberg. The great effort of his
life was to revive Greek learning. He studied it closely
at the university of Rostock. He then taught it with
enthusiasm at Jena. His zeal in the same cause did not
cease after his translation in 1601 to the chair of history at
Wittenberg. He continued to write Greek verses, and to
edit and translate Greek works till shortly before his death
in 1606. Among the most important publications by
Rhodomann are the following editions of Greek authors :—
Anonymi Poetce Grceci, 8vo, Leipsic, 1588; Quintus
Calaber, Hanover, 1604 ; and Diodorus Siculus, in 2 vols.,
Hanover, 1604.
RHOMBOID, and RHOMBUS. See Geometry ;
Definitions.
RHONE (anc. Rhodanus), a river of Europe, belong¬
ing principally to France, rises in Switzerland at the Furka
Pass, near Mount St Gotthardt, whence also flows the
Rhine in an opposite direction. It dashes down in a series
of cascades, and flows south-west through the canton of
Valais, receiving numerous affluents from the Bernese Alps
on the right, and the Pennine on the left. At Martigny
the river takes an abrupt turn to the north-west, and flows
through a flat, swampy, and very unhealthy valley into the
Lake of Geneva, which stretches in the form of a half¬
moon between the steep rocks and cliffs of Savoy on the
south, and the sloping vineyards of the Pays de Vaud on
the north. The pure, blue waters of the swiftly-flowing
river issue from the lake at Geneva; but they do not long
retain their clear colour, as they mingle with the muddy
Arve descending from Mont Blanc. After traversing the
canton of Geneva in a S.W. direction, the Rhone leaves
Switzerland, and flows southwards along the frontier be¬
tween France and Savoy, through a narrow pass between
the Alps and Mount Jura. A road traverses the defile mid¬
way up the declivity, and this entrance to France is com¬
manded by the Fort de 1’Ecluse, a strong fortress, with
batteries hewn out of the solid rock. A short distance
below this fort is the Perte du Rhone, where the river
plunges into a deep chasm, covered over with massive
fragments of rock that have descended upon it. Many of
these have been removed by the Sardinian government, so
that the cascade is not so remarkable as it once was. At
this place the Rhone receives from the right the Valserine,
a picturesque stream flowing down from Mount Jura. The
southerly course of the river continues as far as St Genis,
near which it receives from the south the Guiers, a small
stream which separates Italy from France. At this point
the Rhone turns abruptly to the N.W., separating the
French departments of Ain and Isere, which it continues
to divide, flowing afterwards more towards the west, until
it reaches Lyons; receiving during its course the Ain
R H O 149
from the north, and emerging a short distance above Lyons Rhone,
from the hilly region it had been previously traversing.
At Lyons the sluggish, gently-flowing Saone from the north
joins the Rhone, its muddy water being distinguishable for
some distance from the clearer river that it joins. Ihe
united stream has a considerable breadth, and flows nearly
due south, through a beautiful country studded with
villages, among rows of poplar and willow trees. It
separates the departments of Rhone, Loire, Ardeche, and
Gard on the right, from those of Isere, Drome, Vaucluse,
and Bouches-du-Rhone on the left, and falls into the
Mediterranean by two mouths in the last of these depart¬
ments. The chief affluents of the Rhone from the right,
flowing from the Cevennes, are the Doux, Ardeche, Ceze,
and Garden, and they are generally of small size ; while
on the left the river receives from the Alps the larger
tributaries Isere, Drome, Vigne, and Durance. The chief
towns along this part of the Rhone are the ancient Vienne,
Valence, Montelimart, Orange (which gave a title to the
illustrious house of Nassau), and Avignon, once the place
of exile of the Popes. At Arles the river divides into
the little Rhone, flowing S.W., and the main stream pur¬
suing a S.E. course. Neither of these channels is of much
use for navigation, as their mouths are obstructed by bars;
but vessels may enter by two canals, that of Martigues
from the E., and that of Beaucaire from the W. From
Lyons to the sea the Rhone is regularly navigated by
steamers, though the rapidity of the current and the
shifting sands in the bed of the river render the progress
upwards difficult. Above Lyons steamers ply, but not so
regularly, on the Rhone as far as Seyssel, on the Swiss
frontier, and on the Saone as far as Chalons. The whole
length of the Rhone is about 530 miles, of which 350 are
in France: the height of its source is 5904 feet above the
sea, that of the Lake of Geneva 1142 feet. The area
watered by the Rhone and its affluents is estimated at
11,300 square miles.
Rhone, a department of France, next to that of Seine
the smallest in the kingdom, bounded on the N. by the
department of Saone-et-Loire, E. by those of Ain and
Isere, S. and W. by that of Loire : length, from N. to S.,
60 miles; greatest breadth, 28 ; area, 1042 square miles.
The western part of the department is occupied by a pro¬
longation northwards of the Cevennes, known by the
names of the Lyonnais, Beaujolais, and Charolais heights.
This range here forms the watershed between the Medi¬
terranean and the Atlantic ; for the rivers that descend its
eastern slope flow southwards by the Saone and Rhone
into the Mediterranean, and those that run down the
opposite side swell the volume of water which the Loire
pours into the Atlantic. One of the highest summits of
this chain, near the middle of the west side of the depart¬
ment, is Tarare, which rises to the height of 4500 feet.
The greater part of the chain has a bare, steep, and rugged
character, though the mountains of Charolais to the north
have more gentle slopes, and are generally well wooded.
From the neighbourhood of Beaujeu, in the north of the
department, two branches diverge from the principal
range,—one towards the N.E., and the other to the S.E.,
between the valleys of the Azergue and Saone. From
the southern part of the chain, another offset, the Mont
d’Or, stretches N.E., and divides the Brevanne from the
Saone and Rhone. The mountains are for the most part
composed of granitic and other primitive rocks ; the
country further down belongs to the secondary, and that
along the rivers to the tertiary formation. Coal and copper
are the most valuable minerals of the country; both are
worked to some extent. Porphyry, marble, sandstone,
gypsum, and potters’ clay are also found here. The de¬
partment is almost entirely watered by the affluents of the
Saone and Rhone, which was its eastern border, a very
150 R II U
Rhubarb, small part only lying to the west of the hills. The soil is
for the most part not fertile; and so, notwithstanding the
excellent cultivation, the produce of grain is not sufficient
for home consumption. Potatoes, however, are more ex¬
tensively produced. The most important of the natural
productions of Rhone are its wines, many of which are
highly esteemed. The climate is healthy, but from the
mountainous nature of the country somewhat colder than
other regions in the same latitude. The extent of arable
land is estimated at 353,000 acres, of meadows 90,000,
and of vineyards 75,000. The forests are of small extent,
and afford comparatively little wood. Besides the crops
already mentioned, pulse, madder, millet, hemp, and flax
are raised. The quantity of wine produced annually is
about 17,000,000 gallons. Large numbers of cattle are
reared ; also goats in the hilly regions, and many silk¬
worms. Rhone contains about 10,000 horses, 71,000
horned cattle, 66,000 sheep, 18,000 goats, and 14,000 pigs.
The annual value of the coal worked is about L.8000, of
the copper L.10,000, and that of the produce of all the
quarries L.20,000. It is for manufactures, however, that
the department is chiefly distinguished. Lyons is for silk
fabrics the most celebrated city in Europe ; satins, velvets,
lace, shawls, ribands, hosiery, See., are also made in great
quantities. Muslin, hats, paper, glass, hardware, machinery,
and other articles are among the manufactures of the
country. There is an active trade in raw and manufactured
articles, as well as in wines, coal, timber, &c. Communi¬
cation is facilitated by the two navigable rivers, by the
canal of Givors in the south of the department, and by the
railways from Chalons to Lyons, and from Lyons to St
Etienne. The department forms the diocese of Lyons, and
contains a court of appeal at Lyons and two inferior tribunals,
an academy of theology, science, and literature, a secondary
school of medicine, a lyceum, normal seminary, college, 10
superior and 663 elementary schools. Its divisions are as
follows:—
Cantons. Communes. Pop. (1856).
Lyons  17 129 460,034
Viilefranche   9 130 165,957
Total   26 259 625,971
The capital is Lyons.
RHUBARB is the root of various species of Hheum,
Nat. Ord. Polygonacece. The rhubarb of commerce is
obtained through various sources, and appears to have
been known to the ancients, although much obscurity
invests the history of the Pha or Rheon of the ancient
Greek writers, and the rhacoma of the Romans. These
names are supposed to have been applied to the dried roots
of Rheum rkaponticum of Linnseus, which is a native of
Thracia, and of the coasts of the Euxine and Caspian seas,
and part of Siberia. The rhubarb root was first introduced
into European pharmacy by the Arabians, and was highly
valued by Avicenna. The finer kinds of rhubarb are
received from Chinese Tartary and possibly from Thibet.
It finds its way to Europe through Russia; and from the
lact, that the best kind was formerly sold by the merchants
of Anadoli or Anatolia, it was called Turkey rhubarb.
I his sort is now generally imported from Russia and
Turkey. 'Ihere is another sort, rather inferior, which is
called Canton or East Indian rhubarb, imported from
Canton or Singapore. Of late, much rhubarb root has been
prepared in Europe, and is either used as a milder medicine
or for the purpose of sophisticating the finer foreign sorts.
1 he town of Banbury in Oxfordshire has long been
famous for the cultivation and preparation of English
rhubarb, which is the product of Rheum rhaponticum;
no other species is found to be of any value medici¬
nally. Within the last few years the petioles or leaf-stalks
of the various species of rhubarb have become a most
II II Y
important staple of our vegetable markets, in consequence
of their agreeable subacidity and their succulence, which
renders them very useful and wholesome in tarts and other
forms of food. The chief species of rhubarb now known
are:—-Rheum palmatum (Linn.), supposed to yield the
l urxey rhubarb root; it is also cultivated in this country
as a culinary vegetable. R. undulatum (Linn.) is the
source of the French rhubarb. R. compactum (Linn.) is
also cultivated in France for its root, which is prepared to
imitate the foreign drug. R. Emodi (Waliich) yields that
kind of East Indian rhubarb known in trade as Himalayan ;
it is also a favourite garden species. R. rhaponticum
(Linn.) is the commonest kind in cultivation in our gardens.
Hundreds of tons of the leaf-stalks of this species are
sent to our markets every week during the season, and
form a cheap and refreshing food for all classes. The
roots also are prepared as before stated. Ten or twelve
other species are known, and some of them are probably as
well adapted for the purposes of medicine or cookery as those
above mentioned, but they have not been so well examined.
The quantity of rhubarb root imported in 1858 was
211,117 lb., the estimated value of which was L.39,300.
'I his large quantity is entirely consumed in pharmacy, it
being applied to no other use than as a mild aperient
medicine. ' (x c A )
RHUDDLAN, or Rhyddlan, a parliamentary borough
of N. Males, county of Flint, on the Clwyd, which is here
crossed by two bridges, 3 miles N.N.W. of St Asaph. It
was once a large and important place, but is now distin¬
guished for little except its ancient remains ; it contains
only a few streets, but is generally well built, and has
several places of worship belonging to Wesleyan and Cal-
vinistic Methodists, Baptists, and Independents. The castle
of RhuJdlan is a square red stone edifice, with six massive
round towers, and has little pretensions to architectural
elegance. Its age is not certainly known, but it was in
existence in the eleventh century, and was attacked and
burned by King Harold in 1063. In after-times it was a
place of much importance and the scene of many historical
events. Of the house where Edward I. held in 1283 the
Parliament which secured the Welsh rights a portion still
remains, and is marked by an appropriate inscription. It
was in Rhuddlan that the infant son of Edward I. was
acknowledged Prince of Wales. In the civil war the castle
was held by the royalists, but was taken by General Mytton
in 1646, and soon after dismantled. The River Clwyd is
navigable as far as Rhuddlan for vessels of 60 tons. Pop.
(1851) of the borough, 1472 ; of the parish, 3049.
RHUMB, and RHUMBLINE. See Navigation.
RHYME (Sax. rim; Germ, reim), in poetry, is the
consonance of sounds in the last syllable or syllables of
verses. In the former case it is called male rhyme, in the
latter female. Some derive it from the Greek peOpos,
which is a palpable error. Rhyme, as an accompaniment
of verse, cannot be traced farther back than to the rymours
of Normandy, the troubadours of Provence, and the min¬
nesingers of Germany. (See Poetry.)
RHY1HM, (Gr. pvOpos, measure) the metrical ar¬
rangement of speech. (See Rhetoric.)
RHYTHMOMETER, from pv6p.bs, and perpov, an in¬
strument contrived to measure equal portions of sounds in
musical performance, and to mark the time, at longer or
shorter intervals, according to adjustment of the me¬
chanism. Maelzel’s metronome is the instrument of this
kind most generally in use, although one more simple and
less costly might easily be made. Diderot, in the fourth
memoir of his mathematical works, suggested a musical
chronometer, but added, “ Le seul bon chronometre que
Ton puisse avoir, e’est un habile musicien qui ait du gout,
qui ait bien lui la musique qu’il doit faire executer, et qui
sache en battre la mesure.” The chief utility of a rhyth-
Ruddlan
II
Rhythmo-
meter.
R I A
RIB
151
Riazan. mometer consists in the power of fixing the duration of
^ time which a composer wishes to give to the equalized por¬
tions of his composition, as indicated by the vibrations of a
pendulum, and as marked by relative numerals affixed to
characters of musical notation. Almost all pieces of music
of classical importance are now printed with indications of
the metronome measures of time; and this is a great
improvement, inasmuch as before the present century
we had nothing but tradition, and often no tradition at
all, to guide us in the comparative slowness or quickness
with which the notes of a musical composition were to be
performed. (o. F. G.)
RIAZAN, or Rjazan, a government of European
Russia, bounded on the N. by that of Vladimir, E. and S.
by that of Tambov, and W. by those of Tula and Mos¬
cow, lying between N. Eat. 53. and 55. 40., E. Long. 38.
18. and 41. 30: length, from N. to S., 180 miles; greatest
breadth, 125 ; area, 16,454 square miles. It is in no part
mountainous, but the surface is diversified by low hills, un¬
dulating champaigns, rivers flowing between elevated banks,
small forests, and clumps of trees. The Don and the Oka,
an affluent of the Volga, along with their respective tribu¬
taries, are the chief rivers of the government; the former
traversing for a short distance its S.E. corner, the latter
flowing in a curve through the central and northern parts
from W. to E. Rocky heights occur on the banks of a few
of the rivers, but the soil in general is composed of a thick
stratum of black mould of considerable fertility. Stone,
clay, marl, and lime are found in some places. North of
the Oka the land is low and marshy; the climate, too, is
not so healthy as that of the southern part. The summer
is generally very hot, and the weather variable for a great
part of the year. Cultivation is extensively carried on
here. Riazan contained in 1849, 5,161,238 acres of arable
land, 1,019,025 acres of meadow land, 2,508,099 acres of
wood, and 1,056,088 of waste land. In the same year
there were produced 51,217,538 bushels of corn, and
2,653,563 bushels of potatoes. The corn is sufficient to
^ supply the domestic wants, and leave a surplus for exporta¬
tion. Rye, wheat, oats, and barley are the kinds chiefly
raised. Hemp and flax are also cultivated. There are
many gardens and orchards, and culinary vegetables are
much attended to. Of live stock, the government contained
in 1849, 482,095 horses, 366,120 horned cattle, 603,410
sheep, 206,832 swine, and 2817 goats. A large number of
bees is also kept. The most important minerals obtained
here are ironstone, freestone, clay, marl, lime, and sulphur.
The manufactures are neither many nor important. In
1849 the total number of factories was 122, and the num¬
ber of hands employed 10,963. Among the former there
were 34 of leather, 18 of tallow and candles, 14 of cloth,
11 of silk, 11 of glass and crystal, and 5 of sugar. The
trade is chiefly carried on through Moscow, except for salt,
which is obtained from the banks of the Volga. The inha¬
bitants are nearly all Russians, and belong to the Greek
Church, except 5133 Mohammedans, and a few Protestants,
Roman Catholics, and Jews. The government is divided
into twelve circles as follows :—
Pop. (1849).
Riazan 135,729
Saraisk 112,490
Kasimov 122,652
Skopin 112,637
Ranenburg 113,480
Dankov  88,515
Total  
Pop. (1849).
Jegorjewsk 103,329
Michailov 106,208
Pronsk  87,088
Riashsk  98,225
Ssaposhok 110,303
Sspassk  117,816
 1,308,472
Riazan, the capital, stands in a broad valley at the con¬
fluence of the Lebeda with the Trubesch, an affluent of
the Oka, 105 miles S.E. of Moscow. It has a cheerful
appearance ; the streets are broad, though but ill paved, and
the houses in general well built. In the centre is a public
garden, with a handsome kiosk or pavilion. Of its twenty
churches, one of which is a cathedral, none are very re¬
markable. There are also two convents, several schools,
and various charitable institutions. The manufactures of
the place include iron, glass, woollen and linen cloth,
canvas, &c. Riazan is defended by a fortress, and inclosed
with earthen ramparts and palisades. It is the seat of the
civil governor, and of the Archbishop of Riazan and
Saraissk. The name of Riazan was conferred on this town
by Catherine II. in 1777, as the former place of that name
had fallen into ruins. At that time it had only 1500 inha¬
bitants, but now the population is 21,449.
RIB ALT A, Francisco, a distinguished Spanish painter,
was born at Castellon de la Plana in 1551, and studied at
Valencia. His rise to eminence is connected with the fol¬
lowing romantic anecdote :—Having succeeded in winning
the heart of his master’s beautiful daughter, he sought her
hand from her father. The cruel reply was, that he was too
great a novice in his art for such an honour. Determined
to remove this objection, he set out to study in Italy, the
great school of painting. Love stimulated his genius ; he
caught some of the finest graces of Raphael and the Car¬
racci ; and at the end of three or four years he appeared at
his old master’s door in Valencia, eager to show his im¬
proved artistic skill. Finding the studio empty, and seeing
an unfinished picture on the easel, he quickly completed
the piece, and withdrew. The old artist, on his return, was
astonished to find that a master-hand had been at his paint¬
ing, and still more astonished when he was told that the
hand was Ribalta’s ; and of course was but too glad to have
such a promising painter for his son-in-law. Ribalta now
commenced to practise his profession with great success.
His composition was tasteful and spirited, his drawing free
and grand, and his colour often admirable. He combined
the beauties of Domenichino and Sebastian del Piombo;
and sometimes imitated Raphael so exquisitely that a pic¬
ture of his was once mistaken by an Italian connoisseur for
a work of the great prince of painting. The excellence of
his pieces was soon recognised. Orders for religious pic¬
tures came pouring in upon him. During the rest of his
life he was busily engaged in adorning the churches and
convents throughout the country ; and in 1628 he died, with
the reputation of being one of the greatest historical
painters of Spain. Many of Ribalta’s works still remain to
preserve his reputation. Among others, there are his mas¬
terpieces in the Collegio de Corpus at Valencia, consisting
of “ San Vincente de Ferrer visited on his sick-bed by our
Saviour and Saints,” a “ Last Supper,” a “ Holy Family,”
and a “ Beata.” There are also “ The Descent of Christ
into Hades” at Segorbe, and a “ Purgatory” at Castellon
de la Plana. The picture of “ Christ bearing the Cross,”
in Magdalen College, Oxford, which has been ascribed to
different great artists, was identified by Mr Ford to be a
Ribalta.
Ribalta, Juan, the son of the preceding, was born
in 1597, and studied painting under his father. His artistic
powers were remarkable. He was only eighteen when he
executed a “ Crucifixion,” which is now one of the gems
of the Valencian Museum. There was no kind of subject
which he did not try with success. His pictures, both of
low life and of sacred story, all possessed such excellence
that it was difficult to distinguish them from those of his
father. In fact, he was promising to be one of the greatest
of Spanish painters, when he was cut off prematurely in
1628. (See Stirling’s Artists of Spain.')
RIBEAUVILLE (Germ. Rappoltsiveiler), a town of
France, in the department of Haut-Rhin, at the foot of a
beautiful valley in the Vosges, 7 miles N. of Colmar. On
a hill to the west of the town stand the ruins of Ribeau-
pierre or Rappoltstein, surrounded by a beautiful garden ;
and on the heights above is the Heidenmauer, or Pagan
Ribalta
Ribeau-
ville.
152
R I B
Ribera Wall, a fortification of unknown origin, consisting of un-
|| hewn and uncemented stones. Ihe chief buildings in
Ricardo, the town are a handsome church and a town-hall. It
has manufactures of cotton goods of various descriptions.
Pop. 6525.
RIBERA, Jose de, called by the Italians 11 Spagnoletto
(“the Little Spaniard”), was born at Xativa, in the kingdom
of Valencia, in 1588. His parents were poor ; but no po¬
verty could prevent him from studying art. While he was
still very young he managed to place himself in the school
of Francisco Rlbalta. Not long afterwards he was found
in the streets of Rome, a ragged boy, copying the frescoes
on the outside of the public buildings. A benevolent
cardinal took him into his house, but the wayward “ little
Spaniard” soon returned to his vagrant habits of study. He
begged his way to Parma and Modena to examine the
masterpieces of Coreggio. On his return to Rome he
pawned his cloak, and with the money set out to try his
fortune in Naples. Ribera had not long settled in Naples
before he began to achieve great success. Assuming the
severely truthful manner of Caravaggio, he employed his
brush on sacred subjects with striking effect. His stern
prophets and apostles, with their gaunt and shrivelled faces,
and his tortured martyrs, with their agonized features and
mutilated limbs, soon rivetted the public attention, and pro¬
cured him many patrons. An admiring picture-dealer gave
him the hand of his lovely and well-dowered daughter.
The viceroy Don Pedro Giron made him the court painter,
with a handsome salary. There was scarcely one of his
sackcloth-girt St Jeromes and his arrow-pierced St Sebas¬
tians which did not find a ready purchaser among the
churchmen. He rapidly rose towards the highest rank of
Neapolitan artists. Nor did he hesitate to use villainous
stratagems to accelerate his promotion. Forming a con¬
spiracy with two other unprincipled painters, he employed
every malicious art to force his rivals off the field. D Ar-
pino, Guido, Gessi, and Domenichino were all in turn
driven from the city, and not until his accomplices had died
did he cease to cheat and bully for pre-eminence. The
iniquitous life of Ribera is said to have come to a dismal
close. In the midst of the hey-day of his opulence and
fame his daughter was seduced by Don Juan of Austria.
The proud painter, broken down with shame, hid his head
in privacy. At length one day he disappeared from his
house, and was never heard of more. Ribera’s pictures are
in great repute, especially among the Spaniards and Ita¬
lians. In Italy his best works are to be found at Naples,
and include “ St Jerome startled by the Last Trump,”
“ Silenus and the Satyrs,” “ The Deposition from the
Cross,” “ The Twelve Apostles,” “ Moses and Elias,” and
“ The Last Supper.” In Spain he is chiefly known by the
following pictures in the museum at Madrid:—“ The Mar¬
tyrdom of St Bartholomew,” “ Jacob’s Ladder,” “ Prome¬
theus,” “ Martyrdom of St Sebastian,” “ Ixion on the
Wheel,” and a “ Dead Christ lamented.” (See Stirling’s
Artists of Spain, and Lanzi’s History of Painting?)
RICARDO, David, the most distinguished political
economist since Adam Smith, was the third of a numerous
family, and was born in the city of London on the 19th of
April 1772. His father, a native of Holland, and of the
Jewish persuasion, settled in this country early in life. He
is said to have been a man of good talents and the strictest
integrity ; and having become a member of the Stock Ex¬
change, he acquired a respectable fortune, and possessed
considerable influence in his circle. David was destined
for the same line of business as his father; and received,
partly in England and partly at a school in Holland, where
he resided two years, such an education as is usually given
to young men intended for the mercantile profession.
R I C
Classical learning formed no part of his early instruction. Ricardo.
He began to be confidentially employed by his father in
the business of the Stock Exchange when he was only
fourteen years of age. Neither then, however, nor at any
subsequent period, was he wholly engrossed by the com¬
binations and details of his profession. From his earliest
years he evinced a taste for abstract and general reasoning,
and manifested that determination to probe every subject
of interest to the bottom, and to form his opinion upon it
according to the conviction of his mind, which was a dis¬
tinguishing feature of his character.
Mr Ricardo, senior, had been accustomed to subscribe
without investigation to the opinions of his ancestors on all
questions connected with religion and politics, and he was
desirous that his children should do the same. But this
system of passive obedience and blind submission to the
dictates of authority was quite repugnant to the principles
of young Ricardo, who, though he did not fail to testify
the sincerest affection and respect for his father, found
reason to differ from him on many important points, and
even to secede from the Hebrew faith.
Not long after this event, and shortly after he attained
the age of majority, Ricardo formed a matrimonial union
productive of much domestic happiness. But his marriage
being disapproved of by his father, it occasioned, with the
change in his religion, a breach between them. Being
thus thrown wholly on his own resources, he commenced
business for himself. At this important epoch of his his¬
tory the oldest and most respectable members of the
Stock Exchange gave a striking proof of the high esteem
entertained by them for his talents and the integrity of
his character, by voluntarily coming forward to support
him in his undertakings. FI is success exceeded the most
sanguine expectations of his friends, and in a few years he
realized an ample fortune.
“ The talent for obtaining wealth,” says a near relation
of Ricardo’s, from whose interesting account of his life we
have borrowed these particulars, “ is not held in much esti¬
mation ; but perhaps in nothing did Ricardo more evince
his extraordinary powers than he did in his business. His *
complete knowledge of all its intricacies; his surprising
quickness at figures and calculation ; his capability of get¬
ting through, without any apparent exertion, the immense
transactions in which he was concerned ; his coolness and
judgment, combined certainly with (for him) a fortunate
tissue of public events, enabled him to leave all his con¬
temporaries at the Stock Exchange far behind, and to raise
himself infinitely higher, not only in fortune, but in general
character and estimation, than any man had ever done be¬
fore in that house. Such was the impression which these
qualities had made on his competitors that several of the
most discerning among them, long before he had emerged
into public notoriety, prognosticated, in their admiration,
that he would live to fill some of the highest stations in the
state.”1
According as his solicitude about his success in life de¬
clined, Ricardo began to devote a greater portion of his
time to scientific and literary pursuits. When about twenty-
five years of age he began to study some branches of
mathematical science, and made considerable progress in
chemistry and mineralogy. He fitted up a laboratory,
formed a collection of minerals, and was one of the original
members of the Geological Society. It is known, how¬
ever, that he never entered warmly into the investigation
of these sciences. They were not adapted to the peculiar
cast of his mind; and he abandoned them entirely as soon
as his attention was directed to the more congenial study
of political economy.
He is stated to have made his first acquaintance with the
See an account of the life of Ricardo in the Annual Obituary for 1823, supposed to be written by one of his brothers.
RICARDO.
Ricardo. Wealth of Nations in 1799, while on a visit to Bath. He
was highly gratified by its perusal; and it is most probable
that the inquiries about which it is conversant continued
henceforth to occupy a considerable share of his attention,
though it was not till a later period that his spare time be¬
came almost exclusively occupied with their study.
Ricardo commenced his career as an author in 1809.
The rise in the market-price of bullion, and the fall of the
exchange which had taken place that year, excited a good
deal of attention. Ricardo applied himself to the consi¬
deration of the subject; and the studies in which he had
been latterly engaged, combined with the experience
derived from his monied transactions, enabled him not
only to perceive the true cause of the phenomena in
question, but to trace and exhibit its practical bearing
and effect. When he began this investigation, he had
no intention of laying the result of his researches be¬
fore the public. But having shown his manuscript to
Mr Perry, the proprietor and editor of the Morning
Chronicle, he was prevailed upon by him, though not with¬
out considerable difficulty, to consent to its publication, in
the shape of letters, in that journal. The first of these
appeared on the 6th of September 1809. They made
a considerable impression, and elicited various answers.
This success, and the increasing interest of the subject, in¬
duced him to submit his opinions upon it to the judg¬
ment of the public, in a more enlarged and systematic
form, in the celebrated tract entitled The High Price of
Bullion a Proof of the Depreciation of Bank-Notes, which
led the way in the far-famed bullion controversy. It issued
from the press several months previously to the appointment
of the Bullion Committee, and is believed to have had no
inconsiderable effect in forwarding that important measure.
In this tract Ricardo showed that redundancy and de¬
ficiency of currency are only relative terms ; and that so
long as the currency of a particular country consists exclu¬
sively of gold and silver coins, or of paper convertible into
them, it is impossible that its value should either rise above
or fall below the value of the currencies of other countries
by a greater sum than will suffice to defray the expense of
importing foreign coin or bullion if the currency be de¬
ficient, or of exporting a portion of the existing supply if it
be redundant. But when a country issues inconvertible
paper-notes, as was then the case in England, they cannot
be exported to other countries in the event of their becoming
relatively redundant at home ; and whenever, therefore, the
exchange with foreign states is depressed below, or the price
of bullion rises above its mint price, more than the expense
of sending coin or bullion abroad, it is a conclusive proof that
too much paper has been issued, and that its value is depre¬
ciated from excess. The principles which pervade the report
of the Bullion Committee are substantially the same with
those established by Ricardo in this pamphlet. But the
more comprehensive and popular manner in which they are
illustrated in the report, and their being recommended by
a committee composed of some of the ablest members of
the House of Commons, gave them a weight and authority
which they could not otherwise have obtained. And though
the prejudices and ignorance of some, and the interested,
and therefore determined opposition of others, prevented
for a while the adoption of the measures proposed by
Ricardo and the committee for restoring the currency to a
sound and healthy state, they have since been carried into
full effect; and afford one of the most memorable and
encouraging examples in the history of the country of
the triumph of principle over selfishness, sophistry, and
error.
The fourth edition of this tract is the most valuable.
153
An appendix added to it has some acute observations on cer- Ricardo,
tain disputed questions in the theory of exchange; and it
also contains the first germ of the original idea of making
bank-notes exchangeable for bars of gold bullion.
Among those who entered the lists in opposition to the
principles laid down and the practical measures suggested
in this tract, and in the report of the Bullion Committee, a
prominent place is due to Mr Bosanquet. This gentleman
had great experience as a merchant; and as he professed
that the statements in his Practical Observations on the
Bullion Report, which are completely at variance with
those in the latter, were the result of a careful examination
of the theoretical opinions of the committee by the test of
fact and experiment, they were well calculated to make, and
did make, a very considerable impression. The triumph of
Bosanquet and his friends was, however, of very short dura¬
tion. Ricardo did not hesitate to attack this formidable ad¬
versary in his stronghold. His second tract, entitled Reply
to Mr Bosanquet's Practical Observations on the Report of
the Bullion Committee was published in 1811, and is per¬
haps the best controversial essay that has ever appeared
on any disputed question of political economy. In this
pamphlet Ricardo met Bosanquet on his own ground, and
overthrew him with his own weapons. He examined the
proofs which the latter had brought forward of the pre¬
tended discrepancy between the facts stated in his own
tract, which he said were consistent with experience, and
the theory laid down in the Bullion Report; and showed
that Bosanquet had either mistaken the cases by which he
proposed to test the theory, or that the discrepancy was
apparent only, and was entirely a consequence of his in¬
ability to apply the principle, and not of any deficiency in
the principle itself. The victory of Ricardo was perfect and
complete; and the elaborate errors and mis-statements of
Bosanquet served only, in the language of Dr Copleston,
“ to illustrate the abilities of the writer who stepped for¬
ward to vindicate the truth.”1
This tract affords a striking example of the ascendancy
which those who possess a knowledge both of principle
and practice have over those familiar only with the lat¬
ter. And though the interest of the question which gave
rise to it be now subsided, it will always be read with
delight by such as are not insensible of the high gratifica¬
tion which all ingenuous minds must feel in observing
the ease with which a superior intellect clears away the
irrelevant matter with which a question has been design¬
edly embarrassed, reduces false facts to their just value, %
and traces and exhibits the constant operation of the same
general principle through all the mazy intricacies of prac¬
tical detail.
The merit of these pamphlets was duly appreciated, and
Ricardo’s society was in consequence courted by men of
the first eminence and consideration, who were not less
delighted with his modesty, and the mildness and amenity
of his manners, than with the reach and vigour of his un¬
derstanding. It was at this period that he formed that in¬
timacy with Mr Malthus and Mr Mill, the author of the
History of British India, which ended only with his life.
To Mill he was particularly attached; and he always felt
pleasure in acknowledging how much he owed to his
friendship.
Ricardo’s next appearance as an author was in 1815,
during the discussions on the bill afterwards passed into
a law, for raising the limit at which the importation of
foreign corn should be permitted to 80s. Malthus and a
“Fellow of University College, Oxford” (Mr, afterwards
Sir Edward, West), had in two able pamphlets, published
almost at the same moment, developed the real nature,
VOL. XIX.
1 First Letter to the Right Hon. Sir Robert Peel, by one of his Constituents, p. 61.
U
154 RICA
Ricardo, origin, and causes of rent.1 But neither of them per-
v«—v-—^ ceived the real value and importance of the principles which
he had established. This was reserved for Mr Ricardo, who,
in his Essay on the Influence of a Loiv Price of Corn on the
Profits of Stock, showed the effect of that increase in the
price of raw produce, which always takes place in the pro¬
gress of society, on wages and profits and founded a cogent
argument in favour of the freedom of the corn-trade on the
very principles from which Malthus had vainly endeavoured
to show the propriety of subjecting it to fresh restrictions.
In 1816 Ricardo published his Proposals for an Econo¬
mical and Secure Currency, ivith Observations on the Pro¬
fits of the Bank of England. In this pamphlet he exa¬
mined the circumstances which determine the value of
money, both when all individuals have the power to supply
it, and when that power is restricted and placed under a
monopoly ; and he showed that in the former case its value
depends, like that of all freely-supplied articles, on its cost,
while in the latter its value is quite unaffected by that cir¬
cumstance, and depends entirely on the extent to which it
may be issued compared with the demand. This is a
principle of great importance; for it shows that intrinsic
worth is not necessary to a currency, and that, provided
the supply of paper-notes declared to be legal tender be
sufficiently limited, their value may be maintained on a par
with that of gold, or raised to any higher level. If, there¬
fore, it were practicable to devise a plan for preserving
the value of paper on a level with gold, without making
it convertible into coin at the pleasure of the holder, the
whole expense attending the use of a metallic currency
would be saved. To effect this object, Ricardo proposed
that bank-notes, instead of being made exchangeable for
gold coins, should be made exchangeable for bars of gold
bullion of the standard weight and purity. This device
was obviously calculated to check the over-issue of paper
quite as effectually as it is checked by making it con¬
vertible into coin; while, as the bars could not be used
as currency, it prevented any gold from getting into circu¬
lation, and saved the expense of coinage, and of the wear
and tear of the coins. Ricardo’s proposal was recommended
by the committees of the House of Lords and Commons ap¬
pointed in 1819 to consider the expediency of the Bank of
England resuming cash payments, and was adopted in the
bill for their resumption introduced by Sir Robert Peel. In¬
asmuch, however, as it required that the place of sovereigns
should be filled with L.l notes, the forgery of the latter
began to be extensively carried on; and it was judged
better to incur the expense of recurring to and keeping up
a mixed currency, than to continue a plan which, though
productive of a large saving, held out an all but irresistible
temptation to crime.
In 1817 Ricardo published his great work on the Prin¬
ciples of Political Economy and Taxation. Tins was a
step which he did not take without much hesitation. He
was not, and did not affect to be, insensible of the value of
literary and philosophical reputation, but his modesty al¬
ways led him to undervalue his own powers; and having
already attained to a very high degree of celebrity as a writer
on currency, he was unwilling to risk what he already pos¬
sessed by attempting to gain more. Ultimately, however,
he was prevailed upon by the entreaties of his friends to
allow his work to be sent to press. Its appearance forms
a new sera in the history of political science. With the
exception of the Wealth of Nations, it is the most important,
as it certainly is the most original and profound work that
has appeared on political economy. But the brevity with
R D O.
which he has stated some of his peculiar doctrines, the few- Ricardo,
ness of his illustrations, and the mathematical cast of his
reasonings, are apt to repel ordinary readers, and give an
appearance of obscurity to the work. But those who study
it with the attention which it so well deserves will find
that it is eminently logical. And the powers of mind dis¬
played in its investigations, the dexterity with which the
most abstruse and difficult questions are unravelled, the
sagacity evinced in tracing the operation of general prin¬
ciples, in disentangling them from such as are of a second¬
ary or accidental nature, and in perceiving and estimating
their remotest consequences, have rarely been surpassed,
and will for ever secure the name of Ricardo a conspicuous
place in the list of profound thinkers, and of the discoverers
of useful truths.
The reader will find in the article Political Economy
a pretty full account of the leading principles advanced by
Ricardo, and of his most material conclusions. It is to be
regretted that he relied too much on theoretical reasonings,
without making sufficient allowance for the circumstances
natural to and inherent in society, which either counteract
or materially modify some of the principles on which he
laid the greatest stress. But despite the errors into
which he thus necessarily fell, his work is of the highest
value. It is the first in which we find an analysis and
generally just explanation of the circumstances which de¬
termine the distribution of wealth among the various ranks
and orders of society, and which govern their apparently
conflicting but really harmonious relations. Since the ap¬
pearance of Ricardo’s work the whole face of the science
has been changed, not merely by his numerous discoveries,
and the new lights which he struck out in every depart¬
ment, but by the closer and more analytical method of
reasoning which he introduced. In this respect there is
yet, no doubt, much room for improvement; but any one
who compares the economical writings of the last thirty
years with those current before Ricardo’s work made its ap¬
pearance will be satisfied that there is now much less of loose
generalization, and more regard to science and principle.
The practical considerations which Ricardo too much
neglected have had their influence ascertained by sub¬
sequent inquirers ; and his doctrines having been properly
modified, and made applicable to the exigencies of society,
have acquired a high practical as well as theoretical value.
Previously to the publication of his Principles, Ricardo
had retired from business, possessed of a large fortune,
acquired with the universal respect and esteem of his com¬
petitors. He afterwards spent the greater part of the sum¬
mers at Gatcomb Park, an estate which he had purchased
in Gloucestershire. But he did not retire from the bustle
of active life to the mere enjoyment of his acres—Non fuit
consilium socordia atque desidia bonum otium conterere.
Lie had other objects in view; and while his leisure hours,
when in the country, were chiefly devoted to the prosecu¬
tion of the interesting science of which he was now con¬
fessedly at the head, he determined to extend the sphere of
his usefulness by entering the House of Commons. In
1819 he took his seat as member for Portarlington. His
diffidence had, however, nearly deprived the country of
the important services which he rendered in this situa¬
tion. In a letter to one of his friends, dated the 7th of
April 1819, he says:—“You will have seen that I have
taken my seat in the House of Commons. I fear that I
shall be of little use there. I have twice attempted to
speak; but I proceeded in the most embarrassed manner,
and I have no hope of conquering the alarm with which I
1 There was little that was new in either of these pamphlets; the origin, nature, and causes of rent having been quite as well,
or better, explained in a pamphlet by Dr Anderson, the editor of the Bee, published in 1777 (Inquiry into the Nature of the Corn-
Laws), and in his Agricultural Recreations, published in 1801. But the investigations and discoveries of Anderson did not attract any
attention, and were, indeed, totally forgotten; so that it was necessary the theory of rent should be re-stated (it is said to have
been re-discovered), to make it be understood and appreciated by the public.
H I C A H D O.
Hicardo. am assailed the moment I hear the sound of my own
voice.” And in a letter to the same gentleman, dated the
22d of June 1819, he says: “ I thank you for your endea¬
vours to inspire me with confidence on the occasion of my
addressing the House. Their indulgent reception of me
has in some degree made the task of speaking more easy to
me ; but there are yet so many formidable obstacles to my
success, and some, I fear, of a nature nearly insurmount¬
able, that I apprehend it will be wisdom and sound discre¬
tion in me to content myself with giving silent votes.” For¬
tunately he did not adopt this resolution. The difficulties
with which he had at first to struggle, and his diffidence in
himself, gradually subsided ; while the mildness of his man¬
ners, his mastery over the subjects on which he spoke, and
his undoubted integrity, speedily secured him a very ex¬
tensive influence both in the House and the country, and
gave great weight and authority to his opinions.
Ricardo was not one of those who make speeches to suit
the ephemeral circumstances and politics of the day. He
spoke only from principle, and with a fixed resolution not
to diverge in any degree from the path which it pointed
out; he neither concealed nor modified opinions for
the purpose of conciliating the favour, or of disarming
the prejudices or hostility, of any man or set of men ; nor
did he ever make a speech or give a vote which he did not
believe to be founded on just principles, and calculated to
promote the lasting interests of the public. Trained to
habits of profound thinking, independent in his fortune and in¬
flexible in his principles, Ricardo had nothing in common with
mere party politicians. The public good was the grand ob¬
ject of his parliamentary exertions; and he laboured to pro¬
mote it not by engaging in party combinations, but by sup¬
porting the rights and libertiesof all classes, and by unfolding
the true sources of national wealth and general prosperity.
The change which has taken place in the public opinion
respecting the financial and commercial policy of the coun¬
try, since the period when Ricardo obtained a seat in the
House of Commons, is as complete as it is gratifying. The
most enlarged views are now supported by the leading
members of both Houses. The protective system has no
longer a single parliamentary supporter of eminence. All
are now ready to admit that it is founded on vicious prin¬
ciples ; that it has retarded the progress of those nations by
whom it has been adopted ; and that it is sound policy to
admit the freest competition in every branch of industry, and
to deal fairly and liberally with all the world. The writings
and speeches of Ricardo contributed in no ordinary degree
to accomplish this salutary and desirable change. As he was
known to be a master of economical science, his opinion, from
the moment he entered the House of Commons, was re¬
ferred to on all important occasions j1 and he acquired a con¬
stant accession of influence and consideration, according as
experience served to render the House and the country better
acquainted with his talents and his singleness of purpose.
In 1820 he contributed an article on the Funding Sys¬
tem for the Encyclopedia Britannica. He was a decided
friend to the plan for raising the supplies for a war within
the year, by an equivalent increase of taxation ; and he was
also of opinion that it would be both expedient and practi¬
cable to pay off the public debt by an assessment on capital.
In this article he has endeavoured, if not with perfect suc¬
cess, at least with considerable ingenuity, to defend both
projects from the objections commonly urged against them.
In 1822, during the parliamentary discussions on the sub¬
ject of the corn laws, Ricardo published his pamphlet on
Protection to Agriculture. This is the best of all his
pamphlets, and is indeed a chef-d’ceuvre. The questions
respecting remunerating price, the influence of a low and
155
high value of corn on wages and profits, the effects of taxa- Ricardo,
tion on agriculture and manufactures, and many other topics
of equal difficulty and interest, are all discussed in the short
compass of eighty or ninety pages, with a precision and
clearness that leaves little or nothing to be desired. Had
he never written anything else, this pamphlet would have
placed Ricardo in the first rank of political economists.
Though not robust, Ricardo’s constitution was apparently
good, and his health such as to promise a long life of use¬
fulness. He had indeed been subject for several years to
an affection in one of his ears; but as it had not given
him any serious inconvenience, he paid it but little atten¬
tion. When he retired to his seat in Gloucestershire, sub¬
sequently to the close of the session of 1823, he was in ex¬
cellent health and spirits ; and besides completing a tract,
containing a plan for the establishment of a National Bank,
he had engaged, with his usual ardour, in profound and
elaborate inquiries in relation to the theory of value. But
he was not destined to bring these inquiries to a close ! In
the beginning of September he was suddenly seized with a
violent pain in the diseased ear; the symptoms were not,
however, considered unfavourable; and the breaking of an
imposthume that had formed within the ear contributed
greatly to his relief. But the amendment was only transi¬
tory ; within two days inflammation re-commenced ; and
after a period of indescribable agony, pressure on the brain
ensued, which produced a stupor that continued until death
terminated his sufferings on the 11th of September, in his
fifty-second year.
In private life Ricardo was most amiable. He was a
kind and indulgent father and husband, and an affectionate
and zealous friend. No man could be more thoroughly
free from every species of artifice and pretension, more
sincere, plain, and unassuming. He was particularly fond
of assembling intelligent men around him, and of con¬
versing in the most unrestrained manner on all topics of
interest, but more especially on those connected with his
favourite science. He was always ready to give way to
others, and never discovered the least impatience to speak ;
but when he did speak, the extent and accuracy of his know¬
ledge, the solidity of his judgment, his perfect candour, and
his peculiar talent for resolving a question into its elements,
and for setting the most difficult and complicated subject in
the clearest point of view, arrested the attention of every
one, and delighted all who heard him. He never entered
into an argument, whether in public or private, for the sake
of displaying ingenuity, baffling an opponent, or gaining a
victory. The discovery of truth was his exclusive object.
He was ever open to conviction ; and if he were satisfied
that he had either advanced or supported an erroneous opi¬
nion, he was the first to acknowledge his error, and to
caution others against it.
Few men have possessed in a higher degree than Ricardo
the talent of speaking and conversing with clearness and
facility on the abstrusest topics. In this respect his speeches
were greatly superior to his publications. The latter can¬
not be readily understood and followed without considerable
attention ; but nothing could exceed the ease and felicity
with which he illustrated and explained the most difficult
questions of political economy, both in private conversation
and in his speeches. Without being forcible, his style of
speaking was easy, fluent, and agreeable. It was impos¬
sible to take him off his guard. To those who were not
familiar with his speculations, some of his positions were
apt to appear paradoxical; but the paradox was only in ap¬
pearance. He seldom advanced an opinion on which he
had not deeply reflected, and without examining it in every
point of view. And the readiness with which he met and
1 Mr Ricardo made the first of his prominent appearances on the 24th of May 1819, in the debate on the resolutions proposed by Mr (Sir
Robert) Peel respecting the resumption of cash payments. He did not rise until he was loudly called upon from all sides of the House.
156
Ricaut.
It I C
overthrew the most specious objections that the ablest men
in the House could state to his doctrines, is the best proot
of their correctness, and of the superiority of his under-
standino-. That there were greater orators, and men ot
more varied and general acquirements, in Parliament than
Ricardo, we readily allow ; but we are bold to say, that in
point of deep, clear, and comprehensive intellect, he had
no superiors, and very few, if any equals, either in Parlia¬
ment or the country. . ^ ,
Ricardo was not less generous than intelligent; he was
never slow to come forward to the relief of the poor and the
distressed ; and while he contributed to almost every cha¬
ritable institution in the metropolis, he supported at his own
expense an alms-house for the poor,and twoschoolsfor the in¬
struction of the young in thevicinityof his seat in the country.
Besides the publications previously enumerated, Ricardo
left one or two manuscripts. Among others, a Plan for
the Establishment of a National Bank was found in a
finished state, and has since been published. He also left
Notes on Malthus’s Principles of Political Economy, con¬
taining a vindication of his own doctrines from the objec¬
tions of Malthus, and showing the mistakes into which ;he
conceived the latter had fallen.
Though not properly belonging to the Whig party, Ri¬
cardo voted almost uniformly with them. He was impressed
with the conviction that many advantages would result from
giving the people a greater influence over the choice ol
their representatives in the House of Commons than they
then possessed; and he was so far a friend to the system of
the radical reformers as to give his cordial support to the
plan of voting by ballot, which he considered as the best
if not the only means for securing the mass of the electors
against improper solicitations, and for enabling them to vote
in favour of the candidates whom they really approved. He
did not, however, agree with the xadical reformers in their
plan of universal suffrage : he thought the elective franchise
should be given to all who possessed a certain amount of
property ; but he was of opinion that, while it would be a
very hazardous experiment, no practical good would result
from giving the franchise indiscriminately to all.
When the circumstances under which Ricardo spent the
greater part of his life are brought under view, and when it
is also recollected that he died at the early age of fifty-one,
it may be truly said that very few men have achieved so
much. His industry was as remarkable as his sagacity and
his candour.
“ The history of Ricardo,” to use the words of his friend
Mill, “ holds out a bright and inspiring example. Ricardo
had everything to do for himself, and he did everything.
Let not the generous youth, whose aspirations are higher
than his circumstances despair of attaining either the high¬
est intellectual excellence, or the highest influence on the
welfare of his species, when he recollects in what circum¬
stances Ricardo opened and in what he closed his memor¬
able life. He had his fortune to make, his mind to form ;
he had even his education to commence and conduct. In
a field of the most intense competition he realized a large
fortune, with the universal esteem and affection of those
who could best judge of the honour and purity of his acts.
Amid this scene of active exertion and practical detail, he
cultivated and he acquired habits of intense and patient and
comprehensive thinking, such as have been rarely equalled
and never excelled.”
The works of Ricardo have been collected and published,
with a notice of his life, in an 8vo volume, by the author of
this article. (j. R. M.)
RICAUT, or Rycaut, Sir Paul, an English traveller
and diplomatist of the time of whose birth we find no ac¬
count. He studied at Cambridge, where he received his
bachelor’s degree in 1650; and in 1661 he was appointed
secretary to the Earl of Winchelsea, who was sent ambas-
R I C
sador extraordinary to Turkey. During his continuance in Ricci
that station he wrote The Present State of the Ottoman II
Empire, in three books, London, 1670; and he afterwards ice’
resided eleven years as consul at Smyrna, where at the
command of Charles II., he composed The Present State
of the Greek and Arminian Churches, 1678. On his re¬
turn, Lord Clarendon being appointed lord-lieutenant ot
Ireland in 1685, made him his principal secretary for
Leinster and Connaught. King James II. knighted him,
and made him one of the privy council in Ireland, and judge
of the Court of Admiralty. These appointments he held till
the Revolution. He was employed by King William as
resident at the Hanse Towns in Lower Saxony, where he
continued for ten years ; but being worn out with age and
infirmities, he obtained leave to return in 1700, and died in
London on the 16th December of the same year. Ricaut
continued Knolles’s History of the Turks, 1680, and Pla-
tina’s Lives of the Popes, 1685. There are likewise some
other publications which bear his name.
RICCI, or Rizzi, Sebastiano, a famous Italian painter,
was born at Cividal di Belluno, in the Venetian state, about
1660. It was his good fortune to go through a thorough
course of training. He first studied under Cervelli at
Venice and Milan. He then travelled through Italy, fami¬
liarizing his hand in executing commissions. Lastly, he
visited Germany, England, and Flanders, perfecting^ his
notions of art by a close study of the different schools. I he
result of this excellent education was seen after Ricci had
settled at Venice. While he was painting, many of the
beauties of the great masters which he had seen occurred
opportunely to his mind. Without servilely copying, he
put them down upon his canvas. Accordingly his pictures
came forth to the world exhibiting several different styles,
and the excellences of several different artists. Ricci died
in 1734. (See Lanzi’s History of Painting.)
RICCIARELLI, Daniele, an Italian artist, generally
called, from the place of his birth, Daniele di Volterra, was
born in 1509, and studied painting under Razzi and Pe-
ruzzi. The young artist, settling in Rome, strove most
unweariedly to attain eminence in his profession. No
efforts were spared on his pictures. He proceeded with a
careful slowness, attempting to reach his ideal by a close
imitation of Michael Angelo. It is even said that he
sometimes in a difficulty had recourse to the more direct
aid of that great master’s own hand. The result of this
earnest labour was, that Ricciarelli obtained abundant en¬
couragement. His constant friend, Michael Angelo, re¬
commended him on all possible occasions. He had the
honour to beautify with works of art a chapel in the church
of the Trinita, to paint in the Farnese Palace, to execute
certain decorations in the Palazzo de Medici at Navona, and
to begin the stucco-work and the pictures in the Hall of
the Kings. Nor was he less highly patronized when, to¬
wards the close of his life, he turned his attention to statu¬
ary. His last work was a bronze horse, intended for an
equestrian statue of Henry II. of France. Ricciarelli died
in 1566. The principal extant works of Ricciarelli are at
Rome. These are a “ St John the Baptist” in the picture
gallery of the Capitol, a “ Saviour bearing the Cross in
the Palazzo Rospigliosi, and a “ Descent from the Cross,”
his masterpiece, in the church of Trinita de’ Monti. I here
is also an “Elijah” at Volterra. (See Vasari’s Painters,
and Lanzi’s History of Painting.)
RICCIOLI, Giovanni Battista, an eminent astrono¬
mer, was born at Ferrara in 1598, entered the Society ot
the Jesuits in 1614, and died in 1671. (See Dissertation
Fourth, § iv.; and Astronomy, History of.)
RICE, the seed of Oryza sativa (Linn.), a beautiful tropi¬
cal grass {Graminacece), believed to be originally a native
of some part of India. It is now extensively cultivated in
the East Indies, China, parts of Africa and Southern Europe,
R X C
Rice, and in tropical America. Rice is second in importance
only to wheat as an article of human food, and forms the
chief nutriment of at least a third of mankind. Marsden,
in his History of Sumatra, says it is “ the grand material
of food on which a hundred millions of the inhabitants of the
earth subsist.” It is admirably adapted to the wants of the
inhabitants of the tropics, as it is not so heating to the
human system as any of the other cereals, and it is almost
a cure for diarrhoea and dysentery, which are so prevalent
in warm climates.
Rice was known to the ancients, and is described under
the name of^Opu^ov by Theophrastus,*Opv£a by Dioscorides,
and Oryza by Pliny. The last-mentioned author, from the
description given in his Natural History, appears to have
been quite ignorant of the plant, or else mistaken in the
grain altogether, for he describes it as a bulbous-rooted
plant, with thick, fleshy leaves and purple blossoms. In its
native country (India), rice has most probably been culti¬
vated from the earliest times. It is naturally a marsh plant,
and consequently requires a damp soil and a moist atmo¬
sphere ; it is there usually cultivated in low lands, which are
either naturally liable to be flooded, or which admit of easy
and copious irrigation. There are, however, varieties cul¬
tivated which endure a much drier soil, and are adapted for
hill culture. The upland or hill rice is smaller in grain and
less valuable ; but it is nevertheless cultivated in great quan¬
tities, the manure employed being chiefly the dung of ani¬
mals mixed with wood-ashes. In India the varieties of rice
are very numerous. No less than one hundred and sixty-
one are enumerated in Moon’s Catalogue of Ceylon Plants
as being known in that island.
The finest rice in the world is that raised in North and
South Carolina, in the United States, where the prevalence
of swampy lands and a rich vegetable soil render its culti¬
vation easy and very profitable. The rice of Carolina is
remarkable for its pure white colour and large size; and as
it contains a considerable proportion of gluten, it is most
valued as an article of food. Rice in the husk is generally
called paddy. In this state it is largely imported into
Great Britain and husked at the rice-cleaning mills, which
are now established in all our large ports: when kept in
the husk, it is said to retain its vitality for many years.
The cultivation of this cereal is very much varied by the
circumstances of the locality in which it is grown: in many
places it is scattered over the land whilst still flooded, anil
as it sinks and settles in the mud it speedily germinates, and
springs up as soon as the land is uncovered : in other places
buffaloes are driven over the muddy surface as soon as the
floods have retired, and a few grains are placed in each
foot-mark, the rice often being made to germinate before
being placed in the holes. Two crops of flooded rice are
obtained annually in India; the first is cut in February and
March, the second is reaped in October. The earlier one
is by far the most valuable.
The quantity of rice consumed in this country, and in
Europe generally, is very large ; our imports in 1858 were,
—of husked rice, 206,000 tons; and of unhusked rice, or
paddy, 33,601 quarters.
Canadian Rice is the seed of Zizania aquatica, Hort.
Kew (Nat. Ord. Graminacece). It grows on the margins
of shallow streams and running waters, and produces an
abundance of wholesome farinaceous grain. It is called
in Canada lake rice, tuscarora, or mahnomonee; and is
found in shallow waters from Florida to the Canadian
lakes. It is regularly harvested by the Indians, this work
being chiefly performed by their squaws ; but it is not ga¬
thered in any quantity by the white population, although it
is esteemed a great delicacy. It has been tried in this
country, and it is likely that it would succeed if it should
become an object of demand ; and as it is aquatic, it can
be cheaply cultivated. (x. c. A.)
R I C 157
RICH, Claudius James, a distinguished traveller and Rich
scholar, was born in 1787 near Dijon in Burgundy, and I!
having been removed to England, was brought up at Bristol. Bichard.
His youth was characterised by an extraordinary aptitude Vs—
for languages. When a mere child he picked up a know¬
ledge of several modern tongues. At the age of nine he
sat down to decipher some Arabic manuscripts, with no
other aid than a grammar and dictionary. Not long after¬
wards he was reading Hebrew, Syriac, Persian, and Turkish.
I he boy, in fact, became such a remarkable orientalist that
in 1804 the East India Directors despatched him to a
writership in Bombay, and at the same time gave him per¬
mission to make any delays on the road for the purpose
of increasing his knowledge. Rich took care to avail
himself of this privilege to the utmost. As he sailed along
the Mediterranean he formed the resolution of imbuing
himself thoroughly with eastern manners and attainments.
Placing himself in a school at Smyrna, he soon became
metamorphosed into a young Turk. Then repairing to
Alexandria, he began to acquire the language and martial
accomplishments of a wild Arab. At the end of a year or
two he had become so complete an orientalist that he set
out in the disguise of a Mameluke to travel over land to
the Persian Gulf. Nor was this difficult impersonation un¬
successful. He wandered over a great part of Palestine
and Syria, entered the grand mosque at Damascus along
with the Mohammedan pilgrims, and arrived at Bussora
without ever having been challenged for a Christian.
Rich’s good fortune attended him to Bombay. On his
arrival there in 1807, Sir James Mackintosh welcomed him
to his house. A few months afterwards the eldest daughter
of that philosopher bestowed upon him her hand. His
abilities continued to attract interest, until in 1808 he was
appointed resident at Bagdad. A wide field of investiga¬
tion was now opened up to the ever-active and all-observant
mind of Rich. He set himself, with characteristic enthu¬
siasm, to make a sweeping survey of the district. Every
research that could increase human knowledge was under¬
taken. The geography, history, manners, and statistics of
the country were studied. Oriental manuscripts were col¬
lected from all quarters. Ancient medals, coins, and gems
were picked up from among the remains of Nineveh and
Ctesiphon. 1 he ruins of Babylon were repeatedly ex¬
plored, and his discoveries published in the form of two
memoirs. Even astronomical observations were taken with
all the enthusiasm and success of a professed mathema¬
tician. He had in fact amassed a most wonderful amount
of multifarious knowledge, when he was cut off by the
cholera at Shirauz on the 5th of October 1821. Rich’s
Narrative of a Residence in Koordistan, accompanied by
a short memoir, was published by his widow, in 2 vols.,
London, 1836. His valuable collection of oriental MSS.,
coins, and antiquities, is now in the British Museum.
RICHARD, the name of three English kings. Richard
L, surnamed Cceur de Lion (the “Lion-hearted),” was born
in 1157, succeeded his father Henry II. in 1189, and was
killed by an arrow at the siege of the castle of Chaluz in
1199. Richard II., the son of the Black Prince, was born
in 1366, succeeded his grandfather Edward III. in 1377,
was deposed by Bolingbroke in 1399, and is said to have
been put to death in Pontefract Castle in 1400. Richard
III., the son of Richard, Duke of York, was born in 1452,
usurped the crown from his nephew Edward V. in 1483,
and was slain on Bosworth field in 1485. (See England.)
Richard de Burt, a learned English statesman, was
born at Bury St Edmunds in 1287, and was educated at Ox¬
ford. A bright career of preferment was early opened up
before him. Scarcely had he finished his studies before he
was appointed tutor to the Prince of Wales (afterwards
Edward III.) The devoted manner in which this office
was discharged was the means of accelerating his rise. No
158 R I C
Richard sooner had his pupil succeeded to the throne than a shower
II of dignities, both civil and ecclesiastical, began to fall upon
Richard- was ma(je treasurer of the wardrobe and
v. _S°n _ ) clerk of the privy seal. The revenues of many rich bene-
fices were placed at his disposal. He was twice despatched
to Rome with a splendid retinue as legate to Pope John
XXII. At length he reached the climax of his good for¬
tune by being appointed bishop of Durham in 1333, and
treasurer and high chancellor of England in 1334. Richard
adorned this high station by appearing as an enthusiastic
and enlightened lover of books. In the course of his travels
he had devoted both his time and his money to the collect¬
ing of literary works. It now became the congenial task
of his declining years to complete his collection. Every
library in the kingdom was examined in quest of new
treatises. Those that could be bought he purchased.
Those that could only be borrowed he caused to be copied
by men who were kept in his palace expressly for that
purpose. Thus did he procure a splendid assortment of
books, which, at his death in 1345, he bequeathed to that
hall at Oxford which is now called Trinity College.
Richard de Bury left a treatise upon his own book-collecting
labours, entitled Philobiblon. It was published at Cologne
in 1473, at Spires in 1483, at Paris in 1500, and at Oxford
in 1599. An English translation by Mr J. B. Inglis was
published in 1832. (See English Cyclopcedia of Bio¬
graphy^
Richard of Cirencester, an old monkish historian,
was born in the beginning of the fourteenth century at
Cirencester in Gloucestershire, and entered the Benedic¬
tine monastery of St Peter, Westminster, in 1350. Dur¬
ing his leisure hours in the cloister he addressed himself to
the study of British history and antiquities. To perfect his
information, he is said to have explored all the different
libraries in England. The chief result of his labour and
investigation began to appear in the form of a treatise, De
Situ Britannice. The body of the matter was compiled
from Csesar and other classical authors. The Itinerary
he professed to have taken chiefly from certain fragments
left by a Roman general. The work was proceeding suc¬
cessfully when the author met with an interruption. His
ecclesiastical superior the abbot found fault with him for
wasting his consecrated time upon such secular pursuits.
He indeed vindicated his conduct in an enlightened and
spirited manner; but he felt himself obliged to bow to
authority, and to bring his book to a premature close. The
death of Richard is supposed to have taken place about 1401.
I he above-mentioned work was discovered in 1747, and
published in 1757 by Charles Julius Bertram, professor of
English in the Royal Marine Academy at Copenhagen.
An English translation appeared in 1848, forming, along
with five other old English chronicles, a volume of Bohn’s
“ Antiquarian Library.” Richard of Cirencester is also the
author of the following unpublished works :—Historia ab
Hengisto ad Ann. 1348, the former part of which is in the
public library of the university of Cambridge ; and Trac-
tatus super Symbolum Majus et Minus ; and Liber de Offi-
ciis Ecclesiasticis, both in the Peterborough library.
RICHARDSON, Jonathan, a portrait-painter of some
note, was born about the year 1665, and against his in¬
clination was placed by his father-in-law apprentice to a
scrivener, with whom he lived six years. Having obtained
his freedom by the death of his master, he followed the bent
of his disposition, and at the age of twenty became the dis¬
ciple of Riley, with whom he lived four years, whose niece
he married, and ol whose manner he acquired enough to
maintain a solid and lasting reputation, even during the
lives of Kneller and Dahl, and to remain at the head of the
profession when they no longer continued to exercise it.
The following characterisation of Richardson is by the au¬
thor of the Anecdotes.
R I C
“ There is strength, roundness, and boldness in his co- Kichard-
louring; but his men want dignity, and his women grace. son-
I he good sense of the nation is characterised in his por-
traits. We perceive that he lived in an age when neither
enthusiasm nor servility was predominant. Yet with a
pencil so firm, possessed of a numerous and excellent col¬
lection of drawings, full of the theory and profound in re¬
flection of his art, he drew nothing well below the head,
and was void of imagination. His attitudes, draperies, and
backgrounds are totally insipid and unmeaning; so ill did
he apply to his own practice the sagacious rules and hints
which he bestowed on others. Though he wrote with fire
and judgment, his paintings owed little to either. No man
dived deeper into the inexhaustible stores of Raphael, or
was more smitten with the native lustre of Vandyck. Yet
though capable of relishing the elevation of the one and
the elegance of the other, he could never contrive to see
with their eyes when he was to copy nature himself. One
wonders that he could comment on their works so well,
and imitate them so little.” He quitted business some
years before his death ; but his temperance and virtue con¬
tributed to protract his life to a great length in the full
enjoyment of his understanding, and in the felicity of do¬
mestic friendship. He died suddenly at his house in Queen’s
Square, on the 28th of May 1745, in his eighty-first year.
In 1719 Richardson published two discourses: An Essay
on the whole Art of Criticism as it relates to Painting ;
An Argument in behalf of the Science of a Connoisseur.
In 1722 there appeared An Account of some of the Statues,
Bas-reliefs, Drawings, and Paintings in Italy, &c., with
Remarks by Messrs Richardson, senior and junior. His
son made the journey; and from his notes, letters, and ob¬
servations, they both at his return compiled this valuable
work.
Richardson, Samuel, a distinguished novelist, was born
in the year 1689, in Derbyshire. His father, the de¬
scendant of a reputable family in the county of Surrey,
followed the occupation of a joiner. The son was at first
intended for the church ; but after his father had sustained
some heavy losses he was left, at the age of fifteen or six¬
teen, to make choice of some employment which did not
require so expensive a preparation. He only appears to
have received the most ordinary training of a country school.
He was a bashful boy, and gave an early preference to the
society of the other sex. From his childhood he delighted
in letter-writing; and to this early taste we may trace
the germ of his principal works. “ I was not more than
thirteen,” he informs us, “ when three of these young
women, unknown to each other, having an high opinion of
my taciturnity, revealed to me their love secrets, in order
to induce me to give them copies to write, alter, or correct,
for answers to their lovers’ letters ; nor did any one of
them ever know that I was the secretary to the others.”
In 1706 he was bound apprentice to John Wilde, a printer
at Stationers Hall, London. Although he served a rigid
master, he contrived to steal from his hours of rest and
relaxation some precious intervals for the improvement of
his mind. After the completion of his apprenticeship he
continued for five or six years to work as a compositor and
corrector in a printing-office, and part of this time as an
overseer. Thus he gradually arose to the situation of a
master-printer, having first taken an office in a court in
Fleet Street, and afterwards in Salisbury Court. As an
apprentice he had been diligent and conscientious, as a
master he was assiduous and liberal. In addition to the
proper avocations of a printer, he on various occasions
undertook to write indices, prefaces, and, as he describes
them, honest dedications. The punctuality, together with
the integrity and liberality of his dealings, speedily pro¬
cured him friends, and his business became very prosperous.
Through the interest of Mr Speaker Onslow, he was em-
11 I c
Richard- ployed to print the Journals of the House of Commons, in
son. twenty-six volumes folio. In 1754 he was chosen master
v'*V^**/ of the Stationers’ Company. In 1760 he purchased a
moiety of the patent of law-printer to his Majesty, and in
this branch of his business he was joint partner with Miss
Catherine Lintot. He was thus enabled to live in comfort,
and to make a suitable provision for his family. Like other
prosperous citizens he set a due value on country air, and
had first a residence at North End near Hammersmith, and
afterwards at Parsons Green near Fulham, where he spent
such intervals of time as he could spare from business,
and where he was seldom without visitors.
The first work that recommended him to public notice
was Pamela, or Virtue Rewarded, published in the year
1741. The two volumes of which it originally consisted
appear to have been written in less than three months. Its
success was almost unprecedented, for it reached a fifth edi¬
tion within the space of a year. “ The printer in Salisbury
Court,” says Mrs Barbauld, “ was to create a new species of
writing; his name was to be familiar in the mouths of the
great, the witty, and the gay, and he was destined to give
one motive more to the rest of Europe to learn the lan¬
guage of his country.” Some inconsistencies in the work
were powerfully ridiculed by Fielding in his History of
Joseph Andrews, whom he introduces to his readers as the
brother of Pamela. This was an injury which Richardson,
though an amiable and benevolent man, found it very diffi¬
cult, if not impossible, to forgive. In his correspondence
with his admiring friends he predicted that Fielding would
speedily sink into oblivion. But, in the present age, for
every reader of Pamela and Clarissa there are at least five
hundred of Joseph Andrews and Tom Jones.
The brilliant success of this novel prompted some name¬
less individual to write and publish a continuation of the
story, under the title of Pamela in High Life. Richard¬
son, who might very safely have disregarded such an at¬
tempt to invade his province, was thus induced to add a
second part, which however made no addition to his repu¬
tation. “ These volumes,” says Mrs Barbauld, “ two in
number, are, like most second parts, greatly inferior to the
first. They are superfluous, for the plan was already com¬
pleted ; and they are dull, for instead of incident and pas¬
sion, they are filled with heavy sentiment, in diction far
from elegant. A great part of it aims to palliate, by
counter-criticism, the faults which had been found in the
first parts. It is less a continuation than the author’s de¬
fence of himself.” On the story of Pamela the famous
dramatist Goldoni has written two of his plays, Pamela
Nubile and Pamela Maritata.
In the year 1749, Richardson published the first two vo¬
lumes of The History of Clarissa Harlowe. This work,
which he extended to eight volumes, is the chief foundation
of his celebrity as an original and inventive writer. Not¬
withstanding its inordinate length, the book long continued
to enjoy an almost unrivalled share of publicfavour, and, what¬
ever may be its defects or redundancies, this favour could
only be secured by the author’s power over the imagination
and moral feelings. The outline of the story is sufficiently
simple, nor is the curiosity of the reader excited by intri¬
cate plots and marvellous adventures. It is a work, not of
action and enterprise, but of character and sentiment. His
next production was The History of Sir Charles Grandi-
son, published in 1753, in seven volumes. In his previous
works he had given ample delineations of female character
and he now endeavoured to exhibit a pattern of a perfect
man. Whatever is graceful and engaging in the man of
spirit and fine gentleman it was his aim to unite with
every moral virtue, and with the strict observance of Chris¬
tian principles. This was certainly a difficult enterprise ;
and the writer’s genius is more successfully displayed in
delineating the character of Clementina, than in protray-
R I C
159
ing that of his hero. The nervous system of Richardson Richelieu,
was naturally weak; and during his latter years his hand
shook, and he was subject to frequent fits of giddiness.
His disorders having at length terminated in apoplexy, he
died on the 4th of July 1761, at the age of seventy-two.
Richardson left behind him the character of a virtuous
and benevolent man, highly respected in all the relations
of private life. His chief weakness seems to have been
vanity, which is sufficiently displayed in his private corre¬
spondence. His success in literature was so great and so
unexpected, and he received so much flattery from his
friends, especially from his female friends, that it would
have required a very firm texture of mind to resist the access
of that passion which so easily converts a wise man into a
fool. He was twice married. His first wife was Miss
Allington Wilde, daughter of the printer with whom he
served his apprenticeship. She bore him five sons and
a daughter, who all died young. His second wife, who
survived him for many years, was Elizabeth, the sister of
Mr Leake, a bookseller of Bath. She became the mother
of a son and five daughters. The son died at an early
age, but four of the daughters survived him: Mary, mar¬
ried in 1757 to Mr Ditcher, an eminent surgeon of Bath ;
Martha, married in 1 762 to Edward Bridgen, Esq.; Anne,
who died unmarried in 1804; and Sarah, married to Mr
Crowther, surgeon of Boswell Court.
Besides his three novels in nineteen volumes, he published
some other works. The Negociations of Sir Thomas Roe,
in his Embassy to the Ottoman Porte from 1621 to 1628
inclusive, 1740, fob; An edition of JEsop's Fables, with
Reflections ; Familiar Letters to and from several Persons
upon Business and other subjects. He furnished some ad¬
ditions to the sixth edition of De Foe’s Tour through
Great Britain ; and some of his contributions are to be
found in periodical works. Long after his death appeared
Tlie Correspondence of Samuel Richardson, author of
Pamela, Clarissa, and Sir Charles Grandison ; selected
from the original manuscripts bequeathed by him to his
family ; to which are prefixed a Biographical Account of
that Author, and Observations on his Writings, by Anna
Laetitia Barbauld, London, 1804, 6 vols. 12mo. His works,
with a sketch of his life and writings, by the Rev. Ed!
Mangin, appeared in 19 vols., London, 1811. (For an es¬
timate of Richardson’s place as a novelist, see Romance.)
RICHELIEU, Armand Jean Duplessis, Cardinal,
Due cfe, was the younger son of a Poitiers gentleman, whose
impoverished exchequer did not allow him to support, in
anything like style, the honours of his genealogical tree.
Born on the 5th of September 1585, he received a tolerable
education preparatory to his entering the army. One of
his brothers, Alphonse, had already been comfortably pro¬
vided for by the church, and a bishop’s mitre at Lupon was
the first prize which the Poitiers gentilhomme secured to¬
wards the worldly welfare of his family. Whilst the pre¬
late thus sailed easily down the stream of life, the soldier
would have to fight his way to distinction sword in hand,
starting with the usual chances of a cadet defamille. His-’
tory does not inform us whether young Armand’s inclina¬
tion was in accordance with the parental will; but certainly
his subsequent conduct at the siege of La Rochelle proves
that he was more at home on the field of battle than in the
arena of theological discussion. The Bishop of Lupon had
not yet been consecrated when, under the impression of re¬
ligious scruples, he was induced to renounce a position so
many would have earnestly coveted, and to withdraw him¬
self entirely from the world. He entered a Carthusian
monastery. Jhis circumstance was likely to prove a serious
matter to the straitened fortunes of the Duplessis family;
but our soldier in posse thought that he was called upon to
retain at any cost the position his brother had parted with;
so, throwing back his sword into the scabbard, he adopted
160 RICHELIE U.
Richelieu, the crozier as the prop of his rising destinies. None of the
transactions connected with this episcopal promotion will
bear close examination. Richelieu was only twenty years
old when it took place, and a great many difficulties were
raised by the Pope, not without strong reasons. Henri IV.
had to interfere ; the French ambassador at Rome exhausted
all his diplomatic resources; as a final climax, Richelieu
himself started for the Eternal City, fully determined to con¬
quer. His Holiness yielded at last, and the ceremony of
consecration took place on April 17, 1608. The young
Bishop of Lugon immediately after repaired to his diocese.
Arriving in a part of France where the majority of the
people belonged to the Protestant religion, Richelieu re¬
solved to discharge his duties with vigour and prudence.
He would settle differences, soften irritations, and display
uniformly the spirit of forbearance, when brought into con¬
tact with his Huguenot diocesans. “ Gentlemen,” he said,
in a sort of oratorical programme to that effect, “ as I am
come to live with you, and to make my habitual abode in
this place, there is nothing that can be more agreeable to
me than to see your faces, and to know from your own de¬
clarations that you feel pleasure at my presence. 1 thank
you for the good wishes you express. I shall do my best
to deserve them by every kindness in my power; for the
strongest anxiety I have is, that I may be useful to all and
each of you. There are some in this company who are
separated from us, as I am aware, on matters of faith ; may
we, notwithstanding, be all united together in the bond of
charity! I shall do all I can towards that object; it will
be as useful to them as to us, besides pleasing the king,
whom every one of us is bound to obey. Time will prove
more fully than anything I can say the affection I bear to
you ; I shall therefore leave deeds to show that your wel¬
fare will be the end of my endeavours.”1
If Richelieu manifested kindly dispositions towards the
Huguenot separatists, he affected likewise a strong sym¬
pathy for the common people, who, overwhelmed by taxes,
and bearing the dreadful consequences of a protracted suc¬
cession of civil wars, could hardly eke out a miserable live¬
lihood. He solicited and obtained for them some slight re¬
lief. Here, however, we discover a strong contrast in the
principles which the despotic statesman adopted subse¬
quently as the foundation of all true government. “ All
politicians,” he wrote, in his celebrated Testament Politique,
“ are agreed that, if the people’s circumstances were too
easy, it would be impossible to keep them within the bounds
of duty. We must compare them to mules, which, being
accustomed to burdens, are more injured by repose than by
work.”
What with the Huguenots, and what with the lame
condition to which “ the mules” were reduced, the see of
Luyon does not appear to have been a very lucrative bene¬
fice. Richelieu, the powerful genius who ruled so long over
the destinies of France, and whose very name struck terror
into the heart of Austria,—Richelieu began by driving bar¬
gains for some cheap church furniture, and doing duty in
second-best surplices. A number of letters written by him
at this period have been published; they are full of little
chit-chat on domestic grievances,—letters which show that
the bishop then lived in a laudable state of apostolic sim¬
plicity. His favourite correspondent was a Madame de
Bourges, who resided in Paris, and who seems to have been
in the habit of procuring for the young prelate the neces¬
saries he required from time to time. “ I shall find no lack
of occupation here,” he writes to her in April 1609, “ I as¬
sure you; everything is in such a ruinous condition that it
will require hard labour to set matters right again. I am
very badly off for lodgings, as there is not one chimney but
smokes. You may imagine that I am not anxious for a Richelieu
severe winter: patience, however, is the best remedy. I
can give you my word that my bishopric is the ugliest, the
muddiest, the most disagreeable in the kingdom ; but I
leave you to guess what is the condition of the bishop. I
have neither garden nor avenue, nor any place at all where
I may take a walk; I am, in fact, a prisoner in my own
house. I break off this discourse to tell you that we could
not find amongst my clothes a tunic and a dalmatica of
white taffeta, which were to be forwarded with the white
damask ornaments you ordered for me ; this makes me
think that they must have been forgotten.”
Many of the letters to Madame de Bourges are exactly
in the same style ; trifling topics are discussed, sometimes
in a genuine vein of comic humour, always with a kind of
philosophic insouciance. Then our bishop, after having
sedulously done what he could amidst the Huguenots and
the “ mules” of the diocese, feels that he ought to refresh
himself by a journey to Paris, and a visit to those who, at
the Louvre, dispense honours, riches, and power. There
is the Bishop of Evreux, Du Perron ; his controversial works
have procured him almost the reputation of an oracle; his
sermons are drawing large crowds to Notre Dame; he has
become a lionized prelate, and a man of unbounded in¬
fluence. “ Why,” quoth Richelieu, “ should not I walk in
his footsteps?” But in order to do so he must have an
hotel in Paris. An hotel! Yes, for the sake of decorum—
of appearances. F'or a bishop, furnished lodgings would
hardly be the thing. Madame de Bourges, that excellent
housekeeper, is once more consulted. “ You will oblige
me much by your good advice : I am rather hesitating, espe¬
cially about a house. On one hand, I am afraid that much
furniture will be required ; on the other, as my temper, simi¬
lar to yours, is a little inclined towards vainglory, I should
like both to be more comfortable, and also to make some
figure. Now this might be more conveniently managed if I
had a house of my own. A poor nobleman is a pitiable
thing; yet there is no helping that.”
And accordingly, off to Paris he went, determined to
make his way at court, and to get into some sort of notice.
His first attempt proved a signal failure ; he endeavoured
to create a sensation by his sermons, and preached several
times before the queen, but apparently to no purpose. Nay,
if we believe Priolo, the Bishop of Lugon was infelix con-
donator. Altogether, the result of these Paris journeys does
not seem to have been very encouraging. Richelieu re¬
turned to his diocese, and soon found out that, without tak¬
ing the trouble of a long and expensive pilgrimage from
Poitou to the metropolis, he could have secured close at
hand, the advice, the encouragement, and the assistance
which he required.
There lived at that time in the west of France a man
whose religious zeal and whose talent as a preacher were
much talked of. Francois Leclerc du Tremblay, a Capu-
chian friar, better known afterwards as Father Joseph, had,
when twenty-two years old, renounced the most brilliant pro¬
spects to embrace the monastic life. Neither the earnest en¬
treaties of his mother nor the allurements of the world could
avail. He donned the cowl; but by his transcendent powers
soon raised himself to the highest posts in his community.
He uncompromisingly denounced from the pulpit the lax
ideas which the civil wars had introduced into the church,
and which especially infected the convents. Moved by his
sermons, the nuns of Fontevrault had even requested him
to draw up a plan for the reformation of the monasteries be¬
longing to their order. This Father Joseph did success¬
fully ; but in order to consolidate the work he had been en¬
abled to begin, he wished to secure the appointment, as
1 See for all this the first volume of Richelieu’s correspondence, published by M. Avenel, and the clever articles of M. Sainte-Beuve
in the Causeries du Lundi, vol. vii.
E I C H E L I E U. 161
Richelieu, abbess, of Antoinette d’Orleans, sister of the Due de Longue-
ville; and some difficulties, it would seem, stood in the
way of this nomination. The Bishop of Lupon was then
residing in the Priory des Roches, near Fontevrault; Father
Joseph called upon him for his advice. These two clever
men soon understood each other’s character; and although
Du Tremblay was eight years older than Richelieu, he
constantly affected to receive his instructions with the
greatest respect. When they both went to court for the
purpose of reporting about the settlement of the Fonte¬
vrault business, Father Joseph spoke of Richelieu to Marie
de Medici as of a superior prelate who could render her
the greatest services.
We have seen the bishop endeavouring to steer his course
steadily amongst difficulties of a temporal nature. He was
not by any means so fortunate in disposing of cases con¬
nected with the anxieties of the soul and the appeals of
conscience. He was ignorant of spiritual things; and the
few letters reprinted that relate to such subjects are as
commonplace and tame as can be imagined. Fancy his
reverence sitting down to his desk with a Complete Reli¬
gious Letter- Writer before him, and instead of giving to the
distressed the outpourings of his heart, sending to them
pages from a manual published cum privilegio. If we would
study the veritable Richelieu, and see him himself again,
we must turn to the despatches in which he lectures a vicar-
general or a parish priest. Let the following (penned in
1610) suffice by way of specimen :—“Sir, I have received
the letter you wrote to me on the subject of the differences
which have arisen between M. De la Coussaye and your¬
self. I cannot but blame you for them, because my desire
is, that those who have the management of affairs in my
diocese should live in peace together. I inform M. De la
Coussaye of this, and I warn you likewise, so that you may
make it your object to preserve union. You are both my
vicars-general, and as such your only aim ought to be to
please me in all things, which will certainly be the case,
provided you act for the glory of God. Your letter makes
it clear that you were out of temper when you took up your
pen; for my part, I love my friends so well that I wish to
be acquainted only with their good tempers, and in my
opinion they ought not to show any other Thank
God, I know how to behave myself, and I know still better
how they should behave who are placed under me I
wish you to tell me of the irregularities which you may
notice in my diocese ; but you must do so more gently.”
The circumstances in which Richelieu was placed at that
time compelled him to display much deference to some
people respecting whom he entertained in after-life a very
different opinion. For instance, while he is only the insig¬
nificant Bishop of Lupon, wearing questionable surplices, and
dwelling in a house with smoky chimneys, he can write to
Sully in the most submissive manner. A letter, dated
September 21, 1612, begins thus:—“ Sir, if I had as many
ways of being of service to you as I have occasion to be
importunate, I would prove my affection and my zeal with
as much pleasure as I feel pain now, in taking up the pen
to beg for undeserved marks of your benevolence. I would
never have ventured to do so had I not been aware that
those who may be called truly great, more by their quali¬
ties than by the offices they fill, are very glad of an oppor¬
tunity of assisting their inferiors ; for they prove thus, that
if their power commends them, their kindness places them
higher still,” &c. &c. Compare the obsequious tone which
characterises the above letter with the opinions which the
prelate gives of Sully in the Histoire de la Mere et du Fils.
We should, however, remember that, as late as 1626, con¬
temporary historians and annalists took very little notice of
Richelieu. When they speak of him, it is quite par hasard,
and often in the most disparaging manner. Baptiste Le
Grain’s allusion to the bishop is not only laconic, but bor-
VOL. XIX.
dering upon contempt. Savaron, relating the opening of Richelieu,
the States-General in 1614, merely says that Richelieu, in
delivering up the cahiers of the clergy, spoke for a long hour.
Then, when he describes the negotiations which took place
between the king and the queen-mother,—negotiations in
which Richelieu played so conspicuous a part,—he omits
his name altogether, alluding only to Cardinal de la Roche¬
foucauld and to Father de Berulle. Paul Phelypeaux de
Pontchartrain, who had been employed since 1610 as
secretary of state in the most important transactions, and
who must have been well acquainted with Richelieu, has the
following sentence, under the date of December 1616:—
“About that time several rumours were spread abroad 
All the old ministers were to withdraw and to make way for ,
two or three men whose sole merit and experience con¬
sisted in their abetting the designs of the marshal (Concini),
and of his wife.” Appreciations such as these are scarcely
credible, except upon the supposition, that the writers who
penned them were blinded either by party spirit or by
jealousy.
The murder of Flenri II. produced in Europe the effect
of a thunderbolt. At the time when that event was permitted
to happen, France had reached a state of prosperity which
seemed doubly glorious after the horrors of the civil wars.
Party animosity was gradually subsiding, and Catholics and
Protestants were living together in the bonds of mutual
forbearance. But, on the other hand, it must be acknow¬
ledged that the Edict of Nantes was grounded upon a wrong
basis; the Protestants were considered, not as a church,
but as a political community; whilst the edict was odious
to the crown, it could hardly satisfy the Huguenots; and
it was quite evident that, as soon as the stroke of death re¬
moved the monarch who had brought about the compact,
the structure he had reared would speedily fall to the
ground. The persons most anxious to play a part in the
game of politics observed each other closely; and Richelieu’s
absence from his diocese became a matter of common oc¬
currence. We have already alluded to the speech which
he pronounced before the States-General. It is a tedious
composition, written in the affected style of the age, and
rather remarkable for the view the orator takes of admin¬
istration and public business. He succeeded so thoroughly
in flattering the ambition of Marie de Medici that she
named him almoner to her household,—a post which, by-
the-bye, he did not long retain, for a few days only after his
appointment he sold it, permissione superiorum, to the
Bishop of Langres. This was, we must acknowledge, a
smart way of raising the wind, and of proving that our
pauvre noblesse had their wits about them. With the re¬
sults of the bargain Richelieu could keep up a better
establishment than the one which Madame de Bourges en¬
abled him to maintain ; and he patiently awaited the course
of events. In the meanwhile, he was very assiduous in his
attentions to the powers that were,—the under-secretary of
state Barbin, Concini, and Leonora Galigai. The storm of
factions was agitating the court; amidst a crowd of petty
intriguers and of men whose talents were not equal to their
ambition, Concini felt the advantage of securing the cool
judgment and the steady determination of Richelieu.
And truly France had been reduced to a pitiable con¬
dition. From the height of prosperity it had sunk into the
most precarious state. Indolent, headstrong, and wavering,
the queen-mother, Marie de Medici, retained for her ad¬
visers the men least capable of offering her a firm support
in the season of adversity. Villeroy, Jeannin, Sillery, pos¬
sessed ability no doubt, but only as instruments in the
master’s hands. They could not take the initiative : guide
them, they would act judiciously; leave them to them¬
selves, and they were lost. The nobles, who still enter¬
tained the hope of regaining their former power, had at first
reckoned upon the support of the States-General. De-
x
RICHELIEU.
162
Richelieu, ceived in this expectation, they had withdrawn altogether
v -J from the court, and, strengthened by crowds of adven¬
turers still anxious for plunder and thirsting for blood, they
raised the standard of civil war. Such was the general de¬
solation that the king had an army to attend his progress
when he went to Bordeaux, on the occasion of his own
marriage with Ann of Austria, and to settle the union be¬
tween his sister Elizabeth and the son of Philip III. In
the interim, Father Joseph had undertaken to negotiate
with the confederate princes who were then assembled at
Saint Maixent; in the name of the queen-mother, Marshal
Brissac and the Due de Villeroy began a series of con¬
ferences which the ambition of the rebels protracted as
much as possible. At length, in the first days of May 1616,
a peace w^as signed at Loudun, the terms of which implied
so much weakness on the part of the government that, al¬
though the princes had obtained every pledge they re¬
quired, it was evident they did not intend to be satisfied at
so cheap a rate. “ The princes,” says .Richelieu in his
memoirs, “ received from the king great gifts and rewards
instead of the punishment they deserved; consequently they
did not abandon to his Majesty the faith they had sold him
so dear; or, if they did, it wras not for long.” In fact, the
pretensions of the nobles rose as high as the throne : they
talked of nothing less than shutting up the queen in a con¬
vent, and giving the crowm to the Prince de Conde. The
danger became imminent; France had an aftertaste of the
League, or an anticipation of the Fronde. Things de¬
manded an act of vigour and determination. Whilst Villeroy,
Jeannin, and Sillery were hesitating, and forming a thou¬
sand resolutions which they did not know how to carry out,
Richelieu, Barbin, and a few others prevailed upon the
queen to sanction the arrest of the princes. She did so ;
but the plan was so clumsily managed that Conde alone was
secured. It is not at all unlikely that the escape of the rest,
which a little wmdd have prevented, hastened the advent of
Richelieu to the ministry. He had himself vainly at¬
tempted to negotiate with the Due de Nevers; hostilities
were already beginning in several places, and a civil war was
opening of which no one could foresee the result. On No¬
vember 30, 1616, Armand Jean du Plessis de Richelieu
received his commission as secretary of state, with the right
of precedence over all his colleagues. He had already lor
some time been employed upon missions of no slight mo¬
ment, and he had even been appointed to proceed to Spain
in the capacity of an ambassador. This was a post he
would much like to have filled; but the fresh propositions
which the queen made to him through Concini were still
more to his taste, and he accordingly took his seat at the
council-board as the leader of a few obscure but zealous
men. It was a ministry inspired by the most vigorous
patriotism. One obstacle, however, stood in the way of
their usefulness,—they had met, so to speak, under the
patronage of Marshal d’Ancre, and this circumstance ren¬
dered them unpopular.
Richelieu had not long assumed the presidency of the
new cabinet when a strange revolution took place in the
management of public affairs ; it became evident that an
experienced hand was at the helm, and that decision and
firmness were to be the principles that should prevail. An
impartial historian must conceal none of the difficulties
which Richelieu had to surmount during this his first min¬
istry. In the first place, although he was nominally the
premier, yet his influence was not, by any means, un¬
checked. The under-secretary Barbin, for instance, had
almost equal power; and it was clear that a man of less
energy than Richelieu could not have kept the cabinet to¬
gether for a month. The want of money proved a more
serious obstacle ; the exchequer was empty, and Richelieu
had often to advance funds in order to defray the neces¬
sary expenses which occurred in the course of business.
The armies were badly equipped, badly paid, and either Richelieu,
utterly dispirited, or in a complete state of insubordination.
There were, besides, no sources of information that could
be relied upon ; not one single document or copy of a de¬
spatch existed at the seat of government; state-papers had
never been deemed worth preservation ; and the ministers
w7ere absolutely compelled to labour in the dark. But dif¬
ficulties are the test of genius; and Richelieu overcame all
those which stood in his way. He began by inviting, in
the most energetic manner, the princes and the other rebel
leaders to return to their duty ; taking, at the same time,
all the necessary means of compelling them to do so.
Whilst fresh levies were being raised, and the army re¬
modelled, ambassadors were despatched to England, to
Germany, to the Netherlands, for the purpose of depriving
the rebels of the assistance they expected from those foreign
courts. Richelieu’s request, however, did not determine
the princes to lay down their arms. Consequently all
things being now ready, a warrant of high treason was
issued against them: three different armies took the field,
and attacked them simultaneously in Champagne, Berry,and
LTle de France. In the course of two months the princes,
completely beaten, and driven from the posts which they
occupied, were obliged to surrender unconditionally in the
hands of the king.
When the coup d’etat of April 24, 1617, in bringing
De Luynes to power, revived once more, but for a short
time only, the expectations of the nobility, Richelieu, by
an exceptional piece of good luck, did not suffer for his de¬
votedness to the queen-mother. Probably his position as
an ecclesiastic secured to him some measure of respect;
but this was not all. He had managed to gain by timely
flattery the good-will of the new favourite, and the very
alteration which took place in his fortunes only brought
him more prominently forward. Banished as he was at
Mirebeau, he contrived to interest both parties on his be¬
half. To the court he adduced his withdrawal from pub¬
lic business as a proof of the most absolute submission ; to
Marie de Medici he described it as the result of his unre¬
mitting zeal for her service, and as a new persecution on
the part of her enemies. He thus contrived to weather
the storm; and when the excitement produced by the ca¬
tastrophe of Concini had subsided, he looked round to see
what could be done. We cannot enter here into the par¬
ticulars connected with the disgrace of the queen-mother.
Suffice it to say, that Richelieu 'served her to the utmost of
his power, and rendered her party so formidable that it
proved a serious obstacle to the ambitious views of the
new favourite. The Bishop of Lujon through his intrigues,
his determination, and his unscrupulous conduct, had be¬
come a dangerous personage; he was first ordered to re¬
turn to his priory at Coussay, then to his episcopal palace,
and finally he was banished to Avignon. There he seemed
determined upon leading a life of retirement; and a casual
observer, anxious to know how he spent his time, would
have found him busily employed in writing theological
works. This, of course, was merely a feint, designed to
throw his enemies off their guard. Attention to his books
did not prevent Richelieu from observing the course of
events ; and when Marie de Medici contrived to escape
from Blois, he joined her without any further delay. By
his influence, the whole of the Anjou nobility—the Dues de
Longueville, de Bouillon, d’Epernon—rallied round the
standard of the queen. The issue of this campaign is well
known. A battle was fought at Pont de Ce, near Angers,
where the rebel troops met with a signal defeat. A treaty,
nevertheless, concluded shortly after, secured to Richelieu
almost as many advantages as if he and not De Luynes had
triumphed. The queen received permission to return to
court, with the full enjoyment of all the privileges and
honours due to her rank ; and the king pledged himself to
J
RICHELIEU.
163
Richelieu, solicit a cardinal’s hat for Richelieu, whose niece, Made-
y—^ moiselle de Pont Courlay, married the Marquis de Combalet,
nephew of De Luynes.
After the death of the favourite in 1621, Richelieu did
not immediately return to power, but he saw that his day
was coming; and when he resumed again the supreme
authority, his reign lasted without interruption till the fatal
moment which saw him struck down, as it were, at the
foot of the scaffold to which he had sent Cinq-Mars and
De I hou. Louis XIII. had always, from the very first,
felt an unconquerable aversion for the Bishop of Lupon,
and it was with the greatest difficulty that Marie de Medici
obtained the prelate’s appointment to the office of privy-
councillor. The patent was signed nevertheless, and al¬
though no definite duties were assigned to him, it was not
long before he cast all his colleagues into the shade. The
first important result accomplished by the new ministry
was the marriage of Henrietta, the beautiful daughter of
the late king, with the Prince of Wales. This match had
already been contemplated by La Vieuville under the
Luynes administration. It was an object of the highest
moment, as it strengthened France against the influence
of Austria; Austria, the Carthage of Richelieu—the enemy
which he must destroy at any cost. The Pope, reduced at
that time to act as a mere tool in the hands of the Span¬
iards, was occupying on their behalf the Valteline, and thus
protecting their communication with the German empire
through the passes of the Alps. Instead of gaining the
neutrality of Switzerland by a series of negotiations which
would have wasted time, Richelieu sends (1624) the Mar-
quis de Coeuvres against the Papal troops, at the head of
a Swiss army, and we witness the singular spectacle of a
Roman Catholic prelate defeating the successor of St Peter
with weapons both spiritual and temporal;—-we say spiritual,
because Richelieu had obtained from the theological board
at the Sorbonne a sort of salvo for his conscience. Many
have professed astonishment at the system of policy thus
adopted by the French minister. It has seemed inconsist¬
ent for a cardinal to start in his ministerial career by mak¬
ing an alliance with two heretic nations, England and the
Netherlands, and by waging war against the Pope ; but we
must not forget that the preservation of France, as a first-
rate political power, was the great end the cardinal had in
view ; to this he sacrificed every other consideration, and,
without any scruple respecting the means employed, pushed
forward to the goal. He once said to La Vieuville,—“ I
never undertake anything without having well considered
it; but when I have made up my mind I go on resolutely,
overthrowing every obstacle, mowing down every impedi¬
ment, and then I cover everything under my red gown.”
1 o form an accurate idea of the system of policy pursued
by Richelieu, it is only necessary to read Gabriel Naude’s
Apologiepour les Coups d’EtaL It is there explained in a
few pages; and the despotic cardinal might, if he had
thought fit, have produced from that volume, chapter and
verse to justify the decapitation of Marillac and the death
of Puylaurens.
The following year the energetic minister made a trial
of his strength upon the Huguenots, but at that period
France had no navy, and the Protestants of La Rochelle,
supported by the English government, would have easily
triumphed over the troops of Louis XIII. if an attack had
been directed against that well-fortified town. The Bishop
of Lupon determined to wait for a while; and, notwith¬
standing all the squibs and pasquils which were levelled at
him, he treated with the Protestant party. This short
delay was employed by him in necessary preparations, and
in securing the means of effective action afterwards. He
began by obtaining from Montmorency the cession of the
admiralship ; he suppressed the important post of constable,
and all the other high offices connected with the crown ; an
assembly of the notables, called together under Richelieu’s Richelieu,
own influence, voted considerable reductions in the salaries i ■-
of the state dignitaries ; the fortresses not situated on the
frontiers were completely destroyed. These summary
reforms evidently were chiefly designed to reduce the
power of the nobles. For the achievement of this object,
Richelieu spared neither time nor means. The mania t f
duelling during the seventeenth century had reached so
extaordinary a pitch that, in the course of twenty years,
8000 letters of free pardon were signed by the king on be¬
half of gentilshommes who had either sent or received
challenges. This barbarous custom was stopped at once.
Comte de Chapelle and the Due de Bouteville had fought
a duel on the Place Royale in Paris ; they were both be¬
headed. John Barclay, in the complimentary epistle to
Louis XIII., which forms the Preface of his Argents,
says :—“ Nec acrior sceptri vindex fuisti, quam deinde
salutis singulorum : impio more sublato, qui jubebat Gal¬
los tuos, levibus inter se rixis commissis, passim jugulum
suum dare, autpetere alienum” Richelieu has a claim to
the full benefit of this congratulation; but we cannot
believe that humanity was the chief motive which actuated
him in his legislative enactments against duelling. He
took advantage of what had become a fashionable mania
to deal a blow at the nobility, who, he well knew, would
quarrel and challenge one another in spite of the strictest
edicts.
It was not to be expected that the cardinal would meet
with no opposition in the course of his administration. A
conspiracy, excited by the Duchess de Chevreuse and some
other ladies (the fair sex have always been politicians in
France), was organized in support of Gaston, Duke of Or¬
leans. They wanted that indolent prince to wrest from
Richelieu’s iron hand a sceptre which no one else could
safely wield; they had even gone so far as to arrange for
him a matrimonial alliance with a foreign princess. The
minister lost not a minute ; but first he would try what
gentle means might do; and he presented D’Ornano, Gas¬
ton’s governor, with the bdton of a marshal of France.
1 his act of kindness was mistaken for fear, and the conspi¬
rators became bolder than ever : then a perfect razzia took
place; every legal form was preserved by prosecutors who
were entirely and unreservedly devoted to Richelieu.
Chalais, the ringleader, forfeited his life; Gaston in the
meanwhile quietly got out of the way, purchased his own
safety by the most abject apologies, and whilst the execu¬
tioner was busy with his friends, he married Marie de
Bourbon. D’Ornano died (poisoned 1626) within the walls
of the Bastille.
The terrible manner in which Richelieu treated the tur¬
bulent remains of feudalism produced for a short time the
desired effect; and, free from every other obstacle, he
could now devote his whole attention to his favourite
scheme, the destruction of the Protestants as a political
party in France. The greatest mistake Henri IV. ever
committed was the introduction in the Edict of Nantes of
the clauses which preserved the status of the Huguenots as
a political body. If we examine their condition at the be¬
ginning of the reign of Louis XIII., we see that they
formed an imperium in imperio, and ambitious men knew
well what use to make of this element of strife. Not only
did they possess their places of safety, their assemblies, and
their military leaders, but the Due de Rohan entertained
the hope of organizing in France a Calvinist republic on
the model offered by the united provinces of Holland. The
confusion of the temporal and the spiritual principles in
matters of government has ever been productive of the
greatest mischief; and it seems clear that, if the French
Protestants had not yielded to the perfidious solicitations of
Rohan and Lesdiguieres,—if they had been satisfied with
the enjoyment of religious liberty,— they would not, at all
v.
164
RICHELIEU.
Richelieu, events, have supplied their adversaries with a pretext to
begin the work of destruction which the ill-advised Louis
XIV. carried out. An apology for commencing the war
was not long wanting. The Duke of Buckingham, who
had been foolish and impudent enough to boast openly of
being the favoured lover of Anne of Austria, was informed
that if he attempted to land in France, orders were issued
for his immediate arrest. Highly irritated at this insult, he
determined to be revenged; and, at the Due de Rohan’s
request, he sailed with a few thousand men to support the
Protestant Rochellese in another civil war. Such an ex¬
pedition might have been crowned with success if the Eng¬
lish government had persevered in countenancing the Hu¬
guenots ; but Charles I. found sufficient work to occupy
him at home without interfering with foreign politics; and,
despite the most obstinate resistance, the citizens of La Ro¬
chelle, left to their own resources, were compelled (1628)
to surrender. The war continued for a short time in the
south of France ; but at last the Due de Rohan, one of the
chief Protestant leaders, laid down his arms: his submis¬
sion, which brought about that of the whole party, was
purchased at the price of a hundred thousand crowns. The
taking of La Rochelle may be considered as one of the
most important events in the history of Richelieu; it was
a fatal blow, not only to the political strength of the Hu¬
guenots, but also to the ambition of the nobles. One of
those chieftains who accompanied the royal army had said,
“ We shall not be such fools as to take La Rochelle and
in expressing himself thus, he gave utterance to the feel¬
ings of the whole party ; for they had in the capital of
French Protestantism a powerful auxiliary with whom they
combined when they wanted to annoy the government by
the threat of a civil war. La Rochelle surrendered, how¬
ever ; and the best proof that all this transaction was a po¬
litical, not a religious one, is to be seen in the terms im¬
posed by Richelieu. They were hard, no doubt; but they
included neither the demolition of the Protestant churches,
nor any infringement of the rights of public worship. We
may say, in short, that under the administration of Riche¬
lieu, and of his successor Mazarin, the French Protestants
were in a very favourable condition.
Richelieu’s policy was developed with such energy that
success crowned all his endeavours. As to the means em¬
ployed he never felt very scrupulous ; and his subordinates,
with the exception of Father Joseph Chavigny, and a few
others, were undoubtedly the greatest ruffians of their
time. What an interesting sight for any one who could
have been admitted for a moment within the walls of that
council-chamber when the cadet of the House of Riche¬
lieu, now a cardinal, a peer of the realm, and the true king
of France, was. preparing from his arm-chair by the fireside
the unity of the state and the glory of Louis XIV. To
see the eminence rouge discussing with Father Joseph—
the eminence grise—a plan of attack against John de Wert,
or the execution of some impudent young nobleman, com¬
promised in a new freak of the Duke, of Orleans. Above
the door of that chamber might have been written, by way
of a motto, the aphorism which Gabriel Naude himself
proposes: Salus populi suprema lex esto. But let us
notice that Robespierre, Danton, and the terrorists of ’93,
. adopted no other motto. There is a point when red repub¬
licans and red-cassocked despots meet, both borrowing
their statecraft from the atrocious recipes supplied by the
Apologie pour les Coups d’Etat. .. .
The Protestants being now subdued at home, Riche¬
lieu defeated the Catholics abroad : penetrating into
Italy, he secured to the Duke de Nevers the possession
of Mantua and of the Montferrate (1630), and destroyed
for ever the Spanish influence in a peninsula where that
nation had enjoyed an absolute sway since the days of
Charles V.
The events of the war had brought the court to the Richelieu,
south of France. Anne of Austria, Marie de Medici, all
the ministers, were there, accompanied by a suite of noble¬
men, who, not frightened at the fate of D’Ornano and Cha-
lais, were again watching a favourable opportunity to effect
the disgrace of Richelieu. These reiterated attempts are
surprising enough ; but what astonishes us most is, that the
conspirators should have allowed themselves to be led
astray by Gaston, Due d’Orleans,—a man who, in the
hour of danger, would not hesitate to betray his bosom
friend, if his own safety could be purchased at such a price.
And yet they fell into the snare. The king was danger¬
ously ill at Lyons ; they thought the opportunity too good
to be lost; and indeed managed so well, that when the
court had returned to Paris, the cardinal’s disgrace seemed
inevitable. But he determined upon making a final effort;
and, securing aii interview of a quarter of an hour with
Louis XIII. at Versailles, he frightened the monarch, and
left the palace as powerful as ever. “ This coup d’etat”
says M. Michelet {Precis d'Histoire Moderne'), “ was a
perfect comedy: the cardinalists packed off in the morning,
and it was the turn of the royalists to make their exit at
sunset. Marshal Marillac had to pay for the rest; seized
in the middle of his army, he was tried before a court
composed of his private enemies, and in the cardinal’s
very palace at Ruel. Of course, under such circum¬
stances, it was useless to expect mercy: the unfortu¬
nate warrior was beheaded. In the meanwhile, what
had become of Gaston ? Banished with his mother to
Brussels, he felt at last some shame at not taking any
personal part in the struggle against his enemy. Besides,
the Due de Montmorency, governor of Languedoc, had
informed him that his presence in the disaffected provinces
would undoubtedly excite a general rebellion. Assisted
by the Due de Lorraine, whose daughter he had married,
Gaston raised an army of brigands, as they have justly been
termed. Unfortunately, in order to reach Languedoc, it
was necessary that this select band should cross France
from north to south. Badly paid, badly fed, they took to
pillage by way of compensation, and thus materially im¬
paired the cause they were engaged to serve. A battle
was fought (1632) at Castelnaudary; the king’s troops
were victorious, and Montmorency shared the fate of Ma¬
rillac, whilst Gaston d’Orleans, “swore by the faith of a
gentleman that he would ever be my lord the cardinal’s
best friend.”
The destruction of the House of Austria was the great
object of Richelieu’s foreign diplomacy. The Thirty Years’
War, now raging in all its fury, had increased an hundred¬
fold the emperor’s power. Tilly, Wallenstein, Bernard of
Saxe-Weimar—Schiller’s heroes—were upholding, sword
in hand, on many battle-fields, the destinies of the House
of Austria. Richelieu’s genius and activity checked the
valour of the great imperialist generals, and opposed to them
a warrior who, in his short career, abundantly proved that
a clever system of tactics does not always ensure success.
Gustavus Adolphus, the hero of Lutzen, fought at the same
time the battles of Richelieu and those of the Protestant
cause. After the death of the King of Sweden, the posi¬
tion of France became for awhile extremely difficult. The
imperialists assumed the offensive; they had entered
France by Burgundy and by Picardy. If Bernard of Saxe-
Weimar had not gained the two battles of Rheinfeld and
Brissach, it is impossible to conjecture what would have
been the issue. In the year 1640, however, Richelieu
adopted a more expeditious plan: he occupied the Spa¬
niards at home by sending his support to the rebels of Ca¬
talonia and of Portugal; whilst, to retaliate, the government
of Madrid espoused the Duke of Orleans’ cause, and pre¬
pared the catastrophe which was to impart such a tragic
feature to the last moments of the great cardinal. M.
R I C
uicheiieu. Alfred de Vigny’s admirable romance1 has thrown over the
v—✓ insignificant figure of Cinq Mars a lustre which it certainly
does not deserve; but the history of this mad-cap conspi¬
racy, whilst it proves to us the cold and selfish character of
Louis XIII., is an instructive lecture on the folly of those
who trust to the smiles of kings and princes. Richelieu
lived long enough to see the French standard hoisted on
the walls of Perpignan, and when death at last summoned
him away, in the year 1642, he left a successor, Giulio
Mazarini, who was one day to complete with almost greater
skill than his patron the work begun by Armand Jean du
Plessis. In estimating the government of Cardinal Riche¬
lieu,2 * it must be admitted that the unity of France was
worth purchasing at the expense of some measures of ex¬
traordinary severity ; but it is equally true that Richelieu’s
motto was essehtially the lust of domination, and whatever
may have been the results of his administration, the only
object he had set his heart upon was to reign without a
rival. We should also observe, as the key-stone of the
cardinal’s home-policy, the establishment of that scheme
of absolute monarchy which, ever since the days of Philippe-
le-bel, has been gradually developing itself in France. By
the ruin of the aristocracy and the insignificant position to
which the Parliament were reduced, the balance of power
was completely destroyed; and the nation, thus deprived
of all legitimate means of making known its wishes, its
grievances, and its sympathies, became alienated from
rulers who, in the course of time, had not even the merit
of energy and enlightened patriotism to justify the abuse of
authority. Another important fact, which we have already
had occasion to notice, is the reform introduced by Riche¬
lieu in the various branches of the service. Here he cer¬
tainly manifested great discernment, and made for the good
of the country sacrifices which cannot be thought lightly of.
The following passage from the Testament Politique will
be enough to illustrate this factJe supplie aussi tres
humblement sa Majeste de trouver bon que 1’on lui mette
entre les mains la somme de 1,500,000 livres, de laquelle
je puis dire avec verite m’etre servi tres utilement aux
grandes affaires de sa Etat, en sorte que si je n’eusse eu
cet argent a ma disposition, quelques affaires qui ont bien
succede eussent apparemment mal reussi, ce qui me donne
sujet d’oser supplier sa Majeste de destiner cette somme que
je lui laisse pour employer en diverses circonstances qui
ne peuvent souffrir la longueur des formes de finances.”
It will scarcely be credited that Cardinal de Richelieu, '
amidst all the requirements of politics, found time to culti¬
vate literature. History informs us that Bonaparte was
prouder of belonging to the Institute than of wearing the
epaulettes of general-in-chief; from the same cause, Riche¬
lieu was jealous of Corneille’s laurels. The success which
the fine tragedy Le Cid obtained “frightened him as
much,” Fontenelle says, “as if the Spanish army had been
under the walls of Paris.” He composed two plays: Mi~
rame, a tragi-comedy ; and La Grand Pastorale, both very
indifferent performances. Richelieu, nevertheless, was
a true friend to intellectual culture: he founded the
Academic Franqaise, enlarged the Sorbonne and the
royal printing-office, built the College du Plessis, and
established the botanical garden known by the name of
Jardin du Roi. The only writings of his which will
R I C
really be found valuable, are his Testament Politique* his
Memoirs? and his correspondence. Allusion has already
been made to his sermons and to his controversial treatises':
a man who mistook Terentianus Maurus for the title of a
play, and translated it “ The Moor of Terence,” could not be
deeply read in classical antiquity. But such matters are
trifles in the history of him who conquered the Valteline,
the duchy of Savoy, and La Rochelle, and whose genius
prepared the peace of Westphalia and the treaty of the
Pyrenees. The Bishop of Lujon was not the only remark¬
able man in the Richelieu family. One of his descendants
earned an unenviable reputation as the greatest roue of the
last century; whilst another, who died thirty years ago,
played a conspicuous and most honourable part in the his¬
tory of the Restoration. (g.m.)
RICHMOND, a market-town, parliamentary and muni¬
cipal borough of England, in the North Riding of York¬
shire, occupies a beautiful position on a rocky height rising
steeply from the Swale, here crossed by a stone bridge, 11
miles S.W. of Darlington, and 41 N.N.W. of York. The
country around is richly wooded and very picturesque ; and
the romantic character of the place is enhanced by the old
castle of Richmond, which stands to the south of the town,
on the summit of cliffs which rise almost perpendicularly
from the river. The Norman keep of the castle is still al¬
most entire; the walls, 11 feet thick, rise to the height of
nearly 100 feet. It was founded by Alan Rufus, Earl of
Brittany, who came over with the Conqueror, and obtained
from him the title of Earl of Richmond, along with the
estates of the Saxon earl Edwin. The estates of Richmond
became the crown property on the accession of that family
in the person of Henry VII; but they were conferred by
Charles 11. in 1675 on his son Charles Lennox, in whose
family it still remains. The town is irregularly laid out,
and has one handsome broad street and a large market¬
place. The parish church is chiefly of Gothic architecture,
but has some parts in the Norman style. A fine pinnacled
tower rises from the west end. Trinity Chapel is a build¬
ing of much antiquity, standing in the market-place. The
other places of worship in the town belong to Wesleyans,
Baptists, and Roman Catholics. There is a good town-
hall, containing accommodation for the quarter-sessions, and
a large assembly-room. The grammar-school of Richmond,
incorporated by Queen Elizabeth, has six scholarships at
Oxford, Cambridge, and Durham, and contained in 1854,
60 pupils. 1 he town has also a corporation school, na¬
tional and infant schools, a school supported by Roman
Catholics, a scientific society, and a mechanics’ institute.
I he manufactures of the place are not of much import¬
ance, consisting of a large paper-mill, iron and brass foun¬
dries, tanneries, rope-works, and corn-mills. The market
for corn here is of some importance ; and though the town
is not at present in a very flourishing condition, it is the
residence of many wealthy families, and stands in a region
where there are many parks and seats of the nobility and
gentry. The borough is governed by a mayor, .3 other
aldermen, and 12 councillors, and returns 2 members to
Parliament. Near the town there are some remains of an
ancient monastery of the priory of St Martin, and of St
Nicholas’ HospitaL Pop. of the parliamentary borough
(1851)4969.
1 Cinq Mars, ou une conspiration sous Louis XIII. ■ ■ .
2 The system adopted t>y Cardinal Richelieu has been very severely criticised by the following writers Edgar Quinet, “ Philoso-
1 ?nCe’ RevueJ;es Deux Mondes, 1855, tom. ix., p. 55; Ch. de Rgmusat, “ Richelieu et sa Correspondence,” Revue
M 18-54, t0I^Q'’ Va172J tie “L Ancien Regime et la Revolution, par M. Alexis de Tocqueville,” Revue des Deux
"awI al8rp6’ tom: 1V-’ P-6o3 5 Alb\ de Broglie, “Conclusions de 1’Hist. de France,” Revue des Deux Mondes, 1854, tom. v., p. 265;
, p!S,d?e. T%qUeV1”e’ LitTn\n R^lme,et ^Revolution. M. Cablet's volume, De V Administration en France sous le ministlre du Cardinal
e lieheheu (1 aris, 8vo, 1857), although rather too eulogistic, is very valuable, and full of most important details.
bee on this book two valuable articles by M. Hyver de Beauvoir in the Bulletin du Bouquiniste for 1857 pp 211 257
°n Ve,ry i1°te1T,e8tin.S PaPers ^ M- Avenel in the Journal des Savants for March and August 1858 ’and February and
May 1859. The Cardinal s Memoirs were published for the first time in M. Petitot’s collection, 1823.
165
Richmond.
166 R I C
Richmond. Richmond, a town of England, in the county of Surrey,
v—on the sides and top of a hill on the right bank of the
Thames, 10 miles W.S.W. of St Paul’s in London. On
the summit of the hill stands the Star and Garter Hotel,
and along the brow runs a terrace, both commanding a
wide view over one of the richest and most beautiful tracts
of country in England. In the lower part of the town the
houses are small and old-fashioned; but there are many
very handsome buildings in the more modern portions, and
in the outskirts. The parish church is a plain brick edi¬
fice, with a low embattled tower. In it and the church¬
yard there are monuments to Thomson the poet, Kean the
actor, Dr John Moore, and Gilbert Wakefield, who are
buried here. The church of St John, built in 1831, is a
good building in the pointed style. Independents, Bap¬
tists, Wesleyans, and Roman Catholics possess in the town
places of worship ; and there is a Wesleyan theological in¬
stitution, occupying a very fine edifice in the Tudor style.
There are in the town several schools, a literary and scien¬
tific institution, mechanics’ institute, theatre, and savings-
bank. Richmond Park, which lies to the south-east of the
town, is inclosed by a brick wall, and has an area of 2253
acres. It is open to the public, the main entrance being
at the west end of the terrace ; and it is well stocked with
deer. This is called the New Park ; the Old Park, which
extends along the river as far as Kew, being closed to the
public. Richmond is much more remarkable as a place of
pleasure and summer resort than as the seat of business or
commerce. Being connected with the capital by railway,
as well as by the river steamboats, it is resorted to by great
numbers of visitors. It was for a long time the seat of
royalty; and probably it is to Edward I. that this honour
is owing. Henry V. rebuilt the palace in a magnificent
style ; but in the reign of Henry VII. it was burned down,
and a new palace erected. This monarch changed the
name of the place from Sheen, which it previously had, to
Richmond, his own title before his accession. In that
palace Henry VII. died in 1509, Charles V. was lodged
in 1523, and Queen Elizabeth, who had been confined
here by Mary, and afterwards made it a favourite residence,
breathed her last in 1603. Under the Commonwealth, the
palace was sold, and was demolished partly then and partly
in the next century. Pop. (1851) 9065.
Richmond, a town of the United States of North Ame¬
rica, capital of Virginia, on the left bank of the James
River, 130 miles S. by W. of Washington, and about the
same distance above the entrance of Chesapeake Bay. The
general appearance of the town is very picturesque, some¬
what resembling that of Edinburgh. It is divided into two
parts by the valley through which Shockoe Creek flows
into James River, and is built for the most part on the hills
on either side. The streets are regular and the houses
substantial, some of them very handsome. The most con¬
spicuous edifice is the Capitol, a Grecian building after the
model of the Maison Carree at Nismes, standing on the
top of a hill in the midst of well-planted grounds about 8
acres in extent. It contains a statue of Washington by
Houdon, considered the best likeness of that great man.
At one corner of the Capitol grounds stands the City Hall,
a fine Doric building ; and not far off is the residence of the
governor. Of the churches in the town, about 30 in num¬
ber, many are handsome buildings. They belong to Bap¬
tists, Episcopalians, Methodists, Presbyterians, Quakers,
Roman Catholics, &c. I he educational establishments of
the town include Richmond College, under the direction of
the Baptists, with 6 professors and 167 students; the Vir¬
ginia Baptist theological Seminary, with 3 professors and
67 students; and the medical department of Hampden
Sydney College, with 7 professors and 90 students. The
last of these occupies a fine building in the Egyptian style.
There are here, too, a historical and philosophical society,
R I C
numerous schools, a court-house, penitentiary, alms-house, Richter,
armoury, and orphan hospital. Richmond has great natural
advantages for manufacturing industry, from the great
amount of water-power supplied by the river. The articles
most generally produced are flour, tobacco, cotton and
woollen fabrics, paper, machinery, hardware, cannon, nails,
&c. James River flows over a bed of granite, and has inex¬
haustible quarries on its banks, not far from the town ; while
within a short distance there are extensive deposits of coal.
The trade of the town is rapidly increasing. It is the ter¬
minus of several railways, and of the James River Canal,
which extends up the river for 200 miles. Vessels drawing
10 feet can come up to the town, and those drawing 15 to
within 3 miles. Tobacco, wheat, and flour are the prin¬
cipal articles exported. The shipping of the district, June
30, 1852, amounted in all to 3078 tons registered, and
6100 enrolled and licensed. In the year ending on that
day there entered from foreign ports 35 vessels, tonnage
7120; and cleared 71, tonnage 22,803. The aggregate
value of the goods imported by railway and canal into the
town is more than L.2,000,000. Richmond was founded
in 1742, and became the capital of the state in 1779-80,
but was then a small place, remarkable for nothing but the
beauty of its scenery. Pop. (1800) 5737 ; (1820) 12,067;
(1840) 20,153 ; (1850) 27,570, of which 17,643 were free,
and 9927 slaves.
RICHTER, Jean Paul Friedrich, was born 21st
March 1763, at Wunsiedel, in the Fichtelgebirge, Bavaria,
where his father, John Christopher Richter, was school¬
master and organist. Two years after, however, he was
appointed parson at Joditz, and finally at Schwarzenbach.
He appears in Jean Paul’s fragment of autobiography as a
clever, witty man, indulgent at home, prone to melancholy,
and struggling all his life with debt. Jean Paul’s educa¬
tion was conducted at home in an irregular fashion till his
thirteenth year, when he was sent to the gymnasium at
Hof. He had already acquired an amount of knowledge
extraordinary for a boy, by dint of reading everything he
could get to read in his father’s library, and in the larger
one of his friend Vogel, a neighbouring clergyman, and
had commenced that system of making copious extracts
from the books he read w hich he continued ever after. At
Hof he lived with his mother’s parents till the death of his
father in 1780, which was shortly followed by the death of
his grandfather and grandmother. To his mother, their
favourite child, they left their property, which w?as con¬
siderable, in Hof, and she went there to reside. The will
w7as contested by other expectants, and the expenses of the
lawsuit and the debts of her deceased husband swallowed
up the bequest, and reduced her to poverty. In these cir¬
cumstances, Jean Paul was sent to the university of Leip-
sic, to study for the church, it being the ardent wish of his
mother that he should follow his father’s profession ; and
Leipsic was preferred to Erlangen on account of the sup¬
posed privileges of poor students at the former university.
He entered 19th May 1781, and heard Platner lecture on
logic and aesthetics, Morns on theology, Wieland on morals,
and Hempel on the English language, to which he applied
himself. It does not appear that he had at any time the
serious intention of becoming a preacher, for his multi¬
farious reading had already brought him under the influ¬
ence of the scepticism of the time; but he seems to have
been willing enough to fulfil his mother’s desire, until his
intercourse with the humorists of England—Addison, Swift,
Pope, Young, Sterne—thoroughly awakened his powders
into consciousness, and then it became his fixed resolve
to live a literary life, and no other. Dire necessity pushed
the resolve into premature action: want stared him in the
face. The small sums his mother could afford to send him
were insufficient for a bare subsistence; the letters in
which he begs money or thanks her for it, consoling her, at
R I C H T E R. 167
Richter, the same time, for her disappointed hopes of his becoming
a preacher by the golden prospects of fame and independ¬
ence to be won by his writings, are of a most pathetic
cheerfulness. For his first book, Lob der Dummheil (“ The
Praise of Stupidity”), suggested (too obviously) by the Ltn-
comium of Erasmus, he could not find a publisher. In no¬
wise daunted, he threw it into the fire, and commenced a
second Gronlandische Prozessen (“ Greenland Lawsuits”),
a series of satirical essays or sketches directed against Ger¬
man follies, and specially against the litei’ary class. These
first essays are certainly replete with wit, native and bor¬
rowed ; and had he himself left nothing to compare them
with, much more would be found in them. They were
published by Voss at Berlin in 1783, and the author was
made rich with 15 louis-d’ors. For a third volume he,
after numerous solicitations, could find no publisher nor
editor. In 1784 he returned to Hof, and lived with his
mother in a very straitened way, cheerfully pursuing his
studies, assisted by the books, and often by the money, of
his friends Vogel and Otto. In Hof, while his eccentric
freedom of dress (he wore his own hair and an open shirt-
collar, and was otherwise wild in his attire) and of speech
had made him enemies, he had a circle of warm fi lends,
mostly of the fair sex, for whom he was already a great
and wonderful man, before Weimar and Berlin had told
them so. Two changes intervened before the dawn of his
fame. In 1786 he became tutor in the family of a Von
Oerthel at Topen, the father of a school and college friend
between whom and Richter existed a warm affection.
Here, however, he w'as rendered miserable by the disposi¬
tion of his pupil and the arrogant narrowness of his em¬
ployer ; and on the death of his friend in 1789 he returned
to Hof. It would appear that this occurrence produced a
powerful impression on the mind of Richter: he himself
dates from it as an epoch, and the recollection, vazded and
exalted by imagination, is repeated through all his works.
Under the influence of this event he first struck the tone
of profound melancholy and thoughtfulness, blending with
higher hopes, which is the ground-tone of so much that is
best in his works, in a little essay, Was der Tod ?st (“ What
Death is”), which he sent to Herder, and which called
forth an appreciating letter from Madame Herder, who re¬
ceived it. In 1798 he went to Schwarzenbach, on the in¬
vitation of his friends Cloter, Volkel, and Vogel, to teach
their children, and resided alternately with each of them.
Meantime he worked at a romance, Pie unsichtbare Loge
(“The Invisible Lodge”), which was published at Berlin
in 1791, and which, though not very successful, brought
him into notice among the cultivated. Lie himself de¬
scribed this romance as “ a born ruin.” But by the suc¬
cessive publication of Hesperus (1791), Quintus Fixlein,
and the Hlumen, Frucht, and Pornen Stiicke (“ Flower,
Fruit, and Thorn Pieces”), 1796, he raised himself to a
recognised place among the greatest writers of Germany,
at a time when Herder and Wieland, Goethe and Schiller,
were above the horizon at once. If we add Levana and
the Flegeljahre, these are the works by which his name is
best known out of Germany. A time of wandering fol¬
lowed,—residences in Weimar, where he especially at¬
tached himself to Herder, who reciprocated all his love ;
in Dresden, in Leipsic, and elsewhere ; everywhere flattered
and caressed, and finding access to the highest and most
cultivated society. This severe trial of the successful author
Richter met as a man of thoroughly-grounded self-know¬
ledge and insight. Other trials he had with his fair ad¬
mirers, who were numerous and ardent, and did not all
understand his Platonic affection and doctrine of female
friendship as he did, or were not so capable of its reserves.
The fascination his writings exercised over female minds his
presence and conversation completed : twice he had to say
a resolute “ No ” to women who would marry him in spite
of himself; and in both cases the women—Madame von Richter.
Kalb in Weimar, and Emilie von Berlespsh, a young and
rich Swiss widow whom he met at Eger—were women of
personal attractions, rank, and fortune. Richter wished,
longed for a quiet retirement, where he might live his
youth over again, not far from the very spot where its scenes
first passed. He had no ambition of the worldly kind :
quiet domestic joys, secured by his own exertions, were his
ideal of happiness. In 1799 he formed an engagement
with a young noble lady at the court of Hildburghausen.
They were even betrothed; but the engagement was
broken off, for reasons that did not transpire. Next year
he met Caroline Meyer in Berlin ; and on the 27th May
1801 he married her. The union was a happy one ; their
ideas of domestic happiness were the same; and she proved
exactly the quiet, worshipping, careful Hausfrau whom
Richter wanted and was seeking. In the meantime, he had
published his Palingenesien,Clavis Fichtiana, some smaller
works, and the first volume of Titan (1799). The Claris
had a success “ of occasion ” derived from the reputation
of the object of the satire. Richter, who in respect of phi¬
losophy, was a follower of Jacobi, and to whom a personal
Deity and a personal immortality were necessities of the
heart, had no sympathy with the destructive logic of Fichte;
and through his whole works may be found, now in exqui¬
site ridicule (as in the man with the fixed idea that he has
lost his Ich), now in deep and powerful protest (as in that
truly appalling “ Oration of Jesus Christ to the Universe,”
proclaiming that there is no God), evidences of his revolt
from the new idealism. After a visit to Weimar, a year’s
stay in Meiningen, where he published the Flegeljahre
(“ Wild Oats,” according to Carlyle), and a short resi¬
dence in Coburg, he finally fixed himself (1804) at Bay¬
reuth, where, near his dearest friend Otto, and in a house
overlooking the Main, he spent the rest of his life as
he had longed to do, diversifying it only by short annual
tours to visit his scattered friends. During the heat of
the war, when literature was at a discount, he felt the pres¬
sure of poverty, and solicited and received a pension of
1000 gulden (L.85) from the Prince-Bishop von Dalberg,
paid, however, after 1811 by the Bavarian government.
Of the w orks he published in these latter years, the most
notable are the Vorschule der Aesthetik (£e Introduction
to ^Esthetics”), 1813 ; Levana, a work on education, show¬
ing a remarkable insight into the nature of children, and
full of the wisest practical suggestions ; Leben Fibels (“The
Life of Fibel”), 1812, a little work of strange humour;
and Per Comet oder Nicolaus Marggraf, 1820-22. In
1811, already feeling the effects of incessant toil, he received
a severe blow in the loss of his only son Max, at the age
of nineteen. The youth had distinguished himself much
at Munich, especially in languages, and went to Heidel¬
berg, where he appears to have ruined his health by exces¬
sive study and needless privations. From this stroke he
never completely recovered. His eyesight failing, he sent
for his nephew, Otto Spazier, from Dresden, to assist him
in revising his writings for a complete edition ; and the
work was only interrupted on the day of his death, 14th
November 1825.
The affectionate adjective with which the Germans accom¬
pany the name of Jean Paul, der Einzige (u the Unique”),
well denotes the difficulty of describing and the impossi¬
bility of classifying him. He is his own species, in a man¬
ner. That other common designation of him, as “ a western
oriental,” is a real attempt at description; but it does not
go beyond the mere first impression made on every reader
of Jean Paul by the combination of contrasting qualities
which he presents, by the copiousness of his imagery, by
frequent obscurity, and by the boldness of his imaginative
flights. The reason why so little that is definite can be
said, beyond the expression of amazement and admiration,
168 R I C R I C
Richter, lies chiefly in the formlessness of his works,—a formless-
ness veiled and excused by the all-embracing atmosphere
of pure ethereal humour in which they are as it were sus¬
pended, and which sweeps about them on all sides in copi¬
ous mist-drapery. Taking for a moment a low and cer¬
tainly unjust view of Jean Paul as a writer, it would seem
as if, conscious of deficiency in the power of conceiving and
representing the real, in constructing and narrating pro¬
bable events, and in the dramatic synthesis of character,
he employed his humour as artists unskilful in anatomy, but
skilful in colour, employ drapery, to conceal those deficien¬
cies, and allow him an opportunity of pouring forth, in
digressive monologue, the precious stores of his wit and
wisdom. Dropping the idea of purpose, such a supposition
well enough describes the general character of Jean Paul’s
works. It is in fact the fault of the reader if he expects in
any of them a coherent, probable story, probable characters
well developed, dramatic dialogue and incident. But if he
throw himself upon the contents alone, without fastidious¬
ness, no author will more speedily repay studious and re¬
solved perusal. A wealth of profound wisdom and keenest
insight is contained in them, to the utterance of which
a wonderful knowledge of nature and of science is com¬
pelled to minister, mirroring it in singular and typical forms.
Further intimacy will acquit Jean Paul completely of all
affectation, or use of humour for such purposes as above
indicated, and will show it to be the compelled expression
of a really powerful and Shaksperian soul, to which the
vastness and the mystery of the universe, with the petty
singularities of details, the noble and godlike attributes of
humanity, with its infinite littlenesses and contradictions,
were continually present together. Still, with the fullest
appreciation of the rich compensation provided by the
humour and the wisdom of Jean Paul, it is impossible not
to note the deficiencies for which they compensate. In his
great works Hesperus and Titan, the reader is painfully
sensible that the story is absurd, that the characters are ex¬
aggerated and quite impossible, and that the ambition with
which they are delineated ends in failure. Beside the story,
and in the story, there is wisdom, and drollery, and poetry
of the highest kind, enough to furnish forth with these
things a library of fiction ; but the story itself, and its men
and women, are naught. Much better does he succeed in
this way, when, without aspiring to produce heroes and
heroines of the grand kind, who cannot act, and in whose
mouths his finest sentiments are mere windy fustian, he
simply relies upon self-delineation, and upon the recol¬
lections of the humble personages and the humble life in
which he had been reared, and on which his observation,
always fine and microscopic, had been exercised from boy¬
hood. Nothing can be more perfect as comedy than the
scenes of Siebenkas, no character more true to life than
Lenette ; Walt and Vult in ihe Flegeljahre, Fixlein, Fibel,
Schmelzle, are all in their way, and allowing for the neces¬
sary caricature, beings thoroughly human ; and all are side-
view's of that Jean Paul whom he knew so well, and at
w hom he could laugh so heartily. But he is unsuccessful
in supplying personages to complete his drama; and his
story, after transacting itself for a short season on the solid
earth, dissipates and ascends into the air as vapour, shapes
itself into fantastic cloud-forms, and leaves the reader with
elevated, perhaps, but also with disappointed look, gazing
after it. Closely connected with this defect of structure,
and allied to his dominating humour, are the serious defects
of style in his works ; and it is as much these faults as those
of structure that render him so untranslateable, and conse¬
quently limit so much his influence and his fame. Beyond
all the whims of mere humour, and all the requirements
and value of the mere thought, his expression is far too
frequently involved and overloaded. It is true, as Carlyle
has remarked, that in the Vorschule der Aesthetik, which
may be considered his apology, there are excellent observa- Rickman,
tions on this subject of style which show that he under-
stood the subject as well as any French or German critic.
Of subjecting himself to its laws, however, in practice, he
has no idea ; yet, if they are laws at all, they rise out of the
nature of the thing. Of the judicious parsimony and re¬
straint which is the first law of good writing Jean Paul
has no notion. All the trifles and straws which he had
gleaned out of a.life’s laborious reading of books, useful and
useless, are whirled along in the current of his thought:
cryptic and unintelligible allusions are huddled round
this or that idea ; the humour or aptness of many a com¬
parison is lost, one side of it requiring for most readers,
even well informed, elaborate explanation ; we are asto¬
nished, we admire, but we neither laugh nor are much the
wiser. It is absurd to gloss this copiousness and confusion
of trifles, that no man cares to keep, with the name of
intellectual wealth, for Richter would be none the poorer
were it swept from his pages. His real wealth is not his
learning, but his wisdom,—his knowledge of, and intense
sympathy with, the human heart,—his fine sensibility and his
elevated religion. As humorist, he is unquestionably to be
placed in the highest rank. But he is something more.
Mere humour, intellectually considered, is mere universal
destructiveness. As wit, which is the compressed logic of
analogy, when uncontrolled by truth, tends to juggling with
analogical fallacy and mere paradox; so humour, which
brings forth for sport’s sake the innumerable contradictions,
self-deceptions, illusions, and pretensions in the world,
tends to utter scepticism and mere buffoonery, unless it has
its work completed by the vision of faith which brings for¬
ward the eternal reality, and its hand checked by sympathy
with real holiness and real suffering, and humble reverence
for real greatness, nobleness, and elevation. Of the con¬
tradictions between free aspiration and necessity, none is
more striking than that arising out of the demands of the
moral nature of man and the urgencies of his passions ; and
these contradictions may be clashed against each other in
sport. But it depends on the humorist on which side the
laugh will be ; and according as he is, will the laugh he
raises be a degrading and deteriorating one, or an elevating
and humanizing one. It is Jean Paul’s highest merit, that
a noble love of humanity, a keen sympathy with suffering,
and a humble reverence for the truly great and holy, always
subdued, controlled, and directed his wonderful powers of
ridicule, and place him above the class of humorists, among
the seers, the sages, and the comforters of humanity.
The complete works of Jean Paul were published after
his death by his nephew Otto Spazier, to whom we are also
indebted for a biographical commentary. A second edi¬
tion of the works appeared at Berlin, 1840, in 33 volumes.
The Paris edition, in 4 vols., 1837, is said to be a more
faithful reprint of the original editions. A complete French
translation was projected in 1834 by M. Philarete Chasles,
but only four volumes, containing Titan, appeared. Levana,
portions of the Flegeljahre and of the Blumen, Frucht, und
Dornen Stiicke have been translated into English ; Quintus
Fixlein, by Carlyle, in his “ German Romances,” vol. 3,
1827, with a characteristic notice prefixed, which remains
still the best word spoken on Jean Paul; the Campaner
Thai, by Miss Gower, in 1857 ; besides many fragments
and short sketches in magazines. (w. H. c.)
RICKMAN, Thomas, an eminent architect, was the
son of a surgeon and apothecary, and was born at Maiden¬
head in 1776. The early part of his life was spent in
trying a variety of employments. He was first a druggist’s
assistant in London. He was then one of the men in an ex¬
tensive grocery establishment at Saffron-Walden. Not long
afterwards, in 1801, he went to Lewes to undertake apart
of his father’s business. There too his disposition remained
unsettled In the course of two years he was in the service
R I C
Rickmans-of a corn-factor in the metropolis. At length, in 1808, he
worth brought his wandering career to a close by settling down in
Ridley. Liverpool as clerk to one of the principal insurance-brokers
B / i*1 that city. It was about this time Rickman began to
devote himself to the study of Gothic architecture. Every
leisure hour was sedulously employed in his favourite pur¬
suit. He examined ancient buildings. He classified the
different modes of the pointed style. His hand also practised
itself in designing monuments and other small erections for
his friends, bo far, indeed, did he carry his studies that he
obtained the first prize for a design for one of the govern¬
ment churches, and was thus induced to become at once
a professional architect. Rickman removing soon after¬
wards to the more central town of Birmingham, took a
high place in his new calling. There was scarcely a county
in which his services were not employed. Among other
edifices erected by him, there were St John’s College,
Cambridge ; the church of Oulton, near Leeds ; and the
church of Hampton Lucy, near Stratford-on-Avon. At
his death, in March 184], he had perhaps designed more
churches than any other architect. Rickman is the author
of a popular treatise entitled The Different Styles of Archi¬
tecture in England.
RICK MANS WORTH, or Rickmersworth, a market-
town of England, in the county of Hertford, on the Colne,
18 miles N.W. of London, and 23 S.W. of Hertford. It
is a straggling place, and has a parish church recently re¬
built, but retaining the embattled tower of the older edi¬
fice. The Wesleyans and Baptists have also churches in
the town. National and British schools afford means of
education ; and there are also Sunday-schools, almshouses,
&c. Straw-plaiting and weaving of horse-hair fabrics are
carried on ; and in the vicinity there are flour, paper, cot¬
ton, and silk mills, mostly moved by water-power. Here
too is a large brewery. Markets are held weekly, and fairs
thrice a year. The Grand Junction Canal passes near the
town. Pop. of the parish (1851) 4851.
RIDLEY, Nicholas, Bishop of London, and a martyr
to the Reformation, was descended of an ancient family,
and born in the beginning of the sixteenth century at Wil-
montswick in Northumberland. From the grammar-school
of Newcastle-upon-Tyne he was sent to Pembroke Hall in
Cambridge in the year 1518, and was there supported by
his uncle, Dr Robert Ridley, fellow of Queen’s College. In
1522 he took his first cjfcgree in arts ; two years after was
elected fellow; and in 1525 he commenced master of arts.
In 1527, having taken orders, he was sent by his uncle,
for further improvement, to the Sorbonne at Paris; from
thence he went to Louvain, and continued abroad till the
year 1529. On his return to Cambridge he was chosen
under-treasurer of the university ; and in 1533 was elected
senior proctor. He afterwards proceeded bachelor of divi¬
nity, and was chosen orator and a chaplain of the uni¬
versity. At this time he was much admired as a preacher
and disputant. He lost his kind uncle in 1536; but was
soon after patronized by Dr Cranmer, Archbishop of Can¬
terbury, who made him his domestic chaplain, and pre¬
sented him to the vicarage of Herne in East Kent, where,
we are told, he preached the doctrine of the Reformation.
In 1540, having commenced doctor of divinity, he was
made king’s chaplain ; and in the same year was elected
master of his college in Cambridge. Soon after, Ridley
was collated to a prebend in the church of Canterbury ;
and it was not long before he was accused in the bishop’s
» court, at the instigation of Bishop Gardiner, of preaching
against the doctrine of the Six Articles. The matter being
referred to Cranmer, Ridley was acquitted. In 1545 he
renounced the doctrine of transubstantiation, and was made
a prebendary of Westminster; in 1547 he was presented
by the fellows of Pembroke Hall to the living of Soham,
in the diocese of Norwich ; and the same year was conse-
vol. xix.
R I E 169
crated bishop of Rochester. In 1550 he was translated to Ridolfi
the see of London. During the same year he was one of H
the commissioners for examining Bishop Gardiner, and Rienzi.
concurred in his deprivation. In 1552, returning from
Cambridge, he, unfortunately for himself, paid a visit to the
Princess, afterwards Queen Mary ; to whom, prompted by
his zeal for reformation, he expressed himself with too
much freedom ; for she was scarcely seated on the throne
when Ridley was doomed a victim to her revenge. With
Cranmer and Latimer he was burnt alive at Oxford on the
16th of October 1555. Among other works he wrote
A Treatise concerning Images in Churches; A brief De¬
claration of the Lord's Supper ; Certain godly and com¬
fortable Conferences between Bishop Ridley and Mr Hugh
Latimer during their imprisonment; A Comparison be¬
tween the comfortable Doctrine of the Gospel and the Tra¬
ditions of the Popish Religion. The Life of Bishop Ridley
was written by his relation, Dr Gloucester Ridley, in 1763.
RIDOLFI, Carlo, an eminent artist and writer on art,
was born at Vicenza in 1602. His study of painting was
characterised by shrewd practical common-sense. No narrow
view of the subject would content him. He threw aside the
false style of the Venetian school of that day, and strove to
make his pencil imitate nature. He also sought instruction
in studying the literature of painting. Nor did his sagacity
forsake him when he came to be the biographer of artists.
His style presented a favourable contrast with that of most
of his predecessors. All tedious moralisings and childish
fables were discarded. The only incidents brought forward
were real facts clothed in precise language.. His criticisms
on pictures, too, were for the most part exact and judicious.
Ridolfi is said to have died in 1658. His biographical
work was entitled The Wonders of the Art, or ^Lives of
the Illustrious Painters of Venice and of the State, in 2
vols. 4to, Venice, 1648.
RIENZI, Nicolo Gabrinide, the deliverer of Rome,
was born in that city about 1310. Although placed by fate
in a humble station, the young man was by nature a prince.
His noble mind could find its nourishment nowhere else
than in the records of the ancient Roman glory. He pored
over the battle-scenes and great forensic struggles described
in Livy. He pondered among the remains of the queenly
city of the Caesars. As he meditated, the heroic spirit of
antiquity came upon him. His imagination kindled with a
desire for fame and power. His tongue grew inspired with
the language of patriotism and liberty. It became, in fact,
the ambition of his life to be the restorer of Rome to her
former grandeur and renown. This aspiration of Rienzi’s
was confirmed by the daily sight of the deplorable condition
of his fellow-countrymen. The Papal See had long since
been removed to Avignon, and had left the city in a state
of wild misrule. The people, a low, ignorant rabble, fol¬
lowed their own animal impulses. The nobles especially
lived lives of armed violence and license. Their attendants
were swaggering mercenaries from Germany, or desperate
cut-throats from the Campagna. Their mansion-houses
were fortified dens for thieves and murderers. From these
they issued at intervals to gratify their headlong passions.
They fought with each other in the streets, or committed
rapine and outrage upon the defenceless citizens.
Rienzi having arrived at his prime, set himself to excite
the people to throw off the yoke of their oppressors. His
plan was to employ such means as would strike the dull
sensibilities of the mob, without awakening the vengeance
of the nobles. He therefore disguised all his proceedings
under an appearance of eccentricity. As he lingered among
the ruins, apparently wrapt in study, he would suddenly
exclaim, in tones of intense regret, “ Where are the old
Romans ? where is all their grandeur ? why did I not
live in those good times ?” When the idle populace,
startled by his voice, thronged around him with looks of
170 K 1 E
Kienzi. curious wonder, he would tell them in words of eloquent
^ enthusiasm about the deeds of their great ancestors. The
stirring effect which these speeches produced among the
mass of the people encouraged him to make his measures
more direct. He exhibited in the streets and churches
allegorical pictures of the state of the city, representing the
nobles under the semblance of lions, wolves, and bears.
He also assembled a meeting of the entire inhabitants at
the church of St John Lateran, at which he showed from
the ancient Lex Regia that the Romans had the right of
making their own laws and of choosing their own rulers.
At length his observant eye saw that it was time to bring
the plot speedily to a crisis. About the beginning of May
1347 he met a hundred conspirators by midnight on the
top of Mount Aventine, and exacted from them an oath of
unqualified support. A few days afterwards he summoned
the citizens to assemble on the evening of the 19th of the
same month before the church of St Angelo. During all
that night of suspense his form was seen taking part in
thirty masses for the success of his enterprise. On the
following morning he issued from the church with his head
bare, with his body cased in armour, surrounded by the
hundred accomplices, and preceded by banners which bore
emblems of liberty, justice, and concord. As the procession
wound along the streets, his kingly person, and pale and
earnest countenance, called forth the acclamations of the
attendant crowd. On reaching the Capitol, he mounted
the rostrum, and, in a speech of resistless eloquence, an¬
nounced to his fellow-citizens that he had come forward to
be their deliverer. No sooner had he ended than he found
that he had achieved the great desire of his life. The
Romans with deafening applause declared him their ruler,
sanctioned his laws for the establishment of the good estate,
and placed their lives and their fortunes entirely in his hands.
Rienzi now began with success to inaugurate his rule.
To identify himself with the cause of the people, he took
the title of “Tribune.” To conciliate the Pope, he assumed
into partnership with himself the Bishop of Orvieto, the
papal vicar. Thus countenanced by two of the great
powers in the state, he addressed himself to the task of
making regulations'for restoring the healthy condition of
the commonwealth. Courts were established for the re¬
dress of wrongs. Provision was made for the relief of the
poor. A vessel was placed in each port to protect com¬
merce. A standing force was also levied to guard the rights
of the government. Nor did measures fail to be taken for
the direct extermination of abuses. The nobles were com¬
pelled to dismantle their castles, disband their followers,
and appear in the character of simple citizens. Every
murderer and robber that infested the city was seized by
the iron hand of justice. There was no respect of persons.
Among others, the notorious freebooter Baron Martin Ur-
sini was dragged from his bridal chamber in the morning,
and before night he swung on a gibbet in the sight of the
entire city.
The sudden rise and vigorous administration of Rienzi
produced an effect almost unexampled in the history of the
world. rl he terror of his name restored peace and pro¬
sperity in the commonwealth. There was no desperado or
public pest so bold as to remain within several miles of the
city. The very barons—the haughty Colonna and Ursini
—trembled before the majesty of the low-born tribune.
“ Ye gods,” says an eye-witness, “ how they trembled!”
His reputation as a righteous and powerful supporter of
liberty even extended in a short time throughout and be¬
yond Italy. 1 he people knelt with reverence on the high¬
ways when they saw his ambassadors posting along with no
other weapon than a white wand. The envious cities of
Venice, Florence, Siena, and Perugia placed their lives and
fortunes at his disposal. The haughty princes of foreign
states sent messengers to seek alliance and friendship with
N Z I.
him. At length his renown reached a climax wdien Lewis Rienzi.
of Hungary and Jane of Naples made him their umpire
touching the murder of Andrew, the brother of the former,
and the husband of the latter.
It is no wonder that Rienzi, after such unparalleled suc¬
cess, became ostentatious and arrogant. What head would
not have turned giddy after rising so suddenly and to such
a height ? The dream of his early ambition, he thought,
was about to be realized. The sovereigns of the earth were
already appealing to Rome as an arbiter. She was on the
eve of becoming, as of old, the acknowledged queen of all
cities. It was now time that in the person of her tribune
she should formally assume the attributes of empire. If
she did not, the ignorant and the envious might be slow to
recognise her supremacy. He therefore resolved to show
to the world by several unmistakeable deeds that he was
the successor of the old Roman potentates. On the 1st of
August, on the occasion of his going to the church of St
John Lateran to be knighted, he got up a procession,
adorned with every sort of pomp and pageantry, in imita¬
tion of the great shows of the ancient Caesars. On the
evening of the same day, in purifying himself for the cere-
mony, he bathed in the sacred porphyry vase which the
Emperor Constantine had used. Nor did his presumption
end there. When the multitude came next morning to the
church to see him in his knightly insignia, he appeared,
and, with a voice of imperial authority, summoned Pope
Clement VI. and the Emperor Charles IV. to appear before
his tribunal. Then drawing his sword, he pointed to the
three quarters of the world, accompanying his action with
the words, “ This, and this, and this, is mine.” This
extravagant ambition of Rienzi’s soon caused his downfall.
The barons, provoked by his overbearing pride, fled from
the city, levied forces, and wasted all the country round.
He indeed defeated them ; but the citizens became discon¬
tented at the bloodshed and scarcity of provisions. Taking
advantage of this state of feeling, the Pope sent a legate to
call him to account for his usurpation of the rights and ter¬
ritories of the church. His disdainful refusal to acknow¬
ledge such an arbiter only brought his difficulties to a crisis.
He was immediately branded with the sentence of excom¬
munication. The citizens, with superstitious dread, shrunk
from his cause. Without opposition they allowed 150 of
his enemies to enter the gates ancWake up a strong position
in the quarter of the Colonna. In vain he called upon the
people, with all the eloquence of desperation, to take arms
in defence of the commonwealth. The listless looks with
which they responded to his appeals told him that his
power was at an end. He therefore resigned the tribune-
ship, and left the Capitol after a reign of seven months.
From this sudden and severe fall Rienzi rose up unsub¬
dued and undespairing. His ambition was as sanguine and
active as ever. He spent 1348 in wandering restlessly
through Italy under the guise of a monk, and in seeking for
aid to re-instate him in his former power. The next year’s
concealment among the peaceful hermits of the Apennines
did not quiet his troubled desires. He ventured into Rome
amid the throngs of the jubilee to look for hope among his
former subjects. At length, when he found that his friends
could not aid him, he adopted the daring resolution of try¬
ing to win the needed help from his most powerful enemies.
Accordingly, in 1350 he appeared before the emperor at
Prague, and, with the calmest self-confidence, declared
himself to be “ Nicolo Rienzi, the deliverer of Rome.” It
is true that his bold measure was apparently foiled; that
the emperor sent him to the Pope; and the Pope cast him
into prison at Avignon. But he remained hopefully in his
cell for three years, quietly reading his Livy, and drawing
from the historian many political lessons for his future use,
when he should be restored to the government of Rome.
Rienzi’s hope was destined to be fulfilled. Ever since
Rieti.
fl I E
Riesenge- his abdication Rome had been plunging deeper and deeper
birge into anarchy and misery. It soon became evident that none
but he could restore order and prosperity. He was there¬
fore taken from prison by Innocent VI., and sent back to
govern his native state, with the title of “ Senator.” His
entrance was a brilliant redress for his previous wrongs.
The whole city had put on its holiday attire to welcome
him. He rode along under triumphal arches, over flower-
besprinkled roads, and through lanes of exulting citizens.
His government was established in the Capitol amid the
applauding sanction of the multitude, and the laws of the
good estate were restored. But the elements of the Roman
state were too worthless and conflicting to be formed into
a durable republic, even by the master-hand of Rienzi.
He soon found himself in the midst of ever-thickening
embarrassments. The rebellious barons fortified them¬
selves at Palestrina, and involved him in an expensive war.
His exchequer was drained, without having any regular
means of being replenished. The jealous papal legate Al-
bornoz refused him supplies. The selfish and ungrateful
populace were least of all willing to give him any aid. No
sooner did he begin to tax them than they began to mur¬
mur. In this state of feeling they allowed themselves to
be hurried by the emissaries of the barons into open rebel¬
lion against him. On the morning of the 8th October
1354, four months after his restoration, an excited mob
invested the Capitol, yelling out, “ Down with the traitor
who laid on the imposts !” It immediately became evident
that nothing but his blood would glut their vengeance. In
vain he appeared at the balcony and tried to address them.
They drove him back with missiles, and commenced to
destroy the doors. In vain he sought to escape through
the throng in disguise. They detected him, and set him up
to view on the platform of the palace. There, indeed, the
sad sight of the fallen and deserted hero kept them awe¬
struck and silent for an hour; but no sooner did one of
their ringleaders run him through the body, than they
rushed forward in a mass to disfigure and insult his corpse
with every display of malice.
The Life of Rienzi has been written in Italian by Forti-
fiocca, in 4to, 1624 ; and in French by Ducerceau, in 12mo,
Paris, 1722. An English translation of the latter work
appeared in London in 1836. The subject has also been
treated by Muratori and other Italian historians, and by
Gibbon. Bulwer, in the Appendix to his splendid prose
epic of Rienzi, has given several very plausible reasons for
taking a higher view of his hero’s character than the histo¬
rical writers have done.
RIESENGEBIRGE, or Giant Mountains, a moun¬
tain chain of Germany, forming a part of the Sudetes, in
the widest sense of that term, but a continuation of the chain
strictly and properly so called. They extend from S.E. to
N.W., separating Bohemia from Silesia, and rise above
the Henscheuer-Gebirge, which join it on the S.E., on
the confines of Glatz, and the Iser-Gebirge, which form
its continuation to the N.W. They are for the most part
composed of granite and schist; and the scenery is very wild
and romantic. The lower slopes are covered with forests
of oak and beech ; farther up, their place is supplied by
pines; which in turn give place to shrubs and lichens.
The principal summits are the following, arranged in their
order from S.E. to N.W.:—
Feet.
Schneekoppe 4983
Kleine Sturmhaube 4400
Grosse Sturmhaube 4540
Feet.
Grosse Rad 4657
Reiftrager 4280
Tafelfichte   3379
RIESI, a village of Sicily, at the foot of a mountain
of the same name, in the province and 15 miles S. of Cal-
tanisetta. There are sulphur mines in the vicinity. Pop.
6000.
RIETI (anc. Reate), a town of the Papal States, capi-
R I G
tal of a legation of the same name, stands on the slope and
at the foot of a hill on the Velino, 42 miles N.N.E. of
Rome. It is an ancient place, and contains a Gothic cathe¬
dral bearing the date 1456, but since then repeatedly altered.
The town-hall (a large edifice in a lofty position), the epis¬
copal palace, churches, convents, and college, are among
the public buildings of the town, which is not so much
remarkable for any architectural splendour as for the beauty
of its situation, and many interesting remains of antiquity
in the vicinity. Manufactures of woollen cloth, silk, leather,
and glass are carried on here. Pop. 12,600.
The legation of Rieti is bounded on the N. by that of
Spoleto, W. by that of Viterbo, S. by the Comarcadi Roma,
and E. by the Neapolitan province of Abruzzo Ultra; area,
528 square miles. It occupies the western portion of the
ancient country of the Sabines, and is traversed by the moun¬
tain ridges which separate the valley of the Tiber from that
of the Velino, the former of which rivers partly forms its
S.W., and the latter its N.E. boundary. The mountain
ranges are Monte Gennarae, the ancient Lueretilis, in the
S.; and Mount Canterius in the N. Besides the Velino,
this country is watered by its affluent the Turano, the
ancient Telonius, flowing northwards from Naples. The
plain of Rieti is exceedingly beautiful and fruitful, covered
with woods and vineyards, fields of corn, pulse, hemp, flax,
&c., and producing in abundance all kinds of vegetables.
Pop. (1853) 73,683.
RIFLE. See Gunmaking.
RIGA (Livonian, Rihga; Esthonian, Ria Linn), a forti¬
fied and seaport town of Russia, next to St Petersburg
the most important place in the empire for maritime com¬
merce, capital of the government of Livonia, stands near
the mouth of the Diina, here 3000 feet broad, at the head
of the Gulf of Riga or Livonia, about 180 miles N.E. of
Konigsberg, and 312 S. W. of St Petersburg. It is walled,
entered by seven gates, and defended by a citadel. The
town proper, inclosed within the walls, is quite German in
character, with narrow, crooked streets, and houses with
pointed roofs; but the suburbs, which cover a wide extent
of ground on both sides of the river, have all a Russian
appearance, having broad, straight streets, lined with wooden
houses. Of the two imperial palaces, one, the oldest
building in the place, was till 1561 the residence of the
master of the Brethren of the Sword (Schwertbruder), an
order of knighthood which preceded the Teutonic in these
countries. The beautiful hall where the estates of Livonia
used to meet, the bomb-proof custom-house, council-hall,
guild-hall, three arsenals, and theatre are among the prin¬
cipal buildings. The cathedral contains the tombs of the
early bishops of Riga, and the church of St Peter has a fine
dome and a tower 440 feet high, the loftiest in Russia,
commanding a fine view of the Baltic, the broad, mast-
covered Diina, the dark pine forests of Curland on the
left, and the endless expanse of sand which forms the east¬
ern shore of the Gulf of Riga. There are another Greek
church, 3 Lutheran, 1 Reformed, and 1 Roman Catholic.
The public library contains a chair of Charles XII., several
letters of Luther, a cannon-ball said to have been fired by
Peter the Great, and other curiosities. In front of the
palace is a large square containing a granite column with a
bronze figure of Victory, to commemorate the repulse of a
French force from the town in 1812. There are spacious
quays on both sides of the river, which is crossed by a
bridge of boats; and an extensive harbour is formed by the
5 miles of its course between the town and the Gulf of
Riga. The town has a grammar school, school of naviga¬
tion, several elementary and other schools, literary and
scientific associations, and benevolent institutions. The
manufactures of Riga are numerous and important, in¬
cluding tobacco, sugar, leather, paper, starch, wool, cotton,
playing-cards, &c. Gypsum is quarried in the vicinity.
171
Rifle
Riga.
r
172 RIG
Rigaud The trade by sea is very great. Corn, linseed, hemp, flax,
II and timber are the principal articles of export. The num-
Rights. jjgj, 0p vesse]s entered in 1851 was 1706, and those
that cleared 1720. The total value of the imports in 1851
was L.807,928, and in 1852 L.726,576; that of the exports
in the former year L.2,271,395, and in the latter L.2,327,926.
Riga was founded about the year 1200 by Adalbert, Bishop
of Livonia, who was the founder of the order of Brethren
of the Sword. This order obtained possession ofEsthonia
and Livonia, and were afterwards united with the Teutonic
Knights. The city, which was mostly inhabited by Ger¬
mans from Lubeck and Bremen, rapidly rose in wealth and
influence ; and in the thirteenth century became a member
of the Hanseatic League. Riga was taken in 1621 by
Gustavus Adolphus, and in 1710, after a vigorous resist¬
ance, by Peter the Great. On the latter occasion more
than half of the town was destroyed; and in 1812 the
suburbs and part of the town were burnt. It has suffered at
several other times from floods and conflagrations. Pop.
• 70,463.
RIGAUD, Hyacinths, sometimes called by his country¬
men “ the French Vandyck,” was born at Perpignan in
1659, and studied painting at Montpellier, and afterwards
at Paris. Although he gained the academy’s first prize,
which furnished him with the means of studying in Italy,
he resolved to stay at home and practice portrait-painting.
His bold, rich, and somewhat extravagant representations
soon struck the attention of the public. In course of time
he found a brilliant circle of patrons. Louis XIV. gave
him a commission for a portrait. The princes of the blood,
and the chief courtiers followed the example. Many illus¬
trious personages in foreign lands also became his sitters.
Nor did his fellow-artists fail to recognise his merit. He
was successively professor, rector, and director of the
academy. Rigaud died in 1742, leaving behind him many
pictures, which are now scattered throughout the collections
of Europe.
RIGGING, a general name given to all the ropes em¬
ployed in a ship. Thus, those used to sustain the masts
remain in a fixed position, and are called standing rigging ;
such are the shrouds, stays, and backstays. Those, again,
which are employed to adjust the sails receive the general
term of running rigging. Such are the braces, sheets,
haliards, clue-lines, and brails.
RIGHT is a title conferred,—(1.) together with Reve¬
rend, upon all bishops; (2.) together with Honourable, upon
earls, viscounts, and barons; (3.) by courtesy, together with
Honourable, upon the sons of dukes, marquises, and the
eldest sons of earls; (4.) together with Honourable, upon the
speaker of the House of Commons, but upon no other com¬
moner excepting those who are members of her Majesty’s
most honourable privy Council, and the three lords mayors
of London, York, and Dublin, and the lord provost of
Edinburgh, during their office.
Right, Petition of, a parliamentary declaration of the
liberties of the people assented to by King Charles I.
(3 Car. I., c. 1). It was known as “the Petition” from
being drawn up in that form, and was headed “ The Petition
exhibited to his Majesty by the Lords Spiritual and Tem¬
poral, and Commons, concerning divers Rights and
Liberties of the subjects, with his Majesty’s answer there¬
to.” After reciting certain great rights and recent in¬
fringements of them, it prays that all such illegal acts be
annulled, and that the popular rights and liberties, according
to the laws and statutes of the realm, should be in future
strictly observed. After some delay and evasion, the king
replied in full Parliament, “ Soit droit fait come est desire.”
RIGHTS, in the common acceptation of the word, are
of various kinds ; they are natural or adventitious, alienable
or inalienable, perfect or imperfect, particular or general.
Natural rights are those which a man has to his life,
R I. G
limbs, and liberty ; to the produce of his personal labour ; Rights,
to the use, in common with others, of air, light, and water.
1 hat every man has a natural right or just claim to these
things, is evident from their being absolutely necessary to
enable him to answer that purpose for which he was made
a living and a rational being.
Adventitious rights are those which a king has over his
subjects, a general over his soldiers, a husband to the per¬
son and affections of his wife, and which every man has to
the greater part of his property. The existence of civil
society evidently contributes in a great degree to promote
the sum of human happiness; and therefore whatever is
necessary for the support of. civil society in general, or for
the conduct of particular societies already established, must
be agreeable to the will of God ; but the allegiance of sub¬
jects to their sovereign, the obedience of soldiers to their
leader, the protection of private property, and the fulfilling of
contracts, are all absolutely necessary to the support of
society ; and hence the rights of kings, generals, husbands,
and wives, &c., though adventitious, and immediately de¬
rived from human appointments, are not less sacred than
natural rights, since they may all be ultimately traced to the
same source.
Rights, besides being natural or adventitious, are like¬
wise alienable or inalienable. Every man, when he be¬
comes the member of a civil community, alienates a part of
his natural rights. In a state of nature, no man has a su¬
perior on earth, and each has a right to defend his life,
liberty, and property, by all the means which nature has put
in his power. In civil society, however, these rights are
all transferred to the laws and the magistrate, except in
cases of such extreme urgency as leave no time for legal
interposition. This single consideration is sufficient to show
that the right to civil liberty is alienable ; though, in the
vehemence of men’s zeal for it, and in the language of some
political remonstrances, it has often been pronounced to be
an inalienable right. “ The true reason,” says Paley, “ why
mankind hold in detestation the memory of those who have
sold their liberty to a tyrant is, that, together with their
own, they sold commonly or endangered the liberty of
others; of which they had certainly no right to dispose.”
The rights of a prince over his people, and of a husband
over his wife, are generally and naturally inalienable.
Another division of rights is into those which are perfect
and those which are imperfect. Perfect rights are such as
may be precisely ascertained and asserted by force, or in
civil society by the course of law. To imperfect rights
neither force nor law is applicable. A man’s right to his
life, person, and property, are all perfect; for if any of those
be attacked, he may repel the attack by instant violence,
punish the aggressor by the course of law, or compel the
author of the injury to make restitution or satisfaction. A
woman’s right to her honour is likewise perfect; for if she
cannot otherwise escape, she may kill the ravisher. Every
poor man has undoubted right to relief from the rich ; but
his right is imperfect, for if the relief be not voluntarily
given, he cannot compel it either by law or by violence.
Here a question naturally offers itself: “ How comes a
person to have a right to a thing, and yet have no right to
use the means necessary to obtain it?” The answer is,
that in such cases the object or the circumstances of the
right are so indeterminate that the permission of force,
even where the right is real and certain, would lead to
force in other cases where there exists no right at all.
Thus, though the poor man has a right to relief, who shall
ascertain the mode, season, and extent of it, or the person
by whom it shall be administered ? These things must be
ascertained before the right to relief can be enforced by
law; but to allow them to be ascertained by the poor
themselves would be to expose property to endless claims.
In like manner, the comparative qualifications of the can-
R I G
Rights didate must be ascertained before he can enforce bis right;
II but to allow him to ascertain his qualifications himself,
Rimini. wou]d be to make him judge in his own cause between
himself and his neighbour. Where the right is imperfect
on one side, the corresponding obligation on the other
must be imperfect likewise. The violation of it, however,
is often not less criminal in a moral and religious view than
of a perfect obligation. It is well observed by Paley that
greater guilt is incurred by disappointing a worthy candi¬
date of a place upon which perhaps his livelihood depends,
and in which he could emihently, serye the public, than by
filching a book out of a library, or picking a pocket of a
handkerchief.
Rights are particular or general. Particular rights are
such as belong to certain individuals or orders of men, and
not to others. The rights of kings, of masters, of husbands,
of wives, and in short all the rights which originate in so¬
ciety, are particular. General rights are those which be¬
long to the species collectively. Such are our rights to the
vegetable produce of the earth and to the flesh of animals
for food. If the vegetable produce of the earth be included
. under the general rights of mankind, it is plain that he is
guilty of wrong who leaves any portion of land waste merely
for his own amusement; he is lessening the common stock
of provision which Providence intended to distribute
among the species. On this principle it would not. be
easy to vindicate certain regulations respecting game, as
well as some other monopolies which are protected by the
municipal laws of most countries. Dr Paley, by just rea¬
soning, has established this conclusion, “ that nothing
ought to be made exclusive property which can be con¬
veniently enjoyed in common.” An equal division of land,
however, the dream of some visionary reformers, would be
injurious to the general rights of mankind, as it may be
demonstrated that it would lessen the common stock of
provisions, by laying every man under the necessity of
being his own weaver, tailor, shoemaker, smith, and car¬
penter, as well as ploughman, miller, and baker. Among
the general rights of mankind is the right of necessity,
by which a man may use or destroy his neighbour’s pro¬
perty when it is absolutely necessary for his own preserva¬
tion. It is on this principle that goods are thrown over¬
board to save the ship, and houses pulled down to stop
the progress of a fire. In such cases, however, there must
be restitution when it is in our power.
Rights, Bill of, a declaration delivered by the Lords and
Commons to the Prince and Princess of Orange, 13th
February 1688; and afterwards enacted in Parliament when
they became king and queen. It sets forth that King
James did, by the assistance of divers evil counsellors, en¬
deavour to subvert the laws and liberties of this kingdom,
by exercising a power of dispensing with and suspending of
laws; by levying money for the use of the crown by pretence
of prerogative without consent of Parliament; by prosecut¬
ing those who petitioned the king, and discouraging peti¬
tions ; by raising and keeping a standing army in time of
peace; by violating the freedom of election of members to
serve in Parliament; by violent prosecutions in the Court
of King’s Bench ; and causing partial and corrupt jurors to
be returned on trials, excessive bail to be taken, excessive
fines to be imposed, and cruel punishments to be inflicted;
all which were declared to be illegal. And the declaration
concludes in these remarkable words : “ And they do claim,
demand, and insist upon, all and singular the premises, as
their undoubted rights and liberties.” And the act of Par¬
liament itself (1 Will, and Mary, stat ii., cap. 23) recognises
“ all and singular the rights and liberties asserted and
claimed in the said declaration to be the true, ancient,
indubitable rights of the people of this kingdom.”
RIMINI (anc. Ariminum), a town of the Papal States,
legation of Forli, near the mouth of the Marecchia in the
R I N 173
Adriatic, 24 miles E.S.E. of Forli. It is entered from the Rincon
N. by the bridge of Augustus over the Marecchia, and ||
from the S. through the triumphal arch of the same em- Ringworm,
peror, both of white marble, in the best style of architec-
ture. These form the only undoubted remains of the
ancient grandeur of the place; for the pedestal in the
market-place, said to have been used as a pulpit by Caesar
after he had crossed the Rubicon, is probably not genuine.
The cathedral church of St Francesco, built in the four¬
teenth century, and re-modelled in the middle of the fol¬
lowing one by Sigismund Pandolfo Malatesta, is the chief
edifice of the town, an interesting example of the transition
from the Gothic to the classic style. The Gothic windows
on the side of the building are concealed by seven arches,
under which are as many tombs of illustrious friends of the
architect. The interior retains little of its original pointed
architecture ; it is richly adorned with sculpture, and con¬
tains many interesting monuments. The other churches
and the palaces contain many fine paintings. There is a
fortress, and a public library of 30,000 volumes. The
house of Francesco da Rimini associates this town with
one of the most beautiful parts of Dante’s poetry. Silk
fabrics, glass, and earthenware are manufactured ; and the
trade was once of much importance, but the ancient har¬
bour is now choked up with sand, and there is but little
traffic in corn, fish, salt, silk, &c. Ariminum was originally
an Umbrian city, but fell into the hands of the Gaids, from
whom it was wrested, and a colony established, by the Ro¬
mans in 268 B.c. It was important as a military post and
seaport; and at a later period was connected with Rome
and Placentia by the Flaminian and Aimilian roads. In
most of the subsequent wars in Italy it played a conspi¬
cuous part, commanding Cisalpine Gaul and the E. coast
of Italy. After the fall of the Western Empire, still a
flourishing city, it formed part of the Pentapolis, under the
exarchs of Ravenna, until the Lombard invasion. It sub¬
sequently came under the German emperors; and in 1200
Malatesta was made viceroy, and his descendants for some
time enjoyed that dignity. The town subsequently passed
into the hands of Venice, and finally into those of the Pope.
Pop. 13,000.
RINCON, Antonio, an early Spanish painter, was born
at Guadalajara in 1446. His career was attended with
complete success. Eschewing the stiff Gothic style of his
age and country, he soon rose to the first place in his pro¬
fession. Ferdinand and Isabella gave him the order of
Santiago, and made him their painter in ordinary. Till his
death in 1500, he continued to be employed on public
pictures, which have all since perished.
RINGWOOD, a market-town of England, Hampshire,
in a flat country, on the left bank of the Avon, which
spreads out here into a broad sheet of water, with many
islands, on the skirts of the New Forest, 20 miles W.S.W.
of Southampton, and 92 S.W. by W. of London. It is
an old but generally well-built town, containing a parish
church, part of which dates as far back as 1230; other
churches belonging to Wesleyans, Independents, and Uni¬
tarians; a grammar school, and national schools. Woollen
cloth, hosiery, and beer are made here; markets for corn
are held weekly, and fairs for horses and cattle twice a year.
The town was in existence as early as the times of the
Romans, and was a place of some importance under the
Anglo-Saxons. Pop. of the parish (1851) 3928.
RINGWORM is a disease of the skin, which appears
in small circular patches, or rings of vesicles round the cir¬
cumference of a circle of apparently healthy skin. These
vesicles are small, and contain a transparent fluid, which is
discharged in three or four days, when little dark scabs
form over them. Sometimes there is a succession of the
circles on the upper parts of the body, as the face and neck,
and the arms and shoulders. The more formidable and
174 K I O
Rio de infectious species of ringworm appears in distinct patches
Janeiro. Gf an irregularly circular figure, on the scalp, head, and
neck. It generally occurs in children of three or four years
old and upwards, and often continues for several years.
While the patches are in an inflamed and irritable condi¬
tion, we must be content with regular washing or sponging
with warm water, or some emollient fomentation. The
application of a solution of one drachm of nitrate of silver
in half an ounce of diluted nitric acid has been well re¬
commended. The constitutional treatment is of conse¬
quence. A nutritious diet must be prescribed, containing
a due admixture of animal food; the clothing must be
warm; regular exercise must be enjoined; and a course of
tonic medicines, such as iron or quinine, must be ordered.
RIO DE JANEIRO, an important province of Brazil,
is bounded on the N. by Espiritu Santo, from which it is
separated by the River Capabuan, and by Minas Geraes,
from which it is divided by the rivers Preto and Parahiba,
and in part by the Serra da Mantiqueira; on the W. it
borders on San Paulo; and the Atlantic Ocean washes it
on the S. and E. It lies between S. Lat. 21. 23. and 32.
20., W. Long. 40. 53. and 44. 40. Its area is estimated
at 18,226 square miles. This province is distinguished
for its romantic beauty and great fertility, notwithstanding
its being very mountainous. From S.W. to N.E. run the
Serra dos Orgaos, or Organ Mountains, and this chain
divides it into two nearly equal portions; the northern
half sloping gradually to the Parahiba, and the southern
to the sea-coast. The Organ Mountains derive their ap¬
pellation from the appearance of the pyramidal heads
of granite which bristle up along the horizon, and bear
a fanciful resemblance to organ-pipes in a vast cathe¬
dral. The whole province is well watered by a number of
streams, the most considerable being the Parahiba. This
river originates in a small lake in the southern part of the
Serra da Bocania, a continuation of the Organ Moun¬
tains, in the province of San Paulo ; and after a long and
winding course it enters that of Rio de Janeiro, and falls
into the Atlantic in its N.E. part. Many streams discharge
themselves into the bay of Rio towards its upper end, seve¬
ral of them being navigable to some distance. The country
is also watered by the affluents of the Parahiba, and by
many rivers which flow into the Atlantic. There are many
lakes and lagoons, especially in the N.E., where the coast
is low and monotonous. Towards the S., and especially
near the capital, the scenery is of a very different and more
picturesque character.
The principal bays by which the coast is indented are
the bay of Rio de Janeiro, and Angra dos Reys, or King’s
Bay. The bay of Rio is stated to be no less than 32
miles in circumference, and on its shores are numerous
smaller inlets, which may be termed sub-bays. All travel¬
lers agree in praising the surpassing grandeur and beauty
of this majestic inlet of the sea. The capacious basin is
embosomed among elevated mountains, which have coni¬
cal summits, and, being well wooded, have a romantic and
picturesque beauty. Some of these advance a considerable
distance into the bay, whilst others retire as far inland,
leaving between them deep recesses and glens. The en¬
trance of the bay is narrow, being only about a mile in
breadth ; and its granite barriers are so bold, causing it to
resemble a gap or chasm in the mountain ridge, that
doubtless it was often passed by early navigators without
their apprehending the existence of such an immense salt¬
water lake within. Being completely land-locked, and
protected from gales on every side, it is perfectly secure,
even for boats, at all seasons of the year ; from which cir¬
cumstance, as well as from many other advantages which
it possesses, it has been pronounced the finest harbour in
the world. It is so well defended by strong forts that it
seems completely closed against a hostile force. The bay
RIO
is studded with about a hundred islands, on many of which Rio de
are forts. That of Ilha dos Cobras, or Snake Island, is of Janeiro,
great strength, and constitutes one of the most command-
ing points for the defence of the city. In short, the Brazi¬
lians and early subjugators of the country have carefully
availed themselves of every advantage presented by nature
for rendering their capital unassailable by a maritime force.
On either side the shores of the bay, lined at the water’s
edge with cottages and hamlets of fishermen, sweep widely
round; while behind, hills in the richest state of cultiva¬
tion, studded with farm-houses and villas, and crowned with
churches and monasteries, all of purest white, rise abruptly on
every side, till, a few miles inland, they terminate in the bold,
beautiful, and picturesque ranges of the Organ Mountains.
With the exception of the capital, there are few places
in the province of Rio which require particular notice,
Canto Gallo is the capital of a district of amazing fertility,
and carries on considerable trade with Rio in the produc¬
tions of the soil. Porto d’Estrella and Mage are the names
of other towns which have much traffic with the capital.
The productions of this province comprise almost every¬
thing for which Brazil is celebrated; diamonds and pre¬
cious stones, sugar, coffee, cotton, and, in short, all fruits
peculiar to the tropics, are here produced in the richest
abundance, and of the most excellent quality. The forests
yield great quantities of timber, used for various purposes;
gums, balsams, and medicinal herbs are not wanting.
Gardening is much attended to ; and the extension of cul¬
tivation is gradually clearing the land of the wild beasts
that still haunt the forests. Cattle and horses are bred
in great numbers. The province is divided into eight co-
marcas. Its provincial assembly of 36 members meets at
Nitherohi, opposite Rio de Janeiro. It is represented in
the legislature of Brazil by 6 senators and 12 deputies.
Pop. (1856) 1,200,000.
Rio de Janeiro, formerly St Sebastian, the capital
of the above province and of the Brazilian empire, is
situated on the south-western side of the bay or harbour
just described, about 4 miles from its entrance ; S. Lat.
23. 54., W. Long. 43. 9. It occupies the N.E. part of a
tongue of land of an irregularly quadrangular shape, and
extending on an inclined plane a short distance into the
bay. The site selected for their town by the early settlers
is considered the best that could have been chosen, out of
many excellent ones that everywhere present themselves.
Its most easterly point is the Punta do Calabouco; the
most northerly is the Armazem do Sal, opposite to which is
the small island of Ilha dos Cobras. The most ancient
and important part of the city is built between these two
points, lying from N.W. to S.E.; and a beautiful quay,
constructed of solid blocks of chiselled granite, stretches
along the shore. The houses of Rio are neatly and sub¬
stantially built, generally of granite, and two storeys high,
with little wooden balconies in front. Their lower storeys
are commonly occupied by shops and warehouses, and the
upper ones by the family apartments. The whole town is
disposed in squares, the streets crossing each other at right
angles, and, although narrow, they are well paved, and
lined at each side by flagged trottoirs. In its style of archi¬
tecture the old town is in general mean, resembling the
old part of Lisbon ; but the new town is in a much more
handsome style. Although this town has always ranked as
the most important in Brazil, or as second only to Bahia
at the time when the latter was the seat of government,
yet it was only after the imperial residence and the court
were fixed here that it assumed the character of a Euro¬
pean city. Great improvements took place after that event.
The new town has almost wholly sprung up since it oc¬
curred. This part of Rio is connected with the south¬
western quarter, or Bairro de Mato-porcos, by the bridge
of St Diogo, thrown over a salt-water inlet. Between the
RIO
RIO
175
old and new town is situated a large plain nearly surrounded
by an amphitheatre of mountains, clothed at their bases
with the richest verdure, and terminating by belts of forest-
trees of immense growth and of every variety. One of
these elevations is called the Corcovado, or Broken Back,
an appellation which it acquired from its extraordinary and
fantastical shape. The plain thus environed is inclosed
with houses so as to form an enormous quadrangle, perhaps
the largest square in the world. Here are erected the
senate-house, the museum, the camera or town-hall, and
other public buildings. One of the most striking features
of the Brazilian capital is the number of its churches
and monasteries, which not only abound in the city, but
are seen crowning almost all the surrounding eminences.
Among the former, the most conspicuous are the cathedral
of La Gloria, an octagonal building crowning a lofty
wooded hill; the majestic church of Candelaria, the largest
in the town, and surmounted by the loftiest towers in Brazil;
the richly-ornamented church of the Cross; and that of
Sao Francisco, with its two round towers. The convent
of St Anthony is a large and gorgeous edifice; and that of
Sao Bento is so richly adorned as to be one mass of gild¬
ing in the interior.
Near the centre of the quay, which has already been
mentioned, there is a large square, surrounded on three of
its sides with buildings, but having its fourth open to the
bay. In this square the palace or imperial residence is
situated ; but although extensive in its dimensions, and
commodious and even splendid in its internal arrange¬
ments, there is nothing magnificent or striking in its
architecture. The public library occupies a suite of rooms
in this quarter. It contains sixty or seventy thousand
volumes in all languages, and is considered a very admir¬
able collection. On the quay in front of the square is a
very beautiful fountain for supplying water to this part of
the city, and to the shipping in the harbour. It is fed by a
splendid stone aqueduct leading from the Corcovado Moun¬
tain, not more striking for the magnificent singularity of its
appearance than important for its utility. This great work,
which is called Arcos de Cariaco, extends across a deep
valley, resting on a double tier of lofty arches placed one
above the other to the height of 90 feet, and the water is
conducted to the reservoir by a succession of stone troughs
laid on the top of this bridge, under an arched covering of
brick-work. Each tier comprises forty-two arches, the
upper one extending 280 yards. The following is the pro¬
vision made for education :—A military academy, a naval
academy, a surgical and medical academy ; an academy of
the fine arts (in connection with which we may mention
a national museum), and lastly, two ecclesiastical semi¬
naries, where the ancient and modern languages are taught,
as well as divinity and the sciences. Besides these, there
are several superior and numerous primary schools. In
periodicals and newspapers the city is by no means defi¬
cient ; and book-printing is carried on, although not exten¬
sively. Government has a printing establishment. There
is a large botanic garden, well laid out and rich in exotics,
at some distance from the town.
The trade of Rio is very great, and rapidly increasing.
The export of coffee from this port is equal to that from all
the others in the world, amounting in 1856 to 8,683,120
cwt., valued at L.4,788,000. In the same year there were
exported 14,338 carats of diamonds and precious stones,
L.53,680 worth of timber, L.59,040 worth of calves’
leather, LAO, 120 worth of spirits, as well as quantities of
tapioca, sarsaparilla, ipecacuana, horns, &c. The principal
articles imported in 1854 and 1855 were as follows :—
Eatables—corn, butter, &c  L.954,000
Cotton fabrics  1,250,000
Liquors—wine, tea, &c  692,000
Woollen fabrics   292,000
1855.
L.1,263,840
1,206,800
767,160
547,400
Coal and metals  
Watches, jewellery, cutlery, &c...
Wood, furniture, &c   
Hats, haberdashery, &c  
Silk fabrics   
Linen fabrics   
Paper and books  
Pottery, porcelain, &c 
1854. 1855.
444,000 418,200
404,000 395,600
348,000 ■ 354,400
356,000 298,480
316,000 310,400
154,000 223,000
162,000 185,720
112,000 171,600
Rio Grande
The value of the exports and imports in 1855, arranged
according to the different countries, is exhibited in the
following table:—
Countries. Imports.
Great Britain and colonies ...... L.2,404,800
United States    879,240
France    1,348,000
Hanse Towns  498,800
Portugal     598,080
Austria   46,720
Belgium      277,160
Spain   220,600
Sweden and Norway ,  160,840
Denmark  96,000
Sardinia  114,800
Holland      54,800
Switzerland   174,000
Prussia      40,000
La Plata and Chili   209,920
Other countries  227,200
Totals in 1855 L.7,850,960
Totals in 1854  6,836,000
Exports.
L.2,055,360
3,362,920
733,640
678,240
209,680
206,760
442,840
24,800
78,000
448,000
68,520
55,600
139,640
351,280
L.8,855,280
6,460,800
The number of vessels that entered the port in 1856
was 3620, of which 2250 were from foreign ports; that of
those that cleared was 3622.
The manufactures of the town are unimportant, not¬
withstanding the repeated attempts of the government to
foster them. Leather and glass are the only articles pro¬
duced in any great quantities. The climate is considered as
favourable to health, comfort, and even longevity, as that of
any other place betw'een the tropics. During the summer
months, which may be reckoned as extending from October
to April, heavy rains fall; but on the whole few places
possess a more beautiful climate than this celebrated city.
The bay of Rio was discovered on the 1st of January
1531 by Martin Alphonso de Sousa, a Portuguese navi¬
gator. The natives had given to this tranquil basin the
significant appellation oi'Nithei'ohi, that is, “ hidden water;”
but he, supposing it the estuary of some great river like
the Orinoco, called it the Rio de Janeiro, after the day on
which it had been discovered. It remained many years
unnoticed or unoccupied by the Portuguese, but in the
meantime was taken possession of by France, and became
an asylum for the persecuted Huguenots. These were
subsequently expelled by the Portuguese, who, in 1567
founded the city of Rio. It steadily advanced in riches
and importance; so that in the year 1763 Dom Joseph was
induced to transfer hither the viceregal residence from
Bahia, hitherto the capital of the province of Brazil. In
1808 it became the residence of the Portuguese court; and
in 1822 vvas constituted the capital of the independent em¬
pire of Brazil. In 1831 it was the theatre of a revolution,
in which 6000 armed citizens were joined by the troops of
the line in their opposition to the government, and in con¬
sequence of which Dom Pedro abdicated the throne in
favour of his son Pedro II. Pop. (1851) 205,906, of
whom 77,989 were native white men, 36,329 foreign white
men, 10,722 free coloured men, and 78,835 slaves; (1855)
296,136.
Rio Grande, a river of West Africa, Senegambia,
rises in the mountains of Foota Jallon, near the sources of
the Senegal and Gambia, and flows in an irregular course
westwards to the Atlantic. It enters the sea by several
branches, broad, rapid, and navigable, though somewhat ob¬
structed by shoals. The most northerly of these branches
176 H I O
llio Grande is called the Jeba or Geba, a name sometimes applied to
do Norte the whole river. The upper course of the Kio Grande
. II has been very little explored. Its banks are well wooded,
eand studded with large ant-hills; and the neighbouring
' / country is rich in many valuable productions.
Rio Grande do Norte, a province of Brazil, is
bounded on the S. by Parahiba, on the N. and E. by the
Atlantic Ocean, and on the W. by Ceara. Situated be¬
tween the parallels of 4. 30. and 6. 45. of S. Lat., the
climate is of course very hot. At Cape St Roquer-which
forms the angle of this province, in Long, 36. 15. W., Lat.
5. 7. S., the coast of Brazil terminates towards the N.E.;
and the Atlantic Ocean, which has so long been its bound¬
ary on the E., begins to wash its northern shores. The
province has about 100 miles of sea-coast, and an area of
31,230 square miles. The Rio Grande, or Potengi, the
great river of the province, rises in a ridge on its western
limits, and traverses its whole extent in a direction from
S.W. to N.E. The province is irrigated by other streams,
on whose banks the most fertile land is to be found; but
the soil in general is rather sterile. None of the rivers are
of any great size. There are several salt lakes, which af¬
ford much excellent salt. It is mountainous in the S. and
W., but gradually slopes toward the sea; and along the
coast there is an expanse of low sandy ground. Cotton is
the crop that grows best in this country; but maize, man-
dioc, rice, and the sugar-cane are also raised. The miner¬
als include gold, silver, iron, limestone, sandstone, granite,
&c.; but mining is only carried on to a very small extent.
There are numerous small harbours along the coast; but
navigation is interrupted by many shoals, some of them
very dangerous, which line the shore. The small island of
Fernando de Noronha, about 250 miles E.N.E. of Cape St
Roque, belongs to this province, and is used as a place of
transportation. Salt, cotton, sugar, hides, salt fish, &c., are
exported from Rio Grande do Norte. The capital, Natal,
is the seat of the provincial assembly of twenty members.
The province sends one senator and two deputies to the
legislative assembly of Brazil. Pop. (1856) 190,000.
Rio Grande do Sul, or S. Pedro do Rio Grande,
the most southerly province of Brazil, bounded on the N.
by the provinces of Curitiba and S. Catherina, E. by the
Atlantic, S. by Uruguay, and W. by La Plata, lying be¬
tween S. Lat. 25. 30. and 32. 30., W. Long. 49. 40. and
58. 20. It is upwards of 500 miles in length by 400 in
breadth, and has an area of 118,758 square miles. This
extensive country consists chiefly of large plains covered
with immense herds of cattle and other animals. Some
mountain ridges traverse it in various directions, but none
of them is of any great height. Here several large rivers
have their origin, of which the Uruguay, the Jacuhy, and
the Camapuam, are the most important. Its great extent
of level and alluvial coast exhibits some lakes of vast di¬
mensions. The Lagoa dos Patos is the largest lake in Bra¬
zil, being 140 miles in length from N.E. to S.W., and about
40 miles in breadth. This lake is the recipient of almost
all the streams which irrigate the northern and eastern
portions of the country. It is very shallow, and its water
continues fresh as far as the Island dos Marinheiros, near
the port of S. Pedro. The peninsula lying between the
lake and the ocean is low and level, and its eastern side
lies almost in a direct line, but the opposite side forms
various points and bays. The western shore of the lake is
bold but not rugged, and is cut by several rivers, of which
the Camapuam and Jacuhy, already mentioned, are most
deserving of notice. The sources of the former are in a
chain of low hills called the great Cochilha, which traverses
the western limits of the country. It flows with a rapid
and disturbed current, interrupted by continued cataracts
for nearly 100 miles, and falls into the lake about the middle
of its western side. The Jacuhy is a river of still greater
K I O
value. It rises in the north of the province, and after tra- Rioja
versing the southern declivity of the general ridge for seve- |]
ral miles, it turns eastward, describing innumerable windings Rionero.
for a course of about 80 miles, during which it collects ^
the water of a number of smaller rivers, many of them na¬
vigable. It then suddenly bends towards the S., and after
running 15 miles in this direction, enters the lake not far
below its northern extremity. To the S.W. of the Lagoa
dos Patos lies another sheet of water, called Lake Mirim.
It is 90 miles in length by about 20 in breadth, and dis¬
charges itself into the Lagoa dos Patos by means of a chan¬
nel called the river of St Gonzales. Lake Mirim is very
shallow, and in the rainy season it widely extends its
borders. The Gonzales is 50 miles in length : it is wide
and handsome, and navigable for small vessels, which by
this channel pass into Lake Mirim, and thence by means
of rivers penetrate into the fertile interior, and distribute
their cargoes to the large towns on the coast. There are
other large lakes running parallel with the shore, but these
are the most important.
The climate of the province is mild and healthy; the
greater part of the soil is fertile, and produces various kinds
ot grain, and many of the fruits of Europe. Timber is not
very abundant, but of very good quality. Among the
minerals are gold, silver, iron, sulphur, and porcelain clay.
I he rearing ot cattle, however, is what chiefly distinguishes
the country, and gives employment to its inhabitants. They
are either slaughtered to form the salt beef for the export
of which the province is celebrated, or sent in droves to
Sao Paulo and Rio Janeiro. Horses and mules are bred
to a great extent, and are highly valued for the excellence
of the breed. The provincial assembly of Rio Grande do
Sul consists of twenty-eight members ; and the province
sends to the Brazilian legislature three senators and six
deputies. Pop. (1856) 201,300.
The capital, Rio Grande do Sul, or S. Pedro do Sul,
formerly stood a few miles from where it now stands, in the
situation called Estreito, near the head of a bay or harbour,
at the entrance of the Lagoa dos Patos; but the encroach¬
ment of the sands has made such progress as almost to have
overwhelmed the town, and occasioned its removal to the
present site. It is now situated on a level plain a little
above high-water mark ; but, like its predecessor, it suffers
much from the accumulation of sand. Its public buildings
comprise a plain but handsome cathedral, several other
edifices, and a fort. Its commercial importance appears to
be considerable. Large quantities of wheat, hides, tallow,
dried beef, cheese, and other articles are shipped from this
port, and commerce is rapidly increasing. Pop. of the
town, 3560 ; of the district, 12,000.
RIOJA. See Plata, La.
RIOM, a town of France, capital of an arrondissement
in the department of Puy-de-D6me, in arid) and beautiful
country, on a hill above the Ambone, 8 miles N.N.E. of
Clerment. It is encircled by boulevards shaded by trees,
and has a cheerful aspect, though built of dark lava from
the neighbouring quarries of Volvic. The streets are broad,
and the houses generally are well built. Many of the public
buildings, such as the court-house, prefect’s residence,
hospitals, &c., are very handsome; and the church of St
Amable is a curious and interesting old edifice. On one
of the boulevards of the town is a granite monument to
General Desaix, who fell at the victory of Marengo. Riom
is the seat of several law courts and of a college. It has
manufactures of linen fabrics, leather, brandy, and other
articles; and a considerable trade in these, as well as in
corn, wine, fruit, oil, &c. It was formerly the capital of Au¬
vergne, and the old ducal palace is now the court-house.
Pop. (1856) 10,078.
RIONERO, a town of Naples, the largest in the pro¬
vince of Basilicata, on the slopes of two hills and the inter-
R I P
Ripley vening valley, 8 miles S. of Melfi. It is remarkable for
II nothing so much as for the traces which about half of the
Ripperda. tovvn retajns 0f the terrible earthquake which desolated this
place and the surrounding district in 1851. There are
several churches and a convent. Wooden snuff-boxes are
manufactured, and some trade in oil and wine is carried on.
Pop. 9600.
RIPLEY, a market-town of England, in the West Rid¬
ing of Yorkshire, 18 miles N. of Leeds, and 25 N.N.W. of
York. It stands on the Nidd, which is here crossed by a
bridge, and is neatly and well built. There is a large cruci¬
form church, containing many tombs of the Ingilby family,
who reside in Ripley Castle, one of the chief ornaments of
the town. This family residence was built in 1855; and
it was here that Cromwell spent the night before the battle
of Marston Moor. Pop. of the parish (1851) 1286.
RIPON, a market-town, parliamentary and municipal
borough of England, in the West Riding of Yorkshire, on
the right bank of the Ure, 23 miles N.W. of York, and
215 N.N.W. of London. It stands in the midst of a rich
and well-wooded country, and consists of irregularly laid-
out streets, many of which meet in the spacious market¬
place near the centre of the town. Here there is a hand¬
some town-hall, and an obelisk 90 feet high, surmounted by
the city arms. The principal edifice is the cathedral, one
of the best proportioned churches in the kingdom. Its
whole length is 260 feet, that of the transept 132 feet, the
breadth of the nave and aisles 87 feet, and that of the choir
and aisles 66 feet. At the west front two uniform towers
rise to the height of 110 feet; and in the centre is a large
but lower one, called St Wilfred’s Tower. Under the
chapter-house is a vault containing a great number of
human remains in good preservation. The architecture of
the church is partly Norman and partly early English; the
building was begun in 1331, but not completed till 1494.
Besides Trinity church, an early English cruciform build¬
ing, erected in 1826, there are in Ripon, Wesleyan, Primi¬
tive Methodist, and Independent churches. The educa¬
tional establishments comprise a free grammar school, na¬
tional and infant schools, a blue-coat school, &c. Here,
too, are a mechanics’ institute, subscription library, news¬
room, hospital, and dispensary. Ripon wasonce famous for the
manufacture of spurs and of woollen fabrics. Many saddle¬
trees are made here; tanning, malting, and linen-weaving
are also carried on. Near the town the Ure is crossed by
a fine bridge. A short canal, constructed in 1767, brings
the navigation up to the town. A weekly market and six
annual fairs are held, chiefly for cattle, leather, and cloth.
The borough is governed by a mayor, three other aider-
men, and twelve councillors; and it sends two members to
the House of Commons. It is a place of much antiquity,
having existed in the time of the Saxons, who were here
defeated by the Danes at an early period. A monastery
was founded in 661, when there were only thirty houses
in the place; and the town was made a borough by Alfred
the Great. In 1069 it was wasted by William the Con¬
queror, and in 1319 and 1324 by the Scots under Bruce.
In 1643 it was seized by the parliamentary party, but
rescued for the royalists by Sir John Mollory. Pop. (1851)
of the parish, 15,103 ; of the parliamentary borough, 6080.
RIPPERDA, John William, Baron of, a political ad¬
venturer, was born in the province of Groningen in the
Netherlands, in 1680, and was educated in the college of
the Jesuits at Cologne. A desire for power began early to
be seen in his actions. He married a rich wife that he
might not be hampered by poverty in the race of ambition.
He assumed the creed of a Protestant to make himself
eligible for government offices. A colonelcy in the army
did not content him. He did not cease to show off his
accomplishments until, in 1715, he was appointed ambas¬
sador to Spain. Ripperda had not been very long at the
VOL. XIX.
R I T 177
intriguing chance-directed court of Madrid before he re- Ritson.
solved to try his hand in the game of Spanish politics.
Laying down the office of Dutch ambassador in 1718, he
brought all his arts into play. He secured the interest of
the influential Jesuits by becoming a pious and penitent
convert to the Catholic faith. He made his talents known
to the king, Philip V., by drawing up schemes for the re¬
novation of the national prosperity. Nor did his ambition
hesitate to try more dangerous artifices. Returning from
an embassy to Vienna in 1725, he pretended to the queen
that he had effected her favourite scheme of betrothing her
son Don Carlos to the eldest archduchess. His immediate
elevation to a dukedom, and to the office of prime minister,
compelled him to persist in this imposture. Lie was backed
up by lie ; the nation was impoverished to furnish him with
hush-money ; and he continued to try every bungling shift
until, in 1726, he was convicted and disgraced. The rest
of Ripperda’s life was spent in a fruitless attempt to re¬
trieve his fortune. Escaping from the castle of Segovia,
he sought in vain for a place of political importance in some
foreign country. The English statesmen treated him hospi¬
tably only so long as they were at variance with Spain. He
could not see the slightest chance of success at any other
European court. It is true that at length the land of pro¬
mise seemed to have been discovered in Morocco. He
was welcomed thither by the Emperor Muley Abdallah, and
after qualifying himself for office b,y becoming a Moham¬
medan, was placed at the head of the administration of the
country. But his ambition soon began again to be thwarted.
His royal patron was driven from the throne. He himself
was glad to escape with his head to Tetuan. There he
could find no better employment for his restless spirit than
that of asserting himself to be the last and greatest of the
prophets. He died in 1737, giving out as his new creed a
heterogeneous mass of Mohammedan, Jewish, and Chris¬
tian doctrines. (See Lives of Alberoni, Ripperda, and
Pombal, by George Moore, London, 1819.)
RITSON, Joseph, a meritorious critic and antiquary, was
born at Stockton-upon-Tees on the 2d October 1752. His
family, whose original name seems to have been Richard¬
son, were respectable yeomen in Westmoreland, and could
trace their descent as far back as the reign of Edward VI.
He received a solid education from the Rev. John Thomp¬
son, the incumbent of his native town, was articled first to
a solicitor, and subsequently to a barrister, previous to his
setting out for London. His earliest literary effort, which
possesses very little merit, was an address to the ladies of
Stockton, printed in the Newcastle Miscellany in 1772.
Ritson had now reached his nineteenth year, and his per¬
sonal eccentricities had already begun to develop them¬
selves in ways which spoke more for the determination of
the future critic than for his eminent personal courtesy.
He then began the practice, to which he adhered through
life, of restricting himself to a milk and vegetable diet.
His biographer, Sir Harris Nicolas, informs us that Ritson
made this resolution from “ a most refined sense of hu¬
manity.” Unfortunately, the future conduct of the acri¬
monious critic rather clouds this pretty motive; and how¬
ever sentimental may have been the origin of the practice,
its continuance must be attributed, “during the whole course
of those thirty years,” to a quite different cause. As illus¬
trative of Ritson’s character, however, it throws much light
on that determination, which occasionally approached some¬
thing like doggedness, to judge on every subject for him¬
self. In 1773 he visited Edinburgh on a short holiday
excursion, and so much had he already been smitten with
the antiquarian fever that he finds, on summing up his
purchases of “ tartans” and other items, that there was
“ not money left to pay my reckoning,” at which he ex¬
presses great distress. In 1775 Ritson settled in London
as a conveyancer, at a salary of L.150. He seems to have
z
178 R I T
Ritson. lost both his parents during these years, to whom he was
very much attached. In 1778 he printed a broadside en¬
titled Tables shoiving the Descent of the Crown of Eng¬
land, which displayed accuracy and research, and proved
the writer to be a firm Jacobite. He visited Oxford in
1779 to explore the literary treasures of the Bodleian ; and
his diary during this journey affords the first evidence of
his sceptical opinions. He printed anonymously, in 1781, a
small satirical tract termed The Stockton Jubilee, or Shak-
speare in his Glory; in 1782 he visited Cambridge, and
made the acquaintance of Dr Farmer, whom he describes
as “a most sensible, liberal, benevolent, and worthy man.”
He was busily occupied at this time with his “ scurrilous
libel upon Warton,” as he jocularly called his Observations
on the History of English Poetry. The rude and bold
style of this work, the severity of its criticisms, and the
reckless personal taunts in which the writer indulged,
brought down upon him a perfect horde of enemies, from
whom his erudition, research, and candour served in vain
to shield him. In vain it was that Ititson disclaimed all
personal motives, that he averred he had no other object
but truth and justice ; he had been guilty of coarse and
intemperate treatment of a highly respectable man, and
such an offence could not be tolerated. A controversy
accordingly raged in the Gentleman's Magazine, in which
the formidable critic playea of course a very important
part. It may not be unworthy of remark that a late edi¬
tor of Warton’s History of English Poetry adopted the
greater part of Ritson’s observations. In 1783 he published
a volume of Remarks, Critical and Illustrative, on the
Text of the last edition of Shakspeare, in which he fell
foul of Johnson and Stevens in a very unceremonious man¬
ner for the very careless way in which they had gone about
their task. Despite, however, the acerbity of the writer,
the public had much reason to thank him for his profound
research, his felicitous conjectures, and his singular ac¬
quaintance with the great poet. This year was one of the
most prolific of Ritson’s pen. Besides editing Gammer
Gurton's Garland, or the Nursery Parnassus, he published
a Select Collection of English Songs, in 3 vols., to which
he prefixed a historical essay of very great merit. In
1784 he published a slight tract called the Bishopric Gar¬
land, or Durham Minstrel; and about the same period was
appointed high bailiff of the Liberty of the Savoy. The
ensuing four years he seems to have devoted to his profes¬
sion. There is one work from his pen during this period,
entitled the Spartan Manual, or Tablet of Morality, for
“the improvement of youth, and the promoting of wisdom
and virtue.” His Quip Modest was published during the
same year, which was the letting out of a deadly feud be¬
tween the author and the Critical Review. In 1790 ap¬
peared Ritson’s Ancient Songs, and the succeeding year
witnessed the publication of his Pieces ()f Ancient Popular
Poetry, in an unusual style of typographical elegance.
During the same year he visited Paris, and the ancient
Jacobite found himself called upon to venerate the new
order of things in the French metropolis; and he went so
far as to adopt the French calendar in dating, and the re¬
publican style in closing his letters to his “ citizen” friends.
His nervous system was gradually giving wray ; and he could
only write, he tells us, with great difficulty. Yet his labour
must have been incessant. Between the years 1793 and
1795 appeared his English Anthology, his Scottish Songs,
his Poems of Laurence Minot written in 1352, and his
celebrated Collection of the Robin Hood Ballads. After
a short respite, his pen was again busy; and in 1803 he
brought out his Bibliographia Poetica, being a catalogue
of English poets between the twelfth and the sixteenth
centuries ; a Collection of English Metrical Romances ;
and, as his final effort, An Essay on Abstinence from Ani¬
mal Food as a IMoral Duty. Of the numerous literary
R I V
friends of Ritson, one of the most genial was Sir Walter Ritten-
Scott, who alludes to him frequently in his poems and house
novels in terms of kindness and respect. But the busy II
strife of men was already waxing fainter and fainter on his
ear, more dimly shone to him the pleasant sunlight, and v
tangible things were gradually becoming more and more "~ v"
intangible, when a great summons came on the 23d of Sep¬
tember 1803. He left a number of works all but ready for
the press, which have since appeared under the care of his
nephew. I hey are, The Life of King Arthur; Memoirs Oj
the felts and Gauls; Annals of the Caledonians ; Fairy
Tales. (See the Letters of Joseph Ritson, Esq., with a me¬
moir of the author, by Sir Harris Nicolas, 2 vols. 1833.)
RlfTENHOUSE, David, an eminent American as¬
tronomer, was born near Germantown in Pennsylvania in
1732, and was early put to work on his father’s farm. His
youth was characterised by signs of uncommon talent.
Every spare moment was employed in gratifying his taste
for the exact sciences. When he stopped his team on the
field, he covered the plough-tails with mathematical figures.
As he sauntered about in the evening after his day’s labour,
he plied his knife in making wooden clocks. A present
of watchmaking tools, which he received at the age of
eighteen, was the means of still further developing his
genius. Taking up the more congenial trade of a watch¬
maker, he enjoyed greater opportunities for prosecuting his
favourite studies. The utmost use was made of the two or
three mathematical books which he had. Ere he was
twenty he had begun to read the Principia. It is even
said that he had found out the method of fluxions before
he was aware of the discoveries of Newton and Leibnitz on
the same subject. The attainments of Rittenhouse soon
came to be generally acknowledged, and a series of honours
and appointments followed. In 1769 he was named one of
the committee to observe the transit of Venus over the
sun’s disk. In 1779 he was employed to determine the
boundary line between Pennsylvania and Virginia. The
Academy of Arts and Sciences at Boston elected him a mem¬
ber in 1782. The American Philosophical Society made
him their president, in the room of Franklin, in 1791. The
Royal Society of London also elected him a fellow in 1795.
He was director of the mint of the United States when
he was seized with his last attack of debility in 1795; and
he died in June 1796. His published works consist of a
number of papers, chiefly on astronomical subjects, in the
Transactions of the American Philosophical Society.
RIVA (Germ. Reif), a town of the Tyrol, in the circle
and 9 miles W.S.W. of Roveredo, stands in a beautiful
situation at the head of the Lake of Garda, under the lofty
and precipitous mountains which impart grandeur to the
scenei’y of the lake. The climate is delicious; vines, myrtles,
oranges, and olives grow in the open air; but the town is
dirty and dilapidated. I he castle of La Rocca, now a prison,
and several convents, are the chief buildings. The lake
abounds in fish; and the port is much frequented. Pop. 4980.
RIVE-DE-GIER, a town of France, in the department
of Loire, on the right bank of the Gier, 12 miles N.E. of
St Etienne. It is entirely a modern town, having nearly
trebled its population since 1815; and it derives its im¬
portance and prosperity from the coal-fields among which
it is situated. Formerly it had fortifications, but these have
been destroyed. There are no public buildings of any im¬
portance. The river was once crossed by an ancient Ro¬
man bridge which has been removed, and its place supplied
by five of modern erection. There are more than forty
coal-mines in operation in the vicinity worked by steam.
Lyons and many other towns derive their supply of fuel, in
whole or in part, from Rive-de-Gier. It has large glass¬
works, and manufactories of steel, hardware, machinery, silk,
&c. The trade is very considerable; and the canal of Givors
connects the place with Givors on the Rhone. Pop. 11,694.
179
r i y e r:
Utility of
rivers.
River. A river is a current of fresh water, flowing in a bed or
channel from its source to the sea.
Definition. The term is appropriated to a considerable collection of
waters, formed by the conflux of two or more brooks,
which deliver into its channel the united streams of several
rivulets, which have collected the supplies of many rills
trickling down from numberless springs, and the torrents
which carry off from the sloping grounds the surplus of
every shower.
Rivers form one of the chief features of the surface of
this globe, serving as voiders of all that is immediately re¬
dundant in our rains and springs, and also as boundaries
and barriers, and even as highways, and in many countries
as plentiful storehouses. They also fertilize our soil by
laying upon our warm fields the richest mould, brought
from the high mountains, where it would have remained
useless for want of genial heat.
Being such interesting objects of attention, every branch
acquires a proper name, and the whole acquires a sort of
personal identity, of which it is frequently difficult to find
the principle ; for the name of the great body of waters
which discharges itself into the sea is traced backwards to
one of the sources, while all the contributing streams are
lost, although their wTaters form the chief part of the collec¬
tion. And sometimes the feeder in which the name is pre¬
served is smaller than others which are united to the cur¬
rent, and which like a rich but ignoble alliance lose their
name in that of the more illustrious family. Some rivers
indeed are respectable even at their birth, coming at once
in force from some great lake. Such is the Rio de la Plata,
the river St Lawrence, and the mighty streams which issue
in all directions from the Baical Lake. But, like the sons
of Adam, they are all of equal descent, and should take
their name from one of the feeders of these lakes. This is
indeed the case with a few, such as the Rhone, the Rhine,
the Nile. These, after having mixed their waters with
those of the lake, resume their appearance and their name
at its outlet.
Origin of
their
names.
Origin and But in general their origin and progress, and even the
progress si-features of their character, bear some resemblance (as has
^iV0 been Prettily observed by Pliny) to the life of man. The
man^6 Cf river sPrin.Ss from the earth, but its origin is in heaven.
Its beginnings are insignificant, and its infancy is frivolous ;
it plays among the flowers of a meadow ; it waters a garden,
or turns a little mill. Gathering strength in its youth, it
becomes wild and impetuous. Impatient of the restraints
which it still meets with in the hollows among the moun¬
tains, it is restless and fretful; quick in its turnings, and
unsteady in its course. Now it is a roaring cataract, tearing
up and overturning whatever opposes its progress, and it
shoots headlong down from a rock ; then it becomes a sul¬
len and gloomy pool, buried in the bottom of a glen. Re¬
covering breath by repose, it again dashes along, till, tired
of the uproar and mischief, it quits all that it has swept along,
and leaves the opening of the valley strewed with the re¬
jected waste. Now, quitting its retirement, it comes abroad
into the world, journeying with more prudence and discre¬
tion, through cultivated fields, yielding to circumstances,
and winding round what would trouble it to overwhelm or
remove. It passes through the populous cities and all the
busy haunts of man, tendering its services on every side,
and becomes the support and ornament of the country. Now
increased by numerous alliances, and advanced in its course
of existence, it becomes grave and stately in its motions,
loves peace and quiet; and in majestic silence rolls on its
mighty waters, till it is laid to rest in the vast abyss.
The philosopher, the real lover of wisdom, sees much to
admire in the economy and mechanism of running waters ;
and there are few operations of nature which give him more
opportunities of remarking the nice adjustment of the most
simple means for attaining many purposes of most extensive
beneficence. All mankind seems to have felt this. The
heart of man is ever open (unless perverted by the habits
of selfish indulgence and arrogant self-conceit) to impres¬
sions of gratitude and love. He who ascribes the religious
principle (debased though it be by the humbling abuses
ot superstition) to the workings of fear alone, may betray
the slavish meanness of his own mind, but gives a very un¬
fair and a false picture of the hearts of his neighbours.
Lucretius was but half a philosopher when he penned his
often quoted apophthegm. Indeed his own invocation
shows how much the animal was blended with the sage.
We apprehend, that whoever will read with an honest The effect
and candid mind, unbiassed by licentious wishes, the ac-ofgrati-
counts of the ancient superstitions, will acknowledge thatt,ldeand
the amiable emotions of the human soul have had theiraffeetion-
share in creating the numerous divinities whose worship fill¬
ed up their kalendars. The sun and the host of heaven have
in all ages and nations been the objects of a sincere wor¬
ship. Next to them, the rivers seem to have attracted the
grateful acknowledgments of the inhabitants of the adjacent
countries. They have everywhere been considered as a
sort of tutelar divinities ; and each little district, every re¬
tired valley, had its river-god, who was preferred to all
others with a partial fondness. The expostulation of Naa-
man the Syrian, who w^as offended with the prophet for en¬
joining him to wash in the river Jordan, was the natural
effusion of this attachment. “ What!” said he, “are not
Abana and Pharpar, rivers of Damascus, more excellent
than all the waters of Judea ? Might I not wash in them
and be clean ? So he went away wroth.”
In those countries particularly, where the rural labours
and the hopes of the shepherd and the husbandman were
not so immediately connected with the approach and recess
of the sun, and depended rather on what happened in a far
distant country by the falls of periodical rains or the melt¬
ing of collected snows, the Nile, the Ganges, the Indus, the
river of Pegu, ivere the sensible agents of nature in pro¬
curing to the inhabitants of their fertile banks all their
abundance, and they became the objects of grateful vene¬
ration. Their sources were sought out with anxious care
even by conquering princes; and when found, were uni¬
versally worshipped with the most affectionate devotion.
These remarkable rivers, so eminently and so palpably be¬
neficent, preserve to this day, amidst every change of ha¬
bit, and every increase of civilization and improvement, the
fond adoration of the inhabitants of those fruitful countries
through which they hold their stately course, and their wa¬
ters are still held sacred. No progress of artificial refine¬
ment, not all the corruption of luxurious sensuality, has
River.
The reli¬
gious re¬
spect for
rivers.
1 Prom the great ability displayed in this article by the late Professor Robison of Edinburgh, and from the frequent allusion to it,
even at the present day, by men of the first distinction in physical science, the Editor has been induced to allow it a place here. (For
turther information, see Hydrodynamics and the Sixth Dissertation.)
RIVE R.
180
History, been able to eradicate this plant of native growth from the
' heart of man. The sentiment is congenial to his nature,
and therefore it is universal ; and we could almost appeal
to the feelings of every reader, whether he does not per¬
ceive it in his own breast. Perhaps we may be mistaken
in our opinion in the case of the corrupted inhabitants of
the populous and busy cities, who are habituated to the
fond contemplation of their own individual exertions as the
sources of all their hopes. Give the shoemaker but leather
and a few tools, and he defies the powers of nature to dis¬
appoint him; but the simpler inhabitants of the country,
the most worthy and the most respectable part of every na¬
tion, after equal, perhaps greater exertion, both of skill and
of industry, are more accustomed to resign themselves to
the great ministers of Providence, and to look up to heaven
for the “ early and the latter rains,” without which all their
labours are fruitless.
   Extrema per illos
Numenque excedens terris vestigia fecit.
And among the husbandmen and the shepherds of all na¬
tions and ages, we find the same fond attachment to their
springs and rivulets.
Fortunate senex, hie, inter flumina nota
Et fontes sacros, frigus captabis opacum,
wras the mournful ejaculation of poor Meliboeus. We hardly
know a river of any note in our own country whose source
is not looked on with some respect.
We repeat our assertion, that this worship was the off¬
spring of affection and gratitude, and that it is giving a very
unfair and false picture of the human mind to ascribe these
superstitions to the working of fear alone. These would
have represented the river-gods as seated on ruins, bran¬
dishing rooted-up trees, with angry looks, pouring out their
sweeping torrents. But no such thing. The lively imagi¬
nation of the Greeks felt, and expressed with an energy un-
known to all other nations, every emotion of the human
soul. They figured the Naiads as beautiful nymphs, pat¬
terns of gentleness and of elegance. These they represent¬
ed as partially attached to the children of men ; and their
interference in human affairs is always in acts of kind as¬
sistance and protection. They resemble, in this respect,
the rural deities of the northern nations, the fairies, but
without their caprices and resentments. And if we attend
to the descriptions and representations of their river-gods,
beings armed with power, an attribute which slavish fear
never fails to couple with cruelty and vengeance, we shall
find the same expression of affectionate trust and confidence
in their kind dispositions. They are generally called by
the respectable but endearing name father. “ Da Tyberi
pater,” says Virgil. Mr Bruce says that the Nile at its
source is called the aha?/, or “ father.” We observe this
word, or its radix, blended with many names of rivers of the
east; and think it probable that when our traveller got this
name from the inhabitants of the neighbourhood, they ap¬
plied to the stream what is meant to express the tutelar or
presiding spirit. The river-gods are always represented as
venerable old men, to indicate their being coeval with the
world. But it is always a cruda viridisque seneetus, and
they are never represented as oppressed with age and de¬
crepitude. Their beards are. long and flowing, their looks
placid, their attitude easy, reclined on a bank, covered, as
they are crowned, with never-fading sedges and bulrushes,
and leaning on their urns, from which they pour out their
plentiful and fertilizing streams. Mr Bruce’s description of
the sources of the Nile, and of the respect paid to the sacred
waters, has not a frowning feature ; and the hospitable old
man, with his fair daughter Irepone, and the gentle priest¬
hood which peopled the little village of Geesh, form a con¬
trast with the neighbouring Galla (among whom a mili¬
tary leader was called the lamb, because he did not mur- Historv.
der pregnant women), which very clearly paints the inspir-v—*
ing principle of this superstition. Pliny says (lib. viii. 8)
that at the source of the Clitumnus there is an ancient
temple highly respected. The presence and the power of
the divinity are expressed by the fates which stand in the
vestibule. Around this temple are several little chapels,
each of which covers a sacred fountain ; for the Clitumnus
is the father of several little rivers which unite their streams
with him. At some distance below the temple is a bridge
which divides the sacred waters from those which are open
to common use. No one must presume to set his foot in
the streams above this bridge ; and to step over any of them
is an indignity which renders a person infamous. They can
only be visited in a consecrated boat. Below the bridge
we are permitted to bathe, and the place is incessantly oc¬
cupied by the neighbouring villagers. See also Vibius Se¬
quester Oberlini, p. 101-103, and 221-223; also Sueton.
Caligula, c. 43; Virg. Georg, ii. 146.
What is the cause of all this? The Clitumnus, near its
source, flows through the richest pastures, through which it
was carefully distributed by numberless drains ; and these
nourished cattle of such spotless whiteness and extraordi¬
nary beauty that they were sought for with eagerness over
all Italy, as the most acceptable victims in their sacrifices.
Is not this superstition then an effusion of gratitude ?
Such are the dictates of kind-hearted nature in our breasts,
before it has been vitiated by vanity and self-conceit, and
we should not be ashamed of feeling the impression. We
hardly think of making any apology for dwelling a little on
this incidental circumstance of the superstitious veneration
paid to rivers. We cannot think that our readers will be
displeased at having agreeable ideas excited in their minds,
being always of opinion that the torch of true philosophy
will not only enlighten the understanding, but also warm
and cherish the affections of the heart.
With respect to the origin of rivers, we have very little
to offer in this place. It is obvious to every person, that
besides the torrents which carry down into the rivers what
part of the rains and melted snows is not absorbed by the
soil or taken up by the plants which cover the earth, they
are fed either immediately or remotely by the springs. A
few remarkable streams rush at once out of the earth in
force, and must be considered as the continuation of sub¬
terraneous rivers, whose origin we are therefore to seek
out; and we do not know any circumstance in which their
first beginnings differ from those of other rivers, which are
formed by the union of little streams and rills, each of
which has its own source in a spring or fountain. This
question, therefore, what is the process of nature, and what
are the supplies which fill our springs ? will be treated of
under the word Spring.
Whatever be the source of rivers, it is to be met with in Origin of
almost every part of the globe. The crust of earth with Avers,
which the rocky framing of this globe is covered is gene¬
rally stratified. Some of these strata are extremely per¬
vious to water, having but small attraction for its particles,
and being very porous. Such is the quality of gravelly
strata in an eminent degree. Other strata are much more
firm, or attract water more strongly, and refuse it passage.
This is the case with firm rock and with clay. When a
stratum of the first kind has one of the other immediately
under it, the water remains in the upper stratum, and bursts
out wherever the sloping sides of the hills cut off the strata,
and this will be the form of a trickling spring, because the
water in the porous stratum is greatly obstructed in its pas¬
sage towards the outlet. As this irregular formation of the
earth is very general, we must have springs, and of course
rivers or rivulets, in every corner where there are high
grounds.
Rivers flow from the higher to the low grounds. It is
RIVER
181
History, the arrangement of this elevation which distributes them
' over the surface of the earth. This appears to be accom-
Theyfl«w plished with considerable regularity ; and, except the great
hlffher To ^esert Kobi on the confines of Chinese Tartary, we do
the lower not remember any very extensive tract of ground that is
grounds, deprived of those channels for voiding the superfluous
waters ; and even there they are far from being redundant.
Course of The courses of rivers give us the best general method
the rivers for judging of the elevation of a country. Thus it appears
of Europe, gav0y an j Switzerland are the highest grounds of Eu¬
rope, from whence the ground slopes in every direction.
From the Alps proceed the Danube and the Rhine, whose
courses mark the two great valleys, into which many lateral
streams descend. The Po also and the Rhone come from
the same head, and with a steeper and shorter course find
their way to the sea through valleys of less breadth and
length. On the west side of the valleys of the Rhine and
the Rhone the ground rises pretty fast, so that few tribu¬
tary streams come into them from that side; and from this
gentle elevation France slopes to the westward. If a line,
nearly straight, but bending a little to the northward, be
drawn from the head of Savoy and -Switzerland all the way
to Solikamskoy in Siberia, it will nearly pass through the
most elevated part of Europe ; for in this tract most of the
rivers have their rise. On the left go off the various feed¬
ers of the Elbe, the Oder, the Wesel, the Niemen, the
Duna, the Neva, the Dwina, the Petzora. On the right,
after passing the feeders of the Danube, we see the sources
of the Sereth and Pruth, the Dniester, the Bog, the Dnie¬
per, the Don, and the mighty Volga. The elevation, how¬
ever, is extremely moderate ; and it appears from the levels
taken with the barometer by the Abbe Chappe d’Auteroche,
that the head of the Volga is not more than 470 feet above
the surface of the ocean. And we may observe here, by
the by, that its mouth, where it discharges its waters into
the Caspian Sea, is undoubtedly lower by many feet than
the surface of the ocean. (See Pneumatics.) Spain
and Finland, with Lapland, Norway, and Sweden, form
two detached parts, which have little symmetry with the
rest of Europe.
of Asia, A chain of mountains begins in Nova Zembla, and
stretches due south to near the Caspian Sea, dividing Eu¬
rope from Asia. About three or four degrees north of the
Caspian Sea it bends to the south-east, traverses Western
Tartary, and passing between the Tengis and Zaizan lakes,
it then branches to the east and south. The eastern branch
runs to the shores of Korea and Kamtschatka. The south¬
ern branch traverses Turkestan and Thibet, separating
them from India, and at the head of the kingdom of Ava
joins an arm stretching from the great eastern branch, and
here forms the centre of a very singular radiation. Chains
of mountains issue from it in every direction. Three or
four of them keep very close together, dividing the conti¬
nent into narrow slips, which have each a great mer flow¬
ing in the middle, and reaching to the extreme points of
Malacca, Cambodia, and Cochin-china. From the same
central point proceeds another great ridge due east, and
passes a little north of Canton in China. We called this a
singular centre; for though it sends off so many branches,
it is by no means the most elevated part of the continent.
In the triangle which is included between the first southern
ridge (which comes from between the lakes Tengis and
■Zaizan), the great eastern ridge, and its branch which al¬
most unites with the southern ridge, lie the Boutan and
part of Thibet; and the many little rivers which occupy its
surface flow southward and eastward, uniting a little to the
north of the centre often mentioned, and then pass through
a gorge eastward into China. The higher grounds (if we
except the ridges of mountains which are boundaries) of the
continent seem to be in the country of the Calmucs, about
96° east from London, and latitude 43° or 45° north. It is
represented as a fine though sandy country, having many History,
little rivers which lose themselves in the sand, or end in
little salt lakes. This elevation stretches north-east to a
great distance ; and in this tract we find the heads of the
Irtish, Selenga, and Tunguskaia (the great feeders of the
Oby), the Olenitz, the Lena, the Yana, and some other
rivers, which all go off to the north. On the other side we
have the great river Amur, and many smaller rivers, whose
names are not familiar. The Hoangho, the great river of
China, rises on the south side of the great eastern ridge we
have so often mentioned. This elevation, which is a con¬
tinuation of the former, is somewhat of the same com¬
plexion, being very sandy, and at present is a desert of pro¬
digious extent. A great ridge of mountains begins at the
south-east corner of the Euxine Sea, and proceeds east¬
ward, ranging along the south side of the Caspian, and, still
advancing, unites with the mountains first mentioned in
Thibet, sending off some branches to the south, which di¬
vide Persia, India, and Thibet. From the south side of
this ridge flow the Euphrates, Tigris, Indus, and Ganges,
and from the north the ancient Oxus and many unknown
streams.
Of the rivers of Africa we still know but little. The of Africa,
Nile indeed is perhaps better known than any river out of
Europe; and of it, so far as yet known, we have given a
full account in a separate article. (See Nile.)
By the register of the weather kept by Mr Bruce at
Gondar in 1770 and 1771, it appears that the greatest rains
fall about the beginning of July. He says that at an ave¬
rage each month after June it doubles its rains. The ca-
lish or canal is opened at Cairo about the 9th of August,
when the river has risen fourteen peeks (each twenty-one
inches), and the waters begin to decrease about the 10th
of September. Hence we may form a conjecture concern¬
ing the time which the latter employs in coming from Abys¬
sinia. Mr Bruce supposes it nine days, which would require
a velocity of not less than fourteen feet in a second ; a thing
past belief, and inconsistent with all our notions. The ge¬
neral slope of the river is greatly diminished by several
great cataracts; and Mr Bruce expressly says that he
might have come down from Sennaar to the cataracts of
Syene in a boat, and that it is navigable for boats far above
Sennaar. He came from Syene to Cairo by water. We
apprehend that no boat would venture down a stream mov¬
ing even six feet in a second, and none could row up if the
velocity was three feet. As the waters begin to decrease
about the 10th of September, we must conclude that the
water then flowing past Cairo had left Abyssinia when the
rains had greatly abated. Judging in this way, we must
still allow the stream a velocity of more than six feet. Had
the first swell at Cairo been noticed in 1770 or 1771, we
might have guessed better. The year that Thevenot was
in Egypt, the first swell of eight peeks was observed on
the 2bth of January. The calish was opened for fourteen
peeks on the 14th of August, and the waters began to de¬
crease on the 23d of September, having risen to twenty-
one and two-third peeks. We may suppose a similar pro¬
gress at Cairo corresponding to Mr Bruce’s observations at
Gondar, and date every thing five days earlier.
The frame-work (so to call it) of America is better known,
and is singular.
A chain of mountains begins, or at least is found, in Ion-and of
gitude 110° west of London, and latitude 40° north, on the America,
northern confines of the kingdom of Mexico, and, stretching
southward through that kingdom, forms the ridge of the
neck of land which separates North from South America,
and keeping almost close to the shore, ranges along the
whole western coast of South America, terminating at Cape
Horn. In its course it sends off branches, which after se¬
parating from it for a few leagues, rejoin it again, enclodng
valleys of great extent from north to south, and of prodi-
182 RIVER
History, gious elevation. In one of these, under the equatorial sun,
' stands the city of Quito, in the midst of extensive fields of
barley, oats, wheat, and gardens containing apples, pears,
and gooseberries, and, in short, all the grains and fruits of
the cooler parts of Europe ; and although the vine is also
there in perfection, the olive is wanting. Not a dozen miles
from it, in the low countries, the sugar-cane, the indigo,
and all the fruits of the torrid zone, find their congenial heat,
and the inhabitants swelter under a burning sun. At a
small distance on the other hand tower aloft the pinnacles
of Pichincha, Corambourou, and Chimbora^ao, crowned
with never-melting snows.
The individual mountains of this stupendous range cut
off therefore all communication between the Pacific Ocean
and the inland continent; and no rivers are to be found on
the west coast of South America which have any consider¬
able length of course or body of waters. The country is
drained, like Africa, in the opposite direction. Not 100
miles from the city of Lima, the capital of Peru, which lies
almost on the sea-shore, and just at the foot of the high
Cordilleras, arises out of a small lake the Maragnon or
Amazons river, which, after running northward for about
100 miles, takes an easterly direction, and crosses nearly
the broadest part of South America, and falls into the great
western ocean at Para, after a course of not less than 4095
miles. In the first half of its descent it receives a few
middle-sized rivers from the north, and from the south it
receives the great river Combos, springing from another
little lake not fifty miles distant from the head of the Ma¬
ragnon, and enclosing between them a wide extent of coun¬
try. It then receives the Yuta, the Yuerva, the Cuchi-
vara, and Parana Mire, each of which is equal to the Rhine;
and then the Madeira, which has flowed above 1300 miles.
At their junction the breadth is so great that neither shore
can be seen by a person standing up in a canoe ; so that
the united stream must be about six miles broad. In this
form it rolls along through a flat country, covered with im¬
penetrable forests, and most of it as yet untrodden by hu¬
man feet. Mr Condamine, who came down the stream,
says that all is silent as the desert, and the wild beasts and
numberless birds crowd round the boat, eyeing it as some
animal of which they did not seem afraid. The bed was
cut deep through an equal and yielding soil, which seemed
rich in every part, if he could judge by the vegetation,
which was rank in the extreme. What an addition to
the possible population of this globe ! A narrow slip along
each bank of this mighty river would equal in surface the
whole of Europe, and would probably exceed it in general
fertility ; and although the velocity in the main stream was
considerable, he observed that it was extremely moderate,
nay almost still, at the sides; so that in those parts where
the country was inhabited, the Indians paddled up the river
with perfect ease. Boats could go from Para to near the
mouth of the Madeira in thirty-eight days, which is nearly
1200 miles.
Not far from the head of the Maragnon, the Cordilleras
send off a branch to the north-east, which reaches and
ranges along the shore of the Mexican Gulf; and the Rio
Grande de Sta Martha occupies the angle between the
ridges.
Another ridge ranges with interruption along the east
coast of Terra birma, so that the whole waters of this coun¬
try are collected into the Oroonoko. In like manner, the
north and east of Brazil are hemmed in by mountainous
ridges, through which there is no considerable passage;
and the ground sloping backwards, all the waters of this
immense tract are collected from both sides by many con¬
siderable rivers into the great river Paraguay, or Rio de la
Plata, which runs down the middle of the country for more
than 1400 miles, and falls into the sea through a vast mouth,
in latitude 35°.
Thus the whole of South America seems as if it had been History,
formerly surrounded by a mound, and been a great basin. —v
I he ground in the middle, where the Parana, the Madeira,
and the Plata, take their rise, is an immense marsh, unin¬
habitable on account of its exhalations, and quite impervious
in its present state.
The manner in which the continent of North America
is watered, or rather drained, has also some peculiarities.
By looking at the map, one will observe, first of all, a ge¬
neral division of the whole of the best-known part into two,
by the valleys in which the beds of the rivers St Lawrence
and Mississippi are situated. The head of this is occupied
by a singular series of fresh-water seas or lakes, viz. the
Lakes Superior and Michigan, which empty themselves into
Lake Huron by two cataracts. This again runs into Lake
Erie by the river Detroit, and the Erie pours its water into
the Ontario by the famous Fall of Niagara, and from the
Ontario proceeds the great river St Lawrence.
The gr-ound to the south-west of the Lakes Superior and
Erie is somewhat lower, and the middle of the valley is oc¬
cupied by the Mississippi and the Missouri, which receive
on both sides a number of smaller streams, and, having
joined, proceed to the south under the name Mississippi.
In latitude 37° this river receives into its bed the Ohio, a
river of equal magnitude, and the Cherokee river, which
drains all the country lying at the back of the United
States, separated from them by the ranges of the Appala¬
chian Mountains. The Mississippi is now one of the chief
rivers on the globe, and proceeds due south till it falls into
the Mexican Bay through several shifting mouths, which
greatly resemble those of the Danube and the Nile, having
run above 1200 miles.
The elevated country between this bed of the Mississippi
and St Lawrence and the Atlantic Ocean is drained on the
east side by a great number of rivers, some of which are
very considerable, and of long course ; because instead of
being nearly at right angles to the coast, as in other coun¬
tries, they are in a great measure parallel to it. This is
more remarkably the case with Hudson’s river, the Dela¬
ware, Potomac, and Rappahannoc. Indeed the whole of
North America seems to consist of ribs or beams laid nearly
parallel to each other from north to south, and the rivers
occupy the interstices. All those which empty themselves
into the bay of Mexico are parallel and almost perfectly
straight, unlike what are seen in other parts of the world.
The westernmost of them all, the North river, as it is
named by the Spaniards, is nearly as loner as the Missis¬
sippi.
For the length of the courses, and some peculiarities of
the principal rivers, see Physical Geography.
PART I THEORY OF THE MOTION OF RIVERS AND
CANALS.
The importance of this subject needs no commentary. imp0rt.
Every nation, every country, every city is interested in it.ance of the
Our wants, our comforts, and our pleasures require a know-doctrine of
ledge of it. We must conduct the water of rivers to the t*le .mot’on
centre of our dwellings ; we must r ecure ourselves against°nj camd
their ravages; we must employ them to drive those ma-an cana 3*
chines which, by compensating for our personal weakness,
make a few able to perform the work of thousands ; we'
employ them to water and fertilize our fields, to decorate
our mansions, to cleanse and embellish our cities, to pre¬
serve or extend our demesnes, to transport from county to
county every thing which necessity, convenience, or luxury,
has rendered precious to man: for these purposes we must
confine and govern the mighty rivers, we must preserve or
change the beds of the smaller streams, draw off from them
what shall water our fields, drive our machines, or supply
RIVER.
183
'Theory, our houses. We must keep up their waters for the pur-
v—~V"—^ poses of navigation, or supply their places by canals; we
must drain our fens, and defend them when drained; we
must understand their motions, and their mode of secret,
slow, but unceasing action, that our bridges, our wharfs,
our dikes, may not become heaps of ruins. Ignorant how
to proceed in these daily recurring cases, how often do we
see projects of high expectation and heavy expense fail of
their object, leaving the state burdened with works not
only useless, but frequently hurtful ?
This has long been a most interesting subject of study
in Italy, where the fertility of their fields is not more in¬
debted to their rich soil and happy climate, than to their
numerous derivations from the rivers which traverse them ;
and in Holland and Flanders, where their very existence
requires unceasing attention to the waters, which are every
moment ready to swallow up the inhabitants, and where
the inhabitants, having once subdued this formidable ene¬
my, have made those very waters their indefatigable drudges,
transporting through every corner of the country the mate¬
rials of an extensive commerce.
Such having been our incessant occupations with moving
waters, we should expect, that while the operative artists
are continually furnishing facts and experiments, the man
of speculative and scientific curiosity, excited by the impor¬
tance of the subject, would ere now have made consider¬
able progress in the science ; and that the professional en¬
gineer would be daily acting from established principle,
and be seldom disappointed in his expectations. Unfortu¬
nately, the reverse of this is nearly the true state of the
case: each engineer is obliged to collect the greatest part
of his knowledge from his own experience, and by many
dear-bought lessons, to direct his future operations, in
which he still proceeds with anxiety and hesitation; for
we have not yet acquired principles of theory, and experi¬
ments have not yet been collected and published by which
an empirical practice might be safely formed. Many ex¬
periments of inestimable value are daily made; but they
remain with their authors, w'ho seldom have either leisure,
ability, or generosity, to add them to the public stock.
This sci- The motion of waters has been really so little investigat-
fn itsTn-Ct ed ^ yet’ that hydraulics may still be called a new study,
fancy. have merely skimmed over a few common notions con¬
cerning the motions of water; and the mathematicians of
the first order seem to have contented themselves with
such views as allowed them to entertain themselves with
elegant applications of calculus. This, however, has not
been their fault. They rarely had opportunity of doing
more, for want of a knowledge of facts. They have made
excellent use of the few which have been given them ; but
it required much labour, great variety of opportunity, and
great expense, to learn the multiplicity of things which are
combined even in the simplest cases of water in motion.
These are seldom the lot of the mathematician; and he
is without blame when he enjoys the pleasures within his
reach, and cultivates the science of geometry in its most
abstracted form. Here he makes a progress which is the
boast of human reason, being almost insured from error
by the intellectual simplicity of his subject. But when we
turn our attention to material objects, and, without know¬
ing either the size and shape of the elementary particles,
or the laws which nature has prescribed for their action,
presume to foresee their effects, calculate their exertions,
direct their actions, what must be their consequence ? Na¬
ture shows her independence with respect to our notions,
and, always faithful to the laws which are enjoined, and of
which we are ignorant, she never fails to thwart our views,
to disconcert our projects, and render useless all our ef¬
forts.
To wish to know the nature of the elements is vain, and
our gross organs are insufficient for the study. To sup¬
pose what we do not know, and to fancy shapes and sizes at Theory,
will, is to raise phantoms, and will produce a system, but —v—
will not prove a foundation for any science. But to inter- I>roPer
rogate Nature herself, study the laws which she so faith- !^°de
fully observes, catch her, as we say, in the fact, and thus
wrest from her the secret; this is the only way to become
her master, and it is the only procedure consistent with
good sense. And we see that soon after Kepler detected
the laws of the planetary motions, when Galileo discovered
the uniform acceleration of gravity, when Paschal discover¬
ed the pressure of the atmosphere, and Newton discovered
the laws of attraction and the track of a ray of light; astro¬
nomy, mechanics, hydrostatics, chemistry, optics, quickly
became bodies of sound doctrine, and the deductions from
their respective theories were found fair representations of
the phenomena of nature. Whenever a man has discovered
a law of nature, he has laid the foundation of a science, and
he has given us a new mean of subjecting to our service
some element hitherto independent; and so long as groups
of natural operations follow a route which appears to us
whimsical, and will not admit our calculations, we may be
assured that we are ignorant of the principle which con¬
nects them all, and regulates their procedure.
This is remarkably the case with several phenomena in Our igno-
the motions of fluids, and particularly in the motion of water rance of
in a bed or conduit of any kind. Although the first ge- the £em’-
niuses of Europe have for this century past turned much of jaws
their attention to this subject, we are almost ignorant of[ion lb m<>'
the general laws which may be observed in their motions. ’
We have been able to select very few points of resem¬
blance, and every case remains nearly an individual. About
one hundred and fifty years ago we discovered, by experi¬
ence only, the quantity and velocity of water issuing from
a small orifice, and, after much labour, have extended this
to any orifice; and this is almost the whole of our confi¬
dential knowledge. But as to the uniform course of the
streams which water the face of the earth, and the maxims
which will certainly regulate this agreeably to our wishes,
we are in a manner totally ignorant. Who can pretend to
say what is the velocity of a river of which you tell him
the breadth, the depth, and the declivity ? Who can say
what swell will be produced in different parts of its course,
if a dam or weir of given dimensions be made in it, or a
bridge be thrown across it; or how much its waters will be
raised by turning another stream into it, or sunk by taking
off a branch to drive a mill ? Who can say with confidence
what must be the dimensions or slope of this branch, in or¬
der to furnish the water that is wanted, or the dimensions
and slope of a canal which shall effectually drain a fenny
district ? Who can say what form will cause or will pre¬
vent the undermining of banks, the forming of elbows, the
pooling of the bed, or the deposition of sands ? Yet these
are the most important questions.
The causes of this ignorance are the want or uncertain-and the
ty of our principles ; the falsity of our only theory, which causes of
is belied by experience; and the small number of properh.
observations or experiments, and difficulty of making such
as shall be serviceable. We have, it is true, made a few
experiments on the efflux of water from small orifices, and
from them we have deduced a sort of theory, dependent on
the fall of heavy bodies and the laws of hydrostatic pres¬
sure. Hydrostatics is indeed founded on very simple prin¬
ciples, which give a very good account of the laws of the
quiescent equilibrium of fluids, in consequence of gravity
and perfect fluidity. But by what train of reasoning can
we connect these with the phenomena of the uniform mo¬
tion of the waters of a river or open stream, which can de¬
rive its motion only from the slope of its surface, and the
modifications of this motion or its velocity only from the
width and depth of the stream ? These are the only cir¬
cumstances which can distinguish a portion of a river from
184
Theory.
RIVE R.
Principle
on which
the sys¬
tems of
hydraulics
depend.
Theory de¬
rived from
it.
a vessel of the same size and shape, in which, however, the
water is at rest. In both, gravity is the sole cause of pres¬
sure and motion; but there must be some circumstance
peculiar to running waters which modifies the exeition of
this active principle, and which, when discovered, must be
the basis of hydraulics, and must oblige us to reject every
theory founded on fancied hypothesis, and which can only
lead to absurd conclusions; and surely absurd consequences,
when legitimately drawn, are complete evidence of impro¬
per principles. „ , , . .
When it was discovered experimentally, that the veloci¬
ties of water issuing from orifices at various depths under
the surface were as the square roots of those depths, and
the fact was verified by repeated experiments, this princi¬
ple was immediately, and without modification, applied to
every motion of water. Mariotte, Varignon,and Guglielmini,
made it the basis of complete systems of hydraulics, which
prevail to this day, after having received various amend¬
ments and modifications. The same reasoning obtains
through them all, though frequently obscured by other cir¬
cumstances, which are more perspicuously expressed L}
Guglielmini in his Fundamental Theorems.
He considers every point P (fig. 1) in a mass of fluid
as an orifice in the side of a vessel, and
conceives the particle as having a ten¬
dency to move with the same velocity
with which it would issue from the ori¬
fice. Therefore, if a vertical line APC
be drawn through that point, and if this
be made the axis of a parabola ADE,
of which A at the surface of the fluid
is the vertex, and AB (four times the ^
height through which a heavy body gl
would fall in a second) is the parame- g
ter, the velocity of this particle will be
represented by the ordinate PD of this “
parabola; that is, PD is the space
which it would uniformly describe in a second.
From this principle is derived the following theory of
running waters.
Let DC (fig. 2) be the horizontal bottom of a reservoir,
to which is join¬
ed a sloping chan¬
nel CK of uniform
breadth, and let
AB be the surface
of the standing wa¬
ter in the reservoir.
Fig. 2.
The con¬
sequences
drawn
from this
theory.
Suppose the vertical plane BC pierced with an infinity of
holes, through each of which the water issues. The velo¬
city of each filament will be that which is acquired by fall¬
ing from the surface AB.1 The filament C, issuing with
this velocity, will then glide down the inclined plane like
any other heavy body ; and (by the common doctrine of
the motion down an inclined plane) when it has arrived at
F, it will have the same velocity which it would have ac¬
quired by falling through the height OF, the point O being
in the horizontal plane AB produced. The same may be
said of its velocity when it arrives at H or K. The fila¬
ment immediately above C will also issue with a velocity
which is in the subduplicate ratio of its depth, and will
then glide down above the first filament. Ihe same may
be affirmed of all the filaments, and of the superficial fila¬
ment, which will occupy the surface of the descending
stream. >
From this account of the genesis of a running stream of
water, we may fairly draw the following consequences.
1. The velocity of any particle R, in any part of the
stream, is that acquired by falling from the horizontal Theory,
plane AN. " ^ Y
2. The velocity at the bottom of the stream is everywhere
greater than anywhere above it, and is least of all at the
surface.
3. The velocity of the stream increases continually as
the stream recedes from its source.
4. The depths EF, GH, &c. in different parts of the
stream, will be nearly in the inverse subduplicate ratio of
the depths under the surface AN : for since the same quan¬
tity of water is running through every section EF and GH,
and the channel is supposed of uniform breadth, the depth
of each section must be inversely as the velocity of the
water passing through it. This velocity is indeed different
in different filaments of the section ; but the mean velocity
in each section is in the subduplicate ratio of the depth of
the filament under the surface AB. Therefore the stream
becomes more shallow as it recedes from the source; and
in consequence of this the difference between LH and
MG continually diminishes, and the velocities at the bot¬
tom and surface of the stream continually approach to
equality, and at a great distance from the source they dif¬
fer insensibly.
5. If the breadth of the stream be contracted in any
part, the depth of the running water will be increased in
that part, because the same quantity must still pass through ;
but the velocity at the bottom will remain the same, and
that at the surface will be less than it was before ; and the
area of the section will be increased on the whole.
6. Should a sluice be put across the stream, dipping a
little into the ivater, the water must immediately rise on
the upper side of the sluice till it rises above the level of
the reservoir; and the smallest immersion of the sluice will
produce this effect. For, by lowering the sluice, the area
of the section is diminished, and the velocity cannot be in¬
creased till the water heap up to a* greater height than the
surface of the reservoir ; and this acquires a pressure which
will produce a greater velocity of efflux through the orifice
left below the sluice.
7. An additional quantity of water coming into this chan¬
nel will increase the depth of the stream, and the quantity
of water which it conveys ; but it will not increase the ve¬
locity of the bottom filaments unless it comes from a higher
source.
All these consequences are contrary to experience, and These con.
show the imperfection at least of the explanation. sequences
The third consequence is of all the most contrary to ex- all contra-
perience. If any one will but take the trouble of following r7 to expe*
a single brook from its source to the sea, he will find jtrience
most rapid in its beginnings among the mountains, gradually
slackening its pace as it winds among the hills and gentler
declivities, and at last creeping slowly along through the
flat grounds, till it is checked and brought to rest by the
tides of the ocean.
Nor is the second consequence more agreeable to obser¬
vation. It is universally found that the velocity of the sur¬
face in the middle of the stream is the greatest of all, and
that it gradually diminishes from thence to the bottom and
sides.
And the first consequence, if true, would render the run¬
ning waters on the surface of this earth the instruments of
immediate ruin and devastation. If the waters of our ri¬
vers, in the cultivated parts of a country, which are two,
three, and four hundred feet lower than their sources, ran
with the velocity due to that height, they would in a few
minutes lay the earth bare to the very bones.
The velocities of our rivers, brooks, and rills, being so
greatly inferior to what this theory assigns to them, the
1 See Guglielmini’s Hydraulics, 21.
RIVE R.
185
The theo¬
ry, how¬
ever, has
Theory, other consequences are equally contrary to experience.
““ \\ hen a stream has its section diminished by narrowing the
channel, the current increases in depth, and this is always
accompanied by an increase of velocity through the whole
of the section, and most of all at the surface ; and the area
of the section does not increase, but diminishes, all the phe¬
nomena thus contradicting in every circumstance the de¬
duction from the theory; and when the section has been
diminished by a sluice let down into the stream, the water
gradually heaps up on the upper side of the sluice, and, by
its pressure, produces an acceleration of the stream below
the sluice, in the same way as if it were the beginning of a
stream, as explained in the theory. The velocity now is
composed of the velocity preserved from the source and the
velocity produced by this subordinate accumulation ; and
this accumulation and velocity continually increase till they
become such that the whole supply is again discharged
through this contracted section : any additional water not
only increases the quantity carried along the stream, but
also increases the velocity, and therefore the section does
not increase in the proportion of the quantity.
It is surprising that a theory really founded on a conceit,
and which in every one of the most familiar and obvious cir-
been rene curnstances contradicted by facts, should have met with so
rally fbl^6" much attention. That Varignon should immediately catch
lowed by at this notion of Guglielmini, and make it the subject of
the writers many elaborate analytical memoirs, is not to be wondered
on the sub-at. This author only wanted dormer prise au calcul; and
ject> it was a usual joke among the academicians of Paris, when
any new theorem was invented, donnons le a Varignon d
generaUser. But his numerous theorems and corollaries
were adopted by all, and still make the substance of the
present systems of hydraulics. Gravesande, Muschenbroeck,
and all the elementary treatises of natural philosophy, de¬
liver no other doctrines; and Belidor, who has been consi¬
dered as the first of all the scientific engineers, details the
same theory in his great work the Architecture Hy dr an¬
tique.
Guglielmini was, however, not altogether the dupe of his
own ingenuity. He was not only a pretty good mathema¬
tician, but an assiduous and sagacious observer. He had
its de- applied his theory to some important cases which occurred
fects, and *n exercise of his profession as inspector of the rivers and
attempted canals in the Milanese, and to the course of the Danube;
to supply and could not but perceive that great corrections were ne¬
cessary for making the theory quadrate in some tolerable
manner with observation ; and he immediately saw that the
motion was greatly obstructed by inequalities of the canal,
which gave to the contiguous filaments of the stream trans¬
verse motions, which thwarted and confused the regular
progress of the rest of the stream, and thus checked its ge¬
neral progress. These obstructions, he observed, were most
effectual in the beginning of its course, while yet a small
rill, running among stones, and in a very unequal bed. The
whole stream being small, the inequalities bore a great pro¬
portion to it, and thus the general effect was great. He
also saw that the same causes (these transverse motions pro¬
duced by the unequal bottom) chiefly affect the contiguous
filaments, and were the reasons why the velocity at the
sides and bottom was so much diminished as to be less than
the superficial velocity, and that even this might come to
be diminished by the same cause. For he observed, that
the general stream of a river is frequently composed of a
sort of boiling or tumbling motion, by which masses of wa¬
ter are brought up to the surface and again descend. Every
person must recollect such appearances in the freshes of a
muddy river; and in this way Guglielmini was enabled to
account in some measure for the disagreement of his theory
with observation.
Mariotte had observed the same obstruction even in the
smoothest glass pipes. Here it could not be ascribed to
VOL. XIX.
though
some of
the more
ingenious
saw
them.
the checks occasioned by transverse motions. He there- Theory,
fore ascribed it to friction, which he supposed to diminish
the motion of fluid bodies in the same manner as of solids;
and he thence concludes, that the filaments which imme¬
diately rub on the sides of the tube have their velocity gra¬
dually diminished, and that the filaments immediately ad¬
joining to these, being thus obliged to pass over them or
outstrip them, rub upon them and have their own velocity
diminished in like manner, but in a smaller degree; and
that the succeeding filaments towards the axis of the tube
suffer similar but smaller diminutions. By this means the
whole stream may come to have a smaller velocity; and at
any rate, the medium velocity by which the quantity dis¬
charged is determined, is smaller than it would have been
independent of friction.
Guglielmini adopted this opinion of Mariotte, and, in his
next work on the Motion of Rivers, considered this as the
chief cause of the retardation ; and he added a third cir¬
cumstance, which he considered as of no less consequence,
the viscidity or tenacity of water. He observes that syrup,
oil, and other fluids, where this viscidity is more remark¬
able, have their motions prodigiously retarded by it, and
supposes that water differs from them only in the degree in
which it possesses this quality; and he says, that by this
means not only the particles which are moving more ra¬
pidly have their motions diminished by those in their neigh¬
bourhood which move slower, but that the filaments also
which would have moved more slowly are accelerated by
their more active neighbours, and that in this manner the
superficial and inferior velocities are brought nearer to an
equality. But this will never account for the universal fact
that the superficial particles are the swiftest of all. The su¬
perficial particles, says he, acquire by this means a greater
velocity than the parabolic law allows them; the medium
velocity is often in the middle of the depth ; the numerous
obstacles continually multiplied and repeated, cause the cur¬
rent to lose the velocity acquired by the fall; the slope of
the bottom then diminishes, and often becomes very small,
so that the force remaining is hardly able to overcome the
obstacles which are still repeated, and the river is reduced
almost to a state of stagnation. He observes that the Rhe-
no, a river of the Milanese, has near its mouth a slope of
no more than 5", which he considers as quite inadequate to
the task ; and here he introduces another principle, which
he considers as an essential part of the theory of open cur¬
rents. This is, that there arises from the very depth of the
stream a propelling force, which restores a part of the lost
velocity. He offers nothing in proof of this principle, but
uses it to account for and explain the motion of water in
horizontal canals. The principle has been adopted by the
numerous Italian writers on hydraulics, and, by various con¬
trivances, interwoven with the parabolic theory, as it is
called, of Guglielmini. Our readers may see it in various
modifications in the Idrostatica e Idraulica of P. Lecchi,
and in the Sperienze Idrauliche of Michelotti. It is by no
means distinct either in its origin or in the manner of its
application to the explanation of phenomena, and seems
only to serve for giving something like consistency to the
vague and obscure discussions which have been published
on this subject in Italy. We have already remarked, that
in that country the subject is particularly interesting, and
has been much investigated. But the writers of Eng¬
land, France, and Germany, have not paid so much atten¬
tion to it, and have more generally occupied themselves
with the motion of water in close conduits, which seem to
admit of a more precise application of mathematical rea¬
soning.
Some of them have considered with more attention the
effects of friction and viscidity. Sir Isaac Newton, with
his usual penetration, had seen distinctly the manner in
which it behoved these circumstances to operate. In hi*
2 A
11 I V E R.
186
Theory, researches into the mechanism of the celestial motions, he
had occasion to examine the famous hypothesis of Descartes,
Sir Isaac that the p]anets were carried round the sun by fluid vor-
obs^rva S tices’ and saw that there would be n° end t0 uncertaintY
tions on and dispute till the modus operandi of these vortices were
this sub- mechanically considered. He therefore employed himself
ject. in the investigation of the manner in wdiich the acknow¬
ledged powers of natural bodies, acting according to the re¬
ceived laws of mechanics, could produce and preserve these
vortices, and restore that motion which was expended in
carrying the planets round the sun. In the second book of
the Principles of Natural Philosophy, he gives a series of
beautiful propositions, viz. 51, 52, &c. with their corollaries,
showing how the rotation of a cylinder or sphere round its
axis in the midst of a fluid will excite a vortical motion in
this fluid; and he ascertains with mathematical precision
the motion of every filament of this vortex.
He sets out from the supposition that this motion is ex¬
cited in the surrounding stratum of fluid in consequence of
a u'ant of perfect lubricity, and assumes as an hypothesis,
that the initial resistance (or diminution of the motion of
the cylinder) which arises from this want of lubricity, is
proportional to the velocity with which the surface of the
cylinder is separated from the contiguous surface of the
surrounding fluid, and that the wdiole resistance is propor¬
tional to the velocity with which the parts of the fluid are
mutually separated from each other. From this, and the
equality of action and re-action, it evidently follows, that the
velocity of any stratum of the vortex is the arithmetical me¬
dium between the velocities of the strata immediately with¬
in and without it. For the intermediate stratum cannot be
in equilibrio, unless it is as much pressed forward by the
superior motion of the stratum within it, as it is kept back
by the slower motion of the stratum without it.
" This beautiful investigation applies in the most perfect
manner to every change produced in the motion of a fluid
filament, in consequence of the viscidity and friction of the
adjoining filaments ; and a filament proceeding along a tube
at some small distance from the sides has, in like manner,
a velocity which is the medium between those of the fila¬
ments immediately surrounding it. It is therefore a pro¬
blem of no very difficult solution to assign the law by which
the velocity will gradually diminish as the filament recedes
from the axis of a cylindrical tube. It is somewhat sur¬
prising that so neat a problem has never occupied the at¬
tention of the mathematicians during the time that these
subjects were so assiduously studied; but so it is, that no¬
thing precise has been published on the subject. The only
approach to a discussion of this kind, is a Memoir of Mr
Pitot, read to the academy of Paris in 1726, where he con¬
siders the velocity of efflux though a pipe. Here, by at¬
tending to the comparative superiority of the quantity of
motion in large pipes, he affirms, that the total diminutions
arising from friction will be (cceteris paribus') in the inverse
ratio of the diameters. This was thankfully received by
other writers, and is now a part of our hydraulic theories.
It has not, however, been attended to by those who write
on the motion of rivers, though it is evident that it is ap¬
plicable to these with equal propriety ; and had it been in¬
troduced, it would at once have solved all their difficulties,
and particularly would have shown how an almost imper¬
ceptible declivity would produce the gentle motion of a
great river, without having recourse to the unintelligible
principle of Guglielmini.
Mr Couplet made some experiments on the motion of the
water in the great main pipes of Versailles, in order to ob¬
tain some notions of the retardations occasioned by fric¬
tion. They were found prodigious ; but were so irregular,
and unsusceptible of reduction to any general principle (and
the experiments were indeed so few that they were unfit
for this reduction), that he could establish no theory. What
Mr Belidor established on them, and makes a sort of sys- Theory.
tem to direct future engineers, is quite unworthy of atten-
tion.
Upon the whole, this branch of hydraulics, although of Scarcely at
much greater practical importance than the conduct of wa- all improv-
ter in pipes, has never yet obtained more than a vague, ed since his
and, we may call it, slovenly attention from the mathema-time'
ticians; and we ascribe it to their not having taken the
pains to settle its first principles with the same precision as
had been done in the other branch. They were, from the
beginning, satisfied with a sort of applicability of mathema¬
tical principles, without ever making the application. Were
it not that some would accuse us of national partiality, we
would ascribe it to this, that Newton had not pointed out
the way in this as in the other branch ; for any intelligent
reader of the performances on the motions of fluids in close
vessels, will see that not a principle, nay hardly a step of
investigation, has been added to those which were used
or pointed out by Sir Isaac Newton. He has nowhere
touched this question, the motion of water in an open canal.
In his theories of the tides, and of the propagation of waves,
he had an excellent opportunity for giving at once the fun¬
damental principles of motion in a free fluid whose surface
was not horizontal. But, by means of some of those happy
and shrewd guesses, in which, as Daniel Bernoulli says, he
excelled all men, he saw the undoubted consequences of
some palpable phenomenon which would answer all his pre¬
sent purposes, and therefore entered no farther into the in¬
vestigation.
The original theory of Guglielmini, or the principle adopt¬
ed by him, that each particle of the vertical section of a
running stream has a tendency to move as if it were issu¬
ing from an orifice at that depth under the surface, is false;
and that it really does so in the face of a dam when the
floodgate is taken away, is no less so ; and if it did, the
subsequent motions wobld hardly have any resemblance to
those which he assigns them. Were this the case, the ex¬
terior form of the cascade would be something like what is
sketched in fig. 3, with an abrupt angle at B, and a con¬
cave surface BEG. This will be evi¬
dent to every one who combines the Fig. 3.
greater velocity of the lower filaments A B
with the slower motion of those which (
must slide down above them. But this   
greater advance of the lower filaments D i?
cannot take place without an expenditure of the water un¬
der the surface AB. The surface therefore sinks, and B
instantly ceases to retain its place in the horizontal plane.
The water does not successively flow forward from A to B,
and then tumble over the precipice; but immediately open¬
ing the floodgate, the water wastes from the space imme¬
diately behind it, and the whole puts on the form repre¬
sented in fig. 4, consisting of the curve A 6 P c EG, convex
from A to c, and con¬
cave from thence for- Fig. 4.
ward. The superficial
water begins to acce¬
lerate all the way from
A ; and the particles
may be supposed (for
the present) to have
acquired the velocity corresponding to their depth under
the horizontal surface. This must be understood as nothing
more than a vague sketch of the motions. It requires a
very critical and intricate investigation to determine either
the form of the upper curve or the motions of the different
filaments. The place A, where the curvature begins, is of
equally difficult determination, and is various according to
the differences of depth and of inclination of the succeed¬
ing canal.
We have thus given an historical sketch of the progress
RIVER
187
Uncer¬
tainty of
the theo¬
ries when
exempli¬
fied.
Necessity
of multi¬
plying ex
periments
Theory, which had been made in this part of hydraulics, that our
readers might form some opinion of the many dissertations
which have been written on the motion of rivers, and of the
state of the arts depending on it. Much of the business of the
,^0 civil engineer r, intimately connected with it; and we may
applied to therefore believe, that since there was so little principle in
practice the theories, there could be but very little certainty in the
practical operations. The fact has been, that no engineer
could pretend to say, with any precision, what would be the
effect of his operations. One whose business had given him
many opportunities, and who had kept accurate and judicious
registers of his own works, could pronounce, with some pro¬
bability, how much water would be brought off by a drain
of certain dimensions and a given slope, when the circum¬
stances of the case happened to tally with some former work
in which he had succeeded or failed; but out of the pale
of his own experience he could only make a sagacious
guess. A remarkable instance of this occurred some time
ago. A small aqueduct was carried into Paris. It had been
conducted on a plan presented to the academy, who had
corrected it, and gave a report of what its performance
would be. When executed in the most accurate manner,
it was deficient in the proportion of five to nine. When
the celebrated Desaguliers was employed by the city of
Edinburgh to superintend the bringing in the water for the
supply of the city, he gave a report on the plan which was
to be followed. It was executed to his complete satisfac¬
tion ; and the quantity of water delivered was about one
sixth of the quantity which he promised, and about one
eleventh of the quantity which the no less celebrated
Maclaurin calculated from the same plan.
Such being the state of our theoretical knowledge (if it
can be called by this name), naturalists began to be per¬
suaded that it was but losing time to make use of a theory
so incongruous with observation, and that the only safe me¬
thod of proceeding was to multiply experiments in every
variety of circumstances, and to make a series of experi¬
ments in every important case, which should comprehend
all the practical modifications of that case. Perhaps cir¬
cumstances of resemblance might occur, which would enable
us to connect many of them together, and at last discover
the principles which occasioned this connection; by which
means a theory founded on science might be obtained. And
if this point should not be gained, we might perhaps find a
few general facts, which are modified in all these particular
cases, in such a manner that we can still trace the general
facts, and see the part of particular case which depends
on it. This would be the acquisition of what may be called
an empirical theory, by which every phenomenon would be
explained, in so far as the explanation of a phenomenon is
nothing more than the pointing out the general fact or law
under which it is comprehended ; and this theory would
answer every practical purpose, because we should confi¬
dently foresee what consequences would result from such
and such premises; or if we should fail even in this, we
should still have a series of experiments so comprehensive,
that we could tell what place in the series would correspond
to any particular case which might be proposed.
Labours of There are two gentlemen whose labours in this respect
M‘clIelotti deserve very particular notice, Professor Michelotti of Tu-
tothisway1™1’ and the Abb® Bossut of Paris- The first made a pro-
^’digious number of experiments, both on the motion of water
through pipes and in open canals. They were performed
at the expense of the sovereign, and no expense was spared.
A tower was built of the finest masonry, to serve as a ves¬
sel from which the water was to issue through holes of va¬
rious sizes, under pressures of from five to twenty-two feet.
The water was received into basins constructed of masonry
and nicely lined with stucco, from whence it was conveyed
in canals of brickwork lined with stucco, and of various
forms and declivities. The experiments on the expense of
water through pipes are, of all that have yet been made, Theory,
the most numerous and exact, and may be appealed to on '
every occasion. Those made in open canals are still more
numerous, and are no doubt equally accurate ; but they
have not been so contrived as to be so extensively useful,
being in general very unlike the important cases which will
occur in practice; and they seem to have been contrived
chiefly with the view of establishing or overturning certain
points of hydraulic doctrine which were probably prevalent
at the time among the practical hydraulists.
The experiments of Bossut are also of both kinds ; and
though on a much smaller scale than those of Michelotti,
seem to deserve equal confidence. As far as they follow the
same tract, they perfectly coincide in their results, which
should procure confidence in the other; and they are made
in situations much more analogous to the usual practical
cases. This readers them doubly valuable. They are to be
found in his two volumes entitled Hydrodynamique. He
has opened this path of procedure in a manner so new and
so judicious, that he has in some measure the merit of such
as shall follow him in the same path.
This has been most candidly and liberally allowed him an(l the
by the Chevalier du Buat, who has taken up the matter Pr°gres-
where the Abbe Bossut left it, and has prosecuted his expe-
riments with great assiduity, and, we must now add, with jju J3uat!
singular success. By a very judicious consideration of the
subject, he hit on a particular view of it, which saved him
the trouble of a minute consideration of the small internal
motions, and enabled him to proceed from a very general
and evident proposition, which may be received as the key
to a complete system of practical hydraulics. We shall fol¬
low this ingenious author in what we have further to say on
the subject; and we doubt not but that our readers will
think we do a service to the public by making these discus¬
sions of the Chevalier du Buat more generally known in this
country. It must not however be expected that we shall
give more than a synoptical view of them, connected by
such familiar reasoning as may be either comprehended or
confided in by persons not deeply versed in mathematical
science.
Sect. I—Theory of Rivers.
It is certain that the motion of open streams must, in some His lead-
respects, resemble that of bodies sliding down inclined planesing propo-
perfectly polished ; and that they would accelerate continu-sition.
ally, were they not obstructed ; but they are obstructed, and
frequently move uniformly. This can only arise from an
equilibrium between the forces which promote their descent
and those which oppose it. Du Buat, therefore, assumes
the leading proposition, that,
When water flows uniformly on any channel or bed, the
accelerating force which obliges it to move is equal to the sum
of all the resistances which it meets with, whether arising from
its own viscidity, or from the friction of its bed.
This law is as old as the formation of rivers, and should
be the key of hydraulic science. Its evidence is clear; and
it is, at any rate, the basis of all uniform motion. And
since it is so, there must be some considerable analogy be¬
tween the motion in pipes and in open channels. Both
owe their origin to an inequality of pressure, both would ac¬
celerate continually if nothing hindered, and both are re¬
duced to uniformity by the viscidity of the fluid and the
friction of the channel.
It will therefore be convenient to examine the phenomena The sub-
of water moving in pipes by the action of its weight onlyject of the
along the sloping channel. But, previously to this, we must*.?^0"’^#
take some notice of the obstruction to the entry of water
into a channel of any kind, arising from the deflection of^ °^ose
the many different filaments which press into the channel
from the reservoir from every side. We shall then be able
188
RIVER.
Theory, to separate this diminution of motion from the sum total
' v'™*" that is observed, and ascertain what part remains as pro¬
duced by the subsequent obstructions.
We shall then consider the principle of uniform motion,
the equilibrium between the power and the resistance. The
power is the relative height of the column of fluid which
tends to move along the inclined plane of its bed ; the re¬
sistance is the friction of the bed, the viscidity of the fluid,
and its adhesion to the sides. Here is necessarily com¬
bined a number of circumstances which must be gradually
detached, that we may see the effect of each, viz. the extent
of the bed, its perimeter, and its slope. By examining the
effects produced by variations of each of these separately,
we discover what share each has in the general effect; and
having thus analysed the complicated phenomena, we shall
be able to combine those its elements, and frame a formu¬
la which shall comprehend every circumstance, from the
greatest velocity to the extinction of all motion, and from
the extent of a river to the narrow dimensions of a quill.
We shall compare this formula with a series of experiments
in all this variety of circumstances, partly made by Du Buat,
and partly collected from other authors; and we shall leave
the reader to judge of the agreement.
Confident that this agreement will be found most satis¬
factory, we shall then proceed to consider very cursorily the
chief varieties which nature or art may introduce into these
beds, the different velocities of the same stream, the inten¬
sity of the resistance produced by the inertia of the mate¬
rials of the channel, and the force of the current by which
it continually acts on this channel, tending to change either
its dimensions or its form. We shall endeavour to trace the
origin of these great rivers which spread like the branches
of a vigorous tree, and occupy the surface even of a vast
continent. We shall follow them in their course, unfold
all their windings, study their train and regimen, and point
out the law of its stability; and we shall investigate the
causes of their deviations and wanderings.
The study of these natural laws pleases the mind: but it
answers a still greater purpose ; it enables us to assist na¬
ture, and to hasten her operations, which our wants and our
impatience often find too slow. It enables us to command
the elements, and to force them to administer to our wants
and our pleasures.
We shall therefore, in the next place, apply the know¬
ledge which we may acquire to the solution of the most im¬
portant hydraulic questions which occur in the practice of
the civil engineer.
We shall consider the effects produced by a permanent
addition to any river or stream by the union of another, and
the opposite effect produced by any draught or offset, show¬
ing the elevation or depression produced up the stream, and
the change made in the depth and velocity below the ad¬
dition or offset.
We shall pay a similar attention to the temporary swells
produced by freshes.
We shall ascertain the effects of straightening the course
of a stream, which, by increasing its slope, must increase its
velocity, and therefore sink the waters above the place
where the curvature was removed, and diminish the ten¬
dency to overflow, while the same immediate consequence
must expose the places farther down to the risk of floods,
from which they would otherwise have been free.
The effects of dams or weirs, and of bars, must then be
considered; the gorge or swell which they produce up the
stream must be determined for every distance from the
weir or bar. This will furnish us with rules for rendering
navigable or floatable such waters as have too little depth
or too great slope. And it will appear that immense ad¬
vantages may be thus derived, with a moderate expense,
even from trifling brooks, if we will relinquish all prejudices,
and not imagine that such conveyance is impossible be¬
cause it cannot be carried on by such boats and smalf craft Theory,
as we have been accustomed to look at.
The effects of canals of derivation, the rules or maxims
of draining, and the general maxims of embankment, come
in the next place; and our discussions will conclude with
remarks on the most proper forms for the entry to canals,
locks, docks, harbours, and mouths of rivers, the best shape
for the starlings of bridges and of boats for inland naviga¬
tion, and such like subordinate but interesting particulars,
which will be suggested by the general thread of discus¬
sion.
It is considered as physically demonstrated (see Hydro- Natural
dynamics), that water issuing from a small orifice in the velocity,
bottom or side of a very large vessel, almost instantly ac- expense,
quires and maintains the velocity which a heavy body would a.n<l ).13*
acquire by falling to the orifice from the horizontal surface through
of the stagnant water. This we shall call its natural smaii ori,
velocity. Therefore, if we multiply the area of the ori-flees,
fice by this velocity, the product will be the bulk or quan¬
tity of the water which is discharged. This we may call
the natural expense of water, or the natural dis¬
charge.
Let O represent the area or section of the orifice express¬
ed in some known measure, and h its depth under the sur¬
face. Let g express the velocity acquired by a heavy body
during a second by falling. Let V be the medium velocity
of the water’s motion, Q, the quantity of water discharged
during a second, and N the natural expense.
We know that V is equal to X \/h. Therefore
N = O V2g /s/h.
If these dimensions be all taken in English feet, wre have
very nearly equal to 8; and therefore Y = 8 a/4,
and N = O 8 V4.
But in our present business it is much more convenient
to measure every thing by inches. Therefore, since a body
acquires the velocity of 32 feet 2 inches in a second, we
have 2g — 64> feet 4 inches, or 772 inches, and V2g=. 27,78
inches, nearly 27| inches.
Therefore V = VlT2 Vh, = 27-78 Vh, and N = O
V772 Vh, = O 27-78 Vh.
But it is also well known, that if we were to calculate the
expense or discharge for every orifice by this simple rule,
we should in every instance find it much greater than na¬
ture really gives us.
When water issues through a hole in a thin plate, the
lateral columns, pressing into the hole from all sides, cause
the issuing filaments to converge to the axis of the jet, and
contract its dimensions at a little distance from the hole.
And it is in this place of greatest contraction that the wa¬
ter acquires that velocity which wre observe in our experi¬
ments, and which we assume as equal to that acquired by
falling from the surface. Therefore, that our computed
discharge may best agree w-ith observation, it must be cal¬
culated on the supposition that the orifice is diminished to
the size of this smallest section. But the contraction is
subject to variations, and the dimensions of this smallest
section are at all times difficult to ascertain with precision.
It is therefore much more convenient to compute from the
real dimensions of the orifice, and to correct this computed
discharge, by means of an actual comparison of the com¬
puted and effective discharges in a series of experiments
made in situations resembling those cases which most fre¬
quently occur in practice. This correction, or its cause, in Contrac-
the mechanism of those internal motions, is generally called tion.
contraction by the writers on hydraulics ; and it is not
confined to a hole in a thin plate : it happens in some de¬
gree in all cases where fluids are made to pass through nar¬
row places. It happens in the entry into all pipes, canals,
and sluices; nay even into the passage of water over the
edge of a board, such as is usually set up on the head of a
RIVE R.
Theory, dam or weir, and even when this is immersed in water on
both sides, as in a bar or keep, frequently employed for
raising the waters of the level streams in Flanders in order
to render them navigable. We mentioned an observation1
of Du Buat to this effect, when he saw a gooseberry rise up
from the bottom of the canal along the face of the bar, and
then rapidly fly over its top. We have attempted to re¬
present this motion of the filaments in these different situa¬
tions.
Fig. 5.
Motion of
filaments
in various
particular
situations,
A shows the motion through a thin plate.
B shows the motion when a tube of about two diameters
long is added, and when the water flows with a full mouth.
Q, for ditto projecting inwards and } 6gi4, — 018‘93 v7t
flowing full  J
Q for ditto with a contracted jet, fig. { 5^37 —q 14-27 V4
Q, for the mouth-piece, fig. D  .9831 =0 27-31 Vh
Q for a weir, fig. E 9536 =026-49 a/A
Q for a bar, fig. F 9730 = 027-03 V/i
The numbers in the last column of this little table are
the cubical inches of water discharged in a second when
the height A is one inch.
It must be observed, that the discharges assigned here
for the weir and bar relate only to the contractions occa¬
sioned by the passage over the edge of the board. The
weir may also suffer a diminution by the contractions at its
two ends, if it should be narrower than the stream, which
is generally the case, because the two ends are commonly
of square masonry or wood-work. The contraction there
is nearly the same with that at the edge of a thin plate.
But this could not be introduced into this table, because its
effect on the expense is the same in quantity whatever is
the length of the waste-board of the weir.
In like manner, the diminution of discharge through aDiminu-
sluice could not be expressed here. When a sluice istion of ilis-
drawn up, but its lower edge still remains under water, thec!iarSe.
This does not always happen in so short a pipe (and never discharge is contracted both above and at the sides, and^P^,
in one that is shorter), but the water frequently detaches
itself from the sides of the pipe, and flows with a contract¬
ed jet.
C shows the motion when the pipe projects into the in¬
side of the vessel. In this case it is difficult to make it
flow full.
D represents a mouth-piece fitted to the hole, and form¬
ed agreeably to that shape which a jet would assume of it-
In this case all contraction is avoided, because the
the diminution of discharge by each is in proportion to its
extent. It is not easy to reduce either of these contractions
to computation, but they may be very easily observed.
We frequently can observe the water, at coming out of a
sluice into a mill-course, quit the edge of the aperture, and
show a part of the bottom quite dry. This is always the
case when the velocity of efflux is considerable. When it
is very moderate, this place is occupied by an eddy water
almost stagnant. When the head of water is eight or ten
sluice, &c.
self.
mouth of this pipe may be considered as the real orifice, inches, and runs off freely, the space left between it and
and nothing now diminishes the discharge but a trifling the sides is about one and a half inch rr i1
friction of the sides.
E shows the motion of water over a dam or weir, where
the fall is free or unobstructed; the surface of the lower
stream being lower than the edge or sole of the waste-
board.
If the sides of the
entry have a slope, this void space can never appear; but
there is always this tendency to convergence, which dimi¬
nishes the quantity of the discharge.
It will frequently abridge computation very much to con¬
sider the water discharged in these different situations as
and the ef¬
fects of
contraction
determin¬
ed.
F is a similar representation of the motion of water over moving with a common velocity, which we conceive as pro-
what we would call a bar or keep. duced not by a fall from the surface of the fluid (which is
It was one great aim of the experiments of Michelotti exact only when the expense is equal to the natural ex-
and Bossut to determine the effects of contraction in these pense), but by a fall k accommodated to the discharge : or
cases. Michelotti, after carefully observing the form and it is convenient to know the height which would produce
dimensions of the natural jet, made various mouth-pieces that very velocity which the water issues with in these si-
resembling it, till he obtained one which produced the tuations.
smallest diminution of the computed discharge, or till the And also, when the water is observed to be actually
discharge computed for the area of its smaller end approach- moving with a velocity V, and we know whether it is corn¬
ed the nearest to the effective discharge. And he at last ing through a thin plate, through a tube, over a dam, &c.
obtained one which gave a discharge of 983, when the na- it is necessary to know the pressure or head of water k
tural discharge would have been 1000. This piece was which has actually produced this velocity. It is convenient
formed by the revolution of a trochoid round the axis of therefore to have the following numbers in readiness.
the jet, and the dimensions were as follow:
Diameter of the outer orifice = 36
Diameter of the inner orifice = 46
Length of the axis = 96
The results of the experiments of the Abbe Bossut and
of Michelotti scarcely differ, and they are expressed in the
following table:
N or the natural expense 10000 =027*78 V/i
Q for the thin plate, fig. A, almost } _ Qjg.jg ^
cit tli0 surface••••••••••••#••••••••••• f
Q for ditto at the depth of 8 feet  6195 = 017*21 Vk
Q for ditto at the depth of 16 feet  6173 = 017*15 Vk
Q for a tube 2 diameters long, fig. B... 8125 = 022*57 Vk
h for the natural expense ,
-ZL
  772
V2
h for a thin plate at the depth of 8 feet... = ^gg
_ V2
 “509
- Zi
 “702
- Zi
 “731
h for a tube 2 diam. long.
h for a dam or weir.
h for a bar.
It was necessary to premise these facts in hydraulics,
1 See Hydrodynamics, vol xii.
190 RIVER.
Theory, that we may be able in every case to distinguish between
'-"■"■y-"-' the force expended in the entry of the water into the con¬
duit or canal, and the force employed in overcoming the
resistances along the canal, and in preserving or accelerat¬
ing its motion in it.
Ihe mo- 'pjle motion of running water is produced by two causes :
versde™' ^ act>on °f gravity; and, 2. the mobility of the par-
pends on tides, which makes them assume a level in confined ves-
the slope sels, or determines them to move to that side where there
of the sur- is a defect of pressure. When the surface is level, every
face. particle is at rest, being equally pressed in all directions;
but if the surface is not level, not only does a particle on
the very surface tend by its own weight towards the lower
side, as a body would slide along an inclined plane, but
there is a force, external to itself, arising from a superiority
of pressure on the upper end of the surface, which pushes
this superficial particle towards the lower end ; and this is
not peculiar to the superficial particles, but affects every
particle within the mass of water. In the vessel ACDE
(fig. 6), containing water with
an inclined surface AE, if
we suppose all frozen but
the extreme columns AKHB,
FGLE, and a connecting por¬
tion HKCDLG, it is evident,
from hydrostatical laws, that
the water on this connecting
part will be pushed in the direction CD ; and if the frozen
mass BHGF were moveable, it would also be pushed along.
Giving it fluidity will make no change in this respect; and
it is indifferent what is the situation and shape of the con¬
necting column or columns. The propelling force (MNF
being horizontal) is the weight of the column AMNB. The
same thing will obtain wherever we select the vertical co¬
lumns. There will always be a force tending to push every
particle of water in the direction of the declivity. The
consequence will be, that the water will sink at one end
and rise at the other, and its surface will rest in the hori¬
zontal position aO e, cutting the former in its middle O.
This cannot be, unless there be not only a motion of per¬
pendicular descent and ascent of the vertical columns, but
also a real motion of translation from K towards L. It per¬
haps exceeds our mathematical skill to tell what will be the
motion of each particle. Newton did not attempt it in his
investigation of the motion of waves, nor is it at all neces¬
sary here. We may, however, acquire a very distinct no¬
tion of its general effect. Let OPQ be a vertical plane
passing through the middle point O. It is evident that
every particle in PQ, such as P, is pressed in the direction
QD, with a force equal to the weight of a single row of
particles whose length is the difference between the columns
BH and FG. The force acting on the particle Q, is, in
like manner, the weight of a row of particles = AC — ED.
Now if OQ, OA, OE, be divided in the same ratio, so that
all the figures ACDE, BHGF, &c. may be similar, we see
that the force arising solely from the declivity, and acting
on each particle on the plane OQ,, is proportiona. to its
depth under the surface, and that the row of particles
ACQDE, BHPGF, &c. which is to be moved by it, is in
the same proportion. Hence it unquestionably follows, that
the accelerating force on each particle of the row is the
same in all. Therefore the whole plane OQ tends to ad¬
vance forward together with the same velocity ; and in the
instant immediately succeeding, all these particles would
be found again in a vertical plane indefinitely nearer to
OQ; and if we sum up the forces, we shall find them the
same as if OQ were the opening of a sluice, having the wa¬
ter on the side of D standing level with O, and the water
on the other side standing at the height AC. This result
is extremely different from that of the hasty theory of
Guglielmini. He considers each particle in OQ as urged
by an accelerating force proportional to its depth, it is true; Theory
but he makes it equal to the weight of the row OP, and *"
never recollects that the greatest part of it is balanced by
an opposite pressure, nor perceives that the force which is
not balanced must be distributed among a row of particles
which varies in the same proportion with itself. When
these two circumstances are neglected, the result will be
incompatible with observation. When the balanced forces
are taken into the account of pressure, it is evident that the
surface may be supposed horizontal, and that motion should
obtain in this case as well as in the case of a sloping sur¬
face ; and indeed this is Guglielmini’s professed theory, and
what he highly values himself upon. He announces this dis¬
covery of a new principle, which he calls the energy of
deep waters, as an important addition to hydraulics. It is
owing to this, says he, that the great rivers are not stagnant
at their mouths, where they have no perceptible declivity
of surface, but, on the contrary, have greater energy and
velocity than farther up, where they are shallower. This
principle is the basis of his improved theory of rivers, and
is insisted on at great length by all the subsequent writers.
Buffbn, in his theory of the earth, makes much use of it.
We cannot but wonder that it has been allowed a place in
the theory of rivers given in the great Encyclopedie of Pa¬
ris, and in an article having the signature (O) of D’Alembert.
We have been very anxious to show the falsity of this
principle, because we consider it as a mere subterfuge of
Guglielmini, by which he was able to patch up the mathe¬
matical theory which he had so hastily taken from Newton
or Galileo ; and we think that we have secured our readers
from being misled by it, when we show that this energy
must be equally operative when the surface is on a dead
level. The absurdity of this is evident. We shall see by
and by, that deep waters, when in actual motion, have an
energy not to be found in shallow running waters, by which
they are enabled to continue that motion; but this is not a
moving principle; and it will be fully explained, as an im¬
mediate result of principles, not vaguely conceived and in¬
distinctly expressed, like this of Guglielmini, but easily un¬
derstood, and appreciable with the greatest precision. It
is an energy common to all great bodies. Although they
lose as much momentum in surmounting any obstacle as
small ones, they lose but a small portion of their velocity.
At present, employed only in considering the progressive
motion of an open stream, whose surface is not level, it is
quite enough that we see that such a motion must obtain,
and that we see that there are propelling forces; that
those forces arise solely from the want of a level surface, or
from the slope of the surface; and that, with respect to any
one particle, the force acting on it is proportional to the
difference of level between each of the two columns (one
on each side of the particle) which produce it. Were the
surface level, there w'ould be no motion; if it is not level,
there will be motion ; and this motion will be proportional
to the want of level or the declivity of the surface : it is of
no consequence whether the bottom be level or not, or
what is its shape.
Hence we draw a fundamental principle, that the motion
of rivers depends entirely on the slope of the surface.
The slope or declivity of any inclined plane is not pro¬
perly expressed by the difference of height alone of its ex¬
tremities : we must also consider its length ; and the mea¬
sure of the slope must be such that it may be the same
while the declivity is the same. It must therefore be the
same over the whole of any one inclined plane. We shall
answer these conditions exactly, if we take for the measure
of a slope the fraction which expresses the elevation of one
extremity above the other divided by the length of the
plane. Thus will express the declivity of the plane
AF.
Fig. 6.
RIVER.
191
Theory.
When it is
uniform
the resist,
ance is
equal to
the aceele
rating
force.
Terms
precisely
explained.
If tin; water met with no resistance from the bed in
which it runs, if it had no adhesion to its sides and bottom,
and if its fluidity were perfect, its gravity would accelerate
its course continually, and the earth and its inhabitants
would be deprived of all the advantages which they derive
from its numberless streams. They would run off so quick¬
ly, that oar fields, dried up as soon as watered, would be
barren and useless. No soil could resist the impetuosity
of the torrents ; and their accelerating force would render
them a destroying scourge, wrere it not that, by kind Pro¬
vidence, the resistance of the bed, and the viscidity of the
fluid, become a check which reins them in and sets bounds
to their rapidity. In this manner the friction on the sides,
which, by the viscidity of the water, is communicated to
the whole mass, and the very adhesion of the particles to
each other, and to the sides of the channel, are the causes
which make the resistances bear a relation to the velocity;
so that the resistances, augmenting with the velocities, come
at last to balance the accelerating force. Then the velo¬
city now acquired is preserved, and the motion becomes
uniform, without being able to acquire new increase, unless
some change succeeds either in the-slope or in the capacity
of the channel. Hence arises the second maxim in the
motion of rivers, that when a stream moves uniformly, the
resistance is equal to the accelerating force.
As in the efflux of water through orifices, we pass over
the very beginnings of the accelerated motion, which is a
matter of speculative curiosity, and consider the motion in
a state of permanency, depending on the head of water, the
area of the orifice, the velocity, and the expense ; so in the
theory of the uniform motion of rivers, we consider the
slope, the transverse section or area of the stream, the uni¬
form velocity, and the expense. It will be convenient to
affix precise meanings to the terms which we shall employ.
The section of a stream is the area of a plane perpen¬
dicular to the direction of the general motion.
The resistances arise ultimately from the action of the
water on the internal surface of the channel, and must be
proportional (cceteris paribus) to the extent of the action.
Therefore, if we unfold the whole edge of this section, which
is rubbed as it were by the passing water, we shall have a
measure of the extent of this action. In a pipe, circular or
prismatical, the whole circumference is acted on ; but in a
river or canal ACDR (fig. 6) the horizontal line aOe, which
makes the upper boundary of the section aCDe, is free from
all action. The action is confined to the three lines aC,
CD, De. We shall call this line aCDe the border of the
section.
The mean velocity is that with which the whole sec¬
tion, moving equally, would generate a solid equal to the
expense of the stream. This velocity is to be found per¬
haps but in one filament of the stream, and we do not know
in which filament it is to be found.
Since we are attempting to establish an empirical theory
of the motion of rivers, founded entirely on experiments, and
palpable deductions from them, and since it is extremely
difficult to make experiments on open streams which shall
have a precision sufficient for such an important purpose,
it would be a most desirable thing to demonstrate an exact
analogy between the mutual balancing of the acceleration
and resistance in pipes and in rivers ; for in those we can
not only make experiments with all the desired accuracy,
and admitting precise measures, but we can make them in
a number of cases that are almost impracticable in rivers.
We can increase the slope of a pipe from nothing to the
vertical position, and we can employ every desired degree
of pressure, so as to ascertain its effect on the velocity in de¬
grees which open streams will not admit of. The Chevah’er Theory,
du Boat has most happily succeeded in this demonstration j
and it is here that his good fortune and his penetration have
done so much service to practical science.
Let AB (fig. 7) be a horizontal tube, through which theThe acce-
water is impelled by the pressure or head DA. This head^1"^®" f
is the moving power ; and it
may be conceived as consisting
of two parts, performing two
distinct offices. One of thqm
is employed in impressing on
the water that velocity with
which it actually moves in the
tube. Were there no obstruc¬
tions to this motion, no greater
head would be wanted ; but
there are obstructions, arising from friction, adhesion, and
viscidity. This requires force. Let this be the office of
the rest of the head of water in the reservoir. There is
but one allotment, appropriation, or repartition of the whole
head which will answer. Suppose E to be the point of
partition, so that DE is the head necessary for impressing
the actual velocity on the water (a head or pressure which
has a- relation to the form or circumstance of the entry, and
the contraction which takes place there). The rest EA is
wholly employed in overcoming the simultaneous resistances
which take place along the whole tube AB, and is in equi-
librio with this resistance. Therefore, if we apply at E a
tube EC, of the same length and diameter with AB, and
having the same degree of polish or roughness ; and if this
tube be inclined in such a manner that the axis of its ex¬
tremity may coincide with the axis of AB in the point C ;
we affirm that the velocity will be the same in both pipes,
and that they will have the same expense ; for the moving
force in the sloping pipe EC is composed of the whole
weight of the column DE and the relative weight of the
column EC; but this relative weight, by which alone it
descends along the inclined pipe EC, is precisely equal to
the weight of a vertical column EA of the same diameter.
Everything therefore is equal in the two pipes, viz. the
lengths, the diameters, the moving forces, and the resist¬
ances ; therefore the velocities and discharges will also be
equal.
This is not only the case on the whole, but also in every
part of it. The relative weight of any part of it EK is pre¬
cisely in equilibrio with the resistances along that part of
the pipe ; for it has the same proportion to the whole rela¬
tive weight that the resistance has to the whole resistance.
Therefore {and this is the most important circumstance, and
the basis of the whole theory) the pipe EC may be cut shorter,
or may be lengthened to infinity, without making any change
in the velocity or expense, so long as the propelling head
DE remains the same.
Leaving the whole head DA as it is, if we lengthen the
horizontal pipe AB to G, it is evident that we increase the
resistance without any addition of force to overcome it.
The velocity must therefore be diminished ; and it will now
be a velocity which is produced by a smaller head than DE:
therefore, if we were to put in a pipe of equal length at E,
terminating in the horizontal line AG, the water will not
run equally in both pipes. In order that it may, wTe must
discover the diminished velocity with which the water now
actually runs along AG, and we must make a head DI ca¬
pable of impressing this velocity at the entry of the pipe,
and then insert at I a pipe IH of the same length with AG.
The expense and velocity of both pipes will now be the
same.1
Fig. 7.
ance of wa¬
ter in a
horizontal
tube,
1 We recommend it to the reader to make this distribution or allotment of the different portions of the pressure very familiar to
his mind. It is of the most extensive influence in every question of hydraulics, and will on every occasion give him distinct concep¬
tions of the internal procedure. Obvious as the thought seems to be, it has escaped the attention of all the writers on the subject.
RIVER.
Fig. 8.
What has now been said of a horizontal pipe AB would
have been equally true of any in-
or in an in- clined pipe AB A'B (fig. 8). Draw-
clined pipe. jng ^]ie horizontal line CB, we see
that DC is the whole head or pro¬
pelling pressure for either pipe AB
or A'B ; and if DE is the head ne¬
cessary for the actual velocity, EC
is the head necessary for balan¬
cing the resistances; and the pipe
EF, of the same length with AB,
and terminating in the same horizontal line, will have the
same velocity : and its inclination being thus determined,
it will have the same velocity and expense whatever be its
length.
Analogy Thus we see that the motion in any pipe, horizontal or
between sloping, may be referred to or substituted for the motion in
these pipes another inclined pipe, whose head of water, above the place
and rivers entry} is that productive of the actual velocity of the
ted1bnSDu water t^ie PTe* in this case, the accelerating force
Euatf is equal to the resistance : we may therefore consider this
last pipe as a river, of which the bed and the slope are uni¬
form or constant, and the current in a state of permanency ;
and we now may clearly draw this important conclusion,
that pipes and open streams, when in a state of permanency,
perfectly resemble each other in the circumstances which
are the immediate causes of this permanency. The equi¬
librium between the accelerating force obtains not only in
general, but takes place through the whole length of the
pipe or stream, and is predicable of every individual trans¬
verse section of either. To make this more palpably evi¬
dent, if possible, let us consider a sloping cylindrical pipe,
the current of which is in a state of permanency. We can
conceive it as consisting of two half cylinders, an upper and
a lower. These are running together at an equal pace ; and
the filaments of each immediately contiguous to the sepa¬
rating plane and to each other are not rubbing on each
other, nor affecting each other’s motions in the smallest de¬
gree. It is true that the upper half is pressing on the lower,
but in a direction perpendicular to the motion, and there¬
fore not affecting the velocity ; and we shall see presently,
that although the lower side of the pipe bears somewhat
more pressure than the other, the resistances are not
changed. Indeed this odds of pressure is accompanied
with a difference of motion, which need not be considered
at present; and we may suppose the pipe so small or so far
below the surface that this shall be insensible. Now let
us suppose, that in an instant the upper half cylinder is anni¬
hilated : we then have an open stream ; and every circum¬
stance of accelerating force and of resistance remains pre¬
cisely as it was. The motion must therefore continue as it
did ; and in this state the only accelerating force is the slope
of the surface. The demonstration therefore is complete.
Conse- From these observations and reasonings we draw a gene-
quence. ral and important conclusion, “ that the same pipe will be
susceptible of different velocities, which it will preserve uni¬
form to any distance, according as it has different inclina¬
tions ; and each inclination of a pipe of given diameter has
a certain velocity peculiar to itself, which will be maintain¬
ed uniform to any distance whatever; and this velocity in¬
creases continually, according to some law, to be discovered
by theory or experiment, as the position of the pipe changes
from being horizontal till it becomes vertical; in which po-
Du Buat, and which we shall not repeat, but only give the jnvestl"a*
results of the different parts of his investigation.
sition it has the greatest uniform velocity possible relative Theory,
to its inclination, or depending on inclination alone.” v
Let this velocity be called the train, or the rate, of
each pipe.
It is evident that this principle is of the utmost conse- Measure of
quence in the theory of hydraulics ; for by experiment we
can find the train of any pipe. It is in train when an in- ° e
crease of length makes no change in the velocity. If length- with a gi_
ening the pipe increases the velocity, the slope of the pipe yen velo-
is too great, and vice versa. And having discovered the city,
train of a pipe, and observed its velocity, and computed the
head productive of this velocity with the contraction at the
entry, the remainder of the head, that is, the slope (for this
is equivalent to EA), is the measure of the resistance. Thus
we obtain the measure of the resistance to the motion with
a given velocity in a pipe of given diameter. If we change
only the velocity, we get the measure of the new resistance
relative to the velocity ; and thus discover the law of rela¬
tion between the resistance and velocity. Then, changing
only the diameter of the pipe, we get the measure of the
resistance relative to the diameter. This is the aim of a Results of
prodigious number of experiments made and collected by Du Buat s
— — _ . . ... .1 investiga¬
tion on this
j subject.
We may express the slope of a pipe by the symbol —, 1
being an inch, for instance, and s being the slant length of
a pipe which is one inch more elevated at one end than at
the other. Thus a river which has a declivity of an inch
and a half in 120 fathoms or 8640 inches, has its slope
— —!-iL, or -4—. But in order to obtain the hydraulic
8640 5760
slope of a conduit-pipe, the height of the reservoir and place
of discharge being given, we must subtract from the differ¬
ence of elevation the height or head of water necessary for
propelling the water into any pipe with the velocity V,
V2
which it is supposed actually to have. This is The
remainder d is to be considered as the height of the decli¬
vity, which is to be distributed equally over the whole length
, , , . , d \
l of the pipe, and the slope is then y —
There is another important view to be taken of the slope,
which the reader should make very familiar to his thoughts.
It expresses the proportion between the weight of the whole
column which is in motion and the weight which is employ¬
ed in overcoming the resistance; and the resistance to the
motion of any column of water is equal to the weight of
that column multiplied by the fraction which expresses
its slope.
We now come to consider more particularly the resist- Of the re-
ances which in this manner bring the motion to a state ofsistances
uniformity. If we consider the resistances which arise from ^ kich^
a cause analogous to friction, we see that they must depend moti” ns t0
entirely on the inertia of the water. What we call the re- a sUte 0f
sistance is the diminution of a motion which would have uniformity,
obtained but for these resistances; and the best way we
have of measuring them is by the force which we must em¬
ploy in order to keep up or restore this motion. We esti¬
mate this motion by a progressive velocity, which we mea-
Lecchi, in his Hydraulics, published in 1766, ascribes something like it to Daniel Bernoulli; but Bernoulli, in the passage quoted_
only speaks of the partition of pressure in the instant of opening an orifice. Fart of it, says he, is employed in accelerating the qui¬
escent water, and producing the velocity of efflux, and the remainder produces the pressure (now diminished) on the sides of the ves¬
sel. Bernoulli, Bossut, and all the good writers, make this distribution in express terms in their explanation of the motion of water
through successive orifices ; and it is surprising that no one before the Chevalier du Buat saw that the resistance arising from friction
required a similar partition of the pressure ; but though we should call this good fortune, we must ascribe to his great sagacity and
justness of conception the beautiful use that he has made of it: surnn euique.
RIVER.
193
Theory. sure by the expense of water in a given time. We judge
v jr- v the velocity to diminish when the quantity discharged di¬
minishes ; yet it may be otherwise, and probably is other¬
wise. The absolute velocity of many, if not all, of the par¬
ticles, may even be increased; but many of the motions
being transverse to the general direction, the quantity of
motion in this direction may be less, while the sum of the
absolute motions of all the particles may be greater. When
we increase the general velocity, it is not unreasonable to
suppose that the impulses on all the inequalities are increas¬
ed in this proportion ; and the number of particles thus im¬
pelling and deflected at the same time will increase in the
same proportion. The whole quantity, therefore, of these
useless and lost motions will increase in the duplicate ratio
of the velocities, and the force necessary for keeping up the
motion will do so also; that is, the resistances should in¬
crease as the squares of the velocities.
Or if we consider the resistances as arising merely from
the curvature of the imperceptible internal motions occa¬
sioned by the inequalities of the sides of the pipe, and as
measured by the forces necessary for producing these cur-
vilineal motions ; then, because the' curves will be the same
whatever are the velocities, the deflecting forces will be as
the squares of the velocities; but these deflecting forces
are pressures, propagated from the parts urged or pressed
by the external force, and are proportional to these external
pressures by the principles of hydrostatics. Therefore the
pressures or forces necessary for keeping up the velocities
are as the squares of these velocities ; and they are our only
measures of the resistances which must be considered as
following the same ratio. Whatever view therefore we take
of the nature of these resistances, we are led to consider
them as proportional to the squares of the velocities.
We may therefore express the resistances by the symbol
V2
—, m being some number to be discovered by experiment.
Thus, in a particular pipe, the diminution of the motion or
the resistance may be the 1000th part of the square of the
V2
velocity, and R = r ,
J 1000
Now if g be the accelerating power of gravity on any
particle, ^ will be its accelerating power by which it would
urge it down the pipe whose slope is -. Therefore, by
the principle of uniform motion, the equality of the accele-
V2 n
rating force, and the resistance, we shall have — = and
  m s
V Vs = A/mg; that is, the product of the velocity, and
the reciprocal of the square root of the slope, or the quo¬
tient of the velocity divided by the square root of the slope,
is a constant quantity Vmg for any given pipe; and the
primary formula for all the uniform velocities of one pipe is
y _ ^ m9 '
Vs
Experi- Du Buat therefore examined this by experiment, but
merits and found, that even with respect to a pipe or channel which
ofDuBuat WaS uniform throughout, this was not true. We could give
respecting’at once ^le formula which he found to express the
these re-” velocity in every case whatever; but this would be too em-
sistances, pirical. The chief steps of his very sagacious investigation
&c- are instructive. We shall therefore mention them briefly,
at least as far as they tend to give us any collateral infor¬
mation ; and let it always be noted, that the instruction
which they convey is not abstract speculation, but experi¬
mental truths, which must ever remain as an addition to
our stock of knowledge, although Du Buat’s deductions from
them should prove false.
VOL. XIX.
He found, in the first place, that in the same channel Theorv
the product of V and Vs increased as Vs increased ; that
is, the velocities increased faster than the square roots of
the slope, or the resistances did not increase as fast as the
squares of the velocities. We beg leave to refer our readers
to what we said on the resistance of pipes to the motion of
fluids through them, in the article Pneumatics, when speak¬
ing of bellows. They , will there see very valid reasons, we
apprehend, for thinking that the resistances must increase
more slowly than the squares of the velocities.
It being found, then, that V Vs is not equal to a constant
quantity Vmg, it becomes necessary to investigate some
quantity depending on Vs, or, as it is called, some function of
Vs which shall render Vmg a constant quantity. Let X
be this function of Vs, so that we shall always have VX
equal to the constant quantity Vmg, or
V mg . .
—y— equal to the
A.
actual velocity V of a pipe or channel which is in train.
Du Buat, after many trials and reflections, the chief of
which wdll be mentioned by and by, found a value of X
which corresponded with a vast variety of slopes and velo¬
cities, from motions almost imperceptible, in a bed nearly
horizontal, to the greatest velocities which could be pro¬
duced by gravity alone in a vertical pipe; and when he
compared them together, he found a very discernible rela¬
tion between the resistances and the magnitude of the sec¬
tion; that is, that in two channels which had the same
slope, and the same propelling force, the velocity was
greatest in the channel which had the greatest section re¬
lative to its border. This may reasonably be expected.
The resistances arise from the mutual action of the water
and this border. The water immediately contiguous to it
is retarded, and this retards the next, and so on. It is to be
expected, therefore, that if the border, and the velocity, and
the slope, be the same, the diminution of this velocity will
be so much the less as it is to be shared among a greater
number of particles; that is, as the area of the section is
greater in proportion to the extent of its border. The di¬
minution of the general or medium velocity must be less in
a cylindrical pipe than in a square one of the same area,
because the border of the section is less.
It appears evident, that the resistance of each particle
is in the direct proportion of the whole resistance, and the
inverse proportion of the number of particles which receive
equal shares of it. It is therefore directly as the border,
and inversely as the section. Therefore, in the expression
V2
— which we have given for the resistance, the quantity m
cannot be constant, except in the same channel; and in
different channels it must vary along with the relation of
the section to its border, because the resistances diminish
in proportion as this relation increases.
Without attempting to discover this relation by theoreti¬
cal examination of the particular motions of the various
filaments, Du Buat endeavoured to discover it by a com¬
parison of experiments. But this required some manner
of stating this proportion between the augmentation of the
section and the augmentation of its border.
His statement is this : he reduces every section to a rect¬
angular parallelogram of the same area, and having its base
equal to the border unfolded into a straight line. The pro¬
duct of this base by the height of the rectangle will be equal
to the area of the section. Therefore this height will be a
representative of this valuable ratio of the section to its
border (we do not mean that there is any ratio between a
surface and a line : but the ratio of section to section is
different from that of border to border; and it is the ratio
of these ratios which is thus expressed by the height of this
2 B
R EVER.
g
rectangle). If S be the section, and B the border, is
evidently a line equal to the height of this rectangle. Every
section being in this manner reduced to a rectangle, the
perpendicular height of it may be called the hydraulic
mean DEPTH of the section, and may be expressed by the
symbol d. Buat calls it the mean radius. If the chan¬
nel be a.cylindrical pipe, or an open half cylinder, it is evi¬
dent that d is half the radius. If the section is a rectangle,
whose width is w and height h, the mean depth is
&c. In general, if q represent the proportion of the breadth
of a rectangular canal to its depth, that is, if q be made =
q h
to w j
—, we shall have d = or a =:
h’ 7 + 2
Now, since the resistances must augment as the propor¬
tion of the border to the section augments, m in the for-
V2 a — —
mulas — — - and Y Vs = Vmg must follow the propor-
w s
tions of d, and the quantity Vmg must be proportional to
water in
syphons.
V mq
Vd, for different channels, and —should be a constant
Vd
quantity in every case.
A specious Our author was aware, however, of a very specious ob-
objection jection to the close dependence of the resistance on the ex¬
tent of the border, and that it might be said that a double
border did not occasion a double resistance, unless the
pressure on all the parts was the same. For it may be natu¬
rally, and it is generally, supposed, that the resistance will
be greater when the pressure is greater. The friction, or
resistance analogous to friction, may therefore be greater
on an inch of the bottom than on an inch of the sides; but
M. d’Alembert and many others have demonstrated, that the
paths of the filaments will be the same whatever be the pres-
jbviatedbysures. This might serve to justify our ingenious author;
an experi- but he was determined to rest every thing on experiment,
ment on He therefore made an experiment on the oscillation of water
the oscilla- gyphons, which we have repeated in the following form,
tlon of which is affected by the same circumstances, and is suscep¬
tible of much greater precision, and of more extensive and
important application.
The two vessels ABCD,
abed were connected by the Fig. 9.
syphon EF Ggfe, which turn¬
ed round in the short tubes
E and e, without allowing f
any water to escape ; the ^—1| '''[p=q
axis of these tubes being in K "
one straight line. The ves¬
sels were about ten inches
deep, and the branches EG,
fg of the syphon were about
five feet long. The vessels
were set on two tables of
equal height, and (the hole
e being stopped) the vessel
ABCD, and the whole sy¬
phon, were filled with water, cl r^g-
and water was poured into
the vessel abed till it stood at a certain height LM. The
syphon was then turned into a horizontal position, and the
plug drawn out of e, and the time carefully noted which
the water employed in rising to the level HK kh in both
vessels. The whole apparatus was now inclined so that
the water ran back into ABCD. The syphon was now put
in a vertical position, and the experiment was repeated.
No sensible or regular difference was observed in the time.
Yet in this experiment the pressure on the part Gg of the
syphon was more than six times greater than before. As Theory,
it was thought that the friction on this small part (only six ^
inches) was too small a portion of the whole obstruction,
various additional obstructions were put into this part of the
syphon, and it was even lengthened to nine feet; but still
no remarkable difference was observed. It was even thought
that the times were less when the syphon was vertical.
Thus Du Buat’s opinion is completely justified; and Theresist-
he may be allowed to assert, that the resistance depends®1^® ^ e“
chiefly on the relation between the section and its border ; Chiefly on
V mq the rela-
and that —~ should be a constant quantity. tion be-
V “ tween the
To ascertain this point was the object of the next series section and
of experiments; to see whether this quantity was really its border,
constant, and, if not, to discover the law of its variation,
and the physical circumstances which accompanied the va¬
riations, and may therefore be considered as their causes
A careful comparison of a very great number of experi¬
ments, made with the same slope, and with very different
channels and velocities, showed that Vmg did not follow
the proportion of Vd, nor of any power of Vd. This
quantity Vmg increased by smaller degrees in proportion
as Vd was greater. In very great beds Vmg was nearly
proportional to Vd; but in smaller channels, the velocities
diminished much more than Vd did. Casting about for
some way of accommodation, Du Buat considered, that some
approximation at least would be had by taking off from .
Vrf some constant small quantity. This is evident: for
such a diminution will have but a trifling effect when^Vd
is great, and its effect will increase rapidly when Vd is
very small. He therefore tried various values for this sub¬
traction, and compared the results with the former experi¬
ments ; and he found, that if in every case W be diminish¬
ed by one tenth of an inch, the calculated discharges would
agree very exactly with the experiment. Therefore, instead
of Vd, he makes use of Vd—OT, and finds this quantity
Vmg
always proportional to Vmg, or finds that —r ^ ^
constant quantity, or very nearly so. It varied from 297
to 287 in all sections, from that of a very small pipe to that
of a little canal. In the large sections of canals and rivers
it diminished still more, but never was less than 256.
This result is very agreeable to the most distinct notions The result
that we can form of the mutual actions of the water and its agreeable
bed. We see that when the motion of water is obstructed tp our dis-
by a solid body, which deflects the passing filaments, ^ie tions^f
disturbance does not extend to any considerable distance the act;on
on the two sides of the body. In like manner, the small 0f water
disturbances, and imperceptible curvilineal motions, which and its bed,
are occasioned by the infinitesimal inequalities of the chan¬
nel, must extend to a very small distance indeed from the
sides and bottom of the channel. We know, too, that the
mutual adhesion or attraction of water for the solid bodies
which are moistened by it extends to a very small distance,
which is probably the same, or nearly so, in all cases. Du
Buat observed, that a surface of twenty-three square inches,
applied to the surface of stagnant water, lifted 1601 grains;
another of 5| square inches lifted 365; this was at the rate
of sixty-five grains per inch nearly, making a column of
about one sixth of an inch high. Now this effect is very
much analogous to a real contraction of the capacity of the
channel. The water may be conceived as nearly stagnant
to this small distance from the border of the section. Or,
to speak more accurately, the diminution of the progressive
velocity occasioned by the friction and adhesion of the sides
decreases very rapidly as we recede from the sides, and
ceases to be sensible at a very small distance.
i
RIVER.
195
and con¬
firmed by
experi¬
ment.
Theory. The writer of this article1 verified the observation by a very
simple and instructive experiment. He was making experi¬
ments on the production of vortices, in the manner suggested
by Sir Isaac Newton, by whirling a very accurate and smooth¬
ly polished cylinder in water; and he found that the rapid
motion of the surrounding water was confined to an exceed¬
ingly small distance from the cylinder, and it was not till
after many revolutions that it was sensible even at the dis¬
tance of half an inch. We may, by the way, suggest this
as the best form of experiments for examining the resist¬
ances of pipes. The motion excited by the whirling cylin¬
der in the stagnant water is equal and opposite to the mo¬
tion lost by water passing along a surface equal to that of
the cylinder with the same velocity. Be this as it may, we
are justified in considering, with Du Buat, the section of the
stream as thus diminished by cutting off a narrow border all
round the touching parts, and supposing that the motion and
discharge is the same as if the square root of the mean depth
of the section were diminished by a small quantity, nearly
constant. We see, too, that the effect of this must be in¬
sensible in great canals and rivers; so that, fortunately, its
quantity is best ascertained by experiments made with small
pipes. This is attended with another conveniency, in the
opinion of Du Buat, namely, that the effect of viscidity is
most sensible in great masses of water in slow motion, and
is almost insensible in small pipes, so as not to disturb
these experiments. We may therefore assume 297 as the
„ V mg o
general value of -
W—0-1
Since we have —
297V
— (Vd
9
Vd — 0-1
88209
zz 297, we have also, m
0-1)2, =
362
{Vd — 0-1 )2, = 243*7
{Vd — O-l)2. This we may express by n {Vd—0-1)3.
And thus, when we have expressed the quantity of friction
V2
by —, the quantity m is variable, and its general value is
V2
, „ , in which n is an invariable abstract number
7i(yd —0-1)2
equal to 243-7, given by the nature of the resistance which
water sustains from its bed, and which indicates its intensity.
And, lastly, since m — n {Vd— 0-1)2, we have Vmg
— Vng {Vd — 0-1), and the expression of the velocity V,
which water acquires and maintains along any channel what¬
ever, now becomes V — ^n9 {Vd 0*1) 297 (V77 0-1)
X ’ X ’
in which X is also a variable quantity, depending on the
slope of the surface or channel, and expressing the accele¬
rating force which, in the case of water in train, is in equi-
librio with the resistances expressed by the numerator of
the fraction.
Law of ac- Having so happily succeeded in ascertaining the variations
celeration 0f resistance, let us accompany DuBuat in his investigation
of the law of acceleration, expressed by the value of X.
Experience, in perfect agreement with any distinct opi¬
nions that we can form on this subject, had already shown
him that the resistances increased in a slower ratio than
that of the squares of the velocities, or that the velocities
increased slower than V s. Therefore, in the formula
v _ Vng {Vd— 0-1)
investi.
gated,
-, which, for one channel, we may ex¬
press thus, V =
A
X’
we must admit that X is sensibly equal
Theory.
to Vs, when the slope is very small or 5 very great. But,
that we may accurately express the velocity in proportion
as the slope augments, we must have X less than Vs;
and, moreover, ~ must increase as t/s diminishes.
A.
These
conditions are necessary that our values of V, deduced from
the formula V — —, may agree with the experiment.
A
In order to comprehend every degree of slope, we must
particularly attend to the motion through pipes, because
open canals will not furnish us with instances of exact
trains with great slopes and velocities. We can make
pipes vertical. In this case-^ is y, and the velocity is the
greatest possible for a train by the action of gravity : but
we can give greater velocities than this by increasing the
head of water beyond what produces the velocity of the train.
Let AB (fig. 10) be a vertical tube, and let CA be the
head competent to the velocity in the tube, which we sup¬
pose to be in train. The slope is 1, and the full
weight of the column in motion is the precise Fig. 10.
measure of the resistance. The value of -, con-
s
sidered as a slope, is now a maximum ; but, con¬
sidered as expressing the proportion of the weight
of the column in motion to the weight which is
in equilibrio with the resistance, it may not be a
maximum ; it may surpass unity, and s may be
less than 1. For if the vessel be filled to E, the
head of water is increased, and will produce a
greater velocity, and this will produce a greater
resistance. The velocity being now greater, the
head EF which imparts it must be greater than
CA. But it will not be equal to EA, because the uniform
velocities are found to increase faster than the square roots
of the pressures. This is the general fact. Therefore F
is above A, and the weight of the column FB, now em¬
ployed to overcome the resistance, is greater than the weight
of the column AB in motion. In such cases, therefore,
s
greater than unity, is a sort of fictitious slope, and only re¬
presents the proportion of the resistance to the weight of
the moving column. This proportion may surpass unity.
But it cannot be infinite: for, supposing the head of wa¬
ter infinite, if this produce a finite velocity, and we deduct
from the whole height the height corresponding to this fi¬
nite velocity, there will remain an infinite head, the mea¬
sure of an infinite resistance produced by a finite velocity.
This does not accord with the observed law of the veloci¬
ties, where the resistances actually do not increase as fast
as the squares of the velocities. Therefore an infinite head
would have produced an infinite velocity, in opposition to
the resistances : taking off the head of the tube, competent
to this velocity, at the entry of the tube, which head would
also be infinite, the remainder would in all probability be
finite, balancing a finite resistance.
Therefore the value of s may remain finite, although the
velocity be infinite ; and this is agreeable to all our clear¬
est notions of the resistances.
Adopting this principle, we must find a value of X which
will answer all these conditions. 2. It must be sensibly
proportional to Vs, while s is great. It must always be less
1 The late Professor Robison of Edinburgh.
* In this formula, and in the subsequent part of the investigation, French inches are employed. For English inches the constant num¬
ber is 307.
Pt I V E R.
than Vs. 3. It must deviate from the proportion of v's so
much the more as Vs is smaller. 4. It must not vanish
when tire velocity is infinite. 5. It must agree with a range
of experiments with every variety of channel and of slope.
We shall understand the nature of this quantity X better
by representing by lines the quantities concerned in form¬
ing it.
If the velocities were exactly as the square roots of the
slopes, the equilateral hyperbola NKS (fig. 11) between
Fig. 11.
its asymptotes MA, AB, would represent the equation
A —
V — The values of Vs would be represented by the
abscissae, and the velocities by the ordinates, and V s = A
would be the power of the hyperbola. But since these ve-
A —
locities are not sensibly equal to except when Vs is very
great, and deviate the more from this quantity as Vs is
smaller, we may represent the velocities by the ordinates
of another curve PGT, which approaches very near to the
hyperbola, at a great distance from A along AB; but se¬
parates from it when the abscissae are smaller: so that
if AQ, represents that value of Vs (which we have seen
may become less than unity) which corresponds to an in¬
finite velocity, the line Q.0 may be the asymptote of the
new curve. Its ordinates are equal to while those of the
A.
A
hyperbola are equal to . Therefore the ratio of these
V s
ordinates, or —, should be such that it shall be so much
nearer to unity as Vs is greater, and shall surpass it so much
the more as Vs is smaller.
To express X, therefore, as some function of Vs so as to
answer these conditions, we see in general that X must be
less than Vs. And it must not be equal to any power of
Vs whose index is less than unity, because then ^ would
differ so much the more from unity as V 5 is greater. Nor
must it be any multiple of Vs, such as q Vs, for the same
reason. If we make X = Vs —• K, K being a constant
quantity, we may answer the first condition pretty well.
But K must be very small, that X may not become equal
to nothing, except in some exceedingly small value of Vs.
Now the experiments will not admit of this, because the
.Vs
ratl° y'c K C OeS not mcrease sufficiently to correspond
with the velocities which we observe in certain slopes, un¬
less we make K greater than unity, which again is incon¬
sistent with other experiments. We learn from such can¬
vassing that it will not do to make K a constant quantity.
If we should make it any fractionary power of Vs, it would
make X = 0, that is, nothing, when s is = 1, which is also
contrary to experience. It would seem, therefore, that Theory,
nothing will answer for K but some power of Vs which has —~y~—
a variable index. The logarithm of Vs has this property.
We may therefore try to make X = Vs — log. V s. Ac-
cordingly, if we try the equation V = — p:—j —y-,
we shall find a very great agreement with the experiments
till the declivity becomes considerable, or about ^y, which
is much greater than any river. But it will not agree with
the velocities observed in some mill-courses, and in pipes
of a still greater declivity, and gives a velocity that is too
small; and in vertical pipes the velocity is not above one
half of the true one. We shall get rid of most of these in¬
congruities if we make K consist of the hyperbolic loga¬
rithm of Vs augmented by a small quantity ; and by trying
various values for this constant quantity, and comparing the
results with experiment, we may hit on one sufficiently ex¬
act for all practical purposes.
Du Buat, after repeated trials, found that he would
have a very great conformity with experiment by making
K =r log. V s + T6, and that the velocities exhibited in
his experiments would be very well represented by the for-
raula v =
Vs — L V s + T6
There is a circumstance which our author seems to haveMutualad
overlooked on this occasion, and which is undoubtedly of*1^011
great effect in these motions, viz. the mutual adhesion of^r^P3^
the particles of water. This causes the water which is de- water>
scending (in a vertical pipe, for example) to drag more wa¬
ter after it, and thus greatly increases its velocity. We
have seen an experiment in which the water issued from
the bottom of a reservoir through a long vertical pipe hav¬
ing a very gentle taper. It was fifteen feet long, one inch
diameter at the upper end, and two inches at the lower.
The depth of the water in the reservoir was exactly one
foot; in a minute there were discharged 2-^ cubic feet of
water. It must therefore have issued through the hole in
the bottom of the reservoir with the velocity of 8*85 feet
per second. And yet we know that this head of water
could not make it pass through the hole with a velocity
greater than 6’56 feet per second. This increase must
therefore have arisen from the cause we have mentioned,
and is a proof of the great intensity of this force. We doubt
not but that the discharge might have been much more in¬
creased by proper contrivances; and we know many in¬
stances in water-pipes where this effect is produced in a
very great degree.
The following case is very distinct. Water is brought An actual
into the town of Dunbar, in the county of Haddington,case
from a spring at the distance of about 3200 yards. It is
conveyed along the first 1100 yards in a pipe of two inches
diameter, and the declivity is 12 feet 9 inches ; from thence
the water flows in a pipe of 1^ diameter, with a declivity
of 44 feet three inches, making in all 57 feet. When the
work was carried as far as the two-inch pipe reached, the
discharge was found to be 27 Scotch pints, of 103^ cubic
inches each, in a minute. When it was brought into the
town, the discharge was 28. Here it is plain that the de¬
scent along the second stretch of the pipe could derive no
impulsion from the first. This was only able to supply 27
pints, and to deliver it into a pipe of equal bore. It was
not equivalent to the forcing it into a smaller pipe, and al¬
most doubling its velocity. It must therefore have been
dragged into this smaller pipe by the weight of what was
descending along it, and this water was exerting a force
equivalent to a head of 16 inches, increasing the velocity
from 14 to about 28.
It must be observed, that if this formula be just, there
can be no declivity so small that a current of water will not
RIVER.
197
Theorj. take place in it. And accordingly none has been observed
'•—-'v'—'' in the surface of a stream when this did not happen. But
proves that it also should happen with respect to any declivity of bot-
the small- tom> yet we know that water will hang on the sloping
tywill pro" sur^ace °f a board without proceeding further. The cause
duce a cur-°f this seems to be the adhesion of the water, combined with
rent. its viscidity. The viscidity of fluid presents a certain force
which must be overcome before any current can take place.
A series of important experiments were made by our au¬
thor in order to ascertain the relation between the velocity
at the surface of any stream and that at the bottom. These
are curious and valuable on many accounts. One circum¬
stance deserves our notice here, viz. that the differences be¬
tween the superficial and bottom velocities of any stream are
proportional to the square roots of the superficial velocities.
From what has been already said on the gradual diminu¬
tion of the velocities among the adjoining filaments, we
must conclude that the same rule holds good with respect
to the velocity of separation of two filaments immediately
adjoining. Hence we learn that this velocity of separation
is in all cases indefinitely small, and that we may, without
danger of any sensible error, suppose it a constant quantity
in all cases.
A constant We think, with our ingenious author, that on a review
part of the of these circumstances, there is a constant or invariable
accelerat- portion of the accelerating force employed in overcoming
ing force this viscidity, and producing this mutual separation of the
employed a(j]0ining filaments. We may express this part of the ac-
m oyer- jo ^ j r r
viscidity^6 celerating force by a part g of that slope which constitutes
the whole of it. If it were not employed in overcoming
this resistance, it would produce a velocity which (on ac¬
count of this resistance) is not produced, or is lost. This
y
would be —— =——. This must therefore be taken from
y'S — L VS
the velocity exhibited by our general formula. When thus
corrected, it would become V (Vd—OT
\/ng
But as the term
V nq
V ng
is cora¬
the uni¬
form mo¬
tion of \va'
ter.
expressing this slope, the numerator being always unity; and Theory,
is had by dividing the expanded length of the pipe or chan- ^
nel by the difference of height of its two extremities.
g The velocity (in inches per second) which a heavy body
acquires by falling during one second.
n An abstract constant number, determined by experi¬
ment to be 243-7.
L The hyperbolic logarithm of the quantity to which it
is prefixed, and is had by multiplying the common loga¬
rithm of that quantity by 2-3026.
We shall have in every instance
Vng(Vd — 0-1) ^
V — \ y 1 — 0-3 (\td— 0*1).
Vs — LVS+ 1-6
This, in numbers, and English inches, is
Tr SOT^y/rf—0-1)
V = y - —=j— — 0-3 Wd— 0-1) ;
Vs — LVs + 1-6 V '
and in French inches,
297 (Vd-
■0-1)
0-3 (W—0-1).
Vs — LV^-F 1-6
The following table contains the real experiments from
which this formula was deduced, and the comparison of the
real velocities with the velocities computed by the formula.
It consists of two principal sets of experiments. The first
are those made on the motion of water in pipes. The second
are experiments made on open canals and rivers. In the
first set, column 1st contains the number of the experiment;
2d, the length of the tube; 3d, the height of the reservoir ;
4th, the values of s, deduced from columns second and third;
5th gives the observed velocities; and 6th, the velocities
calculated by the formula.
In the second set, column 2d gives the area of the sec¬
tion of the channel; 3d, the border of the canal or cir¬
cumference of the section, deducting the horizontal width,
which sustains no friction ; 4th, the square root Vd of the
hydraulic mean depth ; 5th, the denominator s of the slope;
6th, the observed mean velocities; and 7th, the mean ve¬
locities by the formula. In the last ten experiments on large
canals and a natural river, the 6th column gives the ob¬
served velocities at the surface.1
VS—LVSJ‘   VS — L VS
pounded only of constant quantities, we may express it by
a single number. This has been collected from a scrupu¬
lous attention to the experiments (especially in canals and
great bodies of water moving with very small velocities,
in which case the effects of viscidity must become more re¬
markable), and it appears that it may be valued at V009
inch, or 0-3 inch very nearly.
From the whole of the foregoing considerations, drawn
from nature, supported by such reasonings as our most dis¬
tinct notions of the internal motions will admit, and autho¬
rized by a very extensive comparison with experiment, we
are now in a condition to conclude a complete formula, ex¬
pressive of the uniform motion of water, and involving every
circumstance which appears to have any share in the ope¬
ration.
Therefore, let
Formula V represent the mean velocity, in inches per second, of
expressing ar,y current of water, running uniformly, or which is in
train, in a pipe or open channel, whose section, figure, and
slope, are constant, but its length indefinite.
d The hydraulic mean depth, that is, the quotient arising
from dividing the section of the channel, in square inches,
by its border, expressed in linear inches.
s The reciprocal of the slope of the pipe, or of the sur¬
face of the current. It is the denominator of the fraction
SET I. EXPERIMENTS ON PIPES.
Experiments by Chevalier du Buat.
Vertical Tube ^ of a Line in Diameter, and
Vd- 0-117851.
No.
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
Length of
Pipe.
Height of
Reservoir.
Inch.
12
12
Inch.
16-166
13-125
Values
of s.
Inch.
0-75636
0-9307
Velocities
observed.
Inch.
11-704
9-753
Velocities
calculated
Vertical Pipe 1^- Line Diameter, and
0-176776 Inch.
34-166
do.
do.
do.
42-166
38-333
36-666
35-333
0-9062
0-9951
1-0396
1-0781
45-468
43-156
42-385
41-614
The same Pipe Horizontal.
34-166
do.
do.
do.
14-583
9-292
5-292
2-083
2-5838
4-0367
7-036
17-6378
26-202
21-064
14-642
7-320
Inch.
12-006
10-576
46-210
43-721
42-612
41-714
25-523
19-882
14-447
2-351
Table con-
taining tha
experi¬
ments from
which the
formula is
deduced.
1 These tables are expressed in French measures, A line is the twelfth part of an inch.
RIVER,
198
Theory.
Set L—continued.
Vertical Pipe 2 Lines Diameter, and 0204124.
No.
11
12
13
14
Length of
Pipe.
Height of
Reservoir.
Values
of s.
Inch. Inch. Inch. Inch.
51-250 085451 67-373 64-945
45-250 0-96338 59-605 60428
41-916 1-03808 57-220 57-838
38-750 1-12047 54-186 55-321
Same Pipe with a slope of
15 | 36-25 | 33-500 | 1-29174 | 51-151 | 50-983
Velocities
observed.
V elocities
calculated.
Same Pipe horizontal.
16
17
18
19
36-25
do.
do.
do.
15-292
8-875
5-292
2-042
2-7901
4-76076
7-89587
20-01637
33-378
25-430
19-940
10-620
33-167
24-553
18-313
10492
Vertical Pipe 2^ Lines Diameter, and Vd = 0-245798.
85-201
82-461
80698
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
36-25
do.
do.
do.
do.
do.
do.
095235 85-769
1-00642 82-471
1-0444 81-6461
1-0444 79-948 /
1-0529 81-027
1-1241 76-079
1-2157 73-811
The same Pipe with the slope
53-250
50250
48-333
48-333
47-916
44-750
41-250
80-318
77-318
73-904
27 | 36-25 | 37-5 | 1-3323
The same Pipe horizontal.
1-3024
70-822 I
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
Pipes
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
36-25
do.
do.
do.
do.
do.
do.
do.
do.
do.
do.
sensibly
117
117
138-5
117
138-5
737
do.
do.
do.
do.
do.
do.
do.
do.
do.
138-5
737
737
20-166
9-083
7-361
5
4-916
4-833
3-708
2-713
2-083
1-625
0-833
2-4303
5- 2686
6- 4504
9-3573
9-5097
9-6652
12-4624
16-3135
21-6639
27-5102
52-3427
horizontal, 1 Inch
36
26-666
20-950
18
6
23-7
14-6
13-7
12-32
8-96 \
8-96 j
7-780
5-93
4-2)
4-2 J
0-7
0-5
0-15
5-6503
7-48
10-3215
10-7880
33-1962
33-6658
54-2634
57-7772
64-1573
87-8679
101-0309
132-1617
186-0037
257-8863
1540-75
5113-42
51-956
33-577
28-658
23-401
22-989
22-679
19-587
16-631
14-295
12-680
7-577
Diameter,
84-945
71-301
58-808
58-310
29-341
28-669
21-856
20-970
19-991
16-625
16-284
15-112
13-315
10-671
10-441
8-689
3-623
l-58'9
70-138
50-140
32*442
28-801
23-195
22-974
22-754
19-550
16-324
14-003
12-115
8-215
Vd — 0-5.
85-524
72-617
60-034
58-472
29-663
29-412
22-056
21-240
19-950
16-543
15-232
13-005
10-656
8-824
3-218
1-647
57
58
Experiments by the Abbe Bossut.
Horizontal Pipe l Inch Diameter, Vd — 0-5
600
600
12
4
54-5966 j
161-312
22-282
12-223
21-975
11-756
Set I.—continued.
Horizontal Pipe 1^ Inch Diameter, Vd — 0-5774.
No.
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
Length
of Pipe.
Inch.
360
720
360
1080
1440
720
1800
2160
1080
1440
1800
2160
Height of
Reservoir.
Inch.
24
24
12
24
24
12
24
24
12
12
12
12
Values
of s.
Inch.
19-0781
33-6166
37-0828
48-3542
64-1806
66-3020
78-0532
92-9474
95-8756
125-6007
155-4015
185-2487
Velocities
observed.
Inch.
48-534
34-473
33-160
28-075
24-004
23-360
21-032
18-896
18-943
16-128
14-066
12-560
Velocities
calculated.
Horizontal Pipe 2-01 Inch Diameter, Vd—Q
71 360 24 21-4709 58-903
72 720 24 35-8082 43
73 360 12 41-2759 40-322
74 1080 24 50-4119 35-765
75 1440 24 65-1448 30-896
76 720 12 70-1426 29-215
77 1800 24 79-8487 27-470
78 2160 24 94-7901 27-731
79 1080 12 99-4979 23*806
80 1440 12 129-0727 20-707
81 1800 12 158-7512 18-304
82 2160 12 188-5172 16-377
Inch.
49-515
35-130
33-106
28-211
24-023
23- 345
21-182
19- 096
18-749
15- 991
14-119
12-750
708946.
58-803
43-136
39-587
35-096
30096
28-796
26-639
24- 079
23-400
20- 076
17-788
16- 097
Mr Couplet’s Experiments at Versailles.
Pipe 5 Inches Diameter, Vd— 1-11803.
83
84
85
86
87
88
84240
do.
do.
do.
do.
do.
25
24
21-083
16-750
11-333
5-583
3378-26
3518-98
4005-66
5041-61
7450-42
15119-96
5-323
5-213
4-806
4-127
3-154
2-011
5-287
5-168
4-887
4-225
3-388
2-254
Pipe 18 Inches Diameter, Vd — 2-12132.
89 I 43200 I 145-083 I 304-973 I 39-159 I 40-510
SET. II.
-EXPERIMENTS WITH A WOODEN CANAL.
Trapezium Canal.
No.
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
Section
of
Canal.
Inch.
18-84
50-60
83-43
27-20
39-36
50-44
56-43
98-74
100-74
119-58
126-20
130-71
135-32
20-83
34-37
36-77
42-01
Border
of
Canal.
Inch.
13-06
29-50
26
15-31
18-13
20- 37
21- 50
28-25
28-53
31-06
31- 91
32- 47
3303
13-62
17
17- 56
18- 69
V allies
of V d.
Inch.
1-20107
1-3096
1-7913
1-3329
1-4734
1-5736
1-6201
1-8696
1-8791
1-9622
1-9887
1-0064
1-0241
1-2367
1-4219
1-4471
1-4992
Values
of J.
Inch.
212
212
412
427
427
427
427
432
432
432
432
432
432
1728
1728
1728
1728
Mean
Velocity
observed.
Inch.
27- 51
28- 92
27- 14
18-28
20-30
22- 37
23- 54
28- 29
28-52
30- 16
31- 58
31- 89
32- 32
8- 94
9- 71
11- 45
12- 34
Mean
V elocity
calcul.
Inch.
27- 19
29-88
28- 55
20-39
22*71
24- 37
25- 14
29- 06
29- 23
30- 60
31- 03
31-32
31-61
8- 58
9- 98
10-17
10-53
Theory.
RIVER.
199
Theory.
Set II.—continued.
Rectangular Canal.
No.
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
Section
of
Canal.
Inch.
34-50
86-25
34- 50
35- 22
51-75
76-19
105-78
69
155-25
Border
of
Canal.
Values
of V d.
Values
of s.
Inch.
21-25
27-25
21-25
21-33
23-25
26-08
29-17
25-25
35-25
Inch.
1-27418
1-77908
1-27418
1-28499
1-49191
1-70921
1-90427
1- 65308
2- 09868
Inch.
458
458
929
1412
1412
1412
1412
9288
9288
Mean
V elocity
observed.
Inch.
20-24
28-29
13- 56
9-20
12-10
14- 17
15- 55
4- 59
5- 70
Mean
Velocity
calcul.
Inch.
18-66
26-69
11-53
10-01
11-76
13-59
15-24
4- 56
5- 86
SET III. EXPERIMENTS ON THE CANAL OF JARD.
| Section
No. : of
i Canal.
116
117
118
119
120
121
16252
11905
10475
7858
7376
6125
Border
of
Canal.
402
366
360
340
337
324
Values
of V d.
6-3583
5-70320
5-3942
4-8074
4-6784
4-3475
Values
of s.
8919
11520
15360
21827
27648
27648
Velocity
obs. at
Surface.
17-42
12-17
15-74
9-61
7-79
7-27
Velocity
calcu¬
lated.
18-77
14-52
11-61
8-38
7-07
6-55
Experiments on the River Hayne.
No.
Section
of
River.
122
123
124
125
31498
38838
30905
39639
Borderj Values
or
River.
of d.
569
601
568
604
7- 43974
8- 03879
7- 37632
8- 10108
Values
of s.
6048
6413
32951
35723
Velocity
at
Surface.
35-11
31-77
13-61
15-96
Velocity
(mean)
calcul.
27- 62
28- 76
1008
10-53
The theo- comparison must be acknowledged to be most satis-
ry a well- factory, and shows the great penetration and address of the
founded author, in so successfully sifting and appreciating the share
probabi- which each co-operating circumstance has had in producing
hty- the very intricate and complicated elfect. It adds some
weight to the principles on which he has proceeded in this
analysis of the mechanism of hydraulic motion, and must
give us great confidence in a theory so fairly established on
a very copious induction. The author offers it only as a
rational and well-founded probability. To this character
it is certainly entitled; for the suppositions made in it are
agreeable to the most distant notions we can form of these
internal motions. And it must always be remembered, that
the investigation of the formula, although it be rendered
somewhat more perspicuous by thus having recourse to
those motions, has no dependence on the truth of the prin¬
ciples. For it is, in fact, nothing but a classification of ex¬
periments, which are grouped together by some one cir¬
cumstance of slope, velocity, form of section, &c. in order
to discover the law of the changes which are induced by a
variation of the circumstances which do not resemble. The
procedure is precisely similar to that of the astronomer
when he deduces the elements of an orbit from a multi¬
tude of observations. This was the task of the Chevalier
du Buat; and he candidly and modestly informs us, that the
finding out analytical forms of expression which would ex¬
hibit those changes, was the work of Mr Benezech de St Ho-
nore, an officer of engineers, and his colleague in the experi¬
mental course. It does honour to his skill and address; Theory,
and we think the whole both a pretty and instructive spe-
cimen of the method of discovering the laws of nature in
the midst of complicated phenomena. Daniel Bernoulli
first gave the rules of this method, and they have been
greatly improved by Lambert, Condorcet, and De la Grange.
Mr Coulomb has given some excellent examples of their
application to the discovery of the laws of friction, of mag-
netical and electrical attraction, &c. But this present work
is the most perspicuous and familiar of them all. It is the
empirical method of generalising natural phenomena, and
of deducing general rules, of which we can give no other
demonstration but that they are faithful representations
of matters of fact. We hope that others, encouraged by
the success of Du Buat, will follow this example, where
public utility is preferred to a display of mathematical know¬
ledge.
Although the author may not have hit upon the precise The expe-
modus opera,ndi, we agree with him in thinking that nature riments
seems to act in a way not unlike what is here supposed, va*
At any rate, the range of experiments is so extensive, andlua e*
so multifarious, that few cases can occur which are not in¬
cluded among them. The experiments will always retain
their value (as we presume that they are faithfully nar¬
rated), whatever may become of the theory; and we are
confident that the formula will give an answer to any ques¬
tion to which it may be applicable, infinitely preferable to
the vague guess of the most sagacious and experienced en¬
gineer.
We must however observe, that as the experiments on The velo-
pipes were all made with scrupulous care in the contri-city given
vance and execution of the apparatus, excepting only those b7 the for-
of Mr Couplet on the main pipes at Versailles, we may[™M°°
presume that the formula gives the greatest velocities which or(]]nary
can be expected. In ordinary works, where joints are rough WOrks.
or leaky, where drops of solder hang in the inside, where
cocks intervene with deficient water-ways, where pipes have
awkward bendings, contractions, or enlargements, and where
they may contain sand or air, we should reckon on a smaller
velocity than what results from our calculation ; and we pre¬
sume that an undertaker may with confidence promise four
fifths of this quantity without any risk of disappointing his
employer. We imagine that the actual performance of
canals will be much nearer to the formula.
We have made inquiry after works of this kind executed
in Britain, that we might compare them with the formula.
But all our canals are locked and without motion; and we
have only learned by an accidental information from Mr
Watt, that a canal in his neighbourhood, which is eighteen
feet wide at the surface, and seven feet at the bottom, and
four feet deep, and has a slope of one inch in a quarter of a
mile, runs with the velocity of seventeen inches per second
at the surface, ten at the bottom, and fourteen in the mid¬
dle. If we compute the motion of this canal by our formu¬
la, we shall find the mean velocity to be 13^.
No river in the world has had its motion so much scru¬
tinized as the Po about the end of the last century. It had
been a subject of 100 years’ continual litigation between
the inhabitants of the Bolognese andtheFerrarese, whether
the waters of the Rheno should be thrown into the Tronco
de Venezia or Po Grande. This occasioned very nume¬
rous measures to be taken of its sections and declivity, and
the quantities of water which it contained in its different
states of fulness. But, unfortunately, the long-established
methods of measuring waters which were in force in Lom¬
bardy, made no account of the velocity ; and not all the en¬
treaties of Castelli, Grandi, and other moderns, could pre¬
vail on the visitors in this process to deviate from the esta¬
blished methods. We have therefore no minute accounts
of its velocity, though there are many rough estimates^ to
be met with in that valuable collection published at Ho-
200
RIVER.
Theory, rence in 1723, of the writings on the motion of rivers,
'"■“"'v"'"-’' From them we have extracted the only precise observations
which are to be found in the whole work.
Observa- The Po Grande receives no river from Stellata to the
tions on sea; ancj jts si0pe jn that interval is found most surprisingly
I k? ve}o- uniform, namely, six inches in the mile (reduced to English
p0f ° e measure). The breadth in its great freshes is 759 feet at
Lago Scuro, with a very uniform depth of thirty-one feet.
In its lowest state (in which it is called Po Magrd), its
breadth is not less than 700, and its depth about ten and a
half.
The Rheno has a uniform declivity from the Ponte Emi¬
lio to Yigarano of fifteen inches per mile. Its breadth in
its greatest freshes is 189 feet, and its depth nine.
Signor Corrade in his report says, that in the state of the
great freshes the velocity of the Rheno is most exactly
four fifths of that of the Po.
Grandi says, that, according to many observations of his
own, a great fresh in the Rheno employs twelve hours to
come from Ponte Emilio to Vigarano, which is thirty miles.
This is a velocity of forty-four inches per second. And, by
Corrade’s proportion, the velocity of the Po Grande must
be fifty-five inches per second.
Montanari’s observation gives the Po Magra a velocity
of thirty-one inches per second.
Let us compare these velocities with the velocities cal¬
culated by Du Buat’s formula.
The hydraulic mean depths d and D of the Rheno and
Po in the great freshes, deduced from the above measures,
are 98,6 and 344i inches; and their slopes s and S are 5^2^
and This will give
307 (YD — 0-1)
VS — L VS + 1-6
307 {Vd — OT)
V-s'—lvV+Tg
— 0’3 (VD — 0*1) = 52-176 inches, and
0*3 (yd—0-l) = 46‘728 inches.
These results differ very little from the velocities above
mentioned. And if the velocity corresponding to a depth
of thirty-one feet be deduced from that observed by Mon-
tanari in the Po Magra ten feet deep, on the supposition
that they are in the proportion of Vd, it will be found to be
about fifty-three and a half inches per second.
Highly to This comparison is therefore highly to the credit of the
the credit theory, and would have been very agreeable to Du Buat
° e e'had he known it, as we hope it is to our readers.
We have collected many accounts of water-pipes, and
made the comparisons, and we flatter ourselves that these
have enabled us to improve the theory. They shall ap¬
pear in their proper place ; and we may just observe here,
that the two-inch pipe, which we formerly spoke of as con¬
veying the water to Dunbar, should have yielded only 25|
Scotch pints per minute by the formula, instead of 27; a
small error.
We have, therefore, no hesitation in saying, that this
single formula of the uniform motion of water is one of the
most valuable presents which natural science and the arts
have received during the course of this century.
307
A table containing the values of —  7 ready
& Vs—LVs+1-6 J
calculated for every declivity that can occur in water-pipes,
canals, or rivers, is given in the article Water-works.
Aided by this, which supersedes the only difficult part of
the computation, a person can calculate the velocity for any
proposed case in less than five minutes.
We have now established in some measure a Theory of
Hydraulics, by exhibiting a general theorem which ex¬
presses the relation of the chief circumstances of all such
motions as have attained a state of permanency, in so far as
this depends on the magnitude, form, and slope of the chan- Theory,
nel. This permanency we have expressed by the term '"■""■'v'''—^
train, saying that the stream is in train.
We proceed to consider the subordinate circumstances
contained in this theorem; such as, 1st, The forms which
nature or art may give to the bed of a running stream, and
the manner of expressing this form in our theorem. 2d, The
gradations of the velocity, by which it decreases in the dif¬
ferent filaments, from the axis or most rapid filament to the
border; and the connection of this with the mean velocity^
which is expressed by our formula. 3d, Having acquired
some distinct notions of this, we shall be able to see the
manner in which undisturbed nature works in forming the
beds of our rivers, the forms which she affects, and which
we must imitate in all their local modifications, if we would
secure that permanency which is the evident aim of all her
operations. We shall here learn the mutual action of the
current and its bed, and the circumstances which insure
the stability of both. These we may call the regimen or the Regimen
conservation of the stream, and may say that it is in regimen, of streams,
or in conservation. This has a relation, not to the dimen-
sions and the slope alone, or to the accelerating force and
the resistance arising from mere inertia; it respects imme¬
diately the tenacity of the bed, and is different from the
train.
4th, These pieces of information will explain the devia¬
tion of rivers from the rectilineal course, the resistance oc¬
casioned by these deviations, and the circumstances on
which the regimen of a winding stream depends.
§ 1. Of the Forms of the Channel.
The numerator of the fraction which expresses the velo- The semi,
city of a river in train has Vd for one of its factors. That^cu^ar
form, therefore, is most favourable to the motion which gives favourable
the greatest value to what we have called the hydraulic t0 motjon
mean depth d. This is the prerogative of the semicircle,
and here d is equal to half the radius; and all other figures
of the same area are the more favourable, as they approach
nearer to a semicircle. This is the form, therefore, of ail
conduit-pipes, and should be taken for aqueducts which are
built of masonry. Ease and accuracy of execution, however,
have made engineers prefer a rectangular form ; but neither
of these will do for a channel formed out of the ground.
We shall soon see that the semicircle is incompatible with but incom-
a regimen; and if we proceed through the regular polygons, patible
we shall find that the half hexagon is the only one whichWlth
has any pretensions to a regimen ; yet experience shows us,men‘
that even its banks are too steep for almost any soil. A dry
earthen bank, not bound together by grass roots, will hardly
stand with a slope of forty-five degrees; and a canal which
conveys running waters will not stand with this slope.
Banks whose base is to their height as four to three will Ranks that
stand very well in moist soils, and this is a slope very usual-stand best-
ly given. This form is even affected in the spontaneous
operations of nature, in the channels which she digs for the
rills and rivulets in the higher and steeper grounds.
This form has some mathematical and mechanical pro¬
perties which entitle it to some further notice. Let ABEC
(fig. 12) be such a trapezium, and AHGC the rectangle
of equal width and depth. Bisect HB and EG by the ver¬
ticals FD and KI, and draw the verticals &B, eE. Because
AH : HB — 3:4, we have AB = 5, and BD — 2, and
FD = 3, and BD + DF = BA.
lows, that the trapezium ABEC
has the same area with the rect¬
angle FDIK ; for HB being bi¬
sected in D, the triangles AOF,
BOD are equal. Also the border
ABEC, which is touched by the
passing stream, is equal to FDIK.
From these premises it fol-
Fig. 12.
R I V E R.
201
Theory. Therefore the mean depth, which is the quotient of the
Y-~“'/area divided by the border, is the same in both ; and this is
the case, whatever is the width BE at the bottom, or even
though there be no rectangle such as 6BEe interposed be¬
tween the slant sides.
Best form Of all rectangles, that whose breadth is twice the height,
ot a chan- or which is half of a square, gives the greatest mean depth
nel If, therefore, FK be double of FD, the trapezium ABEC,
which has the same area, will have the largest mean depth
of any such trapezium, and will be the best form of a chan¬
nel for conveying running waters. In this case, we have
AC = 10, AH = 3, and BE = 2. Or we may say that the
best form is a trapezium, whose bottom width is f of the
depth, and whose extreme width is This form ap¬
proaches very near to that which the torrents in the hills
naturally dig for themselves in uniform ground, where their
action is not checked by stones which they lay bare, or
which they deposit in their course. This shows us, and it
will be fully confirmed by and by, that the channel of a
river is not a fortuitous thing, but has a relation to the con¬
sistency of the soil and velocity of the stream.
A rectangle, wdiose breadth is of the depth of water,
wall therefore have the same depth with a triangle whose
surface width is §• of its vertical depth ; for this is the di¬
mensions when the rectangle &BEe is taken away.
Let A be the area of the section of any channel, w its
width (when rectangular), and h its depth of water. Then
what we have called its mean depth, or d, will be — ^
1 ’ ’ 10 + 2/1
tv h
w -|-
width and real depth, we can determine the dimensions of Theory.
the bed, and we have w — q d + 2d, and h=. d —. Rules for
9 finding the
2. If we knew the area and mean depth, we can in like dimensions,
manner find the dimensions, that is, w and A ; for A — w h,
and d — — . ; therefore w — zt /— 2 A + ^
V 4<r °
w + 24 »J ~ “ 1 2d'
3. If d be known, and one of the dimensions be given,
w h . 2hd
+ 24 g-es «, =
w d
we can find the other; for rf
and 4 —
w—2 d
4. If the velocity V and the slope s for a river in mean
train be given, we can find the mean depth ; for Y — depth-
/ 307 \
(—  —- — 0*3j(a/£?—O’l). Whence we
\Y s — LYs + 1-6 /
V
LY s + 1-6
deduce Yd—OT ~ -
307
0-8,
Ys — hY s + L6)
and Yd — K.0 this quantity + 0T.
5. We can deduce the slope which will put in train slope,
a river whose channel has given dimensions. We make
307 {Yd — 0T)
A V + 0-3 (Yd—0T)
This should be = Ys
—j. Or if q expresses the ratio of the width to
w
the depth of a rectangular bed, that is, if ^ = —, we have
L Vs + 1*6, which we correct by trials, which will be ex¬
emplified when we apply these doctrines to practice.
Having thus established the relation between the different
circumstances of the form of the channel to our general
formula, we proceed to consider,
a very simple and ready expression for the mean depth,
w
either from the width or depth. Yor d — or d —
q + 2
Therefore, if the depth were infinite, and the width finite,
w
we should have e? = —; or if the width be infinite, and the
depth finite, we have d — h. And these are the limits of
the values of d; and therefore in rivers whose width is
always great in comparison of the depth, we may without
much error take their real depth for their hydraulic mean
Estimate depth. Hence we derive a rule of easy recollection, and
of the ex. which will at all times give us a very near estimate of
pense of a the velocity and expense of a running stream, viz. that
stream^ velocities are nearly as the square roots of the depths.
We find this confirmed by many experiments of Miche-
lotti.
Also, when we are allowed to suppose this ratio of the
velocities and depths, that is, in a rectangular canal of great
breadth and small depth, we shall have the quantities dis¬
charged nearly in the proportion of the cubes of the velo¬
cities. For the quantity discharged d is as the velocity and
area jointly, that is, as the height and velocity jointly, be¬
cause when the width is the same the area is as the height.
Therefore, we have d = h v. But, by the above remark,
4 == v*. Therefore, d = v3 ; and this is confirmed by the
experiments of Bossut, vol. ii. 236. Also, because d is as
v 4, when w is constant, and by the above remark (allow¬
able when w is very great in proportion to 4) v is as Yh,
we have d as hYh, or 42, or the squares of the dis¬
charges proportional to the cubes of the heights in rect¬
angular beds, and in their corresponding trapeziums.
I. Knowing the mean depth and the proportion of the
VOL. XIX.
§ 2. The Gradations of Velocity from the middle of the
Stream to the sides.
The knowledge of this is necessary for understanding
the regimen of a river; for it is the velocity of the fila¬
ments in contact with the bed which produces any change
in it, and occasions any preference of one to another in re¬
spect of regimen or stability. Did these circumstances not
operate, the water, true to the laws of hydraulics, and con¬
fined within the bounds which have been assigned them,
would neither enlarge nor diminish the area of the channel.
But this is all that we can promise of waters perfectly clear,
running in pipes or hewn channels. But rivers, brooks, and
smaller streams, carry along waters loaded with mud or
sand, which they deposit wherever their velocity is check¬
ed ; and they tear up, on the other hand, the materials of
the channel wherever their velocity is sufficiently great.
Nature, indeed, aims continually at an equilibrium, and
works without ceasing to perpetuate her own performances,
by establishing an equality of action and re-action, and pro¬
portioning the forms and direction of the motions to her
agents, and to local circumstances. Her work is slow but
unceasing; and what she cannot accomplish in a year she
will do in a century. The beds of our rivers have acquired
some stability, because they are the labour of ages; and it
is to time that we owe those deep and wide valleys which
receive and confine our rivers in channels, which are now
consolidated, and with slopes which have been gradually
moderated, so that they no longer either ravage our habi¬
tations or confound our boundaries. Art may imitate nature, Nature to
and, by directing her operations (which she still carries on be imitated
according to her own imprescriptible laws) according to ourin making
views, we can hasten her progress, and accomplish our pur-
pose, during jhe short period of human life. But we can
do this only by studying the unalterable laws of mechanism
These are presented to us bv spontaneous nature. Fre-
2 c
202
RIVER.
Theory, quently we remain ignorant of their foundation ; but it is
v ~ v^~***-^ not necessary for the prosperity of the subject that he ave
the talents of the senator; he can profit by the statute
without understanding its grounds. It is so in the present
instance. We have not as yet been able to infer the law
of retardation observed in the filaments of a running stream
from any sound mechanical principle. The problem, how¬
ever, does not appear beyond our powers, if we assume, with
Sir Isaac Newton, that the velocity of any particular fila¬
ment is the arithmetical mean between those of the fila¬
ments immediately adjoining. We may be assured, that
the filament in the axis of an inclined cylindrical tube, of
which the current is in train, moves the fastest, and that
all those in the same circumference round it are those which
glide along the pipe. We may affirm the same thing of the
motions in a semicylindrical inclined channel conveying an
open stream. But even in these we have not yet demon¬
strated the ratio between the extreme velocities, nor in the
different circles. This must be decided experimentally.
And here we are under great obligations to Du Buat.
He has compared the velocities in the axes of a prodi¬
gious number and variety of streams, differing in size,
form, slope, and velocity, and has computed in them all
the mean velocities, by measuring the quantities of water
discharged in a given time. His method of measuring
the bottom velocity was simple and just. He threw in
a gooseberry, as nearly as possible of the same specific
gravity with the water. It was carried along the bottom
almost without touching it.
Laws of He discovered the following laws : 1. In small velocities
the veloci- jpg velocity in the axis is to that at the bottom in a ratio
ties of dif- of considerable inequality. 2. This ratio diminishes as the
ferent por- velocity }ncreaseS5 an(l in very great velocities approaches
stream. to the ratio of equality. 3. What was most remarkable
was, that neither the magnitude of the channel, nor its slope,
had any influence in changing this proportion, while the
mean velocity remained the same. Nay, though the stream
ran on a channel covered with pebbles or coarse sand, no
difference worth noticing was to be observed from the velo¬
city over a polished channel. 4. And if the velocity in the
axis is constant, the velocity at the bottom is also constant,
and is not affected by the depth of water or magnitude of
the stream. In some experiments the depth was thrice
the width, and in others the width was thrice the depth.
This changed the proportion of the magnitude of the sec¬
tion to the magnitude of the rubbing part, but made no
change on the ratio of the velocities. This is a thing which
no theory could point out.
Mean ve- Another most important fact was also the result of his
.ocity, observation, viz. that the mean velocity in any pipe or open
stream is the arithmetical mean between the velocity in the
axis and the velocity at the sides of a pipe or bottom of an
open stream. We have already observed, that the ratio of
the velocity in the axis to the velocity at the bottom di¬
minished as the mean velocity increased. This variation
he was enabled to express in a very simple manner, so as
to be easily remembered, and to enable us to tell any one
of them by observing another.
If we take unity from the square root of the superficial ve¬
locity, expressed in inches, the square of the remainder is the
velocity at the bottom ; and the mean velocity is the half sum
of these two. Thus, if the velocity in the middle of the
stream be 25 inches per second, its square root is five;
from which if we take unity, there remains four. The
square of this, or 16, is the velocity at the bottom, and
25 + 16 . .
   , or 20^, is the mean velocity.
This is a very curious and most useful piece of informa¬
tion. The velocity in the middle of the stream is the Theory,
easiest measured of all, by any light small body floatingv v ~*1- '
down ; and the mean velocity is the one which regulates
the train, the discharge, the effect on machines, and all the
most important consequences.
We may express this by a formula of most easy re- fxp^efS8r_
collection. Let V be the mean velocity, v the velocity in^J^017"
the axis, and u the velocity at the bottom ; we have
u = (Vv — l)2, and Y = V .
Also v — (VV — J -f- ^)2, and v — (V*< + l)2.
V = (Vv— I)2 + i, and V = (Vu+%y +
u = (Vv — l)2, and u — (VV — ^ — £)2.
Also v — u = 2 V V — £ and v — Y, = V — u, =
VY — ^; that is, the difference between these velocities
increases in the ratio of the square roots of the mean velo¬
cities diminished by a small constant quantity.1
This may perhaps give the mathematicians some help in
ascertaining the law of degradation from the axis to the
sides. Thus, in a cylindrical pipe, we may conceive the
current as consisting of an infinite number of cylindrical
shells sliding within each other like the dravr-tubes of a
spy-glass. Each of these is in equilibrio, or as much acce¬
lerated by the one within if as it is retarded by the one
without; therefore, as the momentum of each diminishes in
the proportion of its diameter (the thickness being suppos¬
ed the same in all), the velocity of separation must increase
by a certain law from the sides to the axis. The magni¬
tude of the small constant quantity here spoken of seems to
fix this law.
The place of the mean velocity could not be discovered Place of
with any precision. In moderate velocities it was not more^0^yn
than one fourth or one fifth of the depth distant from the
bottom. In very great velocities it was sensibly higher, vered.
but never in the middle of the depth.
The knowledge of these three velocities is of great im¬
portance. The superficial velocity is easily observed, hence
the mean velocity is easily computed. This multiplied by
the section gives the expense; and if we also measure the
expanded border, and then obtain the hydraulic mean depth
(or Yd), we can, by the formula of uniform motion, deduce
the slope, or, knowing the slope, we can deduce any of the
other circumstances.
The following table of these three velocities will save the
trouble of calculation in one of the most frequent questions
of hydraulics.
Velocity in Inches.
Sur¬
face.
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
Bottom.
0-000
0-172
0-537
P
1- 526
2- 1
2- 709
3- 342
4-
4- 674
5- 369
6- 071
6- 786
7- 553
8- 254
Mean.
0-5
1-081
1- 768
2- 5
3- 263
4- 050
4- 854
5- 67
6- 5
7- 337
8- 184
9- 036
9-893
10- 756
11- 622
Velocity in Inches.
Sur¬
face.
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
Bottom.
9-
9-753
10- 463
11- 283
12- 055
12- 674
13- 616
14- 402
15- 194
16-
16-802
17- 606
18- 421
19- 228
20- 044
Mean.
12- 5
13- 376
14- 231
15- 141
16- 027
16- 837
17- 808
18- 701
19- 597
20- 5
21- 401
22- 303
23- 210
24- 114
25- 022
In these formulae, and in the following table, the velocities are understood to be expressed in I rench inches.
RIVER.
203
Theory.
Velocity in Inches.
Sur¬
face.
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
Bottom.
20- 857
21- 678
22- 506
23- 339
24- 167
25-
25- 827
26- 667
27- 51
28- 345
29- 192
30- 030
30- 880
31- 742
32- 581
33- 432
34- 293
35- 151
36-
36- 857
37- 712
38- 564
39- 438
40- 284
41- 165
42- 016
42- 968
43- 771
44- 636
45- 509
46- 376
47- 259
48- 136
49-
49-872
Mean.
25- 924
26- 839
27- 753
28- 660
29- 583
30- 5
31- 413
32- 338
33- 255
34- 172
35- 096
36- 015
36- 940
37- 871
38- 790
39- 716
40- 646
41- 570
42- 5
43- 428
44- 356
45- 282
46- 219
47- 142
48- 082
49- 008
49- 984
50- 886
51- 818
52- 754
53- 688
54- 629
55- 568
56- 5
57- 436
Velocity in Inches.
Sur¬
face.
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
90
100
Bottom.
50- 751
51- 639
52- 505
53- 392
54- 273
55- 145
56- 025
56- 862
57- 790
58- 687
59- 568
60- 451
61- 340
62- 209
63- 107
64-
64- 883
65- 780
66- 651
67- 568
68- 459
69- 339
70- 224
71- 132
72- 012
72- 915
73- 788
74- 719
75- 603
76- 51
77- 370
78- 305
79- 192
80- 120
81-
Mean.
58- 376
59- 319
60- 252
61- 196
62- 136
63- 072
64- 012
64- 932
65- 895
66- 843
67- 784
68- 725
69- 670
70- 605
71- 553
72- 5
73- 441
74- 390
75- 325
76- 284
77- 229
78- 169
79- 112
80- 066
81-006
81- 957
82- 894
83- 859
84- 801
85- 755
86- 685
87- 652
88- 596
89- 56
90- 5
The knowledge of the velocity at the bottom is of the
greatest use for enabling us to judge of the action of the
stream on its bed; and we shall now make some observa¬
tions on this particular.
Operation Every kind of soil has a certain velocity consistent with
of the the stability of the channel. A greater velocity would en-
on able the waters to tear it up, and a smaller velocity would
1 " e ’ permit the deposition of more moveable materials from
above. It is not enough, then, for the stability of a river,
that the accelerating forces are so adjusted to the size and
figure of its channel that the current may be in train : it
must also be in equilibrio with the tenacity of the channel.
We learn from observation, that a velocity of three inches
per second at the bottom will just begin to work upon fine
clay fit for pottery, and however firm and compact it may
be, it will tear it up. Yet no beds are more stable than
clay when the velocities do not exceed this: for the water
soon takes away the impalpable particles of the superficial
clay, leaving the particles of sand sticking by their lower
half in the rest of the clay, which they now protect, making a
very permanent bottom, if the stream does not bring down
gravel or coarse sand, which will rub off this very thin crust,
and allow another layer to be worn off. A velocity of six
inches will lift fine sand ; eight inches will lift sand as
coarse as linseed ; twelve inches will sweep along fine gra¬
vel ; twenty-four inches will roll along rounded pebbles an
inch diameter; and it requires three feet per second at the
bottom to sweep along shivery angular stones of the size of
an egg.
The manner in which unwearied nature carries on some Theory,
of these operations is curious, and deserves to be a little -v—
noticed. All must recollect the narrow ridges or wrinkles ^.°'Y car“
which are left on the sand by a temporary fresh or stream.ne on’
They are observed to lie across the stream, and each ridge
consists of a steep face AD, BF (fig. 13), which looks down
the stream, and a gentler slope DB, FC, which connects this
Fig. 13.
with the next ridge. As the stream comes over the first steep
AD, it is directed almost perpendicularly against the point E
immediately below D, and thus it gets hold of a particle of
coarse sand, which it could not have detached from the rest
had it been moving parallel to the surface of it. It easily
rolls it up the gentle slope EB; arrived there, the particle
tumbles over the ridge, and lies close at the bottom of it at
F, where it is protected by the little eddy, which is form¬
ed in the very angle; other particles lying about E are
treated in the same way, and, tumbling over the ridge B,
cover the first particle, and now protect it effectually from
any farther disturbance. The same operation is going on
at the bottom of each ridge. The brow or steep of the
ridge gradually advances down the stream, and the whole
set change their places, as represented by the line adbf;
and after a certain time the particle which was deposited in
F is found in an unprotected situation, as it was in E, and
it now makes another step down the stream.
The Abbe Bossut found, that when the velocity of the
stream was just sufficient for lifting the sand (and a small
excess hindered the operation altogether), a ridge advanced
about twenty feet in a day.
Since the current carries off the most moveable matters
of the channel, it leaves the bottom covered with the re¬
maining coarse sand, gravel, pebbles, and larger stones.
To these are added many which come down the stream
while it is more rapid, and also many which roll in from the
sides as the banks wear away. All these form a bottom
much more solid and immoveable than a bottom of the
medium soil would have been. But this does not always
maintain the channel in a permanent form, but frequently
occasions great changes, by obliging the current, in the
event of any sudden fresh or swell, to enlarge its bed, and
even to change it altogether, by working to the right and
to the left, since it cannot work downwards. It is gene¬
rally from such accumulation of gravel and pebbles in the
bottom of the bed that rivers change their channels.
It remains to ascertain, in absolute measures, the force
which a current really exerts in attempting to drag along
with it the materials of its channel; and which will pro¬
duce this effect unless resisted by the inertia of these ma¬
terials. It is therefore of practical importance to know
this force.
Nor is it abstruse or difficult. For when a current is in
train, the accelerating force is in equilibrio with the re¬
sistance, and is therefore its immediate measure. Now this
accelerating force is precisely equal to the weight of the
body of water in motion multiplied by the fraction which
expresses the slope. The mean depth being equal to the
quotient of the section divided by the border, the section
is equal to the product of the mean depth multiplied by the
border. Therefore, calling the border b, and the mean
depth d, we have the section = db. The body of water in
motion is therefore dbs (because s was the slant length of
a part wffiose difference of elevation is 1), and the accele-
204
RIVE R.
.Tn-Ury:. rating force is dbs X or db. But if we would only con-
• sider this resistance as corresponding to an unit of the
• length of the channel, we must divide the quantity db by s,
and the resistance is then ^ And if we would consider
'• the resistance only for an unit of the border, we must divide
this expression by b; and thus this resistance (taking an inch
• for the "unit) will be expressed for one square inch of the
bed by the weight of a bulk of water which has a square
inch for its base, and ^ for its height. And lastly, if E
be taken for any given superficial extent of the channel or
bed, and F the obstruction, which we consider as a sort of
^ Erf
friction, we shall have F — —»
s
Thus, let it be requited to determine in pounds the re¬
sistance or friction on a square yard of a channel whose
current is in train, which is ten feet wide, four feet deep,
and has a slope of one foot in a mile. Here E is nine feet.
Ten feet width and four feet depth give a section of forty
40
feet. The border is eighteen feet. Therefore rf = ~ _
2-2222, and s is 5280. Therefore the friction is the weight
of a column of water whose base is nine feet, and height
2.99£>2
■ or nearly 3^ ounces avoirdupois.
§ 3. Settlement of the Beds of Rivers.
Simplicity He who looks with a careless eye at a map of the world,
and wisdom is apt to consider the rivers which ramble over its surface
displayed in a ciiance.meciley disposition of the drainers which carry
ofrivers. off the watcrs- But it will afford a most agreeable object
to a considerate and contemplative mind to take it up in
this very sinrple light; and, having considered the many
ways in which the drenched surface might have been cleared
of the superfluous waters, to attend particularly to the very-
way which nature has followed. In pursuing the troubled
waters of a mountain torrent, or the pure streams which
trickle from their bases, till he sees them swallowed up in
the ocean, and in attending to the many varieties in their
motions, he will be delighted with observing how the simple
laws of mechanism are made so fruitful in good consequences,
both by modifying the motions ot the waters themselves,
and also by inducing new forms on the surface of the earth,
fitted for re-acting on the waters, and producing those very
modifications of their motions which render them so bene¬
ficial. The permanent beds of rivers are by no means for¬
tuitous gutters hastily scooped out by dashing torrents ; but
both they and the valleys through which they flow are the
patient but unceasing labours of nature, prompted by good¬
ness and directed by wisdom.
Whether we trace a river from the torrents which collect
the superfluous waters of heaven, or from the springs which
discharge what would otherwise be condemned to perpe¬
tual inactivity, each feeder is but a little rill, which could
not ramble far from its scanty source among growing plants
and absorbent earth, without being sucked up and evapo¬
rated, did it not meet with other rills in its course. When
united, they form a body of water still inconsiderable, but
much more able, by its bulk, to overcome the little obsta¬
cles to its motion ; and the rivulet then moves with greater
speed, as we have now learned. At the same time, the sur¬
face exposed to evaporation and absorption is diminished by
the union of the rills. Four equal rills have only the sur¬
face of two when united. Thus the portion which escapes
Theory
arrestment, and travels downward, is continually increas¬
ing. This is a happy adjustment to the other opeiations
of nature. Were it otherwise, the lower and more valu¬
able countries would be loaded with the passing waters in
addition to their own surplus rains, and the immediate
neighbourhood of the sea would be almost covered by the
drains of the interior countries. But, fortunately, those
passing waters occupy less room as they advance, and by
this wise employment of the most simple means, not only
are the superfluous waters drained off' from our fertile fields,
but the drains themselves become an useful part of the
country by their magnitude. They become the habitation
of a prodigious number of fishes, which share the Creator’s
bounty ; and they become the means of mutual communi¬
cation of all the blessings of cultivated society. The vague
ramblings of the rivers scatter them over the face of the
country, and bring them to every door. It is not even an
indifferent circumstance, that they gather strength to cut
out deep beds for themselves. By this means they cut
open many springs. Without this, the produce of a heavy
shower would make a swamp which would not dry up in
many days. And it must be observed, that the same heat
which is necessary for the vigorous growth of useful plants
will produce a very copious evaporation. This must return
in showers much too copious for immediate vegetation, and
the overplus would be destructive. Is it not pleasant to
contemplate this adjustment of the great operations of na¬
ture, so different from each other, that if chance alone di¬
rected the detail, it was almost an infinite odds that the
earth would be uninhabitable ?
But let us follow the waters in their operations, and note Their ef-
the face of the countries through which they flow. Attend-feet or, the
ing to the breadth, the depth, and the slope of the valleys,
we shall be convinced that their present situation is e*-which they
tremely different from what it was in ancient days; andpass>
that the valleys themselves are the works of the rivers, or
at least of waters which have descended from the heights,
loaded with all the lighter matters which they were able to
bring away with them. The rivers now flow in beds which
have a considerable permanency ; but this has been the
work of ages. This has given stability, both by filling up
and smoothing the valleys, and thus lessening the changing
causes, and also by hardening the beds themselves, which
are now covered with aquatic plants, and lined with the
stones, gravel, and coarser sand, out of which all the light¬
er matters have been washed away.
The surface of the high grounds is undergoing a conti¬
nual change ; and the ground on which we now walk is by
no means the same which was trodden by our remote an¬
cestors. The showers from heaven carry down into the
valleys, or sweep along by the torrents, a part of the soil
which covers the heights and steeps. The torrents carry
this soil into the brooks, these deliver part of it into the
great rivers, and these discharge this fertilizing fat of the
earth into the sea, where it is swallowed up, and for ever
lost for the purposes of vegetation. Thus the hillocks lose
of their height, the valleys are filled up, and the moun¬
tains are laid bare and show their naked precipices, which
formerly were covered over with flesh and skin, but now
look like the skeleton of this globe. The low countries,
raised and nourished for some time by the substance of the
high lands, will go in their turn to be buried in the ocean ;
and then the earth, reduced to a dreary flat, will become
an immense uninhabitable mass. This catastrophe is tar
distant, because this globe is in its youth, but it is not the
less certain; and the united labours of the human race
could not long protract the term.
But, in the mean time, we can trace a beneficent pur¬
pose, and a nice adjustment of seemingly remote circum¬
stances. The grounds near the sources of all our rivers
are indeed gradually stripped of their most fertile ingredi-
RIVER.
205
Benefi¬
cence dis-
produce.
Theory, ents. But had they retained them for ages, the sentient
inhabitants of the earth, or at least the nobler animals, with
man at their head, would not thence have derived much ad-
1 red in The general laws of nature produce changes in
the chan- our atmosphere which must ever render these great eleva-
gcs they tions unfruitful. That genial warmth, which is equally ne¬
cessary for the useful plant as for the animal which lives on
it, is confined to the lower grounds. The earth, which on
the top of Mount Haemus could only bring forth moss and
dittany, when brought into the gardens of Spalatro pro¬
duced pot-herbs so luxuriant, that Diocletian told his col¬
league Maximian that he had more pleasure in their culti¬
vation than the Roman empire could confer. Thus nature
not only provides us manure, but conveys it to our fields.
She even keeps it safe in store for us till it shall be want¬
ed. The tracts of country which are but newly inhabited
by man, such as great part of America, and the newly-dis¬
covered regions of Terra Australis, are still almost occupied
by marshes and lakes, or covered with impenetrable forests ;
and they would remain long enough in this state, if popu¬
lation, continually increasing, did not increase industry, and
multiply the hands of cultivators along with their necessi¬
ties. The Author of Nature was alone able to form the
huge ridges of the mountains, to model the hillocks and
the valleys, to mark out the courses of the great rivers, and
give the first trace to every rivulet; but has left to man
the task of draining his own habitation and the fields which
are to support him, because this is a task not beyond his
powers. It was therefore of immense advantage to him that
those parts of the globe into which he has not yet pene¬
trated should remain covered with lakes, marshes, and forests,
which keep in store the juice of the earth, which the in¬
fluence of the air and the vivifying warmth of the sun
wrould have expended long ere now in useless vegetation,
and which the rains of heaven would have swept into the
sea, had they not been thus protected by their situation or
their cover. It is therefore the business of man to open up
these mines of hoarded wealth, and to thank the Author of
all good, who has thus husbanded them for his use, and left
them as a rightful heritage for those of after days.
The earth had not in the remote ages, as in our day,
those great canals, those capacious voiders, always ready to
drain off the rain-waters (of which only part is absorbed by
the thirsty ground) and the pure waters of the springs
from the foot of the hills. The rivers did not then exist,
or were only torrents, whose waters, confined by the gulleys
and glens, are searching for a place to escape. Hence arise
those numerous lakes in the interior of great continents, of
which there are still remarkable relics in North America,
which in process of time will disappear, and become cham¬
paign countries. The most remote from the sea, unable to
contain its waters, finds an issue through some gorge of the
hills, and pours over its superfluous waters into a lower
basin, which, in its turn, discharges its contents into ano¬
ther, and the last of the chain delivers its waters by a river
into the ocean. The communication was originally begun
by a simple overflowing at the lowest part of the margin.
This made a torrent, which quickly deepened its bed ; and
this circumstance increasing its velocity, as we have seen,
would extend this deepening backward to the lake, and
draw off more of its waters. The work would go on rapid¬
ly at first, while earth and small stones only resisted the la¬
bours of nature; but these being washed away, and the
channel hollowed out to the firm rock on all sides, the ope¬
ration must go on very slowly, till the immense cascade
shall undermine what it cannot break off, and then a new
discharge will commence, and a quantity of flat ground will
emerge all round the lake. The torrent, in the mean time,
makes its way down the country, and digs a canal, which
may be called the first sketch of a river, which will deepen
and widen its bed continually. The water of several basins
Fisr. 14.
formed in
one inclin¬
ed plane.
united, and running together in a great body, will, accord- Theory,
ing to the principles which we have established, have a'^-^v^"'
much greater velocity, with the same slope, than those of the
lakes in the interior parts of the continent; and the sum of #
them all united in the basin next the sea, after having -
broken through its natural mound, will make a prodigious
torrent, which will dig for itself a bed so much the deeper
as it has more slope and a greater body of waters.
The formation of the first valleys, by cutting open many
springs which were formerly concealed under ground, will *.
add to the mass of running waters, and contribute to drain
off the waters of these basins. In course'of time many of
them will disappear, and flat valleys among thq mountains
and hills are the traces of their former existence.
When nature thus traces out the courses of future rivers,
it is to be expected that those streams will most deepen
their channels which in their approach to the sea receive
into their bed the greatest* quantities of rain and spring-
waters, and that towards the middle of the continent they
will deepen their channels'less. In these last situations
the natural slope of the fields causes the rain-water, rills,
and the little rivulets from the springs, to seek their ways
to the rivers. The ground can sink only by the flattening
of the hills and high grounds ; and this must proceed with
extreme slowness, because it is only the gentle though in¬
cessant work of the rains and springs. But the rivers, in¬
creasing in bulk and strength, and of necessity flowing over
every thing, form to themselves capacious beds in a more
yielding soil, and dig them even to the level of the ocean.
The beds of rivers by no means form themselves in one Beds of
inclined plane. If we should suppose a canal AB (fig. 14)rivers^not
perfectly straight and horizontal at
B, where it joins with the sea, this
canal would really be an inclined
channel of greater and greater slope
as it is farther from B. This is evi¬
dent ; because gravity is directed to¬
wards the centre of the earth, and the
angle CAB contained between the
channel and the plumb-line at A is
smaller than the similar angle CDB;
and consequently the inclination to the horizon is great¬
er in A than in D. Such a canal, therefore, would make
the bed of a river; and some have thought that this was
the real form of nature’s work; but the supposition is a
whim, and it is false. No river has a slope at all approach¬
ing to this. It would be eight inches declivity in the
mile next the ocean, twenty-four inches in the second
mile, forty inches in the third, and so on in the duplicate
ratio (for the whole elevation) of the distances from the
sea. Such a river would quickly tear up its bed in the
mountains (were there any grounds high enough to receive
it), and, except its first cascade, would soon acquire a more
gentle slope. But the fact is, and it is the result of the im¬
prescriptible laws of nature, that the continued track of a
river is a succession of inclined channels, whose slope dimi¬
nishes by steps as the river approaches to the sea. It is
not enough to say that this results from the natural slope
of the countries through which it flows, which we observe
to increase in declivity as we go to the interior parts of the
continent. Were it otherwise, the equilibrium at which
nature aims in all her operations would still produce the
gradual diminution of the slope of rivers. Without it they
could not be in a permanent train.
That we may more easily form a notion of the manner in How the
which the permanent course of a river is established, let us permanent
suppose a stream or rivulet s a (fig. 15) far up the country, c”urse. 0( a
makes its way through a soil perfectly uniform to the sea, [^Ush^dT
taking the course s a b c d ef, and receiving the permanent
additions of the stream g a, h b, i c, kd, l e, and that its ve¬
locity and slope in all its parts are so suited to the tenacity
206
Theory-
Fig. 15.
RIVER.
of the soil and magnitude of its section, that neither do its
waters during the annual freshes tear up its banks or deepen
its bed, nor do they bring down from the high lands mate¬
rials which they deposit in the channel in times of smaller
velocity. Such a river may be said to be in a 'permanent
state, to be in conservation, or to have stability. Let us call
this state of a river its regimen, denoting by the word the
proper adjustment of the velocity of the stream to the tena¬
city of the channel. The velocity of its regimen must be
the same throughout, because it is this which regulates its
action on the bottom, which is the same from its head to
the sea. That its bed may have stability, the mean velo¬
city of the current must be constant, notwithstanding the
inequality of discharge through its different sections by the
brooks which it receives in its course, and notwithstanding
the augmentation of its section as it approaches the sea.
On the other hand, it behoved this exact regimen to com¬
mence at the mouth of the river, by the working of the
whole body of the river, in concert with the waters of the
ocean, which always keep within the same limits, and make
the ultimate level invariable. This working will begin to
dig the bed, giving it as little breadth as possible : for this
working consists chiefly in the efforts of falls and rapid
streams, which arise of themselves in every channel which
has too much slope. The bottom deepens, and the sides
remain very steep, till they are undermined and crumbled
down ; and being then diluted in the water, they are car¬
ried down the stream and deposited where the ocean checks
its speed. The banks crumble down anew, the valley or hol¬
low forms ; but the section, always confined to its bottom,
cannot acquire a great breadth, and it retains a good deal of
the form of the trapezium formerly mentioned. In this man¬
ner does the regimen begin to be established from f to e.
With respect to the next part d e, the discharge or pro¬
duce is diminished by the want of the brook l e. It must
take a similar form, but its area will be diminished, in order
that its velocity may be the same ; and its mean depth d
being less than in the portion e/below, the slope must be
greater. Without these conditions we could not have the
uniform velocity, which the assumed permanency in an uni¬
form soil naturally supposes. Reasoning after the same man¬
ner for all the portions c d,b c, ab, s a, we ^ee that the regi¬
men will be successively established in them, and that the
slope necessary for this purpose will be greater as we ap¬
proach the river head. The vertical section or profile of the
course of the river s a b c d e f will therefore resemble the
line SABCDEF which is sketched above, having its dif¬
ferent parts variously inclined to the horizontal line HF.
This pm- Such is the process of nature to be observed in every
cess ot na- river on the surface of the globe. It long appeared a kind
lure of puzzle to the theorists; and it was this observation of the
increasing, or at least this continued velocity with smaller
slope, as the rivers increased by the addition of their tri¬
butary streams, which caused Guglielmini to have recourse
to his new principle, the energy of deep waters. We have
confirmed now seen in what this energy consists. It is only a greater
by ex- quantity of motion remaining in the middle of a great stream
ample. of water after a quantity has been retarded by the sides and
bottom; and we see clearly, that since the addition of a
new and perhaps an equal stream does not occupy a bed of Theorv.
double surface, the proportion of the retardations to the
remaining motion must continually diminish as a river in¬
creases by the addition of new streams. If therefore the
slope were not diminished, the regimen would be destroyed,
and the river would dig up its channel. We have a full
confirmation of this in the many works which have been
executed on the Po, which runs with rapidity through a
rich and yielding soil. About the year 1600 the waters of
the Panaro, a very considerable river, were added to the
Po Grande; and although it brings along with it in its
freshes a vast quantity of sand and mud, it has greatly deep¬
ened the whole Tronco di Venezia from the confluence to
the sea. This point was clearly ascertained by Manfredi
about the year 1720, when the inhabitants of the valleys ad¬
jacent were alarmed by the project of bringing in the wa¬
ters of the Rheno, which then ran through the Ferrarese.
Their fears were overcome, and the Po Grande continues
to deepen its channel every day, with a prodigious advan¬
tage to the navigations; and there are several extensive
marshes which now drain off by it, after having been for
ages under water: and it is to be particularly remarked,
that the Rheno is the foulest river in its freshes of any in
that country. We insert this remark, because it may be of
great practical utility, as pointing out a method of preserv¬
ing and even improving the depth of rivers or drains in flat
countries, which is not obvious, but rather appears impro¬
per ; but it is strictly conformable to a true theory, and to
the operations of nature, which never fails to adjust every¬
thing so as to bring about an equilibrium. Whatever the
declivity of the country may have been originally, the re¬
gimen begins to be settled at the mouths of the rivers, and
the slopes are diminished in succession as we recede from
the coast. The original slopes inland may have been much
greater; but they will (when busy nature has completed
her work) be left somewhat, and only so much greater, that
the velocity may be the same notwithstanding the diminu¬
tion of the section and mean depth.
Freshes will disturb this methodical progress relative Effects of
only to the successive permanent additions; but their ef-ireGhes-
fects chiefly accelerate the deepening of the bed, and the
diminution of the slope, by augmenting the velocity during
their continuance. But when the regimen of the perma¬
nent additions is once established, the freshes tend chiefly
to widen the bed, without greatly deepening it: for the
aquatic plants, which have been growing and thriving du¬
ring the peaceable state of the river, are now laid along,
but not swept away, by the freshes, and protect the bottom
from their attacks ; and the stones and gravel, which must
have been left bare in a course of years, working on the
soil, will also collect in the bottom, and greatly augment its
power of resistance; and even if the floods should have
deepened the bottom some small matter, some mud will be
deposited as the velocity of the freshes diminishes, and this
will remain till the next flood.
We have supposed the soil uniform throughout the whole
course ; this seldom happens ; therefore the circumstances
which insure permanency, or the regimen of a river, may
be very different in its different parts and in different rivers.
We may say in general, that the farther that the regimen
has advanced up the stream in any river, the more slowly
will it convey its waters to the sea.
There are some general circumstances in the motion cf
rivers which it will be proper to take notice of just now, that
they may not interrupt our more minute examination cf
their mechanism ; and their explanations will then occur of
themselves as corollaries of the propositions which we shall
endeavour to demonstrate.
In a valley of small width the river always occupies the
lowest part of it; and it is observed, that this is seldom in
the middle of the valley, and is nearest to that side on which
the slope from the higher grounds is steepest, and this with-
RIVER.
207
Theory, out regard to the line of its course. The river generally
'   ' adheres to the steepest hills, whether they advance into the
vallevs rf P^a'n or re^re from it. This general feature may be ob-
versadhere servec* over t^ie whole globe. It is divided into compart-
to the ments by great ranges of mountains; and it may be observ-
Eteepest ed, that the great rivers hold their course not very far from
hills. them, and that their chief feeders come from the other side.
In every compartment there is a swell of the low country
at a distance from the bounding ridge of mountains; and
on the summit of this swell the principal feeders of the great
river have their sources.
The name valley is given with less propriety to these im¬
mense regions, and is more applicable to tracts of cham¬
paign land which the eye can take in at one view. Even
here we may observe a resemblance. It is not always in
the very lowest part of this valley that the river has its bed :
although the waters of the river flow in a channel below its
immediate banks, these banks are frequently higher than
the grounds at the foot of the hills. This is very distinctly
seen in Lower Egypt, by means of the canals which are
carried backward from the Nile for accelerating its fertiliz¬
ing inundations. When the calishes are opened to admit
the waters, it is always observed that the districts most re-
o mote are the first covered, and it is several days before the
immediately adjoining fields partake of the blessing. This
is a consequence of that general opinion of nature by which
the valleys are formed. The river in its floods is loaded
with mud, which it retains as long as it rolls rapidly along
its limited bed, tumbling its waters over and over, and tak¬
ing up in every spot as much as it deposits : but as soon as
it overflows its banks, the very enlargement of its section
diminishes the velocity of the water ; and it may be observ¬
ed still running in the track of its bed with great velocity,
while the waters on each side are stagnant at a very small
distance: therefore the water, on getting over the banks, must
deposit the heaviest, the firmest, and even the greatest part
of its burden, and must become gradually clearer as it ap¬
proaches the hills. Thus a gentle slope is given to the val¬
ley in a direction which is the reverse of what one would
expect. It is, however, almost always the case in wide val¬
leys, especially if the great river comes through a soft coun¬
try. The banks of the brooks and ditches are observed to
be deeper as they approach the river, and the merely super¬
ficial drains run backwards from it.
The bed We have already observed that the enlargement of the
of rivers is bed of a river, in its approach to the sea, is not in propor-
nlarged tjon to increase 0f waters. This would be the case
even if the velocity continued the same; and, therefore,
since the velocity increases in consequence of the greater
energy of a large body of water, which we now understand
distinctly, a still smaller bed is sufficient for conveying all
the water to the sea.
the water This general law is broken, however, in the immediate
being neighbourhood of the sea; because in this situation the ve-
checked by ]ocity 0f the water is checked by the passing flood-tides of
cf^he 03 t^ie ocear1, wh°le waters must still be discharged,
ocean. they require a larger bed, and the enlargement will be
chiefly in width. The sand and mud are deposited when
the motion is retarded. The depth of the mouth of the
channel is therefore diminished. It must therefore become
wider. If this be done on a coast exposed to the force of
a regular tide, which carries the waters of the ocean across
the mouth of the river, this regular enlargement of the
mouth will be the only consequence, and it will generally
widen till it washes the foot of the adjoining hills; but if
there be no tide in the sea, or a tide which does not set
across the mouth of the river, the sands must be deposited
at the sides of the opening, and become additions to the
shore, lengthening the mouth of the channel. In this shel¬
tered situation, every trivial circumstance will cause the
river to work more on particular parts of the bottom, and
near the
sea
deepen the channel there. This keeps the mud suspended Tbeorv.
in such parts of the channel, and it is not deposited till the
stream has shot farther out into the sea. It is deposited
on the sides of those deeper parts of the channel, and in¬
creases the velocity in them, and thus still farther protracts
the deposition. Rivers so situated will not only lengthen
their channels, but will divide them, and produce islands at
their mouths. A bush, a tree torn up by the roots by a
mountain torrent, and floated down the stream, will thus
inevitably produce an island; and rivers in which this is
common will be continually shifting their mouths. The
Mississippi is a most remarkable instance of this. It has a
long course through a rich soil, and disembogues itself into
the bay of Mexico, in a place where there is no passing
tide, as may be seen by comparing the hours of high water
in different places. No river that we know carries down
its stream such numbers of rooted-up trees ; they frequently
interrupt the navigation, and render it always dangerous in
the night-time. This river is so beset with flats and shift¬
ing sands at its mouth, that the most experienced pilots are
puzzled ; and it has protruded its channel above fifty miles
in the short period that we have known it. The discharge
of the Danube is very similar : so is that of the Nile, for
it is discharged into a still corner of the Mediterranean. It
may now be said to have acquired considerable permanen¬
cy ; but much of this is owing to human industry, which
strips it as much as possible of its subsideable matter. The
Ganges, too, is in a situation pretty similar, and exhibits
similar phenomena. The Maragnon might be noticed as
an exception; but it is not an exception. It has flowed
very far in a level bed, and its waters come pretty clear to
Para; but, besides, there is a strong transverse tide, or ra¬
ther current, at its mouth, setting to the south-east both
during flood and ebb. The mouth of the Po is perhaps the
most remarkable of any on the surface of this globe, and
exhibits appearances extremely singular. Its discharge is
into a sequestered corner of the Adriatic. Though there
be a more remarkable tide in this gulf than in any part of
the Mediterranean, it is still but trifling, and it either sets
directly in upon the mouth of the river or retires straight
away from it. The river has many mouths, and they shift
prodigiously. There has been a general increase of the
land very remarkable. The marshes where Venice now
stands were in the Augustan age everywhere penetrable
by the fishing-boats, and in the fifth century could only
bear a few miserable huts; now they are covered with crowds
of stately buildings. Ravenna, situated on the southern¬
most mouth of the Po, was, in the Augustan age, at the
extremity of a swamp, and the road to it was along the top
of an artificial mound, made by Augustus at an immense
expense. It was, however, a fine city, containing extensive
docks, arsenals, and other massy buildings, being the great
military port of the empire, where Augustus laid up his
great ships of war. In the Gothic times it became almost
the capital of the western empire, and was the seat of go¬
vernment and of luxury. It must therefore be supposed
to have every accommodation of opulence, and we cannot
doubt of its having paved streets, wharfs, &c.; so that its
wealthy inhabitants were at least walking dryfooted from
house to house. But now it is an Italian mile from the
sea, and surrounded with vineyards and cultivated fields,
and is accessible in every direction. All this must have
been formed by depositions from the Po, flowing through
Lombardy loaded with the spoils of the Alps, which were
here arrested by the reeds and bulrushes of the marsh.
These things are in common course; but when wells are
dug, we come to the pavements of the ancient city, and
these pavements are all on one exact level, and they are
eight feet below the surface of the sea at low water. This
cannot be ascribed to the subsiding of the ancient city.
This would be irregular, and greatest among the hea
208
RIVE R
Theory.
buildings.
The tomb of Theodoric remains, and the pave¬
ment round it is on a level with all the others. The lower
story is always full of water ; so is the lower story of the
cathedral to the depth of three feet. The ornaments of both
these buildings leave no room to doubt that they were for¬
merly dry ; and such a building as the cathedral could not
sink without crumbling into pieces.
It is by no means easy to account for all this. The de¬
positions of the Po and other rivers must raise the ground;
and yet the rivers must still flow over all. We must con¬
clude that the surface of the Adriatic is by no means level,
and that it slopes like a river from the Lagoon of Venice
to the eastward. In all probability it even slopes consider¬
ably outwards from the shore. This will not hinder the al¬
ternations of ebb and flow tide, as will be shown in its proper
place. The whole shores of this gulf exhibit most uncom¬
mon appearances.
Rivers are The last general observation which we shall make in
convex place is, that the surface of a river is not flat, consider-
^'stream ec^ at^wart stream, but convex ; this is owing to its mo-
andStheam, t'on* Suppose a canal of stagnant water ; its surface would
cause of it. be a perfect level. But suppose it possible, by any means,
to give the middle waters a motion in the direction of its
length, they must drag along with them the waters imme¬
diately contiguous. These will move less swiftly, and will
in like manner drag the waters without them ; and thus the
water at the sides being abstracted, the depth must be less,
and the general surface must be convex across. The fact
in a running stream is similar to this; the side waters are
withheld by the sides, and every filament is moving more
slowly than the one next it towards the middle of the river,
but faster than the adjoining filament on the land side.
This alone must produce a convexity of surface. But be¬
sides this, it is demonstrable that the pressure of a running
stream is diminished by its motion, and the diminution is
proportional to the height which would produce the velocity
with which it is gliding past the adjoining filament. This
convexity must in all cases be very small. Few rivers have
the velocity nearly equal to eight feet per second, and this
requires a height of one foot only. An author quoted by
M. Buffon says, that he has observed on the river Aveiron
an elevation of three feet in the middle during floods; but
we suspect some error in the observation.
§ 4. Of the Windings of Rivers.
Winding Rivers are seldom straight in their course. Formed by
course of the hand of nature, they are accommodated to every change
rivers, how circurnstance. They wind around what they cannot get
forme . over> an(j work their way to either side according as the
resistance of the opposite bank makes a straight course
more difficult; and this seemingly fortuitous rambling dis¬
tributes them more uniformly over the surface of a country,
and makes them everywhere more at hand, to receive the
numberless rills and rivulets which collect the waters of our
springs and the superfluities of our showers, and to comfort
our habitations writh the many advantages which cultivation
and society can derive from their presence. In their feeble
beginnings the smallest inequality of slope or consistency
is enough to turn them aside and make them ramble through
every field, giving drink to our herds and fertility to our
soil. The more we follow nature into the minutiae of her
operations, the more must we admire the inexhaustible
fertility of her resources, and the simplicity of the means
by which she produces the most important and beneficial
effects. By thus twisting the course of our rivers into ten
thousand shapes, she keeps them long amidst our fields, and
thus compensates for the declivity of the surface, which
would otherwise tumble them with great rapidity into the
ocean, loaded with the best and richest of our soil. With¬
out this, the showers of heaven would have little influence
in supplying the waste of incessant evaporation. But as Theory,
things are, the rains are kept slowly trickling along the v—""'
sloping sides of our hills and steeps, winding round every
clod, nay, every plant, which lengthens their course, dimi¬
nishes their slope, checks their speed, and thus prevents
them from quickly brushing off from every part of the sur¬
face the lightest and best of the soil. The fattest of our
holm lands would be too steep, and the rivers would shoot
along through our finest meadows, hurrying every thing
away with them, and would be unfit for the purposes of in¬
land conveyance, if the inequalities of soil did not make
them change this headlong course for the more beautiful
meanders which we observe in the course of the small rivers
winding through our meadows. Those rivers are in gene¬
ral the straightest in their course which are the most rapid,
and which roll along the greatest bodies of water: such are
the Rhone, the Po, the Danube. The smaller rivers con¬
tinue more devious in their progress, till they approach the
sea, and have gathered strength from all their .tributary
streams.
Every thing aims at an equilibrium, and this directs even What na-
the rambling of rivers. It is of importance to understand ture left for
the relation between the force of a river and the resistance j,nan toPer*
which the soil opposes to those deviations from a rectilinealIorm’
course; for it may frequently happen that the general pro¬
cedure of nature may be inconsistent with our local pur¬
poses. Man was set down on this globe, and the task of
cultivating it was given him by nature, and his chief enjoy¬
ment seems to be to struggle with the elements. He must
not find things to his mind, but he must mould them to his
own fancy. Yet even this seeming anomaly is one of na¬
ture’s most beneficent laws; and his exertions must still
be made in conformity with the general train of the opera¬
tions of mechanical nature; and when we have any work
to undertake relative to the course of rivers, we must, be
careful not to thwart their general rules, otherwise we shall
sooner or later be punished for their infraction. Things
will be brought back to their former state, if our operations
are inconsistent with that equilibrium which is constantly
aimed at, or some new state of things which is equivalent
will soon be induced. If a well-regulated river has been
improperly deepened in some place to answer some parti¬
cular purpose of our own, or if its breadth has been impro¬
perly augmented, we shall soon see a deposition of mud
or sand choke up our fancied improvements; because, as
we have enlarged the section without increasing the slope
or the supply, the velocity must diminish, and floating
matters must be deposited.
It is true, we frequently see permanent channels where
the forms are extremely different from that which the
waters would dig for themselves in an uniform soil, and
which approaches a good deal to the trapezium described
formerly. We see a greater breadth frequently compen¬
sate for a want of depth ; but all such deviations are a sort
of constraint, or rather are indications of inequality of soil.
Such irregular forms are the works of nature; and if they
are permanent, the equilibrium is obtained. Commonly
the bottom is harder than the sides, consisting of the coarsest
of the sand and of gravel; and therefore the necessary sec¬
tion can be obtained only by increasing the width. We
are accustomed to attend chiefly to the appearances which
prognosticate mischief, and we interpret the appearances
of a permanent bed in the same way, and frequently form
very false judgments. When we see one bank low and
flat, and the other high and abrupt, we suppose that the
waters are passing along the first in peace, and with a gentle
stream, but that they are rapid on the other side, and are
tearing away the bank; but it is just the contrary. The
bed being permanent, things are in equilibrio, and each
bank is of a form just competent to that equilibrium. If
the soil on both sides be uniform, the stream is most rapid
RIVER.
Necessity
of attend¬
ing to na¬
ture in re¬
gulating
the course
of rivers.
Theory, on that side where the bank is low and flat, for in no other
"J’ Y ^ form would it withstand the action of the stream ; and it
has been worn away till its flatness compensates for the
greater force of the stream. The stream on the other side
must be more gentle, otherwise the bank could not remain
abrupt. In short, in a state of permanency, the velocity of
the stream and form of the bank are just suited to each
other. It is quite otherwise before the river has acquired
its proper regimen.
A careful consideration therefore of the general features
of rivers which have settled their regimen, is of use for in¬
forming us concerning their internal motions, and directing
us to the most effectual methods of regulating their course.
We have already said that perpendicular brims are in¬
consistent with stability. A semicircular section is the form
which would produce the quickest train of a river whose
expense and slope are given; but the banks at B and D
(fig. 16) would crumble in,
and lie at the bottom, where
their horizontal surface would
secure them from farther
change. The bed will ac¬
quire the form GcF, of equal
section, but greater width,
and with brims less shelving.
The proportion of the velocities at A and c may be the
same with that of the velocities at A and C ; but the velo¬
city at G and F will be less than it was formerly at B, C,
or D ; and the velocity in any intermediate point E, being
somewhat between those at F and c, must be less than it
was in any intermediate point of the semicircular bed. The
velocities will therefore decrease along the border from c
towards G and F, and the steepness of the border will aug¬
ment at the same time, till, in every point of the new bor¬
der GcF, these two circumstances will be so adjusted that
the necessary equilibrium is established.
The same thing must happen in our trapezium. The
slope of the brims may be exact, and will be retained; it
will, however, be too great anywhere below, where the
velocity is greater, and the sides will be worn away till the
banks are undermined and crumble down, and the river
will maintain its section by increasing its width. In short,
no border made up of straight lines is consistent with that
gradation of velocity which will take place whenever we de¬
part from a semicircular form. And we accordingly see,
that in all natural channels the section has a curvilineal
border, with the slope increasing gradually from the bottom
to the brim.
These observations will enable us to understand how
nature operates wdien the inequality of surface or of tena¬
city obliges the current to change its direction, and the
river forms an elbow.
Supposing always that the discharge continues the same,
and that the mean velocity is either preserved or restored,
the following conditions are necessary for a permanent
regimen.
J. 1 he depth of water must be greater in the elbow than
anywhere else.
2. The main stream, after having struck the concave
bank, must be reflected in an equal angle, and must then be
in the direction of the next reach of the river.
3. The angle of incidence must be proportioned to the
tenacity of the soil.
4. There must be in the elbow an increase of slopp, or of
head of water, capable of overcoming the resistance occa¬
sioned by the elbow.
I'he reasonableness, at least, of these conditions will ap¬
pear from the following considerations.
1. It is certain that force is expended in producino this
change of direction in a channel which by supposition di¬
minishes the current. The diminution arising from any
VOL. XIX.
209
Conditions
necessary
for a per¬
manent re¬
gimen.
Reason¬
ableness of
these con¬
ditions.
cause which can be compared with friction must be greater Theory,
when the stream is directed against one of the banks. It
may be very difficult to state the proportion, and it would
occupy too much of our time to attempt it; but it is suf¬
ficient that we be convinced that the retardation is greater
in this case. We see no cause to increase the mean velo¬
city in the elbow, and we must therefore conclude that it is
diminished. But we are supposing that the discharge con¬
tinues the same; the section must therefore augment, or the
channel increase its transverse dimensions. The only ques¬
tion is, In what manner it does this, and what change of
form does it affect, and what form is competent to the final
equilibrium and the consequent permanency of the bed ?
Here there is much room for conjecture. Du Buat reasons
as follows: If we suppose that the points B and C (fig 17)
Fig. 17.
Figr. 18.
continue on a level, and that the points H and I at the be¬
ginning of the next reach are also on a level, it is an in¬
evitable consequence that the slope along CMI must be
greater than along BEH, because the depression of H be¬
low B is equal to that of I below C, and BEH is longer than
CMI. Therefore the velocity along the convex bank CMI
must be greater than along BEH. There may even be a
stagnation and an eddy in the contrary direction along the
concave bank. Therefore, if the form of the section were
the same as up the stream, the sides could not stand on the
convex bank. When therefore the section has attained a
permanent form, and the banks are again in equilibrio with
the action of the current, the convex bank must be much
flatter than the concave. If the water is really still on the
concave bank, that bank will be absolutely perpendicular,
nay, may overhang. Accordingly, this state of things is
matter of daily observation, and justifies our
reasoning, and entitles us to say, that this
is the nature of the internal motion of the
filaments which we cannot distinctly ob¬
serve. The water moves most rapidly along
the convex bank, and the thread of the
stream is nearest to this side. Reasoning
in this way, the section, which we may suppose to have been
originally of the form M6 aE (fig 18), assumes the shape
MBAE. h
2. Without presuming to know the mechanism of the in¬
ternal motions of fluids, we know that superficial waves are
reflected precisely as if they were elastic bodies, making the
angles of incidence and reflection equal. In as far, there¬
fore, as the superficial wave is concerned in the operation, M.
de Buat s second position is just. The permanency of the
next reach requires that its axis shall be in the direction of
the line EP (fig. 17), which makes the angle GEP = FEN.
If the next reach has the direction EQ, MR, the wave re¬
flected in the line ES will work on the bank at S, and will be
2 D
\
210
RIVE R.
Theory, reflected in the line ST, and work again on the opposite bank
at T. We know that the effect of the superficial motion is
great, and that it is the principal agent in destroying the
banks of canals. So far therefore Du Buat is right. We
cannot say with any precision or confidence how the actions
of the under filaments are modified ; but we know no rea¬
son for not extending to the under filaments what appears
so probable with respect to the surface-water.
3. The third position is no less evident. We do not
know the mode of action of the water on the bank; but our
general notions on this subject, confirmed by common ex¬
perience, tell us that the more obliquely a stream of water
beats on any bank, the less it tends to undermine it or wash
it away. A stiff and cohesive soil therefore will suffer no
more from being almost perpendicularly buffeted by a stream
than a friable sand would suffer from water gliding along its
face. Du Buat thinks, from experience, that a clay bank
is not sensibly affected till the angle FEB is about thirty-
six degrees.
4. Since there are causes of retardation, and we still sup¬
pose that the discharge is kept up, and that the mean velo¬
city, which had been diminished by the enlargement of the
section, is again restored, we must grant that there is pro¬
vided, in the mechanism of these motions, an accelerating
force adequate to this effect. There can be no accelerat¬
ing force in an open stream but the superficial slope. In
the present case it is undoubtedly so; because by the deep¬
ening of the bottom where there is an elbow in the stream,
we have of necessity a counter slope. Now, all this head
of water, which must produce the augmentation of velocity
in that part of the stream which ranges round the convex
bank, will arise from the check which the water gets from
the concave bank. This occasions a gorge or swell up the
stream, enlarges a little the section at BYC; and this, by
the principle of uniform motion, will augment all the velo¬
cities, deepen the channel, and put every thing again into
its train as soon as the water gets into the next reach. The
water at the bottom of this basin has very little motion, but
it defends the bottom by this very circumstance.
Remarks Such are the notions which Du Buat entertains of this
cm these part of the mechanism of running waters. We cannot say
conditions, that they are very satisfactory, and they are very opposite
and the to 0pinj0ns commonly entertained on the subject. Most
them"8 °f Persons think that the motion is most rapid and turbulent
on the side of the concave bank, and that it is owing to this
that the bank is worn away till it has become perpendicular,
and that the opposite bank is flat, because it has not been
gnawed away in this manner. With respect to this general
view of the matter, these persons may be in the right; and
when a stream is turned into a crooked and yielding chan¬
nel for the first time, this is its manner of action. But Du
Buat’s aim is to investigate the circumstances which obtain
in the case of a regimen; and in this view he is undoubtedly
right as to the facts, though his mode of accounting for
these facts may be erroneous. And as this is the only use¬
ful view to be taken of the subject, it ought chiefly to be
attended to in all our attempts to procure stability to the bed
of a river, without the expensive helps of masonry, &c. It
we attempt to secure permanency by deepening on the in¬
side of the elbow, our bank will undoubtedly crumble
down, diminish the passage, and occasion a more violent
action on the hollow bank. The most effectual mean of
security is to enlarge the section; and if we do this on the
inside bank, we must do it by widening the stream very
much, that we may give a very sloping bank. Our atten¬
tion is commonly drawn to it when the hollow bank is giv¬
ing way, and with a view to stop the ravages of the stream.
Things are not now in a state of permanency, but nature
is working in her own way to bring it about. This may not
suit our purpose, and we must thwart her. The phenomena
which we then observe are frequently very unlike to those
described in the preceding paragraphs. We see a violent Theory,
tumbling motion in the stream towards the hollow bank,
We see an evident accumulation of water on that side, and
the point B is frequently higher than C. This regorging
of the water extends to some distance, and is of itself a
cause of greater velocity, and contributes, like a head of
stagnant water, to force the stream through the bend, and
to deepen the bottom. This is clearly the case when the
velocity is excessive, and the hollow bank able to abide the
shock. In this situation the water thus heaped up escapes
where it best can; and as the water obstructed by an ob¬
stacle put in its way escapes by the sides, and there has its
velocity increased, so here the water gorged up against the
hollow bank swells over towards the opposite side, and passes
round the convex bank with an increased velocity. It de¬
pends much on the adjustment between the velocity and
consequent accumulation, and the breadth of the stream and
the angle of the elbow, whether this augmentation of velo¬
city shall reach the convex bank; and we sometimes see the
motion very languid in that place, and even depositions ot
mud and sand are made there. The whole phenomena are
too complicated to be accurately described in general terms,
even in the case of perfect regimen: for this regimen is re¬
lative to the consistence of the channel; and when this is
very great, the motions may be most violent in every quar¬
ter. But the preceding observations are of importance,
because they relate to ordinary cases and to ordinary chan¬
nels.
It is evident from Du Buat’s second position, that the
proper form of an elbow depends on the breadth of the
stream as well as on the radius of curvature, and that every
angle of elbow will require a certain proportion between the
width of the river and the radius of the sweep. Du Buat
gives rules and formula: for all these purposes, and shows
that in one sweep there may be more than one reflection or
rebound. It is needless to enlarge on this matter of mere
geometrical discussion. It is with the view of enabling the
engineer to trace the windings of a river in such a manner
that there shall be no rebounds which shall direct the stream
against the sides, but preserve it always in the axis of every
reach. This is of consequence, even when the bends of
the river are to be secured by masonry or piling; for we
have seen the necessity of increasing the section, and the
tendency which the waters have to deepen the channel on
that side where the rebound is made. This tends to un¬
dermine our defences, and obliges us to give them deeper
and more solid foundations in such places. But any per¬
son accustomed to the use of the scale and compasses will
form to himself rules of practice equally sure and more ex¬
peditious than Du Buat’s formulae.
We proceed, therefore, to what is more to our purpose, Resistam-e
the consideration of the resistance caused by an elbow, and caused by
the methods of providing a force capable of overcoming it. an elbow,
We have already taken notice of the salutary consequences^^ e
arising from the rambling course of rivers, inasmuch as it comi
more effectually spreads them over the face of a country.
It is no less beneficial by diminishing their velocity. This
it does both by lengthening their course, which diminishes
the declivity, and by the very resistance which they meet
with at every bend. We derive the chief advantages from
our rivers when they no longer shoot their way from pre¬
cipice to precipice loaded with mud and sand, but peace¬
ably roll along their clear waters, purified during their gen¬
tler course, and offer themselves for all the purposes of pas¬
turage, agriculture, and navigation. The more a river winds
its way round the foot of the hills, the more is the resistance
of its bed multiplied; the more obstacles it meets with in
its way from its source to the sea, the more moderate is its
velocity; and instead of tearing up the very bowels of the
earth, and digging for itself a deep trough, along which it
sweeps rocks and rooted-up trees, it flows with majestic
RIVER.
211
Theory, pace even with the surface of our cultivated grounds, which
-v ' it embellishes and fertilizes.
We may with safety proceed on the supposition, that the
force necessary for overcoming the resistance arising from
a rebound is as the square of the velocity; and it is reason¬
able to suppose it proportional to the square of the sine
of the angle of incidence, and this for the reasons given
for adopting this measure of the general Resistance of
Fluids. It cannot, however, claim a greater confidence
here than in that application ; and it has been shown in that
article with what uncertainty and limitations it must be re¬
ceived. We leave it to our readers to adopt either this or
tbe simple ratio of the sines, and shall abide by the dupli¬
cate ratio with Du Buat, because it appears by his expe¬
riments that this law is very exactly observed in tubes in
inclinations not exceeding 40°; whereas it is in these small
angles that the application to the general resistance of fluids
is most in fault. But the correction is very simple if this
value shall be found erroneous. There can be no doubt that
the force necessary for overcoming the resistance will in¬
crease as the number of rebounds. Therefore we may express
ti sin.2 X
the resistance, in general, by the formula r —  —-—;
where r is the resistance, V the mean velocity of the stream,
sin. I the sine of the angle of incidence, n the number of equal
rebounds (that is, having equal angles of incidence), and m
is a number to be determined by experiment. Du Buat
made many experiments on the resistance occasioned by the
bendings of pipes, none of which differed from the result of
the above formula above one part in twelve; and he con¬
cludes, that the resistance to one bend may be estimated at
—^— The experiment was in this form. A pipe of one
inch diameter, and ten feet long, was formed with ten re¬
bounds of 36° each. A head of water was applied to it,
which gave the water a velocity of six feet per second.
Another pipe of the same diameter and length, but without
any bendings, was subjected to a pressure of a head of wa¬
ter, which was increased till the velocity of efflux was also
six feet per second. The additional head of water was 5^
inches. Another of the same diameter and length, having
one bend of 24° 34', and running eighty-five inches per se¬
cond, was compared with a straight pipe having the same
velocity, and the difference of the heads of water was of
an inch. A computation from these two experiments will give
V2 sin.2 I
the above result, or, in English measure, r — — ■ very
nearly. It is probable that this measure of the resistance is
too great; for the pipe was of uniform diameter even in the
bends: whereas, in a river properly formed, where the regi¬
men is exact, the capacity of the section of the bend is in¬
creased.
Theory ap- The application of this theory to inclined tubes and to
plied to ni-0pen streams is very obvious, and very legitimate and safe,
tubes and ^et ^ t^ie w^10^e height of the reservoir ABIK,
open and BC the horizontal length of a pipe, containing any
stiearns, number of rebounds, equal or unequal, but all regular, that
is, constructed according to the conditions formerly men¬
tioned. The whole head of
water should be conceived as Fig. 19.
performing, or as divided into ^
portions which perform, three
different offices. One portion,
V2
AD —impels the water in¬
to the entry of the pipe with the
velocity with which it really
moves in it; another portion 1
GB is in equilibrio with the
resistances arising from the mere length of the pipe ex~
panded into a straight line; and the third portion DE Theory,
serves to overcome the resistance of the bends. If, there- v'—“■
fore, we draw the horizontal line BC, and, taking the pipe
BC out of its place, put it in the position DH, with its
mouth C in H, so that DH is equal to BC, the water will
have the same velocity in it that it had before. For
greater simplicity of argument, we may suppose that when
the pipe was inserted at B, its bends lay all in a horizontal
plane, and that when it is inserted at D, the plane in which
all its bends lie slopes only in the direction DH, and is per¬
pendicular to the plane of the figure. We repeat it, the
water will have the same velocity in the pipes BC and DH,
and the resistances will be overcome. If we now prolong
tbe pipe DH towards L to any distance, repeating continu¬
ally the same bendings in a series of lengths, each equal to
DH, the motion will be continued with the velocity corre¬
sponding to the pressure of the column AD ; because the
declivity of the pipe is augmented in each length equal to
DH, by a quantity precisely sufficient for overcoming all the
resistances in that length; and the true slope in these cases
is BE + ED, divided by the expanded length of the pipe
BC or DH.
The analogy which we were enabled to establish between
the uniform motion or the train of pipes and of open streams,
entitles us now to say, that when a river has bendings,
which are regularly repeated at equal intervals, its slope is
compounded of the slope which is necessary for overcoming
the resistance of a straight channel of its whole expanded
length, agreeably to the formula for uniform motion, and of
the slope which is necessary for overcoming the resistance
arising from its bending alone.
Thus, let there be a river which, in the expanded course
of 6000 fathoms, has 10 elbows, each of which has 30° ot
rebound; and let its mean velocity be 20 inches in a se¬
cond. If we should learn its whole slope in this 6000 fa¬
thoms, we must first find (by the formula of uniform mo¬
tion) the slope s which will produce the velocity of 20
inches in a straight river of this length, section, and mean
depth. Suppose this to be or ^0 inches, in this whole
length. We must then find by the formula
» V2sin.21
3200
the
slope necessary for overcoming the resistance of ten re¬
bounds of 30° each. This we shall find to be 6f inches
in the 6000 fathoms. Therefore the river must have a
slope of 26-| inches in 6000 fathoms, or ye^oo ; and this
slope will produce the same velocity which 20 inches, or
3T6oo’ would do in a straight-running river of the same
length.
PART II. PRACTICAL INFERENCES.
Having thus established a theory of a most important Approxi-
part of hydraulics, which may be confided in as a just re-mation by
presentation of nature’s procedure, we shall apply it to thetrial ani1
examination of the chief results of every thing which art£°^lon
has contrived for limiting the operations of nature, or mo- mended to
difying them so as to suit our particular views. Trusting practicai
to the detail which we have given of the connecting prin- engineers,
ciples, and the chief circumstances which co-operate in
producing the ostensible effect; and supposing that such
of our readers as are interested in this subject will not
think it too much trouble to make the applications in the
same detail; we shall content ourselves with merely point¬
ing out the steps of the process, and showing their foun¬
dation in the theory itself; and frequently, in place of the
direct analysis which the theory enables us to employ for
the solution of the problems, we shall recommend a pro¬
cess of approximation by trial and correction, sufficiently
accurate, and more within the reach of practical engineers.
212
R I V E R.
Practical We are naturally led to consider in order the following
Inferences. articies<
" v ^ 1. The effects of permanent additions of every kind to
the waters of a river, and the most effectual methods of pre¬
venting or removing inundations.
2. The effects of weirs, bars, sluices, and keeps of every
kind, for raising the surface of a river ; and the similar ef¬
fects of bridges, piers, and every thing which contracts the
section of the stream.
3. The nature of canals ; how they differ from rivers in
respect of origin, discharge, and regimen, and what condi¬
tions are necessary for their most perfect construction.
4. Canals for draining land, and drafts or canals of deri¬
vation from the main stream. The principles of their con¬
struction, so that they may suit their intended purposes;
and the change which they produce on the main stream,
both above and below the point of derivation.
Of the Effects of Permanent Additions to the Waters of a
River.
Prob.ems
and exam¬
ples on the
effects of
permanent
additions
to the wa¬
ters of a ri-
ty
j
L Vs + T6
Instead of Vo?—0*1, put its equal
side of this equation, we easily get the value of s by a few
trials after the following manner : Suppose that the second
side is equal to any number, such as 9. First suppose that
Vs is == 9, whence s rr 81. Then the hyperbolic logarithm
of V81 + T6 or V82‘6 is 2*21. Therefore we have V s
— LVs + T6:=:9 — 2*21 = 6*79 ; whereas it should have
been = 9. Therefore say 6‘79 : 9 = 9 : 1 T9 nearly. Now
suppose that Vs is 11-9, whence s = 14T6. Then
L Vl4T6-j-T6 = L V 143^2z=2'482nearly, and 1 T9—2-482
= 9-408, whereas it should be 9. Now we find that changing
the value of Vs from 9 to 1 T9 has changed the answer from
6-79 to 9-408, or a change of 2-9 in our assumption has
made a change of 2-618 in the answer, and has left an error
of 0-408. Therefore say 2-618 : 0-408 = 2-9 : 0-452. Then
taking 0-452 from 1T9, we have, for our next assumption
or value of Vs, 1T448, whence s — 13T1. Now 13T1
+ T6 = 132-7, and L V132-7 = 2-444 nearly, and 1 T44S Practical
— 2-444 zr 9-004 in place of 9, whence it is inferred that. er^nct^
this last value of Vs IT 448 is sufficiently exact. This
may serve as a specimen of the trials by which we may
avoid an intricate analysis.
Prob. II. Given the discharge D, the slope s, and the
velocity V, of permanent regimen, to find the dimensions
of the bed.
Let x be the width and y the depth of the channel, and
S the area of the section.
This must be = which is
therefore = xy. The denominator s being given, we may
make Vs — L Vs + T6 =z ,y/B> and the formula of mean
_ 297 (Vrf—0-1)
From what has already been said, it appears that to every
kind of soil or bed there corresponds a certain velocity of
current, too small to hurt it by digging it up, and too great
to allow the deposition of the materials which it is carrying
along. Supposing this known for any particular situation, and
the quantity of water which the channel must of necessity
discharge, we may wish to learn the smallest slope which
must be given to this stream, that the waters may run with
the required velocity. This suggests,
Prob. I.1 Given the discharge D of a river, and V its ve¬
locity of regimen : required the smallest slope s, and the
dimensions of its bed.
Since the slope must be the smallest possible, the bed
must have the form which will give the greatest mean
depth d, and should therefore be the trapezium formerly
described; and its area and perimeter are the same with
those of a rectangle whose breadth is twice its height h.
These circumstances gives us the equation ^ = 2/r\ For
the area of the section is twice the square of the height,
and the discharge is the product of this area and the veloci-
Therefore ^ = h and = the breadth h.
The formula of uniform motion gives Vs
297 (W—0-1)
“ V + 0-3 (Vo?— 0-1)
0-1, and every thing being known in the second
velocity will give V —
which we may express thus: V =
which gives ^
0-3 (Vrf—0-1),
297
=(Vd—0*1); and, finally,
V
297
— 0-3
297
 i n-3
yn Ud y'B
-f- 0-1 —Vd-
Having thus obtained what we call the mean depth, -we
may suppose the section rectangular. This gives d=
xy
x + 2/
Thus wre have two equations, § — xy and d —
xy
From which we obtain
2S + 7
x + 2/
S
2(7"
And
S
having the breadth x and area S, we have y — -. And then
we may change this for the trapezium often mentioned.
These are the chief problems on this part of the subject,
and they enable us to adjust the slope and channel of a
river which receives any number of successive permanent
additions by the influx of other streams. This last informs
us of the rise which a new supply will produce, because the
additional supply will require additional dimensions of the
channel; and as this is not supposed to increase in breadth,
the addition will be in depth. The question may be pro¬
posed in the following problem.
Prob. III. Given the slope 5, the depth and the base of
a rectangular bed (or a trapezium), and consequently the
discharge D, to find how much the section will rise if the
discharge be augmented by a given quantity.
Let h be the height after the augmentation, and w the
width for the rectangular bed. We have in any uniform
y
current \/d—  h 0-1. Raising this to a square,
297
f/B
— 0-3
and putting for d and V their values
297
wh
makin
& VB
D
w 2h
0-3 = K, the equation becomes
^ D
andrf
and
wh
w -J- 2h
0-1^ . Raising the second member to a square,
(wAK
and reducing, we obtain a cubic equation, to be solved in
the usual manner.
But the solution would be extremely complicated. We
may obtain a very expeditious and exact approximation
from this consideration, that a small change in one of the
dimensions of the section will produce a much greater
change in the section and the discharge than in the mean
1 In these problems and examples the measures are expressed in French inches,
used in place of 297-
For English inches the co-efficient 307 must be
RIVER.
213
Practical depth d. Having therefore augmented the unknown
Inferences, dimension, which is here the height, make use of this to
-v'—' form a new mean depth, and then the new equation
^ q- 01 will give us another value of A,
w h
a-™)
which will rarely exceed the truth by This serves (by
the same process) for finding another, which will common¬
ly be sufficiently exact. We shall illustrate this by an ex¬
ample.
Let there be a river whose channel is a rectangle 150
feet wide and six feet deep, and which discharges 1500
cubic feet of water per second, having a velocity of twen¬
ty inches, and slope of or about vi an
100 fathoms. How much will it rise if it receives an ad¬
dition which triples its discharge ? and what will be its ve¬
locity ?
If the velocity remained the same, its depth would be
tripled ; but we know by the general formula that its velo¬
city will be greatly increased, and therefore its depth will
not be tripled. Suppose it to be doubled, and to become
twelve feet. This will give d— 10‘344<83, or 124T38
inches ; then the equation Vd—011 —
w h
a-™)
n —-
D
(^_o,)(- o,y
and
V'B
in which we have
<297
y/B — 107-8, D = 4500 X 1728 = 7776000 cubic inches,
iv — 1800 inches, —0-1 = 11-0417, will give A = 159-33
inches or 13-276 feet; whereas it should have been 12. This
shows that our calculated value of d was too small. Let us
therefore increase the depth by 0-9, or make it 12-9, and re¬
peat the calculation. This will give us a/d— 0-1 = 11-3927,
and h =z 12-867, instead of 13-276. Therefore, augment¬
ing our data, 0-9 changes our answer 0-409. If we sup¬
pose these small changes to retain their proportions, we
may conclude that if 12 be augmented by the quantity
x X 0-9, the quantity 13-276 will diminish by the quantity
x X 6*409. Therefore, that the estimated value ol h may
agree with the one which results from the calculation, we
must have 12 + a; X 0-9 = 13-276 — a; X 0-409. This
will give a;=^| = 0-9748; and a; X 0-9 = 0-8773;
and A = 12-8773. If we repeat the calculation with this
value of A, we shall find no change.
This value of A gives d — 131-8836 inches. If we now
compute the new velocity by dividing the new discharge
4500 by the new area 150 x 12-8773, we shall find it to be
27*95 inches, in place of 20, the former velocity.
We might have made a pretty exact first assumption,
by recollecting what was formerly observed, that when the
breadth is very great in proportion to the depth, the mean
depth differs insensibly from the real depth, or rather fol¬
lows nearly the same proportions, and that the velocities
are proportional to the square roots of the depths. Call
the first discharge d, the height A, and velocity v, and let
D, H, and V, express these things in their augmented
d , ,r D . D
state. We have v = —^and V =—q, and v : V = T: 7^,
iv ti w 11 ti i i
d2 D2
andv2: V2=^-: jp.
But by this remark v2: V2 = A : H.
,72 /.ns Hd'2
Therefore A: H g-2, and^-=^-, andA3D2 = H3^,
A3D2
and <i2 : D2 = A3 : H3 (a useful theorem), and H3 =
d*
and H
3/A3D2 _
v
12-48.
Or we might have made the same assumption by the re- Practical
mark also formerly made on this case, that the squares of Liferences.
the discharges are nearly as the cubes of the heights, or Y "~
15002 : 45 002 = 63: 12-483.
And in making these first guesses, we shall do it more
exactly, by recollecting that a certain variation of the mean
depth d requires a greater variation of the height, and the
increment will be to the height nearly as halt the height
to the width, as may easily be seen. Therefore, if we add
6-24
to 12-48 its-y^yth part, or its 24th part, viz. 0-52, we have
13 for our first assumption, exceeding the truth only an
inch and a half. We mention these circumstances, that
those who are disposed to apply these doctrines to the so¬
lution of practical cases may be at no loss when one oc¬
curs of which the regular solution requires an intricate
analysis.
It is evident that the inverse of the foregoing problems The in¬
will show the effects of enlarging the section of a river, verse of
that is, will show how much its surface will be sunk by any the pro-
proposed enlargement of its bed. It is therefore needless ^
to propose such problems in this place. Common sense eg-ects 0f
directs us to make these enlargements in those parts of the erliarg;ng
river w here their effect will be greatest, that is, where it is the section
shallowest when its breadth greatly exceeds its depth, oroftheriver,
where it is narrowest (if its depth exceed the breadth,
which is a very rare case), or, in general, where the slope is
the smallest for a short run.
The same general principles direct us in the method of and directs
embankments for the prevention of floods, by enabling ususin the
to ascertain the heights necessary to be given to our banks. of
This will evidently depend, not only on the additional ments<
quantity of water which experience tells us a river brings
down during its freshes, but also on the distance at w'hich
we place the banks from the natural banks of the river.
This is a point where mistaken economy frequently defeats
its own purpose. If we raise our embankment at some
distance from the natural banks of the river, not only will
a smaller height suffice, and consequently a smaller base,
w hich will make a saving in the duplicate proportion of the
height; but our works will be so much the more durable
nearly, if not exactly, in the same proportion. For by thus
enlarging the additional bed which we give to the swollen
river, we diminish its velocity almost in the same pro¬
portion that we enlarge its channel, and thus diminish its
power of ruining our works. Except, therefore, in the case
of a river whose freshes are loaded with fine sand to destroy
the turf, it is always proper to place the embankment at a
considerable distance from the natural banks. Placing them
at half the breadth of the stream from its natural banks,
will nearly double its channel ; and, except in the case
here mentioned, the space now detached from our fields
will afford excellent pasture.
The limits of such a work as ours will not permit us to
enter into any detail on the method of embankment. It
would require a volume to give instructions as to the man¬
ner of founding, raising, and securing the dikes which
must be raised, and a thousand circumstances which must
be attended to. But a few general observations may be
made, which naturally occur while we are considering the
manner in which a river works in settling or altering its
channel.
It must be remarked, in the first place, that the river
will rise higher when embanked than it does while it was
allowed to spread; and it is by that means easy to con¬
clude to what height it will rise from the greatest height to
which it has been observed to rise in its floods. When at
liberty to expand over a wide valley, then it could only
rise till it overflowed with a thickness or depth of water
sufficient to produce a motion backwards into the valley
214 RIVER.
Practical quick enough to take off the water as fast as it was sup-
Inferences.p]iecl . and we imagine that a foot or two would suffice in
 ' most cases. The best way for a prudent engineer will be
to observe the utmost rise remembered by the neighbours
in some gorge, where the river cannot spread out. Mea¬
sure the increased section in this place, and at the same
time recollect that the water increases in a much greater
proportion than the section; because an increase of the
hydraulic mean depth produces an increase of velocity in
nearly the duplicate proportion of the depth. But as this
augmentation of velocity will also obtain between the em¬
bankments, it will be sufficiently exact to suppose that the
section must here be increased nearly in the same propor¬
tion as at the gorge already mentioned. Neglecting this
method of information, and regulating the height of our
embankments by the greatest swell that has been observed
in the plain, will assuredly make them too low, and render
them totally useless.
A line of embankment should always be carried on by
a strict concert of the proprietors of both banks through
its whole extent. A greedy proprietor, by advancing his
own embankment beyond that of his neighbours, not only
exposes himself to risk by the working of the waters on
the angles which this will produce, but exposes his neigh¬
bours also to danger, by narrowing the section, and there¬
by raising the surface and increasing the velocity, and by
turning the stream athwart, and causing it to shoot against
the opposite bank. The whole should be as much as pos¬
sible in a line ; and the general effect should be to make
the course of the stream straighter than it was before. All
bends should be made more gentle, by keeping the em¬
bankment farther from the river in all convex lines of the
natural bank, and bringing it nearer where the bank is con¬
cave. This will greatly diminish the action of the waters
on the embankment, and insure their duration. The same
maxim must be followed in fencing any brook which dis¬
charges itself into the river. The bends given at its mouth
to the two lines of embankment should be made less acute
than those of the natural brook, although by this means two
points of land are left out. And the opportunity should be
embraced of making the direction of this transverse brook
more sloping than before, that is, less athwart the direction
of the river.
It is of great consequence to cover the outside of the
dike with very compact turf closely united. If it admit
water, the interior part of the wall, which is always more
porous, becomes drenched in water, and this water acts with
its statical pressure, tending to burst the bank on the land
side, and will quickly shift it from its seat. The utmost
care should therefore be taken to make it and keep it per¬
fectly tight. It should be a continued fine turf, and every
bare spot should be carefully covered with fresh sod and
rat-holes must be carefully closed up.
Of Straighting or Changing the Course of Rivers.
Of the We have seen that every bending of a river requires an
slope re- additional slope in order to continue its train, or enable it
quired at to convey the same quantity of water without swelling in
the bend of bech The effect of taking away any of these bends must
the'conse” to ^le waters of the river. It is proper, therefore,
quences. t0 have it in our power to estimate these effects. It may
be desirable to gain property by taking away the sweeps
of a very winding stream; but this may be prejudicial, by
destroying the navigation on such a river. It may also
hurt the proprietors below, by increasing the velocity of the
stream, which will expose them to the risk of its overflowing,
or of its destroying its bed, and taking a new course. Or this
increase of velocity may be inconsistent with the regimen of
the new channel, or at least require larger dimensions than
we should have given it if ignorant of this effect.
Our principles of uniform motion enable us to answer
every question of this kind which can occur; and Du Practical
Boat proposes several problems to this effect. The regu- Inferences,
lar solutions of them are complicated and difficult; and we ^ J v ^
do not think them necessary in this place, because they may
all be solved in a manner not indeed so elegant, because
indirect, but abundantly accurate, and easy to any person
familiar with those which we have already considered.
We can take the exact level across all these sweeps, and
thus obtain the whole slope. We can measure with accu¬
racy the velocity in some part of the channel which is most
remote from any bend, and where the channel itself has
the greatest regularity of form. This will give us the ex¬
pense or discharge of the river, and the mean depth con¬
nected with it. We can then examine whether this velo¬
city is precisely such as is compatible with stability in the
straight course. If it is, it is evident that if we cut off the
bends, the greater slope which this will produce will com¬
municate to the waters a velocity incompatible with the
regimen suited to this soil, unless we enlarge the width of
the stream, that is, unless we make the new channel more
capacious than the old one. We must now calculate the
dimensions of the channel which, with this increased slope,
will conduct the waters with the velocity that is necessary.
All this may be done by the foregoing problems ; and we
may accomplish this most easily by steps. First, suppose the
bed the same with the old one, and calculate the velocity
for the increased slope by the general formula. Then
change one of the dimensions of the channel, so as to pro¬
duce the velocity we want, which is a very simple process.
And in doing this, the object to be kept chiefly in view is
not to make the new velocity such as will be incompatible
with the stability of the new bed.
Having accomplished this first purpose, we learn, in the
very solution, how much shallower this channel with its
greater slope will be than the former, while it discharges
all the waters. This diminution of depth must increase
the slope and the velocity, and must diminish the depth of
the river above the place where the alteration is to be made.
How far it produces these effects may be calculated by the
general formula. We then see whether the navigation will
be hurt, either in the old river up the stream, or in the new
channel. It is plain that all these points cannot be recon¬
ciled. We may make the new channel such, that it shall
leave a velocity compatible with stability, and that it shall
not diminish the depth of the river up the stream. But
having a greater slope, it must have a smaller mean depth,
and also a smaller real depth, unless we make it of a very
inconvenient form.
The same things viewed in a different light, will show us
what depression of waters may be produced by rectifying
the course of a river in order to prevent its overflowing.
And the process which we would recommend is the same
with the foregoing. We apprehend it to be quite needless
to measure the angles of rebound, in order to compute the
slope which is employed for sending the river through the
bend, with a view to supersede this by straighting the river.
It is infinitely easier and more exact to measure the levels
themselves, and then we know the effect of removing them.
Nor need we follow Du Buat in solving problems for
diminishing the slope and velocity, and deepening the chan¬
nel of a river by bending its course. The expense of this
would in every case be enormous; and the practices which
we are about to discuss afford infinitely easier methods of
accomplishing all the purposes which are to be gained by
these changes.
Of Bars, Weirs, and Jetties, for raising the Surface of
Rivers.
We propose, under the article Water-works, to con¬
sider in sufficient practical detail all that relates to the
construction and mechanism of these and other erections
RIVER.
215
Practical in water; and we confine ourselves, in this place, to the
Inferences. mere effect which they will produce on the current of the
river.
Problems, We gave the name of weir or bar to a dam erected across
examples, a river for the purpose of raising its waters, whether in or-
and conse- jgj. take 0gp a ,jraft for a or to deepen the channel.
raisimTthe before we can tell the effect which they will produce, we
surface of nmst have a general rule for ascertaining the relation be-
rivers. tween the height of the water above the lip of the weir or
bar, and the quantity of water which will flow over.
First, then, with respect to a weir, represented in fig. 20
and fig. 21. The latter figure more resembles their usual
Fig. 20. Fig. 21.
form, consisting of a dam of solid masonry, or built of tim¬
ber, properly fortified with shears and banks. On the top
is set up a strong plank FR, called the wasteboard or waster,
over which the water flows. This is brought to an accu¬
rate level, of the proper height. Such voiders are fre¬
quently made in the side of a mill-course, for letting the
superfluous water run off1. This is properly the waster, or
voider : it is also called an offset. The same observa¬
tions will explain all these different pieces of practice. The
following questions occur in course.
Prob. I. Given the length of an offset or wasteboard
made in the face of a reservoir of stagnant water, and the
depth of its lip under the horizontal surface of the water,
to determine the discharge, or the quantity of water which
will run over, in a second.
Let AB be the horizontal surface of the still water, and
F the lip of the wasteboard. Call the depth Bh under the
surface h, and the length of the wasteboard l. The water
is supposed to flow over into another basin or channel, so
much lower that the surface HL of the water is lower, or
at least not higher, than F.
If the water could be supported at the height BF, BF
might be considered as an orifice in the side of a vessel.
In this case, the discharge would be the same as if the
whole water were flowing with the velocity acquired from
the height fBF, or %h. And if we suppose that there is
no contraction at the orifice, the mean velocity would be
V2^, = V772x|/«, in English inches, per second. The
area of this orifice is Ih. Therefore the discharge would
be Hi Vl72x^h, all being measured in inches. This is the
usual theory ; but it is not an exact representation of the
manner in which the efflux really happens. The water
cannot remain at the height BF; but in drawing towards
the wasteboard from all sides it forms a convex surface
AIH, so that the point I, where the vertical drawn from
the edge of the wasteboard meets the curve, is considerably
lower than B. But as all the mass above F is supposed
perfectly fluid, the pressure of the incumbent water is pro¬
pagated, in the opinion of Du Buat, to the filament pass¬
ing over at F without any diminution. The same may be
said of any filament between F and I. Each tends, there¬
fore, to move in the same manner as if it were really impel¬
led through an orifice in its place. Therefore the motions
through every part of the line or plane IF are the same
as if the water were escaping through an orifice IF, made
by a sluice let down on the water, and keeping up the wa¬
ter of the reservoir to the level AB. It is beyond a doubt,
says he, that the height IF must depend on the whole
height BF, and that there must be a certain determined Practical
proportion between them. He does not attempt to deter- Inferences,
mine this proportion theoretically, but says that his expe-
riments ascertain it with great precision to be the propor¬
tion of one to two, or that IF is always one half of BF. He
says, however, that this determination was not by an imme¬
diate and direct measurement; he concluded it from the
comparison of the quantities of water discharged under dif¬
ferent heights of the water in the reservoir.
We cannot help thinking that this reasoning is very de¬
fective in several particulars. It cannot be inferred, from
the laws of hydrostatical pressure, that the filament at I is
pressed forward with all the weight of the column BI. The
particle I is really at the surface; and considering it as mak¬
ing part of the surface of a running stream, it is subjected
to hardly any pressure, any more than the particles on the
surface of a cup of water held in the hand, while it is carried
round the axis of the earth and round the sun. Reasoning
according to his own principles, and availing himself of his
own discovery, he should have said that the particle at I has
an accelerating force depending on its slope only ; and then
he should have endeavoured to ascertain this slope. The mo¬
tion of the particle at I has no immediate connection with the
pressure of the column BI; and if it had, the motion would be
extremely different from what it is; for this pressure alone
would give it the velocity which Du Buat assigns it. Now it
is already passing through tne point I with the velocity which
it has acquired in descending along the curve AI; and this
is the real state of the case. The particles are passing
through with a velocity already acquired by a sloping cur¬
rent ; and they are accelerated by the hydrostatical pressure
of the water above them. The internal mechanism of these
motions is infinitely more complex than Du Buat here sup¬
poses ; and on this supposition, he very nearly abandons the
theory which he has so ingeniously established, and adopts
the theory of Guglielmini, which he had exploded. At the
same time, we think that he is not much mistaken when he
asserts that the motions are nearly the same as if a sluice
had been let down from the surface to I. For the filament
which passes at I has been gliding down a curved surface,
and has not been exposed to any friction. It is perhaps
the very case of hydraulics where the obstructions are the
smallest; and we should therefore expect that its motion
will be least retarded.
We have therefore no hesitation in saying, that the fila¬
ment at I is in the very state of motion which the theory
would assign to it if it were passing under a sluice, as Du
Buat supposes. And with respect to the inferior filaments,
without attempting the very difficult task of investigating
their motions, we shall just say, that we do not see any rea¬
son for supposing that they will move slower than our author
supposes. Therefore, though we reject his theory, we ad¬
mit his experimental proposition in general; that is, we ad¬
mit that the whole water which passes through the plane IF
moves with the velocity (though not in the same direction)
with which it would have run through a sluice of the same
depth ; and we may proceed with his determination of the
quantity of water discharged.
If we make BC the axis of a parabola BEGK, the velo
cities of the filaments passing at I and F will be represent¬
ed by the ordinates IE and FG, and the discharge by the
area IEGF. This allows a very neat solution of the pro¬
blem. Let the quantity discharged per second be D, and
let the whole height BF be h. Let 2G be the quantity
by which we must divide the square of the mean velocity
in order to have the producing height. This will be less
than 2g, the acceleration of gravity, on account of the con-
vergency at the sides and the tendency to convergence at
the lip F. We formerly gave for its measure 702 inches,
instead of 772, and said that the inches discharged per se¬
cond from an orifice of one inch were 26-49, instead of 27*73.
216
RIVER.
W2G^j^, and the com-
h
(I)1]'
Practical Let x be the distance of any filament from the horizontal
Inferences. ];ne element of the orifice, therefore (for we may
v y gjve jj. name), is Idx. The velocity of this element is
\/2Gx, or V2G X The discharge from it is lV2Gx'z dx,
and the integral of this differential or D =j^l </2G x~ da;
— 2.1 a/2G a-| + C. To determine the constant quantity C,
observe that Du Buat found by experiment that IF was
in all cases ^ BF. Therefore D must be nothing when
x=.\h‘, consequently C =
plete integral will be D = ^/2G J^a;
Now make x — h, and we have
T)=il^2G Q.1 -(I)1] =i«V25 *'•
But 1 — = 0-64645, and f of this is 0-431. There¬
fore, finally, D = 0-4311V2G h*.  
If we now put 26-49 or 26i for */2G, or the velocity with
which a head of water of one'inch will impel the water oyer
a weir, and multiply this by 0-431, we get the following
quantity, 11-4172, or, in numbers of easy recollection, 11^,
for the cubic inches of water per second, which runs over
every inch of a wasteboard when the edge of it is one inch
below the surface of the reservoir; and this must be multi¬
plied by h~, or by the square root of the cube of the head
of water. Thus, let the edge of the wasteboard be four inches
below the surface of the water. The cube of this is 64, of
which the square root is eight. Therefore a wasteboard of this
depth under the surface, and three feet long, will discharge
every second 8 X 36 X 11-^ cubic inches of water, or 1 cu¬
bic feet, English measure.
The following comparisons will show how much this theory
may be depended on. The first column shows the depth
of the edge of the board under the surface, the second
shows the discharge by theory, and the third the discharge
actually observed^ The length of the board was 18-4 inches.
The numbers in Du Buat’s experiments are here re¬
duced to English measure.
D. D. Theor. D. Exp. E.
1-778 506 524 28-5
3*199 1222 1218 66-2
4-665 2153 2155 117-1
6-753 3750 3771 204-9
The last column is the cubic inches discharged in a se¬
cond by each inch of the wasteboard. The correspondence
is undoubtedly very great. The greatest error is in the
first, which may be attributed to a much smaller lateral
contraction under so small a head of water.
But it must be remarked, that the calculation proceeds
on two suppositions. The height hi is supposed ^ of BI;
and 2G is supposed 702. It is evident, that by increasing
the one and diminishing the other, nearly the same answers
may be produced, unless much greater variations of h be
examined. Both of these quantities are matters of con¬
siderable uncertainty, particularly the first; and it must be
farther remarked, that this was not measured, but deduced
from tbe uniformity of the experiments. We presume that
Du Buat tried various values of G, till he found one which
gave the ratios of discharge which he observed. We beg
leave to observe, that in a set of numerous experiments
which we had access to examine, BI was uniformly much
less than \; it was very nearly f; and the quantity dis¬
charged was greater than what would result from Du Buat’s
calculation. It was further observed that IF depended very
much on the form of the wasteboard. When it was a very Practical
thin board of considerable depth, IF was very considerably Inferences.
greater than if the board was thick, or narrow, and set on
the top of a broad dam-head, as in fig. 21.
It may be proper to give the formula a form which will
correspond to any ratio which experience may discover be-
771
tween BF and IF. Thus, let IF be — BF. The formula
n
will be D = f Z V2G (l — (t!-)*)^*
Meantime this theory of Du Buat is of great value to
the practical engineer, who at present must content himself
with a very vague conjecture, or take the calculation of the
erroneous theory of Guglielmini. By that theory, the board
of three feet, at the depth of four inches, should discharge
nearly cubic feet per second, which is almost double of
what it really delivers.
We presume, therefore, that the following table will be
acceptable to practical engineers, who are not familiar with
such computations. It contains, in the first column, the depth
in English inches from the surface of the stagnant water of
a reservoir to the edge of the wasteboard. The second
column is the cubic feet of water discharged in a minute
by every inch of tbe wasteboard.
Depth.
1....
2....
3.. ..
4.. ..
5.. ..
6.. ..
7.. ..
8.. ..
Discharge.
... 0-403
... M40
... 2-095
... 3-225
... 4-507
... 5-925
... 7-466
... 9-122
9 10-884
Depth. Discharge.
10  12-748
11  14-707
12  16-758
13  18-895
14  21-117
15  23-419
16  25-800
17  28-258
18  30-786
When the depth does not exceed four inches, it will not
be exact enough to take proportional parts for the fractions
of an inch. The following method is exact.
If they be odd quarters of an inch, look in the table for
as many inches as the depth contains quarters, and take the
eighth part of the answer. Thus, for 3| inches, take the
eighth part of 23-419, which corresponds to 15 inches.
This is 2-927.
If the wasteboard is not on the face of a dam, but in a
running stream, we must augment the discharge by mul¬
tiplying the section by the velocity of the stream. But
this correction can seldom occur in practice ; because in
this case the discharge is previously known, and it is h that
we want, which is the object of the next problem.
We only beg leave to add, that the experiments which
we mention as having been already made in this country,
give a result somewhat greater than this table, viz. about
_L. Therefore, having obtained the answer by this table,
add to it its 16th part, and we apprehend that it will be ex¬
tremely near the truth.
When, on the other hand, we know the discharge over
a wasteboard, we can tell the depth of its edge under the
surface of the stagnant water of the reservoir, because we
have h — (yyi/)5 vei7 nearly-
We are now in a condition to solve the problem respect¬
ing a weir across a river.
Prob. II. The discharge and section of a river being
given, it is required to determine how much the water will
be raised by a weir of the whole breadth of the river, dis¬
charging the water with a clear fall, that is, the surface of
the water in the lower channel being below the edge of
the weir.
In this case we nave 2G = /31 nearly, because there
RIVER
217
Practical will be no contraction at the sides when the weir is the
Inferences. whoIe breadth of the river. But, further, the water is not
now stagnant, but moving with the velocity —, S being the
section of the river.
I herefore let a be the height of the weir from the bot¬
tom of the river, and h the height of the water above the
edge of the weir. We have the velocity with which the
water approaches the weir = / being the length
of the weir or breadth of the river. Therefore the height
(D \2
—-  1 .
I V2g (a hy
The equation given a little ago will give A = f
VO-
when the water above the weir is stagnant,
when it is already moving with the velocity r ;- , ,x, we shall
)V
431IV 2G)
Therefore,
haveA =
(—
\ 0-431IV2G) \l
D
V2g (a + k),
i(a + hy
)
It would be
very troublesome to solve this equation regularly, because
the unknown quantity h is found in the second term of the
answer. But we know that the height producing the ve¬
locity above the weir is very small in comparison of h and
of a, and, if only estimated roughly, will make a very in¬
sensible change in the value of h ; and, by repeating the
operation, we can correct this value, and obtain h to any
degree of exactness.
1 o illustrate this by an example. Suppose a river, the
section of whose stream is 150 feet, and that it discharges
174 cubic feet of water in a second; how much will the
waters of this river be raised by a weir of the same width,
and 3 feet high.
Suppose the width to be 50 feet. This will give 3 feet
for the depth ; and we see that the water will have a clear
fall, because the lower stream will be the same as before.
The section being 150 feet, and the discharge 174, the
mean velocity is = 1-16 feet = 14 inches nearly, which
requires the height of i of an inch very nearly. This may
be taken for the second term of the value of h. Therefore
, P) V J  
^ = \0-431 IV2G) —t^ie Present case’
27-03, l is 600, and D is 174 X 1728 = 300672. There¬
fore h — 12-28 — 0-25 = 12-03 nearly. Correct this
value by substituting a more accurate value of the second
/ D \2
term ( —  —j , or 0T4. This will give us h =
V V2g(a + h)J 6
12-28 — 0-25 = 12-03 for a more accurate value, differing
from the former about of an inch. It is needless to
carry the approximation farther. Thus we see that a weir
which dams up the whole of the former current of three feet
deep, will only raise the waters of this river one foot.
The same rule serves for showing how high we ought to
raise this weir in order to produce any given rise of the
waters, whether for the purposes of navigation, or for taking
off a draft to drive mills, or for any other service; for if
the breadth of the river remain the same, the water will
still flow over the weir with nearly the same depth. A
very small and hardly perceptible difference will indeed
arise from the diminution of slope occasioned by this rise,
and a consequent diminution of the velocity with which the
river approaches the weir. But this difference must always
be a small fraction of the second term of our answer; which
term is itself very small; and even this wall be compensated, Practical
in some degree, by the freer fall which the w ater w ill have Inferences,
over the weir.
If the intended weir is not to have the whole breadth of
the river (which is seldom necessary even for the purposes
of navigation), the waters will be raised higher by the same
height of the wasteboard. The calculation is precisely the
same for this case. Only in the second term, which gives
the head of water corresponding to the velocity of the river,
l must still be taken for the whole breadth of the river,
while in the first term l is the length of the wasteboard.
Also V^G must be a little less, on account of the contrac¬
tions at the ends of the w'eir, unless these be avoided by
giving the masonry at the ends of the wasteboard a curved
shape on the upper side of the wasteboard. This should
not be done when the sole object of the weir is to raise
the surface of the waters. Its effect is but trifling at any
rate, when the length of the wasteboard is considerable, in
proportion to the thickness of the sheet of water flowin<r
over it.
The following comparisons of this rule with experiment
will give our readers some notion of its utility.1
Discharge
of the Weir
per second.
Inches.
3888
2462
1112
259
Head pro¬
ducing the
velocity at
the Weir.
Inches.
7-302
5-385
3-171
1-201
Head pro¬
ducing the
velocity
above it.
Inches.
0-625
0-350
0-116
0-0114
Calculated
Height of
the Itiver
above the
Wasteboard.
Inches.
6-677
5-035
3-055
1-189
Observed
Height.
Inches.
6-583
4-750
3-166
1-250
It was found extremely difficult to measure the exact
height of the water in the upper stream above the waste-
board. The curvature AI extended several feet up the
stream. Indeed there must be something arbitrary in this
measurement, because the surface of the stream is not ho¬
rizontal. The deviation should be taken, not from a hori¬
zontal plane, but from the inclined surface of the river.
It is plain that a river cannot be fitted for continued na¬
vigation by weirs. These occasion interruptions; but a
few inches may sometimes be added to the waters of a river
by a bar, which may still allow a flat-bottomed lighter or a
raft to pass over it. This is a very frequent practice in
Holland and Flanders ; and a very cheap and certain con¬
veyance of goods is there obtained by means of streams
which we would think no better than boundary ditches,
and unfit for every purpose of this kind. By means of a bar
the w-ater is ^pt up a very few- inches, and the stream has
free course to the sea. The shoot over the bar is prevent¬
ed by means of another bar placed a little way below it,
lying flat in the bottom of the ditch, but which may be
raised up on hinges. The lighterman makes his boat fast
to a stake immediately above the bar, raises the low'er bar,
brings over his boat, again makes it fast, and, having laid
down the other bar again, proceeds on his journey. This
contrivance answers the end of a lock at a very trifling ex¬
pense ; and though it does not admit of what we are accus¬
tomed to call navigation, it gives a very sure conveyance,
which would otherwise be impossible. When the waters
can be raised by bars, so that they may be drawn off' for
machinery or other purposes, they are preferable to weirs,
because they do not obstruct floating with rafts, and are
not destroyed by the ice.
Prob. III. Given the height of a bar, the depth of wrater
2 E
VOL. XIX.
1 This table from Du Buat is expressed in French measures.
218
RIVER.
Fig. 22.
Practical both above and below it, and the w idth of the river, to de-
Inferences. termine the discharge.
This is by no means so easily solved as the discharge
over a weir, and we cannot do it with the same degree of
evidence. We imagine, however, that the following obser¬
vations will not be very far from a true account of the
matter.
We may first suppose a reservoir LFBM (fig. 22) of stag¬
nant water, and that has
a wasteboard of the height
AB. We may then de¬
termine, by the foregoing
problems, the discharge
through the plane EC.
With respect to the dis¬
charge through the part
CA, it should be equal to
the product of this part of the section by the velocity cor¬
responding to the fall EC, which is the difference of the
heights of water above and below the bar ; for, because the
difference of Ea and Ca is equal to EC, every particle a
of water in the plane CA is pressed in the direction of this
stream with the same force, viz. the weight of the column
EC. The sum of these discharges should be the whole
discharge over the bar; but since the bar is set up across
a running river, its discharge must be the same with that
of the river. The water of the river, when it comes to the
place of the bar, has acquired some velocity by its slope or
other causes, and this corresponds to some height FE.
This velocity, multiplied by the section of the river, having
the height EB, should give a discharge equal to the dis¬
charge over the bar.
To avoid this complication of conditions, we may first
compute the discharge of the bar in the manner now point¬
ed out, without the consideration of the previous velocity
of the stream. This discharge will be a little too small. If
we divide it by the section FB, it will give a primary velo¬
city too small, but not far from the truth. Therefore we
shall get the height FE, by means of which we shall be
able to determine a velocity intermediate between DG and
CH, which would correspond to a weir, as also the velocity
CH, which corresponds to the part of the section CA, which
is wholly under water. Then we correct all these quanti¬
ties by repeating the operation with them instead of our
first assumptions.
Du Buat found this computation extremely near the
truth, but in all cases a little greater than observation ex¬
hibited.
We may now solve the problem in the most general terms.
Prob. IV. Given the breadth, depth, and the slope of a
river, if we confine its passage by a bar or weir of a known
height and width, to determine the rise of the -waters above
the bar.
The slope and dimensions of the channel being given,
our formula will give us the velocity and the quantity of
water discharged. Then, by Problem II., find the height
of water above the wasteboard. From the sum of these two
heights deduct the ordinary depth of the river. The re¬
mainder is the rise of the waters. For example:
Let there be a river whose ordinary depth is 3 feet, and
breadth 40, and whose slope is 1^ inch in 100 fathoms, or
Suppose a weir on this river 6 feet high and 18 feet
wide.
We must first find the velocity and discharge of the
river in its natural state; we have l — 480 inches, h — 36,
- zz ^oTT. Our formula of uniform motion gives Vn 23*45,
and D zz 405216 cubic inches.
The contraction obtains here on the three sides of the
orifice. We may therefore take ,v/2Gzz26*l. (This ex¬
ample is Du Buat’s, and all the measures are French.) We Practical
have also a (the height of the weir) zz 72, and 2^ zr 724.
(D \ 2 / D \2
 — I 3 — —= -)
0-431ZV2G/ VV2g(a + hy
becomes h zz 30*182. Add this to the height of the weir,
and the depth of the river above the sluice is 102*182 inches
zz 8 feet and 6*182 inches. From this take 3 feet, and there
remains 5 feet and 6*182 inches for the rise of the waters.
There is, however, an important circumstance in this rise
of the waters, which must be distinctly understood before
we can say what are the interesting effects of this weir.
This swell extends, as we all know, to a considerable dis¬
tance up the stream, but is less sensible as we go away
from the weir. What is the distance to which the swell
extends, and what increase does it produce in the depth at
different distances from the weir ?
If we suppose that the slope and the breadth of the chan¬
nel remain as before, it is plain, that as we come down the
stream from that point where the swell is insensible, the
depth of the channel increases all the way to the dam.
Therefore, as the same quantity of water passes through
every section of the river, the velocity must diminish very
nearly in the same proportion that the section increases.
But this being an open stream, and therefore the velocity
being inseparably connected with the slope of the surface,
it follows, that the slope of the surface must diminish all the
way from that point where the swell of the water is insen¬
sible to the dam. The surface, therefore, cannot be a
simple inclined plane, but must be concave upwards, as
represented in fig. 23, p.
where FKLB represents 1^' 6’
the channel of a river,
and FB the surface of
the water running in it.
If this be kept up to A
by a w eir AL, the sur¬
face will be a curve FIA,
touching the natural surface F at the beginning of the swell,
and the line AD which touches it in A will have the slope
S corresponding to the velocity which the waters have im¬
mediately before going to the weir. We know this slope,
because we are supposed to know the discharge of the river
and its slope and other circumstances before barring it with
a dam ; and we know the height of the dam H, and there¬
fore the new velocity at A, or immediately above A, and
consequently the slope S. Therefore, drawing the horizon¬
tal lines DC, AG, it is plain that CB will be the primary
slope of the river, and CA, the slope S corresponding to
the velocity in the immediate neighbourhood of A, be¬
cause these verticals have the same horizontal distance DC.
We have therefore CB : CA zz S : -s very nearly, and
S — s : s zz: CB — CA : CA zz AB : CA. There¬
fore CA zz
ABxs
ID
S — s
But DA zz CA X S, by our
HSs
definition of slope ; therefore DA zz: ^ 
O   «
This is all that we can say with precision of this curve.
Du Buat examined what would result from supposing it
an arc of a circle. In this case we should have DA zz DF,
and AF very nearly equal to 2 AD ; and as we can thus
find AD, we get the whole length FIA of the swell, and
also the distances of any part of the curve from the primi¬
tive surface FB of the river; for these will be very near¬
ly in the duplicate proportion of their distances from F.
Thus ID will be one fourth of AB, &c. Therefore we
should obtain the depth Id of the stream in that place.
Getting the depth of the stream, and knowing the dis¬
charge, we get the velocity, and can compare this with the
slope of the surface at I. This should be the slope of that
RIVER.
219
Practical part of the arc of the circle. Making this comparison, he
Inferences. foun(l these circumstances to be incompatible. He found
^ v *~ that the section and swell at I, corresponding to an arc of
a circle, gave a discharge nearly one fourth too great (they
were as 405216 to 492142). Therefore the curve is such
that AD is greater than DF, and that it is more incurvated
at F than at A. He found, that making DA to DF as 10
to 9, and the curve FI A an arc of an ellipse whose longer
axis was vertical, would give a very nice correspondence of
the sections, velocities, and slopes. The whole extent of
the swell, therefore, can never be double of AD, and must
always greatly surpass AD ; and these limits will do very
well for every practical question. Therefore, making DF
nine tenths of AD, and drawing the chord AD, and mak¬
ing DI one half of D i, we shall be very near the truth.
Then we get the swell with sufficient precision for any point
H between F and D, by making FD2 : FH2 = ID : HA;
and if H is between D and A, we get its distance from the
tangent DA by a similar process.
It only remains to determine the swell produced in the
waters of a river by the erection of a bridge or cleaning
sluice, which contracts the passage.- This requires the so¬
lution of
Phob. V. Given the depth, breadth, and slope of a river,
to determine the swell occasioned by the piers of a bridge or
sides of a cleaning sluice, which contract the passage by a
given quantity, for a given length of channel.
This swell depends on two circumstances.
1. The whole river must pass through a narrow space,
with a velocity proportionably increased ; and this requires
a certain head of water above the bridge.
2. The water, in passing the length of the piers with a
velocity greater than that corresponding to the primary
slope of the river, will require a greater slope in order to
acquire this velocity.
Let V be the velocity of the river before the erection of
the bridge, and K the quotient of the width of the river di¬
vided by the sum of the widths between the piers. If the
length of the piers, or their dimension in the direction of
the stream, is not very great, KV will nearly express the
velocity of the river under the arches ; and if we suppose
for a moment the contraction (in the sense hitherto used)
to be nothing, the height producing this velocity will be
K2V2
-y—. But the river will not rise so high, having already
a slope and velocity before getting under the arches, and
V2
the height corresponding to this velocity is — ; therefore
the height for producing the augmentation of velocity is
K2V2 V2
2*7
2^. But if we make allowance for contraction, we
must employ a co-efficient 2G less than 2g, and we must mul-
2^
tiply the height now found by
2G*
It will then become
/K2V2 y2\ 2q V2 r
\ 2q ' 2<7/ 2G — 2G —_ L'his is that part of
the swell which must produce the augmentation of velocity.
With respect to what is necessary for producing the ad¬
ditional slope between the piers, let p be the natural slope
of the river (or rather the difference of level in the length
of the piers) before the erection of the bridge, and corre¬
sponding to the velocity V ; IGp will very nearly express
tne difference of superficial level for the length of the
piers, which is necessary for maintaining the velocity KV
through the same length. The increase of slope therefore is
K2/?—p — p (K2— 1). Therefore the whole swell will be
'V2
(S+P)(K‘
!)•
These are the chief questions or problems on this sub- Practical
ject which occur in the practice of an engineer; and the*n^erences*
solutions which we have given may in every case be de- j’^heraT
pended on as very near the truth, and we are confident tention t0*
that the errors wall never amount to one fifth of the whole the subject
quantity. We are equally certain, that of those who callrecom-
themselves engineers, and who, without hesitation, under- mended,
take jobs of enormous expense, not one in ten is able even
to guess at the result of such operations, unless the circum¬
stances of the case happen to coincide with those of some
other project which he has executed, or has distinctly exa¬
mined ; and very few have the sagacity and penetration
necessary for appreciating the effects of the distinguishing
circumstances which yet remain. The society established
for the encouragement of arts and manufactures could
scarcely do a more important service to the public in the line
of their institution, than by publishing in their transactions
a description of every work of this kind executed in the
kingdom, with an account of its performance. This would
be a most valuable collection of experiments and facts.
The unlearned practitioner would find among them some¬
thing which resembles in its chief circumstances almost any
project which could occur to him in his business, and would
tell him what to expect in the case under his management;
and the intelligent engineer, assisted by mathematical know¬
ledge, and the habit of classing things together, would fre¬
quently be able to frame general rules. To a gentleman
qualified as was the Chevalier du Buat, such a collection
would be inestimable, and might suggest a theory as far
excelling his as he has excelled all other writers.
We shall conclude this article with some observations on Modes of
the methods which may be taken for rendering small rivers making
and brooks fit for inland navigation, or at least for floatage.
We get much instruction on this subject from what kas£^orr°^8
been said concerning the swell produced in a river byian(inavj_
weirs, bars, or any diminution of its former section. Ourgation.
knowledge of the form which the surface of this swell affects
will furnish rules for spacing these obstructions in such a
manner, and at such distances from each other, that the
swell produced by one shall extend to the one above it.
If we know the slope, the breadth, and the depth of a
river, in the droughts of summer, and have determined on
the height of the floodgates, or keeps, which are to be set
up in its bed, it is evident that their stations are not mat¬
ters of arbitrary choice, if we would derive the greatest pos¬
sible advantage from them.
Some rivers in Flanders and Italy are made navigable in
some sort by simple sluices, which, being shut, form maga¬
zines of water, which, being discharged by opening the
gates, raises the inferior reach enough to permit the pas¬
sage of the craft which are kept on it. After this momen¬
tary rise the keeps are shut again, the water sinks in the
lower reach, and the lighters which were floated through
the shallows are now obliged to draw into those parts of the
reach where they can lie afloat till the next supply of water
from above enables them to proceed. This is a very rude
and imperfect method, and unjustifiable at this day, when
we know the effect of locks, or at least of double gates.
We do not mean to enter on the consideration of these con¬
trivances, and to give the methods of their construction,
in this place, but refer our readers to what has been already
said on this subject in the article Navigation Inland, and
to what will be said in the article Water-Works. At
present we confine ourselves to the single point of husband¬
ing the different falls in the bed of the river, in such a man¬
ner that there may be everywhere a sufficient depth of water;
and, in what we have to deliver on the subject, we shall
take the form of an example to illustrate the application of
the foregoing rules.
Suppose then a river forty feet wide and three feet deep
RIVER.
220
Practical in the droughts of summer, with a slope of one in 4800.
Inferences. This, by the formula of uniform motion, will have a velo-
' ' v '1 city ~ 23^ inches per second, and its discharge will be
405216 cubic inches, or 234£ feet. It is proposed to give
this river a depth of not less than five feet in any place, by
means of floodgates of six feet in height and eighteen feet
in width. , ^oo/ii
We first compute the height at which this body ot 234^
cubic feet of water will discharge itself over the floodgates.
This we shall find by Prob. II. to be 30^ inches, to which
adding 72, the height of the gate, we have I02£ for the
whole°height of the water above the floor of the gate ; the
primitive depth of the river being 3 feet, the rise or swell
5 feet 6^ inches. In the next place, we find the range or
sensible extent of this swell by Prob. I. and the observa¬
tions which accompany it. This will be found to be nearly
9177 fathoms. Now, since the primitive depth of the river
is three feet, there is only wanted two feet of addition ; and
the question is reduced to the finding what point of the
curved surface of the swell is two feet above the tangent
plane at the head of the swell, or how far this point is from
the gate. The whole extent being 9177 fathoms, and the
deviations from the tangent plane being nearly in the du¬
plicate ratio of the distances from the point of contact, we
may institute this proportion, 66^: 24 — 91772 : 5526”.
The last term is the distance (from the head of the swell)
of that part of the surface which is two feet above the pri¬
mitive surface of the river. Therefore 9177 — 5526, or
3651 fathoms, is the distance of this part from the flood¬
gate ; and this is the distance at which the gates should be
placed from each other. No inconvenience would arise
from having them nearer, if the banks be high enough to
contain the waters; but if they are farther distant, the re¬
quired depth of water cannot be had without increasing the
height of the gates; but if reasons of conveniency should
induce us to place them nearer, the same depth may be
secured by lower gates, and no additional height will be
required for the banks. This is generally a matter of mo¬
ment, because the raising of water brings along with it the
chance of flooding the adjoining fields. Knowing the place
where the swell ceases to be sensible, we can keep the top
of the intermediate floodgate at the precise height of the
curved surface of the swell by means of the proportionality
of the deviations from the tangent to the distances from the
point of contact.
But this rule will not do for a gate which is at a greater
distance from the one above it than the 3651 fathoms
already mentioned. W e know that a higher gate is requir¬
ed, producing a more extensive swell; and the one swell
does not coincide with the other, although they may both
begin from the same point A.
Nor will the curves even be si- Fig. 24.
milar, unless the thickness of ^—$if
the sheet of water flow ing over
the gate be increased in the same
ratio. But this is not the case,
because the produce of the river,
and therefore the thickness of the sheet of water, is constant.
But we may suppose them similar without erring more than
two or three decimals of an inch ; and then we shall have
AF : AL =/F : DL ; from which, if we take the thickness
of the sheet of water already calculated for the other gates,
there will remain the height of the gate DL.
By following these methods, instead of proceeding by
random guesses, we shall procure the greatest depth of
water at the smallest expense possible.
Effects of But there is a circumstance which must be attended to,
freshes, and which, if neglected, may in a short time render all our
works useless. These gates must frequently be open in the
time of freshes; and as this channel then has its natural
slope increased in every reach by the great contraction of
the section in the gates, and also rolls along a greater body Practical
of water, the action of the stream on its bed must be in- Inferences.
creased by the augmentation of velocity which these cir¬
cumstances will produce; and although we may say that
the general slope is necessarily secured by the cills of the
floodgates, which are paved with stone or covered with
planks, yet this will not hinder this increased current from
digging up the bottom in the intervals, undermining the
banks, and lodging the mud and earth thus carried off in
places where the current meets with any check. All these
consequences will assuredly follow if the increased velocity
is greater than what corresponds to the regimen relative to
the soil in which the river holds on its course.
In order therefore to procure durability to works of this and oflo-
kind, which are generally of enormous expense, the local cal eircum-
circumstances must be most scrupulously studied. It isstances>
not the ordinary hurried survey of an engineer that will
free us from the risk of our navigation becoming very
troublesome by the rise of the waters being diminished from
their former quantity, and banks formed at a small distance
below every sluice. We must attentively study the nature
of the soil, and discover experimentally the velocity which
is not inconsistent with the permanency of the channel. If
this be not a great deal less than that of the river when ac¬
celerated by freshes, the regimen may be preserved after
the establishment of the gate, and no great changes in the
channel will be necessary; but if, on the other hand, the
natural velocity of the river during its freshes greatly ex¬
ceeds what is consistent with stability, we must enlarge the
width of the channel, that we may diminish the hydraulic
mean depth, and along with this the velocity. Therefore,
knowing the quantity discharged during the freshes, divide
it by the velocity of regimen, or rather by a velocity some¬
what greater (for a reason which will appear by and by),
the quotient will be the area of a new section. Then tak¬
ing the natural slope of the river for the slope which it will
preserve in this enlarged channel, and after the cills of the
floodgates have been fixed, we must calculate the hydrau¬
lic mean depth, and then the other dimensions of the chan¬
nel. And, lastly, from the known dimensions of the chan¬
nel and the discharge (which we must now compute), we
proceed to calculate the height and the distances of the
floodgates, adjusted to their widths, which must be regu¬
lated by the room which may be thought proper for the free
passage of the lighters which are to ply on the river. An
example will illustrate the whole of this process.
Suppose then a small river having a slope of two inches illustrated
in 100 fathoms, or ^gVo’ which is a very usual declivity of by an ex-
such small streams, and whose depth in summer is two feet,anipfe.
but subject to floods which raise it to nine feet. Let its
breadth at the bottom be eighteen feet, and the base of its
slanting sides four thirds of their height. All of these di¬
mensions are very conformable to the ordinary course of
things. It is proposed to make this river navigable in all
seasons by means of keeps and gates placed at proper dis¬
tances ; and we want to know the dimensions of a channel
which will be permanent in a soil which begins to yield to
a velocity of eighty inches per second, but will be safe un¬
der a velocity of twenty-four.
The primitive channel having the properties of a rect¬
angular channel, its breadth during the freshes must be B
= 30 feet, or 360 inches, and its depth h nine feet or 108
J ^ ^ _ BA
inches; therefore its hydraulic mean depth a — -j- 9A
= 61-88 inches. Its real velocity, therefore, during the
freshes, will be 38-9447 inches, and its discharge 1514169
cubic inches or 876£ cubic feet per second. We see there¬
fore that the natural channel will not be permanent, and will
be very quickly destroyed or changed by this great velo¬
city. We have two methods for procuring stability, viz.
RIVE R.
221
Practical diminishing the slope, or widening the bed. The first me-
Inferences. t]10t{ will require the course to be lengthened in the pro-
portion of 242 to SS'Oi2, or nearly of 38 to 100. The ex¬
pense of this would be enormous. The second method will
require the hydraulic mean depth to be increased nearly in
the same proportion (because the velocities are nearly as
This will evidently be much less costly and, even
V d\
v7J‘
to procure convenient room for the navigation, must be
preferred.
We must now observe, that the great velocity of which
we are afraid obtains only during the winter floods. If
therefore we reduce this to 24 inches, it must happen that
the autumnal freshes, loaded with sand and mud, will cer¬
tainly deposit a part of it, and choke up our channel below
the floodgates. We must therefore select a mean velocity
somewhat exceeding the regimen, that it may carry off these
depositions. We shall take 27 inches, which will produce
this effect on the loose mud without endangering our chan¬
nel in any remarkable degree.
Therefore we have, by the theorem for uniform motion,
o-i)
V = 2V = J*!Z(^
■ 0-3
Calcu-
Vs — L Vs + T6
lating the divisor of this formula, we find it = 55,884. Hence
27
 — 5‘3483, and therefore d
Vd — O-l =
297
55-884
■ 0-3
=r 30Having thus determined the hydraulic mean
depth, we find the area S of the section by dividing the
discharge 1514169 by the velocity 27. This gives us
56080-368. Then we get the breadth B by the formula for¬
merly given B
2S + 1802-296 inches,
or 150-19 feet, and the depth h = 31-115 inches.
With these dimensions of the section, we are certain that
the channel will be permanent; and the cills of the flood¬
gate being all fixed agreeably to the primitive slope, w-e
need not fear that it will be changed in the intervals by the
action of the current. The gates being all open during the
freshes, the bottom will be cleared of the whole deposited
mud.
Station of We must now station the floodgates along the new chan-
the flood- nel, at such distances that we may have the depth of water
gates, &c. which is proper for the lighters that are to be employed in
the navigation. Suppose this to be four feet. We must
first of all learn how high the water will be kept in this new
channel during the summer droughts. There remained in
the primitive channel only two feet, and the section in this
case had twenty feet eight inches mean width ; and the dis¬
charge corresponding to this section and slope
the theorem of uniform motion, 130849 cubic inches per
second. To find the depth of water in the new channel
corresponding to this discharge and the same slope, we must
take the method of approximation formerly exemplified, re¬
membering that the discharge D is 130849, and the breadth
B is 1760-8 at the bottom (the slant sides being four thirds).
These data will produce a depth of water =r 6^ inches. To
obtain four feet therefore behind any of the floodgates, we
must have a swell of 41| inches produced by the gate be¬
low.
We must now determine the width of passage which
must be given at the gates. This will regulate the thick¬
ness of the sheet of water which flows over them when
shut; and this, with the height of the gate, fixes the swell
at the gate. The extent of this swell, and the elevation of
every point of its curved surface above the new surface of
the river, require a combination of the height of swell at the
floodgate, with the primitive slope and the new velocity.
These being computed, the stations of the gates may be Practical
assigned, which will secure four feet of water behind each Inferences,
in summer. We need not give these computations, hav-^-
ing already exemplified them all with relation to another
river.
This example not only illustrates the method of proceed¬
ing, so as to be insured of success, but also gives us a pre¬
cise instance of what must be done in a case which cannot
but frequently occur. We see what a prodigious excava¬
tion is necessary in order to obtain permanency. We have
been obliged to enlarge the primitive bed to about thrice
its former size, so that the excavation is at least two thirds
of what the other method required. The expense, how¬
ever, will still be vastly inferior to the other, both from the
nature of the work and the quantity of ground occupied.
At all events, the expense is enormous, and what could
never be repaid by the navigation, except in a very rich
and populous country.
There is another circumstance to be attended to. The
navigation of this river by sluices must be very desultory,
unless they are extremely numerous, and of small heights.
The natural surface of the swell being concave upwards, the
additions made by its different parts to the primitive height
of the river decrease rapidly as they approach to the place
A (fig. 23), where the swell terminates ; and three gates,
each of which raises the water one foot when placed at the
proper distance from each other, will raise the water much
more than two gates at tw ice this distance, each raising the
water two feet. Moreover, when the elevation produced
by a floodgate is considerable, exceeding a very few inches,
the fall and current produced by the opening of the gate is
such that no boat can possibly pass up the river, and it
runs imminent risk of being overset and sunk in the at¬
tempt to go down the stream. This renders the navigation
desultory. A number of lighters collect themselves at the
gates, and wait their opening. They pass through as soon
as the current becomes moderate- This would not, per¬
haps, be very hurtful in a regulated navigation, if they could
then proceed on their voyage. But the boats bound up the
river must stay on the upper side of the gate which they
have just now passed, because the channel is now too shal¬
low for them to proceed. Those bound down the river can
only go to the next gate, unless it has been opened at a
time nicely adjusted to the opening of the one above it.
The passage downwards ma//, in many cases, be continued,
by very intelligent and attentive lockmen ; but the passage
up must be exceedingly tedious. Nay, we may say, that
while the passage downwards is continuous, it is but in a
very few cases that the passage upward is practicable. If
we add to these inconveniences the great danger of passes
during the freshes, while all the gates are open, and the
immense and unavoidable accumulations of ice, on occasion
even of slight frosts, we may see that this method of pro¬
curing an inland navigation is amazingly expensive, desul¬
tory, tedious, and hazardous. It did not therefore merit,
on its own account, the attention we have bestowed on it.
But the discussion was absolutely necessary, in order to
show what must be done in order to obtain effect and per¬
manency, and thus to prevent us from engaging in a pro¬
ject which, to a person not duly and confidently informed,
is so feasible and promising. Many professional engineers
are ready, and with honest intentions, to undertake such
tasks; and by avoiding this immense expense, and content¬
ing themselves with a much narrower channel, they suc¬
ceed : witness the old navigation of the river Mersey. But
the work has no duration ; and, not having been found very
serviceable, its cessation is not matter of much regret. The
work is not much spoken of during its continuance. It is
soon forgotten, as well as its failure, and engineers are found
ready to engage for such another.
It w-as not a very refined thought to change this imper-
222
RIVER.
Practical feet mode for another free from most of its inconveniences.
Inferences. boat was brought up the river, through one of these
1,-v— gates, only by raising the waters of the inferior reach, and
tion of depressing those of the upper: and it could not escape ob-
locks. servation, that when the gates were far asunder, a vast body
of water must be discharged before this could be done, and
that it would be a great improvement to double each gate,
with a very small distance between. Thus a very small
quantity of water would fill the interval to the desired height,
and allow the boat to come through; and this thought was
the more obvious, from a similar practice having preceded
it, viz. that of navigating a small river by means of double
bars, the lowest of which lay flat in the bottom of the river,
but could be raised up on hinges. We have mentioned
this already; and it appears to have been an old practice,
being mentioned by Stevinus in his valuable work on
sluices, published about the beginning of the seventeenth
century ; yet no trace of this method is to be found of much
older dates. It occurred, however, accidentally, pretty often
in the flat countries of Holland and Flanders, which being
the seat of frequent wars, almost every town and village was
fortified with wet ditches, connected with the adjoining
rivers. Stevinus mentions particularly the works of Conde,
as having been long employed, with great ingenuity, for
rendering navigable a very long stretch of the Scheldt.
The boats were received into the lower part of the fossee,
which was separated from the rest by a stone batardeau,
serving to keep up the waters in the rest of the fossee about
eight feet. In this were a sluice and another dam, by which
the boats could be taken into the upper fossee, which com¬
municated with a remote part of the Scheldt, by a long
canal. This appears to be one of the earliest locks.
In the first attempt to introduce this improvement in the
navigation of rivers already kept up by weirs, which gave a
partial and interrupted navigation, it was usual to avoid the
great expense of the second dam and gate, by making the
lock altogether detached from the river, within land, and
having its basin parallel to the river, and communicating
by one end with the river above the weir, and by the other
end with the river below the weir, and having a floodgate
at each end. This was a most ingenious thought; and it
was a prodigious improvement, free from all the inconve¬
niences of currents, ice, &c. &c. It was called a schlussel,
or lock, with considerable propriety ; and this was the ori¬
gin of the word sluice, and of our application of its transla¬
tion lack. This practice being once introduced, it was not
long before engineers found that a complete separation of
the navigation from the bed of the river was not only the
most perfect method for obtaining a sure, easy, and unin¬
terrupted navigation, but that it was in general the most
economical in its first construction, and subject to no risk
of deterioration by the action of the current, which was
here entirely removed. Locked canals, therefore, have al¬
most entirely supplanted all attempts to improve the natu¬
ral beds of rivers; and this is hardly ever attempted ex¬
cept in the flat countries, where they can hardly be said to
differ from horizontal canals.
The attentive reader must have observed our anxiety to
render this dissertation worthy of his notice, by making it
practically useful. We have on every occasion appealed
from all theoretical deductions, however specious and well
supported, to fact and observation of those spontaneous
phenomena of nature which are continually passing in re¬
view before us in the motion of running waters. Resting
in this manner our whole doctrines on experiment, on the
observation of what really happens, and what happens in a
way which we cannot or do not fully explain, these sponta¬
neous operations of nature came insensibly to acquire a
particular value in our imagination. It has also happened
in the course of our reflections on these subjects, that these
Conclud¬
ing obser¬
vations.
phenomena have frequently presented themselves to our Practical
view in groups, not less remarkable for the extent and the Inferences,
importance of their consequences, than for the simplicity,
and frequently the seeming insignificancy, nay frivolity, of
the means employed. Our fancy has therefore been some¬
times warmed with the view of a something, an
Ens agitans molem, et magno se corpore miscens.
This has sometimes made us express ourselves in a way
that is susceptible of misinterpretation, and may even lead
into a mistake of our meaning.
We therefore find ourselves obliged to declare, that by
the term Nature, which we have so frequently used con
amove, we do not mean that indescribable idol which the
self-conceit and vanity of some philosophers or pretend¬
ed philosophers have set up and ostentatiously worshipped,
that ens rationis, that creature of the imagination, which
has long been the object of cool contemplation in the clo¬
set of the philosopher, and has shared his attention with
many other playthings of his ever-working fancy. By Na¬
ture we mean that admirable system of general laws, by
which the adored Author and Governor of the universe has
thought fit to connect the various parts of this wonderful
and goodly frame of things, and to regulate all their ope¬
rations.
We are not afraid of continually appealing to the laws
of nature; and, as we have already observed in the article
Philosophy, we consider these general laws as the most
magnificent displays of Infinite Wisdom, and the contem¬
plation of them as the most cheering employment of our
understandings.
Igneus est illis vigor et coelestis origo
Seminibus.
At the same time we despise the cold-hearted philosopher
who stops short here, and is satisfied, perhaps inwardly
pleased, that he has completely accounted for every thing
by the laws of unchanging nature; and we suspect that
this philosopher would analyse with the same frigid inge¬
nuity, and explain by irresistible erogyri, the tender attach¬
ment of her whose breast he sucked, and who by many
anxious and sleepless nights preserved alive the puling in¬
fant. But let us rather listen to the words of him who was
the most sagacious observer and the most faithful inter¬
preter of nature’s laws, our illustrious countryman Sir Isaac
Newton.
“ Elegantissima haecce rerum compages non nisi consilio
et dominio entis sapientissimi et potentissimi oriri potuit.
Omnia, simili constructa consilio, suberunt uuius dominio.
Hie omnia regit, non ut anima mundi, sed ut universorum
dominus. Propter dominium suum, dominus deus navro-
xgarc/jp nuncupatur. Deus ad servientes respicit, et deitos
est dominatio dei, non in corpus proprium, uti sentiunt qui-
bus deus est natura seu anima mundi, sed in servos. Deus
summus est ens eternum, infinitum, absolute perfectum.
Ens utcunque perfectum, at sine dominio, non est dominus
deus. Hunc cognoscimus, solummodo per proprietates ejus
et attributa. Attribuuntur ut ex phenomenis dignoscuntur.
Phenomena sunt sapientissimae et optimae rerum structurae,
atque causae finales. Hunc admiramur ob perfectiones;
hunc veneramur et colimus ob dominium.”
Our readers will probably be pleased with the following
list of authors who have treated professedly of the motions
of rivers : Guglielmini J)e Fluviis et Castellis Aquarum—
Danubius Iliustratvs ; Grandi J)e Castellis ; Zendrini De
Motu Aquarum ; Frisius De Fluviis ; Lecchi, Idrostaticai
Idraulica; Michelotti, Sperienze Idrauliche; Belidor, Archi¬
tecture Uydraulique ; Bossut, Hydrodynamique; Du Buat,
Hydrauhque; Silberschlag, Theorie des Fleuves ; Lettres
de M. L’Epinasse au P. Frisi touclxant sa Theorie des
Fleuves ; Tableau des Principales Rivieres du Monde, par
R I V
R 0 A
223
Rivoli Genette; Stevins Sur les Ecluses; Traite des Ecluses,
par Boulard, qui a remporte le Prix de VAcad, de Lyons ;
Road- Bleiswyck, Dissertatio de Aggeribus ; Bossut et Viallet Sur
Making. /a Construction des Digues ; Stevin, Hydrostatica ; Tiel-
man van der Horst, Theatrum Machinarum Universale;
De la Lande Sur la Canaux de Navigation. Racolta di
Autori chi trattano del Moto dell’ Acque, 3 tom. 4to,
Firenze, 1723. This most valuable collection contains the
writings of Archimedes, Albizi, Galileo, Castelli, Michelini,
Borelli, Montanari, Viviani, Cassini, Guglielmini, Grandi,
Manfredi, Picard, and Narduci; and an account of the
numberless works which have been carried on in the em¬
bankment of the Po. A continuation of this collection,
containing many important papers, was published at Bologna
in 1823, in six volumes. Coulomb, Experiences sur la
Coherence des Fluides, &c., in volume hi. of the Memoirs Road-
of the Institute, Class of Physical and Mathematical Making.
Sciences; Girard, Essai sur le Mouvement des Eaux
courantes, Memoires sur le Canal de VOurcq, and Ale-
moires sur les Canaux de Navigation; Prony, Nouvelle
Architecture Hydraulique, and Recherches Physico-Mathe-
matiques sur la Theorie des Eaux courantes ; Venturi Sur
la Communication laterale du Mouvement des Fluides ;
Eytelwein, Handbuch der Mechanik und der Hydraulik ;
De Fontaine, Travaux du Fleuve du Rhin; Bidone,
Experiences sur la Depense des Reservoirs, in volume
xxviii. of the Memoirs of the Academy of Turin ;
Rennie’s two Reports on Hydraulics, in the Transactions
of the third and fourth meetings of the British Associ¬
ation. (j. R.)
RIVOLI, a town of the Sardinian kingdom, in the
division and 10 miles W. of Turin, with which it is con¬
nected by a broad, straight avenue of elms. It stands in a
beautiful position, in a rich plain, intersected by canals, at
the foot of the lowest slopes of the Alps. On a height
above the town rises a large but unfinished royal palace ;
and there are churches, schools, an hospital, and a court of
justice. Many villas stud the country round about, as the
climate is very healthy. Woollen fabrics, linen, and
maccaroni are made here. Pop. 5195. This town is not
to be confounded with another of the same name in
Austrian Italy, 14 miles N.W. of Verona. It was at the
latter place the French under Massena defeated the
Austrians in 1797.
RIZI, Francisco, a talented Spanish painter, was born
at Madrid in 1608, and studied under Vicencio Carducho.
He was one of those whose very precocity proved a mis¬
fortune. His easy dexterity of hand led him to despise
all care and elaboration. The most difficult subjects were
dashed off without any great regard to truth or accuracy.
His appointment to the office of painter to the king, and
the many commissions that in consequence pressed in upon
him, only confirmed him in his careless habits. He covered
whole acres of canvas under the stimulus of no higher
motive than that of making money. The result was, that
after his death in 1685, his innumerable pictures in the
churches of Madrid began to fall into neglect, and at the
present day they are scarcely considered worthy of the
notice of the art-critic. Rizi’s elder brother Juan was
also an artist. He was born at Madrid in 1595, became a
Benedictine friar as well as a painter, and died at Monte
Cassino in 1675.
RJEV, or Rshey, a town of European Russia, capital
of a circle in the government of Twer, on the Volga, 74
miles S.W, of Twer. It has several churches, schools, and
benevolent institutions. Horticulture and ship-building
are carried on ; and there is a considerable trade in fish,
hemp, linseed, and other articles. Pop. 13,621.
ROAD, a bay or place of anchorage, at some distance
from the shore, whither vessels occasionally repair to receive
intelligence, orders, or necessary supplies, or to wait for a
fair wind. The excellence of a road consists chiefly in its
being protected from the reigning winds and the swell of
the sea, in having a good anchoring-ground, and being at
a competent distance from the shore. Those which are
not sufficiently protected are termed open roads.
ROAD-MAKING. There are few departments of
practical mechanics in which every individual, at some
period or other of his life, is more immediately interested
than in the management of roads and pavements. The
mechanical theory of the motions of wheel-carriages, and
of the nature of the frictions and resistances that they
have to overcome, as relating to the ultimate objects for
which roads are constructed, may naturally constitute the
first section of an essay on this subject; the second will
naturally comprehend the best arrangement of the means
for attaining those objects, by the form and construction of
such roads and pavements as appear to be the most
eligible under various circumstances ; and the third may
be devoted to some historical illustrations of the principal
roads which exist, or which have existed, in various parts
of the world.
Sect. I.— Of the Objects of Roads.
The grand object of all modern roads is the accommo¬
dation of wheel carriages. The construction of footpaths
and of bridle-roads is so simple as to require very little
separate consideration ; except that, in cities and towns,
the convenience of the inhabitants requires that some pains
should be taken to avoid dust, and has generally been a
reason for employing pavements in preference to gravel
roads, which might in some other respects be more eligible.
For facilitating the motion of carriages, the most essen¬
tial requisite is to have the road as smooth, and as hard,
and as level as possible. The wheels of carriages are
principally useful in diminishing the friction of the ma¬
terials ; a dray sliding without wheels, even on a railroad
of greased and polished iron, would have to overcome a
friction as much greater than that of the wheel on its axle
as the diameter of the wheel is greater than that of the
axle. The wheels assist us also in drawing a carriage over
an obstacle; for the path which the axis of the wheel
describes is always smoother and less abrupt than the sur¬
face of a rough road on which the wheel rolls, and so much
the smoother as the wheel is larger, since the portions of
larger circles, which constitute the path in question, are less
curved than those of smaller ones.
But in all common cases of roads not extremely hard, by
far the greater part of the resistance actually exhibited by
a road to the motion of a carriage, is that which depends
on the continual displacement of a portion of the materials
from their inelasticity, which causes them to exert a con¬
tinual pressure on the fore part of the wheel, without rising
behind it to propel it forwards by its re-action, as an elastic
substance would do. Hence, in a soft sand, although the
axles of the wheels may move in a direction perfectly hori¬
zontal, the draught becomes extremely heavy. The more
the wheel sinks, the greater is the resistance; and if we
suppose the degree of elasticity of the materials, and their
immediate resistance at different depths, to be known, we
may calculate the whole effect of their action on the wheel,
and the force that is required to displace them, in the pro¬
gressive motion of the carriage. Thus, if the materials
were perfectly inelastic, acting only on the preceding half
of the immersed portion of the wheel, and their immediate
224
Road-
Making.
ROAD-MAKING.
pressure or resistance were simply proportional to the depth,
like that of fluids, or that of elastic substances compiessed,
the horizontal resistance would be to the weight neaily as
two-fifths of the length of the part immersed at once, in
the newly-formed rut, to the diameter of the wheel; or on
a still more probable supposition respecting the greater re¬
sistance of the more deeply-seated parts of the rut, about
half as much as this, or as about one-fifth of the length of
the part immersed in the rut to the diameter. Thus, if a
coach or waggon, weighing 60 hundredweight, supported
by wheels 4 feet in diameter, formed a new rut an inch
deep, in a smooth road, the length of the part immersed
being about 14 inches, the resistance would, upon the low¬
est supposition that is at all admissable, be about one-seven¬
teenth of the weight, and more probably about one-ninth or
ifom 6 to 7 hundredweight at least; and it the rut were
2 inches deep, the resistance would be half as much
more. But, on any supposition, the increased height, and
even the increased breadth, ot the wheel, is calculated to
diminish the resistance, by diminishing the depth of the
part immersed ; thus, if a wheel were made four times as
high, the length of that part immersed, considering the road
as an imperfect fluid, would be doubled, and the resist¬
ance would be diminished, theoretically speaking, to about
half of its former magnitude ; and if the breadth were in¬
creased from one to eight, the length of the part immersed
would be diminished to about a half, and the resistance
would in this case also be reduced to a half.
In soft and boggy soils, as well as in sandy roads, this
consideration is of great importance; and the wheels em¬
ployed for removing heavy weights, in such cases, ought to
be as high and as broad as possible consistently with suffi¬
cient lightness and economy. But whether a broad, and,
at the same time, a low roller, possesses any advantages
above a narrow coach-wheel, is a matter much more ques¬
tionable : it must be remembered that a narrow wheel may
often run between stones, where a broader would have to
pass over them ; and there appears to be no theoretical
reason for preferring a low roller, except with respect to
a single pair of wheels, as affording a more convenient
attachment for the shafts in a moderate inclination, which
is both more favourable to the exertion of the horses, and
more effective in overcoming the friction ; since it has
been demonstrated that the angle affording the most ad¬
vantageous line of draught is exactly the same as the in¬
clination of a plane along which the carriage would just
begin to descend by its own weight on the same kind of
surface. In fact, however, there is no necessity for fixing
the axle-tree precisely in the line of draught; and the prin¬
cipal reason for having the fore wheels lower than the
others is for the convenience of turning the carriage more
abruptly. A practical road-maker has observed that a
good road never suffers from narrow wheels with moderate
weights not in rapid motion, but that it is equally worn by
the rapid driving of heavy stage-coaches, and by the slow
grinding of the conical rollers of overloaded, broad-wheeled
waggons.
Such being the operations of the wheels of carriages on
sandy or on rough roads, it is easy to perceive how much
the hardness and smoothness of the surface must facilitate
the draught; it is obvious also that the same qualities must
be equally conducive to the durability of the road, since
the inequalities will always cause the carriage to fall on it
v/ith a certain impetus after being elevated by the irregu¬
larities, and the same shock which strains the carriage
will also tend to wear away the road still more where it is
lowest; and, on the other hand, the resistance of the soft
materials before the wheel will tend to tear up the road, as
it causes the wheel to thrust them before it.
Details respecting roads have lost much of their interest
since the general introduction of railroads; but in places
where common roads are still much used it will be found
now, as formerly, that the interests of the traveller and of
the postmaster are somewhat at variance with respect to
the qualities of a road. The French postilion keeps to
the rough pavement as long as the aching limbs of the
ladies in the carriage will allow them to be silent, except
when, in going down hill, he saves himself the trouble of
locking the wheel by bringing it to the soft edge of the
ditch or kennel; and the horses of the Parisian cabriolets,
in their excursions to the suburbs, have sagacity enough to
incline always to the pavement, when their drivers allow
them to have a will of their own ; while a single horse¬
man, on the contrary, more commonly finds his steed on
the gravel road, if he happen to leave him to his own direc¬
tion. In Great Britain the roads are commonly managed
by commissioners, who have no community of interest with
the innkeepers; on the Continent they are under the im¬
mediate direction of the different governments, who also
appoint the postmasters, while the carriages are almost as
uniformly the property of particular individuals, who have
no immediate influence on the management ot the roads ;
and this diversity may perhaps explain in some measure
the different systems of road-making which prevail on the
opposite sides of the Channel. But it may be said of roads
as of governments, “that which is best administered is best;
whether a very smooth pavement not too slippery, or a very
hard gravel road not worn into great inequalities.
Road-
Making.
Sect. II.—Of the Mechanical Formation of Roads.
The only strongly-marked division of the different Kinds
of roads depends on their being paved or gravelled ; but
each of these classes admits of considerable diversity in the
principles on which the road is constructed. 1 he theory
of pavement appears to be extremely simple ; the stones,
however, may be either small or large; the former being^
understood to be employed without previous preparation ot
their shape, as in the inferior kind of work which is called
“ pitching” in the west of England ; the latter being more
or less cut to fit each other, whether in the form of thick,
rough blocks, not very remote from cubes, or of flat and
smooth flagstones. In the cities of Great Britain the for¬
mer are commonly used for horse-pavements, and the lat¬
ter for foot-passengers; but in Florence the whole breadth
of the streets is paved with flagstones placed diagonally,
and in Naples the surfaces are nearly as smooth ; in both
these cases it is necessary to roughen the stones frequently
with chisels wherever there is a hill or a bridge, in order to
prevent the horses slipping, but in both cities the horses,
from habit, are sufficiently sure-footed, even when running
with some rapidity. In Milan both kinds of pavements are
mixed in the same streets ; the smooth in two double lines,
for the wheels of carriages coming and going, and the
rougher in the intermediate parts, for the feet of the horses,
as in the British railroads. But in none of these cities is
there much heavy traffic to wear these well-arranged sur¬
faces into such inequalities as would soon be observed
in the streets of London if they were so delicately
formed; although, until this deterioration actually took
place, the locomotion would be luxurious both for the
horses and for the passengers, and only ruinous to the
coachmakers. The Romans used large and heavy blocks
for their roads, cutting them on the spot into such forms as
enabled them to be best adjusted to those of the neigh¬
bouring stones, though seldom exactly rectangular in their
surfaces; and even at Pompeii, where the ruts are worn half
through the depth of the blocks, the bottom remains toler¬
ably even, in a longitudinal direction, at least as much so as
would be required for carts and other carriages of business.
Our more particular object, however, is, first, the con¬
sideration of gravel-roads rather than of pavements; the
ROAD-MAKING. 225
Road- word gravel being here understood to mean in general all
Making. st0ne broken small, whether by nature or by art. The im-
provement of such roads has long been a subject of great
interest with the agricultural and commercial inhabitants of
Great Britain. It was soon after the year 1700 that a part
of the charge of repairing roads was taken off the respect¬
ive parishes through which they pass, and levied on the
general traveller by means of turnpike-gates; but it was
for many years a complaint that the roads were little, if at
all, fundamentally improved by the expenditure of the
money so raised. This complaint is very energetically ad¬
vanced in a “ Dissertation concerning the present State of
the High Roads of England, especially of those near Lon¬
don, wherein is proposed a new Method of Repairing and
Maintaining thembead before the Royal Society in the
winter of 1736-37, by Robert Philips, and printed in a
small separate volume. The author’s great object is to
recommend washing the roads by a constant stream, if pos¬
sible, and at any rate, washing the materials of which they
are composed. In this respect, notwithstanding the exist¬
ence of single roads so situated that the effects of water
upon them have been very beneficially introduced, his
plans for the universal employment of water have been al¬
together superseded by later experience; but he remon¬
strates, with greater propriety, against the practice, which
has, however, continued to prevail so generally till of late
years, of laying down large heaps of unprepared gravel, to
be gradually consolidated into a harder mass, at the ex¬
pense of the intolerable labour of the poor animals that are
obliged to grind it down. As an illustration of the good
effect of water, he mentions that even the sediment depo¬
sited by it at the bottom of Fleetditch, which was supposed
to be a soft mud, and to require removal when the ditch
was filled up, proved in fact to be a hard gravelly substance,
which afterwards afforded an excellent foundation for the
roads and buildings supported by it.
The attention of the public was afterwards directed to the
subject of roads and carriages, by several essays which ap¬
peared in the Communications to the Board of Agriculture,
and also in a separate form, under the names of Beatson,
Wright, Jessop, Hall, Wilkes, Erskine, Ellis, Gumming,
Whetley, Amos, and Booth. We may also refer to Sir
Henry Parnell’s Treatise on Roads; Telford’s Reports;
The Art of Constructing and Repairing Common Roads,
by Henry Law, and Professor Mahan’s Essay on Road-
Making.
But the suggestions of these writers were in a great mea¬
sure superseded by the success of Mr Loudon Macadam,
a gentleman whose practice was marked by simplicity and
economy, though he also had the merit of discovering
that the simplest and cheapest methods, in particular cases,
especially in that of boggy soils, are also the most effec¬
tual. The practical observations which are to be here in¬
serted cannot therefore be so well expressed in any other
form as in that of an abstract of Mr Macadam’s own direc¬
tions.
Mr Macadam’s leading principles are {Remarks, p. 37),
“ that a road ought to be considered as an artificial flooring,
forming a strong, smooth, solid surface, at once capable of
carrying great weights, and over which carriages may pass
without meeting any impediment.”
He proceeds to give directions for repairing an old road
and for making a new one, in the form of a communication
to a committee appointed by the House of Commons, in the
year 1819, with some subsequent corrections.
No additional materials, he observes, are to be brought
upon a road, unless in any part of it there be not a quan¬
tity of clean stone equal to 10 inches in thickness. The
stone already in the road, supposing it to have been made
in the usual manner, is to be loosened, and broken so that
no piece may exceed six ounces in weight; the road is
vou. XIX.
then to be laid as flat as possible, leaving only a fall of 3 Road-
inches from the middle to the sides when the road is 30 Making,
feet wide. The stones, thus loosened, are to be dragged
to the side by a strong heavy rake, with teeth 2^ inches in
length, and there broken ; but the stones are never to be
broken on the road itself. When the great stones have
been removed, and none are left exceeding six ounces in
weight, the surface is to be made smooth by a rake, which
will also settle the remaining materials into a better consis¬
tence, bringing up the stone, and letting the dirt fall down
into its place. The road being so prepared, the stone that
has been broken by the side is then to be carefully spread
over it: this operation requires particular attention, and the
future quality of the road will greatly depend on the man¬
ner in which it is performed: the stone must not be laid on
in shovelsful, but scattered over the surface, one shovelful
following another, and being spread over a considerable
space. Only a small part of the length of the road should
be lifted in this manner at once ; that is, about 2 or 3 yards ;
five men in a gang should be employed to lift it all across,
two continually digging up and raking off the large stones,
and preparing the road for receiving them again, and the
other three breaking them at the side of the road. It
may, however, happen that the surveyor may see cause
to distribute the labour in a proportion somewhat different.
The only proper method of breaking stones, in general,
both for effect and for economy, is in a sitting posture. The
stones are to be placed in small heaps, and women, boys,
and old men past hard labour, may sit down and break
them with small hammers into pieces not exceeding six
ounces in weight.
In some cases it would be unprofitable to lift and relay a
road, even if the materials should have been originally too
large; for example, the road between Bath and Cirences¬
ter was made of large stones, but so friable that in lifting
they would have fallen into sand ; in this case Mr Mac¬
adam merely had the higher parts cut down, and replaced
when sifted, and the surface kept smooth, until those
materials were gradually worn out; and they were after¬
wards replaced by stone of a better quality, properly pre¬
pared. At Egham it was necessary to remove the whole
road, in order to separate the small portion of valuable ma¬
terials from the mass of soft matter in which they were
enveloped, and which was carried away, at a considerable
expense, before a good road could be made. But although
freestone is by no means calculated to make a durable
road, yet by judicious management it may be made to form
a good road as long as it lasts. Whenever new stone is to
be laid on a road already consolidated, the hardened sur¬
face is to be loosened with a pick, in order to enable the
fresh materials to unite with the old. A new road, however
well it may have been made, will always receive the im¬
pressions of the carriage-wheels until it is hardened; a
man must therefore attend the road for some time, in order
to rake in the tracks made by the wheels; that is, as long
as any loose materials are left that can be so employed.
It is always superfluous, and generally injurious, to add
to the broken stone any mixture of earth, clay, chalk, or
any other matter that will imbibe water and be affected by
frost, or to lay anything whatever on the clean stone for the
purpose of binding it; for good stone, well broken, will al¬
ways combine by its own roughness into a solid substance
with a smooth surface, that will not be affected by the
vicissitudes of weather, or disfigured by the action of
wheels, which, as they pass over it without a jolt, will con¬
sequently be incapable of doing it any considerable injury.
The experience of the year 1820 strongly confirmed the
inutility and inconvenience of employing chalk with the
stone. In January, when a hard frost was succeeded by
a sudden thaw, a great number of roads broke up, and the
wheels of the carriages penetrated into the original soil;
2 F
226
EG AD-M AKIN G.
Road- in particular, it was observed that all the roads of which
Making, chalk was a component part became nearly impassable,
V ^ and even roads made over chalky sods gave way in most
places. But not one of the roads that had been thoroughly
made after these directions was observed to give way.
The tools required for lifting roads are—1. Strong picks,
but short from the handle to the point; 2. Small hammers,
weighing about a pound, with a thee the size of a shilling,
well steeled, and with a short handle ; 3. Rakes with wooden
heads, ten inches in length, and with iron teeth about two
and a half inches long, and very strong, for raking out the
laro-e stones when the road is broken up, and for keeping it
smooth after it has been finished, and while it is consoh-
datino-; 4. Very light, broad-mouthed shovels, to spread the
broken stones and to form the road.
Mr Macadam argues strongly against the old opinion of
the necessity of placing a quantity of large stones as a foun¬
dation, in order to carry the road over a wet subsoil. He
says, that whatever be the nature of the soil, if it be pre¬
viously “ made quite dry,” and a covering impenetrable to
rain placed over it, the thickness of the covering needs
only to depend on its own capability of becoming imper¬
vious. Large stones, he says, will constantly work up by
the agitation of the traffic on the road, and leave vacuities
for the reception of water; and the only way of keeping
the stones in their places is to have them of a uniform
size. A rocky bottom causes a road to wear out much
the faster [acting, probably, as a lower millstone in facili¬
tating the operation of grinding]. “ It is a known fact,
that a road lasts much longer over a morass than when
made over rock. In the neighbourhood of Bridgewater,
for example, the materials consumed on a rocky road, when
compared with those which are required for a similar road ^
made over the naked surface of the soil, are in the proportion
of seven to five.” In the summer of 1819, upon some new
roads made in Scotland, more than three feet of materials,
of various dimensions, were laid down ; and more than two-
thirds of them, according to our author, were worse than
wasted. In such an arrangement the water generally pene¬
trates to the bottom of the trench made to receive the road,
and remains there, to do mischief upon every change of wea ¬
ther. To prevent such inconveniences, it is necessary, in wet
soils, either to make drains to lower ground, or to raise the
road above the general level, instead of making a trench to
receive the stones; and from the penetration of rain the
solidity of the road itself must protect it. A well-made
road, not quite four inches in thickness, was found to have
kept the earth below it dry, in the parish of Ashton, near
Bristol; but six, eight, or ten inches of materials are
generally required to make a firm road, being laid on in
successive layers of about two inches in thickness, all well
broken, well cleaned, and well sized. Sometimes, indeed,
a much greater depth of stone than this is required; in a
road, for example, which was made from Lewes to East
Bourn entirely upon Mr Macadam’s principles, as much as
three feet of materials were required in many parts before
the road could be sufficiently consolidated ; it was, however,
ultimately so made, though at an expense of not much less
than a thousand pounds a mile.
Mr Macadam maintains that the quantity of stone re¬
quired for paving is fully sufficient to make an excellent
gravel road in any part of the world; and in almost every
case materials equally good can be obtained for roads at a
still cheaper rate; commonly, indeed, at one-tenth of the
expense of pavements. It is, however, in steep ascents that
pavements are most objectionable.
The operation of washing gravel Mr Macadam has not
found eligible, because it is more expensive than screening
or sifting, and less effectual; for about London the com¬
mon gravel is not capable of being cleaned by any ordinary
washing, though the Thames gravel, where it can be pro¬
cured, is generally clean and serviceable. Coarse gravel
broken, he says, is preferable to fine, as it consolidates more
perfectly into a single mass. The old practice of putting ^
a heap of unprepared gravel along the middle of the road,
and letting it work its own way gradually to the sides, he
thinks every way reprehensible.
The objection to a very convex road is, that travellers
only use the middle of it, which is therefore worn into^
three furrows by the string of horses and by the wheels ; if
the road is flatter, it becomes worn more equally. Ditches,
he observes, only require to be so deep that the surface of
the water in them may be a few inches below the level of
the road; the farmer often makes them dangerously deep,
on account of the value of the mould that is dug out of
them. Mr Macadam would prefer a bog to any other foun¬
dation for a road, provided that it would allow a man to
walk over it; and he observes, that the resistance to the
motion of a carriage would not be materially affected by the
foundation, if the road were well made. From Bridgewater
to Cross, a part of the road shakes when a carriage passes
over it; yet the consumption of materials is stated to be less
there than on the limestone rock in the neighbourhood.
He does not use any faggots in such cases, nor any stones
larger than six ounces in weight; and these never sink in
the bog, but unite into one mass like a piece of timber,
which rests on it. He makes such a road generally at
three different times; and he always prefers working in
weather not very dry. I he surveyors are directed to carry
a pair of scales and a six-ounce weight in their pockets, as
a check upon the workmen.
Mr Macadam has generally found reason to approve the
usual regulation respecting carriage-wheels ; but he thinks
broad wheels less advantageous to roads than is commonly
* supposed. He suggests that the tolls might always be fairly
made proportional to the exact number of horses employed ;
except that the waggoners should be encouraged to harness
them in pairs rather than in a line. The conical form of
broad wheels he thinks very injurious. Clean flints from
the sea-side are among the best materials for roads, and
might often be procured cheap by canals ; granite chip-
pings also, brought as ballast, are excellent; and when the
middle of the road has been well made with good stones,
the sides may often be left for a few feet less abundantly
provided with them, as they are naturally much less ex¬
posed to wear.
We have given details of Macadam’s plan at consider¬
able length, in order that the reader interested in the sub¬
ject may form his judgment on a method of constructing
roads which was at one time so popular as to threaten to
supersede every other. Macadam’s great rival in the art
of road-making was Telford, whose method was directly
opposed to that of Macadam, in requiring that every road
should be laid down upon a hard, solid, carefully-prepared
foundation; whereas Macadam, as it will have been seen,
was indifferent whether the substratum were soft or haid,
but of the two he rather preferred the former. Telford was
accustomed to regard as the real road, not the surface upon
which animals and vehicles moved, but the foundation oi
sub-road, which, if properly preserved, would last for ever ;
and in order to preserve it properly, it was covered with
suitable materials, renewed from time to time, on which
were expended the action of the horses feet and carriage-
wheels, as well as of the weather. This method was adopted
with great success on the Holyhead road, the Glasgow
and Carlisle road, &c.; and the public had abundant oppor¬
tunity of testing the merits of the two rival schemes. It
is scarcely necessary to say which eventually prevailed.
Considerable credit, however, is due to Macadam for im¬
proved details and economy in the art of road-making; and
we now proceed to describe some of the more important
features of Telford’s practice. In the first place, the road
Road-
Making.
ROAD-MAKING.
227
Road- having been properly levelled, and, where necessary, drained,
Making. a regular bottoming of close-set pavement was constructed.
The object was to secure the greatest degree of hardness
consistent with the materials at hand; and this method is
stated to be less expensive than a thick coating of broken
stones, while six inches of broken stones is sufficient when
laid on pavement. Any kind of common stone may be
used for the pavement; and if the stones are laid with their
broadest faces downwards, and stone chips be well driven
into the interstices, the earthy bed of the road will not be
pressed up so as to mix with the coating of broken stones.
When this coating is consolidated it will form a solid, uni¬
form mass of stone, and will be very superior in hardness
to one of broken stones mixed with the earth of the sub¬
stratum. On a road of this kind the power required to
draw a wagon was 46 lb., while on a road made with a thick
coating of broken stone laid on earth it was 65 lb., and with
a thick coating of gravel laid on earth it was 147 lb. In
places where stone is scarce, but gravel and lime are abun¬
dant, concrete may be used for the solid foundation of the
road : it should be spread to the depth of 6 inches, and upon
this, 6 inches of good hard gravel may be placed in two
courses, 3 inches at a time. By using concrete, a good
solid road may be formed with round, pebbly gravel, and
other materials not well adapted to road-making. The
gravel should be free from clay and dirt, and consist of
stones and sand, the latter sufficiently abundant to fill up
the spaces in the former. Five or six parts of the gravel
are to be mixed with ground, unslaked lime, when suffi¬
cient water must be added to slack the lime. It is to be
well mixed up, and thrown at once into its place and
trimmed to the proper form. Just as the concrete is about
to set, the first layer of broken stones or screened gravel
is to be put on. The broken stones on the surface will
quickly wedge together, but round and pebbly gravel stones
must be mixed with some binding material, to fill up the
interstices and prevent them from rolling about. This
binding material is useful in making the road solid; but it
makes it spongy in wet weather, and serves to break it up
after a thaw. In chalk districts that material may be used
for the foundation, but it should be placed at such a depth
as to be out of reach of frost. In soft and boggy ground,
the foundation should be laid with bushes or bundles of
faggots. The best road-metal for the surface should be
hard and tough, for which purpose whin-stones, basalts,
granite, and beach pebbles are well adapted. Flint is hard
but brittle, and is easily crushed ; and so also, fora contrary
reason, the softer sandstones. The limestones are reten¬
tive of water, and are apt to split during a thaw, but the
harder and more compact varieties may be used. When
gravel is the only road material, it should be screened, and
the fine stuff or hoggin be reserved for footpaths. The
larger stones should be broken, and the screened gravel
be spread to the depth of 6 inches. When new roads are
opened, men should be employed to keep every rut raked
in as soon as it is formed, and guards or fenders should be
placed so as to make the carriages pass over every part of
the road in turn.
In every road provision must be made for drainage. Sur¬
face-drainage is assisted by a gently-convex transverse sec¬
tion. There should be a ditch on each side to carry off all
the water that may fall upon the road. Between the foot¬
path and the road, at distances of about 60 feet, drains of
tiles or pipes should be formed under the footpath for con¬
veying the water into the ditch. If the surface be properly
drained, very little water will find its way to the substratum
unless this be a strong clay or wet peat, in which case a
system of under-drainage must be adopted, and trenches or
drains be formed across the road at distances of 20 or 30
feet.
In improving an old road, it is often desirable to straighten
its course by cutting off corners and bends, or to im- Road-
prove the level by avoiding or lowering hills, and em- Making,
banking valleys. It is also desirable to increase the width
and make it uniform throughout: the transverse section
must be corrected, ruts filled up, and the side ditches
cleaned and deepened; trees and hedges too near the
road must be cut down, and mud-banks removed. In
improving an old road by the common method of heap¬
ing on new materials, there is a wasteful expenditure of
means; for most old roads usually contain abundant ma¬
terial if properly lifted and applied. Roads should be
scraped clean in wet weather, and watered in dry ; the
fences should be as low as possible, and placed far on
the sides of the road, so as not to intercept the sun and
wind.
In forming roads through the streets of a busy town, it is
even more important than in the country to secure a good
foundation. This may be of concrete or of broken stone,
or the old road may itself be the foundation, for which
purpose the stones must be taken up and laid down again
to the proper cross section ; and upon this, stone pavement
may be laid, some kind of coarse mortar being used. Gra¬
nite is the best paving-stone, especially that from Guernsey
and Aberdeen, as it does not become polished by wear.
Next to this the hardest varieties of limestone and freestone
may be used. The stones should be in rectangular blocks
from 8 to 15 inches in depth, about 18 inches in length,
and 3 or 4 inches in width. Narrow stones are found to
wear better than wide ones. The courses should break
joint, and should abut against a firm kerb on each side of
the road. The courses should be commenced on each side
and worked towards the centre; the joints between the
stones should be thin, and the last stone should fit tightly
so as to form a key to the whole. The stones should be
well rammed down with a heavy gunner, and a thin grout¬
ing of sand and lime should be poured over the surface,
unless the superior plan be adopted of bedding the stones
in mortar. Where the road is inclined, the pavement
should be laid so as to give horses a hold for their feet; for
which purpose the stones may be sloped so as to form a
series of ledges or steps, or a course of slate about an inch
less in depth than the stones may be inserted between the
courses.
Roads have been paved with wooden blocks, but they
have in many cases failed for want of a solid foundation,
the absence of which caused them to form numerous pits
and cavities, and they were also found to be very slippery
in wet weather. Some years ago, wooden pavements were
in such favour in London, that most of the great thorough¬
fares were so paved. A large number of patents were
taken out for new forms of blocks, and machinery for pre¬
paring them, and also for combining and laying them
down. Contracts were also entered into for terms of years ;
so that long after wooden pavements had fallen into dis¬
favour they continued to be used. When these roads
were new and in good condition, they were easy to the
horses, pleasant to the travellers, and especially so to the
inhabitants of crowded thoroughfares, from the cessation of
noise. After the wooden roads had been given up, a noise¬
less wheel was attempted,—that is, a wheel with a band of
vulcanized india-rubber let into the tire. Asphaltum roads
have also been tried, for which purpose the soft earth is
well rammed, and a coarse concrete laid ; upon this a
finer concrete ; and lastly, the asphaltum applied in a liquid
state, and before it is quite set covered with sand, slate-
dust, plaster of Paris, or powdered chalk, rubbed in with
a flat heavy tool of wood ; or, for a rough pavement, a
clean, sharp grit is used. This kind of road answers toler¬
ably well where the traffic is not considerable, but it is
liable to soften under a hot sun, and to exhale a very dis¬
agreeable odour.
228
ROAD-MAKING.
Sect. III.— Of the Roads of different Ages and
Countries.
The ancient Incas of Peru seem to have been the great¬
est road-makers in the world. The story told by Mon¬
taigne (in. vi., p. 206) of a road in Peru, from Quito to
Cuzco, 300 leagues long and 25 paces broad, made of
stones 10 feet square, with a running stream and a row of
trees on each side, seems to have been literally true. “ It
was conducted,” says Prescott in his History of Peru,
“over pathless sierras covered with snow; galleries were
cut for leagues through the living rock; rivers were crossed
by means of bridges that swung suspended in the air; pre¬
cipices were scaled by stairways hewn out of the native
bed; and ravines of hideous depth were filled up with
solid masonry.” In Italy only, the Romans are said to have
made more than 14,000 miles of road, which was generally
executed with great care and labour; and many of their
roads still remain as the foundation of the most favourite
routes of Italian travellers. The more than Roman despot
of modern times was as much a Roman in his road-making as
in the selfish character of his general policy; and in propor¬
tion to the duration of his destiny he performed more than
all the Appii and Flaminii of antiquity. Whatever his merits
may have been, the beneficial effects of his measures re¬
main ; and those who have profited by his improvements
have no right to criticise his motives with too great severity.
Of the great roads diverging from the gates of ancient
Rome, about twelve have been enumerated by antiquaries,
and twelve more branched off from these at a small distance
from the city; eighteen others commenced in different
parts of Italy, and in the whole there are at least fifty, which
have been distinguished by appropriate names, without in¬
cluding the military roads through the distant provinces;
such, for example, as in England were distinguished by the
name of streets, of which many traces yet remain in different
parts of the country.
Directly to the sea the Romans travelled by the Ostian
Road ; along its shores to the north-west by the Aurelian,
and to the south-east by the Appian. Next within the
Aurelian was the Flaminian, then the Salarian, the Nomen-
tanian, the Tiburtine, the Praenestine, the Lavican, and
the Latin ; and then the Appian, which was the most
ancient of all, having been made as far as Capua, in the
442d year of the city, accompanied to a considerable dis¬
tance by an aqueduct. The Aurelian road was made in the
year 512; the Flaminian about 533.
I. The Flaminian Road still affords the great northern approach
to Rome by the Porta del Popolo; it led to Foligno, Ancona,
and Rimini, and was continued by the uFmilian to Bologna, and
thence to Aquilegia, near Venice; the present mountain route from
Bologna to Rome is still facilited by the remains of the ancient
structures. Besides the ^Emilian Road, the Flaminian was also
connected with the Cassian, leading to Modena; the Claudian to
Arezzo, Florence, and Lucca: there were also six other branches
of less note, each named after its founder.
II. III. The Salarian and the Nomentanian roads lay to the east
of the Flaminian the former, from the Porto Salara, led through
the country of the Sabines by Rieti to Hadria ; the latter, from the
Porta Sant’ Agnese, went north-eastwards to Nomentum.
IV. The Tiburtine Road led from the Porta Tiburtina, now San
Lorenzo, to Tivoli, with a branch on the right called the Gabian.
The large blocks which were employed to form this road, near the
town of Tivo-li, in ascending from the river, are still in their an¬
cient places; they are accurately fitted together, and present a
surface sufficiently smooth, after having been in use for about 2000
years.
V. VI. VII. The three next in order all met at Anagnia, 24
miles beyond Prseneste or Palestrina. The Praenestine, from the
Esquiline gate, now called Porta Maggiore, on account of the mag¬
nitude of the ruins of the aqueduct of Clodius, with which it is in¬
corporated, led by Aquinum to Praeneste ; the Lavican led from the
same gate, more to the right, by way of Beneventuin ; and the
Latin road, from the Porta Latina, went first to Compitura, and
from Anagnia proceeded to join the Appian near Capua.
Road-
Making.
VIII. The Appian Road is well known, from the minute descrip- Road»
tion of Horace’s progress in his journey to Brundusium, as from the Making,
eagerness with which a modern traveller reckons the stages that he
has completed on his way to Naples, without a visit from the ban¬
ditti that infest it. The original extent of this road, from the
Colosseum to Capua, was 142 Roman miles; and it was continued
238 miles farther to Brundusium by Julius Caesar. It was con¬
structed with large stones, or rather rocks, joined together with
great care ; and it is said to have had a foot-pavement, 2 feet wide
on each side, besides the agger, or principal mass of stones in
the middle, and the two marginal parts, which were probably un¬
paved.
IX. The Ostian Road led from the Porta di San Paolo, near the
Tiber, in a straight line to the mouth of that river.
X. The Aurelian, from the Porta Aurelia, a gate which was near
the Moles Adriani, or Castle of Sant’ Angelo, led by Laurentum to
Centumcellae, or Civita Vecchia to Genoa, and thence by Susa,
across the Montcenis, as far as Arles in Provence. This seems to
have been the oldest passage into the Gauls ; it was improved by
Pompey the Great under the name of the Strata Romana. Several
other passages over the Alps are also particularized in the Itiner¬
ary of Antonine on the roads from Milan to Arles ; from Milan to
Vienne in Dauphin6, either by the Grecian or by the Cottian Alps,
the former north, the latter south of Montcenis; from Milan to
Strasburg ; and from Milan to Mentz.
XL XII. The Triumphal Road began from the Capitol, and went
over the Tiber into the country beyond the present site of the Va¬
tican. We may consider as the last of the twelve great roads, ori¬
ginating from Rome, the Collatine, leading due north from the
Porta Pinciana on the Monte Pincio.
Among the less remarkable roads about the metropolis of the an¬
cient world were also the Campanian, the new and the old Valerian,
both leading by Tivoli to the Adriatic ; the Tusculan, the Alban,
the Ardentine, on the right of the Appian ; the Laurentine, a little
more to the right, Pliny’s villa being mentioned as accessible from
either of these last; the Portuensis, from the Porta Portuese, Tras-
teverina, leading to Ostia; and the Aureli Nova, beginning from
the Porta Janiculi, now Porta San Pancrazio, and leading towards
Civita Vecchia.
Whether on the foundations of the ancient roads, or in
any new lines that have been prepared in modern times by
the magnificence of the pontiffs or of the princes, the great
roads of Italy are at present almost universally well made
and well repaired. In Lombardy, indeed, and throughout
the immense plain that extends from the Alps to the Apen¬
nines, they are quite as good, in summer at least, as those
in England. The cross roads of Italy are, however, greatly
neglected; for it is in fact almost exclusively in Great
Britain that private and individual exertion supersedes the
necessity of public munificence. The intercourse of Italy
with the rest of Europe has been greatly facilitated by the
improvements made in the two great passages over the
Alps by the authority of Bonaparte. The more useful of
these improvements are probably those which have been
effected on the southern side of Montcenis, since they en¬
able the traveller to pass with little danger or difficulty at
all seasons of the year; the more magnificent are the works
at the Simplon, which, however, are not completely secure
from the danger of avalanches, whenever ifesh snow is
lying on the ground. The Apennine portion of the Aure¬
lian road has also been greatly improved by some still more
recent operations, so that carriages may now pass with com¬
parative ease and safety from Lucca to Genoa; though, for
one stage near Sestri, it is not thought advisable for the
travellers to retain their seats within them.
The general declivity of the new road over Montcenis is
1 inch in 15 or 20; and it is never greater in the steepest
part,—that is, in the fourth and fifth turns that wind up
over Lanslebourg,—than 1 in 12. (Derrien, Notice His-
torique et Descriptive sur la Route de Montcenis.') The
road over the Simplon was executed jointly by the French
and Italians, under the government of Bonaparte, from 1801
to 1805. The greatest declivity is 1 inch in 29; so that
an English stage coachman might trot his horses up almost
the whole way. The longest gallery or tunnel is about
500 feet under ground.
R 0 A ROB 229
Roanne The roads in France are generally rough in their original
|| formation, and still rougher from want of care in repairing
Robert, them, as the traveller feels to his cost in passing over the
—v*primitive mountains in the south of that country, where the
roads are certainly very different from those which are
made by Macadam across a bog; although some of the
more recent French and Flemish pavements, as long as
they remain unimpaired, are truly excellent. In Germany
they have few pavements; and the roads, except in sandy
countries, are generally kept in good repair,—that is, in the
south and the west of Germany. Mr Cripps informs us
that the great roads in Sweden are beautiful; they are very
slightly convex, and made of granite broken to the size
of a walnut. The roads of the British Islands are excel¬
lent, and in most cases still retain their utility as feeders to
railways. (t. y.) (c. t.)
ROANNE, a town of France, capital of an arrondisse-
rnent in the department of Loire, on the left bank of the
Loire, here crossed by a stone bridge, 30 miles N. of Mont-
brison. It is a straggling but well-built place, with broad
streets and many handsome houses. The most remarkable
buildings are an ancient church, public library, and college
buildings. There are also a theatre, hospital, court of law,
and chamber of manufactures. Muslin, calico, woollen
cloth, leather, porcelain, and other articles, are made here ;
dyeing and boat-building are also carried on. A consider¬
able transit trade is pursued in the manufactures of Lyons
and the south-east of France, as well as in corn, wine, flour,
cloth, coal, timber, &c. The Loire is navigable up as far
as Roanne, and there is a good quay. By canals and rail¬
ways this place is connected with the principal towns in
the country. Some ancient remains have been discovered
in the vicinity. Pop. (1856) 14,952.
ROBERT, King of France, surnamed Le Sage (“ The
Wise”), and Le Devot (“ The Devout”), succeeded his
father Hugues Capet in a.d. 996, and died in 1031. (See
France.)
Robert, the name of three kings of Scotland. Robert L,
or “ The Bruce,” was born in 1274, was crowned at Scone
in 1306, and died in 1329. (See Bruce.) Robert II., the
first of the Stuart dynasty, and the grandson of the preced¬
ing, was born in 1316, succeeded David II. in 1371, and
died in 1390. Robert III., whose original name was John,
succeeded his father Robert II. in 1390, and died in 1400.
(See Scotland.)
Robert of Gloucester, a monk who flourished in the
latter half of the thirteenth century, left behind him a
rhyming chronicle. The subject is the history of England
from the time of Brutus to the close of the reign of Henry
III. The facts are chiefly taken from Geoffrey of Mon¬
mouth, and other old annalists. The verse consists of long
lines of fourteen syllables, and abounds in Saxonisms.
There is little of art or of spirit in the execution. The
rhyme seems to cramp the verse, and to make it limp
along at a duller pace than even ordinary prose. The
Chronicle of Robert of Gloucester was printed by Hearne,
in 2 vols. 8vo, Oxford, 1724, and reprinted at London in
1810.
Robert, Leopold, a distinguished French painter, was
born in 1794, at Chaux-de-Ponds in Neufchatel. From
his earliest years a strong love for design characterized
him. The commercial profession, to which he was appren¬
ticed, was given up in disgust. He was not content until
he was sent to Paris to study art. There he laboured
with unwearied assiduity under Girardet the engraver and
David the painter. Nor did his ardour abate when he
found himself a poor and solitary student at Rome. The
prosecution of his art was the only subject that he allowed
to engross his mind. He patiently employed all the advan¬
tages of the place to perfect himself both in theory and in
execution. He especially laboured to catch the traits of
Italian scenery, life, and character. The consequence of Robertson,
these devoted efforts was, that the connoisseurs in Paris
were soon charmed with the fresh and faithful sketches
which Robert sent home to the yearly exhibitions in the
salon of the Louvre. Among others, his “ Neapolitan
Improvisator,” in 1824 ; his “ Madonna dell’ Arco,” in 1827;
and his “ Reapers,” in 1831, continued to increase his repu¬
tation. He had attained the highest place in his own par¬
ticular walk, and his latest work, “ The Fishermen,” was
exciting great admiration in Paris, when the intelligence
arrived that he had committed suicide at Venice in a fit of
melancholy on the 20th March 1835.
ROBERTSON, William, one of the most eminent
of British historians, was born in the manse or parsonage
of Borthwick, county of Edinburgh, on the 19th of Sep¬
tember 1721. He was the eldest son of the Rev. William
Robertson, minister of Borthwick, and of Eleanor, daughter
of David Pitcairn, Esq. of Dreghorn. After nineteen years’
ministry in the beautiful rural parish of Borthwick, Mr
Robertson was appointed one of the ministers of Old Grey-
friars church, Edinburgh, and, removing thither with his
family, his son William was placed in the university at the
early age of twelve. He had previously attended the po¬
pular grammar school of Dalkeith, then taught by a Mr
Leslie. At the university William Robertson was distin¬
guished for diligent and methodical study. He laid down
for himself a strict plan of reading, and inscribed on his
earliest note-books the motto Vita sine litteris mors (“ life
without letters is death”),—a remarkable instance of lite¬
rary ambition in a youth of fourteen. He was also a con¬
spicuous member of a society of his fellow-collegians, who
met to cultivate elocution and extempore discussion. In
his twentieth year Robertson was licensed to preach ; and
two years afterwards (1743) he was presented by the Earl
of Hopetoun to the living of Gladsmuir, a country parish in
Haddingtonshire. The presentation came at a fortunate
time; for the same year the historian’s parents died, within
a few days of each other, of fever, leaving six daughters and
one son almost wholly without provision. W illiam removed
the family to his manse at Gladsmuir, and renounced all
idea of forming any matrimonial connection until he had
seen them respectably settled in the world. This result
was happily accomplished ere he had completed his thirtieth
year; and in 1751 he married his cousin, Miss Nesbit,
daughter of one of the ministers of Edinburgh. If we con¬
sider that the living of Gladsmuir was not worth more than
L.100 per annum, the filial piety and generosity of Robert¬
son in this critical period of his life must be held as con¬
stituting a moral claim on the regard and admiration of pos¬
terity, scarcely inferior to that of his literary renown. A
similar principle of self-sacrifice and duty led him in the
second year of his ministry at Gladsmuir to enrol him¬
self in a body of volunteers formed to resist the Jacobite
rising of 1745. He soon became known as an able preacher
and debater in the church courts, his exertions being
strenuously devoted to the maintenance of order and autho¬
rity. “ Having,” as Lord Brougham remarks, “ a very
strong and clear opinion in favour of lay patronage, the
great question which divided the Church of Scotland in
that day, he assumed the lead of its advocates. At first
they formed a small minority of the Assembly; but by de¬
grees, reason, enforced by eloquence, had its course, and
he gained ultimately a complete victory over his adver¬
saries.” In other words, the moderate party in the church
obtained the ascendant, and this they maintained, though
often assailed, for about ninety years. During the same
time, however, dissent was gaining ground among the
people ; and at length the popular aversion to lay patronage
led to the memorable disruption of 1843. The great merit
of Robertson as an ecclesiastical leader was the regularity
and order which he established in the church courts, en-
ROBERTSON.
230
Robertson, forcing the exercise of the judicial power of the church, and
's—investing the proceedings of the General Assembly with
an interest and importance which they had never before
possessed. He was a man of sagacity, penetration, and ad¬
dress,—active, intrepid, and eloquent,—“ designed by na¬
ture, as well as formed by study, for a great practical states¬
man and orator.” These qualities were further displayed at
the meetings of the “ Select Society,” an association founded
in 1754 by Allan Ramsay the painter and some of his
friends, with the view of promoting philosophical inquiry,
and the improvement of its members in public speaking.
Adam Smith, David Hume, Wedderburn (Lord Lough¬
borough), Lord Kames, John Home, Dr Carlyle, and other
eminent and accomplished men were members of this so¬
ciety ; and its friendly meetings, often terminating in small
social supper parties, bound together the literati of Edin¬
burgh, and gave a peculiar freedom and geniality to their
intercourse. The evening meal—the Roman banquet—
was long a favourite in Edinburgh. Men of study and men
of business loved to relax over these familiar and inexpensive
meetings; and the late Lord Cockburn has recorded that,
“ so far as he had seen social life, its brightest sunshine
had been on the last repast of the day.” The modern late
dinner in some degree occupies its place; but it is more
costly, more cumbrous and formal, and infinitely less so¬
cial and inspiring. Whatever the present generation may
have gained in wisdom or in the minor morals of life, the
art of conversation has certainly declined amongst us. Be¬
fore Robertson had become one of the celebrities of the
Scottish capital, he had engaged in historical researches,
sitting in his quiet manse at Gladsmuir. In October 1753,
we find him writing to Lord Hailes for information and
books relative to the history of Scotland, as he intended to
employ some of the idle time of that winter in making dili¬
gent inquiry into the period between the death of King
James V. and the death of Queen Mary. In 1755 he
published his only printed sermon, a discourse preached be¬
fore the Society for promoting Christian Knowledge, and
entitled The Situation of the World at the time of Christ’s
Appearance, and its connection with the Success of his
Religion Considered. The historical bias of the author is
thus manifested, and the sermon is as carefully and finely
written, and as well reasoned, as any of his subsequent great
works. In 1757 Robertson took an active part in defend¬
ing some of his clerical friends from the persecution raised
against them by the high Calvinistic party of the church,
on account of Home’s tragedy ot Douglas. That a Pres¬
byterian clergyman should write a play, was held to be a
glaring scandal and outrage, and the offence was aggravated
by the circumstance, that several of his brother ministers
had been present at the representation of the tragedy in
Edinburgh. Robertson was not of the number. He had
early promised to his father that he would never enter a
play-house ; and though he rejoiced in the success of his
friend’s drama, and was delighted with private exhibitions
of the genius of Garrick and Henderson, he faithfully kept
his promise. Home bent before the clerical storm, by re¬
signing his living at Athelstaneford, and most of the other
clergymen having apologised and explained, were sentenced
by their various presbyteries to short periods of suspension,
or were only subjected to a rebuke. The pleas of allevia¬
tion put in by some of the offending ministers are amusingly
characteristic. Mr White of Libberton owned the charge,
but pleaded that he had gone to the play-house only once,
and endeavoured to conceal himself in a corner to avoid
giving offence. The presbytery suspended him from the
12th of January to the 2d of February. Mr Steel, minis¬
ter of Stair, urged in extenuation that the play-house was
at a great distance from his parish, and he had no reason
to apprehend that he would be known! Not one of the
ministers dared to justify his conduct in attending the
theatre, and all were much indebted to Robertson for the Robertson,
judgment and eloquence with which he conducted their
defence. The incident is both an interesting and import¬
ant one in the history of the Scottish Church ; and it
served to bring more prominently into notice the talents
and principles of the rising minister of Gladsmuir. He
was honoured with the degree of Doctor of Divinity by the
university of Edinburgh; and in 1758 was appointed in¬
cumbent of Lady Tester’s parish in Edinburgh. By this
time he had brought his Scottish historical labours to a
close, and he repaired to London to make arrangements
for the publication of his work. Parts of it, while passing
through the press, were shown to influential friends and pa¬
trons,—to the Duke of Argyle, Lord Royston, Horace
Walpole, and others. The work was thus made the topic
of conversation, and the author was enabled to obtain a
satisfactory settlement with his publisher, Andrew Millar,
who gave L.600 for the copyright. In February 1759 ap¬
peared this first great work of Robertson in two quarto
volumes, bearing the title of The History of Scotland
during the reigns of Queen Mary and James VI., till his
accession to the Crown of England. The most sanguine
anticipations of the author and his friends were realized.
Congratulations poured in upon the historian from all
quarters. The London authors, he says, were astonished.
Mr Doddington, Horace Walpole, Lady Hervey, and the
Speaker of the House of Commons (the pompous Onslow),
became his sworn friends. Lord Bute thought the work
the first history in the English tongue. Lord Chesterfield
compared Robertson to Livy. “ Lord Lyttelton,” says
David Hume, “ seems to think that since the time of St
Paul there scarce has been a better writer than Dr Robert¬
son.” That want of idiomatic English which is now charged
upon the historian was not discovered by the best masters
of English of that day. Hume himself, though his own
history had been far from successful, and though he was
fully conscious of the powers and more popular qualities of
his new rival, cordially recommended the work, and exerted
himself to procure a good translation of it into French. All
parties, political and literary, joined in the loud applause,
and church preferment soon followed. Two months after
the publication of the history, the office of chaplain of the
garrison at Stirling fell vacant, and the historian received
the appointment. In 1761 he was made one of the deans
of the chapel-royal. In March 1762, on the death of Dr
Gowdie, he was chosen principal of the university of Edin¬
burgh and minister of the Old Greyfriars; and in 1764
the sinecure office of historiographer for Scotland was re¬
vived in his favour, with a salary of L.200 per annum.
The influence and nationality of Lord Bute are no doubt
visible in these appointments, but they were all ratified by
public opinion. The History of Scotland, both for what
it did and what it promised, was well worthy of honour and
reward. As a narrative, clear, luminous, and picturesque,
of a most interesting and complicated portion of history, it
has perhaps never been excelled. The style is too uni¬
formly stately and measured, and a few Scotticisms may
be detected; but in the delineation of character and the
arrangement of incidents,—in moral reflection, acute re¬
mark, and sustained dignity of thought, and chaste embel¬
lishment, the work must ever rank in the first class of his¬
torical compositions, and will ever enchain the attention of
the reader. The story of Mary, Queen of Scots, is told with
inimitable grace and pathos ; and although the views of
Robertson have been assailed by eager and determined
controversialists, no substantial deviation from the truth of
history has been discovered in his work. The investiga¬
tion of state papers, and the collection of Mary’s letters
and despatches by Prince Labanoff, have since added to
our stock of information; yet they have made no material
alteration in the facts or deductions given by the Scottish
ROBERTSON.
Robertson, historian.1 Hume differs from Robertson in believing that
Mary was accessory to the Babington conspiracy, including
the intended assassination of Elizabeth ; yet even this point
is still only a matter of opinion or conjecture. The copy
of the letter of Mary, on which the accusation is founded,
is generally believed to have been altered from the original,
and passages in it to have been interpolated by command
of Walsingham, and no new evidence has been adduced.
The same remark applies to the case of Mary and Darnley.
What was obscure in the last century is obscure still. Ten
years elapsed ere Robertson again appeared as an author.
It had been suggested to him by the king, through the me¬
dium of Lord Bute, that he should undertake a History of
England; and in the event of his compliance, every source
of information which the government could command would
be thrown open to him, with the addition of such a pecu¬
niary provision as would enable him to bestow undivided
attention on the work. The historian seems to have at
first entertained the project, although declining to sever
his connection with the Church of Scotland ; but the re¬
tirement of Lord Bute and other causes led to the aban¬
donment of the scheme. It is as well for Robertson’s fame
that he did not come into direct competition with his friend
Hume, whose History was completed in 1761. In the
most defective portion of Hume’s history—the early period
—Robertson would have been found equally deficient, in
consequence of his ignorance of the northern languages ;
and though his diligence would have enabled him to avoid
some of the palpable errors into which Hume fell, he would
probably have entertained similar prejudices as to the Puri¬
tans and the Commonwealth, while he could hardly have
hoped to excel his contemporary in philosophical analysis
or grace of style. He more prudently selected a field still
unoccupied; and in 1769 appeared, in three quarto volumes,
The History of the Reign of the Emperor Charles V., with
a View of the Progress of Society from the Subversion of
the Roman Empire to the beginning of the Sixteenth Cen¬
tury. For the copyright of the work the historian received
L.3600. “ The character of Charles,” as Dugald Stewart
has observed, “ was singularly adapted to Dr Robertson’s
purpose, not only as the ascendant it secured to him in the
political world, marks him out indisputably as the principal
figure in that illustrious group which then appeared on the
theatre of Europe, but as it everywhere displays that deep
and sagacious policy, which, by systematizing his counsels
and linking together the great events of his reign, inspires
a constant interest, if not for the personal fortunes of the
man, at least for the magnificent projects of the politician.
Nor is the character of Charles, however unamiable, with¬
out a certain species of attraction. The reader who is pre¬
viously acquainted with the last scenes of his enterprising
and brilliant life, while he follows him through the splendid
231
career of his ambition, can scarcely avoid to indulge occa- Robertson,
sionally those moral sympathies which the contrast awakens,
and to borrow from the solitude of the cloister some pro¬
phetic touches, to soften the sternness of the warrior and
statesman.” It may be remarked, however, that the cloister
life of Charles, as related by the historian, has been drawn
from authorities of little value, and various errors have been
pointed out in a recent work expressly devoted to this sub¬
ject.2 In the days of Robertson, minute research and col¬
lation of facts were held more subordinate than they are at
present to the art of composition, and especially to the pro¬
duction of an interesting and glowing narrative ; and the
historian’s account of Charles fully answered the public
expectation, high as that had been raised by his previous
History. The first volume of the work contains a view of
the progress of society, and is an admirable philosophical
dissertation on that important period of the world’s history,
when, as the author himself observes, “ the several powers
of Europe were formed into one great political system, in
which each took a station, wherein it has since remained
with less alteration than could have been expected, after
the shocks occasioned by so many internal revolutions and
so many foreign wars.”
After an interval of eight years, Dr Robertson published,
in 1777, his History of America, in two volumes quarto.
His popularity was still undiminished, and his publisher was
glad to secure the work by a payment of L.2400 for the
copyright, being in the same proportion as the sum given
for the History of Charles V. The narrative portion of the
America contains perhaps the finest passages in all Ro¬
bertson’s works. He has nowhere else shown the same power
of picturesque and striking description. His imagination
was excited by the great event of Columbus’s voyage, the
simple majestic character of the adventurous discoverer,
and the landing and meeting with the natives, who regarded
their new guests “ as a superior order of beings, children
of the sun, who had descended to visit the earth.” The
elements of the highest order of poetry are comprised in
the incidents and general character of this great discovery
of the New World; and Robertson has produced a series
of grand historical paintings to which only the writings of
Macaulay can furnish a parallel.3 One blemish in Robert¬
son’s work has been justly censured by his biographer,
Dugald Stewart, though it is unfelt by the reader while
carried along by the deep interest of the narrative. We
refer to the disposition which the historian has shown to
palliate or to veil the enormities of the Spaniards in their
American conquests. The acquisition of the New World,
it is calculated, was effected by the murder of 10,000,000
of the human species ; and the accounts of this enormous
carnage are authenticated beyond the possibility of dispute.
“ Millions died that Csesar might be great,” says the poet;
1 In one small point, a personal feature of Mary—and the Queen’s person is a circumstance not to be disregarded, as Robertson has
said, in the history of a female reign—a correction may be noted. The historian states that Mary’s hair was Mack ; in reality it was
auburn, inclining to a dark red. The portraits of Mary of Guise have often been mistaken and engraved for those of her daughter Mary,
Queen of Scots.
2 The Cloister Life of the Emperor Charles the Fifth, by William Stirling, London, 1852. Mr Stirling has derived his materials from
the History of the Order of St Jerome, by Joseph de Siguen^a, who was horn in 1545,—a work of which Robertson does not seem to have
heard,—and from MSS. in the archives of the French Foreign Office. Mr Stirling’s volume is a curious and valuable contribution to
history. 4
a Lord Brougham—the grandson of Dr Robertson’s sister—has instituted a parallel, or rather contrast, between parts of Robertson’s
History and parts of Mr Washington Irving’s work, The Life and Voyages of Columbus. In chaste simplicity of style, combined with
dramatic effect, the superiority undoubtedly rests with the Scottish historian. We give one of Lord Brougham’s passages of compari¬
son :—“ About two hours before midnight, Columbus, standing on the forecastle, observed a light at a distance, and presently pointed
it out to Pedro,” &c. Thus Robertson. Irving says:—“ Wrapped from observation in the shades of night, he maintained an intense
and unremitting watch, ranging his eye along the dusky horizon. Suddenly about ten o’clock he thought he beheld a light glimmering
at a distance.” Lord Brougham (who remarks that Robertson had never thought of saying “ suddenly,” as knowing that light must of
necessity be sudden), triumphantly asks, “ Can any one doubt which of the two passages is the most striking—the chaste and severe, or
the ornamented and gaudy and meretricious ? The account of Robertson makes the ships lie-to all night. Irving either makes them
lie-to, and afterwards go on sailing rapidly, or the lying-to was the night before, and they sailed quicker the nearer they came to land,
and in the dusk. The one makes them only see the shore after dawn ; the other makes them see it two leagues off, in a dark night, at
two in the morning, within the tropics.” (Brougham’s Lives of Men of Letters, London, 1845, page 296.) This minute verbal criticism
is worthy of Johnson. Lord Brougham’s own writings would ill stand such a test.
E O B E ft T S O N.
232
Robertson, and every conqueror from Nimrod to Napoleon has been
V—' equally careless of the death, desolation, and misery oc¬
casioned by wars of ambition. Robertson should have
branded the inhuman excesses of the Spaniards with his
eloquent indignation. In his own nature and sentiments he
was liumane and enlightened ; but he appears, like others,
to have been captivated and blinded by the romance of his
theme, and by the grand poetical enterprise of discovering
and securing a new hemisphere. Shortly after the publi¬
cation of his American history Robertson evinced his sense
of justice and his principles of enlightened toleration by sup¬
porting the repeal of part of the penal laws against the
Roman Catholics, which had been abolished in England,
but were still in force in Scotland. The statute conferred
no political rights on the Roman Catholics ; from these
they were debarred until half a century more had elapsed.
The Papist, as Robertson said, “ had not acquired the pri¬
vileges of a citizen ; he was only restored to the rights of
a man.” He was rendered capable of inheriting property
by succession or conveyance, of transmitting it to others,
or of acquiring it by purchase; and the Roman Catholic
ecclesiastics who should take upon them the instruction of
youth were freed from the dreadful penalty of perpetual
imprisonment. This mild relaxation of the persecuting
laws was resisted by a large body of the clergy and people
of Scotland. Riots took place in Glasgow and Edinburgh ;
in the latter a house supposed to contain a Popish chapel
was burned to the ground, and another house occupied by
a Roman Catholic clergyman was destroyed. At night an
attack upon the residence of Dr Robertson was meditated,
but by that time some troops of dragoons had arrived, and
a military party was posted in the college court, which
prevented further violence. This disgraceful outburst of
fanaticism (which cost the city of Edinburgh a sum of
L.1650 by way of indemnification) probably hastened the in¬
tention of Robertson to retire from public life. He was now
verging on his sixtieth year, and incessant study, as well
as public business, had impaired the vigour of his robust
constitution. His literary labours, however, were not ter¬
minated until the year 1791, when he published An Histori¬
cal Disquisition concerning the Knowledge which the
Ancients had of India. The perusal of Major Rennell’s
Memoir for illustrating his map of Hindustan suggested
this inquiry, which is marked by the author’s wonted dili¬
gence in collecting and arranging materials, and by his
skill in perspicuous narrative and illustration. The old age
of the historian was cheerful and happy. There had been
no death in his family. One son had adopted the legal
profession (he afterwards rose to be a judge of the Court
of Session), and two other sons had entered and distin¬
guished themselves in the army. His eldest daughter was
married to Mr Brydone, author of the well-known Tour
through Sicily and Malta ; and at Mr Brydone’s residence
of Lennel, on the southern border, the historian, we are told,
delighted to pass a few weeks of summer or autumn. Lat¬
terly he resided at Grange House, near Edinburgh ; and
Lord Cockburn, in his Memorials of his Time, has given a
graphic account of the “ Principal,” as he was usually styled
from his office in the university :—
“ Many a happy summer day had his grandson John Rus¬
sell and I in that house (the Grange). The doctor used to
assist us in devising schemes to prevent the escape of our
rabbits ; and sometimes, but this was rarely, and with strict
injunctions to us to observe that moderation which Mrs Ro¬
bertson could never make himself practise, he permitted us to
have a pull at his favourite cherry-tree. He was a pleasant-
lookingoldman,withan eye of greatvivacity and intelligence,
a large projecting chin, a small hearing-trumpet fastened
by a black ribbon to a button-hole of his coat, and a rather
large wig, powdered and curled. He struck us boys, even
from the side-table, as being evidently fond of a good din¬
ner ; at which he sat with his chin upon his plate, intent Robertson,
upon the real business of the occasion. This appearance,
however, must have been produced partly by his deafness;
because when his eye told him that there was something
interesting, it was delightful to observe the animation with
which he instantly applied his trumpet; when, having
caught the scent, he followed it up, and was leader of the
pack.”
This familiar sketch, like a Dutch painting, brings the
domestic scene and its leading figure distinctly before us.
Lord Brougham gives a few additional touches. The his¬
torian always wore his cocked hat even in the country; he
had a stately gait, a slight guttural accent in his speech,
which gave it a peculiar fulness ; and he retained some old-
fashioned modes of address, as using the word “ Madam” at
full length ; and when he drank wine with any woman,
adding “ My humble service to you.” Johnson thought
Robertson a poor talker; but the sage of Bolt Court had
exaggerated ideas as to the standard of good conversation,
which with him was a species of intellectual gladiatorship.
By all his familiar friends the historian was esteemed as an
agreeable and instructive companion, and Dugald Stewart
mentions the “splendid variety of his conversation.” Until
within a few months of his decease Dr Robertson continued
to preach ; and his sermons, delivered with the aid only of a
few notes, are described as having been at once simple,
correct, and impressive. He was no deep evangelical
divine, and doubts have even been hazarded as to his ortho¬
doxy, to which his long and intimate friendship with David
Hume may have first given rise. That friendship, he said,
he always considered as one of the most fortunate and
honourable circumstances of his life. “ It is a felicity of
the age and country in which we live, that men of letters
can enter the same walk of science, and go on successfully,
without feeling one sentiment of envy or rivalship. In the
intercourse between Mr Hume and me (he writes to Gib¬
bon), we always found something to blame as well as some¬
thing to commend. I have received frequently very valu¬
able criticisms on my performances from him ; and I have
sometimes ventured to offer him my strictures on his works.
Permit me to hope for the same indulgence from you.”
The style of Robertson’s letters to Gibbon is more open to
censure than any uncharitable inference which can be
drawn from his intimacy with Hume. His position in the
church and in the university demanded that he should at
least have remonstrated against the two memorable and
insidious chapters in the Decline and Fall on the subject
of Christianity. But his language to Gibbon is uniformly
complimentary; and instead of joining with Lord Hailes and
Bishop Watson in denouncing the tone and spirit of the
English historian, he speaks of the bigotry and fierce Chris¬
tianity of parties who opposed him. The explanation is, that
Robertson was a man of the world as well as a man of let¬
ters. In the former character he was apt to be over-
complaisant, and in the latter he regarded literary success
as the great business and absorbing pursuit of life. The
historian at times overpowered the divine. He was also
reserved and reticent—an admirer of the school of Stoics.
His deepest feelings lay hid from common observation. He
would not, like Swift, have read prayers before his stranger
guests had risen from their beds, but he would have im¬
portuned none of them to be present. There is not, how¬
ever, a shadow of evidence to prove that Robertson ever
disbelieved the faith of his fathers. His pastoral duties
were discharged with exemplary care and regularity; and he
preserved through life the confidence and regard of several
of his brother divines, the most eminent for piety and strict¬
ness of Presbyterian doctrine and discipline. The health
of Dr Robertson began to fail in the end of the year 1791,
when symptoms of jaundice appeared, and a long and
lingering illness succeeded. “ While he was able to walk
ROB
ROB
233
Roberval- abroad,” says Dugald Stewart, “ he commonly passed a part
lian Lines of the day in a small garden, enjoying the simple gratifica-
II tions it afforded with all his wonted relish. Some who now
Robes- hear me will long remember, among the trivial yet in-
v ^ien^ j teresting incidents which marked these last weeks of his
memorable life, his daily visits to the fruit-trees (which
were then in blossom), and the smile with which he, more
than once, contrasted the interest he took in their progress
with the event which was to happen before their maturity.”
He died on the 11th of June 1793, in the seventy-second
year of his age. His funeral sermon was preached by his
colleague in the church, Dr Erskine, who, though opposed
to Robertson in his views of ecclesiastical government and
policy, bore ample testimony to the talents and virtues of
his friend, and who has left this record of his moral quali¬
ties :—“ He enjoyed the bounties of Providence without
running into riot; was temperate without austerity ; con¬
descending and affable without meanness; and in expense
neither sordid nor prodigal. He could feel an injury, and
yet bridle his passions ; was grave, not sullen ; steady, not
obstinate; friendly, not officious; prudent and cautious,
not timid.” - (r. c—s.)
ROBERVAL LIAN LINES, a name given to certain
lines used for the transformation of figures, so called from
Roberval, the inventor of them. These lines are the boun¬
daries of lines infinitely extended in length, yet equal to
other spaces which are terminated on all sides. It is ob¬
served by the Abbe Gallois, that the method of transform¬
ing figures, which is explained at the end of Roberval’s
treatise of Indivisibles, was the same with that afterwards
published by James Gregory in his Geometria Universalis,
and also by Dr Barrow in his Lectiones Geometricce ; and
that it appears from Torricelli’s letter that Roberval was
the inventor of this method of transforming figures, by
means of certain lines called by Torricelli, for that reason,
Robervallian lines. The same author adds that J. Gregory
probably first learned this method at Padua in the year
1668 ; for the method was known in Italy in 1646, although
the book was not published till 1692. David Gregory en¬
deavoured to refute this account, in vindication of his uncle
James. His answer appeared in the Philosophical Trans¬
actions for 1694, and Gallois rejoined in the Memoirs of
the French Academy for 1703 ; so that it remains in a state
of uncertainty to which of the two we are to ascribe the
invention.
ROBESPIERRE,F r an^ois-M aximilien - Joseph-Isi-
dore de, a political fanatic of the French Revolution,
was born in the town of Arras in 1758. His family is re¬
ported to have come from Ireland at a very early period,
and, according to a plausible conjecture of his biographer
G. H. Lewes, the original name was in all probability
Spiers. His father was a successful advocate at Arras, who
seems to have deserted his four children in infancy, shortly
after the death of their mother. Maximilien was the eldest
of this household ; and at the age of ten or eleven he found
himself the guardian of his brother and sisters. Having
given marks of ability at the college of Arras, the bishop
placed him on the foundation of the college of Louis-le-
Grand. Robespierre repaired to Paris in 1770. Here he
had for his class-fellows the fierce, vehement, and generous
Danton, the witty, prompt, and reckless Desmoulins, after¬
wards destined to run the same terrible race with himself,
and whom by his craft he was to overthrow ; besides Freron,
who was one day to become the people’s orator. Heedless
as yet of Jacobin or Gironde, these generous boys played
beneath the dismal college walls, and made the whole re¬
gion echo to their loud and happy voices. The sunlight
was slow to welcome them behind those high, dingy build¬
ings ; but could not they dispense with this privilege, when
they could illuminate their inclosure with the rosy laughter
ot health and youth ? Robespierre, who was bilious and
YOL. XIX.
melancholy, was more given to study than play. Espe¬
cially did he devote great attention to the languages and
history of Greece and Rome. His master Herivaux called
him “the Roman.” After spending eight years at this insti¬
tution, he commenced the study of jurisprudence at L’Ecole
de Droit. Here he led a life of honourable poverty, seclu¬
sion, and study, heedless of the aristocracy, who danced
there far into the morning, and whose ladies “ violated,”
according to Sydney Smith, “all the common duties of
life, and gave very pleasant little suppersheedless of the
atheists, with their endless jargon about “ eternal progress
heedless, likewise, of the sceptics, with their wild enthu¬
siasm about charity, fraternity, and equality.
The Contrat Social of Rousseau (1762) was the bible
of the Revolution. Assumed at first as the richer field for
displaying “ eloquence and philosophy,” Rousseau gradually
consummated his metaphysical paradox, and appeared in
this work as the earnest expounder of a thoroughly earnest
creed. Its fundamental idea, that society is a contract
made by all for the good of all, is probably the most revo¬
lutionary dogma ever enounced. Yet this was the dogma
which Robespierre, and thousands with him, embraced with
enthusiasm; this was the major premiss which he spent his
life in ardently evolving. His was not a circumspect mind ;
once he had satisfied himself of the truth of his prelimina¬
ries, he afterwards held on his course with the most logical
and even fatal pertinacity. His term completed, Robes¬
pierre returned to Arras, and began practice. In 1783 a
landed proprietor had erected a lightning-conductor on his
property, much to the scandal of the discreet citizens of
Arras. “ Deistical philosophy ; away with it.” Robespierre
was chosen the advocate to plead this case; and he had the
gratification, when the trial came on, to find himself com¬
pletely triumphant. This cause tended materially to extend
the fame of the young advocate. He was admitted a mem¬
ber of a poetical society called “ Les Rosatis ;” actually
aspired to be a poet, and seems to have fallen (not very
desperately) in love. Meanwhile he became a member of
the criminal court, an office which he shortly afterwards
resigned from opposition to capital punishment; took a very
decided part against the clergy and the lords of Artois con¬
cerning the Artesian Third Estate ; chose rather to lose the
friendship of the Bishop of Arras than prove false to Rous¬
seau and his own blind logic. The peasantry already came
to him as to the friend of the people. The Tiers-Etat of
Artois chose him as their deputy to the States-General.
In 1789 he again betook himself to the French capital, and
enjoyed the pleasure of beholding the poor, feeble, good-
natured king enter the States-General emblazoned in all
the splendour of royalty. Robespierre even ventured to
make a motion before this assembly of the notables; but
who could listen to this obscure individual, with his cracked
voice and uncongenial aspect ? He had neither the advan¬
tages of birth, of genius, or of exterior, to arrest men’s no¬
tice. His figure was small; his limbs feeble and angular;
he walked with an irresolute step; bore himself with af¬
fected attitudes and ungraceful gestures; his forehead was
small and projecting; his blue eyes were soft, sinister, and
sunken; his complexion “sea-green;” and his temperament
“ atrabiliar.” His whole features, like the whole of his mind,
converged incessantly on a point. It was on this point, and
around this point, that his faculties ceaselessly played ; and,
as his career subsequently proved, he was ready to sacrifice
heaven and earth to his convictions. He was the very
embodiment of the Revolution in principles, in passions,
and in impulses. The States-General would not at present
listen to his shrill logic ; but the day was not far distant
when its harsh sounds should reach their ears. Meanwhile
Robespierre was a royalist, as indeed were the whole of the
Assembly. The Third Estate gained its point; the States-
General became the National Assembly ; and all men ran to
2 G
234 ROBESPIERRE.
Robes- and fro in the streets of Versailles the whole of the last night
pierre. 0f June with shouts and jubilation.
—v'*-'' From the date of Robespierre’s speech on the declaration
of the rights of man we may date his republicanism. Rous¬
seau’s philosophy was now beginning to operate; and in
pursuing its conclusions, Robespierre found that it carried
him quite beyond the bounds which time and circumstance
had assigned to royalty. The eagle eye of Mirabeau had
already scanned him, and seized upon the ruling element
in his character. “ He will go far,” says Mirabeau, “ for he
believes all he says.”
On the 19th of October the Assembly was transferred
from Versailles to Paris; and “ Le Club Breton,” of which
Robespierre was a member, on taking up its abode in the
convent of the Jacobins, was henceforth known as the Ja¬
cobin Club. Some 1300 chosen patriots, among whom
were Barnave, Mirabeau, and the two Lameths, here met
to deliberate. This was the theatre on which the peculiar
power of Robespierre was subsequently to be displayed.
Meanwhile his speeches are by no means striking. His
language, unrelieved by any play of fancy, was pedantic
and heavy; he was a logician and not an orator ; what he
said has the merit of consistency, and it hangs well together.
He gradually, in his stern advocacy of justice, had consti¬
tuted himself the protector of the oppressed. His great
vanity was immensely flattered by the congratulatory letters
which followed his endeavour to do away with the celibacy
of the clergy. Speaking of those letters, he remarked to
Villiers, “ People talk of there being no poets ; you see I
can make some.” This thirst for popular applause was fatal
to him. It led him to flatter the mob ; it led him to spice
his convictions to the taste of his auditory; it led him to
cringe when he ought to have ruled, and to deal in adroit
enigmas when he should have enlightened. The Jacobin
newspapers, those journals that daily bespattered him so
thickly with praise, styled him “the incorruptible;” but
they forgot that there was even a worse, because a more
subtle, corruption than that engendered by the love of gold,
—the corruption which consists in not having courage to
be true. Robespierre was very frugal, and had scarcely
money enough to purchase clothes. When the Assembly
decreed a general mourning for the death of Franklin, he
was obliged to borrow a black stuff coat, which was so large
for him that “ it draggled on the ground.”
Mirabeau was now dead. A vacancy was left for Robes¬
pierre in the Assembly, which he no sooner occupied than
he addressed himself to its members in a tone that was new,
audacious, and almost imperious. “ Here is the essential
instruction which I lay before the Assembly,” was the au¬
thoritative language adopted by the timid deputy. Robes¬
pierre had now become what Foucould, in the earlier stages
of his career, had sarcastically called him,—“ the tribune of
the people.” On the 10th of May he proposed, and caused
to be decreed, that “ the members of the present Assembly
cannot be elected for the next legislature.” Shut out by
his own act from the National Assembly, he directed his
sole attention to the Jacobin Club. The tribune of the
people knew well where the life and strength of the legisla¬
ture rested,—where the thunders of the populace securely
lay. Robespierre is now a rising man, and he must of
course walk warily. A curious discussion took place in the
National Assembly on the 30th of May regarding the mo¬
mentous question, the punishment of death, where Robes¬
pierre made a very important speech, in which he tried to
prove that such an institution was essentially unjust. And
let it not be supposed that in so doing he played the hypo¬
crite ; it was a serious conviction with him, dating pretty
far back. And when such are the patriot’s opinions,—
nay convictions,—can it be wrong in an assembly to
appoint him public accuser? Dupont and Bigot refused
office under Robespierre, assigning as their reason that he
was a violent man {un homme sans mesure). But is he not Robes-
an “ incorruptible” patriot, firm in his principles, and deaf pierre.
to all considerations ? So reasoned Brissot.
1 he work of the Constituent Assembly finished, and its
successor, the Legislative Assembly, chosen, Robespierre,
in the month of October 1791, resolved to improve the in¬
terval by a visit to his native town of Arras. His entry
was an ovation. Old men with civic crowns, attended by
maidens robed in spotless white, and troops of children
scattering flowers, stood ready to receive the cortege. Thus
rode the proud and bilious patriot into his natal city, from
which, not many years ago, he had gone forth an obscure
provincial lawyer. On his return to the Jacobin Club, he
had a disagreeable quarrel with the Girondins, to whom he,
from that hour to the day of their fall, entertained the very
strongest dislike. Men began now to be painfully aware of
his ambition, and accused him of aspiring to a dictatorship.
The 10th of August closed with the dethronement of the
king, and the formation of the National Convention. A re¬
volutionary tribunal was formed, and Robespierre was
appointed one of the judges. He was not, however, as
he has been constantly accused of being, a sharer in the
horrors of that fearful massacre. Robespierre was essen¬
tially a timid man, and ventured on no occasion to oppose
a riot, however he might choose to oppose an idea. All that
he can be charged with on that September massacre is, that
he withheld his enormous influence with the people to arrest
that terrible riot of blood and vengeance. Robespierre
could flatter the people to fury; but when it came to action,
he skulked out of sight, and allowed Danton to control them.
On the 29th of October Louvet hurled his tremendous
philippic at the head of Robespierre. “ I accuse you,” said
Louvet, “ of having constantly put yourself forward as an
object of idolatry; of having suffered yourself to be desig¬
nated, in your own presence, as the only virtuous man in
France who could save the people, and of having said so
yourself; I accuse you of having aspired to supreme power,”
&c. But Robespierre, who had the mob on his side, could
as yet afford to smile at such charges, and accordingly his
reply was a triumph. “ What is virtue,” said Camille Des¬
moulins, “ if Robespierre be not its image?”
The poor king, meanwhile, is dragging out his few re¬
maining days in solitary walks about the Temple garden,
trance loudly demands his trial; and what France really
wants, is it to be supposed Robespierre will refuse ? On the
21st of January 1793 the head of “the tyrant” accordingly
falls ; and Robespierre trumpets his own praises loud in the
ears of men. Shortly afterwards the Gironde fell; the
Committee of Public Salvation was established ; and Robes¬
pierre was chosen one of the decemvirs. He will now
have to act rather than declaim,—to do rather than to criti¬
cise. He has now become a minister, almost a dictator;
and men are now to see whether he who has theorized so
well has any faculty in him for action. “ No,” he says
subsequently, and very significantly, “ I was not made to
rule ; I was made to combat the enemies of the people.”
Marie Antoinette and Philippe Egalite were among the
foremost victims of the Reign of Terror. The guillotine
was literally lubricated with human blood. Innocent wo¬
men, simple boys, and feeble men, all were dragged to
satisfy the vehemence of the blood-thirsty populace. He¬
bert was got rid of at the Commune; Danton, that man
of gigantic powers, at the Convention ; and Camille Des¬
moulins had to give over for ever his Vieux Cordelier.
Robespierre is now master of the Revolution ; but were
not these last three who have fallen men also popular ?
Times are becoming rather critical now even for incorrup¬
tible patriots. On the 7th of May 1794 Robespierre gained
for himself immense applause by his address on the relation
between religious and moral ideas and republican principles.
With him the idea of “ VEtre Supreme'’ had always been
ROB ROB 235
Robins, fundamental; and now, on the 8th of June, was transacted
. j that piece of colossal folly, so essentially French, known as
the Fete de l’Eire Supreme. His part in that feast was very
godlike ; but it ruined him with the Convention. He be¬
came, meanwhile, weary of the Terror, and would have it
repealed; but the Convention saw through his policy.
Robespierre ceased to frequent their committees, and di¬
rected all his efforts towards the Jacobins. The conspi¬
racy of the “ Thermidorians,” as it was called, meanwhile,
made progress ; but Robespierre’s language was vague, ob¬
scure, and ambiguous. He vacillated between secret sus¬
picion and open accusation ; his mind was evidently ill at
ease; but the question was, how could he evade their
• wrath ? He vehemently declaimed against them at the
Convention ; but it would not do. Again he strove to
obtain a hearing, but to no purpose. The Mountain treated
him with contempt, the Girondins with bitter scorn. He
yelled till he grew hoarse, when someone called out, “ The
blood of Danton chokes you!” He shrieked, “ President
of Assassins! will you let me speak?” But his doom was
sealed; they would no longer hear him. The decree for
his arrest was voted amid shouts of “ Vive la Republique !”
He was borne, together with Lebas, St Just, and Couthon,
to the Hotel de Ville. Bourdon and Doulac, with gens-
d’armes and soldiers, penetrated during the night to where
the prisoners lay, when Meda (so goes the story) levelled
his pistol at the tyrant, and shot away the left side of his
face. In the afternoon of the following day the prisoners
were borne on carts to the Place de la Revolution. Robes¬
pierre mounted the ladder with a firm step ; down clanked
the axe, as was its wont; his head rolled into the basket;
and thus, on the 28th of July 1794, in his thirty-fifth year,
this singular mystery of a man passed away into eternity.
In 1832 Lapponeraie published the CEuvres Choisies
of Robespierre. Among the numerous biographies and
histories which represent the character of this strange
being, we may cite the histories of Carlyle, Michelet,
Thiers, Mignet, Alison, Louis Blanc, and Lamartine. Pro¬
bably the most unbiassed account of him will be found in
the Life of Maximilien Robespierre, by G. H. Lewes,
1849. (J. d—s.)
ROBINS, Benjamin, an ingenious mathematician, was
born at Bath in 1707. His parents were Quakers of
humble condition, and consequently were unable to give
him much instruction ; but his own propensity to science
having procured him a recommendation to Dr Pemberton
in London, he acquired from him the higher parts of ma¬
thematical knowledge. He for some time taught mathe¬
matics ; but not finding it suitable to his taste, he gave it
up, and engaged in various interesting and laborious experi¬
ments in gunnery. While thus occupied, he was led to
consider the mechanical arts that depend on mathematical
principles, as the construction of mills, the building of bridges,
the draining of fens, the rendering of rivers navigable, and
the making of harbours. Fortification much engaged his at¬
tention ; and he met with opportunities of perfecting himself
in this branch of knowledge by viewing the principal strong
places of Flanders, in some tours which he made with per¬
sons of distinction. Upon his return from one of these ex¬
cursions, he found the learned amused with Dr Berkeley’s
work entitled The Analyst, in which an attempt was made
to explode the method of fluxions. Robins was therefore
advised to clear up this subject by giving a distinct account
of Sir Isaac Newton’s doctrines, so as to obviate all the
objections that had been made without naming them. Ac¬
cordingly he published in 1735 A Discourse concerning
the Nature and Certainty of Sir Isaac NewtorCs Method
of Fluxions; and, some exceptions being made to his
manner of defending Newton, he afterwards wrote two or
three additional discourses. In 1738 he defended the
same great philosopher against an objection contained in a
note at the end of Baxter’s Matho, sive Cosmotheoria Robins.
puerilis; and the following year printed Remarks on
Euler's Treatise of Motion, on Dr Smith’s System of
Optics, and on Dr Jurin’s Discourse of distinct and in¬
distinct Vision, annexed to Smith’s work. In the mean¬
while, Robins did not solely confine himself to mathemati¬
cal subjects; for in 1739 he published, without his name,
three pamphlets on political affairs. Two of them, relating
to the convention and negotiation with Spain, were so ;
highly esteemed as to occasion his being employed in a
very honourable post; on a committee being appointed to
examine into the past conduct of Sir Robert Walpole, he
was chosen their secretary.
In 1742 Robins published a small treatise entitled New
Principles of Gunnery, containing the result of many ex¬
periments ; and a discourse being published in the Philo¬
sophical Transactions, in order to invalidate some of his
opinions, he thought proper, in an account which he gave
of his book in the same Transactions, to take notice of
those experiments. In consequence of this discussion,
several of his Dissertations on the resistance of Air were
read, and the experiments exhibited before the Royal
Society, for which he was presented by that honourable
body with a gold medal.
In 1748 appeared Lord Anson’s Voyage round the
World, which, though Walter’s name is in the title, has
been generally thought to be the work of Robins. Walter,
chaplain on board the Centurion, had brought it down to
his departure from Macao for England, when he proposed
to print the work by subscription. It was, however, it is
said, thought proper that an able judge should review and
correct it, and Robins was appointed ; when, upon exa¬
mination, it was resolved that the whole should be re¬
written by Robins, and that Walter’s papers should only
serve as materials. Flence the introduction entire, and
many dissertations in the body of the work, it is said, were
composed by him, without receiving the least assistance
from Walter’s manuscript, which chiefly related to the wind
and the weather, the currents, courses, bearings, distances,
the qualities of the ground on which they anchored, and
such particulars as generally fill up a sailor’s account. No
production of this kind ever met with a more favourable
reception ; four large impressions were sold within a
twelvemonth, and it has been translated into most of the
languages of Europe. The fifth edition, printed at
London in 1749, was revised and corrected by Robins
himself. In the corrigenda and addenda to the first volume
of the Biographia Britannica, printed in the beginning
of the fourth volume of that work, it is, however, stated
that Robins was only consulted with respect to the dis¬
position of the drawings, and that he had left England
before the book was printed. Whether this be the fact,
as it is asserted to be by the widow of Walter, it is not for
us to determine.
Robins was soon afterwards desired to compose an
apology for the unfortunate affair at Prestonpans. It was
prefixed as a preface to The Report of the Proceedings of
the Board of General Officers on their Examination into
the conduct of Lieutenant-General Sir John Cope; and
this preface was esteemed a masterpiece in its kind. He
afterwards, through the interest of Lord Anson, contributed
to the improvements made in the Royal Observatory at
Greenwich. Having thus established his reputation, he
was appointed engineer-general to the East India Com¬
pany. He arrived in the East Indies in 1750; but the
climate not agreeing with his constitution, he died there
the year following.
Robins, or Robyns, John, an old English astrono¬
mer, was born in Staffordshire about the beginning of the
sixteenth century, and was educated at Oxford for the
church. His almost unrivalled excellence in “ the pleasant
236 It O B
Robinson, studies of mathematics and astrology” introduced him in
v'—course of time to the favour of royalty itself. Henry
VIII. made him canon of his college in 1532, and canon
of Windsor in 1543. Queen Mary also appointed him her
chaplain, and continued to hold him in great respect till
his death in 1558. Robins is now known by several
treatises in manuscript. His De Portentosis Cometis may
be seen in the British Museum ; and his De Culminations
Stellarum Fixarum, his De Ortu et Occasu Stellarum
Fixarum, and a part of his Annotationes Astrologicce are
preserved in the Bodleian Library. (Wood’s Athence
Oxonienses.)
ROBINSON, Robert, an eminent minister of the
Baptist denomination in the last century, was born at Swaff-
ham in Norfolk, January 8, 1735. His father, Michael
Robinson, was an officer in the excise, and led a profligate
life. His mother, whose maiden name was Mary Wilkin,
was a woman of superior intelligence and piety. In her
early days she must have possessed much personal beauty,
for her son describes her as “ having at ninety the com¬
plexion and vivacity proper to seventeen.” She endured
with exemplary patience her father’s harshness and her
husband’s dissoluteness, and was thrown by both on her
own resources to support herself and her family. Robert
was her youngest son, and, to use her own words, “ grew
up a pretty scholar.” His parents left Swaffham when he
was seven years old, and he had then been learning Latin
a year and a half, much to his master’s satisfaction, who
declared that he never knew a child with such a capacity.
At Seaming, their next place of residence, was an endowed
grammar school, to which Mary Robinson, by taking in
needle-work and keeping a lodging-house (her worthless
husband having absconded), was enabled to send her son:
among his school-fellows was Thurlow, afterwards lord
chancellor. Robert’s attainments in classical learning and
French were above the average, but unfortunately the ma¬
thematics, and even common arithmetic, were not taught.
As he had not the means of going to college, or entering
a profession, he was apprenticed at the age of fourteen to
a hair-dresser in London, who took him without a premium.
We are told of him at this time that he was more employed
in reading than in working, in hearing noted preachers
than in attending customers; but his master treated him
with liberality and kindness, and having the sense to per¬
ceive that he was fitted for a higher calling, returned his
indentures before his apprenticeship expired. He was in
the practice of early rising to pursue his studies,—an in¬
valuable habit which he inherited from his mother, who at
the age of eighty and upwards rose regularly at four. In
later life he injured himself by night studies, and boasted
that he was master of the twenty-four hours. Nature, how¬
ever, resented this infringement of her rights, and his con¬
stitution was broken and hastening to decay at the com¬
paratively early age of fifty-four.
Dr Gill among the Dissenters, and Mr Romaine in the Established
Church, were his favourite preachers • hut he always regarded
George Whitefield as his spiritual father, and in the early part of
his religious profession ranked himself among his followers. He
appears to have entertained the idea of being a preacher when only
nineteen, and, in order to acquire fluency of expression, used occa¬
sionally to preach for an hour together in his own room to himself.
He preached to a numerous auditory in the Tabernacle at Norwich,
and at other places in the neighbourhood. After a while, he left
the Calvinistic Methodists, and with thirteen other persons formed
a congregational church in the parish of St Paul, Norwich, and be¬
came their settled pastor. Having renounced Paedobaptism, he was
invited to a Baptist congregation at Cambridge in 1759, and, after
a trial of two years, became their pastor in the spring of 1761. In
a worldly point of view, his prospects were the reverse of flattering.
He had not received above ten guineas from his own family for
some years ; his maternal grandfather had cut him off with a legacy
of half-a-guinea ; his wife (for he was now a married man) brought
him only L.100, and his first half-year’s salary was under L.4.
Besides, the congregation, through the misconduct of many of its
BOB
former members, had acquired a had character. “ These,” he said, Robinson.
“ would have been insurmountable difficulties to an elder and a | /
wiser man; hut he was a hoy, and the love of his flock was a
million to him.” He preached twice, sometimes three times, every
Sunday at Cambridge, and during the week at one or other of six¬
teen villages in the neighbourhood. In a few years a new and com¬
modious meeting-house was erected; members of the university
were attracted to it, and attendance at the dissenting chapel be¬
came a pleasant lounge for the under-graduates; some of them,
however, behaved so indecorously as seriously to annoy the con¬
gregation, and on one occasion obliged it to disperse without con¬
cluding the service. A memorial was addressed to their tutor, and
an acknowledgment was inserted by the chief offender in the news¬
papers. But a still severer chastisement was inflicted by Robinson
himself in “A Lecture on Becoming Behaviour in Religious Assem¬
blies,” delivered on Sunday evening, January 10, 1783, and after¬
wards published. His “ speech” on this occasion certainly did not *
“ distil as the flew,” but fell on the head of the culprits like a shower
of molten lead. Take this sentence as a specimen :—“ Should that
question, sometimes put up in the schools, be ever put up in a circle
of ladies, Detur vacuum (is there an empty place in nature ?) they
would he provoked to answer, Detur. It is in the brain of him who
behaves ill at divine worship.” In 1773 he removed from the village
of Hauxton—where, before he left, he had nine children, a wife, and
an aged mother to support—to Chesterton, 2 miles from Cambridge.
Here he at first hired, and in 1775 purchased a house ; gradually he
acquired land enough to carry on the business of a farmer and
coal-merchant: these purchases he was enabled to make partly by
the proceeds of his literary labours, and partly by the generous aid
of one or two ardent admirers. He scouted the notion of its being
a violation of clerical propriety to engage in secular pursuits:—
“Godly boobies,” he would say, “too idle many of them to work,
too ignorant to give instruction, and too conceited to study, spend¬
ing all their time in talking and mischief,—are these the men to
direct my conduct, to censure my industry ?”
Robinson began his literary career at Hauxton by pub¬
lishing a specimen of a translation of Saurin’s Sermons.
The first volume appeared in 1775, and was followed by
three others. In 1784 a new edition was published, with
an additional volume. His Plea for the Divinity of our
Lord Jesus Christ was very favourably received, and pro¬
cured the author many compliments from dignitaries in the
Establishment. Offers were made to him of preferment in
the church, which he modestly but firmly rejected. When
asked by Dr Ogden, “ Do the dissenters know the worth of
the man ?” his answer was, “ The man knows the worth of
the dissenters.” In 1774 he published, anonymously, a
series of letters entitled Arcana, or the Principles of the late
Petitioners to Parliament for Relief in the matter of Sub¬
scription, which increased his reputation among the Noncon¬
formists. Two smaller works, The History and Mystery of
Good Friday, and a Plan of Lectures on Nonconformity,
were widely circulated, and soon passed through several
editions. These were followed by a translation of Claude’s
Essay on the Composition of a Sermon, with a clever dis¬
sertation, and a body of very curious notes. For this he
received L.400. Besides various single sermons and pam¬
phlets, he published a volume of Seventeen Discourses on
several Texts of Scripture, addressed to Christian Assem¬
blies in Villages near Cambridge, to which are added Six
Morning Exercises. They are marked by great origin¬
ality and ingenuity; and if they have not preserved the
popularity which they at first obtained, it may perhaps be
accounted for by their ambiguousness and vacillation in
doctrinal statement, which became a characteristic of the
author, and increased to the close of his life. Symptoms
of this may be found even in his Plea; and it is the
opinion of his biographer, that at the time of writing this
treatise he was not clear from embarrassment on the very
thesis he had undertaken to defend. In 1781 Robinson
was requested by a number of the leading Baptists in Lon¬
don to write a history of the denomination, and arrange¬
ments were made for his visiting London every month, in
order to consult books and manuscripts at the British Mu¬
seum, of which Dr Gifford, a Baptist minister, was then
sub-librarian ; but after making the experiment, he found
ROB
Robison, that he could carry on his researches more easily at home.
^ From that time to his death he devoted himself to the
undertaking with an intensity of application that no doubt
shortened his days. In order to acquire information for
this and another historical work, he studied Italian, Ger¬
man, Spanish, and Dutch.
His History of Baptism, a quarto volume of above 650
pages, was published a few weeks after his death, and one
of his last letters refers to a correction of the proof-sheets.
His Ecclesiastical Besearches, a quarto volume of about the
same size, was published by subscription (like the former)
in 1792.
For some months previous to his death Robinson had
been in a declining state, prostrated both in body and
mind. On Wednesday, June 2, 1790, he set off from Ches¬
terton on a visit to Dr Priestley, and, travelling by slow
stages, arrived in Birmingham on Saturday evening. In a
letter to a friend he had said, “ On the 9th I proceed for¬
ward; on the 19th I hope to be at home.” On reaching
Birmingham he said to a person who called upon him,
“ You are only come to see the shadow of Robert Robin¬
son.” Yet he ventured to preach for the dissenters’ charity
schools twice on the Sunday. Dr Priestley was charmed
with his conversation, but confessed himself much disap¬
pointed with his preaching. “ His discourse,” Dr Priestley
said, “ was unconnected and desultory, and his manner of
treating the Trinity favoured rather of burlesque than of
serious reasoning. He attacked orthodoxy more pointedly
and sarcastically than I ever did in my life.” He had often
expressed a wish “ to die softly, suddenly, and alone.” On
Tuesday the 9th of June, the very day on which he had
intended to “proceed forward,” he was found dead in his
bed, neither his clothes discomposed nor his features dis¬
torted.
A collected edition of his miscellaneous works, with a
memoir by Mr Benjamin Flower, was published in 4 vols.
8vo in 1807, and a volume of posthumous works, by the
same editor, in 1812; and his Village Sermons were re¬
printed in 1805 and 1808. For the facts in this article we
are chiefly indebted to George Dyer’s Memoirs of the Life
and Writings of Robert Robinson, London, 1796. In
Coleridge’s Notes, Theological, Political, and Miscella¬
neous, London, 1853, are some remarks on Robinson’s Plea,
and other treatises (p. 112-126). (j. E. r.)
ROBISON, John, a distinguished professor of natural
philosophy, born in 1739 at Boghall, in the parish of
Baldernock and county of Stirling, was a younger son of
John Robison, Esq., who had formerly been a merchant at
Glasgow, and had retired to live in considerable affluence
on his estate at Boghall, not far from that city. He was of
a family sufficiently respectable to enable his son at a sub¬
sequent period to prove himself, to the satisfaction of the
court of St Petersburg, & gentleman born. As a younger
brother, that son was originally intended for the church,
and went at an early age, according to the custom of Scot¬
land in 1750, to enter as a student in the university of
Glasgow, so that he was initiated almost in the rudiments
of Grecian literature under the able instruction of Dr
Moor, the well-known professor of Greek; and he acquired
such a knowledge of the classical languages as served to
constitute him a correct scholar through life. He pursued
his studies with so much attention as to obtain the appro¬
bation of his teachers and the admiration of his contem¬
poraries, who were delighted with the originality and
ingenuity of his conversation, though he did not himself
reflect with perfect satisfaction upon the degree of applica¬
tion which he had exerted in his academical education.
He took the degree of Master of Arts in 1756, having
studied mathematics under Dr Robert Simson, and moral
philosophy under Dr Adam Smith. The example of so
correct and rigid a follower of the ancient methods of
ROB
237
demonstration as Dr Simson, must unquestionably have
exercised considerable influence on his yet unformed taste
in mathematics ; but he seems to have had a natural pre¬
ference, either from the constitution of his mind or from
some previously acquired habits of thinking, for the geo¬
metrical method; for we are informed that “ he first
attracted the regard of Dr Simson by owning his dislike of
algebra, and by returning a neat geometrical solution of a
problem which had been given out to the class in an alge¬
braical form; with this mode of solution the professor was
delighted, though the pupil candidly acknowledged that it
had been adopted only because he could not solve the
problem in the manner required of the class.” In the course
of his studies he had imbibed an insuperable aversion to
the pursuit of his original objects in the church ; not cer¬
tainly from any want of religious feeling, or from a dislike
to the kind of life that was intended for him, but probably
from some difficulties that had occurred to him respecting
particular points of doctrine or of practice. He was
therefore compelled to provide himself with some other
occupation ; and he readily accepted the offer of some of
his friends in 1758, to recommend him to Dr Blair, a pre¬
bendary of Westminster, who had formed a scheme for
sending Prince Edward, the young Duke of York, to com¬
plete his professional education at sea, in company with a
son of Admiral Knowles ; and Robison was to have
instructed his royal highness in mathematics and naviga¬
tion. On his arrival in London, he was much disappointed
to find that the expedition had never been seriously
intended; and he readily accepted an engagement to at¬
tend young Knowles as a private tutor, when he went
as a midshipman on board of the Neptune of ninety
guns, with Admiral Saunders, who had the command
of a force intended to co-operate with General Wolfe
in the reduction of Quebec ; and upon the appointment
of his friend as a lieutenant on board of the Royal Wil¬
liam, Robison was himself rated as a midshipman in that
ship.
The fleet arrived on the coast of America in April 1759;
in May they got up the river, and Robison was one of a
party of 100 seamen draughted from the Royal William
into the admiral’s ship, under the command of Lieutenant
Knowles. In this capacity he had an opportunity of seeing
considerable service, and of making some surveys of the
river and of the neighbouring country ; an employment for
which he was perfectly qualified, both as a geometrician
and a draughtsman. He also remarked the effect of the
aurora borealis on the compass, which had been noticed by
Marian and Wargentin some years before, but which was
then not commonly known. After the battle which was
signalized by the victory and death of the gallant Wolfe,
the Royal William sailed with his body to Europe, and
arrived at Spithead in November. The next year she was
sent to cruise off Cape Finisterre ; but in six months she
was obliged to return home, from having the greater part
of the men disabled by the scurvy. He used to consider
the two years that he spent on board of the Royal William
as the happiest of his life; and no inconsiderable part of
his gratification was derived from the study of seamanship
as he saw it practised under the auspices of Captain Hugh
Pigot. He did not, however, acquire any firm attachment
to the mode of life which he had temporarily adopted ; he
was rather disposed to resume his academical pursuits, and
he had overcome his earlier objections to the ecclesiastical
profession. He could not, however, refuse the kindly in¬
vitation of Admiral Knowles to come and live with him in
the country, and to assist him in some important experi¬
ments which he was making upon mechanical and nautical
subjects. In the month of February 1762 Lieutenant
Knowles was appointed to the Peregrine sloop of twenty
guns, and Robison accompanied him with the hope of be-
Robison.
I
238 K O B I S O N.
Robison, coming a purser. He visited Lisbon and several other
parts of Portugal; but he found a cruise in a small ship
much less convenient and agreeable than in a large one ;
and, fortunately for himself and for mankind, he finally
quitted the Peregrine and the naval service in June, and
returned to live with Admiral Knowles, who soon after re¬
commended him as a proper person to take charge of Har¬
rison’s time-keeper, which had been completed by the
labour of thirty-five years, after many unsuccessful experi¬
ments, and which was now sent out by desire of the Board
of Longitude to the West Indies, under the care of young
Harrison and of Robison. The rate of the chronometer
was ascertained at Portsmouth the 6th of November 1762,
and it indicated at Port Royal, in Jamaica, a difference of
time amounting to 5h 2m 47s, which is only four seconds
less than the true longitude. After a few days, the obser¬
vers had a prompt opportunity of returning home by the
Merlin sloop, which was sent to Europe with dispatches.
The voyage wras most disastrous with respect to wind and
weather, and at last the ship took fire ; but she arrived
safe at Portsmouth in March, and on the 2d of April the
watch gave 1 lh SS™ 61^s, instead of 12h, for the time
of mean noon; so that the error, after six months, was
only lm 53jrs, amounting to no more than about 20 miles
of distance. Robison received, upon his return, the
afflicting intelligence of the total loss of the Peregrine,
which had foundered at sea, with her commander and the
whole of the ship’s company. He was also greatly dis¬
appointed in the failure of some hopes which had been
held out to him from the Admiralty and the Board of
Longitude; though in fact there is little reason for the
public to regret that he was not gratified with the purser-
ship which he claimed as the reward of his services. He
was indeed afterwards actually made a purser by Lord
Sandwich, in 1763; but he then declined accepting the
appointment. His biographers very naturally complain of
the neglect of those boards which ought to have recom¬
pensed him ; but certainly the Board of Longitude had no
power whatever, and probably not much influence, in the
appointment of a purser; and, after all, the delay of a year
or two was nothing very uncommon in the navy.
He had now no other resource than to return to Glas¬
gow, and to resume his academical pursuits with renewed
energy. It was from this time that he dated his serious
application to his studies. He became extremely intimate
with Dr Reid and Dr Alexander Wilson; and he had the
advantage of being a witness of two of the greatest steps in
the improvement of physical science that have been made
in modern times, Dr Black’s experimental theory of heat,
and Watt’s invention of a new steam-engine. Dr Black
was the first that determined the quantity of heat required
for the conversion of ice into water: Watt, who was settled
as a mathematical instrument-maker at Glasgow, had been
employed in repairing a working model of Newcomen’s
engine for one of the professors of the university ; and it
was the difficulty of supplying this model with steam that
suggested to Watt the eligibility of having a separate con¬
denser, and that led him, in conjunction with Dr Black, to
a knowledge of the quantity of heat consumed in evapora¬
tion. Amid the enthusiasm which is always inspired by
the progress of scientific discovery and of practical im¬
provement, Robison found every encouragement and every
facility for the pursuit of his favourite objects. He was
recommended by Dr Black, upon his removal to Edinburgh
in 1/66, as his successor in the lectureship of chemistry,
though without the appointment of a professor. He took
charge also of the education of Mr Macdowall of Garth-
land, and of Mr Charles Knowles, afterwards Sir Charles.
Admiral Knowles was soon after recommended by the
British government to the Empress of Russia, in order to
effect a reformation in her navy, having been employed on
a similar service in Portugal almost fifty years before: he Robison,
had always been a firm friend to Robison, and now engaged
him on this mission, with a salary of L.250 a year; and
they proceeded together to St Petersburg in December
1770. Being hospitably entertained on their way by the
Prince-Bishop of Liege, whom they found to constitute,
with his chapter and all his servants, a lodge of freemasons,
Robison was easily persuaded to become one of that fra¬
ternity : in a few days he was made an apprentice, and by
degrees obtained the rank of Scottish master, as he has
himself related in his publication upon the subject. He
continued nearly two years at St Petersburg, still acting in
the capacity of private secretary to Sir Charles, who was
appointed president of the Board of Admiralty, much to the
advantage of the Russian navy, though his improvements
were frequently retarded by the prejudices of the native
officers. Robison was then appointed inspector-general of
the corps of marine cadets at Cronstadt, with a double
salary, and with the rank of lieutenant-colonel. His duty
was to receive the report of about forty teachers and pro¬
fessors respecting the studies of 400 young noblemen who
were their pupils, and to class them according to his judg¬
ment of their merits ; but he had himself nothing to teach,
nor could he have had much occasion for “ lecturing fluently
in the Russian language,” though he was introduced by his
friend Kutusoff to the Grand Duke Paul as a proficient in
that language; but to the empress he was not personally
known. At Petersburg he could have lived without re¬
gretting his country in the society of such men as Euler
and Alpinus, admired by the Russians, and beloved by the
British ; but Cronstadt in winter was deplorably melan¬
choly; and in 1773 he was induced, without much diffi¬
culty, to make some little pecuniary sacrifice in accepting
the professorship of natural philosophy at Edinburgh, which
had become vacant by the death of Dr Russell, and to
which he had been recommended by Dr Robertson, then
principal of the university. His determination was not dis¬
approved by the Russian government, who granted him a
pension of about L.80 a year for life; but it was only paid
as long as three or four young men, who had accompanied
him as pupils, continued to reside at Edinburgh ; some dis¬
content having been expressed because he did not keep up
a correspondence with the academy on the improvement
of maritime education.
He arrived at Edinburgh in September 1774. He mar¬
ried soon afterwards, and continued to reside in that city
for the remaining thirty years of his life; paying only an
annual visit to his native place, where he possessed a part
of the paternal estate; not being solicitous to extend it,
although “he did not diminish it otherwise than as it had
been diminished before,” that is, in making provision for
younger children. His predecessor had been very judi¬
cious and successful as a lecturer, though not a mathema¬
tician of the highest order : he had himself more practical
knowledge and experience in mechanics, and was better
acquainted with the foreign mathematicians, who had natu¬
rally fallen under his notice during his residence on the
Continent. His lectures were considered by most of his
pupils as somewhat too difficult to be followed ; a complaint
which, if it did not depend on their own want of prepara¬
tory information, arose perhaps rather more from the hasty
manner of his enunciation than from the abstruseness of
his matter. “ The singular facility of his own apprehen¬
sion,” says Professor Playfair, “ made him judge too fa¬
vourably of the same power in others. To understand his
lectures completely was, on account of the rapidity and the
uniform flow of his discourse, not a very easy task, even
for men tolerably familiar with the subject. On this ac¬
count, his lectures were less popular than might have been
expected from such a combination of talents as the author
of them possessed.” This inconvenience was increased
E 0 B I S O N.
239
Robison. “ by the small number of experiments he introduced, and a
, —> view that he took of natural philosophy, which left but a
very subordinate place for them to occupy. An experi¬
ment, he would very truly observe, does not establish a
general proposition, and never can do more than prove a
particular factbut he seems to have carried this prin¬
ciple to some little excess; it is, in fact, the illustration,
and not the proof, of general principles that is the object
of a public exhibition of experiments ; and it is very doubt-
, ful whether Archimedes, or Newton, or Leibnitz, or Euler,
would have been very successful as showmen. With re¬
spect, however, to “ accuracy of definition, to clearness,
brevity, and elegance of demonstration, and even to neat¬
ness and precision in experiments,” Professor Robison was
very successful; his course extended “ to every branch of
physics and of mixed mathematics,” and entered so fully
into the detail of each particular division of the subjects,
that “ a more perfect system of academical instruction is
not easily to be imagined.” Nothing, in short, was wanting,
but so much previous knowledge of mathematics in his
pupils as he thought he had a right to expect, though his
expectations were too rarely fulfilled. The Philosophical
Society of Edinburgh had almost been suffered to sink into
oblivion after the publication of the third volume of its
Essays, in 1756. Professor Robison became a member of
it soon after his return from Russia, and was chosen secre¬
tary of the new society upon its formation by royal charter
in 1783, when it incorporated with itself the whole of the
surviving members of the former society. In 1798 he re¬
ceived the compliment of a degree of Doctor of Laws from
the university of New Jersey ; and a similar honour was
paid him at Glasgow the year after. In 1800 he was elected,
as successor to Dr Black, on the list of the foreign mem¬
bers of the Royal Academy of Sciences of St Petersburg.
In 1785 he was attacked by a severe disorder, from
which he was never afterwards wholly free, though it pro¬
duced little inconvenience besides pain, with some depres¬
sion of spirits, which was, however, attributed rather to the
closeness of his application than to the immediate effect of
the disease, which was a glandular induration. For many
years he was obliged to obtain the assistance of substitutes
in the delivery of his lectures ; but towards the end of his
life he was able again to perform the duties of the profes¬
sorship in person. He continued his literary labours with
little intermission, and was most happy in the care and at¬
tention of his wife and children, whose virtues he found the
best alleviation of his sufferings. He took a slight cold,
after giving a lecture, on the 28th of January 1805, and
died on the 30th.
1. It was comparatively late in life that Professor Robison as¬
sumed the character of an author, having communicated to the
Royal Society of Edinburgh, in 1786, a paper on the Determina¬
tion of the Orbit and Motion of the Georgium Sidus, which was
published in the Edinburgh Transactions, vol. i. He had observed
the opposition of the planet with an equatorial telescope only, and
he had computed the elements of its orbit with greater accuracy
than any other astronomer had then done ; although his suspicion
of the effect of such a planet on the motions of Jupiter and Saturn
has not been confirmed by later investigations, the irregularities of
these planets, on the contrary, having been otherwise explained.
2. A second paper, published in the same collection, vol. ii., p. 82,
relates to the Motion of Light, as affected by refracting or reflect¬
ing substances which are themselves in motion. The author cor¬
rects some errors of Boscovich, who had miscalculated the effect of
a water-telescope : but he seems to agree with Dr Wilson in the
suggestion of another experiment of a similar nature, which, to
say the least, is wholly superfluous.
3. The most important, beyond all comparison, of Professor Ro¬
bison’s scientific publications, are the articles which he communi¬
cated from time to time to the third edition of the Encyclopaedia
Britannica, and to its Supplement. It was under the care of Mr
Colin Macfarquhar that the first twelve volumes of the third edi- Robison,
tion of this work were published; and upon his death, in 1793,
the task of continuing it was committed to Dr Gleig, to whom Pro¬
fessor Robison became a most essential co-operator, and from that
time “ the work ceased to be a mere compilation.” The first of his
contributions, according to Professor Playfair, was the article
Optics, but it is probable he only revised and enlarged that
article: it was followed by Philosophy,1 which he wrote jointly
with Dr Gleig; by Physics, Pneumatics, Precession, Projec¬
tiles, Pumps, Resistance, Rivers, Roof, Rope-making, Ro¬
tation, Seamanship, Signal, Sound, Specific Gravity,
Statics, Steam, Steam-Engine, Steelyard, Strength, Tele¬
scope, Tide, Trumpet, Variation, and Water-works; and in
the Supplement, by Arch, Astronomy, Boscovich, Carpentry,
Centre, Dynamics, Electricity, Impulsion, Involution,
Machinery, Magnetism, Mechanics, Percussion, Piano¬
forte, Position, Temperament, Thunder, Trumpet, Tschirn-
haus, and Watch-work. Notwithstanding some degree of
prolixity and want of arrangement, which could scarcely be
avoided, in the prepartion of original articles for such a mode of
publication, the whole of them, taken together, undeniably exhibit
a more complete view of the modern improvements of physical
science than had ever before been in the possession of the British
public; and display such a combination of acquired knowledge
with original power of reasoning as has fallen to the lot of a few
<jnly of the most favoured of mankind.
4. It is not altogether with so high approbation that his friends
and his biographers have mentioned a work, of a nature rather
political than philosophical, entitled Proofs of a Conspiracy against
all the Religions and Governments of Europe (Edin. 1797, 8vo),
though it went through several editions. The principal part of
the book consists of the history of the Illuminati and the German
Union, whom he considers as having become the chief agents in a
plot first formed by the freemasons, at the suggestion of some ex-
Jesuit, who proposed for their model the internal economy of the
order which he had quitted ; and whatever foundation this outline
may have had in truth, there is no doubt that the manner in which
Professor Robison has filled it up betrays a degree of credulity ex¬
tremely remarkable in a person used to calm reasoning and philo¬
sophical demonstration : for example, in the admission of a story
told by an anonymous German author, that the minister Turgot
was the protector of a society that met at Baron d’Holbach’s, for
the purpose of examining the brains of living children, in order to
discover the principle of vitality. He does not accuse the English
freemasons of having participated in the conspiracy; but he con¬
siders the continental lodges as having been universally implicated
in it.
5. After the death of Dr Black, in 1799, he undertook to super¬
intend the publication of his Lectures on Chemistry, which appeared
in 1803, 2 vols. 4to. And this task, which was rather laborious
than difficult, he executed with equal zeal and ability. He endea¬
voured to reduce to their just estimate the comparative pretensions
of the French and British chemists, though he is somewhat puri¬
tanically severe in criticising the literal meaning of the compli¬
ments paid to Black by Lavoisier, on which he founds a charge of
insincerity.
6. His last publication was the first volume of a series which
was to form a complete system, entitled Elements of Mechanical Phi¬
losophy, Edin. 1804, 8vo. It comprehended only Dynamics and
Astronomy, and it never became very popular: it was too difficult
for the many, who wished for general and philosophical notions
only, and not sufficiently precise and demonstrative for the few,
who wanted practical and numerical results. In attempting to
combine the separate merits of the Exposition du Systeme du Monde
and of the Mfahanique Celeste, the author sacrificed both the popular
simplicity of the former and the mathematical perfection of the
latter. A few inaccuracies, which ought not to escape the atten¬
tion of the reader of the work, were pointed out in the Imperial
Review for March 1805, a journal long since discontinued.
7. The contents of the volume last mentioned, together with some
manuscripts intended to have formed part of a second, and the
greater part of the articles furnished by Professor Robison to the
Encyclopaedia, were collected into a System of Mechanical Philo¬
sophy, with Notes, by David Brewster, LL.D. (now Sir David
Brewster), Edin. 1822, 4 vols. 8vo,—a spirited bookseller in Lon¬
don having undertaken the risk of the publication.
“ Although Dr Robison’s name,” says Dr (now Sir David)
Brewster in his preface, “ cannot be associated with the great dis¬
coveries of the century which he adorned, yet the memory of his
talents and his virtues will be long cherished by his country. Im-
1 It is scarcely necessary to observe that, in the present edition (the eighth), a considerable number of those articles have been re¬
written, owing mainly to the advanced state of the several sciences since Professor Robison’s day.—Ed.
4.
240
ROB
ROC
Robson, bued with the genuine spirit of the philosophy which he taught,
he was one of the warmest patrons of genius wherever it was found.
His mind was nobly elevated above the mean jealousies of rival
ambition, and his love of science and of justice was too ardent to
allow him either to depreciate the labours of others, or to transfer
them to himself. To these great qualities as a philosopher Dr
Robison added all the more estimable endowments of domestic and
of social life. His friendship was at all times generous and sin¬
cere. His piety was ardent and unostentatious. His patriotism was
of the most pure and exalted character; and like the immortal New¬
ton, whose memory he cherished with a peculiar reverence, he was
pre-eminently entitled to the high distinction of a Christian, patriot,
and philosopher.” His person was handsome and his physiognomy
prepossessing; and he appears to have been endowed with an ex¬
traordinary combination of talents, even exclusively of those which
were called into immediate activity in his professional pursuits,
for he was a good linguist, an excellent draughtsman, and an ac¬
complished musician. His conversation was always energetic and
interesting, and sometimes even poetical; and his liberality of sen¬
timent was only limited by his regard for what he considered as
the best interests of mankind.
A short account of his life was published in 1802 by a contri¬
butor to the Philosophical Magazine, who, among other inaccuracies,
asserted that Robison was an admirer of the algebraical form of
representation in preference to the geometrical. His friend Dr
Gleig soon after stepped forward to correct these mistakes, in the
Anti-Jacohin Review for 1802, and his letter was copied into the
Philosophical Magazine. He asserts, from his own knowledge, that
even yet Professor Robison “ delights much more in geometry than
in any of the modes of algebra, assigning as the reason of his pre¬
ference, that in the longest demonstration the geometrician has
always clear and adequate ideas, which the most expert algebraist
can very seldom have.” It may perhaps be asserted, on the other
hand, that the same reasoning would lead us always to employ
actual multiplication or division in preference to the use of lo¬
garithms or of a sliding rule, and that the whole of the magic of
calculation depends on the abstraction of the results from the nu¬
merous and separately unimportant steps by which they are ob¬
tained ; but the having once seen those steps clearly is certainly
of great importance to the process of reasoning, even when the me¬
mory no longer retains them; and no mathematician of correct
taste can study the ancient geometricians without admiring the
elegance and precision of their method, even amidst the pedantry
which too frequently envelopes their expressions, and without being
grateful for their punctuality in collecting their results into the
very convenient form of distinct propositions, and in making such
references from each proposition to the foundations on which it
depends, as to enable him readily to trace back their steps to the
most elementary principles; which is scarcely possible in any of
the works of the most modern school of analysis. Professor Robi¬
son, however, seems rarely to have cultivated the higher mathe¬
matics for their own sake only, or any further than as they could
be applied to the study of the phenomena of nature, or to the prac¬
tice of the combinations of art; in fact, without some such limita¬
tion, there would be no track to guide us in the pathless regions of
quantity and number, and their endless relations and functions.
But besides the utility of the pure mathematics as a branch of early
education, in exercising and fortifying the powers of the mind, it
is impossible to foresee with certainty how much of mathematics
may be wanted by the natural philosopher in any given investiga¬
tion ; and Professor Robison, as well as many others of his country¬
men, would certainly have been the better for the possession of a
little more, as the author of the criticisms in the Imperial Review
has already had occasion to remark.
(Philosophical Magazine, xiii.; Dr Gleig, in Anti-Jacohin Maga¬
zine, xi., 1802; Stark’s Biographia Scotica; Aikin’s General Bio¬
graphy, viii., Lond. 1813, 4to; Playfair, in Edin. Trans, vii.,
1815, p. 495 ; Chalmers’s Biographical Dictionary, xxv., Lond. 1816,
8vo.) (t. y.)
ROBSON, George Fennel, an eminent landscape-
painter in water-colours, who was born at Durham in 1790,
was a great devotee of his art. From the artists who came
to sketch in the neighbourhood of his native town he picked
up a knowledge of drawing. With five pounds in his
pocket, he then set out to try his fortune in London.
There his pencil was plied assiduously, until he had scraped
together a sum sufficient to enable him to gratify his long-
cherished desire of travelling. Making a tour through the
United Kingdom, he explored with enthusiasm the High¬
lands of Scotland, the mountains in the north of England,
and the lakes of Killarney. Every striking piece of
scenery was lingered over; every aspect of nature was Rochdale,
copied; and he returned to London with his sketch-book
rich in materials for future use. Robson now began to be
very successful in his profession. His pictures, though
numerous, readily found purchasers. Some of his works,
such as “ The View of London from the Bridge,” “ The
City of Durham,” and “ Outlines of the Grampian Moun¬
tains,” brought his name into note. He died in 1833, much
regretted by the public at large. Robson was the artist
of the illustrations in Britton’s English Cities, and of
“ Landscape Illustrations of the Waverley Novels.” (See
Bryan’s Painters and Engravers.)
ROCHDALE, a parliamentary borough and market-
town of England, in the county of Lancaster, in a beautiful
valley on the Roch, here crossed by five bridges, 10 miles
N.N.E. of Manchester, and 200 N.W. by N. of London.
It stands on both sides of the river, and has been recently
very much improved. Most of the houses are built of
brick, and roofed with stone instead of slate; but some are
of freestone quarried in the vicinity. In the principal
street, which is broad, and, like most of the others, well
paved, stand the market-house and town-hall, the latter a
neat edifice, serving also as a news-room. On a height,
approached by a flight of 126 steps, stands the parish church,
an ancient building in the Norman and early English
styles. It has a square embattled tower, several richly-
carved windows, an ancient font, and some interesting
tombs. The plain brick church of St Mary was built in
1740, and that of St James in 1814. Other places of wor¬
ship there are, belonging to Roman Catholics; Indepen¬
dents; Baptists; Wesleyan, Association, and Primitive Me¬
thodists; Quakers; Unitarians, and others. To most of
these Sunday schools, largely attended, are attached. The
grammar school of Rochdale, founded in 1564, had only
nine pupils in 1854. The school-house has recently been
rebuilt in the Elizabethan style. A large national school,
two endowed schools, and others, are among the educational
establishments of the town. A literary institute, an athe¬
naeum, a people’s institute, with libraries and reading-rooms,
also contribute to the diffusion of knowledge among the
inhabitants ; and the relief of the poor is provided for by a
dispensary, poor-house, and other charitable institutions.
It is chiefly, however, for its industrial importance that the
town is remarkable. Woollen and cotton goods, especially
the former, form the staple of the manufactures. Baize,
flannel, friezes, and blankets, are the principal kinds of
woollen, and strong calico the most important among the
cotton fabrics made here. Hat-making and cotton-yarn
spinning furnish employment to a great number of the
people. Rochdale has also iron and brass foundries and
machine-works. In most of the factories steam-power is
employed. Within the bounds of the parish there are
coal-pits, iron-mines, and quarries of sandstone, &c. Two
markets are held weekly, one for manufactures and other
articles, and the other for provisions; and there are fairs
three times a year. The trade of the town is facili¬
tated by the Rochdale Canal, which passes at a short dis¬
tance from it, and unites the Duke of Bridgewater’s canal
at Manchester with the waters of the Calder and Ribble
near Halifax. It is 33 miles long, and was constructed at
a great cost, and opened in 1804. The railway between
Manchester and Leeds has a station here. The borough
was not represented in Parliament before the Reform Act
of 1832, but it now returns one member. It is governed
by the magistrates of the county, and has a county court
and a convenient jail. Rochdale is a place of much anti¬
quity, as even under the Romans there was a station in the
neighbourhood; but the history of the town presents few
events of importance. In the reign of Edward III. the
woollen manufacture was introduced by some Flemish emi¬
grants ; and Rochdale acquired a celebrity for such articles,
Ft O C
Rochefort- which it retained in the time of Elizabeth. As early as
sur-Mer ]610 there were five fulling-mills in the parish. The beau-
j| tiful manor of Rochdale, near the town, was long the pro-
Rouch*fou- perty 0f the Bvron family, but was sold by the poet. Pop.
ca of the borough (1851) 29,195.
^ ROCHEFORT-SUIl-MER, a town of France, capital
of an arrondissement in the department of Charente-Infe-
rieure, situated partly on a hill and partly on a marshy plain,
on the right bank of the Charente, 9 miles above its mouth,
and 20 miles S.E. of La Rochelle. In form it is semicircular,
inclosed towards the land by ramparts. It is altogether
modern. The streets are broad and regular, many of them
planted with rows of trees; and the houses, though low,
are in general very handsome. The principal streets meet
in the Place d’Armes, a regular square, in the centre,
adorned with a fountain and with trees. T.he most conspi¬
cuous edifice is the large naval hospital, on a height outside
of the town. Rochefort derives its chief importance from
its naval arsenal, which is considered the third of its kind
in France. Dockyards, sail-shops, rope-works, biscuit
manufactories, storehouses, naval schools, and other esta¬
blishments connected with maritime affairs, are to be seen
here. The harbour is capacious, and deep enough for the
largest vessels: it is divided into two parts, for merchant¬
men and men-of-war respectively. The roadstead is large,
and well sheltered by the islands of Re, Oleron, and Aix.
Besides the fortifications of the town, there are five forts to
guard the mouth of the river. The town contains a col¬
lege, courts of law, and a large convict prison. Ship-build¬
ing is the principal branch of industry here; but there are
also sugar and vinegar works. An active trade is carried
on in the produce of the adjacent country and colonial
goods. Rochefort was made a naval station by Louis XIV.
in 1666. It was here that Napoleon, in 1815, gave him¬
self up to Captain Maitland of the Bellerophon, after a vain
attempt to escape to America. Pop. (1856) 21,3/2.
ROCHEFOUCAULD, Francois, Due de la, Prince
of Marsillac, governor of Poitou, was born in 1613. He
was the son of Francis, the first Duke of Rochefoucault, and
was distinguished equally by his courage and his wit. These
shining qualities endeared him to all the nobility at court,
who were ambitious of decorating themselves at once with
the laurels of Mars and of Apollo. He wrote two excel¬
lent works : the one a book of Maxims, which Voltaire says
has contributed more than anything else to form the taste
of the French nation ; and the other, Memoires de la JRe-
gence d!Anne d!Autriche. It was partly at the instigation of
the beautiful Duchess de Longueville, to whom he had
long been attached, that the Due de Rochefoucauld engaged
in the civil war, in which he signalized himself, particularly
at the battle of St Antoine. After the civil wars were
ended, he thought of nothing but enjoying the calm plea¬
sure of friendship and literature. His house became the
rendezvous of every person of genius in Paris and Versailles.
Racine, Boileau, Savigne, and Lafayette found in his con¬
versation charms which they sought for in vain elsewhere.
He was not, however, with all his elegance and genius, a
member of the French Academy. The necessity of mak¬
ing a public speech on the day of his reception was the
only cause that he did not claim admittance. This noble¬
man, with all the courage he had displayed upon various
critical occasions, and with his superiority of birth and un¬
derstanding over the common run of men, did not think
himself capable of facing an audience to utter only four lines
in public, without being out of countenance. He died at
Paris in 1680, aged sixty-eight, leaving behind him a cha¬
racter which has been variously drawn by those who during
his life were proud of his friendship.
Rochefoucauld’s Memoirs of the Regency of Queen Anne
of Austria are written with much elegance and spirit, dis¬
playing a faithful picture of that stormy time, in which the
VOL. XIX.
HOC 241
painter was himself one of the leading actors. In his Re~ Rochelle
flections and Maxims he lays it down as an absolute rule, II
that all the actions of men are under the guidance of self- ^ochester-
love or of self-interest. This self-love, vanity, or pride, he
maintains to be the poison with which universal humanity
is tainted, and which it is impossible for man to remove by
all the efforts of his reason. Such being Rochefoucauld’s
view of human nature, it need not be wondered at that
the tone of his book does not rise, in any case, beyond the
grovelling speculation with which he sets out. This theory
perpetually clings to it; and despite its very great claims
upon our attention as a book written with singular ele¬
gance, it will be more or less regarded by all thinking men
more as a satire upon human nature, than as a book calcu¬
lated to make men better. A very good and very perfect
edition of the Maxims is that of Gabriel Brotier, Paris,
1789; there is likewise a more recent one by Aime Martin,
1822. The (Euvres of Rochefoucauld were published in
1818, with a notice of his life and works by Depping ; and
another edition in 1825, with a biographical and literary no¬
tice by his relation the Count Gaetan de la Rochefoucauld.
The Maxims have been frequently translated into English.
ROCHELLE, La, a town of France, capital of the
department of Charente-Inferieure, on the north shore of
an inlet of the sea, 295 miles W. by N. of Paris. It is
encircled by fortifications, and entered by seven gates.
Its broad, straight streets are lined with buildings, which,
though not lofty, are generally good. The most of the
town is built round the harbour, which is bordered with an
elegant quay shaded by rows of trees. The town-hall is a
fine building in the renaissance style of the time of Francis
I.; the cathedral, exchange, court-house, and public library
are among the ornaments of the town. Many of the squares
and public walks are exceedingly beautiful. La Rochelle
contains several schools, hospitals, a botanic garden, mint,
arsenals, &c. The manufactories of the place include pot¬
teries, glass-works, ship-building yards, sugar refineries, and
cotton factories. The harbour is very safe, and admits vessels
of 400 or 500 tons. An extensive trade is carried on in
wine, brandy, oil, salt, timber, iron, colonial produce, &c.
The town of Rochelle is ancient; but no remarkable event
is connected with its history till the time of the Reforma¬
tion. Before 1372, it had been alternately possessed by
the French and English ; but was finally secured for the
former in that year by Du Guesclin. In 1557 the Hugue¬
nots obtained possession of La Rochelle, and retained it for
seventy-two years,defending themselves against a siege in
1572, and only surrendering on honourable terms in 1629,
after a blockade of fourteen months. The mole constructed
by Richelieu to close up the harbour on that occasion may
still be seen at low water. Pop. (1856) 14,157.
ROCHESTER, a market-town and municipal and par¬
liamentary borough of England, in the county of Kent, on
the right bank of the Medway, 8 miles N. of Maidstone, and
29 E.S.E. of London. It forms almost a continuous town
with Chatham and Brompton on the E., and Stroud, across
the river, on the W. The streets are generally irregular;
the principal one, forming part of the London and Dover
road, extends from Chatham to the bridge over the Medway,
at the W. end of the town, a length of more than 2 miles.
The most of the houses are ancient in appearance ; many of
them are built of wood, with the gables turned to the street.
In the outskirts, however, and along the banks of the
river, stand many fine new houses and neat villas. The prin¬
cipal building is the cathedral, built by Bishop Gundulph
in the eleventh century, on the site of a more ancient
edifice, said to have been founded in 604. It has a nave
and aisles; a choir, raised above the level of the nave; two
transepts, the larger at the junction of the nave and choir, and
the smaller at the east end ’of the latter. Its dimensions
are as follows:—Length of the nave, 150 feet; breadth, with
2 H
242 HOC
Rochester, aisles, 66 feet; length of the choir, 156 feet; total length
v—of the church, 306 feet; of the larger transept, 122 feet; of
the smaller, 90 feet. A tower, built in 1825, rises from
the centre; one, now in ruins, called Gundulphs Tower,
from the north side of the choir, near the principal transept;
and two others dissimilar in appearance, flank the doorway
at the west end. This front was formerly adorned with
other two towers at its extremities. The style of the
building is partly Norman and partly early English ; on the
exterior it does not present a very imposing aspect, but the
interior has been recently repaired with great taste. The
monuments that it contains are more distinguished for sin¬
gularity than for beauty. Underneath, in a large crypt,
the ruined chapter-house has been replaced by a mean
building serving the purpose of the former, and also con¬
taining a library. Rochester has two parish churches, one
in the perpendicular, and another in a mixed style. There
are also places of worship for Wesleyans, Independents,
Quakers, and Jews. At the south-east of the town the
ancient castle towers above the waters of the Medway. It
has long been in a state of decay ; the outer walls, which
inclosed a large area, are in ruins, but the strong massive
keep still rises in the centre to the height of 104 feet, with
turrets 12 feet higher at each corner. This is considered
one of the best extant specimens of Norman military archi¬
tecture. Another fine building in Rochester is the brick
town-hall, with its Doric portico in front. There is also a
jail, theatre, assembly-rooms, &c. The cathedral grammar
school, founded in 1542, has four exhibitions at Oxford and
Cambridge, and contained 62 scholars in 1854. A free
mathematical school, with 47 scholars in the same year;
national and British schools, also provide for the education
of the people. The charitable institutions include a dispen¬
sary, alms-houses, and a charity for poor travellers. Roches¬
ter has no manufactures, if we except a small amount of ship¬
building ; but many of the inhabitants are employed in the
dockyards and other establishments at Chatham. Oyster
fishing is carried on; and there is some trade, chiefly in coal,
by means of coasting vessels. The number of sailing-vessels
registered at the port, December 31, 1857, was 415, ton¬
nage 19,086 ; of steamers, number 5, tonnage 228. The
number of sailing-vessels that entered in that year was 213,
tonnage 27,748; of steamers, number 117, tonnage, 18,544;
of those that cleared 70 sailing-vessels, tonnage 6411, and
29 steamers, tonnage 3650. The stone bridge of eleven
arches over the Medway was built in the reign of Richard
II. Farther down, the river is crossed by a new iron bridge
of three lofty arches, the central one opening in the middle
to allow the passage of large vessels. Two weekly markets,
a monthly cattle market, and two yearly fairs are held at
Rochester. Quarter-sessions and a county court meet here.
The borough is governed by a mayor, 5 other aldermen,
and 18 councillors; and represented in Parliament by 2
members. The existence of Rochester can be traced back
with probability to the period before the invasion of the
Romans, by whom it was called Durobrivce. Under the
Saxon kingdom of Kent it was important as a stronghold,
and the seat of a bishop. In 676 it was destroyed by the
Saxons of Merica; again in 839 by the Danes, into whose
hands it had almost fallen a second time in 885, had it
not been rescued by Alfred. The town and castle were
strengthened by William the Conqueror; and afterwards
sustained several attacks, one of which was from the rebels
under Wat Tyler. In 1667 the Dutch made a descent on
Rochester; and in 1688 James II. took ship to France
from this port. Pop. (1851) 14,938.
Rochester, a town of the United States of North
America, in the state of New York, on both sides of the
Genesee, 7 miles above its mouth, in Lake Ontario, and 230
W. by N. of Albany. It is built on level ground, with
broad, straight, well-paved streets, the principal of which
ROC
run from E. to W. through the middle of the town. The Rocket
houses are for the most part built of limestone or brick; |]
many of them are surrounded with gardens; and the streets
are generally lined with rows of trees. The court-house ■
and city-hall, a large and handsome edifice, with a granite
front; the arcade, a fine building partly occupied by the
post-office; the western house of refuge for juvenile delin¬
quents, a large brick structure; the university buildings, as
well as many handsome churches of different sects, form
the most conspicuous ornaments of the town. The uni¬
versity of Rochester, founded in 1850, is under the direc¬
tion of the Baptists, and had in 1857, 8 professors, 165
students, and a library of 5200 volumes. There is also a
Baptist theological seminary, containing in 1856-7, 3 pro¬
fessors and 36 students. The town has numerous schools,
an athenaeum, two orphan hospitals, and other benevolent
institutions. Several newspapers and other periodicals are
published. The prosperity of the place must chiefly be
ascribed to the great amount of water-power within reach ;
for the Genesee descends within a short distance by three
cataracts and two rapids, in all 373 feet; and the inhabi¬
tants have not been slow to make use of these advantages.
The chief establishments are flour-mills, which are perhaps
the most extensive in the United States, and produced in
1852, 538,680 barrels of flour. Machinery, cutlery, iron,
leather, cloth, paper, and other articles are also made here.
The town is remarkable for the extent of its fruit nurseries.
The Erie Canal, which traverses the centre of the town,
and crosses the river on an aqueduct of stone, extends
westward to the lake of the same name ; and the Genesee
Valley Canal opens up communication with the south.
The steam-boat navigation, which extends on the river to
within 2 miles of the town, and the several railways which
diverge from it, increase the facilities for commerce that
Rochester possesses. The shipping of the district, June
30, 1852, had an aggregate tonnage of 686 enrolled and
licensed, of which 429 tons belonged to steamers. During
the year ending on that day there entered (exclusive of
canal navigation) 264 vessels, with a tonnage of 38,903;
and there cleared 200, tonnage 33,027. Rochester was
first settled in 1812, and received its charter in 1834.
Pop. (1850) 36,403; (1853) about 42,000.
ROCKET. See Pyrotechny.
ROCKY MOUNTAINS, called also, but not so ge¬
nerally, Chippewayan Mountains, the principal range in
North America, extending from the shore of the Arctic
Ocean, near Mackenzie Bay, about 70. N. Lat., in a S.S.E.
direction, through the continent. The name is sometimes
applied to the whole range of mountains so far S. as 19. N.
Lat., where they are interrupted by the low lands in Ni¬
caragua and the isthmus of Panama: but, properly speak¬
ing, the Cordilleras of Mexico do not form part of the
Rocky Mountains, nor are they indeed immediately con¬
nected with that chain. In its stricter application, the
term designates only the mountains which traverse the
British possessions and the United States, and terminate a
few miles S.E. of Santa Fein the territory of New Mexico.
They form a part of the great mountain chain, which, with
a few interruptions and under various names, traverses the
whole of the Western Continent from very nearly its ex¬
treme northern to its extreme southern point, forming the
watershed between the Atlantic and Pacific oceans, though
much nearer the latter than the former. The northern
range, however, does not approach so near to the sea
as the southern range does at almost all parts of its
course. Near the southern extremity of the Rocky Moun¬
tains, and not far from the source of the Arkansas River,
is a knot of mountains from which various chains diverge
in different directions,—the Sierra de San Juan, stretching
S.W. towards the Sierra Madre ; the Rocky Mountains,
on the one hand N.W., and on tne other S.E.; and the
ROC
Eocroy. Medicine Bow Hills towards the N.E. The main ridge
jr continues in a single almost unbroken line as far north¬
wards as Mount Brown, about 53. N. Lat., where a lower
ridge diverges and runs nearly parallel to the principal
chain, a short distance to the W. This second chain is
known by the name of the Peak Mountains, and sends
off another range, also parallel to the two former, and still
nearer the coast. The loftiest summits of the Rocky Moun¬
tains throughout the greater part of their length rise from
10,000 to 14,000 feet; but N. of Mount Brown, where the
divergence takes place, they begin to diminish in altitude,
and towards the extremity their average height is not
more than 2000 feet. The highest elevation in the
southern part of the range is Fremont’s Peak, 13,570 feet
above the sea. Farther N., between Lat. 46. and 48.,
there is a considerable depression ; but beyond this there
is another elevated portion, where Mount Hooper (15,690
feet) and Mount Brown (about 16,000 feet) rise. Some
peaks are said to attain the height of 18,000 feet above the
sea. The mountains are traversed by several passes. Among
these are South Pass, immediately south of Fremont’s Peak,
forming the principal route to the Mormonite settlements
in the W.; Lewis and Clarke’s Pass, near the head waters
of the Missouri, 6323 feet high; and Athabasca Portage,
between Mounts Hooper and Brown, about 7300 feet.
The two former of these have been proposed as railway
routes across the North American continent. Very recently
several additional passes have been discovered by Captain
Palliser, some account of which will be found in the Pro¬
ceedings of the Royal Geographical Society for Feb. 1859.
As the range has been but imperfectly explored, little
is known of its geological character. There seems, how¬
ever, no reason to doubt that its structure is primitive.
The upper portions consist of granite and gneiss, rising
up in bare, rugged, and precipitous peaks. This forma¬
tion is overlaid in the higher slopes with limestone, and in
the lower with sandstone. Volcanic rocks exist in some
places ; and there is said to be a volcanic region, 100 miles
in length, near Fremont’s Peak, containing several burn¬
ing mountains now in activity. Hot springs are found not
only here, but in several other places on both slopes of the
range ; one of the most remarkable being that called the
Steamboat Spring, sending up the water to the height of
3 feet. The eastern declivity of the mountains is in ge¬
neral much more precipitous than the western, which in
some places rises to a series of terraces and inferior ridges.
Many of the summits are covered with perpetual snow.
They are seen like a vast rampart rising from the grassy
plains, stretching from north to south. Sometimes their
aspect is that of continued ranges of a grayish colour, rising
into the blue of the atmosphere above the region of the
clouds. A great number are black, ragged, and preci¬
pitous ; and their bases are strewn with immense boulders
and fragments of rock, detached by earthquakes and the
elements. From this iron-bound and precipitous character
they probably received the appellation of Rocky Mountains.
They are for the most part but thinly covered with vege¬
tation, a few scrub pines and other trees being all that
clothes the lower slopes; but in some places there are
magnificent forests. The rivers that take their rise in the
Rocky Mountains fall into three great divisions: those
which flow into the Arctic Ocean or Hudson’s Bay, of which
the Athabasca and the Saskatchewan are the chief; those
which flow into the Gulf of Mexico, of which the Missouri
is the largest; and those which join the Pacific or the
Gulf of California, especially the Columbia and Colorado.
ROCROY, a frontier town of France, capital of an ar-
rondissement in the department of Ardennes, in a beautiful
plain in the midst of the forest of Ardennes, 15 miles
N.N.W. of Mezieres. It is strongly fortified ; and contains
a foundry for cannon-balls and other projectiles. In the
ROD 243
neighbourhood of the town Conde gained a great victory Itodez
over the Spaniards in 1643. Pop. (1856) 2686. II
RODEZ, a town of France, capital of the department of ^R°dpey-y
Aveyron, on a hill washed on three sides by a curve of the ^ v-*1
Aveyron, which flows 150 feet below, 312 miles S. of
Paris. Owing to the nature of the site, most of the streets
in the town are steep, and their narrowness is increased by
the projecting fronts of the houses, which are for the most
part meanly built of wood. The fortifications that once
inclosed the place are now turned into public walks, com¬
manding a wide prospect over a somewhat bleak country.
The most conspicuous building is the cathedral, whose
erection was spread over two centuries, from the end of
the thirteenth. Its richly-carved belfry rises to the height
of 265 feet; and many of its internal ornaments are very
fine. Rodez has also an episcopal palace, town-hall, pre¬
fect’s office, Jesuits’ college, public library, Cordeliers’ mo¬
nastery, and an hospital; manufactures of leather, serge,
candles, hats, and playing-cards are carried on ; and there
are also dye-works and worsted-mills in the town. The
trade is considerable in manufactured articles, wool from
the neighbouring country, and cheese. Rodez contains a
court of law, chamber of manufactures, schools, scientific
societies, museum, &c. Pop. (1856) 8479.
RODNEY, George Brydges, Baron of Stoke, was
born on the 19th of February 1718. He was the de¬
scendant of an ancient family, and was related to the Duke
of Chandos. He bore the name of his Majesty, who stood
sponsor for him at his baptism. At a very early age he
was sent to Harrow school ; and having quitted it at the
age of twelve, he received from the king a letter of ser¬
vice, the last ever granted, and went to sea. On the New¬
foundland station he served for six years with Admiral
Medley. On the 15th of February 1739 he was made
lieutenant in the Dolphin, by Admiral Haddock, in the
Mediterranean, and served successively in the Essex,
Royal Sovereign, and Namur. Admiral Mathews having
in 1742 appointed him to the Plymouth, of sixty-four guns,
he convoyed 300 sail of the Lisbon trade through the midst
of the French fleet, then cruising in the channel; and for
his conduct on this occasion he received the warmest thanks
of the merchants. In the rank of captain he was confirmed
by the Admiralty, and was appointed to the command of
the Sheerness, in which he continued for eighteen months.
He was then removed to the Ludlow Castle, of forty guns.
In this ship he fought and took the great St Maloes priva¬
teer, of forty guns, and one hundred men above his own
complement. From this period till December 1745 he
was employed in various pieces of service, which afforded
him no particular opportunities of obtaining distinction.
Having been appointed to the Centurion, he for two years
cruised in the North Sea. He was now promoted to the
command of the Eagle, of sixty-four guns ; and in 1 747
he was despatched in a small squadron for the purpose of
intercepting the French fleet, homeward-bound from St
Domingo. On the 20th of June they fell in with this fleet
off Cape Ortegal. The French men-of-war deserted their
convoy during the night, and no fewer than forty-eight mer¬
chantmen were captured. Rodney afterwards joined the
squadron of Admiral Hawke, and bore a distinguished part
in the action off Finisterre on the 14th of October in the
same year. Near the close of this war a small squadron,
of which the Eagle was one, fell in with a Spanish fleet from
the West Indies, consisting of twelve sail of the line, with
a rich convoy, and notwithstanding their own inferiority,
they took from them six sail of merchantmen.
Captain Rodney was appointed to the Rainbow in March
1748, and was soon afterwards sent as governor and com¬
mander-in-chief on the Newfoundland station. This was
his first appearance with the rank of commodore. He had
received particular instructions to discover, if possible, an
244 ROD
Rodney, island in the Western Ocean, said to be in Lat. 49. N.,
about 300 leagues from Britain. After cruising fourteen
days to no purpose, be sailed for St Johns, the seat of his
government. In this station he continued till the month
of October 1752, when he returned home to take his seat
in Parliament, having been elected for the borough of Sal-
tash. In May 1577 he sailed in the Dublin, of seventy-
four' trims, with Hawke’s expedition for the bombardment
of Rochefort; and in February 1758, with Boscawen in
the expedition against Louisbourg. On the 19th of May
1759 he was promoted to the rank of rear-admiral, and was
immediately appointed to the command of a small squadron
destined to bombard Havre de Grace. This service he
performed in a very effectual manner; and having con¬
tinued to keep the sea till the close of the ensuing year, he
returned to Britain. In 1761 he was elected member of
Parliament for Penryn. On the 6th of October he hoisted
his flag on board the Marlborough, having been appointed
commander-in-chief at Barbadoes and the Leeward Islands,
and to conduct the naval operations of the armament des¬
tined for the attack of Martinique. This island, together
with St Lucia, was speedily reduced.
The admiral returned home on the 12th of August 1763,
On the 21st of the preceding October he had been made
vice-admiral of the blue. .In 1764 he was created a ba¬
ronet, and during the following year was appointed governor
of Greenwich flospital. In 1768 he was returned to Par¬
liament for Northampton. On the 18th of October 1770
he became vice-admiral of the white, and on the 24th of
October 1771 vice-admiral of the red. During the latter
year, on the 23d of January, he had been appointed com¬
mander-in-chief at Jamaica, and with this command was
not permitted to retain the office of governor. Having re¬
turned to Britain, he struck his flag at Portsmouth on the
4th of September 1774. Being inattentive, as many sea¬
men are, to the rules of economy, his circumstances be¬
came so embarrassed that he was obliged to fly from his
country, with very slight hopes of ever being able to re¬
turn. He was in France when the ill-advised policy of
that court prompted them to take a decided part with Ame¬
rica against Great Britain; and it is said that some men
in power, no strangers to the desperate state of Sir George’s
affairs, offered him a high command in the French navy if
he would carry arms against his own country. This offer
he rejected with becoming indignation. Soon after this
gallant behaviour the Due de Chartres, afterwards Duke
of Orleans, told Sir George that he was himself to have a
command in the fleet to be opposed to that under the com¬
mand of his countryman Keppel; and with an insulting air
asked him what he' thought would be the consequence of
their meeting. “ That my countryman will carry your
highness with him to learn English,” was the high-spirited
reply. These statements do not perhaps rest on sufficient
authority; but we learn from his own correspondence that
Marechal Biron expressed his willingness to advance what¬
ever sum he might require, even to the amount of L.2000,
Having accepted a loan of a thousand louis, he was in
1778 enabled to pay his bills in Paris, and to revisit his own
country. He was speedily enabled to discharge this debt,
and to make a satisfactory arrangement with his creditors.
On the 1st of October 1779 Rodney was appointed
commander-in-chief of Barbadoes and the Leeward Islands.
His first exploit after this appointment was on the 8th of
January ensuing, when he took sixteen Spanish transports,
together with seven ships and vessels of war, which had
left St Sebastian’s a week before. On the 16th of the
same month he fell in with the Spanish fleet, consisting of
eleven sail of the line, under the command of Don Juan
de Langara, of which one was blown up during the en¬
gagement, five were taken, and carried into Gibraltar,
among which was the admiral’s ship, and the rest were
ROE
much shattered. In April the same year he fell in with Rodosto
the French fleet, under the command of Admiral Guichan, 1!
at Martinique, which he fought, and beat; though, from Roebuck,
the shattered state of his own fleet, and the unwillingness
of the enemy to risk another action, he took none of their
ships. The successful efforts of the gallant admiral dur¬
ing the year 1780 were generally applauded throughout
the nation. He received the thanks of both houses of Par¬
liament, and addresses of thanks from various parts of
Great Britain, and the islands to which his victories were
more particularly serviceable. In December the same
year he made an unsuccessful attempt, together with Ge¬
neral Vaughan, on St Vincent’s. In 1781 he continued
his exertions, with much success, in defending the West
Indian Islands; and, along with the above-named general,
he conquered St Eustatius, on which occasion his conduct
to the inhabitants has been much, though perhaps unjustly,
censured. The island was certainly a nest of contraband
traders. On the 12th of April 1782, he came to a close
action with the French fleet under Count de Grasse ; dur¬
ing which he sunk one ship and took five, of which the
admiral’s ship, the Ville de Paris, was one. On the 22d
of May the thanks of both houses of Parliament were voted
to the admiral, his officers, and seamen, for this brilliant
and decisive victory. He was appointed vice-admiral of
Great Britain, and was raised to the peerage by the title
of Baron Rodney of Stoke in Somersetshire. The House
of Commons voted him an annual pension of L.2000. In
the year 1793 this pension was permanently settled on the
title; and in 1806 a pension of L.1000 Irish was granted
to his grandson for life. Having been superseded very un¬
graciously in his command, Lord Rodney once more
steered a homeward course. He landed at Bristol on the
15th of September 1782, and next day proceeded to join
his family at Purbrook near Portsmouth. He survived for
ten years, having died on the 24th ol May 1792, after he
had completed the seventy-fourth year of his age.
Lord Rodney was twice married; first to the sister of
the Earl of Northampton, and next to the daughter of John
Clies, Esq., with whom he did not reside for several years
before his death. (See The Life and Correspondence of
the late Admiral Rodney, by Major-General Mundy, his
lordship’s son-in-law, London, 1830, 2 vols. 8vo.)
RODOSTO, or Rodosjig (anc. Rheedestus, or Bi-
santhe), a town of European Turkey, Roumelia, on a pic¬
turesque bay on the Sea of Marmora, 77 miles W. of Con¬
stantinople. It is defended by walls and towers, and con¬
tains many good streets, several mosques, and a large covered
bazaar. There is here a harbour, by means of which an
active trade in corn, wine, &c., is carried on. In the sur¬
rounding country there are many extensive gardens, from
which large quantities of fruits and vegetables are sent to
the town. Fishing is also carried on to some extent. Pop.
26,000.
RODRIGUES. See Mauritius.
ROE, the seed or spawn of fish. (See Ichthyology.)
ROEBUCK, John, the son of a Sheffield manufacturer,
was born in 1718. After an elementary training, he was
placed under the tuition of Dr Doddridge. Passing from
this academy, he entered the university of Edinburgh,
where he distinguished himself by his logical and me¬
taphysical acuteness, and by great ingenuity in his argu¬
ments. Here he formed an acquaintance with Dr Ro¬
bertson, Mr Hume, and other literary characters. Hav¬
ing completed his medical course at Edinburgh, he after¬
wards spent some time at the university of Leyden,
where in 1743 he took the degree of M.D. Return¬
ing to England he commenced practice as a physician
at Birmingham. Having substituted leaden vessels in the
room of glass ones in the manufacture of sulphuric acid, he
was enabled to sell it at a much cheaper rate than had been
ROE
Roeraer. lone hitherto. He accordingly established a manufactory
^ of this material at Prestonpans in the year 1749, which was
opposed by Dr Ward, but without success, as Roebuck’s
discovery did not come within Ward’s patent. Dr Roe¬
buck and his partner retained the advantages of their in¬
dustry and ingenuity for a number of years, supplying the
public with sulphuric acid at a much cheaper rate than had
been formerly done. He found it expedient to relinquish
his medical profession, and he resided in Scotland during
the greater part of the year. He made some discoveries
in the smelting of ironstone, greatly facilitating that pro¬
cess by using pit-coal instead of charcoal. He and his
partner therefore projected a very extensive manufactory
of iron, for which they soon procured a sufficient capital, as
their friends had much confidence in their integrity and
abilities. Dr Roebuck at length made choice of a spot on
the banks of the River Carron as the most advantageous
situation for the establishment of their manufactory, abun¬
dance of ironstone, limestone, and coal being found in its
immediate vicinity. The preparations for this establish¬
ment were finished in the end of the year 1759 ; the first
furnace was blown on the 1st of January 1760; and a
second was soon afterwards erected. These works turned
the attention of Dr Roebuck to the state of coal in the
neighbourhood, and to the means of procuring the extra¬
ordinary supplies which the iron-works might require. He
therefore became lessee of the extensive coal and salt works
at Borrowstounness, the property of the Duke of Hamilton,
in which he sunk, in the course of a few years, not only his
own and a considerable part of his wife’s fortune, but the
regular profits of his more successful works ; and, what dis¬
tressed him above everything else, the great sums of money
which he borrowed from his relations and friends, without
the prospect of ever being able to repay them. This
ruinous adventure cut off for ever the flattering prospects
of an independent fortune which bis family had once cher¬
ished ; and he drew from his colliery only a moderate annual
support, for which he was indebted to the indulgence of
his creditors. It was while engaged in this speculation that
he became acquainted with James Watt, the inventor of the
modern steam-engine. Some years before his death, he was
seized with a disorder that required a dangerous operation,
which he bore, however, with his usual spirit and resolution.
He visited his works till within a few weeks of his decease,
which took place on the 17th July 1794. A pretty copious
memoir of Roebuck appeared in the fourth volume of the
Transactions of the Royal Society of Edinburgh, of which
he was a fellow, in which it is stated that, besides contribut¬
ing a few papers to that society, as well as to the Royal
Society of London, he was likewise the author of two po¬
litical pamphlets.
The present John Arthur Roebuck, M.P., is the grand¬
son of Dr Roebuck.
ROEMER, Oi.aus, a celebrated Danish mathematician
and astronomer, was born at Arhusen in Jutland in the
year 1644, and was sent to the university of Copenhagen
at the age of eighteen. By assiduous application to the
study of astronomy and mathematics, he became so emi¬
nent in those sciences that Picard was astonished and de¬
lighted with him, when making observations in the north,
by the order of Louis XIV. He was prevailed on to ac¬
company Picard to France, and being presented to the
king, he was chosen the Dauphin’s tutor in the study of
mathematics. He was afterwards united with Picard and
J. D. Cassini in making astronomical observations, and be¬
came a member of the Academy of Sciences in 1672. His
discoveries acquired for him great reputation during his
ten years’ residence at Paris; and he did not scruple to
assert that Picard and Cassini took the merit of many
things which belonged exclusively to himself. Roemer
was the first person who discovered the velocity with which
ft O G 245
light moves, by means of the eclipses of Jupiter’s satellites, Roermonde
determining it to be about seven or eight minutes in coming ||
from the sun to the earth. (See Dissertation Fourth.) Rogers.
This opinion was opposed by many, but it was afterwards
demonstrated in a most ingenious manner by Dr Bradley.
Christian V., King of Denmark, recalled Roemer to his
native country in the year 1681, when he was appointed
professor of astronomy at Copenhagen. He was likewise
employed in the reformation of the coin and architecture of
the country, in regulating the weights and measures, and
in laying out the high roads throughout the kingdom. The
consequence was, that the king bestowed many dignities
upon him, and among others appointed him chancellor of
the exchequer. In fine, he was made councillor of state
and burgomaster of Copenhagen under Frederic IV., who
succeeded Christian. While Roemer was engaged in pre¬
paring to publish the result of his observations, he was cut
off on the 19th of September 1710, when about sixty-six
years of age. Horrebow, his disciple and successor in the
chair of astronomy, made up this loss by publishing, in 4to,
in 1753, various observations of Roemer, with his method
of observing, under the title of Basis Astronomies. He
had printed various astronomical observations and pieces
in several volumes of the Memoirs of the Royal Academy
of Sciences at Paris. (See Astronomy, History of; and
Micrometer.)
ROERMONDE (Fr. Ruremonde), a strongly-fortified
town in the Dutch province of Limburg, at the confluence
of the Roer with the Maas or Meuse, 28 miles N. by E.
of Maestricht. It has broad, regular streets, and a fine
bridge across the Roer, leading to the suburb of St Jacob.
The chief buildings are the cathedral in the Byzantine style,
episcopal palace, spacious town-hall, convent, and hospital.
There are here a college and several schools. Woollen
cloth, silk, paper, leather, and beer are manufactured, and
there are also bleach-fields, dye-works, flour-mills, &c.
Pop. (1850J 7172.
ROGATION-WEEK, the week immediately succeed¬
ing Whitsunday; so called from the three feasts therein,
viz., on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday.
ROGER DE HOVEDEN. See Hoveden.
ROGER DE WENDOVER, who was a monk in the
abbey of St Albans, and who died prior of Belvoir in 1237,
left behind him a Latin chronicle entitled Flores Histori-
arum (“ The Flowers of History”). It is a history of the
world from the creation to 1235, and is usually considered
by critics as divided into three parts. The first part, which
treats of all events before a.d. 447, is taken bodily from the
Greek and Roman historians, and from Geoffrey of Mon¬
mouth, and is of little or no value. The second part, bring¬
ing the narrative down to about 1200, is copied from many
of the best of preceding chronicles, and is worthy of being
preserved on account of its extracts from numerous works
which are now lost. The last part, recording the events
which happened within the author’s own sight or hearing,
is precious as an original history of that age. The Chro¬
nicle of Roger de Wendover, with the exception of the first
part, has been edited by the Rev. H. C. Coxe, in 4 vols.
8vo, London, 1841-42. An English translation, published
in 1849 by Dr J. A. Giles, forms two volumes of Bohn’s
“Antiquarian Library.” Matthew of Paris incorporated,
with few alterations, the Flowers of History into his own
Chronicle.
ROGERS, Samuel, an English poet of refined taste and
feeling, and for more than half a century greatly distin¬
guished in London society, was born at Newington Green
on the 30th of July 1763. He was descended from a Wor¬
cestershire family, his grandfather being Thomas Rogers,
of the Hill, near Stourbridge. His father settled in Lon¬
don as a banker, and was head of the firm long carried on
under the name of Rogers, Olding, & Co., Clement’s
246 R O G
Rogers. Lane. By the maternal side the poet was connected with
v--’-'' the English Nonconformists. His mother, Mary Radford,
was the grand-daughter of Eleanor, daughter of Philip
Henry, and sister of Matthew Henry—both eminent Non¬
conformist divines. The poet’s mother, “a very handsome
and very amiable woman,” persuaded his father to with¬
draw from the Church of England, and become a member
of the Presbyterian church at Newington, of which Dr
Price was the pastor. Price, though described by his ad¬
versary Burke, as “ a man much connected with literary
caballers and intriguing philosophers, with political theolo¬
gians and theological politicians,” was eloquent, courteous,
and polished in his manners ; and to this dissenting connec¬
tion the poet was indebted for his introduction to many of
the eminent Whig politicians and men of rank whom he
was afterwards proud to number among his friends. In
mature life he did not care to rank with the dissenters ;
but he never abjured the association, and the last note in
his poem of Italy tells us that his original MS. of the
poem contained these lines :—
“ What though his ancestors, early or late,
Were not ennobled by the breath of kings;
Yet in his veins was running at his birth
The blood of those most eminent of old
For wisdom, virtue—those who could renounce
The things of this world for their conscience sake,
And die like blessed martyrs.”1
Mr Rogers was educated at the Newington Green
academy, then taught by a Dr Burgh, author of a treatise
on the Dignity of Human Nature. Oneof his school-fellows
was Mr William Maltby, a modest and retired scholar, who
succeeded Porson as librarian to the London Institution,
and lived to the age of ninety, enjoying the friendship of
the poet. The latter was fond of relating that one day he
and Maltby, while walking up Fleet Street, resolved on
visiting Johnson in Bolt Court, and introducing themselves
to the great literary dictator ; but when Rogers’ hand wras
, on the knocker of the door his heart failed him, and the
young aspirants withdrew. Boswell, to whom many years
afterwards Mr Rogers related the circumstance, said truly
“ Why did you not go boldly in ? He would have received
you with all kindness.” And such, no doubt, would have
been the result. Johnson never appeared to greater ad¬
vantage than when giving advice and counselling his young
and diffident admirers. The first ambition of Rogers was
to be a preacher—a second Dr Price ; but his father placed
him in his own banking-house, preparatory to his being
admitted as a partner. He read Gray and Goldsmith as
lie walked to and from the bank in Cornhill; yet when he
ventured on authorship his first appearance was in prose.
He contributed a series of essays, entitled the Scribbler, to
that venerable repository of fugitive literature, the Gentle¬
man! s Magazine. This was in 1781, when Rogers was in
his eighteenth year. The essays are in the usual formal
didactic style of that period, and are neatly written. In
1786 he published his Ode to Superstition, tvith some other
Poews,paying down a sum of L.30 to the publisher to secure
him from loss ; and the precaution was not unneeded, as
at the end of four years only about twenty copies of the
E R S.
work (Is. 6d. each) were sold. The Monthly Review, how- Rogers,
ever, recognised in the crude imitations of Gray and Diy-
den, “ the hand of an able master,” and Rogers confessed
that this praise was the first stimulant to his ambition. In
1789 he visited Edinburgh (travelling on horseback), and
was introduced to Adam Smith, Blair, Robertson, and
Henry Mackenzie. He afterwards regretted that he had
not rode on to Ellisland to visit Burns, but some of his
Edinburgh friends, he said, dissuaded him from the journey.
Part of 1790-91 he spent in Paris, and the year following
his return witnessed his advent as a successful poet. His
Pleasures of Memory appeared in 1792, at first anony¬
mously, but the author becoming known, he was feted and
applauded. “What pleasure I felt,” he said, “on being
told that Este (Parson Este) had said of me, ‘ A child of
Goldsmith, Sir.’ ” Este was one of the royal chaplains, an
author, and a proprietor of the Morning Post and World
newspapers. He was an authority in fashionable circles,
and his favourable award must have appeared fame. In
this instance Mr Este was right. The Pleasures of Me¬
mory belong to the school of Goldsmith. The versification,
the pensive vein of reflection, the concise, select imagery
and description, show that the poet had carefully studied the
Traveller and Deserted Village—superadding, however, a
strain of subtle and refined thought, with historic and
classic allusions which peculiarly mark the poetry of Rogers.
“ His elegance is really wonderful,” said Byron ; “ there is
no such thing as a vulgar line in his book.” It must be
admitted, however, that there are several feeble lines in the
poem, with a few half-formed pictures, and passages which
recall the more vigorous and fervent inspiration of older
masters. In 1793 the poet’s father died—his mother he
had early lost; and he withdrew in great measure from the
banking-house,leavingthemanagementtoa younger brother.
About the same time he removed from Newington Green
to apartments in the Temple, which he furnished with great
elegance. His taste in all matters relating to social life
may be seen from his Epistle to a Friend, printed with a
few other poems in 1798. In his rooms in the Temple the
poet lived till about the year 1803, when he removed to a
house in St James’s Place, looking into the Green Park.
This house—the celebrated No. 22 St James’s Place—he
had altered and nearly rebuilt according to his own taste, *
and there he entertained his friends of every class and
country (Charles James Fox was his first dinner guest),
and accumulated those treasures of art,—pictures, books,
autographs, gems, vases, and antiques of all descriptions, rich
and rare, which, on his death, were dispersed after a sale of
twenty-two days, producing upwards of L.50,000. Mere
wealth could not have amassed such a collection. ' It was
the result of taste and knowledge, combined with the judi¬
cious expenditure of money at the right time, and constant
vigilance in watching the proper opportunity. Some of
those treasures, we are happy to add, have, by the libe¬
rality of their owner, found their way into the National
Gallery and British Museum. The poet was never mar¬
ried. In 1812 Rogers published a collection of his poems,
including in the volume a new piece, The Voyage of Co¬
lumbus, professing to be translated from the original in the
1 The poet’s nephew, Mr Samuel Sharpe (author of the History of Egypt, &c.), has illustrated this part of the poet’s history with some
characteristic anecdotes. When walking one day through Hanover Square with Mr Luttrell, the witty conversationist, and author of
Letters to Julia, and coming down upon St George’s Church, Rogers remarked on the inconvenience of being thrust off the pavement
and made to cross the street by the projecting portico. “Ah,” exclaimed Luttrell, “that comes of your dissenting principles.” On
another occasion, when Wordsworth and Rogers were walking through York Minster, the latter descanted on the fitness of the great pile
to awaken religious feelings in the mind, when Wordsworth stoutly and rather rudely denied that his companion could admire it equally
with himself, because of his Presbyterian education ! When the Dissenters’ Chapel Bill was before the House of Commons, Mr Sharpe
called upon Mr (now Lord) Macaulay to ask him to present a petition signed by the descendants of Philip Henry. “ Has my friend
Rogers signed it ?” asked Macaulay, thus marking his knowledge of family history, and of the fact of Mr Rogers being a descendant of
the ejected Nonconformist divine. Rogers’ connection with the Presbyterians was something like that of Pope with the Roman Catholics.
But he never forgot his early minister, Dr Price; and until within a fortnight of his death it always afforded him pleasure to hear his
favourite servant or librarian, Edmund Payne, read one of Price’s sermons.
R 0 G
Rogers. Castilian language. This poem is a series of fragmentary
sketches, with supernatural machinery, neither very appro¬
priate nor w'ell executed, but containing some imagery and
couplets of great picturesqueness and beauty. Mr Ward
(afterwards Lord Dudley) reviewed the volume in the
Quarterly Review, March 1813, in a style of studied yet
veiled depreciation, w'hich provoked the poet to retaliate in
that inimitable epigram—
“ Ward has no heart they say, hut I deny it;
He has a heart, and gets his speeches by it.”
The little tale of Jacqueline, published in conjunction
with Byron’s Lara, in 1814, was Rogers’s next work ; and
he made no other public appearance until 1819, when his
poem of Human Life was published. This is the most
truly poetical of all his works—as highly finished as the
Pleasures of Memory, but with deeper feeling and pro¬
founder philosophy. His pictures of the different epochs
or phases of life,—the noble aspirations of youth—the
struggles of patriotism—the various passions, hopes and
fears, joys and sorrows, that chequer existence, until the last
scene, when “ earth recedes and heaven itself appears,”—
are touched with a moral beauty, pathos, and refinement of
sentiment and expression, that none of his contemporaries
have equalled. That the poem is not more popular arises
from its delicacy and excessive refinement. It wants the
energy of strong passion and the interest of a narrative
or consecutive series of incidents; but, as has been said of
the kindred poetry of Gray, “ when we give its beauties
re-perusal and attention, they kindle and multiply to the
view.” There is greater variety in his next work Italy,
but less genuine poetry. The first part of Italy was pub¬
lished anonymously in 1822, and other parts followed at
intervals ; the whole work, he said, not being completed in
less than sixteen years. The Pleasures of Memory occu¬
pied him for nine years, and Human Life nearly the same
space of time. He used to say, “ The time when I con¬
sider that I wrote with the least difficulty was about the
period of the death of Fox. Then I felt myself equal to
anything, and it was then I wrote such lines as these :—
The clouds that rise to quench the orb of day
Reflect its splendour, and dissolve away.
I never wrote better.” Yet this image is directly borrowed
from Pope {Essay on Criticism, v. 466-173), and much
finer lines, original and drawn from nature, will be found
both in Memory and in Human Life. The blank verse of
Italy is easy and unconstrained, at times sliding into the
ordinary language of good conversation, and some charm¬
ing episodes and anecdotes are introduced along with those
descriptions that specially interest the classic student and
virtuoso. The poem might appropriately be bound up
with Forsyth’s Remarks on the Arts and Antiquities of
Italy, the two works forming a storehouse of fine thoughts
and observations and well-digested knowledge, symmetrized
and adjusted by consummate taste. The prose of Rogers’
notes is as exquisite as his verse, and was written with equal
care and fastidiousness. He wrote slowly and corrected ela¬
borately, from a desire, he said, to make his compositions
so simple that a child might understand them. There are
instances in which he wrote his lines over thirty and even
forty different ways in order to get rid of all big words.
E R S. 247
“ My best lines,” he would remark, “ are monosyllabic: Rogers,
small bricks make the stoutest walls.” In quoting from
other authors, in notes to his poems, he took the same
liberty of rejection and condensation ; passages from Mrs
Inchbald, and even from Burke, having been subjected to
this process, and not always to their advantage. An author
of greater power and more robust intellect, animated by
the fire of genius, would of course have discarded such
rules and restraints, and flung himself boldly into his sub¬
ject, but with Rogers, as with Akenside, taste was the pre¬
dominating faculty, and in both it was united to the per¬
ception and enjoyment, though without enthusiasm, of the
good and the beautiful in art and nature. “ True taste,”
he says, “is an excellent economist. She confines her
choice to few objects, and delights in producing great effects
by small means; whilst false taste is for ever sighing after
the new and the rare ; and reminds us, in her works, of
the scholar of Apelles, who, not being able to paint his
Helen beautiful, determined to make her fine.” Byron
considered that Rogers’ highly-cultivated taste and his
sensibility must have often rendered him discontented and
miserable. He notices, in his diary, his friend’s silence,
his severity, the perfect arrangements of his house ; not a
gem, a coin, a book thrown aside on his chimney-piece, his
sofa, or table, that did not bespeak an almost fastidious
elegance in the possessor. “ But this very delicacy,” adds
the noble poet, “ must be the misery of his existence. Oh,
the jarrings his disposition must have encountered through
life !” Now Rogers spent much of his time in reading and
composition, in the society of the witty, the beautiful, the
accomplished, and the learned ; he was rich and benevo¬
lent, and surrounded by all the luxuries and attractions he
most prized. Such a man so occupied and in such “blessed
conditions” of fortune and fame, joined to a philosophical
and somewhat epicurean frame of mind, could not be long
or frequently unhappy. We would rather say that he en¬
joyed as many hours and days of solid happiness and com¬
fort as are allotted to mankind, and infinitely more than
most of his gifted contemporaries (Wordsworth excepted)
could ever realize. His sources of enjoyment were more
various, and his capacity to appreciate them higher than
those of most men ; and from some of the worst ills of life—
its sordid cares and anxieties—he was wholly exempt.
Late in his prosperous career a cloud seemed to come
over his fortunes. His banking-house was robbed of a
large sum, and the loss was likely to be disastrous. The
greater part of the stolen money was, however, recovered ;
and the generosity with which his friends came forward
with offers of assistance—“one nobleman placing L.10,000,
a second L.30,000, and a third (a merchant prince)
L.100,000 at his disposal1— must have afforded him the
most exquisite gratification. The severity which Byron
charges against his old friend was not imaginary. He
did not, indeed, like Byron himself, “libel his friends all
round,” but he often gave them cause for uneasiness and
alarm by his habit of fault-finding and saying bitter things
couched in calm and measured language. His caustic ob¬
servations and quiet, stinging sarcasm were feared—his
pointed sayings were repeated—and he was thus formi¬
dable as well as popular in society.2 Such personal sallies
1 Edinburgh Review, July 1856. The essay on Rogers in the Review \a by Mr Hayward, Q.C., and has since been included in two
volumes of Essays published by its accomplished author.
2 In Stafford House is a large painting by Murillo of “ Abraham entertaining the Angels.’’ The angelic personages of the great artist
have nothing very heavenly in their aspect or appearance; and Rogers, on looking at the picture, said, “ 1 do not wonder at Abraham
entertaining0the angels unawaresA This may give some idea of his studied sarcastic brevity of criticism ; but in such things the manner
of the saying is nearly as important as the matter. Some of Rogers’ mots will be found in Moore’s Journals. The following, still better,
are from Mr Hayward’s essay:—When he was speaking of some one’s marriage in his usual tone, he was reminded that the friends of
the bridegroom were very much pleased at it; Rogers replied, “ He is a fortunate man, then, for his friends are pleased and his enemies
delighted?” When a late member for a western county and his wife were stopped by banditti in Italy, Rogers used to say, “ The ban¬
ditti wanted to carry off P into the mountains; but sue flung her arms round his neck, and rather than take her with them, they
let him go.” Rogers was unceasingly at war with the late Lady D. One day at dinner she called across the table, “ Now, Mr Rogers,
I am sure you are talkinr about me.” “ Lady D.,” war the retort, “ I pass my life in defending you. ’
248 R O G
Rogers, were common among the wits of his youth, or had ue-
V—'' scended from the days of Chesterfield and Selwyn ; and
though in Rogers’ case there were undoubtedly flaws of
temper as well as the desire to shine and win his way by
severity, his habitual politeness and active benevolence
operated as powerful checks on the unamiable propensity.
Of his income of L.4000 or L.5000 a year, at least L.1500
(according to Thomas Campbell), were spent in relieving
distress, or helping onwards modest merit and struggling
talent. He cheered the death-bed of Sheridan by his
generosity ; and in all emergencies his literary friends, in¬
cluding Moore and Campbell, found him a frank and
liberal assistant. Instances of this kind are recorded in
various memoirs and diaries, but as the poet’s friend Mr
Dyce has said, “ Of his many acts of kindness and charity
to the wholly obscure there is no memorial—at least on
earth.” We may therefore set the life-long kind actions
against the occasional bitter words, and in their light and
warmth the temporary blot will soon vanish. Whatever
were Rogers’ defects or infirmities, he made no effort to
conceal them. No man ever lived more in society or was
more communicative in conversation. His breakfast and
dinner parties were famous ; he held literary levees almost
daily; and his classic mansion was thrown open not only
to friends, but to strangers, who eagerly sought introduc¬
tion to the patriarch poet and patron of literature and art.
Anecdote and criticism were the favourite topics of the
host. He loved to read and expatiate on choice passages
in old authors, or characteristic features in the productions
of great artists; and though latterly he expected the de¬
ference of being allowed to dictate or introduce the topic
of conversation, all were invited to mingle in it. Mr Hay¬
ward has felicitously sketched the interior of this Tusculum
of St James’s Place :—
“ There, surrounded by the choicest treasures of art, and
in a light reflected from Guidos and Titians, have sat and
mingled in familiar converse the most eminent poets,
actors, artists, critics, travellers, historians, warriors, orators,
and statesmen of two generations. Under that roof cele¬
brities of all sorts, matured or budding, and however con¬
trasted in genius or pursuits, met as on the table-land
where (according to D’Alembert) Archimedes and Homer
may stand on a perfect footing of equality. The man of
mind was introduced to the man of action, and modest
merit, which had yet its laurels to win, was first brought
acquainted with the patron who was to push its fortunes, or
with the hero whose name sounded like a trumpet-note. It
was in that dining-room that Erskine told the story of his
first brief, and Grattan that of his last duel; that the ‘ Iron
Duke’ described Waterloo as a ‘battle of giants;’ that
Chantrey, placing his hand on a mahogany pedestal, said,
‘ Mr Rogers, do you recollect a workman at five shillings a
day who came in at that door to receive your orders for
this work? I was that workman.’ It was there, too, that
Byron’s intimacy with Moore commenced over the famous
mess of potatoes and vinegar; that Madame de Stael, after
a triumphant argument with Mackintosh, was (as recorded
by Byron) “ well ironed by Sheridan that Sydney Smith,
at dinner with Walter Scott, Campbell, Moore, Words¬
worth, and Washington Irving, declared that he and Irving,
if the only prose writers, were not the only prosers in the
company. It was through that window, opening to the
floor, and leading through the garden to the park, that the
host started with Sheridan’s gifted grand-daughter (Mrs
Norton) on ‘ The Winter’s Walk,’ which she has so
gracefully and feelingly commemorated. It was in the li¬
brary above that Wordsworth, holding up the original con¬
tract for the copyright of Paradise Lost (1300 copies for
L.5), proved to his own entire satisfaction that solid fame
was in an inverse ratio to popularity ; w hilst Coleridge, with
his finger upon the parchment deed by which Dryden
II O II
agreed for the translation of the 2Eneid, expatiated on the Rohan,
advantages which would have accrued to literature if ‘ glo-
rious John’ had selected the Iliad and left Virgil to Pope.”
These ever-shifting and brilliant scenes have now “ gone
glittering through the dream of things that wroreand of
all the actors, one only, the fair poetess, remains. But in
thus dispensing his refined and lettered hospitality, in
assembling parties who might otherwise have never met,
in healing differences, and bringing forward talent strug¬
gling into notice, Mr Rogers performed one of the noblest
duties of a citizen, worthy, for the sake of example, of im¬
perishable record. It is to be regretted that no Bosw ell
was present at these gatherings. The host himself took
occasional notes of the opinions and remarks of some of the
more illustrious of his friends ; and his recollections of Fox,
Grattan, Person, Horne Tooke, Erskine, and the Duke of
Wellington, have been published by his nephew, Mr Wil¬
liam Sharpe; but the collection is small, desultory, and
imperfect,—a not unpleasant table-book, but a feeble illus¬
tration of the intellectual powers or moral qualities of the
great men commemorated.
The illustrated editions of his Italy and Poems formed
Mr Rogers’ last public work. He called in the genius of
Turner and Stothard, and the talent of the best engravers,
expending on the two volumes, besides his own ceaseless
care and taste, a sum of about L. 15,000; but the under¬
taking proved remunerative, and the books are still unsur¬
passed among our illustrated publications. In 1850, on the
death of Wordswrorth, the post of laureate was offered to
Rogers, and pressed on his acceptance by Prince Albert;
but he was then eighty-seven, fit only for the Court of
Death, though happily not surrounded by any of “ the
gloomy attendants of his reign.” He declined the appoint¬
ment, and it was worthily bestowed on Mr Tennyson. A
few weeks afterwards, in June 1850, the aged poet met with
an accident, a fall in the street, which ever afterwards con¬
fined him to his chair. As he had all his life been a great
walker, and was remarkable for the amount of exercise he
could accomplish in one day,—visiting distant friends,
dining out, or receiving company, attending the opera, and
finishing off at a ball,—the want of locomotion was a sad
privation. But books, friends, and pictures were still left:
he could take his daily drive, or he could be wheeled out
to the garden or park to witness the sunsets which he so
much admired; and the orb of day never declined more
gently, or shaded more imperceptibly into final obscuration,
than this Nestor of poets journeyed downwards to the grave.
He died on the 18th of December 1855, being then in his
ninety-third year, and was buried at Hornsey, (r. c—s.)
ROHAN, Henri, Due de, peer of France, and prince
of Leon, was born at the Chateau de Blein, in Brittany, in
1579. Henri IV,, under whose eye he gave distinguished
proofs of his bravery at the siege of Amiens, when only
sixteen years of age, loved him with as much affection as
if he had been his own son. After the death of Henry,
he became chief of the Calvinists in France; and was
equally formidable for his genius as for his sword. In de¬
fence of the civil and religious rights of his party, he main¬
tained three wars against Louis XIII. The first, which ter¬
minated to the advantage of the Protestants, broke out when
that prince wished to establish the Romish religion in
Bearn; the second, because of the siege which Cardinal
de Richelieu ordered to be laid to Rochelle; and the third,
when that place was besieged a second time. The conse¬
quences of this war are sufficiently known: Rochelle sur¬
rendered, and the Due de Rohan, perceiving that, after
the taking of this place, the majority of Ins party were en¬
deavouring to make up matters with the court, succeeded
in procuring for them a general peace in 1629, upon very
honourable and advantageous terms. There is an anecdote
told of him, in the Memoirs of the Duchess of Rohan,
Rohault.
R O H
garet of Bethune, daughter of the famous Sully. While
The Due de Rohan was at Venice, a proposal was nrnde
to him from the Porte, that for 200,000 crowns, and an
annual tribute of 60,000 livres, the grand seignior would
give him the island of Cyprus, and fully invest him with
the dignity and prerogative of king. The duke was
warmly inclined to comply with this proposal, and to settle
in the island the Protestant families of France and Ger¬
many. He negotiated this business at the Porte by means
of the intervention of the patriarch Cyril, with whom he
had much correspondence; but different circumstances,
and in particular the death of the patriarch, contributed to
break off the treaty. The republic of Venice chose Rohan
for their commander-in-chief against the imperialists; but
Louis XIII. took him from the Venetians, and sent him am¬
bassador into Switzerland and into the Grisons. He wished
to assist these people in reducing La Valteline to obedience,
the revolt of which the Spaniards and imperialists encour¬
aged. Rohan being declared general of the Grisons, after
many victories, drove the German and Spanish troops entiiely
from La Valteline in 1633. He again defeated the Spaniards
in 1636, at the banks of the Lake of- Como. France, not
thinking it proper to withdraw her troops, the Grisons rose
up in arms; and the Due de Rohan, not satisfied with the
conduct of the court, entered into a special treaty with them
on the 28th of March 1637. This hero, fearing the resent¬
ment of Cardinal de Richelieu, retired to Geneva, with a
view of joining his friend the Duke of Saxe-Weimar, who
wished him to undertake the command of his army, then
ready to engage the imperialists near Rhinfeldt. Although
he declined this honour, yet he took the command of the
regiment of Nassau, with which he threw the enemy into
confusion ; but was himself wounded, 28th Februaiy
1638, and died the 13th of April following, at the age of
fifty-nine. He wrote several interesting performances .—
Les Interets des Princes, printed at Cologne in 1666, in
12mo. Le parfait Capitaine, or an abridgment of the
wars from Caesar’s Commentaries, in 12mo. Traite de
la Corruption de la Milice Ancienne; Traite de Gou-
vernement des 13 Cantons; also Memoires. They con¬
tain the history of France from 1610 to 1629. Recueil de
quelques Discours Politiques sur les Affaires d Etat, ho™
1612 to 1629, 8vo, Paris, 1644, 1693, 1755; v,\\h Me¬
moires et Lettres de Henri, Due de Rohan, sur la Guerre
de la Valteline, 3 vols. 12mo, Geneva, 1757. I his was the
first edition which appeared of these curious memoirs, we
owe it to the great attention and diligence of Baron de Zur-
lauben, who published them from different authentic manu¬
scripts, with a highly interesting Life of the noble author.
ROHAULT, Jacques, one of the first and most zeal¬
ous propagators of the Cartesian philosophy in France, was
born at Amiens in 1620. He was early conveyed to Paris,
where he showed a decided predilection for philosophical
pursuits. So high did he rank in the esteem of his masteis
that Clerselier gave him his daughter in marriage. He
continued to teach in Paris with great reputation for ten or
twelve years. In 1771 he published a Traite du Physique,
which enjoyed an immense reputation both^ in and out of
France. It was translated into Latin by Dr Samuel Clarke,
who corrected the Cartesian predilections of the author by
the more sound investigations of Newton. Rohault was
likewise the author of a small book, Entretiens de Philo¬
sophic, in which he endeavoured to meet the objections of
all parties to the writings of his master Descartes. He
died in 1672, and was buried at Sainte-Genevieve, beside
him in whose interest he had spent his life. (See Clerse-
lier’s preface to the second volume of his Lettres de Des¬
cartes; and the CEuvres Posthumes of Rohault, 4to, Paris,
1682. The reader may likewise consult Damiron s His-
toire de la Philosophic du 17 Siecle ; and the Dictionnaire
des Sciences Philosophiques.)
' YOU. XIX.
It o L
249
Roland.
ROHILCUND, a name given to a tract of country in Rohitcund
British India, presidency of Bengal, lying between N. Lat.
27. 15. and 29. 51., E. Long. 73. 3. and 80. 30.; bounded
on the N. by British Gurwhal and Kumaon, E. by Oude, —
S. and W. by the Ganges, which separates it from the
Doab. It comprises the British districts of Bijnour, Mora-
dabad, Pilleebheet, Bareilly, Budaoon, and Shajehanpoor,
with the native jaghire of Rampoor. Area 12,428; pop.
5,217,507, of whom 4,036,166 are Hindus. The country
is fertile, traversed by numerous rivers, and has a very good
climate. The soil is watered with much care by artificial
means, and produces large quantities of corn, sugar, and
tobacco. There are also extensive saul forests, and this tim¬
ber forms one of the principal articles of exportation. The
country derives its name from its former rulers, the Ro-
hillas, an Afghan people who invaded India, and established
themselves in the N.W. of Oude about 1747. Vain efforts
were made by several nabobs of Oude to subdue this mili¬
tary colony, which, though disunited except for defence,
could bring 80,000 men into the field. But theii most
formidable enemies were the Mahrattas ; and, as these were
equally hostile to Oude, an alliance was made in 1773 be¬
tween the Rohillas, the nabob of Oude, and the Biitish, hy
means of which the Mahratta forces were repulsed. There¬
upon the nabob, by his exorbitant demands, made a pretext
for subduing Rohilcund $ an enterprise which, to the dis¬
grace of the British name, was made successful by a body
of troops lent by Warren Hastings. The country was ra¬
vaged and plundered by the cruel and cowardly followers
of die nabob, and the Rohillas were, with few exceptions,
exterminated or expelled. Rohilcund was afterwards ceded
to the British in 1801.
ROLAND, Manon Jeanne Phlipon, the great
heroine of the French Revolution, was the only surviving
child of Phlipon, an engraver, and was born at Paris in
1754. In her quiet home on the Quai des Orfevres, and
amid the routine of humble household duties, the young
girl began to develop her earnest nature. I he budding
beauty of her person was but a faint shadow of the serene
and noble spirit that was moving within. She sought after
truth with all the devoted affection of a lover. Through
history, theology, philosophy, and the sciences her vigor¬
ous mind wandered, fixing upon whatever gratified her
pure and elevated tastes. Especially did her attention love
to rest upon the ancient ages as portrayed in Plutarch s
Lives. Dwelling in spirit in those great times, her con¬
duct became imbued with the severe magnanimity of an
old Greek or Roman. She abjured everything but what
was true and uprightly noble. The rites of the priests
seemed hollow mockeries, and she abandoned the Chris¬
tian religion. The gilded vices of the aristocracy roused
her indignation ; and she turned a confirmed republican.
Nor did she act less consistently when, about the age of
twentv, she began to be assailed by offers of marriage. I he
crowd* of volatile suitors who were attracted by her charms
did not excite her vanity. She rejected the whole tribe,
one after another, with unhesitating candour. In vain did
her father remonstrate with her. “ It is not a position,
she said, “ but a mind that I want.” The only person
that was able to affect her well-disciplined heart was Jean
Marie Roland de la Platiere, inspector of manufactures at
Amiens, a grave, middle-aged philosopher, weather-beaten
and thoueht-worn, coldly virtuous as a Spartan, and sternly
patriotic as a Cato. She therefore gave him her hand
about her twenty-fifth year, and thenceforth devoted her¬
self entirely to his stern will.
Madame Roland was in Paris in the early part of 179^,
occupying a prominent place among the revolutionists.
Her husband had been deputed to the Constituent As¬
sembly by the city of Lyons. His honest patriotism had
raised him to a high place among the reformers; and when
2 i
250 R O L R O L
liolle. a Girondist cabinet had been forced upon the royal choice,
he bad been appointed minister of the Interior. Accord¬
ingly she was now living in the official saloon, and giving
ministerial dinners twice a week. On these occasions she
was wont to exercise all the spontaneous power of a queen.
No sooner had her guests entered than they felt the capti¬
vating effect of her mature beauty and flashing genius. As
they sat at table they could not help being inspired with
her noble enthusiasm and wise political views. When
the cloth had been removed they were still sensible of her
influence, although she sat silently apart at her work-table ;
and they were ready to moderate their hot discussions
whenever she prudently interposed. In fact, she was the
very soul of the Girondist party.
The spirit of Madame Roland appeared in all its serene
greatness when, on the fall of her faction, she was cast into
prison by the triumphant Jacobins. The remorseless gripe
of her enemies, the axe ready at any moment to fall upon
her head, and the unknown gulf on the other side of death,
did not daunt her soul. Her mind, like that of a brave
pagan, dwelt upon the grand vision of human magnani¬
mity. She lived over again, and recorded, in a series of
Memoires, her previous life of self-sacrifice and patriotism.
She also summoned up from the pages of her favourite
Plutarch the great deeds and death-scenes of the past. It
is true that the thought of her little girl, left so early with¬
out a mother’s care, of her infirm husband fleeing before his
blood-thirsty enemies, and of herself doomed to a prema¬
ture and unjust end, sometimes proved too strong for her
womanly heart, and made her burst into tears. Yet at
other times, looking through the grating of her window, she
addressed the prisoners in the court-yard of the Concier-
gerie, and, like a very angel of liberty, spoke with an elo¬
quence so refined and musical that the poor doomed
victims of the Revolution stood charmed on the spot for
hours together, and then went away to their cells shouting
“ Vive la Republique”
On the 8th November 1793, the last day of her life, the
demeanour of the brave Roland was more heroically sub¬
dued than ever. After hearing herself sentenced to be
guillotined, she thanked her judges that they had sent her
to share the same fate as those brave men whom they had
recently murdered. She then ran down stairs from the
judgment-hall to her cell as if making haste to be gone.
The preparation was soon over; and she appeared in the
condemned cart calm and beautiful, a perfect statue of
innocence, clad in white, and with her raven hair flowing
down in thick ringlets to her girdle. As the vehicle
rumbled onwards to the Place de la Concorde, she stooped
down amid the insults of the mob to cheer her fellow-vic¬
tim, an old man, who was crying like a child. Nor did her
self-possession fail when she arrived in front of the guillo¬
tine. She asked for a pen to write down “ the strange
thoughts that were arising within her.” Then mounting
the scaffold, she turned to the statue of Liberty which
stood close by, and exclaimed, “ O Liberty, what crimes are
committed in thy name.” These were her last words, and
in a few moments afterwards her head fell into the basket.
Several days after the death of Madame Roland, the
dead body of her husband was found in an avenue near
Rouen, pierced through the heart with a long stiletto. On
a scrap of paper beside it were these words :—“ After my
wife s murder, I would not remain any longer in a world so
stained with crimes.” (See Memoires de Madame Roland,
2 vols., Paris, 1821; Lamartine’s Girondists; and Car¬
lyle’s French Revolution.)
ROLLE, Michel, a French mathematician, was born
at Ambert in Auvergne in 1652. Although obliged at an
early age to become an attorney’s clerk, all the young
man s tastes were soon concentrated upon mathematics.
His work, in course of time, grew intolerable to him. He
gave it up in 1675, and went to Paris to seek for a better Rolli
opportunity of gratifying his master-passion. Supporting li
himself by teaching writing, he devoted all his spare mo- R°lhn
ments to algebra. So ardently, in fact, did he labour, that
his dexterity soon attracted the notice of the minister Col¬
bert, and gained for him a pension. Rolle now entered
upon a career of distinction. The recently-instituted Aca¬
demy of Sciences elected him into their number in 1685.
Fresh reputation was gained by bis Treatise on Algebra in
1690, and by his Method of resolving Indeterminate Ques¬
tions in Algebra in 1699. At length, in 1701, he came
very prominently before the learned public as a pertinacious
objector to the newly-discovered Differential Calculus.
Boldly asserting the fallacy of that process, he attempted
to show that it could not be applied to certain cases. In
vain did Yarignon and others prove to him that the error
lay in his misapplication of the principles in question. For
several years he persisted in his opposition ; and it was
only shortly before his death in 1719 that he confessed his
mistake.
ROLLI, Paolo Antonio, an Italian poet, was born at
Rome in 1687. He was the son of an architect, and a
pupil of the celebrated Gravina, who inspired him with a
taste for learning and poetry. An intelligent and learned
English peer having brought him to London, introduced
him to the royal family as a master of the Tuscan lan¬
guage. Rolli remained in England till the death of Queen
Caroline, his protectress, and the patroness of literature in
general. He returned to Italy in 1747, where he died in
1767, in the eightieth year of his age, leaving behind him
a very curious collection in natural history, with a valuable
and well-chosen library. His principal works first appeared
in London in 1735 in 8vo. They consist of odes in blank
verse, elegies, songs, and other poems after the manner of
Catullus. A collection of his epigrams was printed at
Florence in 1776, in 8vo, to which is prefixed an account
of his life by Fondini. What Martial said of his own col¬
lection may be said of this, “ that there are few good, but
many indifferent or bad pieces in it.” He likewise trans¬
lated into Italian verse the Paradise Lost of Milton,
printed at London in folio in 1735 ; and the Odes of Ana¬
creon, London, 1739, in 8vo.
ROLLIN, Charles, a celebrated French writer, was
the son of a cutler at Paris, and was born there on the 30th
of January 1661. He studied at the college of Plessis, in
which he obtained an exhibition through the interest of a
Benedictine monk whom he had served at table, and who
discovered in him some marks of genius. Here he acquired
the regard of M. Gobinet, principal of the college, who had
a particular esteem for him. After having studied huma¬
nity and philosophy, he applied himself to divinity three
years at the Sorbonne : but he did not prosecute this
study, and was satisfied with obtaining the tonsure. He
afterwards became professor of rhetoric in his own col¬
lege, and in 1688 succeeded his master as professor of
eloquence in the Royal College. In 1694 he was chosen
rector of the university, which was then a mark of dis¬
tinction, and he continued in that office two years. He
spoke the annual panegyric upon Louis XIV., and made
many very useful regulations in the university; he revived
the study of the Greek language, which was then much
neglected ; he substituted academical exercises in the
place of tragedies; and introduced the practice, which had
been formerly observed, of causing the students to get by
heart passages of Scripture. He was a man of indefatigable
application, and trained innumerable persons, who did ho¬
nour to the church, the state, and the army. Upon the
expiration of the rectorship, Cardinal Noailles engaged
him to superintend the studies of his nephews, who were in
the college of Laon ; and in this office he was agreeably
employed when, in 1699, he was, with great reluctance,
R O L
Rollin. made coadjutor to the principal of the college of Beauvais,
v This college was then a kind of desert, inhabited by very
few students, and without any regular discipline; but Rol-
lin’s great industry soon raised it to that credit which it long
retained. In this situation he continued till 1712, when
the war between the Jesuits and the Jansenists drawing to¬
wards a crisis, he fell a sacrifice to the prevalence of the
former. Father le Tellier, the king’s confessor, a furious
agent of the Jesuits, infused into his master prejudices
against Rollin, whose connection with Cardinal de Noailles
would alone have sufficed to make him a Jansenist; and on
this account he lost his share in the principality of Beauvais.
He now employed his leisure upon Quintilian, an author
whom he justly valued, and could not without uneasiness
see neglected. He retrenched in him whatever he thought
curious rather than useful: placed summaries or contents
at the head of each chapter, and accompanied the text
with short and select notes. His edition appeared in 1715,
in 2 vols. 12mo, with an elegant preface explaining his
method and views.
In 1710 Rollin was chosen rector of the university of
Paris ; but he was displaced in about two months by a lettre
de cachet. He now applied himself to the composition of
his Treatise on the Manner of Studying and Teaching the
Belles Lettres, two volumes of which were published, in 8vo,
in 1726, and two more in 1728. This work, though greatly
deficient in order, and displaying neither depth nor philo¬
sophy, has been exceedingly successful ; and its success
encouraged the author to undertake another work of equal
use and entertainment, his Ancient History of the Egyp¬
tians, Carthaginians, Assyrians, Babylonians, Medes and
Persians, Macedonians and Greeks, which he finished in
13 vols. 8vo, and published between 1730 and 1738. Vol¬
taire, after having observed that Rollin was “the first
member of the university of Paris who wrote French with
dignity and correctness,” says of this work, that “ though
the last volumes, which were written in too great a hurry,
are not equal to the first, it is nevertheless the best compila¬
tion that had yet appeared in any language; because it is
seldom that compilers are eloquent, and Rollin was remark¬
ably so.” This is perhaps saying too much. His chrono¬
logy is neither exact nor consistent: he states facts inac¬
curately ; he has not sufficiently examined the exaggerations
of ancient historians ; he often interrupts the most solemn
narrations with mere trifles; and his style is not uniform.
Nothing can be more noble and more refined than his re¬
flections ; but they are strewed with too sparing a hand,
and want that lively and laconic turn on account of which
the historians of antiquity are read with so much pleasure.
There is a visible negligence in his diction with regard to
grammatical usage, and the choice of his expressions, which
he does not at all times select with sufficient taste, al¬
though, on the whole, he writes well, and has preserved
himself free from many of the faults of modern authors.
While the last volumes of his Ancient History were print¬
ing, he published the first of his Roman History, which he
lived to carry on, through the eighth volume and into part
of the ninth, to the war against the Cimbri, about seventy
years before the battle of Actium. Crevier, the worthy
disciple of Rollin, continued the history to the battle of
Actium, which closes the tenth volume ; and afterwards
completed the original plan of Rollin in sixteen volumes
12mo, which was, to bring it down from the foundation of
the city to the reign of Constantine the Great. This work
is alternately diffuse and barren ; and the greatest advantage
of the work is, that there are several passages from Livy
translated with great elegance into French. He also pub¬
lished a Latin translation of some of the theological writings
relative to the disputes of the times in which he lived.
He also published Opuscules, containing different letters,
Latin harangues, discourses, complimentary addresses, &c.,
R 0 L 251
Paris, 1771, 2 vols. 12mo. He died in 1741. The CEuvres Hollo
de Rollin have frequently been printed both in French and ||
English. One of the best of the French editions is that Rollock.
annotated by M. Guizot, 30 vols. 8vo, 1821-27. (See the
Eloges on Rollin by Berville,Maillet-Lacoste, and Trognon ;
also his Life by Rivarolle-Etienne and Bousson de Mairet.)
ROLLO, Rolf, or Raoul, the conqueror of Normandy,
was a Norwegian duke, banished from his country by Harold
Harfagr (who conquered Norway in a.d. 870) on account
of the piracies he committed. He first retired with his fleet
among the islands of the Hebrides, to the north-west of
Scotland, whither the flower of the Norwegian nobility had
fled for refuge ever since Harold had become master of the
whole kingdom. He was there received with open arms by
those warriors, who, eager for conquest and revenge, waited
only for a chief to undertake some glorious enterprise.
Rollo, placing himself at their head, and seeing his power
formidable, sailed towards England, which had long been a
field open on all sides to the violence of the northern na¬
tions. But the great Alfred had some years before esta¬
blished such order in his part of the island that Rollo, after
several fruitless attempts, despaired of forming there such a
settlement as should make him amends for the loss of his
own country. He pretended, therefore, to have had a
supernatural dream, which promised him a glorious fortune
in France, and which served at least to support the ardour
of his followers. The weakness of the government in that
kingdom, and the confusion in which it was involved, were
still more persuasive reasons to insure them of success.
Having therefore sailed up the Seine to Rouen, he imme¬
diately took the capital of the province then called Neu-
stria (subsequently Normandy), and making it his magazine
of arms, he advanced and laid siege to Paris. The entire
cession of Neustria was the result, which Charles the Simple
was obliged to give up to Rollo and his Normans in order
to purchase a peace. Rollo received it in perpetuity to
himself and his posterity as a feudal duchy dependent on
the crown of France. A description of the interview be¬
tween Charles and this new duke gives us a curious picture
of the manners of these Normans ; for the latter would not
take the oath of fealty to his sovereign lord any other way
than by placing his hands within those of the king; and
absolutely refused to kiss his feet, as custom then required.
It was with great difficulty that he was prevailed on to let
one of bis warriors perform this ceremony in his stead ; but
the officer to whom Rollo deputed this service suddenly
raised the king’s foot so high, that he overturned him on
his back, a piece of rudeness which was only laughed at;
to such a degree were the Normans feared and Charles
despised. Rollo was soon afterwards persuaded to embrace
Christianity, and he was baptized with much ceremony,
under the name of Robert, by the Archbishop of Rouen, in
the cathedral of that city, in the year 912. As soon as he
saw himself in full possession of Normandy, he exhibited
such virtues as rendered the province happy, and deserved
to make his former outrages forgotten. Religious, wise, and
liberal, this captain of pirates became, after Alfred, the
greatest and most humane prince of his time. He seems to
have died about 927. Ordericus Vitalis assigns his death
to 917. There is published by Duchesne, in his Historic
Normanorum Scriptores Antiqui the panegyric of Dean
Dudo of St Quentin upon the first three dukes of Nor¬
mandy, viz., Rollo, William L, surnamed Longue-Epee,
and Richard, surnamed Sans-Peur.
ROLLOCK, Robert, the first principal of the univer¬
sity of Edinburgh, was the son of David Rollock of Powis,
in the neighbourhood of Stirling, and was born in the year
1555. He enjoyed the instructions of Thomas Buchanan,
a man distinguished for worth and learning, and a nephew
of the great George Buchanan. From school he was sent
to the university of St Andrews, where his progress was
252
ROM R 0 M
Roma so rapid that he was made professor of philosophy soon
|| after he took his master’s degree. The magistrates of
Romagnosi. Edinburgh having petitioned the king to found a university
in that city, they obtained a charter, by which they were
allowed all the privileges of a university, which was built in
1582, and Rollock was chosen principal and professor of
divinity. In the year 1593 Rollock and others were ap¬
pointed by Parliament to confer with the Popish lords ; and
in 1595 he was empowered, along with others, to visit the
different universities in Scotland, with a view to inquire
into the doctrine and practice of the different masters, the
discipline adopted by them, the state of their rents and
living, which they were ordered to report to the next Ge¬
neral Assembly. He was chosen moderator of the General
Assembly in the year 1597. The greater part of his life
was spent in conducting the affairs of the church ; yet Spot-
tiswood assures us that he would rather have preferred re¬
tirement and study. Indeed the feebleness of his consti¬
tution was not equal to the bustle of public life. He died
at Edinburgh on the last day of February 1598, in the
forty-third year of his age. Short as his life was, he pub¬
lished many works, chiefly in Latin. A particular account
of the author will be found in a volume printed under the
following title :—De Vita et Morte Roberti Rollok, Acade-
mice Edinburgence Primarii, Narrationes, auctoribus Geor¬
gia Robertson et Henrico Charter is ^ Edinb. 1826, 4to.
Robertson’s biographical tract was originally published in
1599 ; that of Charteris was printed from a manuscript in
the public library of the university for the use of the Ban-
natyne Club. An edition of the Select Works of Robert
Rollock was published in Edinburgh under the auspices
of the Wodrow Society, and under the editorship of Wil¬
liam M. Gunn, 2 vols., 1849. The editor has translated
the biography by Charteris, with elucidatory notes. He has
likewise given at the end of the biography a list of the
author’s writings.
ROMA, Comarc a di, a province of the Papal States,
bounded on the E. by the kingdom of Naples, S. by the
delegation of Frosinone and legation of Velletri, E. by the
Mediterranean and the delegation of Civita Vecchia, and
N. by those of Viterbo and Rieti; area, 1715 square miles.
The north-eastern part of the country is occupied by the
branches of the Sabine and Tuscan Apennines, among
which there are many tracts of great picturesqueness and
beauty. The principal summits are Monte Guadagnolo;
Monte Genaro, the ancient Lucretilis, 4185 feet high ; and
Monte San Oreste, the ancient Soracte, about 2000 feet.
The principal river in the province is the Tiber, which
flows from N.E. to S. W. into the Mediterranean, and it re¬
ceives from the left the Teverone, anciently called the Anio.
Some smaller streams flow into the sea; and there are
several lakes, such as those of Albano, Bracciano, and
Neri, which occupy ancient volcanic craters. The most of
the country belongs to the gently-undulating tract called
the Campagna di Roma, many parts of w hich are liable to
malaria. Pop. (1856) exclusive of the city, 150,507.
ROMAGNOSI, Gian Domenico, an eminent publi¬
cist, was born in 1761, near Piacenza, and studied juris¬
prudence at Parma. His treatise on the Origin of Penal
Law, published in 1791, was the beginning of his success.
It is true that at first his own countrymen did not recognise
the merits of his work. But the French, who gained a
footing in Italy by the victory of Marengo, had become
acquainted with his talents, and a series of important ap¬
pointments was the consequence. He was made professor
of jurisprudence in 1802 at the university of Parma. He
was appointed one oi the commission in 1806 for compiling
a code of criminal procedure. He was translated in 1807
to the chair of civil law at Pisa. At length he was called
to Milan in 1809 to lecture on legislative science. The
latter part of Romagnosi’s life, however, was attended by
embarrassing circumstances. The general suppression of Aomaine
special chairs of law in 1817 deprived him of his situation. ||
The scantiness of his savings obliged him to have recourse Ronmna.
to private teaching. In the midst of his work a shock of
paralysis impaired his strength. The Austrian government
also kept a suspicious eye upon all his movements. He was
thus forced to live in poverty and cautious obscurity till his
death in 1835. Besides the work already mentioned, an¬
other important production of Romagnosi’s is an Introduc¬
tion to the History of Universal Public Law, in 2 vols.
8vo, Parma, 1806. His complete works were published in
5 vols. 8vo, Florence, 1834.
ROMAINE, William, a pious English divine, was born
at Hartlepool in Durham in 1714, and was educated for
the church at Oxford. No sooner had the young man re¬
ceived orders than he appeared in the character of a Cal¬
vinist. The long time which he was compelled to drag out
as a country curate did not make him adapt his creed
to the principles of the dispensers of ecclesiastical promo¬
tion. After he had settled in London in 1748 his consis¬
tency came out more prominently than ever. So emphati¬
cally did he preach the doctrine of justification by faith
alone, that on several occasions he found himself opposed
in an outrageous manner by his superiors. During his
career as lecturer at St Dunstan’s-in-the-West, he was fre¬
quently denied the use of lights, and was obliged to hold a
candle in one hand while he gave effect to his sermon with
the other. In 1755 he was deprived of his office of morn¬
ing preacher at St George’s, Hanover Square, after he had
officiated for four years with great success. In 1757 he was
refused admission to the university pulpit at Oxford on
account of a discourse which he had formerly delivered
there on the text, “ Tlie Lord our righteousness.” It was
not until he had been appointed, in 1764, to the rectory of
St Ann’s, Blackfriars, that he was allow'ed to discharge his
ministerial functions without any violent opposition. Ro-
maine died in 1795. His works, consisting of sermons,
letters, and religious pamphlets, accompanied with a me¬
moir, were published by the Rev. W. B. Cadogan, in 8
vols. 8vo, London, 1796.
ROMAN CA TFIOLICISM, the name applied by Pro¬
testants to that large section of Christians which regard the
Bishop or Pope of Rome as its infallible spiritual head, and
which assumes to itself the title of Catholic or Universal.
Its principal doctrines have already been given under the
heads Mass, Pope, Popery, Purgatory, &c. Under
the article Reformation is given a rapid sketch of the
successful struggles made by various of the European
states to deliver themselves from the domination of the
Pope.
ROMANA, Don Pedro Caro y Sureda, a Spanish
general, w'as born at Majorca in 1761, and was trained to
the profession of arms. In 1808 he was advancing the
French interests in Funen at the head of a Spanish force,
when the intelligence reached him that the crown of his
native kingdom had been given to Joseph Bonaparte. He
immediately began to take measures for saving his country.
With the utmost secrecy his troops were collected and em¬
barked. Placing them under the command of Count San
Roman, he sent them off to vindicate the rights of their
lawful sovereign. He himself then repaired to London, to
solicit the aid of England against the French. Nor w as
his task of patriotism finished when he had gained the object
of his mission, and had returned to Spain. As commander-
in-chief of the provinces of Biscay, Galicia, and Asturias,
he assisted the British both by his counsels and by his
operations. So notable, indeed, were his services, that on
his death in 1811, the Duke of Wellington said that “ in
him the Spanish army had lost its finest ornament, Spain
its purest patriotism, and the world the bravest and the
most zealous defender of the cause for which we combat.”
253
R O M A N C E.
Romance. f)Ri Johjjson has defined Romance, in its primary sense,
t0 be “ a military fable of the middle ages ; a tale of wild
and ori hi aclventures m l°ve and chivalry ” But although this defi-
of tta word n‘ti°n expresses correctly the ordinary idea of the word,
romance, it is not sufficiently comprehensive to answer our present
purpose. A composition may be a legitimate romance, yet
neither refer to love nor chivalry—to war nor to the mid¬
dle ages. The “wild adventures” are almost the only abso¬
lutely essential ingredient in Johnson’s definition. Wewould
be rather inclined to describe a Romance as “ a fictitious
narrative in prose or verse ; the interest of which turns up¬
on marvellous and uncommon incidents;” being thus op¬
posed to the kindred term Novel, which Johnson has de¬
scribed as “a smooth tale, generally oflove ;” but which we
would rather define as “afictitious narrative, differing from
the romance, because the events are accommodated to the
ordinary train ofhunjan events, and the modern state of so¬
ciety.” Assuming these definitions, it is evident, from the
nature of the distinction adopted, that there may exist com¬
positions which it is difficult to assign precisely or exclu¬
sively to the one class or other ; and which, in fact, partake
of the nature of both. But the distinction will be found
broad enough to answer all general and useful purposes.
The word Romance, in its original meaning, was far from
corresponding with the definition now assigned. On the
contrary, it signified merely one or other of the popular dia¬
lects of Europe, founded, as almost all these dialects were,
upon the Roman tongue, that is, upon the Latin. The name
of romance was indiscriminately given to the Italian, to the
Spanish, even, in one remarkable instance at least,1 to the
English language^ But it was especially applied to the
compound language of Brance ; in which the Gothic dialect
of the Franks, the Celtic of the ancient Gauls, and the clas¬
sical Latin, formed the ingredients. Thus Robert De
Brunne:
“ All is calde geste Inglis,
That en this language spoken is—
Frankis speech is caled Romance.
So sayis clerkis and men of France.”
At a period so early as 1150, it plainly appears that the Ro¬
mance language was distinguished from the Latin, and that
translations were made from the one into the other ; for an
ancient romance on the subject of Alexander, quoted by
Fauchet, says it was written by a learned clerk,
“ Qui de Latin la trest, et en Roman la mit.”
The most noted romances of the middle ages were usually
gt&f- composed in the romance or French language, which was,
Y3iSg;"."in a peculiar degree, the speech of love and chivalry; and
those which are written in English always affect to refer to
some French original, which usually, at least, if not in all in¬
stances, must-be supposed to have a real existence. Hence,
the frequent recurrence of the phrase,
Or,
“ As in romance we read
“ Right as the romaunt us tells
and equivalent phrases, well known to all who have at any
time perused such compositions. Thus, very naturally,
though, undoubtedly by slow degrees, the very name of ro- Romance.
maunt,or romance, came to be transferred from the language \**-v^*^
itself to that peculiar style of composition in which it was
so much employed, and which so commonljr referred to it.
How early a transference so natural took place, we have no
exact means of knowing ; but the best authority assures us,
that the word was used, in its modern sense so early as the
reign of Edward III. Chaucer, unable to sleep during the
night, informs us, that, in order to pass the time,
“ Upon my bed I sate upright;
And bade one reebin me a hoke,
A Romaunce, and it me took
To read and drive the night away.”
The book described as a romance contained, as we are in¬
formed, |
“ i Fables
That clerkis had, in old time,
And other poAs, put in rhyme.”
And the author tells us a little lower,
“ This book ne spake but of such things,
Of Queens’ lives and of Kings.”
The volume proves to be no other than Ovid’s Metamor¬
phoses; and Chaucer, by applying to it the name of romance,
sufficiently establishes that the word was, in his time, cor¬
rectly employed under the modern acceptation.
Having thus accounted for the derivation of the word,
our investigation divides itself into three principal branches,
though of unequal extent. In the first of these we propose
to inquire into the general history and origin of this pecu¬
liar species of composition, and particularly of romances
relating to European chivalry, which necessarily form the
most interesting object of our inquiry. In the second, we
shall give some brief account of the history of the romance
of chivalry in the different states of Europe. Thirdly, we
propose to notice cursorily the various kinds of romantic
composition by which the ancient romances of chivalry were
followed and superseded, and with these notices to conclude
the article.
I. In the views taken by Hurd, Percy, and other older General
authorities, of the origin and history of romantic fiction, their history of
attentions were so exclusively fixed upon the romance ofromance-
chivalry alone, that they appear to have forgotten that, how¬
ever interesting and peculiar, it formed only one species of
a very numerous and extensive genus. The progress of ro¬
mance, in fact, keeps pace with that of society, which can¬
not long exist, even in the simplest state, without exhibit¬
ing some specimens of this attractive style of composition.
It is not meant by this assertion, that in early ages such
narratives were invented, in the character of mere fictions,
devised to beguile the leisure of those who had time
enough to read and attend to them. On the contrary, ro¬
mance and real history have the same common origin. It
is the aim of the former to maintain as long as possible the
mask of veracity ; and indeed the traditional memorials of
all earlier ages partake in such a varied and doubtful degree
of the qualities essential to those opposite lines of composi¬
tion, that they form a mixed class between them ; and may
be termed either romantic histories, or historical romances,
1 This curious passage was detected by the industry of Ritson in Giraldus Cambrensis, “ Ah aqua ilh optima, quae Scottice vocata est
Froth ; Brittanice, WEraD f Rornane vero Scotte-Wattre.” Here the various names assigned to the Frith of Forth are given in the
Gaelic or Earse, the British or Welsh ; and the phrase Roman is applied to the ordinary language of England. But it would be difficult
to shew another instance of the English language being termed Roman or Romance.
.iJ . V- ‘ *
ROMANCE.
254
Romance, according to the proportion in which their truth is debased
by fiction, or their fiction mingled with truth.
A moment’s glance at the origin of society will satisfy the
reader why this can hardly be otherwise. The father of an
isolated family, destined one day to rise into a tribe, and
in further progress of time to expand into a nation, may,
indeed, narrate to his descendants the circumstances which
detached him from the society of his brethren, and drove
him to form a solitary settlement in the wilderness, with
no other deviation from truth, on the part of the narrator,
than arises from the infidelity of memory, or the exag¬
gerations of vanity. But when the tale of the patriarch
is related by his children, and again by his descendants
of the third and fourth generation, the facts it contains
are apt to assume a very different aspect. The vanity
of the tribe augments the simple annals from one cause;
the love of the marvellous, so natural to the human mind,
contributes its means of sophistication from another ; while,
sometimes, the king and the priest find their interest in
casting a holy and sacred gloom and mystery over the early
period in which their power arose. And thus altered and
sophisticated from so many different motives, the real ad¬
ventures of the founder of the tribe bear as little proportion
to the legend recited among his children, as the famous hut
of Loretto bears to the highly ornamented church with which
superstition has surrounded and enchased it. Thus the de¬
finition which we have given of Romance as a fictitious nar¬
rative turning upon the marvellous or the supernatural, might,
in a large sense, be said to embrace
 quicquid Grsecia mendax
Audet in historia,
or, in fine, the mythological and fabulous history of all early
nations.
It is also important to remark, that poetry, or rather
verse, rhythm at least of some sort or other, is originally
selected as the best vehicle for these traditional histories.
Its principal recommendation is probably the greater faci¬
lity with which metrical narratives are retained in the me¬
mory, a point of the last consequence, until the art of writ¬
ing is generally introduced ; since the construction of the
verse itself forms an artificial association with the sense, the
one of which seldom fails to recall the other to recollection.
But the medium of verse, at first adopted merely to aid the
memory, becomes soon valuable on account of its other
qualities. The march or measure of the stanza is gratify¬
ing to the ear, and, like a natural strain of melody, can be
restrained or accelerated, so as to correspond with the tone
of feeling which the words convey; while the recurrence of
the necessary measure, rhythm or rhyme, is perpetually gra¬
tifying the hearer by a sense of difficulty overcome. Verse
being thus adopted as the vehicle of traditional history, there
needs but the existence of a single man of genius, in order
to carry the composition a step higher in the scale of liter¬
ature than that of which we are treating. In proportion to
the skill which he attains in his art, the fancy and inge¬
nuity of the artist himself are excited; the simple narrative
transmitted to him by ruder rhymers is increased in length;
is decorated with the graces of language, amplified in detail,
and rendered interesting by description; until the brief and
barren original bears as little resemblance to the finished
piece, as the Iliad of Homer to the evanescent traditions,
out of which the blind bard wove his tale of Troy Divine.
Hence, the opinion expressed by the ingenious Percy, and
assented to by Ritson himself. When about to present to
his readers an excellent analysis of the old romance of Ly-
bius Disconius, and making several remarks on the artifi¬
cial management of the story, the Bishop observes, that “ if
an epic poem may be defined a fable related by a poet to
excite admiration and inspire virtue, by representing the Romance,
action of some one hero favoured by Heaven, who executes
a great design in spite of all the obstacles that oppose him,
I know not why we should withhold the name oi epic poem
from the piece which I am about to analyse.”1
Yet although this levelling proposition has been laid down
by Percy, and assented to by Ritson (writers who have few'
opinions in common,) and although, upon so general a view
of the subject, the Iliad, or even the Odyssey of Homer,
might be degraded into the class of romances, as Le Beau
Deconnu is elevated into that of epic poems, there lies in
ordinary speech, and in common sense, as wide a distinc¬
tion between these two classes of composition, as there is
betwixt the rude mystery or morality of the middle ages,
and the regular drama by which these were succeeded.
Where the art and the ornaments of the poet chiefly attract
our attention; where each part of the narrative bears a due
proportion to the others, and the whole draws gradually to¬
wards a final and satisfactory conclusion ; where the charac¬
ters are sketched w ith force, and sustained with precision;
where the narrative is enlivened and adorned with so much,
and no more, of poetical ornament and description, as may
adorn, without impeding its progress; w here this art and
taste are displayed, supported, at the same time, by a suffi¬
cient tone of genius, and art of composition, the work pro¬
duced must be termed an epic poem, and the author may
claim his seat upon the high and honoured throne occupied
by Homer, Virgil, and Milton. On the other hand, when a
story languishes in tedious and minute details, and relies for
the interest which it proposes to excite, rather upon the wild
excursions of an unbridled fancy, than upon the skill of the
poet; when the supernatural and the extraordinary are re¬
lied upon exclusively as the supports of the interest, the au¬
thor, though his production may be distinguished by occa¬
sional flashes of genius, and though it may be interesting to
the historian, as containing some minute fragments of real
events, and still more so to the antiquary, from the light
which it throws upon ancient manners, is still no more than a
humble romancer, and his work must rank amongst those
rude ornaments of a dark age, which are at present the sub¬
ject of our consideration. Betwixt the extremes of the two
classes of composition, there must, no doubt, exist many
works, which partake in some degree of the character of
both ; and after having assigned most of them, each to their
proper class, according as they are distinguished by regu¬
larity of composition and poetical talent, or, on the contrary,
by extravagance of imagination, and irregularity of detail,
there may still remain some, in which these properties are
so equally balanced, that it may be difficult to say to
which class they belong. But although this may be the case
in a very few instances, our taste and habits readily acknow¬
ledge as complete and absolute a difference betwixt the
epopeia and romance, as can exist betwixt two distinct
species of the same generic class.
We have said of romance, that it first appears in the form
of metrical history, professes to be a narrative of real facts,
and is, indeed, nearly allied to such history as an early state
of society affords; which is always exaggerated by the pre¬
judices and partialities of the tribe to which it belongs, as
well as deeply marked by their idolatry and superstition.
These it becomes the trade of the romancers still more to
exaggerate, until tbe thread of truth can scarce be discern
ed in the web of fable which involves it; and we are com¬
pelled to renounce all hope of deriving serious or authentic
information from the materials upon which the compounders
of fiction have been so long at work, from one generation to
another, that they have at length obliterated the very sha¬
dow of reality or even probability.
The view we have given of the origin of romance will be
Reliques of Ancient English Poetry, III. xxvii. The Prelate is citing a discourse on epic poetry, prefixed to Telemachus.
ROMANCE.
Romance, found to agree with the facts which the researches of so
'«^V^l^many active investigators of this curious subject have been
able to ascertain. It is found, for example, and we will
produce instances in viewing the progress of romance in par¬
ticular countries, that the earliest productions of this sort,
known to exist, are short narrations or ballads, which were
probably sung on solemn or festive occasions, recording the
deeds and praises of some famed champion of the tribe and
country, or perhaps the history of some remarkable victory
or signal defeat, calculated to interest the audience by the
associations which the song awakens. These poems, of
which very few can now be supposed to exist, are not with¬
out flashes of genius, but brief, rude, and often obscure,
from real antiquity or affected sublimity of diction. The
song on the battle of Brunanburgh, preserved in the Saxon
Chronicle, is a genuine and curious example of this abori¬
ginal style of poetry.
Temporal Even at this early period,1 there may be observed a dis¬
and spi- tinction betwixt what may be called the Temporal and /Spi¬
ritual ro- ritUal romances; the first destined to the celebration of
worldly glory; the second to recording the deaths of mar¬
tyrs and the miracles of saints; both which themes unques¬
tionably met with an almost equally favourable reception
from their hearers. But although most nations possess, in
their early species of literature, specimens of both kinds of
romance, the proportion of each, as was naturally to have
been expected, differs according as the genius of the people
amongst whom they occur leaned towards devotion or mi¬
litary enterprise. Thus, of the Saxon specimens of poetry,
which manuscripts still afford us, a very large proportion is
devotional, amongst which are several examples of the spi¬
ritual romance, but very few, indeed, of those respecting
warfare or chivalry. On the other hand, the Norman lan¬
guage, though rich in examples of both kinds of romances,
is particularly abundant in that which relates to battle and
warlike adventure. The Christian Saxons had become
comparatively pacific, while the Normans were certainly
accounted the most martial people in Europe.
However different the spiritual romance may be from
the temporal in scope and tendency, the nature of the two
compositions did not otherwise greatly differ. The struc¬
ture of verse and style of composition was th© same; and
the induction, even when the most serious subject was un¬
dertaken, exactly resembled that with which minstrels in¬
troduced their idle tales, and often contained allusions to
them. Warton quotes a poem on the Passions, which
begins,
I hereth one lutele tale, that Ich eu wille telle,
As wi vyndeth hit invrite in the godspelle,
Nuz hit nouht of Carlemeyne ne of the Duzpere,
Ac of Criste’s thruurynge, &c.
The temporal romances, on the other hand, often com¬
menced by such invocations of the Deity, as would only
have been in place when a much more solemn subject was
to be agitated. The exordium of the Romance of Ferum¬
bras may serve as an example of a custom almost universal;
God in glorye of mightis moost
That all things made in sapience,
By virtue of Word and Holy Gooste,
Giving to men great excellence, &c.
The distresses and dangers which the knight endured for
the sake of obtaining earthly fame and his mistress’s favour,
the saint or martyr was exposed to for the purpose of secur¬
ing his rank in heaven, and the favour of some beloved and
peculiar patron saint. If the earthly champion is in peril from
monsters, dragons, and enchantments, the spiritual hero is
represented as liable to the constant assaults of the whole
invisible world, headed by the ancient dragon himself. If
the knight is succoured at need by some favouring fairy or
255
protecting genius, the saint is under the protection not only Romance,
of the whole heavenly host, but of some one divine patron or
patroness who is his especial auxiliary. Lastly, the con¬
clusion of the romance, which usually assigns to the cham¬
pion a fair realm, an abundant succession, and a train of
happy years, consigns to the martyr his fane and altar upon
earth, and in heaven his seat among saints and angels, and
his share in a blessed eternity. It remains but to say, that
the style and language of these two classes do not greatly
differ, and that the composers of both employ the same
structure of rhythm and of language, and draw their ideas
and their incidents from similar sources; so that, having
noticed the existence of the spiritual romance, it is unneces¬
sary for the present to prosecute this subject farther.
Another early and natural division of these works of fic- Comic ro-
tion seems to have arranged them into Serious and Comical, mances.
The former were by far the most numerous, and examples
of the latter are in most countries comparatively rare. Such
a class, however, existed, as proper romances, even if we
hold the comic romance distinct from the Contes and Fab¬
liaux of the French, and from such jocular English narra¬
tives as the Wife Lapt in Moral’s Skin, The Friar and the
Boy, and similar humorous tales; of which the reader will
find many examples in Ritson’s Ancient English Poetry,
and in other collections. The scene of these gestes being
laid in low, or at least in ordinary life, they approach in their
nature more nearly to the class of novels, and may perhaps
be considered as the earliest specimens of that kind of com¬
position. But the proper comic romance was that in which
the high terms and knightly adventures of chivalry were bur¬
lesqued, by ascribing them to clowns or others of a low and
mean degree. Such compositions formed, as it were, a parody on
the serious romance, to which they bore the same proportion as
the antimasque, studiously filled with grotesque, absurd, and
extravagant characters, “ entering,” as the stage direction
usually informs us, “ to a confused music,” bore to the mas¬
que itself, where all was dignified, noble, stately, and har¬
monious.
An excellent example of the comic romance is the Tour¬
nament of Tottenham, printed in Piercy’s Reliques, in which
a number of clowns are introduced practising one of these
warlike games, which were the exclusive prerogative of the
warlike and noble. They are represented making vows to
the swan, the peacock, and the ladies; riding a tilt on their
clumsy cart horses, and encountering each other with plough¬
shares and flails; whilst their defensive armour consisted of
great wooden bowls and troughs, by way of helmets and
cuirasses. The learned editor seems to have thought this
singular composition was like Don Quixote, with which he
compares it, a premeditated effort of satire, written to ex¬
pose the grave and fantastic manners of the serious romance.
This is considering the matter too deeply, and ascribing to
the author a more critical purpose than he was probably ca¬
pable of conceiving. It is more natural to suppose that his
only ambition was to raise a laugh, by ascribing to the vul¬
gar the manners and exercises of the noble and valiant; as
in the well-known farce of High Life Below Stairs, the ri¬
dicule is not directed against the manners described, but
against the menials who affect those that are only befitting
their superiors. The Hunting of the Hare, published in the
collection formed by the late industrious and accurate Mr.
Weber, is a comic romance of the same order. A yeoman
informs the inhabitants of a country hamlet that he has found
a hare sitting, and invites them to come to course her. They
attend, accordingly, with all the curs and mastiffs of their
village, and the unsportsman-like manner in which the in¬
experienced huntsmen and their irregular pack conduct
themselves, forms the interest of the piece. It can hardly
be supposed the satire is directed against the sport of hunt-
fbe religious romances of Barlaam and Jehosephnt were composed by John of Damascus in the eighth century.
R O M A N C E,
256
Romance, ing itself; since the whole ridicule arises out of the want of
the necessary knowledge of its rules, incident to the ignor¬
ance and inexperience of the clowns who undertook to prac¬
tise an art peculiar to gentlemen. The ancient poetry of
Scotland furnishes several examples of this ludicrous style
of romantic composition ; as the Tournament at the Drum,
and the Justing of Watson and Darbour, by Sir David
Lindsay. It is probable that these mock encounters were
sometimes acted in earnest; at least King James I. is accus¬
ed of witnessing such practical jests ; “ sometimes present¬
ing David Droman and Archie Armstrong, the king’s fool,
on the back of other fools, to tilt at one another till they
fell together by the ears.”—(Sir Anthony Weldon’s Court of
King James.)
Classical In hastily noticing the various divisions of the romance,
lainawces. we have in some degree delayed our promised account of
its rise and progress; an inquiry which we mean chiefly to
confine to the romance of the middle ages. It is indeed
true that this species of composition is common to al¬
most all nations, and that even if we deem the Iliad and
Odyssey compositions too dignified by the strain of poetry in
which they are composed to bear the name of metrical ro¬
mances ; yet we have the pastoral romance of Daphnis and
Chloe, and the historical romance of Theagenes and Chari-
clea, which are sufficiently accurate specimens of that style
of composition. The Milesian fables and the romances of
Antonius Diogenes, described by Photius, could they be
recovered, would also be found to belong to the same class.
It is impossible to avoid noticing that the Sybarites, whose
luxurious habits seem to have been intellectual, as well as
sensual, were peculiarly addicted to the perusal of the Mile¬
sian fables; from which we may conclude that they were
not of that severe kind which inspired high thoughts and
martial virtues. But there would be little advantage deriv¬
ed from extending our researches into the ages of classical
antiquity respecting a class of compositions which, though
they existed then, as in almost every stage of society, were
neither so numerous nor of such high repute as to consti¬
tute any considerable portion of that literature.
Eastern Want of space also may entitle us to dismiss the consider-
rouuuwes. ation of the Oriental romances, unless in so far as in the
course of the middle ages they came to furnish materials for
enlarging and varying the character of the romances of
knight-errantry. That they existed early, and were highly
esteemed both among the Persians and Arabians, has never
been disputed ; and the most interesting light has been late¬
ly thrown on the subject by the publication of Antar, one
of the most ancient, as well as most rational, if we may use
the phrase, of the Oriental fictions. The Persian romance
of the Sha-Nameh is well known to Europeans by name, and
by copious extracts ; and the love-tale of Mejnoun and Lei-
lah is also familiar to our ears, if not to our recollections.
Many of the fictions in the extraordinary collection of the
Arabian Tales approach strictly to the character of ro¬
mances of chivalry ; although in general they must be al¬
lowed to exceed the more tame northern fictions in daunt¬
less vivacity of invention, and in their more strong tendency
to the marvellous. Several specimens of the comic romance
are also to be found mingled with those which are serious;
and we have the best and most positive authority that the
recital of these seductive fictions is at this moment an amuse¬
ment as fascinating and general among the people of the
East, as the perusal of printed romances and novels among
the European public. But a minute investigation into this
particular species of romance would lead us from our present
field, already sufficiently extensive for the limits to which
our plan confines it.
’I he European Romance, wherever it arises, and in what¬
soever country it begins to be cultivated, had its origin in
some part of the real or fabulous history of that country;
and of this we will produce, in the sequel, abundant proofs.
But the simple tale of tradition has not passed through Romance,
many mouths, ere some one, to indulge his own propensityvv
for the wonderful, or to secure by novelty the attention of
his audience, augments the meagre chronicle with his own
apocryphal inventions. Skirmishes are magnified into great
battles; the champion of a remote age is exaggerated into
a sort of demi-god; and the enemies whom he encounter¬
ed and subdued are multiplied in number, and magnified
in strength, in order to add dignity to his successes against
them. Chaunted to rhythmical numbers, the songs which
celebrate the early valour of the fathers of the tribe become
its war-cry in battle, and men march to conflict hymning
the praises and the deeds of some real or supposed precur¬
sor who had marshalled their fathers in the path of victory.
No reader can have forgotten that when the decisive battle
of Hastings commenced, a Norman minstrel, Taillefer, ad¬
vanced on horseback before the invading host, and gave the
signal for onset, by singing the Song of Roland, that re¬
nowned nephew of Charlemagne, of whom romance speaks
so much, and history so little; and whose fall, with the chi¬
valry of Charles the great in the pass of Roncesvalles, has
given rise to such clouds of romantic fiction, that its very
name has been for ever associated with it. The remark¬
able passage has been often quoted from the Brut of Wace,
an Anglo-Norman metrical chronicle.
Taillefer, qui moult bien chantout
Sur un cheval qui tost alout,
Devant le Due alout chantant
De Karlemaigne et de Rollant,
Et d’Oliver et des vassals,
Qui morurent en Rencevals.
Which may be thus rendered :
Taillefer, who sung both well and loud,
Came mounted on a courser proud;
Before the Duke the minstrel sprung,
And loud of Charles and Roland sung,
Of Oliver and champions mo,
Who died at fatal Ron^evaux.
This champion possessed the sleight-of-hand of the juggler,
as well as the art of the minstrel. He tossed up his sword
in the air, and caught it again as he gallopped to the
charge, and showed other feats of dexterity. Taillefer slew
two Saxon warriors of distinction, and was himself killed by
a third. Ritson, with less than his usual severe accuracy,
supposed that Taillefer sung some part of a long metrical
romance upon Roland and his history ; but the words chan¬
son, cantilena, and song, by which the composition is usual¬
ly described, seems rather to apply to a brief ballad or na¬
tional song; which is also more consonant with our ideas
of the time and place where it was chaunted.
But neither with these romantic and metrical chronicles
did the mind long remain satisfied; more details were de¬
manded, and were liberally added by the invention of those
who undertook to cater for the public taste in such matters.
The same names of kings and champions, which had first
caught the national ear, were still retained, in order to se¬
cure attention, and the same assertions of authenticity, and
of reference to real history, were stoutly made both in the
commencement and in the course of the narrative. Each
nation, as will presently be seen, came at length to adopt to it¬
self a cycle of heroes like those of the Iliad; a sort of com¬
mon property to all minstrels who chose to make use of them,
under the condition always, that the general character as¬
cribed to each individual hero was preserved with some de¬
gree of consistency. Thus, in the romances of The Round
Table, Gawain is usually represented as courteous; Kay
as rude and boastful; Mordred as treacherous; and Sir
Launcelot as a true though a sinful lover, and in all other
respects a model of chivalry. Amid the Paladins of Char¬
lemagne, whose cycle may be considered as peculiarly the
property of French in opposition to Anglo-Norman ro-
ROMANCE.
257
Romance, tnance, Gan, or Ganelon of Mayence, is always represented
v ”’ as a faithless traitor engaged in intrigues for the destruc¬
tion of Christianity ; Roland as brave, unsuspicious, devot¬
edly loyal, and somewhat simple in his disposition; Renaud,
or Rinaldo, is painted with all the properties of a borderer,
valiant, alert, ingenious, rapacious and unscrupulous. The
same conventional distinctions may be traced in the history
of the Nibelung, a composition of Scandinavian origin, which
has supplied matter for so many Teutonic adventurers. Meis-
ter Hildebrand, Etzel, Theodorick, and the champion Hogan,
as well as Chrimhelda and the females introduced, have the
same individuality of character, which is ascribed, in Homer’s
immortal writings, to the wise Ulysses, the brave but relentless
Achilles, his more gentle friend Patroclus, Sarpedon, the fa¬
vourite of the gods, and Hector, the protector of mankind. It
was not permitted to the invention of a Greek poet to make
Ajax a dwarf, or Teucer a giant, Thersites a hero, or Dio-
medes a coward; and it seems to have been under similar
restrictions respecting consistency that the ancient roman¬
cers exercised their ingenuity upon the materials supplied
them by their predecessors. But, in other respects, the
whole store of romantic history and tradition was free to all
as a joint stock in trade, on which each had a right to draw
as suited his particular purposes. He was at liberty not
only to select a hero out of known and established names
which had been the theme of others, but to imagine a new
personage of his own pure fancy, and combine him with the
heroes of Arthur’s Table or Charlemagne’s Court, in the
way which best suited his fancy. He was permitted to ex¬
cite new wars against those bulwarks of Christendom, in¬
vade them with fresh and innumerable hosts of Saracens,
reduce them to the last extremity, drive them from their
thrones, and lead them into captivity, and again to rei'cve
their persons, and restore their sovereignty, by events and
agents totally unknown in their former story.
In the characters thus assigned to the individual person¬
ages of romantic fiction, it is possible there might be some
slight foundation in remote tradition, as there were also
probably some real grounds for the existence of such per¬
sons, and perhaps for a very few of the leading circum¬
stances attributed to them. But these realities only exist
as the few grains of wheat in the bushel of chaff, incapable
of being winnowed out, or cleared from the mass of fiction
with which each new romancer had in his turn overwhelm¬
ed them. So that romance, though certainly deriving its
first original from the pure fount of history, is supplied, dur¬
ing the course of a very few generations, with so many tri¬
butes from the imagination, that at length the very name
comes to be used to distinguish works of pure fiction.
When so popular a department of poetry has attained
this decided character, it becomes time to inquire who were
the composers of these numerous, lengthened, and once ad¬
mired narratives which are called metrical romances, and
from whence they drew their authority. Both these sub¬
jects of discussion have been the source of great controversy
among antiquaries; a class of men who, be it said with their
forgiveness, are apt to be both positive and polemical upon
the very points which are least susceptible of proof, and
which are least valuable if the truth could be ascertained ;
and which, therefore, we would gladly have seen handled
with more diffidence, and better temper, in proportion to
their uncertainty.
The late venerable Dr. Percy, Bishop of Dromore, led the
wayunwarily tothis dire controversy, by ascribing the compo¬
sition of our ancient heroic songs and metrical legends, in ra¬
ther too liberal language, to the minstrels, that class of men
by whom they were generally recited. This excellent per¬
son, to whose memory the lovers of our ancient lyre must
always remain so deeply indebted, did not, on publishing his
The Min-
itrels.
work nearly fifty years ago, see the rigid necessity of ob- Romance,
serving the utmost and most accurate precision either in'
his transcripts or his definitions. The study which he wish¬
ed to introduce was a new one; it was his object to place
it before the public in an engaging and interesting form;
and, in consideration of his having obtained this important
point, we ought to make every allowance not only for slight
inaccuracies, but for some hasty conclusions, aud even ex¬
aggerations, with which he was induced to garnish his la¬
bour of love. He defined the minstrels, to whose labours
he chiefly ascribed the metrical compositions on which he
desired to fix the attention of the public, as “ an order of
men in the middle ages, who subsisted by the arts of poetry
and music, and sung to the harp verses composed by them¬
selves or others.”1 2 In a very learned and elegant essay
upon the text thus announced, the reverend Prelate in a
great measure supported the definition which he had laid
down ; although it may be thought that, in the first editions
at least, he has been anxious to view the profession of the
minstrels on their fairest and most brilliant side ; and to as¬
sign to them a higher station in society than a general re¬
view of all the passages connected with them will permit
us to give to a class of persons who either lived a vagrant
life, dependent on the precarious taste of the public for a
hard-earned maintenance, or, at best, were retained as a
part of the menial retinue of some haughty baron, and in a
great measure identified with his musical band.
The late acute, industrious, and ingenious Mr. Joseph
Ritson, whose severe accuracy was connected with an un¬
happy eagerness and irritability of temper, took advantage
of the exaggerations occasionally to be found in the Bishop’s
Account of Ancient Minstrelsy, and assailed him with terms
which may be termed any thing but courteous. Without
finding an excuse either in the novelty of the studies in
which Percy had led the way, or in the vivacity of imagin¬
ation which he did not himself share, he proceeded to arraign
each trivial inaccuracy as a gross fraud, and every deduc¬
tion which he considered to be erroneous as a wilful un¬
truth, fit to be stigmatised with the broadest appellation by
which falsehood can be distinguished. Yet there is so lit¬
tle room for this extreme loss of temper, that, upon a recent
perusal of both these ingenious essays, we were surprised
to find that the reverend editor of the Reliques, and the ac¬
curate antiquary, have differed so very little as, in essential
facts, they appear to have done. Quotations are, indeed,
made by both with no sparing hand, and hot arguments;
and, on one side at least, hard words are unsparingly em¬
ployed ; while, as is said to happen in theological polemics,
the contest grows warmer in proportion as the ground con¬
cerning which it is carried on is narrower and more insig¬
nificant. Their systems, in reality, do not essentially differ.
Ritson is chiefly offended at the sweeping conclusion in
which Percy states the minstrels as subsisting by the arts
of poetry and music, and reciting to the harp verses com¬
posed by themselves and others. He shows very success¬
fully that this definition is considerably too extensive, and
that the term minstrel comprehended, of old, not merely
those who recited to the harp or other instrument romances
and ballads, but others who were distinguished by their
skill in instrumental music only ; and, moreover, that jug¬
glers, sleight-of-hand performers, dancers, tumblers,and such
like subordinate artists, who were introduced to help away
the tedious hours in an ancient feudal castle, were also com¬
prehended under the general term of minstrel. But although
he distinctly proves that Percy’s definition applied only to
one class of the persons termed minstrels, those, namely, who
sung or recited verses, and in many cases of their own com¬
position ; the bishop’s position remains unassailable, in so
far as relates to one general class, and these the most dis-
1 Essay on Ancient Minstrels in England prefixed to the first volume of Bishop Percy’s Reliques.
2 K
VOL. XIX.
ROMANCE.
258
Romance, tinguished during the middle ages. All minstrels did not
•^■‘v^'^^use the harp, and recite or compose romantic poetry ; but
it cannot be denied that such was the occupation of the
most eminent of the order. This Ritson has rather ad¬
mitted than denied; and the number of quotations which
his industry has brought together, rendered such an admis¬
sion inevitable.
Indeed, the slightest acquaintance with ancient romances
of the metrical class, shows us that they were composed for
the express purpose of being recited, or, more properly,
chaunted to some simple tune or cadence for the amuse¬
ment of a large audience. Our ancestors, as they were
circumscribed in knowledge, were also more limited in con¬
versational powers than their enlightened descendants ; and
it seems piobable, that in their public festivals, there was
great advantage found in the presence of a minstrel who
should recite some popular composition on their favourite
subjects of love and war, to prevent those pauses of discourse
which sometimes fall heavily on a company, even of the
present accomplished age, and to supply an agreeable train
of ideas to those guests who had few of their own. It is,
therefore, almost constantly insinuated, that the romance
was to be chaunted or recited to a large and festive society ;
and in some part or other of the piece, generally at the
opening, there is a request of attention on the part of the
performer; and hence, the perpetual “ Lythe and listen
lordings free,” which in those, or equivalent words, forms
the introduction to so many romances. As, for example,
in the old poem of Guy and Colbrand, the minstrel speaks
of his own occupation:
When meat and drink is great plentye,
Then lords and ladyes still will be,
And sit and solace lythe ;
Then it is time for mee to speake,
Of kern knights and kempes greate,
Such carping for to kythe.
Chaucer, also, in his rhyme of Sir Thopas, assigns to the
minstrels of his hero’s household the same duty of reciting
romances of spiritual or secular heroes, for the good knight’s
pastime while arming himself for battle :
“ Do cum,” he sayd, “ my minestrales,
And jestours for to tellen tales
Anon in min arming,
Of romaunces that ben reales,
Of popes and of cardinales,
And eke of love-longing.”
Not to multiply quotations, we will only add one of some
importance, which must have escaped Ritson’s researches;
for his editorial integrity was such, as rendered him incap¬
able of suppressing evidence on either side of the question.
In the old romance or legend of True Thomas and the
Queen of Elfland, Thomas the Rhymer, himself a minstrel,
is gifted by the Queen of the Faery with the faculties of
music and song. The answer of Thomas is not only con¬
clusive as to the minstrel’s custom of recitation, but shows
that it was esteemed the highest branch of his profession,
and superior as such to mere instrumental music:
“ To harp and carp Thomas wheresoever ye gon,
Thomas take the these with the” 
“ Harping,” he said, “ ken I non,
tor tong is chefe of Mynstralse.”1
We, therefore, arrive at the legitimate conclusion, that al¬
though, under the general term minstrels, were compre¬
hended many who probably entertained the public only with Romance,
instrumental performances, with ribald tales, with jugglery,
or farcical representations, yet one class amongst them, and
that a numerous one, made poetical recitation their chief,
if not their exclusive occupation. The memory of these
men was, in the general case, the depository of the pieces
which they recited ; and hence, although a number of their
romances still survive, very many more have doubtless fallen
into oblivion.
That the minstrels were also the authors of many of
these poems, and that they altered and enlarged others, is
a matter which can scarcely be doubted, when it is proved
that they were the ordinary reciters of them. It was as
natural for a minstrel to become a poet or composer of
romances, as for a player to be a dramatic author, or a mu¬
sician a composer of music. Whatever individual among a
class, whose trade it was to recite poetry, felt the least degree
of poetical enthusiasm in a profession so peculiarly calculated
to inspire it, must, from that very impulse, have become an
original author, or translator at least ; thus giving novelty
to his recitations, and acquiring additional profit and fame.
Bishop Percy, therefore, states the case fairly in the fol¬
lowing passage : “ It can hardly be expected that we should
be able to produce regular and unbroken annals of the min¬
strel art and its professors, or have sufficient information,
whether every minstrel or bard composed himself, or only
repeated, the songs he chaunted. Some probably did the
one and some the other ; and it would have been wonder¬
ful indeed, if men, whose peculiar profession it was, and
who devoted their time and talents to entertain their hear¬
ers with poetical compositions, were peculiarly deprived of
all poetical genius themselves, and had been under a phy¬
sical incapacity of composing those common popular rhymes,
which were the usual subjects of their recitation.”2 While,
however, we acquiesce in the proposition, that the minstrels
composed many, perhaps the greater part of the metrical
romanceswhich theysung,it is evident they were frequently
assisted in the task by others who, though not belonging to
this profession, were prompted by leisure and inclination to
enter upon the literary or poetical department as amateurs.
These very often belonged to the clerical profession, amongst
whom relaxation of discipline, abundance of spare time, and
impatience of the routine of ceremonious duties, often led
individuals into worse occupations than the listening to or
composing metrical romances. It was in vain that both
the poems and the minstrels who recited them were, by
statute, debarred from entering the more rigid monasteries.
Both found their way frequently to the refectory, and were
made more welcome than brethren of their own profes¬
sion ; as we may learn from a memorable Gest, in which
two poor travelling priests, who had been received into a
monastery with acclamation, under the mistaken idea of their
being minstrels, are turned out in disgrace, when it is dis¬
covered that they were indeed capable of furnishing spiri¬
tual instruction, but understood none of the entertaining
arts with which the hospitality of their convent might have
been repaid by itinerant bards.
Nay, besides a truant disposition to a forbidden task,
many of the grave authors may have alleged, in their own
defence, that the connexion between history and romance
was not in their day entirely dissolved. Some eminent
men exercised themselves in both kinds of composition ; as,
for example, Maitre Wace, canon of Caen, in Normandy,
who, besides the metrical chronicle of Le Brut, containing
1 Jamieson’s Popular Ballads, vol. ii. p. 27.
2 Essay on the Ancient Minstrels, p. 80.
Another authority of ancient date, the Cfironi'c/e of Bertrand Guesclin, distinctly attributes the most renowned romances to the com-
position of the minstrels by whom they were sung. As the passage will be afterwards more fully quoted, we must here only say, that
after enumerating Arthur, Launcelot, Godfrey, Roland, and other champions, he sums up his account of them as being the heroes
De quoi cils minestriers font les nobles romans.
R O M A N C E.
Romance, the earliest history of England, and other historical legends,
wrote, in 1155, the Homan de Chevalier de Lyon, probably
the same translated under the title of Ywain and Gawain.
Lambert li Cors, and Benoit de Saint-Maur, seem both to
have been of the clerical order; and, perhaps, Chretien de
Troyes, a most voluminous author of romance, was of the
same profession. Indeed, the extreme length of many ro¬
mances being much greater than any minstrel could under¬
take to sing at one or even many sittings, may induce us
to refer them to men of a more sedentary occupation than
those wandering poets. The religious romances were, in
all probability, the works of such churchmen as might wish
to reconcile an agreeable occupation with their religious
profession. All which circumstances must be received as
exceptions from the general proposition, that the romances
in metre were the composition of the minstrels by whom
they were recited or sung, though they must still leave
Percy’s proposition to a certain extent unimpeached.
To explain the history of Romance, it is necessary to di¬
gress a little further concerning the condition of the min¬
strels by whom these compositions were often made, and,
generally speaking, preserved and recited. And here, it
must be confessed, that the venerable Prelate has, perhaps,
suffered his love of antiquity, and his desire to ennoble the
productions of the middle ages, a little to overcolour the
importance and respectability of the minstrel tribe; although
his opponent Ritson has, on the other hand, seized on all
circumstances and inferences which could be adduced to
prove the degradation of the minstrel character, without
attending to the particulars by which these depreciating
circumstances were qualified. In fact, neither of these ex¬
cellent antiquaries has cast a general or philosophical glance
on the necessary condition of a set of men who were by
profession the instruments of the pleasure of others during
a period of society such as was presented in the middle
ages.
In a very early period of civilisation, ere the division of
tribes had been generally adopted, and while each tribe may
be yet considered as one great family, and the nation as an
union of such independent tribes, the poetical art, so nearly
allied to that of oratory or persuasion, is found to ascertain
toits professors a very high rank. Poetsare then the historians
and often the priests of the tribe. Their command of lan¬
guage, then in its infancy, excites not merely pleasure, but
enthusiasm and admiration. When separated into a distinct
class, as was the case with the Celtic bards, and, perhaps,
with the skalds of Scandinavia, they rank high in the scale
of society, and we not only find kings and nobles listening
to them with admiration, but emulous of their art, and de¬
sirous to be enrolled among their numbers. Several of the
most renowned northern kings and champions valued them¬
selves as much upon their powers of poetry as on their mar¬
tial exploits; and of the Welsh princes, the Irish kings,
and the Highland chiefs of Scotland, very many practised
the arts of poetry and music. Llwarch Hen was a prince of
the Cymraig, Brian Boromhe, a harper and a musician, and
without resorting to the questionable authenticity of Ossian,
several instances of the same kind might be produced in
the Highlands.
But, in process of time, when the classes of society come
to assume their usual gradation with respect to each other,
the rank of professional poets is uniformly found to sink
gradually in the scale, along with that of all others whose
trade it is to contribute mere amusement. The profes¬
sional poet, like the player or the musician, becomes the
companion and soother only of idle and convivial hours ;
his presence would be unbecoming on occasions of gravity
and importance; and his art is accounted at best an amus¬
ing but useless luxury. Although the intellectual plea¬
sure derived from poetry or from the exhibition of the
drama be of a different and much higher class than that
259
derived from the accordance of sounds, or from the exhi- Romance,
bition of feats of dexterity, still it will be found that the
opinions and often the laws of society, while individuals of
these classes are cherished and held in the highest esti¬
mation, have degraded the professions themselves among its
idle, dissolute, and useless appendages. Although it may
be accounted ungrateful in mankind thus to reward the
instruments of their highest enjoyments, yet some jus¬
tification is usually to be drawn from the manners of the
classes who w’ere thus lowered in public opinion. It must
be remembered, that, as professors of this joyous science,
as it was called, the minstrels stood in direct opposition to
the more severe part of the Catholics, and to the monks in
particular, whose vows bound them to practise virtues of
the ascetic order, and to look upon every thing as profane
which was connected with mere worldly pleasure. The
manners of the minstrels themselves gave but too much
room for clerical censure. They were the usual assistants
at scenes, not merely of conviviality, but of license ; and as
the companions and encouragers of revelling and excess,
they became contemptible in the eyes, not only of the aged
and the serious, but of the libertine himself, when his de¬
bauch palled on his recollection. The minstrels, no doubt,
like their brethren of the stage, sought an apology in the
corrupted taste and manners of their audience, with which
they were obliged to comply, under the true but melancholy
condition that
—they who live to please must please to live.
But this very necessity, rendered more degrading by their
increasing numbers and decreasing reputation, only accele¬
rated the total downfall of their order, and the general dis¬
credit and neglect into which they had fallen. The statute
of the 39th of Queen Elizabeth, passed at the close of the
sixteenth century, ranks those dishonoured sons of song
among rogues and vagabonds, and appoints them to be
punished as such ; and the occupation, though a vestige of
it was long retained in the habits of travelling ballad-sing¬
ers and musicians, sunk into total neglect and contempt.
Of this we shall have to speak hereafter ; our business be¬
ing at present with those romances, which, while still in
the zenith of their reputation, were the means by which the
minstrels, at least the better and higher class amongst them,
recommended themselves to the favour of their noble pa¬
trons, and of the audiences whom they addressed.
It may be presumed, that, although the class of minstrels,
like all who merely depend upon gratifying the public, car¬
ried in their very occupation the evils which first infected,
and finally altogether depraved their reputation; yet, in the
earlier ages, their duties were more honourably estimated,
and some attempts were made to introduce into their mot¬
ley body the character of a regular establishment, subjected
to discipline and subordination. Several individuals, both
of France and England, bore tbe title of king of minstrels,
and were invested probably with some authority over the
others. The serjeant of minstrels is also mentioned ; and
Edward IV. seems to have attempted to form a guild or
exclusive corporation of minstrels. John of Gaunt, at an
earlier period, established (between jest and earnest, per¬
haps) a court baron of minstrels, to be held at Tilbury.
There is no reason, however, to suppose that the influence
of their establishments went far in restraining the licence
of a body of artists so unruly as well as numerous.
It is not, indeed, surprising that individuals, whose ta¬
lents in the arts of music or of the stage rise to the highest
order, should, in a special degree, attain the regard and
affection of the powerful, acquire wealth, and rise to con¬
sideration ; for, in such professions, very high prizes are
assigned only to pre-eminent excellence ; while ordinary or
inferior practisers of the same art may be said to draw in
the lottery something worse than a mere blank. Garrick, in
269
ROMANCE
Romance, nis chariot, and whose company was courted for his wit and
talent, was, after all, by profession, the same with the un¬
fortunate stroller, whom the British laws condemn as a va¬
gabond, and to whose dead body other countries refuse even
the last rites of Christianity. In the same manner it is
easy to suppose that, when in compliance with the taste of
their age, monarchs entertained their domestic minstrels,1
those persons might be admitted to the most flattering in¬
timacy with their royal masters; sleep within the royal
chamber,2 amass considerable fortunes, found hospitals,3
and receive rewards singularly over-proportioned to the
perquisites of the graver professions and even pi’actise in
company with their royal masters the pleasing arts of poetry
and music, which all are so desirous of attaining ;5 whilst,
at the same time, those who ranked lower in the same pro¬
fession were struggling with difficulty to gain a precarious
subsistence, and incurring all the disgrace usually attached
to a vagabond life and a dubious character. In the fine
arts, particularly, excellence is demanded, and mere medi¬
ocrity is held contemptible; and, while the favour with
which the former is loaded, sometimes seems disproportion-
ed to the utility of the art itself, nothing can exceed the
scorn poured out on those who expose themselves by un¬
dertaking arts which they are unable to practise with suc¬
cess. Self-conceit, however, love of an idle life, and a va¬
riety of combined motives, never fail to recruit the lower
orders of such idle professions with individuals by whose
performances, and often by their private characters, the
art which they have rashly adopted can only be discredited
without any corresponding advantage to themselves. It
is not, therefore, surprising that, while such distinguished
examples of the contrary appeared amongst individuals, the
w'hole body of minstrels, with the romances which they
composed and sung, should be reprobated by graver histo¬
rians in such severe terms as often occur in the monkish
chronicles of the day.
Character Respecting the style of their composition, Du Cange in-
and style of forms US) that the minstrels sometimes devoted their strains
mances of t0 ^atter ^le great> an{l sing the praises of those princes
chivalry ky whom they were protected; while he owns, at the same
time, that they often recommended to their hearers the
path of virtue and nobleness, and pointed out the pursuits
by which the heroes of romance had rendered themselves
renowned in song.6 He quotes from the romance of Ber¬
trand Guesclin, the injunction on those who would rise to
fame in arms to copy the valiant acts of the Paladins of Romance.
Charles, and the Knights of the Round Table, narrated in'>,^“Y"'w
romances ; and it cannot be denied, that those high tales,
in which the virtues of generosity, bravery, devotion to his
mistress, and zeal for the Catholic religion, were carried to
the greatest height of romantic perfection in the character
of the hero, united with the scenes passing around them,
were of the highest importance in affecting the character of
the age. The fabulous knights of romance were so com¬
pletely identified with those of real history, that graver his¬
torians quote the actions of the former in illustration of,
and as a corollary to the real events which they narrate.7
The virtues recommended in romance were, however, only
of that overstrained and extravagant cast which consisted
with the spirit of chivalry. Great bodily strength, and per¬
fection in all martial exercises, was the universal accom¬
plishment inalienable from the character of the hero, and
which each romancer had it in his power to confer. It was
also easily in the composer’s power to devise dangers, and
to free his hero from them by the exertion of valour equal¬
ly extravagant. But it was more difficult to frame a story
which should illustrate the manners as well as the feats of
chivalry; or to devise the means of evincing that devotion
to duty, and that disinterested desire to sacrifice all to faith
and honour;—that noble spirit of achievement which la¬
boured for others more than itself—which form, perhaps,
the fairest side of the system under which the noble youths
of the middle ages were trained up. The sentiments of
chivalry, as we have explained in our article on that sub¬
ject, were founded on the most pure and honourable prin¬
ciples, but unfortunately carried into hyperbole and extra¬
vagance; until the religion of its professors approached to fa¬
naticism, their valour to frensy, their ideas of honour to absur¬
dity, their spirit of enterprise to extravagance, and their re¬
spect for the female sex to a sort of idolatry. All those ex¬
travagant feelings, which really existed in the society of the
middle ages, were magnified and exaggerated by the writers
and reciters of romance; and these given as resemblances of
actual manners, became, in their turn, the glass by which
the youth of the age dressed themselves ; while the spirit of
chivalry and of romance thus gradually threw light upon
and enhanced each other.
The romances, therefore, exhibited the same system of
manners which existed in the nobles of the age. The cha¬
racter of a true son of chivalry was raised to such a pitch
1 Berdic (Regis Jocuhtor), the jongleur or minstrel of William the Conqueror, had, as appears from the Domesday record, three vills
and five caracates of land in Gloucestershire without rent. Henry I. had a minstrel called Galfrid, who received an annuity from the ab¬
bey of Hyde.
* A minstrel of Edward L, during that prince’s expedition to the Holy Land, slept within his tent, and came to his assistance when an
attempt was made to assassinate him.
5 The Priory and Hospital of Saint Bartholomew, in London, was founded in the reign of Henry I. by Royer or Raher, a minstrel of
that prince.
4 In 1441, the monks of Maxlock, near Coventry, paid a donation of four shillings to the minstrels of Lord Clinton for songs, harping,
and other exhibitions, while, to a doctor who preached before the community in the same year, they assigned only sixpence.
5 The noted anecdote of Blondel and his royal master, Richard Coeur de Lion, will occur to every reader.
6 Ministelli dicti praesertim scurraj, mimi, joculatores, quos etiamnum vulgo Menestreux vel Menestriers, appellamus. Porro ejus-
modi scunarum erat Principes, non suis duntaxat ludicris oblectare, sed et eorum aures variis avorum, adeoque ipsoruin Principum laudi.
bus, non sine assentatione, cum cantilenis et musicis instrumentis, demulcere Interdum etiam virorum insignium et heroum gesta, aut
expheata et jucunda narratione commemorabant, aut suavi vocis inflectione, fidibusque decantabant, quo sic dominorum, cajterorumque qui
ms intererant ludicris, nobilium animos ad virtutem capessendam et summorum virorum imitationem accenderent: quod f'uit olim apud
Gallos Bardorum ministerium, ut auctor est Tacitus. Neque enim alios a Ministellis, veterum Gallorum Burdos fuisse pluribus probat
Henncus Valesius ad 15. Ammiani.— Chronicon Bertrandi Guesclini:
Qui veut avoir renom des bons et des vaillans,
II doit aler souvent a la pluie et an champ,
Et estre en la bataille, ainsy que fu Rollans,
Les quatre fils Haimon et Charlon li plus grans,
Li Dus Lions de Bourges, et Guion de Connans,
Perceval li Galois, Lancelot et Tristans,
Alexandres, Artus, Godefroy li sachans,
De quoy cils menestriers font les nobles Romans.
7 Barbour, the Scottish historian, censures a Highland chief, when, in commending the prowess of Bruce in battle, he likened him to
the Celtic hero, Fin Mac Coul, and says, he might in more mannerly fashion have compared him to Gaudifer, a champion celebrated in
the romance of Alexander.
R O M A N C E.
Romance, of ideal and impossible perfection, that those who emulated
■v^v^^'such renown were usually contented to stop far short of the
mark. The most adventurous and unshaken valour, a mind
capable of the highest flights of romantic generosity, a heart
which was devoted to the will of some fair idol, on whom
his deeds were to reflect glory, and whose love was to re¬
ward all his toils ; these were attributes which all aspired
to exhibit who sought to rank high in the annals of chival¬
ry ; and such were the virtues which the minstrels cele¬
brated. But, like the temper of a tamed lion, the fierce
and dissolute spirit of the age often shewed itself through
the fair varnish of this artificial system of manners. The
valour of the hero was often stained by acts of cruelty, or
freaks of rash desperation ; his courtesy and munificence
became solemn foppery and wild profusion; his love to his
lady often demanded and received a requital inconsistent
with the honour of the object; and those who affected to
found their attachment on the purest and most delicate
metaphysical principles, carried on their actual intercourse
with a license altogether inconsistent with their sublime
pretensions. Such were the real manners of the middle
ages, and we find them so depicted in.these ancient legends.
So high was the national excitation in consequence of
the romantic atmosphere in which they seemed to breathe,
that the knights and squires of the fourteenth and fifteenth
centuries imitated the wildest and most extravagant em¬
prises of the heroes of romance ; and, like them, took on
themselves the most extraordinary adventures to shew their
own gallantry, and do most honour to the ladies of their
hearts. The females of rank, erected into a species of god¬
desses in public, and often degraded as much below their
proper dignity in more private intercourse, equalled in their
extravagances the youth of the other sex. A singular
picture is given by Knyghton of the damsels-errant who
attended upon the solemn festivals of chivalry, in quest, it
may reasonably be supposed, of such adventures as are very
likely to be met with by such females as think proper to
seek them. “ These tournaments are attended by many
ladies of the first rank and greatest beauty, but not always
of the most untainted reputation. These ladies are dressed
in party-coloured tunics, one-half of one colour and the
other half of another ; their lirripipes, or tippets, are very
short; their caps remarkably little, and wrapt about their
heads with cords ; their girdles and pouches are ornamented
w'ith gold and silver; and they wear short swords, called
daggers, before them, a little below their navels ; they are
mounted on the finest horses, with the richest furniture.
Thus equipped, they ride from place to place in quest of
tournaments, by which they dissipate their fortunes, and
sometimes ruin their reputation.”—(Knyghton, quoted in
Henry’s History, vol. viii. p. 402.)
The minstrels, or those who aided them in the composi¬
tion of the romances, which it was their profession to re¬
cite, roused to rivalry by the unceasing demand for their
compositions, endeavoured emulously to render them more
attractive by subjects of new and varied interest, or by mar¬
vellous incidents which their predecessors were strangers to.
Much labour has been bestowed, somewhat unprofitably, in
endeavouring to ascertain the sources from which they drew
the embellishments of their tales, when the hearers began
to be tired of the unvaried recital of battle and tournament
which had satisfied the simplicity of a former age. Percy
has contended for the northern Sagas as the unquestionable
origin of the romance of the middle ages. Warton con¬
ceived that the Oriental fables, borrowed by those minstrels
who visited Spain, or who in great numbers attended the
crusades, gave the principal distinctive colouring to those
remarkable compositions ; and a later system, patronised by
later authors, has derived them, in a great measure, from
261
the fragments of classical superstition, which continued to be Romance,
preserved after the fall of the Roman empire. All those
systems seem to be inaccurate, in so far as they have been
adopted, exclusively of each other, and of the general pro¬
position, that fables of a nature similar to the romances of
chilvalry, modified according to manners and state of so¬
ciety, must necessarily be invented in every part of the
world, for the same reason that grass grows upon the sur¬
face of the soil in every climate and in every country. “ In
reality,” says Mr. Southey, who has treated this subject with
his usual ability, “ mythological and romantic tales are cur¬
rent among all savages of whom we have any full account;
for man has his intellectual as well as his bodily appetites,
and these things are the food of his imagination and faith.
They are found wherever there is language and discourse
of reason ; in other words, wherever there is man. And in
similar stages of civilization, or states of society, the fictions
of different people will bear a corresponding resemblance,
notwithstanding the difference of time and scene.”1
To this it may be added, that the usual appearances and
productions of nature offer to the fancy, in every part of the
world, the same means of diversifying fictitious narrative by
the introduction of prodigies. If in any romance we en¬
counter the description of an elephant, wre may reasonably
conclude that a phenomenon, unknown in Europe, must
have been borrowed from the east; but whosoever has seen
a serpent and a bird, may easily aggravate the terrors of the
former by conferring on a fictitious monster the wings of the
latter; and whoever has seen or heard of a wolf, or lion, and
an eagle, may, by a similar exertion of invention, imagine a
griffin or hippogriff. It is imputing great poverty to the
human imagination, to suppose that the speciosa miracula,
which are found to exist in different parts of the world, must
necessarily be derived from some common source; and per¬
haps we should not err more grossly in supposing that the
various kinds of boats, skiffs, and rafts, upon which men have
dared the ocean on so many various shores, have been all
originally derived from the vessel of the Argonauts.
On the other hand, there are various romantic incidents
and inventions of a nature so peculiar, that we may boldly,
and at once, refer them to some particular and special ori¬
gin. The tale of Flora and Blanchefleur, for example,
could only be invented in the east, where the scene is laid,
and the manners of which are observed with some accuracy.
That of Orfeo and Heurodis, on the contrary, is the classi¬
cal history of Orpheus and Eurydice, with the Gothic ma¬
chinery of the elves or fairies, substituted for the infernal
regions. But notwithstanding these and many other in¬
stances in which the subjects or leading incidents of ro¬
mance can be distinctly traced to British or Armorican tra¬
ditions, to the tales and history of classic antiquity, to the
wild fables and rich imagery of Arabia, or to those darker
and sterner themes which were first treated of by the Skalds
of the north, it would be assuming greatly too much upon
such grounds to ascribe the derivation of romantic fiction,
exclusively to any one of these sources. In fact, the foun¬
dation of these fables lies deep in human nature, and the
superstructures have been imitated from various authorities
by those who, living by the pleasure which their lays of chi¬
valry afforded to their audience, were especially anxious to
recommend them by novelty of every kind ; and were un¬
doubtedly highly gratified when the report of travellers, or
pilgrims, or perhaps their own intercourse with minstrels of
other nations, enabled them to vary their usual narrations
with circumstances yet unheard in bower and hall. Romance,
therefore, was like a compound metal, derived from various
mines, and in the different specimens of which, one metal or
other was alternately predominant; and viewed in this light,
the ingenious theories of those learned antiquaries, who have
Preface to Southey’s edition of the Morte D’Arthur. Loud. 1817, 2 vols. 4to.
262
ROMANCE.
Prose ro¬
mance.
Romance, endeavoured to seek the origin of this style of fiction in one
of these sources alone, to the exclusion of all others, seem as
vain as that of travellers affecting to trace the proper head of
the Nile to various different springs, all of which are owned
to be accessary to form the full majesty of his current.
As the fashion of all things passes away, the metrical ro¬
mances began gradually to decline in public estimation, pro¬
bably on account of the depreciated character of the minstrels
by whom they were recited. Tradition, says Ritson, is an
alchemy, which converts gold into lead ; and there is little
doubt, that, in passing from mouth to mouth, and from age
to age, the most approved metrical romances became gradu¬
ally corrupted by the defect of memory of some reciters and
the interpolations of others ; since few comparatively can be
supposed to have had recourse to the manuscripts in which
some have been preserved. Neither were the reciters in
the latter, as in the former times, supplied with new produc¬
tions of interest and merit. The composition of the me¬
trical romance was gradually abandoned to persons of an in¬
ferior class. The art of stringing together in loose verse a
number of unconnected adventures, was too easy not to be
practised by many who only succeeded to such a degree as
was discreditable to the art, by shewing that mere medio¬
crity was sufficient to exercise it. And the licentious cha¬
racter, as well as the great number of those who, under the
various names of glee-men, minstrels, and the like, travers¬
ed the country, and subsisted by this idle trade, brought
themselves and their occupation into still greater contempt
and disregard. With them, the long recitations formerly
made at the tables of the great, were gradually banished in¬
to more vulgar society.
But though the form of those narratives underwent a
change of fashion, the appetite for the fictions themselves
continued as ardent as ever; and the prose romances which
succeeded, and finally superseded those composed in verse,
had a large and permanent share of popularity. This was,
no doubt, in a great degree owing to the important inven¬
tion of printing, which has so much contributed to alter the
destinies of the world. The metrical romances, though in
some instances sent to the press, were not very fit to be pub¬
lished in this form. The dull amplifications which passed
well enough in the course of a half-heard recitation, be¬
came intolerable when subjected to the eye ; and the public
taste gradually growing more fastidious as the language be¬
came more copious, and the system of manners more com¬
plicated, graces of style and variety of sentiment wTere de¬
manded instead of a naked and unadorned tale of wonders.
The authors of the prose romance endeavoured, to the best
cf their skill, to satisfy this newly awakened and more refin¬
ed taste. They used, indeed, the same sources of romantic
history which had been resorted to by their metrical prede¬
cessors ; and Arthur, Charlemagne, and all their chivalry,
were as much celebrated in prose as ever they had been in
poetic narrative. But the new candidates for public favour
pretended to have recourse to sources of authentic informa¬
tion, to which their metrical predecessors had no access.
They refer almost always to Latin, and sometimes to Greek
originals, which certainly had no existence; and there is
little doubt that the venerable names of the alleged authors
aie invented, as well as the supposed originals from which
they are said to have translated their narratives. The fol¬
lowing account of the discovery of La tres elegante deli-
cieux mellijlue et tres plaisante Hystoire du tres noble itoy
Perceforest (printed at Paris in 1528 by Galliot du Pre,)
may serve to show that modern authors were not the first
who invented the popular mode of introducing their works
to the world as the contents of a newly discovered manu¬
script. In the abridgment to which we are limitted, wre
can give but a faint picture of the minuteness with which
the author announces his pretended discovery, and which
forms an admit able example of the lie with a circumstance-
In the year 1286, Count William of Hainault had, it is Romance,
averred, crossed the seas in order to be present at the nup-'^^s,^^-'
tials of Edward, and in the course of a tour through Bri¬
tain, was hospitably entertained at an abbey situated on the
banks of the Humber, and termed, it seems, Burtimer, be¬
cause founded by a certain Burtimericus, a monarch of whom
our annals are silent, but who had gained, in that place, a
victory over the heathens of Germany. Here a cabinet,
which was inclosed in a private recess, had been lately dis¬
covered within the massive walls of an ancient tower, and
was found to contain a Grecian manuscript, along with a
royal crown. The abbot had sent the latter to king Ed¬
ward, and the Count of Hainault with difficulty obtained
possession of the manuscript. He had it rendered from
Greek into Latin by a monk of the abbey of Saint Lande-
lain, and from that language it is said to have been trans¬
lated into French by the author, who gives it to the world
in honour of the blessed Virgin, and for the edification of
nobleness and chivalry.
By such details, the authors of the prose romances en¬
deavoured to obtain for their works a credit for authentici¬
ty which had been denied to the rhythmical legends. But
in this particular they did great injustice to their contemn¬
ed predecessors, whose reputations they murdered in order
to rob them with impunity. Whatever fragments or sha¬
dowings of true history may yet remain hidden under the
mass of accumulated fable, which had been heaped on them
during successive ages, must undoubtedly be sought in the
metrical romances; and according to the view of the subject
which we have already given, the more the works approach
in point of antiquity to the period where the story is laid, the
more are we likely to find those historical traditions in some¬
thing approaching to an authentic state. But those who
wrote under the imaginary names of Rusticien de Puise,
Robert de Borron, and the like, usually seized upon the sub¬
ject of some old minstrel; and, recomposing the whole
narrative after their own fashion, with additional characters
and adventures, totally obliterated in that operation any
shades which remained of the first, and probably authen¬
tic tradition, which was the original source of the ela¬
borate fiction. Amplification was especially employed by
the prose romancers, who, having once got hold of a subject,
seem never to have parted with it until their power of in¬
vention was completely exhausted. The metrical roman¬
ces, in some instances, indeed, ran to great length, but were
much exceeded in that particular by the folios which were
written on the same or similar topics by their prose succes¬
sors. Probably the latter judiciously reflected that a book
which addresses itself only to the eyes, may be laid aside
when it becomes tiresome to the reader; whereas it may not
always have been so easy to stop the minstrel in the full
career of his metrical declamation.
Who, then, the reader may be disposed to inquire, can
have been the real authors of those prolixworks, who,shroud¬
ing themselves under borrowed names, derived no renown
from their labours, if successful, and who, certainly, in the
infant state of the press, were not rewarded with any emolu¬
ment ? This question cannot, perhaps, be very satisfacto¬
rily answered ; but we may reasonably suspect that the long
hours of leisure which the cloister permitted to its votaries,
were often passed away in this manner; and the conjec¬
ture is rendered more probable, when it is observed that
matters are introduced into those works which have an espe¬
cial connection with sacred history, and with the traditions
of the Church. Thus, in the curious romance of Huon de
Bourdeaux, a sort of second part is added to that delight¬
ful history, in which the hero visits the terrestrial paradise,
encounters the first murderer Cain, in the peformance of his
penance, with more matter to the same purpose, not likely
to occur to the imagination of a layman ; besides, that the
laity of the period were in general too busy and too igno-
R OMAN 0 E.
Romance, rant to engage in literary tasks of any kind. The mystical
portion of the romance of the Hound Table seems derived
from the same source. It may also be mentioned, that the au¬
dacious, and sometimes blasphemous assertions, which claim¬
ed for these fictions the credit due even to the inspired writ¬
ings themselves, were likely to originate amongst Roman
Catholic churchmen, who were but too familiar with such
forgeries for the purpose of authenticating the legends of
their superstition. One almost incredible instance of this
impious specious of imposture occurs in the history of the
Saint Graal, which curious mixture of mysticism and chival¬
ry is ascribed by the unfearing and unblushing writer to the
second person of the Trinity.
Churchmen, however, were by no means the only authors
of these legends, although the Sires Clercs, as they were
sometimes termed, who were accounted the chronicles of
the times in which they lived, were usually in orders; and
although it appears that it was upon them that the com¬
mands of the soveregins whom they served often imposed
the task of producing new romances under the usual disguise
of ancient chronicles translated from the learned languages,
or otherwise collected from the ruins of antiquity. As edu¬
cation became improved, and knowledge began to be more
generally diffused, individuals among the laity, and those of
no mean rank, began to feel the necessity, as it may be
called, of putting into a permanent form the “thick-coming
fancies” which gleam along the imagination of men of ge¬
nius. Sir Thomas Malony, who compiled the MorteD’Arthur
from French originals, was a person of honour and worship;
and Lord Berners, the excellent translator of Froissart, and
author of a romance called The Chevalier de la Cygne, is
an illustrious example that a nobleman of high estimation
did not think his time misemployed on this species of com¬
position. Some literary fame must therefore have attended
these efforts; and perhaps less eminent authors might, in
the latter ages, receive some pecuniary advantages. The
translator of Perceforest, formerly mentioned, who appears
to have been an Englishman or Fleming, in his address to
the warlike and invincible nobility of France, holds the lan¬
guage of a professional author, who expected some advan¬
tage besides that of pleasing those whom he addressed ; and
who expresses proportional gratitude for the favourable re¬
ception of his former feeble attempts to please them. It is
possible, therefore, that the publishers, these lions of liter¬
ature, had begun already to admit the authors into some
share of their earnings. Other printers, like the venerable
Caxton, compiled themselves, or translated from other lan¬
guages, the romances which they sent to the press; thus
uniting in their own persons the three separate departments
of author, printer, and publisher.
The prose romance did not, in the general conduct of the
story, where digressions are heaped on digressions, without
the least respect to the principal narrative, greatly differ
from that of their metrical predecessors, being to the full
as tedious and inartificial; nay, more so, in proportion as
the new romances were longer than the old. In the trans¬
ference from verse to prose, and the amplification which the
scenes underwent in the process, many strong, forcible, and
energetic touches of their original author have been weak¬
ened, or altogether lost; and the reader misses with regret
some of the redeeming bursts of rude poetry which, in the me¬
trical romance, make amends for many hundred lines of bald
and rude versification. But, on the other hand, the prose ro¬
mances were written for a more advanced stage of society,
and by authors whose language was much more copious,
and who certainly belonged to a more educated class than
the ancient minstrels. Men were no longer satisfied with
hearing of hard battles and direful wounds ; they demand¬
ed at the hand of those who professed to entertain them,
some insight into nature, or at least into manners; some de- Romance,
scription of external scenery, and a greater regard to pro-
bability both in respect of the characters which are intro¬
duced, and the events which are narrated. These new de¬
mands the prose romances endeavoured to supply to the
best of their power. There was some attention shewn to
relieve their story, by the introduction of new characters,
and to illustrate these personages by characteristic dialogue.
The lovers conversed with each other in the terms of me¬
taphysical gallantry, which were used in real life; and from
being a mere rhapsody of warlike feats, the romance began
to assume the nobler and more artificial form of a picture
of manners. It is in the prose folios of Lancelot du Lac,
Perceforest, and others, that antiquaries find recorded the
most exact accounts of fights, tournaments, feasts, and other
magnificent displays of chivalric splendour ; and as they de¬
scend into more minute description than the historians of
the time thought worthy of their pains, they are a mine
from which the painful student may extract much valuable
information. This, however, is not the full extent of their
merit. These ancient books, amid many pages of dull re¬
petition and uninteresting dialogue, and notwithstanding the
langour of an inartificial, protracted, and confused story, ex¬
hibit from time to time passages of deep interest, and situa¬
tions of much novelty, as well as specimens of spirited and
masculine writing. The general reader, who dreads the
labour of winnowing out these valuable passages from the
sterile chaff through which they are scattered, will receive
an excellent idea of the beauties and defects of the romance
from Tressan’s Corps d’Extraits de Romans de Chevalerie,
from Mr. Ellis’s Specimens of Early English Romances,
and Mr. Dunlop’s History of Fiction.
These works continued to furnish the amusement of the
most polished courts in Europe, so long as the manners and
habits of chivalry continued to animate them. Even the
sagacious Catherine of Medicis considered the romance of
Perceforest as the work best qualified to form the manners
and amuse the leisure of a young prince ; since she impress¬
ed on Charles IX. the necessity of study ing it with attention.
But by degrees the progress of new opinions in religion, the
promulgation of a stricter code of morality, together with
the important and animating discussions which began to be
carried on by means of the press, diverted the public atten¬
tion from these antiquated legends. The Protestants of
England, and the Huguenots of France, were rigorous in
their censure of books of chivalry, in proportion as they had
been patronized formerly under the Catholic system; perhaps
because they helped to arrest men’s thoughts from more serious
subjects of occupation. The learned Ascham thus inveighs
against the romance of MorteH’ Arthur, and at the same time
acquaints us with its having passed out of fashion : “ In our
forefathers’ tyme, when papestrie, as a standyng poole, covered
and overflowed all Englande, fewe bookes were read in our
tongue, savyngcertaine bookes ofchivalrie,as they said for pas¬
time and pleasure; which, as some say, were made in monaste¬
ries by idle monks, or wanton chanons. As, for example, La
Morte Ly Arthur, the whole pleasure of which booke standeth
in two speciall poyntes, in open manslaughter, and bold baw-
drye ; in which booke they are counted the noblest knightes
thatdokill most men without any quarrell, and commit foulest
adulteries by sutlest shiftes; as Sir Launcelote, with the wife
ofKingArthurhismaster; Sir Tristram, with thewifeofKing
Marke his uncle; Sir Lamerocke, with the wife of King
Lote, that was his own aunt. This is good stuffe for wise
men to laughe at, or honest men to take pleasure at: yet I
know, when God’s Bible was banished the court, and La
Morte D’Arthur received into the prince’s chamber.”1
The brave and religious La Noue is not more favourable
to the perusal of romances than the learned Ascham ; at-
Works of Roger Ascham, p. 254. 4to. edition.
264 ROMANCE.
Romance, tributing to the public taste for these compositions the de-
^-y-^'cay of morality amongst the French nobility. “ The ancient
fables whose relikes doe yet remain, namely, Lancelot of
the Lake, Pierceforest, Tristram, Giron the Courteous, and
such others, doe beare witnesse of this olde vanitie ; here¬
with were men fed for the space of 500 yeeres, untill our
language growing more polished, and our mindes more tick¬
lish, they were driven to invent some nouelties wherewith
to delight us. Thus came ye bookes of Amadis into light
among us in this last age. But to say y* truth, Spaine bred
the, and France new clothed the in gay garments. In y®
dales of Henne the Second did they beare the chiefest sway,
and I think if any man weuld then have reproved the, he
should have been spit at because they were of themselves
playfellowes and maintainers to a great sort of persons;
whereof some, after they had learned to amize in speech,
their teeth watered, so desirous were they even to taste of
some small morsels of the delicacies therein most livelie and
naturally represented.”2 The gallant Marechal proceeds at
considerable length to refute the arguments of those who
contended that these books were intended as a spur to the
practice of arms and honourable exercises amongst youth,
and labours hard to shew that they teach dishonest prac¬
tices both in love and in arms. It is impossible to suppress a
smile when we find such an author as La None denouncing
the introduction of spells, witchcrafts, and enchantments in¬
to these volumes, not because such themes are absurd and
nonsensical, but because the representing such beneficent
enchanters as Alquifeand Urganda is, in fact, a vindication
of those who traffic with the powers of darkness; and that
those who love to read about sorceries and enchantments
become, by degrees, familiarized with those devilish mys¬
teries, and may at length be induced to have recourse to
them in good earnest.
The romances of chivalry did not, however, sink into
disrepute under the stern rebuke of religious puritans or
severe moralists, but became gradually neglected, as the
customs of chivalry itself fell into disregard ; when, of
course, the books which breathed its spirit, and wrere writ¬
ten under its influence, ceased to produce any impression
on the public mind, and, superseded by better models of
composition, and overwhelmed with the ridicule of Cer¬
vantes, sunk by degrees into utter contempt and oblivion.
Other works of amusement, of the same general class,
succeeded the proper romance of chivalry. Of these we
shall take some notice hereafter, since we must here close
our general view of the history of romance, and proceed
briefly to give some account of those peculiar to the various
European nations.
Romances II. We can here but briefly touch upon a subject of
of the dif- great interest and curiosity, namely, the peculiar character
ferentcoun-an(j tone which the romance of chivalry received from the
tries of Eu- manners an(j early history of the nations amongst whom it
rope. |g foun(j t0 exist; and the corresponding question, in what
degree each appears to have borrowed from other countries
the themes of their own minstrels, or to have made use of
materials common to the whole.
Northern Scandinavia, as was to be expected, may be safely con-
romances. sidered as the richest country in Europe, in ancient tales
corresponding with the character of romance; sometimes
composed entirely in poetry or rhythm, sometimes in prose,
and much more frequently in a mixture of prose, narrative,
and lyrical effusions. Their well-known Skalds or bards
held a high rank in their courts and councils. The charac¬
ter of a good poet was scarcely second to that of a gallant
leader, and many of the most celebrated champions ambi¬
tiously endeavoured to unite both in their own persons.
Their earlier sagas or tales approach to the credit of real
history, and were unquestionably meant as such, though, as
usual at an early period, debased by the intermixture of Romance,
those speciosa miracula which the love of the wonderful
early introduces into the annals of an infant country. There
are, however, very many of the sagas, indeed by far the
greater number of those now known to exist, which must
be considered as falling rather under the class of fictitious
than of real narratives ; and which, therefore, belong to our
present subject of inquiry. The Omepinger Saga, the
Heimskringla, the Saga of Olaf Triggvason, the Eyrbyg-
gia Saga, and several others, may be considered as histori¬
cal ; whilst the numerous narratives referring to the history
of the Nibelungen and Volsungen are as imaginary as the
romances which treat of King Arthur and of Charlemagne.
These singular compositions, short, abrupt, and concise in
expression, full of bold and even extravagant metaphor, ex¬
hibiting many passages of forceful and rapid description,
hold a character of their own ; and whilst they remind us of
the indomitable courage and patient endurance of the hardy
Scandinavians, at once the honour and the terror of Eu¬
rope, rise far above the tedious and creeping style which
characterised the minstrel efforts of their successors, whe¬
ther in France or England. In the pine forests also, and
the frozen mountains of the north, there were nursed, amid
the reliques of expiring paganism, many traditions of a cha¬
racter more wild and terrible than the tables of classical su¬
perstition ; and these the gloomy imagination of the skalds
failed not to transfer to their romantic tales. The late spi¬
rit of inquiry which has been so widely spread through Ger¬
many, has already begun to throw much light on this ne¬
glected storehouse of romantic lore, which is worthy of much
more attention than has yet been bestowed upon it in Bri¬
tain. It must, however, be remarked, that although the
north possesses champions and romances of its own, un¬
known to southern song, yet, in a later age, the inhabitants
of these countries borrowed from the French minstrels some
of their most popular subjects ; and hence we find sagas on
the subject of Sir Tristrem, Sir Percival, Sir Ywain, and
others, the well-known themes of French and English ro¬
mance. These, however, must necessarily be considered
later in date, as w'ell as far inferior in interest, to the sagas
of genuine northern birth. Mr. Ritson has indeed quoted
their existence as depreciating the pretensions of the north¬
ern nations to the possession of poems of high antiquity of
their owm native growth. Had he been acquainted with
the Norman-Kiempe-Datur, a large folio, printed at Stock¬
holm in 1737, he would have been satisfied, that out of the
numerous collection of legends respecting the achievements
of Gothic champions, far the greater part are of genuine
Norse origin ; and although having many features in com¬
mon with the romances of southern chivalry, are, in other
marked particulars, distinctly divided from that class of fic¬
titious composition.
The country of Germany, lying contiguous to France, German ro.
and constantly engaged in friendly and hostile intercourse mance.
with that great seat of romantic fiction, became, of course,
an early partaker in the stores which it afforded. The Min¬
nesingers of'the Holy Empire were a race no less cherish¬
ed than the Troubadours of Provence, or the Minstrels of
Normandy; and no less active in availing themselves of
their indigenous traditions, or importing those of other coun¬
tries, in order to add to their stock of romantic fiction.
Gotfrit of Strasburg composed many thousand lines up¬
on the popular subject of Sir Tristrem ; and others have
been equally copious, both as translators and as original au¬
thors, upon various subjects connected with French ro¬
mance ; but Germany possessed materials, partly borrowed
from Scandinavia, partly peculiar to her own traditional his¬
tory, as well as to that of the Roman empire, which they
applied to the construction of a cycle of heroes as famous
* The Politiche and Militarie Discourses of the Lord De La Nowe, pp. 87, 88. 4to. Lond. 1587.
ROMANCE. 265
Romance, in Teutonic song as those of Arthur and of Charlemagne in
France and Britain.
As in all other cases of the kind, a real conqueror, the
fame of whose exploits survived in tradition, was adopted
as the central object, around whom were to be assembled a
set of champions, and with whose history was to be inter¬
woven the various feats of courage which they performed,
and the adventures which they underwent. Theodorick
King of the Goths, called in these romantic legends Dide-
rick of Bern (i. e. Verona,) was selected for this purpose by
the German Minnesingers. Among the principal person¬
ages introduced are Ezzel, King of the Huns, who is no
other than the celebrated Attila ; and Gunter, King of Bur¬
gundy, who is identified with a Guntacher of history who
really held that kingdom. The good knight Wolfram von
Eschenbach seems to have been the first who assembled
the scattered traditions and minstrel tales concerning these
sovereigns into one large volume of German verse, entitled
Heldenbuch, or the Book of Heroes. In this the author
has availed himself of the unlimited licence of a romancer ;
and has connected with the history of Diderick and his chi¬
valry a number of detached legends which had certainly a
separate and independent existence. Such is the tale of
Sigurd the Horny, which has the appearance of having ori¬
ginally been a Norse saga. An analysis of this singular
piece was published by Mr. Weber, in a work entitled Il¬
lustrations of Northern Antiquities from, the earlier Teuto¬
nic and Scandinavian Romances; and the subject has been
fully illustrated by the publications of the learned Von der
Hagen in Germany, and those of the Hon. William Herbert.
It is here only necessary to say, that Theodorick, like
Charlemagne and Arthur, is considered in the romance as
a monarch more celebrated for the valorous achievements
of the brotherhood of chivalry whom he has drawn around
him, than for his own, though neither deficient in strength
nor courage. His principal followers have each their dis¬
criminatory and peculiar attributes. Meister Hildebrand,
the Nestor of the band, is, like the Maugis of Charlemagne’s
heroes, a magician as well as a champion. Hogan, or Ha¬
gan, begot betwixt a mortal and a sea-goblin, is the fierce
Achilles of the confederation. It is the uniform custom of
the romancers to conclude by a general and overwhelming
catastrophe, which destroys the whole ring of chivalry
whose feats they had commemorated. The ruin which
Roncesvalles brought to the Paladins of Charlemagne, and
the fatal battle of Camlan to the Knights of the Round Ta¬
ble, fell upon the warriors of Diderick through the revenge¬
ful treachery of Crimhilda, the wife of Ezzel; who, in re¬
venge for the death of her first husband, and in her inor¬
dinate desire to possess the treasures of the Niflunga or
Burgundians, brought destruction on all those celebrated
champions. Mr. Weber observes that these German fic¬
tions differ from the romances of French chivalry, in the
greater ferocity and less refinement of sentiment ascribed
to the heroes ; and also in their employing to a great extent
the machinery of the Duergar, or dwarfs, a subterranean
people to whom the Heldenbuch ascribes much strength
and subtilty, as well as profound skill in the magic art, and
who seem, to a certain extent, the predecessors of the Eu¬
ropean fairy.
Italian ro- Italy, so long the seat of classical learning, and where
mance. that learning was first revived, seems never to have strong¬
ly embraced the taste for the Gothic romance. They re¬
ceived, indeed, the forms and institutions of chivalry, but the
Italians seem to have been in a considerable degree stran¬
gers to its spirit, and not to have become deeply enamour¬
ed of its literature. There is an old romance of chivalry
proper to Italy, called Guerino the Wretched, but we doubt
if even this be of indigenous growth. Indeed, when they
did adopt from the French the fashionable tales of Charle¬
magne and his Paladins, these did not attract the attention
VOL. XIX.
of the classical Italians, until Boiardo, Berni, Pulci, and, Romance,
above all, the divine Ariosto, condescended to use them
the basis of their well-known romantic poems; and thus
the fictitious narratives originally composed in metre, and
afterwards rewritten in prose, were anew decorated with the
honours of verse. The romantic poets of Italy did not even
disdain to imitate the rambling, diffuse, and episodical style
proper to the old romance ; and Ariosto, in particular, al¬
though he torments the reader’s attention, by digressing
from one adventure to another, delights us, upon frequent
perusals, by the extreme ingenuity with which he gathers
up the broken ends of his narrative, and finally weaves them
all handsomely together in the same piece. But the merits
and faults of romantic poetry form themselves the fruitful
subject of a long essay. We here only notice the origin of
those celebrated works, as a species of composition arising
out of the old romance, though surpassing it in regularity,
as well as in all the beauties of style and diction.
With Spain the idea of romance was particularly con-Spanish and
nected ; and the associations which are formed upon per- Portuguese
using the immortal work of Cervantes, induce us for a longromance
time to believe that the country of Don Quixote must be
the very cradle of romantic fiction. Yet, if we speak of
priority of date, Spain was amongst the last nations in Eu¬
rope with whom romance became popular. It was not in¬
deed possible that, among a people speaking so noble and
poetical a language, engaged in constant wars, which called
forth at once their courage and their genius, there should
not exist many historical and romantic ballads descriptive
of their rencounters with the Moors. But their native poets
seem to have been too much engaged with the events of
their own age, and of that which had just preceded it,
to permit of their seeking subjects in the regions of pure
fiction; and we have not heard of a Spanish metrical ro¬
mance, unless the poems describing the adventures of the
Cid should be supposed to have any affinity to that class
of composition. The Peninsula, however, though late in
adopting the prevailing taste for romantic fiction, gave ori¬
gin to one particular class, which was at least as popular as
any which had preceded it. Amadis de Gaul, the produc¬
tion, it would seem, of Vasco de Lobeira, a Portuguese
knight, who lived in the fourteenth century, gave a new
turn to the tales of chivalry, and threw into the shade the
French prose romances, which, until the appearance of this
distinguished work, had been the most popular in Europe.
The author of Amadis, in order, perhaps, to facilitate
the other changes which he introduced, and to avoid rush¬
ing against preconceived ideas of events or character, laid
aside the worn-out features of Arthur and Charlemagne,
and imagined to himself a new dynasty both of sovereigns
and of heroes, to whom he ascribed a style of manners much
more refined, and sentiments much more artificial, than had
occurred to the authors of Perceval or Perceforest. Lo¬
beira had also taste enough to perceive, that some unity of
design would be a great improvement on the old romance,
where one adventure is strung to another with little con¬
nection from the beginning to the end of the volume ; which
thus concluded, not because the plot was winded up, but be¬
cause the author’s invention, or the printer’s patience, was
exhausted. In the work of the Portuguese author, on the
contrary, he proposes a certain end, to advance or retard
which all the incidents of the work have direct reference.
This is the marriage of Amadis with Oriana, against which
a thousand difficulties are raised by rivals, giants, sorcerers,
and all the race of evil powers unfavourable to chivalry;
whilst these obstacles are removed by the‘valour of the
hero, and constancy of the heroine, succoured on their part
by those friendly sages, and blameless sorceresses, whose
intervention gave so much alarm to the tender-conscienced
De la Noue. Lobeira also displayed considerable attention
to the pleasure which arises fre m the contrast of character;
2 L
266 ROMANCE.
Romance, and to relieve that of Amadis, who is the very essence of
chivalrous constancy, he has introduced Don Galaor, his
brother, a gay libertine in love, whose adventures form a
contrast with those of his more serious relative. Above all,
the Amadis displays an attention to the style and conver¬
sation of the piece, which, although its effects are now ex¬
aggerated and ridiculous, was doubtless at the time con¬
sidered as the pitch of elegance ; and here were, for the first
time, introduced those hyperbolical compliments, and that
inflated and complicated structure of language, the sense of
which walks as in a masquerade.
The Amadis at first consisted only of four books, and in
that limited shape may be considered as a very well con¬
ducted story; but additions were speedily made which ex¬
tended the number to twenty-four; containing the history
of Amadis subsequent to his obtaining possession of Oriana,
and down to his death, as also of his numerous descend¬
ants. The theme was not yet exhausted; for, as the an¬
cient romancers, when they commenced a new work, chose
for their hero some newly invented Paladin of Charlemagne,
or knight of King Arthur, so did their successors adopt a
new descendant of the family of Amadis, whose genealogy
was thus multiplied to a prodigious degree. For an account of
Esplandian, Florimond of Greece, Palmerin of England,
and the other romances of this class, the reader must be
referred to the valuable labours of Mr. Southey, who has
abridged both Amadis and Palmerin, with the most accu¬
rate attention to the style and manners of the original. The
books of Amadis became so very popular, as to supersede
the elder romances almost entirely, even at the court of
France, where, according to La None, already quoted, they
were introduced about the reign of Henry II. It was against
the extravagance of these fictions in character and in style,
that the satire of Cervantes was chiefly directed; and al¬
most all the library of Don Quixote belongs to this class of
romances, which, no doubt, his adventures contributed much
to put out of fashion.
French In every point of view, France must be considered as the
Romance, country in which chivalry and romance flourished in the
highest perfection ; and the originals of almost all the early
romances, whether in prose or in verse, whether relating to
the history of Arthur or of Charlemagne, are to be found
in the French language; and other countries possess only
translations from thence. This will not be so surprising
when it is recollected, that these earlier romances were writ¬
ten, not only for the use of the French, but of the English
themselves, among whom French was the prevailing lan¬
guage during the reigns of the Anglo-Norman monarchs.
Indeed, it has been ingeniously supposed, and not without
much apparent probability, that the fame of Arthur was
taken by the French minstrels for the foundation of their
stories in honour of the English kings, who reigned over
the supposed dominions of that British hero ; while, on the
other hand, the minstrels who repaired to the coast of France,
celebrated the prowess of Charlemagne and his twelve peers
as a subject more gratifying to those who sat upon his throne.
It is perhaps, some objection to this ingenious theory, that,
as we have already seen, the battle of Hastings was opened
by a minstrel, who sung the war-song of Roland, the ne¬
phew of Charlemagne ; so that the Norman duke brought
with him to England the tales that are supposed, at a much
later date, to have been revived to soothe the national pride
of the French minstrels.
How the French minstrels came originally by the traditional
reliques concerning Arthur and Merlin, on which they wrought
so long and so largely, must, we fear, always remain uncer¬
tain. From the Saxons we may conclude they had them
not; for the Saxons were the very enemies against whom
Arthur employed his good sword excalibar, that is to say,
if there was such a man, or such a weapon. We know, in¬
deed, that the British, like all the branches of the Celtic
race, were much attached to poetry and music, which the Romanes,
numerous relics of ancient poetry in Wales, Ireland, andv'^^v“w'
the Highlands of Scotland, sufficiently evince. Arthur, a
name famous amongst them, with some traditions concerning
the sage Merlin, may have floated either in Armorica, or
among the half-British of the borders of Scotland, and of
Cumberland; and thus preserved, may have reached the
ear of the Norman minstrels, either in their newly con¬
quered dominions, or through their neighbours of Brittany.
A theme of this sort once discovered, and found acceptable
to the popular ear, gave rise, of course, to a thousand imi¬
tations ; and gradually drew around it a cloud of fiction
which, embellished by such poetry as the minstrels could
produce, arranged itself by degrees into a system of fabu¬
lous history, as the congregated vapours touched by the
setting sun, assume the form of battlements and towers.
We know that the history of Sir Tristrem, first versified by
Thomas the Rhymer of Erceldoune, was derived fromWelsh
traditions, though told by a Saxon poet. In fact, it may
be easily supposed, that the romancers of that early period
were more eager to acquire popular subjects than delicately
scrupulous of borrowing from their neighbours ; and when
the foundation-stone was once laid, each subsequent min¬
strel brought his contribution to the building. The idea
of an association of knights assembled around one mighty
sovereign, was so flattering to all the ruling princes of Eu¬
rope, that almost all of them endeavoured to put themselves
at the head of some similar institution, and the various orders
of chivalry are to be traced to this origin. The historical
foundation ofthis huge superstructure is almost imperceptible.
Mr. Turner has shewn that the evidence rather inclines to
prove the actual existence of King Arthur ; and the names
of Gawain, his nephew, and of Genuera, his faithful spouse,
of Mordred, and Merlin, were preserved by Welsh tradition.
To the same source may be referred the loves of Tristrem
and Ysolde, which, although a separate story, has become,
in the later romances, amalgamated with that of Arthur.
But there can be little doubt that all beyond the bare names
of the heroes owes its existence to the imagination of the
romancers.
It might be thought that the romances referring to the
feats of Charlemagne ought to contain more historical truth
than those concerning Arthur; since the former relate to a
well-known monarch and conqueror, the latter to a person¬
age of a very doubtful and shadowy existence. But the
romances concerning both are equally fabulous. Charles
had, indeed, an officer named Roland, who was slain with
other nobles in the field of Roncesvalles, fighting,not against
the Saracens or Spaniards, but against the Gascons. This
is the only point upon which the real history of Charle¬
magne coincides with that invented for him by romancers.
Roland was prefect of Bretagne, and his memory was long
preserved in the war-song which bore his name. A fabu¬
lous chronicler, calling himself Turpin, compiled, in or about
the eleventh century, a romantic history of Charlemagne ;
but it may be doubted whether, in some instances, he has
not availed himself of the fictions already devised by the
early romancers, while to those who succeeded them his
annals afforded matter for new figments. The personal
character of Charlemagne has suffered considerably in the
hands of the romantic authors, although they exaggerated
his power and his victories. He is represented as fond of
flattery, irritable in his temper, ungrateful for the services
rendered him by his most worthy paladins, and a perpetual
dupe to the treacherous artifices of Count Gam, or Gane-
lon, of Mayence ; a renegade, to whom the romancers im¬
pute the defeat at Roncesvalles, and all the other misfor¬
tunes of the reign of Charles. This unfavourable view of
the prince, although it may bear some features of royalty,
neither resembles the real character of the conqueror of the
Saxons and Lombards, nor can be easily reconciled with the
ROMANCE.
267
Romance, idea, that he was introduced to flatter the personal vanity
'-^y^^of the princes of the Valois race, by a portrait of their great
predecessor.
The circumstance that Roland was a lieutenant of Brit¬
tany, and the certainty that Marie borrowed from that coun¬
try the incidents out of which she composed her lays, seems
to fortify the theory, that the French minstrels obtained
from that country much of their most valuable materials;
and that, after all that has been said and supposed, the history
of Arthur probably reached them through the same channel.
The Latin writers of the middle ages afforded the French
romancers the themes of those metrical legends which they
have composed on subjects of classical fame.
The honour of the prose romances of chivalry, exclusive
always of the books of Amadis, belongs entirely to the
French, and the curious volumes which are now the object
of so much research amongst collectors, are almost univer¬
sally printed at Paris.
English England, so often conquered, yet fated to receive an ac-
romance. cession of strength from each new subjugation, cannot boast
much of ancient literature of any kind; and, in the depart¬
ment of which we treat, was totally inferior to France. The
Saxons had, no doubt, romances (taking the word in its ge¬
neral acceptation) ; and Mr. Turner, to whose researches
we are so much indebted, has given us the abridgment of
one entitled Caedmon, in which the hero, whose adventures
are told much after the manner of the ancient Norse Sagas,
encounters, defeats, and finally slays an evil being called
Grendel, who, except in his being subject to death, seems
a creature of a supernatural description. But the literature
of the Saxons was destroyed by the success of William the
Conqueror, and the Norman knights and barons, among
whom England was in a great measure divided, sought
amusement, not in the lays of the vanquished, but in those
composed in their own language. In this point of view,
England, as a country, may lay claim to many of the French
romances, which were written, indeed, in that language,
but for the benefit of the court and nobles of England, by
whom French was still spoken. When the two languages
began to assimilate together, and to form the mixed dialect
termed the Anglo-Norman, we have good authority for say¬
ing that it was easily applied to the purpose of romantic
fiction, and recited in the presence of the nobility.
Robert de Brunne, who composed his History of England
about this time, has this remarkable passage, which we give,
along with the commentary of the editor of Sir Tristrem,
as it is peculiarly illustrative of the subject we are inquiring
into.
Als thai haf wryten and sayd,
Haf I alle in myn Inglis layd,
In symple speche as I couthe,
That is lightest in manne’s mouthe.
I mad noght for no disours,
Ne for no seggours, no harpours,
Bot for the luf of symple men,
That strange Inglis cannot ken ;
For many it ere that strange Inglis,
In ryme wate never what it is ;
And bot thai wist what it mente,
Ellis methought it were alle schente.
I made it not for to be praysed,
Bot at the lewed men were aysed.
If it were made in ryme couwee,
Or in strangere, or enterlace,
That rede Inglis it ere inowe
That couthe not haf coppled a kowe,
That outher in cowee or in baston
Sum sold haf ben fordon ;
So that fele men that it herde
Suld not witte howe that it ferda
1 see in song, in sedyeyng tale,
Of Erceldoun and of Kendale,
Non tham sayis as thai than, wroght,
And in ther saying it semes noght.
That may thou here in Sir Tristrem,
Over gestes it has the steem,
Over all that is or was,
If men it sayd as made Thomas.
Bot I here it no man so say,
That of some copple som is away.
So thare fayre saying here beforne,
Is thare travayle nere forlorne ;
Thai sayd it for pride and nobleye,
That were not suylke as thei,
And alle that thai wild overwhere,
Alle that ilk wille now forfare.
Thai sayd it in so quainte Inglis,
That manyone wate not what it is.
Therfore heuyed wele the more
In strange ryme to travayle sore,
And my wit was cure thynne,
So strange speche to travayle in;
And forsoth 1 couth noght
So strange Inglis as thai wroght,
And men besoght me many a tyme
To turne it bot in light ryme.
Thai seyd, if I in strange ryme it turn,
To here it manyon suld skorne ;
For in it ere names fulle selcouthe,
That ere not used now in mouthe.
And therfore, for the comonalte.
That blythely wild listen to me,
On light hinge I it began,
For luf of the lewed man.
“ This passage requires some commentary, as the sense
has been generally mistaken. Robert de Brunne does not
mean, as has been supposed, that the minstrels who re¬
peated Thomas’s romance of Sir Tristrem, disguised the
meaning by putting it into quainte Inglis ; but, on the
contrary, that Kendal and Thomas of Erceldoune did them¬
selves use such quainte Inglis, that those who repeated
the story were unable to understand it, or to make it intel¬
ligible to their hearers. Above all, he complains that, by
writing an intricate and complicated stanza, as ‘ ryme cowee,
strangere, or entrelace,’ it was difficult for the diseurs to re¬
collect the poem ; and of Sir Tristrem, in particular, he
avers, that he never heard a perfect recital, because of some
one ‘ copple’ or stanza, a part was always omitted. Hence
he argues at length, that he himself, writing not for the min¬
strel or harper, nor to acquire personal fame, but solely to
instruct the ignorant in the history of their country, does
well in chusing a simple structure of verse, which they can
retain correctly on their memory, and a style which is po¬
pular and easily understood. Besides which, he hints at
the ridicule he might draw on his poem, should he intro¬
duce the uncouth names of his personages into a courtly or
refined strain of verse. They were
Great names, but hard in verse to stand.
While he arrogates praise to himself for his choice, he ex¬
cuses Thomas of Erceldoune and Kendale for using a more
ambitious and ornate kind of poetry. They wrote, he says,
for pride (fame) and for nobles, not such as these my igno¬
rant hearers.”1
If the editor of Sir Tristrem be correct in his commen¬
tary, there existed in the time of Robert de Brunne, min¬
strels or poets who composed English poetry to be recited
in the presence of the great, and who, for that purpose, used
a singularly difficult stanza, which was very apt to be mu¬
tilated in recitation. Sir Tristrem, even as it now exists,
shows likewise that considerable art was resorted to in con¬
structing the stanza, and has, from beginning to end, a con¬
cise, quaint, abstract turn of expression, more like the Sax¬
on poetry, than the simple, bald, and diffuse details of the
French minstrel. Besides Sir Tristrem, there remain, we
Romance.
i Sir Tristrem, Introduction, pp. 61—65. Edin. 1804.
268
ROMANCE.
Komance. conceive, at least two other examples of “ gestes written in
quainte Inglis” composed, namely, according to fixed and
complicated rules of verse, and with much attention to the
language, though the effect produced is far from pleasing.
They are both of Scottish origin, which may be explained,
by recollecting, that in the Saxon provinces of Scotland, as
well as at the court, Norman was never generally used; and
therefore it is probable that the English language was more
cultivated in that country at an early period, than in England
itself, where, among the higher orders, it was for a long time
superseded by that of the French conquerors. These roman¬
ces, entitled Sir Gawain, and Sir Gologras, and Sir Ga-
leran of Galloway, have all the appearance of being original
compositions, and display considerable poetical effort. But
the uncouth use of words dragged in for the sake of alliteration,
and used in secondary and oblique meanings, renders them
extremely harsh in construction, as well as obscure in meaning.
In England it would seem that the difficulties pointed out
by De Brunne, early threw out of fashion this ornate kind
of composition; and the English minstrels had no readier re¬
source than translating from the French, who supplied their
language at the same time with the phrases of chivalry
which did not exist in English. These compositions pre¬
sented many facilities to the minstrel. He could, if pos¬
sessed of the slightest invention, add to them at pleasure,
and they might as easily be abridged when memory failed,
or occasion required. Accordingly, translations from the
French fill up the list of English romance. They are ge¬
nerally written in short lines rhyming together; though
often, by way of variety, the third and sixth lines are made
to rhyme together, and the poem is thus divided into stanzas
of three couplets each. In almost all of these legends, re¬
ference is made to “ the romance,” that is, some composi¬
tion in the French language, as to the original authority.
Nay, which is very singular, tales where the subjects appear
to be of English growth, seem to have yet existed in French
ere they were translated into the language of the country
to which the heroes belonged. This seems to have been
the case with Hornchild, with Guy of Warwick, with Be-
vis of Hampton, all of which appear to belong originally to
England; yet are their earliest histories found in the French
language, or at least the vernacular versions refer to such
for their authority. Even the romance of Richard, Eng¬
land s own Coeur de Lion, has perpetual references to the
French original from which it was translated. It must na¬
turally be supposed that these translations were inferior to
the originals ; and whether it was owing to this cause, or
that the composition of these rhymes was attended with too
much facility, and so fell into the hands of very inferior
composers, it is certain, and is proved by the highest au¬
thority, that of Chaucer himself, that even in his time these
rhyming romances had fallen into great contempt. The^me
of Sir Bhopas, which that poet introduces as a parody, un¬
doubtedly, ofthe rhythmical romances of theage, is interrupt¬
ed by mine host Harry Bailly, with the strongest and most
energetic expressions of total and absolute contempt. But
though the minstrels were censured by De Brunne, for lack
of skill and memory, and the poems which they recited were
branded as “ drafty rhymings,” by the far more formidable
censure of Chaucer, their acceptation with the public in gene¬
ral musthave been favourable, since, besides manyunpublish-
ed volumes, the two publications of Ritson and Weber bear
evidence of their popularity. Some original compositions
doubtless occur among so many translations, but they are
not numeroes, and few have been preserved. The poem of
Sir Eger and Sir Greme, which seems of Scottish origin,
has no French original; nor has any been discovered either
of the Squire of Low Degree, Sir Eglamour, Sir Plein-
damour, or some others. But the French derivation of the
two last names renders it probable that such may exist.
The minstiels and their compositions seem to have fallen
into utter contempt about the time of Henry VIII. There Romance,
is a piteous picture of their condition in the person of Rich-
ard Sheale, which it is impossible to read without compas¬
sion, if we consider that he was the preserver at least, if not
the author of the celebrated heroic ballad of Chevy Chace,
at w'hich Sir Philip Sidney’s heart wras wont to beat as at
the sound of a ti’umpet. This luckless minstrel had been
robbed on Dunsmore Heath, and, shame to tell, he was
unable to persuade the public that a son of the Muses had
ever been possessed of the sixty pounds which he aver¬
red he had lost on the occasion. The account he gives of
the effect upon his spirits is melancholy, and yet ridiculous
enough.
After my robbery my memory was so decayde,
That I colde neather syng, nor talke, my wytts wer so dismayde,
My audacitie was gone, and all my myrry tawk :
Ther ys sum heare have sene me as myrry as a hawke;
But nowe I am so trublyde with phansis in my mynde,
That I cannot play the myrry knave, accordyng to my kynd.
Yet to tak thought, I perseve, ys not the next waye
To bring me out of det, my creditors to paye.
I may well say that I hade but well hape,
For to lose about threscore pounde at a clape.
The losse of my mony did not greve me so sore,
But the talke of the pyple dyde greve me moch mor.
Sum sayde I was not robde, I was but a lyeng knave,
Yt was not possyble for a mynstrell so much mony to have.
In dede, to say the truthe, that ys ryght well knowene,
That I never had so moche mony of myn owene,
But I had frendds in London, whos namys I can declare,
That at all tyms wold lende me cc.lds. worth of ware,
And sum agayn such frendship I founde,
That thei wold lend me in mony nyn or tene pownde.
The occasion why I cam in dete I shall make relacion,
My wyff in dede ys a sylk woman be her occupacion,
And lynen cloths most chefly was her greatyste trayd,
And at faris and merkytts she solde sale-ware that she made ;
As shertts, smockys, partlytts, hede clothes, and othar thinggs,
As sylk thredd, and eggyngs, skirrts, bandds, and strings.
From The Chant of Richard Sheale,
British Bibliographer, No. xiii. p. 101.
Elsewhere, Sheale hints that he had trusted to his harp,
and to the well known poverty attached to those who used
that instrument, to bear him safe through Dunsmore Heath.
At length the order of English minstrels was formally put
down by the act 39th of Queen Elizabeth, classing them
with sturdy beggars and vagabonds ; in which disgraceful
fellowship they only existed in the capacity of fiddlers, who
accompanied their instrument with their voice. Such a
character is introduced in the play of Monsieur Thomas,
as the “ poor fiddler who says his songs.” The metrical
romances which they recited also fell into disrepute, though
some of the more popular, sadly abridged and adulterated,
continued to be published in chap, hooks, as they are called.
About fifty or sixty years since, a person acquired the nick¬
name of Roseival and Lilian, from singing that romance
about the streets of Edinburgh, which is probably the very
last instance of the proper minstrel craft.
If the metrical romances of England can boast of few
original compositions, they can show yet fewer examples of
the prose romance. Sir Thomas Malory, indeed, compiled,
from various French authorities, his celebrated Morte dlAr¬
thur, indisputably the best prose romance the language can
boast. There is also Arthur of Little Britain; and the
Lord Berners compiled the romance of the Knight of the
Swan. The books of Amadis were likewise translated in¬
to English ; but it may be doubted whether the country in
general ever took that deep interest in the perusal of these
records of love and honour with which they were greeted
in France. Their number was fewer; and the attention
paid to them in a country where great political questions
began to be agitated, was much less than when the feudal
system still continued in its full vigour.
III. We should now say something on those various kinds
ROMANCE.
Romance, of romantic fictions which succeeded to the romance of chi-
valry. But we can only notice briefly works which have
long slumbered in oblivion, and which certainly are not wor¬
thy to have their slumbers disturbed.
Pastoral Even in the time of Cervantes, the pastoral romance,
romance, founded upon the Diana of George of Monte Mayor, was
prevailing to such an extent as made it worthy of his satire.
It was, indeed, a system still more remote from common
sense and reality than that of chivalry itself. For the max¬
ims of chivalry, high-strained and absurd as they are, did
actually influence living beings, and even the fate of king¬
doms. If Amadis de Gaul was a fiction, the Chevalier
Bayard was a real person. But the existence of an Arca¬
dia, a pastoral region, in which a certain fantastic sort of
personages, desperately in love, and thinking of nothing else
but their mistresses, played upon pipes, and wrote sonnets
from morning to night, yet were supposed all the while to
be tending their flocks, was too monstrously absurd to be
long credited or tolerated.
Heroic ro- A numerous, and once most popular class of fictions, was
mances. that entitled the heroic romance of the seventeenth century.
If the ancient romance of chivalry, has a right to be call¬
ed the parent of those select and beautiful fictions which
the genius of the Italian poets has enriched with such pe¬
culiar charms, another of its direct descendants, the he¬
roic romance of the seventeenth century, is, with few ex¬
ceptions, the most dull and tedious species of composition
that ever obtained temporary popularity. The old romance
of Heliodorus, entitled Theagenes and Chariclea, supplied
perhaps the earliest model of this style of composition ;
but it was from the romances of chivalry that it derives its
most peculiar characteristics. A man of a fantastic imagi¬
nation, Honore d’Urfe, led the way in this style of compo¬
sition. Being willing to record certain love intrigues of
a complicated nature which had taken place in his own
family, and among his friends, he imagined to himself a
species of Arcadia on the banks of the Lignon, who live for
love, and for love alone. There are two principal stories,
said to represent the family history of D’Urfe and his bro-
MODERN ROMANCE AND NOVEL.
We alluded in the commencement of this essay, to the
division of fictitious narratives in prose, into two classes ;
the romance, in which the interest of the narrative turns
chiefly on marvellous and uncommon incidents; and the
novel, in which the events are accommodated to the ordin¬
ary train of human events, and the modern state of society.
Rise of The rise of this last department of fictitious composition
novel in England, takes place about the commencement of the
writing in eighteenth century ; and its coincidence with the decline
n£ an • 0p j.jie (jrama js remarkable. The novel aspired, in fact, to
perform for a reading and refined age, what the drama had
done for a ruder and more excitable period; to embody
the spirit of the times in pictures at once amusing and ac¬
curate, and in the form best calculated to awaken attention
and interest in those to whom they are addressed. In the
earlier periods of a national literature, while the poetical
and imaginative spirit of the time takes the direction of the
long prose romance, the task of painting manners, and sa¬
tirizing follies, and displaying the comic oddities of charac¬
ter, is most efficiently performed by the drama. Its strength,
terseness, and brevity, with the aid of action and scenery,
present the manners living as they rise, wuth abundance of
force at least, and probably, for a time, with sufficient fidel¬
ity. But as society becomes more decorous, and peculiar¬
ities of manners less marked, the pictures exhibited by the
The novel stage are aptt0 become less true; for dramatic effect appears
a substitute to demand something more stimulating than reality affords ;
for the and hence the drama, with a pardonable leaning to the prin-
drama. cipie 0f stage effect, often continues to reproduce the man-
269
ther, with about thirty episodes, in which the gallantries and Romance,
intrigues of Henry IV.’s court are presented under borrow-
ed names. Considered by itself, this is but an example of
the pastoral romance ; but it wras so popular that three cele¬
brated French authors, Gomberville, Calprenede, and Ma¬
dame Scuderi, seized the pen, and composed in emulation
many interminable folios of heroic romance. In these in¬
sipid performances, a conventional character, and a set of
family manners and features, are ascribed to the heroes and
heroines, although selected from distant ages, and various
quarters of the world. The heroines are, without excep¬
tion, models of beauty and perfection ; and, so well per¬
suaded of it themselves, that to approach them with the
most humble declaration of love, was a crime sufficient to de¬
serve the penalty of banishment from their presence ; and it
is well if the doom were softened to the audacious lover, by
permission, or command to live, without which, absence and
death were to be accounted synonymous. On the other hand,
the heroes, whatever kingdoms they have to govern, or other
earthly duties to perform, live through these folios for love
alone; and the most extraordinarv revolutions which can
agitate the world, are ascribed to the charms of a Mandana,
or a Statira, acting upon the crazy understanding of their
lovers. Nothing can be so uninteresting as the frigid ex¬
travagance with which these lovers express their passion ;
or, in their own phrase, nothing can be more freezing than
their flames, more creeping than their flights of love.
Yet the line of metaphysical gallantry which they exhibit¬
ed, had its date, and a long one, both in France and
England. In the latter country they continued to be read
by our grandmothers during the Augustan age of English;
and while Addison was amusing the world with his wit, and
Pope by his poetry, the ladies were reading Clelia, Cleo¬
patra, and the Grand Cyrus. The fashion did not decay till
about the reign of George I.; and even more lately, Mrs. Len¬
nox, patronized by Dr. Johnson, wrote a very good imita¬
tion of Cervantes, entitled The Female Quixote, which had
those works for its basis. They are now totally forgotten.
(w.s—TT.)
ners, vices, and humours of a preceding age, long after they
have ceased to exist, merely because they are found better
adapted to that broad and strongly-coloured delineation
in which it chiefly deals. Thus, though the age of Van-
burgh, Congreve, and Wycherley, was probably not a very
moral age, and the tone even of its polite conversation, would
probably appear somewhat questionable to modern ears,
there seems to be no reason to believe that the universal
profligacy of manners, and boundless licence of conversa¬
tion which are exhibited in the comedies of these writers,
really characterised the period at which they wrote. Their
Wlldairs, Sir John Brutes, Lady Touchwoods, and Mrs.
Frails, are conventional reproductions of those wild gallants
and demireps which figure in the licentious dramas of Dry-
den and Shadwell. They represented the manners and the
morals of an age gone by; and the audiences who tolerat¬
ed these indecencies for the sake of the wit by which they
were occasionally redeemed, would have been revolted by
their exaggeration and incorrectness, if they had looked
upon them as exhibitions of society as it existed. The drama,
then, had ceased to be the mirror in which the age could
contemplate itself, and exhibited the license of a masque,
or the extravagance of a caricature, much more than the
sobriety of actual life, or the fidelity of a portrait. Besides,
there are many lesser traits of character, many sentiments
and feelings, which are not at all dramatic, and which had
therefore been overlooked by writers for the stage, yet in
themselves highly interesting and curious, and capable, when
judiciously employed, of exercising a strong influence on
the feelings. These become more prominent, and stana
out in brighter relief, as the restraints of civilization gradu-
270
Romance
ROMANCE.
Field of
the novel
wider than
the drama.
Blending
of the
novel and
romance-
ally throw into the background the wilder passions and
more stormy impulses of our nature, until they acquire an
importance which not only justifies, but renders their in¬
troduction into any fictitious narrative which represents the
peculiarities of the time, necessary ; and for this purpose,
the calm and even march of the novel, and the detailed de¬
velopment both of sentiment and incident which it allows,
is found to be admirably adapted. It is in the works of our
novelists, therefore, rather than our dramatists, and in those
passages in our essayists of Queen Anne’s time, in which
they treat of past fashions, manners, whims, and humours, that
we must look for the changes which society has undergone,
and from which we must try to realize to ourselves the
features which it exhibited at any particular period.
The novel, then, affords a wider field for accurate and
complete delineation of passions and feelings than the
drama, and certainly one more in harmony with the dis¬
positions of a modern public. In powerful effects no doubt
it cannot compete with the stage. The whole range of
novel or romance contains nothing, for instance, which in its
tremendous impression, can be compared with the explo¬
sion of passion in the third act of Othello ; but, on the other
hand, it has greatly the advantage in the impression of veri¬
similitude which it leaves behind, produced by the accu¬
mulation of many particulars and minute traits of charac¬
ter ; in pleasing interchanges of action and repose ; in the
delineation of emotions, which the drama, speaking only to
the eye and the ear, cannot lay before us ; in the descrip¬
tions of external scenery, which, in the hand of a writer of
genius, are far more effective, when presented in words to
the imagination, than when counterfeited to the eye upon
the stage, even by all the united resources of the scene-
painter and the mechanist; and which, from the strong con¬
nection that exists between the state of our feelings and
external influences, are found in the hands of a judicious
novelist to afford powerful materials for deepening the per¬
vading tone of sentiment which he aims to produce ; just
as in painting relief and effect are obtained by the tone
and character of the background against which the figures
are opposed. Another advantage obtained by the sub¬
stitution of narrative fiction for the drama, was, that a much
wider licence was obtained in the conduct of the plot. A
good plot is no doubt as essential to the novel as the drama ;
but the kind of plot which may be used with effect in each,
and the manner in which the incidents are to be conducted,
differ materially. A play in which every scene does not
grow out of the preceding, and lead directly into the next,
with a visible progress of plot, is in that respect faulty. On
the contrary, in the novel and romance, as in real life, much
is admissible which is episodical, which does not directly
help forward nor produce the catastrophe, but merely tends
to bring out some point of character in the personages re¬
presented, or to increase the air of verisimilitude in the main
story, by the appearance of minute and literal correctness
in the details. In the novel or romance, too, it has been
generally remarked that the catastrophe maybe made to turn
upon accident, but that this is inadmissible in the drama.1
Ihus the catastrophe in the Bride of Lammermoor, where
Ravenswood is swallowed up by a quicksand, is singularly
giand in romance, J5ut would be inadmissible in a drama.
And on the same jrinciple, Schiller has, in his Fiesco,
thought himself compelled to deviate from the actual truth
of history, and to ascribe the Count’s death, not to an acci¬
dental sturaole from a plank, but to the hand of the repub¬
lican Verrina. In a novel, the real catastrophe would have
been fai more impressive in its moral effect than the ima¬
ginary one ; but Schiller held, and we think rightly, that in
the diama nothing must be accident, but every t\\\ng result.
Although, as compared with the romance, the term novel
may be said to indicate a class of fictions dealing more with Romance,
calm feelings, and with manners and humours, than with
strong passions, and deriving its interest more from the pro¬
bability than the marvellous nature of its incidents, this de¬
finition is not to be taken too literally ; for there are many
works which we might call novels, in as much as the scene
is laid in modern times, and the general course of the inci¬
dents is that of every-day life, but in which the even tenor
of the story is occasionally broken by scenes of powerful
passion, or incidents of a mysterious and terrible character,
elevating the composition for the time into the sphere of
the romantic; so that perhaps the word tale, as a middle
term between the others, would most appropriately describe
them. It has been doubted whether, although such a union
of the common-place with the extraordinary, be not unfre-
quently met with in the course of real life, a more cau¬
tious separation of these elements would not, on the whole,
be most favourable to the effect of a narrative as a work of
art; and whether the attempt to blend them, does not pro¬
duce in fiction, something of that illegitimate effect which
is the result of the melo-drama on the stage. It is certain,
however, that the tendency for some time past, and parti¬
cularly since the school of fiction introduced by Sir Walter
Scott, has been towards a mixture of the novel and ro¬
mance in the same composition, so that broad comedy is
often found alternating with the pathetic, the gaiety of a
ball-room with midnight murders upon lonely heaths, and
the disclosure of some piece of fashionable scandal standing
side by side with the discovery of some secret and fearful crime.
In the hands of our .great masters of fiction, we admit the
fine effect which these occasionally produce. Judiciously
arranged, these opposites are the light and shadow of the
composition ; but even in our greatest modern novelist, we
could point out not a few instances in which this sort of
contrast is carried too faq; 'while in many of his imitators, it
is so regularly and mechanically introduced, that, as in the
case of Mr.Puff’s stage arrangements, we can always predict
that the discharge of cannon will be followed by soft music.
When the declining popularity of the pastoral and
heroic romance of the seventeenth century, suggested the
necessity of opening a new vein in fiction, it is probable
that the stilted, unnatural, and exaggerated character of
those effete compositions led the public taste, by a natural
recoil of feeling, into the opposite extreme, viz. the selec¬
tion of topics and characters from common, and even from
vulgar life, and a literal adherence to nature, even at the risk
of the sacrifice of art. For we pass over the tiresome and
licentious love stories of Mrs. Aphra Behn, with the just re- Mrs. Behn.
mark of Sir Richard Steele, that the lady appears to have
“understood the practical part of love better than the specu¬
lative, as well as those of her imitator, Mrs. Heywood, in Mrs. Hey-
which the struggle between the high sentimental characterwood-
of the heroic romance, and the growing taste for a style of
portraiture more true to the life, is very obvious, and come
at once to the writer by whom the inspiration of reality w as
carried to its greatest perfection.
Defoe, (1661—1731) without high imagination, with no Defoe,
power of raising the passions, with little pathos and no
eloquence, had yet that peculiar genius which enabled
him to excel within the peculiar department which he
chose for himself; that of counterfeiting homely truth by
fiction, and forging, as it wrere, the handwriting of nature
herself, with a dexterity which defied detection. Whether
Defoe was led to*the selection of his peculiar themes, by
a real sympathy with roguery, (and his conduct in regard to
the well-known imposture of Mrs. Veal’s Ghost would jus¬
tify us in believing him to be like Gil Bias, “ tant soi peu
fripon;”) or by the influence of the Spanish romances of
roguery, such as Lazaro de Tormes, Marcos de Obregon,
1 See some valuable papers on Art in Fiction, ascribed, w'e believe with justice, to Sir L.
Bulwer. Monthly Chronicle, Nos. i. and ii.
271
ROMANCE.
Romance, and Gusman d’Alfarache, with some of which it is highly
probable that he was acquainted through translations ; or
whether his strong vulgar likenesses of seafaring personages,
half privateer, half mariner, and his fondness for the deli¬
neation of equivocal characters of all kinds, arose from his
familiarity with the one class, through his residence at Lime-
house, and his acquaintance with Dampier,—and with the
other, from his long and frequent imprisonments;—it is cer¬
tain that though he had no intention of favouring immorality,
he yet enters upon the delineation of personages, and scenes
of roguery, low profligacy and vice, with a degree of curiosity
and complacency, and dwells upon them with a fondness
and minuteness of detail, altogether uncommon, and not a
little unaccountable in a person who in his opinions sa¬
voured of the puritan. This strange labour of love, and study
of the morbid anatomy of society, has resulted in a series of
night pieces from the haunts of crime, which, though sombre
and gloomy in a high degree, and little suited to a cultivated
taste, nay, indeed, frequently producing on the mind the pain¬
ful effect of a real chapter from the Newgate Calendar, yet
display the most wonderful invention and keeping in all their
parts, and a coherence and dexterity of adaptation to each
other, which render the ordinary tests by which we endeavour
to discriminate a fictitious from a real narrative, inadequate
or altogether inapplicable to these singular compositions of
Defoe. Whatever might be the motive of his humility of
choice, Defoe, like many of his favourite heroes, was per¬
fectly contented to take up his abode in the back settle¬
ments of fiction, and was most at home in that Alsatia of Ro¬
mance, the purlieus of which, by common consent, his more
ambitious predecessors had sedulously avoided, as discre¬
ditable or dangerous. The transition from their refined
Orondates’ and Statiras, to the society of the Captain Jack
and Moll Flanders of Defoe, is, to use a phrase of Sterne,
like turning from Alexander the Great to Alexander the cop¬
persmith. In his novels, we rarely meet with any thing more
exalted or respectable, than masters of trading vessels, deal¬
ers in small wares, supercargoes, or, it may be, pickpockets,
pirateiT candidates for the plantations, or emeriti who have
already obtained that distinction. In the foreground, we
have the cabin, the night cellar, the haunts of fraud, or the
round-house; in the distance, Newgate, or Execution Dock.
There can be but one opinion, however, as to the wonderful
air of veracity, resembling that of a deposition upon oath,
which Defoe "has imparted to his fictitious creations, and
which his genius effects, mainly by accumulation of details,
non vi sed scepe cadendo; often even by the introduction of a
multitude of irrelevant particulars and repetitions, just as
in the conversation of uneducated persons in real life. Ac¬
cordingly the result, as a simulacrum of reality, is one of
magical deception. Lord Chatham, it is well known, took
his Memoirs of a Cavalier for a real history ; Dr, Mead be¬
lieved his Journal of the Plague to be the work of a medi¬
cal man, and his impudent but most plausible history of the
apparition of Mrs. Veal, being received by many sober-mind¬
ed persons as an actual apocalypse from the spiritual world,
was the means, as is well known, of disposing of an unsale¬
able edition of Drelincourt upon death.
But notwithstanding this peculiar power of stamping the
impression of reality upon the coinage of his imagination,
which, to say the truth, was seldom of the finest metals, it
may be safely affirmed, that but for his Robinson Crusoe,
Defoe would scarcely now be remembered as a writer of
fiction. The charm of that work, the first part of which ap¬
peared in 1719, is, that it emaacipates us from those low
haunts and questionable society with which his other novels
make us acquainted. We escape from the fumes of to¬
bacco and strong waters, to breathe a purer air on that lone
island placed far amidst the melancholy main, where he has
imprisoned his shipwrecked mariner; and while Defoe’s unri¬
valled power of inventing a series of probable minutiae, both
in the way of reflexion and incident, enables him to con- Romans,
duct with consummate skill, what we may call the self-edu-'s^^y^^
cation of Crusoe in his solitude,—the process by which he
adapts himself to his situation, and the gradual triumphs
which, by his ingenuity and patience, he obtains over the
difficulties and privations by which he is surrounded, till he
changes desolation into comfort;—the imagination of the
writer is visibly raised beyond its usual grovelling level
by the romance of the situation which he describes. His
genius imbibes the spirit of the place ; it. imparts to the
cave of the sailor, something of the seclusion and purity of
a hermitage ; till the simple train of reflections which he
puts into the mouth of his uneducated mariner, upon the
sublimity and awfulness of solitude, impress the mind more
than the most eloquent declamation. It is a fine proof
how completely Defoe has succeeded in interesting us for
the solitary being to whom he has given a poetical life, and
attuned the mind of his readers to that sentiment of silence
and unbroken repose which is breathed over the scene of
his imprisonment,—“ where all the air a solemn stillness
holds,”—that after a time the least incident which threatens
to disturb the security of the cave, or the solitude of the
island, assumes importance in our eyes, and the groan of an
old goat expiring in a cave, or the print of a man’s foot in
the sand, awaken a feeling of suspense and anxiety which
many a writer has in vain laboured to excite by a prodigal
expenditure of the machinery of terror.
That Robinson Crusoe may be considered in a great mea¬
sure as a fortunate accident, and that its main charm arises
from the more poetical and refined character which the na¬
ture of the story and its locality almost necessarily impress¬
ed upon it, is indeed evident from the visible inferiority of
the second part, where the seclusion of the scene is broken
in upon, and Defoe peoples the island with his usual retinue
of planters and ship’s captains ; a production which scarcely
rises above the level of his Captain Singleton.
The application of the same principle of producingeffectby
minuteness of detail rather than by grasp, or the selection
of a few marking traits, is visible in our next great novelist,
Richardson (1689-1761,) but the principle is applied in a Richardson,
different and higher way. Defoe was satisfied with weaving
chains of probable incidents, which might be fitted to any
character, or at least any character of a given class, such
as a mariner or a merchant, a planter or a pickpocket. He
did not care, at all events he did not labour, to indivi¬
dualize character. Crusoe, his most finished portrait, is
still only the average representative of all shipwrecked ma¬
riners ; his reflections and his struggles, embody the hopes,
fears, and efforts, of all men left to maintain a solitary war¬
fare with difficulties. So his Captain Jack, born a gentle¬
man and bred a pickpocket, has nothing to separate him
from other enfans perdus of the same class. But Richard¬
son aspired to the creation rather of probable character than
probable incident; and to this he applied the same system
of accumulating minute traits of words, thoughts, and ac¬
tions, and reiterating small touches, and minute lights and
shadings, which Defoe had done to the creation of masses
of coherent and plausible events. In the latter department,
indeed, he is probably neither remarkable for success nor
failure. Occasionally, and particularly in his Sir Charles
Grandison, he outrages both patience and probability in no
inconsiderable degree; and so little progress does the nar¬
rative make, that as Johnson remarked to Erskine, “ Were
you to read Richardson for the story, your impatience would
be so fretted, you would go hang yourself.” But even in
the most successful portion of his plots, there is no chance
of our mistaking fiction for fact; the artist does not disap¬
pear behind his creations as in the case of Defoe. The
very form, too, in which his novels are cast, that of a series
of correspondence, however favourable to the display of
traits of character, and minute dissection of sentiment, is
ROMANCE.
272
Romance, almost in itself fatal to the vraisemblance of incident. The
affairs of private life, we cannot help recollecting, are seldom
managed to any great extent through the post-office, while
in many cases it remains a mystery how such matters came
to be committed to paper at all, and least of all under the
circumstances in which they are supposed to be recorded by
these persevering, and, in the existing state of the revenue
laws, formidable correspondents.
There is in the mind of Richardson a very remarkable
union of feminine tastes with masculine vigour. Early ac¬
customed peculiarly to court the society of females ; the
depositary of their gossip, the confidant of their love se¬
crets, the complete letter-writer of a little knot of young
ladies when only thirteen years of age, the deference which
he thus acquired for their tastes, and the insight he obtained
into their habits of thinking, though probably springing,
as Johnson believed, very much from his own vanity and
love of praise, appear to have been of the utmost use to
him in his novels, in which so much of the interest rests
upon the female characters, and in the minute dissection
and study of emotions and sentiments in which women are
either the chief actors or sufferers. The traces of this in¬
fluence appear constantly, and sometimes in excess, in the
minute accuracy with which he dwells, in description, upon
those little particulars of looks, and voice, and gesture, and
turns of speech, which men in their correspondence gene¬
rally overlook, but which women note with such care, and
interpret with such sagacity ; in the complacency with which
he dwells on the details of robes and wedding-dresses, which
are conceived in the spirit of a waiting-woman, and exe¬
cuted with the learning of a man-milliner, and which, as in
the minute description given by Lovelace of Clarissa’s
dress at the time of her elopement, are occasionally intro¬
duced in the worst place.
The more favourable results of these tastes are exhibited
in the wonderful familiarity he evinces with the feelings and
sympathies of women; for though in his notions of perfection,
either in manners or morals, we of another age often see cause
to depart from Richardson’s standard, we may trust impli¬
citly to his accuracy when he is delineating the move¬
ments of passion in the female breast, the revolutions of
feeling, or the struggle between feeling and delicacy. In
his female portraits, even more than in his corresponding
delineations of male character, we acknowledge the justice
of the remark which Sir Walter Scott applies to his por¬
traits generally, that “ in his survey of the heart he left
neither head, bay, nor inlet behind him, until he had traced
its soundings, and laid it down in his chart, with all its mi¬
nute sinuosities, its depths, and its shallows.” This accu¬
racy, indeed, constitutes at once his strength and his weak¬
ness ; for not content with having surveyed the coast and
taken its bearings, he still, from the very pride of discovery,
insists on following the windings of the shore, and pointing
out its landmarks, when those on board would have gladly
seen him make his passage by the shortest course. It was
the misfortune of Richardson that, like nervous men in
company, or like painters who go on re-touching till the pic¬
ture becomes loaded, he never knew when to have done,
either with a character or a conversation. He was unskilful,
as DTsraeli remarks, in the art of writing, and “ could never
lay his pen down while his inkhorn supplied it.” Even as
regards the description of sentiment or the creation of cha¬
racteristic dialogue, the field in which Richardson was most
at home, it is certain that he carried his system, probably
as much from this inability to leave off as from choice, to ex¬
tremes, particularly in his last novel, Sir Chprles Grandison;
and unless the reader selects that work on the system of
the old lady mentioned by Sir Walter Scott, who chose it
because she could sleep for half an hour at any time during
its perusal, and still find the personages just where she left
them, conversing in the cedar parlour, he will probably
think there is more justice than DTsraeli seems willing to Romance,
admit in the cold remark of D’Alembert, “ La nature est
bonne a imiter, mais non pas jusqu a VennuiT
It is not often that with this feminine character of intel¬
lect, a masculine vigour in painting scenes of a passionate
and terrible cast is found united; and yet Richardson has
proved his mastery over the higher passions, not less than
his minute study of sentiment and manners, in the conclu¬
sion of Clarissa Harlowe. To apply to him the epithet of
the Shakspeare of prose fiction, which has been done by
DTsraeli, is extravagant. A solitary creation of this kind,
highly pathetic and morally impressive as it is, is but a nar¬
row basis on which to rest the claims of the novelist to such
a title. But the conception of the noble character of Clarissa
Harlowe, set off by such a foil as is afforded by that of Love¬
lace, perhaps the most finished picture of the self-possessed
and insinuating libertine ever drawn (and certainly as great
an improvement on that of the Lothario from which it was
drawn, as Rowe’s hero had been on the vulgar rake of
Massinger), and the closing scenes of that novel, are at all
events sufficient to place Richardson among the great
writers of fiction ; among the few who have formed a strik¬
ing and original conception, which they have wrought out
with a corresponding felicity and power.
A strong contrast to the subtlety, the fine perception, Fiel(jjn„
and the power over the passions evinced by Richardson,
is presented by his rival Fielding (1707-1754), who, with
no command of the pathetic, and no taste for that minute
analysis of sentiment and wire-drawing of description in
which our English Marivaux indulges, has yet maintained
a more general and permanent popularity, by a combina¬
tion of qualities well suited for the purpose. His grasp of
observation led him to select with unerring sagacity the
leading traits of ordinary character, and to epitomize na¬
ture with skill, instead of transcribing her at full length.
His field of delineation admits of such variety and contrast,
that in fact it excludes none but the highest and most poeti¬
cal elements, in which Fielding had neither power of ob¬
servation or conception. His flow of animal spirits and
healthy vivacity of manner, contrast strangely with the
Dutch finishing of Richardson’s pencilling, but are as well
suited to the active, out-of-door scenes which Fielding
loved to draw, in his pictures of imbroglios at ale-houses,
and the stirring life of the road, as the painstaking inven¬
tories of Richardson were to his still-life interiors, and the
drowsy monotony of the occupations of the inhabitants. To
these he added, at least in his great work Tom Jones, the
charm of a plot of unrivalled skill, in which the complex
threads of interest are all brought to bear upon the catas¬
trophe in a manner equally unexpected and simple, a grave
humour, and power of quiet satire unmixed with caricature,
in which he is equally superior to Richardson and Smollett.
And with his other requisites he combined a knowledge of
English life, both in its better features and its deformi¬
ties, by which we mean, of the essential qualities of men,
as modified at that time by the accidents of situation,
education, and pursuits,—the result, perhaps; of a long,
and not always reputable experience,—to which Rich¬
ardson, surrounded by a circle of female gossips, and
weaving out his materials in his quiet back-shop, purely
from the stores of his imagination, can make but slender
pretension.
Amelia, much as it was admired by Johnson, is greatly
inferior to Tom Jones. If the tone of the latter be far from
high, that of Amelia is creeping and vulgar in no ordinary
degree. Booth has Jones’ vices with an additional shade of
meanness. Half the plot turns on the embarrassments of
debt and contrivances to make both ends meet; and one or
other of the characters is generally in a spunging-house.
Such, too, is the infirmity of human nature, that we really
find it difficult to preserve a sufficiently romantic respect
ROMANCE.
Romance, for the heroine, pretty and amiable as she is, when the
saucepan is seldom out of her hand.
“Kec tantum veneris quantum studiosa culinm.”
The finish is put to the whole by the accident which mars
even the personal attractions of the heroine ; for though the
public were willing to regard Clarissa, after the outrage to
her honour, with undiminished sympathy, it is certain they
have not been equally indulgent to Amelia, after the mis¬
fortune of the broken nose.
We have already, however, in our biographical notice of
Fielding, quoted so amply from Sir Walter Scott’s critique
upon his genius and works, that instead of pursuing an ex¬
hausted theme, we refer our readers to that article.
Smollett. The name of Fielding always suggests that of his rival
Smollett (1721-1774), though, as writers of fiction, they
rather admit of being contrasted than compared. They
have, in fact, very few, if any, points in common ; agreeing
only perhaps in a preference for the delineation of the comic,
or the common, over the impassioned and poetical. They
chose different departments in novel-writing, and they cul¬
tivated them by different means. As Fielding was the faith¬
ful and graphic painter of all the common features of cha¬
racter, so the extraordinary and the eccentric were the pecu¬
liar appanage of Smollett. He either did not feel sufficiently
the charm of the natural in character, and its power of end¬
less re-combination in the hands of a great artist, or he
doubted his own powers, at least in comparison with Field¬
ing, of extracting novelty from such simple materials. But
the sphere of humorous exaggeration appeared to be open
to him, without the awe of a predecessor or the dread of a
rival; on that, therefore, he concentrated his powers of
mind, neglecting in a great measure the other requisites of
fiction ; and undoubtedly with a success which leaves him,
within the province which he was the first to occupy, and
with the occupation of which he was content, still the un¬
disputed sovereign. No one has ever yet equalled him in
the observation, or where that does not serve his purpose,
the creation, of oddities and exceptional characters which
never did or could exist, but still with just enough of hu¬
manity about them to give us an interest in their eccentric
movements; or in the invention of combinations of burlesque
incidents, not always of the best odour, which his fertile
fancy showers forth spontaneously as from a cornucopia;
mistakes, rencontres, equivoques, whimsicalities of speech
or action, all generally the best calculated to bring in high-
raised and ludicrous relief the comic aberrations of the cha-
racted represented, and to develop its latent madness; and
never failing, at all events, to produce that result which
Smollett seemed far more studious to attain than that of
“purging the passions by pity or terror;” namely, the ex¬
citement of abroad-grin mirth, and “ laughter holding both
his sides.” That the characters, where they have any de¬
cided features at all, are generally caricatures ; for instance,
that such commodores and lieutenants as Trunnion and
Hatchway never floated even under the primitive flag of
Benbow ; that the absurdities of Pallet are painted an inch
thick ; that by no human possibility could such an accumu¬
lation of comic disasters have befallen the characters of the
tale, may, and indeed must be granted, even by Smollett’s
warmest admirers. But if, following Smollett’s own ex¬
ample, we throw nature mainly out of the question, and
look to what seems to have been his real aim, the objection
of want of verisimilitude, while it may retain its truth,
seems to lose half its force, and, we may add, wholly its
power of conviction. It is in vain to point out the extra¬
vagance of the scene where Joker, in an agony of terror, on
hearing the direction given to put on the dead lights in the
storm olf Calais, goes through the steps of a mathematical
proposition with infinite fervour, instead of a prayer; or to
criticise the manoeuvres of Trunnion, tacking his way to
VOL. XIX.
273
church on his wedding-day in consequence of a head wind ; Romance,
when the reader cannot see the force of the objection through '
tears of laughter. In that consummation which he chiefly
aimed at, and in which he rarely fails, Smollett has gained
his end;—solvuutur risu tabulce; the sense of the impro¬
bability of the conceptions is lost in the irrepressible mer¬
riment which they occasion.
Humour, then, was the quality in which Smollett felt him¬
self strongest; character, incident, the excitement of the
feelings, were obviously with him minor considerations.
There is no difficulty in discriminating his style of humour
from that of Fielding. Fielding’s is calmer, chaster, perhaps
of a higher kind than Smollett’s, but it certainly has not its
breadth, force, and felicity. Smollett could hardly have
created in its main features so gentle a humourist as Parson
Adams, so he probably could have scarcely imagined a
stroke of humour so delicate and appropriate to the cha¬
racter, as when the Parson offers to walk ten miles to fetch
his sermon against Vanity, in order to convince his auditor
of his total freedom from that vice. But neither, on the
other hand, could Fielding have imagined the inimitable feast
after the manner of the ancients, the apparition of Pipes to
the Commodore, the terror of Pallet on learning the sup¬
posed conditions of his emancipation from the Bastile, or
the ludicrous concatenation of mischances which beset the
luckless inmates of the inn in Flanders “ doing or suffer¬
ing.” Some scenes of this sort, in which Fielding enters
into competition with Smollett, such as those at the inn at
Upton, are among the least successful in his novels. The
effort to raise the waters, the malice prepense in the pre¬
paration of the comic machinery, is too obvious; and after
all, though he creates abundance of confusion, he raises
but few smiles.
In another quality, though he has but rarely availed him¬
self of his powers in this respect, Smollet far surpassed
Fielding; we mean in his power of exciting the emotions
of terror, or the sublime. From scenes of this kind, Field¬
ing, knowing the prosaic turn of his own mind, and the
limits of his invention, kept at a respectful distance ; Smol¬
lett, who felt within himself the spirit of a poet, has occa¬
sionally ventured upon them, and with complete success.
The robber scene in the old woman’s hut in Count Fathom,
though often imitated since, still remains one of the most
impressive and agitating night-pieces of its kind; and the
sublimity of the situation on ship-board, where Random
sits chained to the poop during an engagement, covered
with the blood and brains of the wounded, and screaming
in delirium, has been often pointed out.
The morality of Smollett and Fielding is nearly on a par ;
with this difference, that the slight dash of generosity which
is infused into the blackguardism of Tom Jones, while it
renders him more natural, makes him at the same time
more dangerous than the selfish and often ruffianly heroes
of Smollett, whom we despise or dislike, even while laugh¬
ing at the cruel frolics in which they indulge. The heroes
of the latter are mere animals, good-natured or savage, as the
fit strikes them ; the heroines, with the exception perhaps
of Aurelia Darnel in Sir Lancelot Greaves, the weakest of
Smollett’s works, have been justly described of objects
rather of appetite that affection. In regard, indeed, to any¬
thing like purity of morals or gentlemanly feeling, the in¬
feriority both of Smollett and Fielding to Richardson is
obvious. Richardson sometimes mistook his means, but
his aim was certainly always moral. On the contrary, both
the theory and the practice of Fielding were laticudinarian;
and Smollett, though in real life a man of pure morals, had
a boundless toleration in fiction for certain vices; for most,
indeed, which did not imply want of spirit, courage, or pe¬
cuniary generosity.
In the unity of conception and coherence of incident
which the plot of the novel, though more pliable than that
2 M
)
H
274 ROMANCE.
Romance, of the drama demands, Fielding, in his two principal works
^ (for Joseph Andrews was merely a parody on Richardson’s
Pamela) has a great advantage over Smollett, whose plots
indeed in general scarcely deserve the name, being simply
a series of strange accidents, odd rencontres, tricks, and
frolics, making little or no progress towards the only catas¬
trophe which Smollett seems to have in view, namely, the
marriage of his hero. In his Roderick Random, Peregrine
Pickle, and Count Fathom, Smollett adopted the easy in¬
artificial plan of Gil Bias, in which we are carried through
a succession of scenes where the personages are constantly
changing, and those who take part in the close of the story,
are quite different from those by whom we are surrounded
at its commencement. Fielding, on the contrary, both in
his Tom Jones and Amelia, is singularly attentive to re¬
gularity of plan, and to the dexterous evolution and wind¬
ing-up of his plot, which he regarded as of vital import¬
ance. From the very commencement we perceive that he
keeps his conclusion clearly in view, “ and sees as from a
tower the end of all.” From this attention to symmetry,
and tendency of all the incidents towards the catastrophe,
his best work has been not inaptly termed a prose
epic; it is at all events a happy accommodation of the prin¬
ciples of the epic, so far as they could be rendered appli¬
cable, to the manner of the novel. One exception ought
perhaps to be made from this remark on the imperfection
of Smollett’s plots, in favour of that of Humphrey Clinker,
in which the plot, though not of much art, is naturally
evolved, and a quiet little family romance is gracefully
combined with the usual gallery of oddities which Smol¬
lett never fails to lay before us. In all respects, this is the
most pleasing of his performances. While Lesmahago may
rank with the very best of his extravagances, there is more
of character and less of caricature in the testy yet kind-
hearted Matthew Bramble, “ frosty but kindly,” than in
any personage he has painted ; and though the humour, as
usual, is dashed with filth, without a soupQon, of which in¬
deed Smollett seems always to have thought it wanted
pungency, the tale is entirely free from that indecency
which deforms both Roderick Random and Peregrine
Pickle. We rather think, too, that Smollett had the merit of
originating in this novel that species of the humorous which
arises from bad spelling, and which Sheridan afterwards
applied to mistakes of words in his Mrs Malaprop; a
humble kind of humour no doubt in itself, yet capable, as
Smollett has proved, of powerfully aiding the ludicrous
effect.
Sterne. Equal genius, though far more deformed by affectation,
is visible in Sterne (1713-1768), the first two volumes of
whose Tristram Shandy appeared in 1759. If a regular
progress of incidents towards a catastrophe were an essen¬
tial requisite in a novel, it would be difficult to bring the
works of Sterne within the protection of that definition.
Story he has none to tell; at all events, he tells it not.
But, “ what is a plot good for,” says Bayes, “ except to
bring in good things,” and Sterne adopted the theory of
the dramatist in its full license. At the conclusion of the
eighth volume Tristram is not emancipated from the nur¬
sery, and had Sterne lived to fulfil his threat of carrying
on his work, by the aid of a vegetable diet, through as
many more, the Tristrapaedia, we fear, would still have
made no material progress. Sterne’s singular work owes
its interest, as every one knows, not to the narrative,
which is broken and interrupted by cross currents of the
most wayward and whimsical description, far exceeding all
the fair license of digression, but to his power of seizing on
and bringing forward into distinct consciousness, as Cole¬
ridge says, some of those points on which every man is a
humourist, and to the masterly manner in which he has
brought out the characteristics of two beings of the most
opposite natures, the elder Shandy and Toby, and sur¬
rounded them with a group of followers sketched with equal Romance,
life and individuality: in the Corporal, the obstetric Doctor
Slop; Yorick, the lively and careless parson ; the widow
Wadman and Susannah.
The clue which Sterne chiefly follows through the mazes
of character is humour ;—humour of a very high and pecu¬
liar kind, perfectly original, at least in English. For that
species of riotous humour arising from comic peculiarities
of person and combinations of ludicrous mischances Sterne
has little taste ; though the admirably-painted scene, where
Obadiah on the cart-horse, careering round the corner like
a comet, oversets Dr Slop in a whirlpool of mud ;—and the
cross bills filed by the Doctor and Susannah against each
other in applying the cataplasm, show that if he had consi¬
dered this the highest walk of humour, he might have re¬
velled in it as easily as Smollett himself. But like Fielding,
he preferred the humour which arises from bringing out by
light and happy touches, and as if unconsciously, the
secrets of character ; only with this difference in his favour,
that with Sterne the humour is steeped in sensibility.
Flowing, as it does, as much from the heart as the head, it
speaks also to the affections ; calm smiles ripple over the
countenance as we read, but tears are in the next degree.
Thus, in Sterne, humour and feeling heighten and set off
each other; the pathetic rises in gentle relief out of the
background of the comic, and sinks gracefully and imper¬
ceptibly back into it again. It is this, for instance, which
gives so irresistible a charm to the story of Le Fevre, and
the Corporal’s account in the kitchen of the death of Tris¬
tram’s elder brother, enforced by the eloquent stroke of
dropping the hat, as if a lump of clay had been kneaded
into the crown of it. There is nothing sneering, nothing
unkindly, nothing that revolts the better feelings in his
playful irony. Circum prcecordia ludit. That of Swift
and Voltaire is blighting like an east wind ; the sympathies
of the heart close themselves up against it; but beneath
the genial and balmy humour of Cervantes and Sterne
they relax and blow like flowers expanding beneath the
west wind in spring.
I he two great defects of Sterne, as noticed by Sir Wal¬
ter Scott, are his affectation and his indefensible indecency.
His affectation is the more to be regretted, because his
manner in its happiest moods is the very perfection of a
lively, spirited, spoken style—idiomatic, imaginative, pliant,
and varied. “ Writing, when properly managed,” he him¬
self observes, “ is but a different name for conversation.”
Unfortunately he did not always conform his practice to his
precept. He is sometimes fade in his sentimentality, and
aiming after a sort of false sublime in his imagery. Some
portions of the story of Maria are examples of the first; the
well-known personification of the recording angel in the
close of Le Fevre is an instance of the second. Still more
unworthy of Sterne are those quackeries of the black page
and the white one, the sudden transitions and affected open¬
ings of the chapters, with other harlequinades of authorship,
which are carried to excess in Tristram Shandy.
The indecency of Sterne is more obtrusive and inde¬
fensible than that of either Fielding or Smollett; whose
highly-coloured scenes seem to be the result of an un¬
checked imagination, running on heedless whether its course
lie through purity or filth. Sterne, on the other hand, goes
coldly and deliberately in search of impurity ; seeks for it
in books, refines upon it, mixes it up with his reflections,
and is continually insinuating some equivoque or double
entendre into scenes where we can ill bear with such
adulteration.
Richardson, Fielding, Smollett, and Sterne are the four Goldsmith,
great novelists of this period (the reign of George II.)
which was pre-eminently the age of novel-writing in Eng¬
land. For though we should indeed be sorry to undervalue
the merits of Goldsmith, or the charm of his Vicar of
ROMANCE.
Romance. Wakefield, we cannot quite rank the powers displayed in
v>—that delightful little tale, which appeared in 1763, so highly
as the varied invention displayed-by the writers we have
named, upon the broader canvas which they selected. To
use his own words, it has many faults, and a hundred things
might plausibly be said to prove them beauties. Fortu¬
nately they lie more in the minor parts than in the essen¬
tials of the tale. In fact, the improbability of the plot is
only equalled by the wonderful truth, nature, and keeping of
the principal character, for the “ limae labor” which, in
in this instance, Goldsmith willingly bestowed upon his
style, and on the creation and apposition of traits of cha¬
racter he scrupled to waste upon the selection of his inci¬
dents. The real interest lies in the development of the
character of the amiable Vicar, so rich in heavenly, so poor
in earthly wisdom ;—possessing little for himself, yet ready
to make that little less, whenever misery appeals to his
compassion ;—with enough of literary vanity about him to
show that he shares the weaknesses of our nature,—ready
to be imposed upon by cosmogonies and fictitious bills of
exchange, and yet commanding, by the simple and serene
dignity of goodness, the respect even of the profligate,
and making “ those who came to mock remain to pray.”
Doubtless, the probability and look of life which a character
drawn with such quiet strokes of the pencil, and with such
sobriety of colouring, possesses, is in some measure owing
to the fact, that not a few of the incidents of which Gold¬
smith has availed himself are drawn from circumstances in
his personal history, such as the mistake of setting out to
teach the French English, without recollecting that it was
a necessary preliminary for the tutor to acquire a little
French himself; but the skill which can make such trifles
in real life subservient to the purposes of real fiction is
scarcely less worthy of praise than would have been their
original invention. Perhaps there is no better pro jf of the
broad and general truth of delineation which a novel pos¬
sesses than our being in the habit of resorting to it in con¬
versation for cases in point and comic illustrations of our
opinions. In this respect the Vicar of Wakefield forms a
storehouse of allusion. How naturally does any ridiculous
investment in Mexican mines or Spanish stock recall to our
recollection Moses’ bargain for the gross of green spec¬
tacles ? Who is there that has not been reminded of the
aristocratic Miss Skeggs turning out to be no better than
she should be, notwithstanding her intimacy with the
Duchess and her taste for Shakspeare and the musical
glasses, by some case of the kind within our own expe¬
rience where, reversing the denouement of the Double
Arrangement, the Knight Templar of the company has sunk
into the waiter ? And, for our own part, we must admit
that we have never been able to treat with due gravity
any allusion to the learned speculations of Manetho, Be-
rosus, or Sanchoniathon, from their indissoluble connec¬
tion in our minds with the more finished cosmogony of
Jenkinson.
In one respect Goldsmith rises conspicuously superior
to his brethren ; he has no passages, which, dying, he need
have wished to blot, and his characters and his incidents are
all calculated to call forth only the better feelings of our
nature. Virginibus puerisque might have been his appro¬
priate and uncontested motto.
Cumber- The great, novelists to whom we have alluded, and par-
land. ticularly Fielding, Smollett, and Sterne, had of course
many imitators. But the minuteness of Richardson was
found to be intolerable in any hands but his own, and his
manner, in this country at least, though not in France and
Germany, was soon abandoned. Amongst the numerous
imitations of Fielding’s manner, most of which are now
forgotten, the Henry of Cumberland (1752-1811), is pro¬
bably the most respectable. Cumberland possessed that
degree of talent which enabled him, both in dramatic com-
275
position, and in the novel, to produce performances which Romance,
are read with pleasure, though they seldom rouse our inter-
est, and never impress us with the idea of a creative
genius.
The imitations of Smollett’s manner were not numerous, Charles
and, with one exception, totally without merit. We allude J°hnst°ne.
to The Adventures of a Guinea, by Charles Johnstone,
which appeared in 1761, in which a series of scenes and
personages in different walks of life are brought before us
through the somewhat inartificial mode of making a coin,
which shifts through the hands of successive proprietors,
the historian of their follies and their vices ; a contrivance
very inferior indeed to the ingenious machinery by which
Asmodeus unveils to Don Cleofas the secrets of Spanish
life. In The Adventures of a Guinea, the author seems to
have had before him both Le Sage and Smollett as models ;
but in the result he exhibits little of the gay good-hu¬
moured touch of the Frenchman, and nothing of the cor¬
dial merriment of the Scot.
Sterne is perhaps the only one of our great novelists who Mackenzie,
has found an imitator of genius, in Mackenzie (1745-
1831) ; for although in his Man of the World, and Julia
de Roubigne Mackenzie has deviated from the manner of
Sterne, and formed a composite manner, in which the cha¬
racteristics of several writers are blended with his own, yet
there can be little doubt that the spirit of Sterne, in his
pathetic passages, in a great measure inspired The Man of
Feeling, and prompted that “ illustration of the richer and
finer sensibilities of the human breast,” which Sir Walter
Scott points out as the “ key-note” on which he formed his
tales of fictitious woe. In some obvious respects, no doubt,
Mackenzie improved upon his model ; as in rejecting the
licentiousness of Sterne’s wit, retrenching his episodical
digressions, his numerous impertinences, and intrusive
buffoonery, and keeping the strain of feeling which he
wishes to create more unbroken; but as writers of genius,
there surely can be no comparison between them. Mac¬
kenzie has none of those charming touches which hover
with such a fine ambiguity between the pathetic and the
humorous,—like Toby’s opening the window and liberating
the fly which had been buzzing about him all day,—and
which operate like spells upon the heart.
The Rasselas of Dr Johnson (1709-1783), though it Dr John-
wears the form of a tale, has but slender pretensions to be son-
included amongst the class of novels, for it has neither
progressive incident nor character. It is a series of dia¬
logues and moral reflections, very solemnly and beautifully
written, tinged with that tone of mournfulness and de¬
spondency so likely to be the prevailing feeling of his
mind in the composition of a work intended to defray the
expenses of a mother’s funeral. Rasselas is, in fact, the
Vanity of Human Wishes in prose; and its incidents, if
such they may be called, have even less pretensions to
connected interest than those of Candide, to which it may
be regarded as a moral and philosopical antithesis.
Judging, indeed, from Rasselas, and from the other
writings of Johnson, it may be safely assumed that his
success as a novelist would not have been much greater
than as a dramatic poet. He has nowhere shown the least
power of creation, by stepping out of himself, and put¬
ting on by the force of imagination the nature of others.
Through the disguise of all the successive characters which
he is obliged to assume in the Rambler, the sturdy, con¬
troversial, and somewhat pompous moralist stands con¬
fessed ; and whether he writes as a fine lady, a fop, a
blood, or an elderly gentleman, still, like Puck, “we know
the man by the Athenian garments he hath on.” Inde¬
pendently of this, his views of life would certainly have been
untrue, inasmuch as they were one-sided. Far from being
disposed “ to make the happiness he could not find,” the
tendency of his mind,—in consequence, perhaps, of a con-
ROMANCE.
276
Romance, stitutional melancholy,—was rather to unmake and neu-
  ' tralize the elements of comfort by which human life in the
average is surrounded. Had he devoted himself in earnest
to fictitious composition, he would have lent his eloquence
and power of forcible statement to shape the world or
romance according to the gloomy fashion which the reality
presented to his eye ; and in an inky coat, indeed, or a
drab-coloured suit at best, very unlike the peach-blossom
of his friend Goldsmith, he would in all probability have
arrayed it.
Horace About 1769 we witness the revival, though in a new
Walpole, shape, of the old taste for romance. The delineation of
life as it actually existed was found to afford too little scope
to minds who aspired after the imaginative and poetical,
and who could not see why natural delineation of character
and manners might not be combined with striking events,
and with the picture of the higher passions; why, as Wal¬
pole expresses it, in his preface to the Castle of Otranto
“ the fancy might not be left to expatiate through the
boundless realms of invention, and thence to create more
interesting situations, while the mortal agents in the drama
still conducted themselves according to the rules of proba¬
bility.” In the first shape, however, in which romance
re-appeared after this temporary slumber, the delineation of
character occupied, it must be owned, but a very subordi¬
nate place. A little more attention was given to verisimi¬
litude of manners, and much was done to abbreviate the
tedious style of the old prose romance, and to throw life
and movement into the narrative by dialogue, and by the
omission of unimportant incidents not bearing on the ca¬
tastrophe ; but the main efforts of our first modern romance
writers were directed chiefly to the excitement of that
feeling of love of the marvellous which exists more or less
in every human breast. They chose for their favourite
themes the varieties of the supernatural.
“ Somnia, terrores magicos, miracula, sagas,
Nocturnes lemures, portentaque.”
We admit that the author of the Castle of Otranto did not
trust exclusively to such materials of interest. But grant¬
ing that the general outlines of “ his feudal tyrant, his
distressed damsels, his resigned yet dignified churchman,”
are sufficiently correct, we are at a loss to perceive in any
of his characters that individuality which gives to such
pictures their chief value. To us they seem light, sketchy,
and somewhat vague, although we think it quite possible
that the effect produced by greater truth and distinctness
of feature in the mortal agents of the piece might not
have harmonized with the extravagant demands upon the
imagination which the author makes by his supernatural
machinery. We agree with Sir Walter Scott in thinking
Walpole acted with judgment in leaving his machinery
without those attempts at explanation introduced by Mrs
Radcliffe, always inadequate, and even throwing an air of
ridicule over the mysteries of the piece upon a second
perusal. But we cannot concur with him in his toleration
of the extent to which Walpole has carried the marvels
and improbabilities of his romance. The apparition of
Alfonso in the moonlight, dilated to a gigantic form, is
impressive, and in certain moods of the mind even the
skeleton ghost in the hermit’s cowl may have its terrors.
But Clara Reeve was certainly right in the protest which
she enters in her preface against the introduction of such
machinery as that of a sword so large as to require a hun¬
dred men to lift it; a helmet that, by its own weight, forces
a passage through a court-yard into an arched vault, and
crushes a boy to death ; or a picture walking out of its
frame. The effect of such violent instruments of terror is
suicidal; they destroy the very feeling they were intended
to create, and give to the romance the air of a nur¬
sery tale. Indeed, were it not for the singular charm
of the style, which, like all Walpole’s compositions, is of Romanc«.
the purest and most idiomatic English, and terse and con-
densed in a very high degree, we feel persuaded that
the Castle of Otranto, although the first specimen of
the modern romance, would at the present day find few
admirers.
In some respects, then, we think the Old English Earon Clara
of Clara Reeve was an improvement on the Castle q/’lteeve-
Otranto. For there the marvellous was brought within
some limit of proportion; “ the extravagant and erring
spirit hied to his confineand consequently, so far as re¬
garded the creation of an impression of superstitious terror,
or giving an air of probability and keeping to her narrative,
we must admit that her ghost of Lord Lovel, who is
always exhibited under the obscurity of a dim religious
light, did, in our youthful days, produce upon us a certain
species of aw'e. In other respects w'e rather fear the appre¬
hension which is expressed in her preface,—namely, that in
avoiding the defects of Walpole the spirit of his wild com¬
position might evaporate,—was not altogether without foun¬
dation. The style of the narrative in her hands became
heavy, often dry and vulgar, like the ancient chronicle she
professes to follow ; her dialogue is peculiarly flat and
cumbrous, and the plot deformed, and rendered tedious
by trifling incidents which now7 appear to us needlessly
homely ; and yet the strong interest with which, as we can
state from experience, this romance is perused at an early
age, is a proof that in the cardinal point of exciting curi¬
osity and a feeling of mysterious interest, the ruder narra¬
tive of Clara Reeve effects, in a great measure, what all
the liveliness of style, the deeper antiquarian reading, and
more creative fancy of Walpole failed to attain.
But this species of romance-writing was probably carried Mrs Rad¬
io its perfection by Mrs Radcliffe (1764-1823), who, in her cliffe.
own walk of fiction, has never been excelled, though opi¬
nions may differ as to the comparative rank which she holds
among writers of fiction, and also as to the soundness of that
principle of composition which led her systematically to un¬
ravel her own spells, and to attempt an explanation by na¬
tural means of effects which we had at first been encour¬
aged to refer to the agency of supernatural causes. Indeed,
we might rather say that, in regard to this last point, there
is no room for doubt, and that this system of explanations
is exposed to every possible objection ;—as totally inade¬
quate in general to account for the effects ascribed to it,—
as running counter to the whole tone of sentiment created
up to the period of explanation,—as disappointing the pride
of the reader, wdio feels offended at the thought that he has
expended so much anxiety and terror on a mere “ painted
devil,” and a succession of mockeries; and is consequently
annoyed at this commonplace anti-climax after his nerves
have been tuned for grand wonders, instead of the dis¬
covery of paltry images of wax-work. Indeed, it is one of
the strongest proofs of the redeeming genius which Mrs
Radcliffe has thrown into her tales, constructed as they are
upon so unsatisfactory a plan, that they bear a second per¬
usal at all; or that, having discovered in one or two cases
the inadequate and puerile nature of what appeared at first
so appalling and formidable, we still feel eager for the solu¬
tion of the remaining mysteries, and can hardly persuade
ourselves but that something strange and fearful does lurk,
after all, within her deserted chambers and beneath her
faded tapestry.
Yet it is wonderful what a magical power she exercises
within the field to which she restricts herself. No one
ever seems to have understood better the art of prepara¬
tion, the attunement of the mind to the key of the super¬
natural, by a long train of half-heard sounds, and glimpses
of sights, which the fancy, amidst night and silence, works
up for itself into images of things which it fears to con¬
template,—
ROMANCE.
277
Romance.
“ Like one that on a lonesome road
Doth walk in fear and dread;
And having once looked round, walks on,
And turns no more his head,—
Because he knows a frightful fiend
Doth close behind him tread.”
And perhaps the strongest proof of her judgment is to be
found in the economy and reserve with which she employs
the talisman of terror. In her hands slight circumstances
and half-hints are made to produce all the effect of fearful
witcheries or scenes of bloodshed and horror. The clang
of a distant door, a footfall or a track of blood upon a stair¬
case, a strain of music floating over a forest, a figure pacing
a platform in silence, some wandering voice following us,
“ with airy tongue that syllables men’s names,” through the
passages of a decaying chateau, the heaving of the tapestry
of a bed in some deserted chamber, nay, at last a very rat
behind the arras, become invested with a mysterious dig¬
nity, and work upon the imagination like spells.
Mrs Iladcliffe may claim the merit of being the first to
introduce landscape-painting into her romances as a com¬
ponent part of the interest of the piece. The frequency of
her pictures of external scenery, and their want of distinct¬
ness and local truth, have indeed been blamed by many
who would willingly, on Puff’s principle, have abridged her
descriptions of the rising sun, and dispensed with a great
deal about gilding the eastern hemisphere. But it is cer¬
tain that these descriptions, though occasionally tedious, and
sometimes too obviously brought forward upon a principle
of melo-dramatic contrast, have a powerful effect in height¬
ening the impression communicated by the incidents or the
sentiments. Set off against the calm beauty of a summer
evening, or the magnificent gloom of a thunder-storm, her
pastoral or banditti groups stand out with double effect;
while to the charge of vagueness of description it may be
answered, that Mrs Radcliffe is by no means vague where
distinctness of imagery is, or ought to be, her object; as
any one may satisfy himself who recalls to his recollection
her description of the lonely house by the Mediterranean,
with the scudding clouds, the screaming sea-birds, and the
stormy sea, the scene selected for the murder of Ellena ; or
another picture, in the best manner of Salvator, of the first
glimpse of the castle of Udolpho rising over a mountain
pass, with the slant sunbeam lighting up its ancient weather¬
beaten towers. Indeed, the whole description of that
Apennine fastness, both without and within, is in the best
style, not of literal indeed, but of imaginative painting,—
“ Fate sits on those dark battlements and frownsthe very
intricacy of its internal architecture, and its endless pas¬
sages,—a mighty maze, and we fear without a plan,—only
serve to deepen the impression of imprisonment and bewil¬
derment and gloom.
To be fully enjoyed, the romances of Mrs Itadcliffe must
be perused in youth. In after age they appear too uni¬
formly visionary, and the straight-laced stifiness of her
heroines, who never manifest the least warmth except in
poetry, “female punctuation not permitting them to do
more,” as Mrs Malaprop observes, suggests the recollection
of the pruderies of the pastoral and heroic romance. But
when these tales are read in youth, and only remembered
in manhood in their better portions, they leave upon the
memory a pleasing impression of a varied pageant of gloomy
castles and caves, moon-illumined streets and palaces,
“ dance and Provengal song and sun-burnt mirth,” aerial
music floating over haunted forests, or the chant of monk or
nun borne to the ear over the waters of some Italian lake,
amidst the stillness and the shadows of evening.
We have devoted a larger space to Mrs Radcliffe than
some may think justly due to the rank in fiction which she
occupies, but we have done so,—first, because we think
justice has seldom been done to the real genius which she
threw into the style of fiction she chose to adopt, whatever Romance,
may be its precise order of precedence in the calendar of
fiction; and secondly, because, although that style became
more universally popular and more generally imitated than
any which had preceded it, she herself, with two excep¬
tions only, which we shall notice, remains the solitary writer
of genius by which it has been adorned. The truth is, that
the sarcasms which have been directed against the puerile
horrors of Mrs Radcliffe ought justly to have been confined
to the extravagances of her successors, who imitated her
manner without either her imagination or her judgment, and
conceived that the surest means of producing effect con¬
sisted in pressing the springs of the terrible as far as they
would go.
The two exceptions from the general dulness and com- Lewis,
monplace of the imitators of Mrs Radcliffe are the Monk
of M. G. Lewis, which appeared in 1796, and The Mon-
torio of Maturin, published in 1807, and among the last
romances written on that now antiquated plan. Much in¬
justice, we believe, was done to Lewis at the time. A single
unfortunate remark of an irreligious tendency, and some de¬
scriptions of undue warmth, pardonable in a youth of twenty,
and retrenched in the second edition, gave a blow to the
popularity of this romance from which it never recovered.
And yet the traces of considerable genius are visible both
in its plan and in the execution of several of its powerful
scenes. The mere hint of the story—that is to say, the
general idea of the gradual corruption of a proud, and en¬
thusiastic, and self-relying nature,—was taken, as Lewis
acknowledged, from that of the Santon Barsisa in the
Guardian ; the incident of the escape of the baroness from
the banditti was an expansion, executed with much skill, of
the scene in the hut in Count Fathom ; for the story of the
bleeding nun he was indebted to a German legend; while
he has borrowed several hints for his wandering Jew from
the incomprehensible Armenian of Schiller. But to these
hiickneyed materials he has given a force and look of
novelty that are surprising: the escape; the conjuration
scene, where the Jew, withdrawing the black ribband, un¬
veils the burning cross on his forehead; the procession of
St Clare by torch-light, where the abbess is torn to pieces,
—once read, are not easily forgotten. Lewis also avoided
Mrs Radcliffe’s error; his ghosts are real and his devil
genuine ; though, as is not uncommon, we believe, in prac¬
tice, he takes the form of a woman, instead of appearing, as
Defoe has it, “ in all his formalities and frightfuls.”
The Montorio of Maturin was also a boyish production, Maturin.
which the writer affected at a more advanced period of life
to despise. Yet it appears to us to exhibit more genius,
mingled, no doubt, with a deep vein of extravagance and
false taste, than his more elaborate attempts to picture real
manners and passions in his Woman. There was origi¬
nality even in the conception, hideous as it was, of the hero
employing against the brother, who had deceived him, the
agency of that brother’s own sons, whom he persuades to
parricide by working on their visionary fears, and by the
doctrines of fatalism ; and then, when the deed is done,
discovering that the victims whom he had reasoned and
persecuted into crime were his own children. And though
Maturin’s machinery in no respect differs from that of his
brethren, though he labours to explain away in the close all
that had appeared supernatural in the beginning, and of
course with total want of success, yet the impression left on
the mind by the perusal of the work, in the three thickest
volumes we believe that modern romance has to boast of,
though gloomy and unsatisfactory, is certainly that of an
inventive genius in the author. Such was the effect it pro¬
duced on Sir Walter Scott, who was the first to direct at¬
tention to it by a criticism in the Quarterly Review for
1810: “We have strolled,” says he in a lively introduc¬
tion, “ through a variety of castles, each of which was re-
278
ROMANCE.
Moore.
Robert
Bage.
Romance, gularly called II Gastello ; met with many captains of con-
vy—• dottier!; heard various ejaculations of Santa Maria and Dia-
bolo; read, by a decaying lamp, and in a tapestried cham¬
ber, dozens of legends as stupid as the main history ; ex¬
amined such suites of deserted apartments as might set up
a reasonable barrack, and saw as many glimmering lights as
would make a respectable illumination. Amidst these flat
imitations of the Castle of Udolpho, we lighted unexpect¬
edly upon the work which is the subject of the present
article, and in defiance of the very bad taste in which it is
composed, we found ourselves unusually involved in the
perusal, and at times impressed with no common degree of
respect for the powers of the author.”
Of the Zeluco of Dr Moore, which appeared about 1785,
we have already spoken in our biographical article. (See
Moore, Dr John.)
The influence of such works as Goethe’s Sorrows of
Werther, written seemingly with a view of reversing Pope’s
maxim, and proving that whatever is is wrong, becomes
very obvious in our literature of fiction towards the close of
the eighteenth century. For in truth such speculations,
embodied in an imaginative form, were found highly con¬
genial to that spirit of restlessness and discontent with poli¬
tical institutions which was everywhere abroad, perplexing
nations with fear of change, and leading men of genius to
dress up moral paradoxes in the shape of narrative, and to
employ their eloquence in attacking those principles of
society which tend to make men happy, or which keep them
so. This tendency appears sufficiently obvious in the novels
of Bage, a sceptic in religion, and a latitudinarian in morals,
whose crude theories, we think, might have been allowed to
repose in that oblivion to which they had been consigned,
without being revived in such a work as the Novelist's
Library. Their introduction at all into a work intended to
embody only the classical works of fiction, seems unac¬
countable ; nor is the singularity diminished by the fact, that
his best work, Hermsprong, or Man as he is not, is omitted,
while three of inferior merit are re-published.
But the social and political theories of the time found an
abler exponent in Godwin, whose first work, Caleb Wil¬
liams, appeared in 1794, in which, throwing aside the
stimulus of the marvellous, he has trusted the effect of his
tale entirely to a picture of the workings of the mind on
two beings of very opposite natures, who are driven, by a
species of fatal instinct, into the relative positions of perse¬
cutor and victim. The doctrines of the Political Justice
furnished avowedly the primary source of the inspiration
of Caleb Williams, intended, to use the words of the pre¬
face, “ to furnish a general review of the modes of domestic
and unrecorded despotism, by which man becomes the de¬
stroyer of man ; that is to say, to show that, under the mal¬
administration of English law, liable to be perverted by in¬
fluence and wealth, the chances are all in favour of the
escape of the real criminal and the conviction of the inno¬
cent,—a proposition notoriously untrue, and which is not
even advocated with much art or plausibility in the series
of persecutions to which Williams is exposed. Fortunately,
however, for the real merit and permanent popularity of this
singular work, the political design soon merges in a higher
and more legitimate interest. The genius of the author
kindles as he proceeds, and out of a hard and republican
background brings forth the bright and chivalrous vision of
the aristocratic Falkland, a being of a loving, noble nature,
the victim of false honour and morbid refinement of feel-
ing. Few scenes in romance exceed in breathless and en-
tiancing inteiest the description of the progress of suspicion
in the mind of Williams, till he extorts from his master the
fatal secret on which hangs the whole of his future fate;
the escape from prison in the grey dawn of a drizzling
morning; and the last interview between Williams and his
dying persecutor, sitting, corpse-like, to hear his secret dis-
Godwin
closed to the world, and to suffer the agony of knowing that Romance,
life and reputation are about to leave him together. v » ^ ^
In none of his other works did Godwin evince the same
grandeur of conception, and in none of his subsequent per¬
sonations, except Bethlehem Gabor, did he exhibit that
power of presenting demoniacal characters, such as Tyrrell
and Gines, in a light which renders them, unnatural as they
are, actual objects of terror, like a serpent in the path. The
tone of his next novel, St Leon, is altogether more subdued
than that of Laleb Williams. It has a mournful eloquence
in harmony with the picture of desolation which it presents.
Here, too, the author has imperfectly succeeded in working
out the design which he announces he had in view,—
namely, that of proving that the happiness of mankind
would not have been augmented by the gifts of immortal
youth and inexhaustible riches ; for, in order to illustrate
his position, Godwin is under the necessity of laying the
scene in a remote age, and making the persecutions of St
Leon arise from feelings of superstitious credulity, which
we cannot help recollecting that the progress of intelligence
has since exploded. The senior wrangler, who asked what
Paradise Lost proved, would certainly therefore have been
dissatisfied wi th Godwin’s demonstration ; but as the vehicle
of a series of most touching and impressive scenes, his plot
is far from deficient in interest, nor, granting its premises,
in probability. None of his other tales have been popular.
No writer has come so near the manner of Godwin as Brown.
Charles Brockden Brown, an American novelist, an imita¬
tor of the English author, but in a free and noble spirit of
imitation. He certainly had not Godwin’s power of men¬
tal analysis, and not much of that pathetic tenderness
which, contrasted with the general sternness of his tone,
shows like a rainbow against a troubled sky. He was al¬
together more prosaic; dealing, indeed, rather with the
material than the moral sublime ; producing his strong
effects by scenes of sickness, danger, death, or the explo¬
sions of insanity ; and often making his characters mere
phantasmata, which interest us only as the means by which
a series of agitating incidents are brought into connection.
But he had a good deal of the same eloquence, and the
same dark and mysterious power of imagination ; a certain
intensity of portraiture, whether of mental emotion or
things external; great skill in working up a chain of sin¬
gular events that keep curiosity and suspense upon the
stretch, or impress us with a sense of danger and anxiety,
and of which he loves to furnish an explanation from those
phenomena in our nature which are little understood, such
as somnambulism, trances, spontaneous combustion, or ven¬
triloquism. In these respects Wieland, Ormond, Edgar
Huntly, and Arthur Mervyn have all nearly the same cha¬
racter, nor do they differ materially in point of merit. Brown
has singular power in the delineation of solitude of all kinds,
whether the silence of lonely forests, broken only by the
howl of panthers, or of deserted mansions dropping to
decay. There is one picture of this kind in Arthur Mer-
vyn, of an empty house, evacuated during the yellow fever in
Philadelphia, silent and dark in the day-time, with the sun¬
shine streaming in through the closed doors and shutters,
and faintly discovering that everything remained undisturbed
since its desertion, which produces a strong feeling of awe,
and oppresses the spirits with unaccountable sadness.
No other novelist of any ability can be said to have Mrs ghel
adopted the manner of Godwin with success, except his ac- iey.
complished daughter, the authoress of Frankenstein, a pro¬
duction of much originality in its conception, though the exe¬
cution of the work is unequal, and the whole portion which
relates to the self-education of the monster, who is the crea¬
tion of the new Prometheus, almost ludicrously improbable.
Several female novelists, towards the close of the eigh¬
teenth century, deserve notice, whose tales, though now
little read, have the merit either of pathetic or humorous
K 0 M A N C E.
279
Romance, delineation. In the first of these classes are Mrs Inchbald
v—V*-'' and Charlotte Smith ; in the latter Madame D’Arblay, or,
to use the name by which she was best known, Miss
Burney.
Mrs Inch- The fame of Mrs Inchbald rests upon her Simple Storrj.
bald. The title perhaps is but of doubtful application to a novel
which is really complicated with strong and varied passions,
which turns on the fate and fortunes of persons placed in
very peculiar relations to each other, and, like Shakspeare’s
Winter’s Tale, unites two distinct stories relating to differ¬
ent personages, between the action of which “ time has slid
o’er sixteen years.” It is a proof of considerable merit in
the novel, that so hazardous an experiment as that of trans¬
ferring our sympathies to actors in a great measure new to
the scene, has not been unsuccessful; that the interest is,
notwithstanding, kept up, partly by the real pathos of some
of the scenes, and partly by tbe natural traits of passion in
others. Her second novel, entitled Nature and Art, has
been generally and justly reckoned much inferior to the
Simple Story.
Charlotte Charlotte Smith (1749-1806), though her novels are ex-
Smith. tremely defective in plot, betraying marks of haste, and
tinged with a melancholy easily to be accounted for from
the depressing circumstances under which they were ge¬
nerally composed, cannot be confounded with the ordinary
day-labourers for the circulating library, “who turn a Per¬
sian tale for half-a-crowm.” Sir Walter Scott, in one of
those kindly notices by which he delighted to cheer the
heart of struggling genius, or to do justice to the memory
of talents which time was consigning somewhat too rapidly
to oblivion, has given her credit for great powers of satire
mixed with pathos, and characters sketched with “ firmness
of pencil and liveliness of colouring.” The satire indeed
seems to have been pretty indiscriminate, since it extends
to her own husband, whose pecuniary improvidence and
sanguine temperament are glanced at in the character of
the projector who hoped to make a fortune by manuring
his estate w'ith old wigs. But apart from satire, the Old
Manor House, the only one of her novels with which we
are acquainted, is really entitled to the character of an in¬
teresting and well-written tale. We have a lively recollec¬
tion of the Manor House itself, its neighbourhood, its sea¬
side scenes, the strange domineering lady of the manor,
Mrs Rayland, whom Sir Walter Scott describes as a sort
of Queen Elizabeth in private life, and the natural interest
which she has succeeded in giving to the love story which
is going on within the ancient walls.
Miss Bur- The popularity once enjoyed by the novels of Miss Bur¬
ney (Ma- ney appears now to have been somewhat overrated; at
dameD’Ar- least we are at a loss to discover anything in her first work,
Evelina, except the extreme youth of the writer, then only
eighteen, to account for that burst of approbation with
which it appears to have been received in 1778 by such
men as Burke, Reynolds, and Johnson. She wrote no
doubt with sprightliness, with some humour of a broad and
superficial kind, and undoubtedly possessed considerable
talent in drawing bores and personages of low manners or
odd habits from vulgar middle life ; in imagining scenes of
awkward mistakes in society, and exaggerating the teasing
distresses thence arising to her heroines and other person¬
ages of more refined manners or higher pretensions. In¬
deed, to mimickry she appears, from her father’s account,
to have had a strong leaning from her childhood; but when
she rises from mere manners and habits to paint feelings,
we see little but indecision on the one hand, or exaggera¬
tion on the other. Within the field where she excels too she
is much of a mannerist; the same characters under other
names, the same incidents under a thin disguise, re¬
appear in Evelina, Cecilia, and Camilla. Even the graces
of style which she had shown in her earlier works in a
great measure forsook her in her last novel, the Wanderer;
a tissue of improbable distresses and silly refinements of Romance,
sensibility, conveyed in language which is neither good
English nor good sense.
The Canterbury Tales deserve notice on account of Miss H.
the interesting and highly original story of “Kruitzner,” or
the “German’s Tale,” by Harriet Lee,on which Lord Byron
founded his Werner. The tales contributed to the work
by her sister Sophia, such as the “ Two Emilys” and the
“Clergyman’s Tale,” though less striking, are written with
genuine feeling and tenderness.
It may be observed, however, in those female novelists M'ss -^us"
to whom we have last adverted that, though the marvel- tin‘
lous is thrown aside, and the characters are taken from
common life, the sentiments and tone of feeling are yet de¬
cidedly strained beyond the natural pitch. The charac¬
ters display a degree of romantic affection and a prodigal
expenditure of sensibility for which the cares and distrac¬
tions of real life, we fear, afford but little leisure. It re¬
mained for Miss Austin (1775-1817) to show what a charm
might be imparted to truthful pictures of life, as we really
see it around us in the quiet monotony of domestic arrange¬
ments, with its interchanges of poetry and prose, business
and strong feeling, and dialogues at balls and parties alter¬
nating with the secret griefs of the heart; just such a pic¬
ture, in short, as Asmodeus would present, could he re¬
move the roof of many an English home, and place us
beside the hearths of the Knightleys, Bennets, Woodhouses,
and Bertrams by whom they are inhabited. No species of
novel-writing exposes itself to a severer trial, since it not
only resigns all Bayes’ pretensions “to elevate the imagi¬
nation and bring you off in some extraordinary way,” but
by professing to give us pictures of our ordinary acquaint¬
ances, in their common garb, places its productions within
that range of criticism where all are equally judges, and
where Crispin is entitled to dictate to Apelles. And yet
with such fine perception and perfect truth of keeping has
Miss Austin performed her task, that we never miss in her
novels the excitement of uncommon events, and rarely feel
her simple annals of English life to be tedious or unworthy
of the dignity of fiction.
All the novels of Miss Austin closely resemble each
other; but Northanger Abbey, and Sense and Sensibility,
are of a more puerile cast than the others, and betray a
more unformed taste. Pride and Prejudice, particularly
in the characters of the Bennets, was an improvement on
the two former, but Emma, Mansfield Park, and Persua¬
sion are justly regarded as her most finished works. Some
scenes in Persuasion, the last work of this gifted author¬
ess, have always appeared to us models of unobtrusive ten¬
derness.
Some one has described the novels of Miss Edgeworth Miss Edge-
as a sort of essence of common-sense; and the definition wortll<
is not inappropriate, for she is the most anti-sentimental of
novelists. The sway of the stronger passions she has al¬
most excluded from her Tales. Love is indeed the only
one which has found entrance, and to qualify him for admis¬
sion, his wings have been sorely clipped and trimmed, and
reason constantly placed as a gentleman usher over him.
Miss Edgeworth has even less toleration for splendid faults
or bursts of enthusiasm than Miss Austin. Her chief aim
is to rebuke folly by ridicule and comic humour; to un¬
teach bad habits of mind, to substitute in their stead pru¬
dence, firmness, temper, perseverance, and habits of abso¬
lute truth, a process which she generally represents as
effected by a gradual series of efforts and consequent ame¬
liorations, which are within the power of all minds of ordi¬
nary resolution. Her favourite characters are either per¬
sons of well-balanced minds with sound heads and a
smattering of physical science, who act rightly and hon¬
ourably, but always think twice before they act, and weigh
in the scales of utility what are generally considered as
ROMANCE.
280
Romance, matters of feeling, like the Percys : or they are personages
who, spoiled by indolence and bad education, succeed by a
course of self-discipline, in curing their intellectual or
moral maladies, and becoming useful and honourable
members of society, like the hero of Ennui, Lord Glen-
thorn. Miss Edgeworth brings to her task the results of
much observation of character, particularly that of her
countrymen; a quick perception of the humorous, a dra¬
matic liveliness of dialogue, a high sense of all that is hon¬
ourable and decorous, with a scorn of meanness and eva¬
sion, and that tone of good society which her pictures,
often drawn from fashionable life, demand. If her novels
are at times too obviously monitory and didactic, and the
ferule peeps out rather alarmingly behind the schoolmis¬
tress, this defect, we fear, is in a great measure insepa¬
rable from the very qualities which constitute the strength
of her mind, and from the conception she had formed for
herself of the ideal of novel-writing.
Sir Walter At the period when Sir Walter Scott (1814) produced
Scott. the first of that long file of romances which have since ob¬
tained a more than European reputation, the public taste,
in regard to novel-writing, seemed to have sunk to a low
ebb. Miss Edgeworth indeed was popular; for the wit
and good sense of her dialogue, and her happy pictures of
Irish character, found favour in the sight even of the read¬
ers of circulating-libraries ; but the merits of Miss Austin’s
more unobtrusive pictures of life were comparatively un¬
known. At best she was confounded with the writers of
“ Winters in London,” or “ Winters in Paris,” and shared
a dubious favour with the romantic effusions of Francis
Lathom and the other labourers of the Minerva press, so
called, we presume, upon the lucus a non lucendo principle,
from the goddess of wisdom having so little to do with its
productions. Translations, too, from Augustus La Fon¬
taine’s homely but rather vulgar pictures of little German
Krah-ivinkel towns, or the broad and indecent extrava¬
gances of Pigault Le Brun, tended still further to degrade
and vulgarize the public taste. Everything in fiction, in
short, looked unpromising and exhausted. The appearance
of a great writer, who should strike out anew path through
this much-trodden waste, seemed at that moment in the
highest degree improbable. And yet this was at once
effected by the author of Waverley, in such a manner as
to raise the romance from the lowest level to the very high¬
est position in literature.
The resemblance of Scott’s mind to that of Shakspeare
has been often remarked, and with some justice; for though
even the most enthusiastic admirers of the romance-writer,
wall hardly venture to claim for him an equality of powers
with Shakspeare, there were strong kindred features in the
character of their minds. In both we are struck with the
same general and almost universal sympathies, leading to
impartial and kindly views of all men and all opinions, the
most remote from their own ; a cheerful, healthful tone of
feeling, which brightens existence about us, instead of
dwelling on its evils; an avoidance of all moral casuistry,
or treading on the borders of the forbidden, either in the
creation of characters or of incidents; the feeling of the
humorous as strongly developed as the sensibilities of the
imagination ; great self-possession, and a noiseless exertion
of power, working out its end, not by sudden bursts, or
high-wrought passages, but by a silent and steady pro¬
gression, like the dawn brightening into the fulness of
day.
If Scott possessed any excellency in a greater measure
than Shakspeare, it lies in the wonderful art with which he
has contrived to impress the reader with the reality of the
scenes which he describes at their several historical periods.
He has been able to mark most distinctly the age to which
each separate story belongs, by a modification in the style
and language of the dialogue, by a careful avoidance of
anachronisms, by representing his characters as knowing Romance,
neither more nor less than was appropriate to personages
in their respective spheres, and by the most minute and
careful attention to manners and costume. His extensive
miscellaneous reading and great antiquarian research no
doubt contributed much to his success in this important
point; but we must also allow to him the possession of an
innate faculty of producing vraisemblance, almost amount¬
ing to an instinct, no matter what period of history he
selects for his tale ; whatever that may be, he carries us
back to the precise age which he has determined to illus¬
trate ; and the shadows which he summons from the vast
realm of his imagination speak, think, and act, move and
have their being, precisely as we have been accustomed,
though more faintly, to create for ourselves ideal images
of their prototypes. Does he take us to the time of the
Crusades?—how chivalrous in its tone, yet how mingled
with ignorance and ferocity, is the conversation of the mail-
clad barons ; how tinctured with barbaric thought and feel¬
ing is the utterance of the serfs and thralls ! Does he bid
us tarry at the era of the Reformation ?—how marked are the
natural differences of the priest and preacher, how vivid are
the pictures of the savage moss-troopers, of the turbulent and
ambitious nobles, of the euphuistic courtier who has taught
himself to speak in the stilted language of the Arcadia! Does
he introduce us to the period of the civil wars ?—Cavalier
and Puritan start to life again as they moved before the
fight at Naseby ! Shakspeare, on the contrary, very rarely,
and never strongly, indicates period by language. His
characters for the most part might belong to any age ;
sometimes they are even made to talk absurdly and incon-
grously. The bleeding soldier in Macbeth, who relates to
King Duncan the issue of the battle with the Norwegians,
speaks in a style totally out of keeping with his character.
There is no antiquity about Cymbeline ; even Hamlet does
not mark its era. Shakspeare certainly did possess in a
very high degree the faculty of depicting national differ¬
ences of temperament, and even national differences of
scenery. The cold, stern, Norse-like tone of Hamlet is in
marked opposition to the warm colouring of Romeo and
Juliet. But he did not reproduce the past with anything
like the vividness of Scott. Many subsequent writers have
attempted in this particular to rival the great Scottish
novelist, but never with complete success. The most
famous of them, Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton, has in two
at least of his works, The Last Days of Pompeii, and The
Last of the Barons, striven hard to give them an impress
of entire vraisemblance corresponding to the peculiarities of
the time; but it is no disparagement to the acknowledged
powers of that eminent writer to assert that, in this respect,
he is decidedly inferior to Scott. With the one it is an
effort conspicuous in every page ; the characters being too
antique, and too elaborate in their antiquity. They are
too carefully primitive in their talk, like masquers who
strive to the uttermost to keep up a show of what they are
not, without hoping to impose upon their audience. We
at once can detect the modern under the ancient garb, by
the very pains which he takes to stalk solemnly on the
cothurnus. With the other there is no effort whatever.
He waves his wand more potent than that of Prospero, and
the shadows of the olden time appear before us, and we
absolutely believe in their re-animation.
Setting aside this notable peculiarity, we may remark
that the works of Scott produce their effect rather by the
combination of many qualities than the predominance of
any. His strength lies in the possession and harmonious
adjustment of most of the qualities requisite to the novelist,
none engrossing the whole mind, none excluding another,
but all working together in kindly unison: learning arrayed
in the most picturesque combinations ; observation of life
embodied, not in abstractions, but in living forms ; humour
ROMANCE. 281
Romance, springing out of tenderness, like smiles struggling through
v v—t tears ; the spirit of ancient knighthood leavening the
worldly wisdom of modern times; and the imagination of
the poet adorning, without impairing the common sympa¬
thies and good-humoured sagacity of the man.
The department in which this combination of qualities
has been most successfully displayed by Scott was that of
the historical romance—a class of fictions which he may
truly be said to have created. For although fictions bear¬
ing the title of historical romances were by no means un¬
common in English literature before the time of Scott,
such as the Recess of Miss Lee or the Scottish Chiefs of
Miss Porter, it is apparent that they stand in a totally
different class; not being, in fact, historical except in the
names of the characters. Obvious as the idea now ap¬
pears, Scott was in truth the first to show how much inven¬
tion might gain by a union with reality; what additional
probability, interest, and importance might be given to the
fortunes of imaginary heroes, by interweaving their desti¬
nies with those of historical personages ; nay, how much of
romance in its finest forms lies in the characters and events
of history itself, invisible to the prosaic or merely philo¬
sophic observer, but obvious at once to the eye of imagi¬
nation. Fie has carried the picturesque of history to its
perfection ; for without imparting to his portraits the deep
and subtle traits by which Shakspeare so wonderfully
individualizes the beings of his dramas, he never fails at
least to present consistent and striking pictures of his
historical personages in their habit as they lived, and to
dispose the light and shadow about them with the most
felicitous adjustment—dress, look, gestures, manner, and
the outward accompaniments of scenery being all made
important accessories to heighten the effect of well-known
peculiarities, or to hide the want of those over which
Time has dropped a veil which even Imagination can
hardly raise.
In description indeed, generally, Sir Walter Scott was
unrivalled. Whatever he sees with the eye of the mind
shapes itself into words which enable us to see it too. His
pictures combine in a singular way breadth and minuteness ;
for while he painted the details with sharpness and firm¬
ness, no one understood better the art of arrangement in
masses, so that he never fails to give the spirit as well as
the form of the spot, making us feel the solemnity and
gloom of castles and druidical forests, the calm produced
by the still beauty of a Highland lake from which the
morning mist is disappearing, or the healthy elevation of
spirits with which we travel up some mountain height,
whence we see far into the country beyond, and “ feel the
breath of heaven fresh blowing.”
We offer no remarks upon his characters except this,
that making every allowance for repetitions, no writer of
fiction since Shakspeare has enriched the portrait gallery of
invention with more originals, of which we have a distinct
conception ; and that though his female characters have
less variety and less truth than his male personages, we
know no writer except Shakspeare to whom the same re¬
mark may not justly be applied.
The plots of Scott, speaking generally, are neither
remarkable for excellence nor the reverse. Examples
may, in fact, be found in the long list of his romances both
of skilful and defective plots. Ivanhoe, Kenilworth, and
the Bride of Lammermoor, for instance, are proofs howr
artfully he could at times arrange his plan; the two latter
having all the compactness and steady progression of the
drama. Others again, such as The Monastery, StRonan’s
Well, and Rob Roy, are in a high degree loose and incon¬
sequential.
Fertile and inventive as was the genius of Scott, it can¬
not, we think, be denied that, during the latter half of his
career as a writer of fiction, he appeared to less advantage.
YOL. XIX.
No wonder, indeed, when, in addition to the limits by Romance,
which all invention is bounded, we consider under what
depressing circumstances many of his later works were
composed, that in these even the elasticity of genius itself
should be somewhat outworn and deadened; that the con¬
ventional, both in character and incident, should occa¬
sionally supply the place of invention, and that mere
imagery, and not always very appropriate illustration,
should be substituted for the natural turns which at first
enlivened the dialogue. “ If there be a mental drudgery,”
to use his own words in his notice of Charlotte Smith,
“ which lowers the spirits and lacerates the nerves like the
toil of the slave, it is that which is exacted by literary
composition when the heart is not in unison with the work
on which the head is employed.” When he breaks up new
ground, as in Nigel, Quentin Durward, and The Crusaders,
his genius indeed suffers little diminution ; but in Red-
gauntlet, Anne of Geierstein, and The Betrothed, the
practised skill of the mechanist, re-composing old materials
in new shapes, is far more visible than the freshness and
spontaneity of an original inspiration. With the publica¬
tion of Kenilworth, indeed, the sun of his fame may be
said to have “ touched the highest point of all its great¬
ness but like that luminary during a polar summer, it
seemed for a time rather to revolve than to descend, and
its rays continued to look bright and beautiful long after
it was journeying towards the west.
No writer ever exercised so great an influence over the
public mind, or led to so much conscious or unconscious
imitation. His influence on Italy, France, and Germany,
we shall afterwards have occasion to notice. On the
literature of Great Britain we believe it to have exerted
on the whole a most beneficial effect; not, indeed, that
any professed imitation of his manner has yet appeared
which possesses great claims to genius, but that he has
carried a higher spirit into novel-writing; taught us how
the simple feelings of peasants, and the homely pathos of
humble life, and the relentings of feeling amongst the out¬
casts of society, might be made to blend with scenes of
high imagination ; that his writings are calculated to
strengthen the ties of our common humanity; that they
never tend to foster a bad, or to throw ridicule upon a good
or generous feeling; while, speaking of them in a merely
literary point of view, they taught lessons of simplicity,
good taste, moderation, and skill in seizing the best points
both of character and description, which have not been
without their effect even on those by whom the mere
manner of Scott or his choice of subjects have been
studiously avoided.
The professed imitators of Scott have been numerous,
but not successful. As usual, they have magnified his
defects, urging his conventional personages, such as dwarfs,
fools, gypsies, and bores, into caricature; multiplying
instead of retrenching those similes which, even in the
original, were so obtrusively frequent as to remind us of
Bayes’ rule for writing dialogue, “ ever make a simile
when you are surprisedand overlaying the plot with
minute descriptions of dress and scenery, which the reader,
after a little experience, is wise enough to avoid.
The best imitation of Sir Walter Scott’s manner with James and
which we are acquainted is the anonymous romance of Co°Per‘
Forman, of which he speaks with respect in his criticism
on Mrs Radcliffe. The romances of Mr James, too,
though not indicating much depth, are pleasing, always
written with good feeling, and with a plot which excites a
sort of quiet interest, if it does not keep the mind in the
chain of curiosity or suspense. The novels of Cooper,
who is probably better known than any other of the imita¬
tors of Scott, seem to be considerably overrated. On ship¬
board, or on an Indian heath, he is striking and picturesque ;
but among civilized society, and, above all, in his attempts
7
282 ROM.
Romance, to catch the ease of fashion, we must regard him as
singularly unsuccessful.
Hope. A strange contrast to the spirit of Scott’s novels was
exhibited in the sceptical and dreary tone of Anastasius.
Without force of character-painting, with much languor in
parts, and too prolonged a detail of heartlessness and
villainy, the work fascinates by its strength, and towards
the close, when the character of the hero deepens, by its
irresistible pathos. Commencing with the levity of a
Greek Gil Bias, it modulates into a key of sadness and
desolation of spirit which reminds us of the close of St
Leon. Fiction has few pictures which will bear compari¬
son with that of Anastasius sitting on the steps of the
lazaretto of Trieste, with his dying boy in his arms.
Many other authors, of considerable literary reputation
about this time entered the field of fiction ; indeed, very
few entirely abstained from wandering in that direction.
Moore. Thomas Moore produced one novel, The Epicurean, in
which some of the excellences and many of the defects
traceable in his poetical style are apparent. We believe,
indeed, that the original intention of the author was to
have framed a metrical romance, but that he was induced
to alter his plan and adopt the vehicle of prose, on account
of its more extensive popularity.
Wilson. The Lights and Shadows of Scottish Life, by Professor
Wilson, is a work which still retains in a great measure its
earlier popularity. It is a book sui generis ; not perhaps ac¬
curate in its delineations, but marvellously attractive as an
idealization of peasant life by one who was a true poet, and
who invested every subject which he touched with the light
of his varied genius. Scarcely less popular and attractive is
his other romance, the Trials of Margaret Lindsay, a most
pathetic story, the perusal of which cannot fail to excite
feelings of the deepest emotion. It is somewhat remarkable
that this great writer, who possessed in an eminent degree
the faculty of humour and the power of expressing it (as
witness his inimitable Noctes Amhrosiance) should neverthe¬
less have shrunk, with an almost superstitious dread, from
exhibiting it in his more elaborate writings. Nothing can
be more certain than that the union or alternation of humour
and sentiment, the mixture of the comic and tragic ele¬
ments, has a charm unattainable by the exertion of one
faculty only; and we consider this self-imposed abnegation
of half his power to be the reason why Wilson’s popularity
as a novelist is inferior to that which he has attained as a
miscellaneous writer.
Galt. Of a very different stamp was John Galt, who, posses¬
sing little pathetic power, revelled in descriptions of
the ludicrous and absurd, chiefly as displayed in com¬
mercial life and among the middle classes. Galt drew
accurately from nature in so far as character was con¬
cerned ; and it is not too much to say that he has no
rival, even at the present day, in framing portraits which,
while absolutely true, are irresistibly comic and cap¬
tivating. In this respect he is infinitely superior to Mr
Dickens, whose character^are for the most part caricatures.
Galt was no caricaturist, tie drew accurately from the
life ; his secret being, that he thoroughly understood, appre¬
ciated, and enjoyed the foibles of that class of persons
which he selected for illustration, and very wisely abstained
from exaggerating, where, in truth, exaggeration would
have spoiled rather than augmented the effect. His range
is no doubt very limited; for it extends chiefly, if not
altogether, to citizen life in the w'est of Scotland, and
therefore the fidelity of his portraits can hardly be appre¬
ciated by those who are unacquainted with the class which
he describes. But it may fairly be questioned whether
even Sir Walter Scott has exhibited more truthful delinea¬
tions of Scottish character than Galt has done in his Sir
Andrew Wylie, Leddy Grippy, and Dr Pringle.
Another writer of nearly the same date rivalled Galt in
L N C E*
his peculiar walk. We allude to Mrs Johnston, authoress Romance,
of Clan Albin, and of a tale called the West Country
Exclusives, which is not nearly so well known as its in- Mrs John-
trinsic merit deserves. ston.
Several novels of great merit appeared when the repu¬
tation and popularity of Scott was at its zenith, and, though
they did not absolutely suffer adumbration, were yet, in
some measure, less regarded than they probably would
have been had the great planet not been in the ascendant.
The fact is, that Scott had acquired nearly a monopoly in
fiction ; for his fertility was so great that the reading
public had scarcely digested one work of his before another
was laid before them, and the established favourite gained
simply from his popularity an immense advantage over any
new competitor. That was the natural and well-earned
result of his incessant labour and versatility.
The novels of Miss Ferrier, which are three in number, Miss Fer-
Marriage, Inheritance, and Destiny, are decidedly of a rier-
high class, and have much interest, from the art of the
writer in depicting shades of character. With a keen
appreciation of the ludicrous Miss Ferrier combined the
utmost delicacy of sentiment; so that her pictures are
never overcharged, though abounding in native humour.
One great charm of her novels is their thoroughly religious
tendency, and the wholesome lessons which they convey,
not obtrusively paraded nor pharisaically set forward, but
tempering and pervading the whole with a benignant
Christian spirit. Her main object was to illustrate, through
fiction, the uses of adversity, and to prove how worthless
are the riches, honours, and ambition of this world in com¬
parison with a mind tranquillized by the influences of
religion, and in the enjoyment of that inward peace which
passeth all understanding. Of her success there can
be no doubt; for in the whole library of fiction there are
no works which can be more safely recommended for
the perusal of the young, as calculated at once to im¬
prove, delight, and amuse, than the novels of Miss
Ferrier.
The novel of Cyril Thornton, by Captain Hamilton, Hamilton
brother of the distinguished philosopher and metaphysician, and Lock-
Sir William Hamilton, is of sufficient merit to demandhart-
especial notice. So also are the novels of Mr J. G. Lock¬
hart (Sir Walter Scott’s son-in-law and biographer),
Valerius, Reginald Dalton, and Adam Blair. The first
of these, Valerius, which is a story of imperial Rome, is
one of the best attempts which have been made by modern
romancers to depict society in times which are purely
classical. A fine and elegant scholar, without being in any
degree a pedant, possessed of a vivid imagination, and
master of a polished style, Mr Lockhart was peculiarly
fitted to undertake the task, or rather the experiment,
of reviving classical associations through the medium
of fiction. Our deliberate opinion is, that complete
success in such an attempt is impossible. Historical
periods which are little known to the great mass of
readers, and in which individual characters loom largely,
though undefined, in their outline, like objects seen
through a mist, may be selected by the romancer for illus¬
tration with the happiest results. Thus Scott, when he
introduces us to Richard Cceur de Lion in Palestine, chief
of the Christian army encamped around the walls of Acre,
is like an enchanter who dispels a cloud which our own
imagination, for lack of perspicuity, has never penetrated;
and presents to us a spectacle of which we had never
formed any conception. But there is no such cloud be¬
tween us and imperial Rome. Her history, constitution,
games, customs, magnates, manners, are known to all who
are imbued with the slightest touch of the classical spirit;
or, if not known absolutely, in the strictest acceptation of
the word, they have been imagined by us ; so that each of
us possesses a floating Roman microcosm of his own. The
ROMANCE. 233
romance, consequence is, that each individual reader being before-
y ' hand provided with a distinct picture of his own, tests the
work of the modern resuscitator by comparison with that
picture ; and, as the two representations can never be ex¬
actly the same, he will not accord to the romancer that
amount of credence or fictitious interest without which no
story can be read with positive pleasure or absorption. He
laughs at Prospero, and has no real belief in his power of
evoking the spirits. These remarks may explain why clas¬
sical novels have never been popular in England; and they
may serve, moreover, as a practical illustration of the adage,
“ Omne ignotum pro magnijieoP Certainly it was not
from want of talent or descriptive power that Valerius did
not prove a general favourite. Reginald Dalton, though
it contains some powerful passages, is loosely put together;
but Adam Blair is beyond all question Lockhart’s greatest
effort. It is a story harrowing to read, verging upon limits
which prudery would shrink from, but true to nature; and,
in the field of romance occupying nearly the same place
which the plays of George Lillo hold in the dramatic litera¬
ture of England.
Fashion- The public taste having been attracted to prose works
able novels, of fiction as the most agreeable form of light reading, a
whole host of labourers offered themselves as candidates for
employment in the vineyard. The immense circulation of
the novels of Scott, and the high remunerative price which
he was known to have received from the publishers, proved
as irresistible a temptation to literary adventurers as is the
discovery of a new gold-field to the unemployed popula¬
tion of a continent. Ingenuity was racked for subjects.
Fashionable life was supposed, not without reason, to have
some interest for those of the middle classes, always fur¬
nishing a large number of readers, who lived beyond its
pale; and accordingly the market was inundated with
novels, each in three volumes, purporting to give glimpses
of the serene existence of the arbiters of A1 mack’s, and
containing revelations of the mysteries of the boudoir and
the ball-room. It is no exaggeration to say, that neither be¬
fore nor since has there ever been such a deluge of absolute
inanity. The few debutants in print who really had the
means of describing such society from actual knowledge,
were for the most part needy dowagers, illiterate danglers,
or very impudent pretenders ; yet such was the rage, at one
time, for anything which savoured of high life, that large sums
were given bv a certain class of publishers for novels of the
most trashy description, provided the author or authoress
had a name recognisable in the Court Guide or in the
Peerage. Such exclusiveness, however, in dealing with an
exclusive subject, could not be maintained; and novels
purporting to depict the etherealization of fashion, the say¬
ings and doings of the earthly Olympus, were fabricated
by clever rogues, who drew their inspiration from the pot¬
house. We are bound to say that, in point of talent, the
mere imitators excelled those who professed to draw from
reality. Both were most ludicrous caricaturists ; but while
we yawned over the platitudes of the one class of writers,
mirth was actively excited by the preposterous misconcep¬
tions of the other.
SirE B A fevv brilliant exceptions, however, redeemed the
Lytton. ’ fashionable novel from the charge of utter inanity. Sir
E. B. Lytton, now unquestionably the greatest living no¬
velist of England, laid the foundation of his fame by the
publication of Pelham, or the Adventures of a Gentleman,
a work which we are constrained to place in the fashion¬
able catalogue, though much of its interest arises from
scenes and characters remote from the fashionable ken*
Pelham contains more than the promise of genius; it is a
very remarkable and able work, which, though inferior in
artistic skill to some of the author’s later productions, is full
of freshness and power, and after the lapse of thirty years
still retains its popularity.
The fashionable novels of Mrs Gore, of which Cecil is Romance,
certainly the best, at one time attracted much public at-
tention, and though singularly deficient in plot, exhibited Mrs Gore,
much vivacity in the dialogue, with considerable shrewd¬
ness of observation.
To this class also belong the novels of Theodore Hook, Theodore
a man of talent and versatility rather than genius, but pos- Hook,
sessed of a ready and sparkling wit, effervescent and exhi¬
larating as champagne. Unfortunately, from imprudence
and the pressure of untoward circumstances, he was com¬
pelled to undertake a larger amount of literary task-work
than is compatible with the production of works deliberately
planned and artistically executed. Hence his writings are
very unequal—some being nearly worthless, while others
are of excellent quality. Gilbert Gurney is, in our opinion,
the best novel that he produced.
After a time, that portion of the reading public which is Newgate
the mainstay of circulating-libraries became wearied with novelists,
the fashionable frivolities and tiresome iteration of scenes
pertaining to the beau monde. The demand for such
literary syllabubs declined, and the value of copyrights
dwindled. Then arose a new school of novelists, who
sought to win the public ear, disgusted with drawing-room
prattle, by converse of another kind. They selected their
heroes, not from the frequenters of the saloon or boudoir,
but from the denizens of the haunts of vice and profligacy.
They had recourse to the caves of a modern Adullam, and,
with the Newgate Calendar as their guide, tried to cast a
halo of romance around the persons of executed thieves and
murderers. Ruffians whose lives had been justly forfeited
to the outraged laws of their country were depicted as men
of daring, honour, and noble emprize; and their miscella¬
neous amours with women of the most abandoned class were
detailed, not satirically, as Gay did in his Beggar’s Opera,
but seriously and minutely, in a manner which was at once
a scandal to literature and an outrage upon public decency.
Fortunately, however, the public taste, thctugh not always
discriminating or fastidious, revolted from so nauseous a
dose; and after a very brief period, the Newgate novelists
were hooted into silence, but not before they had done
serious mischief by the repetition of their immoralities in a
dramatic form, through low theatres and the like, thereby
materially contributing to the population of the jails.
Writers of this kind have been fain to take shelter under
what they call the authority of the great masters of fiction.
They say that, because Scott has made interesting and
romantic such lawless characters as Robin Hood or Rob
Roy, they are entitled to do the same by their recent de-
spisers of the laws. The answer is very plain : Robin
Hood and Rob Roy were outlaws and freebooters in times
and countries when law was not established or recognised. .
Their period is mythical to us, and has long since passed
away ; but the thief, and housebreaker, and resetter, if not
the highwayman (for railroads have interfered with that
branch of the predatory business), still exist among us ; and
it can hardly be expected that we should take an interest
in the chivalry of crime, which, any night, might be exhi¬
bited to ourselves through the medium of the dark lantern,
with its concomitant the crowbar.
It would be tedious to note all the forms of the modern
novel, for their number is literally legion. We have mili¬
tary, nautical, artistic, musical, commercial, religious, poli¬
tical, and sporting novels in abundance ; in fact, there is
no phase of society whicjy has not been thus illustrated.
Among living English novelists, the following hold the Living
highest place :—Sir E. B. Lytton, Charles Dickens, Wil- novelists,
liam Makepeace Thackeray, Samuel Warren, Charles Lever,
and the Right Hon. Benjamin Disraeli. These stand in
the foremost rank ; and it is a remarkable proof of the con¬
sideration which is now accorded to literary men that two
of them are Cabinet ministers, not less distinguished by
284 ROMANCE.
Romance, their ability as statesmen than by the genius exhibited in
their works.
Italian ro- No country has produced more novelists than Italy; but
mance. the Italian novel bears little analogy to what we understand
by the term. Their novels were, in fact, originally prose
versions of the same short tales, sometimes heroic, but more
frequently turning on themes of gallantry or comic adven¬
ture, which formed the favourite subjects of the Trouveres.
They were Fabliaux translated into Italian ; and this cha¬
racter they retained for five centuries, from Boccaccio to
Gozzi (1313-1786). The incidents are generally briefly
given ; there is little development of character or senti¬
ment ; or, where these are found, they exhibit rather sepa¬
rate scenes of life than anything having the interest of a
compact whole. But if the incidents and characters have
little development, the Italian novelists have indemnified
themselves for this confinement by indulging in the utmost
license of a pompous, circuitous, and unmeaning style. The
facile beauty of the Italian language, “ Che spandi di parlar
si largo flume,” has been the bane of their novelists. Boc¬
caccio, the first and by far the greatest of the Italian no¬
velists, indeed manages to impart to it a sort of garrulous
grace ; but in the hands of his imitators the contrast be¬
tween the poverty of the idea and the rich garb of words
with which it is invested assumes a ludicrous effect.
Never, perhaps, among so many novelists, was there so
little of novelty. Instead of imitating nature, their avowed
principle was to imitate Boccaccio, who, imparting to every¬
thing a soft and rose-coloured glow, was himself not remark¬
able for the closeness of his adherence to it. And hence,
regarding the novel merely as a theme upon which they
were to display all the brilliant variations of which the
music of Italian speech was susceptible, they were con¬
tented to repeat in a great measure the same themes, to
borrow, with a sort of easy impudence, their incidents from
Boccaccio or from each other; and more anxious for the
purity of their Tuscan than of their tales, of which by far
the greater number turn on scenes of licentiousness or
low humour, they seemed to think all other merits in the
novel subordinate to that of being “ written in very choice
Italian.”
Beyond the limits of Italy, Bandello (1554) and Cintio
(whose Hecatommitki appeared in 1565) are almost the
only novelists whose names are known to foreigners, if we
except the Belphegor of the versatile Macchiavelli; and
the chief interest connected with these novelists consists
in the hints or materials furnished by them to Shakspeare,
Massinger, Beaumont, and Fletcher, and our dramatic
writers of the time of Elizabeth and James, to whom, in¬
deed, these works, particularly those of Bandello, afforded
a perfect storehouse for plots. Among the nine volumes
of Bandello’s works contained in the Novelliero, some inter¬
esting and a few pathetic tales may be pointed out; but
Cintio’s can have no interest in themselves except for those
who love to sup full of horrors; for he was one of those
wholesale dealers in the terrible who thought that poetical
effect was to be produced by a vigorous operation on the
nerves rather than the feelings, and therefore piqued him¬
self, like the schoolmaster in Gil Bias, on massacring all the
personages of his tragedies, even to the prompter.
1 owards the close of the last century, a taste for novels
in a style somewhat resembling our own appears to have
gained ground, and several tales of a melancholy kind made
their appearance. With these we do not profess to be ac¬
quainted ; nor has any one which appeared prior to the
Promessi Sposi of Manzoni attained the least reputation
beyond Italy, with the exception of the Ultime Lettere di
Jacopo Ortis, an early production of Ugo Foscolo (1802),
and the result partly of a melancholy event occurring in
his own family, and partly of the study of Goethe’s Wer-
ther, by which the enthusiastic mind of Foscolo ap¬
pears to have been very powerfully affected. Like Wer- Romance.
ther, it is a story of love and suicide, full of fervour, vio-
lence, and, to speak the truth, of absurdity; yet delivered
with a species of eloquence, and a certain appearance of
conviction, which, so far at least as regarded the expression
of mental discomfort, and the misery arising from a total
want of all fixed opinion, was perhaps sufficiently real. To
the Italians, who knew little or nothing of Goethe, this
stormy effervescence of an impassioned temperament, and
all this eloquent “ questioning of fate,” possessed even an
air of originality; and being the first successful attempt to
introduce the sentimental romance of the school of Rous¬
seau and Goethe into Italy, it naturally awakened a degree
of enthusiasm which now appears somewhat disproportioned
to its real merit.
The Promessi Sposi of Manzoni certainly approaches
much more nearly to the idea of a good romance than any¬
thing which Italy has yet produced ; but, after all, it too is
essentially an imitation. If we had had no Scott we should
have had no Manzoni. The idea of illustrating a subject
connected with the Italian history of the commencement of
the seventeenth century ; the introduction of historical cha¬
racters, such as that of Cardinal Borromeo, who is the deus
ex machina of the piece ; the antiquarian lore displayed in
the way in which the bread-riot in Milan (a close parallel
to the insurrection of the Liegeois in Quentin Durward),
is wrought up; the account of the plague in the Milanese,
in which Manzoni has tried to imitate at once Boccaccio and
Scott,—all concur to satisfy us that Manzoni, though an
able lyric poet, has no great share of original invention,
and that though he can make a good use of materials fur¬
nished by others, he is one of those literary commercialists
who require to borrow the main portion of the capital with
which they are to trade. We are far, however, from deny¬
ing the real merits of this performance of Manzoni, in
which the characters of Cardinal Borromeo, and the pea¬
sant hero and heroine, Renzo and Lucia, are naturally and
pleasingly drawn, and in which some of the scenes, such as
the opening scene at Don Abbondio’s house, the riot in
Milan, the interview between the unknown and the Car¬
dinal, and some of the incidents and descriptions connected
with the plague, are of vivid interest.
Since the appearance of the romance of Manzoni, who
has lately abandoned both fiction and poetry for religion,
many attempts have been made by Rosini, D’Azeglio,
Guerazzi, Tommaseo, Belmonte, and others, to transfer the
historical romance to an Italian soil, and to give a romantic
interest to the delineation of the Italian feudal history of
the middle ages, or of periods somewhat later. The first,
and we believe the best, of these appears to be the Monaca
de Monza of Rosini, who has founded his story on an
episode in the Promessi Sposi. Were we to form a judg¬
ment from a few of these attempts which we have read, as
to the merits of those of which we remain ignorant, we
should be inclined to say, generally, that nothing is more
remarkable than the total want of interest which Italian
subjects possess in Italian hands; a result which appears
the more singular since at one time it was only necessary
in our English romances to transfer the scene to Italy, to
enlist at once our warmest sympathies in favour of the
story. Now-a-days, we think, when the subject is almost
entirely in the hands of native novel-writers, the very idea
of embarking on an Italian story of the middle ages seems
to act upon the fancy as the most powerful refrigerative.
Strangely enough, too, it is to be observed that the Italian
novelists of modern times never appear to greater advan¬
tage than in the description of the most furious battles,
carried on with all the determination and bloody-minded¬
ness of an Esplandian or a Bobadil, as in Ettore Fiera-
mosca, by Massimo D’Azeglio, a son-in-law of Manzoni,
or L’Assedio di Firenze, by Gualandi; an expenditure of
ROMANCE. 285
Romance, valour on paper which we fear is scarcely justified by the
' fact, since, if we are to give credit to the accounts of
Guacciardini, many of their most doughty encounters were
as harmless in their results as the protracted passage of
arms between Gymnast and Tripet in Rabelais, as to
which uncle Toby, after listening to an endless detail of the
various complicated manoeuvres, declared that one home-
thrust of the bayonet would have been worth them all.
Spanish In Spain, which, though not the birth-place, had cer-
romance. Mainly become by adoption pre-eminently the country of
the chivalrous romance, and where, perhaps, its extrava¬
gances had been less redeemed by talent than anywhere
else, it is wrell knowm that a revolution in taste was effected
by the inimitable satire of Cervantes (1547-1616), which
Montesquieu, with amusing extravagance, describes as the
single admirable book in the Spanish language which shows
the absurdity of all the rest. So effectually, indeed, did
that wrork (published in 1605) attain its end, or rather one
of its ends, that after its appearance no romance of chivalry
appeared in Spain, and the old ones so entirely ceased to
be printed that it is with difficulty that copies of them are
now to be obtained. The “ ultimus Romanorum,” the last
adherent of the good old romance, was Don Juan de Silva y
Toledo, who published his Don Policisne de Boecia in 1602,
three years before the appearance of the Don Quixote.
Cervantes. But had that book been solely devoted to the object of
exploding the old romances of chivalry, it would probably
have shortly been forgotten with the extravagances it
exposed. The charm which has given a perennial life and
continued popularity to Don Quixote is the deeper idea
which it contains of illustrating in comic colours the con¬
test between imagination and reality ; the danger, both to
its possessor and to others, of all misdirected enthusiasm,
whether it take the direction of reviving an extinct age of
chivalry, or any other course plainly running counter to
the current of society all around it, by means of which a
constant collision is produced, in which, whatever becomes
of the world, the visionary himself is sure to be the sufferer.
Tor the fuller development of this idea he has placed be¬
side the knight, who represents the imagination without
the common-sense, a squire who is the type of the vulgar
common-sense without the imagination. Between these
children of his brain he parcels out the treasures of his
mind, bequeathing to the knight his own high spirit and
courage, his learning, his generosity, and his love of truth;
and to the squire the solid riches of his good sense and his
peculiar humour ; that humour which, as it exists in Cer¬
vantes, is among the rarest of human qualities,—the very
poetry of the comic, founded on tender sympathy with all
forms of existence, though displaying itself in sportive re¬
flection ; and issuing not in superficial laughter, but in still
smiles, the source of which lies far deeper.
The characters and fortunes of these contrasted com¬
panions he has linked together in such a way as to impress
on the mind the feeling how indispensable each is to each
as the complement of the other,—the learning, high-minded¬
ness, and strong imagination of the knight as the creative
and moving power in human life ; the practical good sense,
and even selfishness, of the squire as the controlling force;
from the judicious union of which opposites arises the har¬
mony, and from their separation the discords of society.
He paints also, with great knowledge of human life, the
effect which these reciprocal influences, constantly exerted
on each other through vicinity and a common pursuit, have
in modifying even the original character itself, and gra¬
dually making the enthusiast more rational, and the com¬
monplace man of the world more imaginative. The sound
philosophy, the impartial and kindly spirit, with which
Cervantes has wrought out this conception, in which justice
is done at once to the higher and the more common ele¬
ments of our nature ; the flood of humour with which he Romance,
surrounded it,—which has tempted many a one since the
days of Philip IV. to imitate the pantomime of the student
on the banks of the Manzanares,—are as obvious to the
least refined of readers as they are models of art worthy
of the admiration and profound study of every writer of
fiction. Like human life itself, the story unites and har¬
monizes the opposite extremes of the pathetic and the
ludicrous, the vulgar and the elevated,—for from the midst
of the comic ground-work, the striking scenes in the Sierra
Morena, the episode of Cardenio and Dorothea, the story
of the captive, the sweet pastoral of Marcelia, the marriage
of Camacho, and many other passages, rise up, rich in
pathos, grandeur, or imagination ; so that, in fact, there is
no work in which, while the aim at first might appear to be
to destroy the romance of life, passages of more purely ro¬
mantic beauty are to be found. The truth is, that Cer¬
vantes, though anxious to explode a vicious taste in
literature, was far enough from wishing to direct his satire
against the creations of high imagination or against the
spirit of chivalry. The admiration he expressed for Ama-
dis and Palmerin shows that he was not insensible to the
beauties by which even this branch of literature was occa¬
sionally redeemed. His own adventurous career of glory
and misfortune had no doubt deeply impressed upon his
mind the contrast between the dreams of imagination and
the realities of life; he saw the poetical capabilities which
such a contrast afforded,—and he has painted them with an
unshrinking and some may think a merciless hand. But
even beneath the veil of ridicule with which he has in¬
vested his crazed and battered hero, we perceive his own
inextinguishable love of the exalted principles by which
he is actuated ; and the abiding impression which remains
with us after the comic effect of the romance has passed
away is, that truth and nobleness of character will con¬
tinue to command our love and veneration, though dis¬
played in actions with which the world cannot sympathize,
and placing their possessor in situations which excite our
ridicule, even w'hile his motives attract our admiration.
Cervantes seems to have intended his moral novels Novelas
(Novelas Exemplar os') to be to Spain what the short tales Exeml)la-
of Boccaccio and his followers had been to Italy, only with res'
the advantage of a purer morality. They are unequal;
some being mere satirical trifles, such as the Licentiado
Vidriera ; others, like the Jealous Estremaduran (which
English readers will recognise in the common farce of the
Padlock), the Gipsy, and the English Spanish Lady,
highly interesting in themselves, and characteristic of
Spanish manners, laying open to us, as Sismondi says, the
hearts and houses of its inhabitants. One novel, the Tia
fingida (Pretended Aunt), though undoubtedly written
by Cervantes, was not included in the original collection,
probably from the disagreeable nature of the subject.
The remaining work of fiction by Cervantes, the Per-
siles and Sigismunda, is only remarkable as the last work
which he wrote, and as being quite as absurd and extra¬
vagant as any of those romances of chivalry against which
his powerful satire had been directed. No work has occa¬
sioned a greater division of opinion. While some of the
Spanish critics speak of it in terms of extravagant praise,
it is described by Viardot, a French critic, as “ a tissue of
episodes interlaced with each other, like those of one of
Calderon’s intrigues, consisting of extravagant adventures,
silly rencontres, astounding prodigies, preposterous charac¬
ters, and extravagant sentiments.” It retains little or
nothing indeed of Cervantes but the charm of his style.
Yet, like Corneille placing his Nicomede before the Cid, or
Milton his Paradise Regained before his Paradise Lost,
Cervantes seems to have given the preference to this child
of his old age over the masterpiece of his manhood.
The fashion of short novels in the Italian taste which
286
ROMANCE.
Lope and
the Spanish
novelists.
Romances
in the
Gusto Pi-
caresco.
Mendoza.
Romance, had been introduced by Cervantes was followed by Lope,
Canizares, Zayas, Montalvan, and by a host of imitators,
whose very names the Spanish critic Lampillas declares
that he is unable to enumerate. The loss of the catalogue
is little to be regretted ; for even among the names which
are known it would be difficult to point out one, even
including the great Lope, which rises above mediocrity.
Nature indeed seems to have given Cervantes his revenge
for the triumph of his rival in the drama by the failure of
Lope as a novelist, for in this department the talent and
rich invention which he displayed on the stage appeared in
a great measure to desert him. The best of his novels is
the Forlunas de Diana (Fortunes of Diana), first printed
in the Filomena in 1621 ; next to which we should place
his El Zeloso hasta Morir (Jealousy till Death) ; but, truth
to say, neither are remarkable. Indeed, if we except Cer¬
vantes, the same remark which we have ventured to make
on Lope is generally applicable to the Spanish novelists.
Nearly in proportion to the success of the nation in the
creation of an original drama is its signal deficiency in ori¬
ginal contributions to the literature of romance. It is not
often indeed, as Tieck remarks in his Preface to Bulow’s
Novellenbuch,1 that the dramatic and novelistic power are
found combined in a national literature to the same extent
as in England.
In fact, the only species of prose fiction, with the excep¬
tion aiDon Quixote, in which the Spaniards have displayed
anything like original invention, is in the novels written
in what is called the Gusto Picaresco, or the romances of
roguery, of which the first example of any merit, and, with
one exception, the best of the whole series, was furnished
by the Lazarillo de Tormes of the celebrated Don Diego de
Mendoza, and is said to have been written by him while a
student at Salamanca, and first printed in 1553. It is rather
singular, no doubt, to find a man of rank devoting himself
to those pictures of want and miserable knavery, or a nation
affecting so much external pomp and ceremony relishing
these exposures of the real filth, meanness, or starvation
which often lurked under the cloak of the whiskered knight
of Calatrava. But the Spanish character is distinguished
by a very peculiar vein of dry humour intermingled with a
tinge of orientalism in their notions of birth and pride of
ancestry and personal dignity; and hence the Spanish no¬
velists seem to have been perfectly alive to the ridiculous
features of their countrymen, while sharing very probably
in the same exaggerated pretensions themselves. Accord¬
ingly, along with the adventures of rogues, and beggars,
and gipsies, who, during the reigns of the Austrian Philips,
appear to have literally swarmed in Madrid, are interspersed
ample illustrations of this union of poverty and pride, and
the stratagems with which many a pompous cavalier, walk¬
ing the streets, as Lazarillo says, like the Duke of Arcos, is
occupied at home in order “ to procure a crust of dry bread,
and having eat it, to appear with due decorum in public,
by the art of fitting on a ruffle so as to suggest the idea of
a shirt, and adjusting a cloak in such a manner as to make
it be believed there are clothes under it.”2 Mendoza’s
novel contains a sketch of one of these shirtless and famished
hidalgos eagerly devouring some crusts which Lazarillo
had begged in the morning, on pretence of trying whether
the bread was sufficiently wholesome, which gives an image
of starvation in which the painful is strangely blended with
a sort of sombre gaiety.
Aleman Equal, if not superior, to Mendoza’s romance is the Guz-
and man d'Alfarache of Matteo Aleman (1599), which, though
Quevedo. dealing in the same gloomy pictures of want and misery, has
more variety in its pictures, and a more severe and caustic Romance,
character in its sarcasm. It has been erroneously supposed
to have furnished many particulars to Gil Bias ; in fact it
would be difficult to point out one, except the incident of
the parasite who obtains a supper at the expense of the
eighth wonder of the world. In the same taste is the Gran
Tacano of Quevedo.
The merit of having supplied Le Sage with much of his Espinel.
materials may be more plausibly claimed by Vicente Espi¬
nel, the author of the Vida del Escudero Marcos de Obre-
gon, printed in 1618. Indeed, while the superior grace,
spirit, and gay philosophy of Le Sage are apparent, it is im¬
possible not to make a considerable deduction from his mere
invention after reading the work of Espinel. The pro¬
logue, the adventure of the parasite, the dispersion of the
company at Cacabelos by the muleteer, the adventure of
the robber’s cave, the surprise by the corsairs, the contribu¬
tions levied by those pious hermits, Don Raphael and Am¬
brose de Lamela, the service with the Duke of Lerma, and
many of the other incidents, have nearly an exact parallel
in the ruder and drier work of Espinel. Even some of the
witty points, which we might be disposed at first sight to
believe were Le Sage’s, turn out to be the property of the
Spanish chaplain,—such as Don Matthias de Silva’s reply,
when asked to fight a duel early in the morning, that he
never rose before one even for a party of pleasure, and could
not be expected to rise at six to have his throat cut.
This much, however, must be said for Le Sage, that he
shows no desire to conceal the source of his obligations, for
one of his characters is termed Marcos Obregon, and the
Sangrado of his novel is undisguisedly the Sagredo of
Espinel. Le Sage, however, knew that after every deduc¬
tion was made on the score of invention, the merit of his
novel w'ould remain much the same. He threw lightness
and sunshine into the mean and gloomy pictures of the
Spaniards, taking care to efface the recollections of folly and
knavery in his adventurers by a cheerful and respectable
termination of their career; and though the graduation of
the fool into the knave, and the knave into the honest mao,
upon a mere principle of utility, be not perhaps in itself a
very lofty moral, it is at all events far more agreeable than
that of the Spanish novelists, where the rogue continues
such to the last, and his only advancement is to a higher
degree in the curriculum of knavery. A romance of a more
pleasing and political cast than these tales of knavery was
the historical romance, the Civil Wars of Granada, by
Gines Perez de la Hita, printed in 1604, turning on the
dissensions of the Zegris and Abencerrages during the
reign of Boabdil, and giving occasion, as might be ex¬
pected, to many fine descriptions of tournaments, feasts of
canes, Moorish palaces and gardens, and the contrast be¬
tween the Christian and the Moorish chivalry. From this
romance Florian has mainly borrowed the idea and ma¬
terials of his Gonsalvo of Cordova.
One other work of fiction deserving notice, though par- De I’lsla,
taking more of the nature of the satire than the novel, is
the Fray Gerundio (Friar Gerund) of the Jesuit De ITsla,
—a severe, but rather tedious satire upon the absurdities
and bad taste of the popular preachers of the time. In
romantic literature the Spaniards at the present day seem
to be entirely deficient. Translations of the popular French
and English novels abound, but native talent or invention
appears to be at an end.
In France the pastoral romances of D’Urfe and his imi- prench ro¬
tators, and the heroic romances of Gomberville, Scudery, mances and
 novels.
1 Das Novellenbuch, oder hundert Novellen nach alten Italienischen, Spanischen, Franzosicben, Lateinischen, Englischen, und Deut-
schen, bearbeitet von Eduard von Bulow, Leipzig, 1834. An excellent anthology, from the shorter literature of romance in the above
languages; and not a mere translation, but in many cases a dexterous rifacimento, true to the spirit, while avoiding the dulness or
indecency of the original. 2 Dunlop’s History of Fiction, vol. iii., p. 119.
ROMANCE.
237
Perrault,
D’Aulnoy,
Murat,
La Force.
Romance, and Calprenede, whose object was “ peindre Caton galant
^ et Brutus dameret,” were succeeded by an inundation of
Fairy tales, contes des fees and voyages imaginaires, appearing about
the close of the seventeenth and the commencement of the
eighteenth century. This species of nursery literature,
which, like the character of the fair Arricidia in Clelia, was
“ furieusement extraordinaire et terriblement merveilleux,”
seemed peculiarly well suited to the frivolous tastes which
then pervaded French society; and its temporary attrac¬
tion was perhaps based in some degree upon the very want
of reason and common-sense which rendered its permanent
popularity impossible. When the sage Oglou in Voltaire
asked the sultanas, “ Comment preferez vous des contes
que sont sans raison et que ne signifient rien,” the answer
of the sultanas was, “ C’est precisement pour cela que nous
les aimons.”
The chief writers in this school of fiction, with whose
compositions most of us have in our early days been ren¬
dered familiar through the little gilded volumes of Mr
Newberry or his successors, were Perrault, the Countess
D’Aulnoy, Madame Murat, and Mademoiselle de la Force,
of whom Perrault is decidedly the best, bis tales being dis¬
tinguished by a simplicity and naivete of style indispensable
in this style of writing, and in which the productions of the
ladies are deficient. No great share of original invention
is displayed by any of them. The chief storehouse from
which they drewr was the Notti Piacevoli of the Italian
novelist Straparola, and the very remarkable Neapolitan
collection by Giambattista Basile, entitled the Pentame-
rons, of which the first edition appeared in 1637.
A slightly different direction was given to this taste for
marvels by the translation into French of the Arabian
Nights by Galland, and of the Persian Tales by Petit de
la Croix and Le Sage, which led to a host of oriental imi¬
tations. And the childishness and absurdity of the whole
of this department of literature was exposed with great wit
and liveliness by Count Antony Hamilton in his Fleur
d’Epine, and in his unfinished tale of the Four Facardins.
Marivaux. But this same period was distinguished by the produc¬
tions of some writers of a higher order: Marivaux (1688-
1763), Prevot (1697-1763), and Le Sage (1668-1746).
Marivaux had a good deal of Richardson’s power of delicate
portrait-painting, by an accumulation of miniature touches ;
nor is he deficient in the power of managing the interest¬
ing situations with which his Mariamne especially abounds.
And certainly, if we except Mademoiselle La Fayette’s
pleasing romance of the Princess of Cleves, he may claim
the merit of having been the first in France to reduce the
novel from mere extravagance, both of incident and cha¬
racter, to the standard of natural feeling, and to present us
with real beings instead of fantastic creations of the ima¬
gination. His chief faults are his intolerable minuteness
in trifles, and the affectation of the style, which is worthy
of the society of the Hotel de Rambouillet. His best
novel, too, the Mariamne, terminates abruptly and inarti-
ficially, with a conclusion like that of Zadig, “where nothing
is concluded.”
Prevot. Prevot had a much higher and more romantic imagina¬
tion than Marivaux. He threw into the novel something
of the gloom and grandeur of tragedy; and hence he has
been termed by some of his countrymen the Crebillon of
romance, A visionary disposition and an ardent tempera¬
ment had hurried him through a restless and passionate life,
in which good and evil, suffering and enjoyment, had been
scarcely blended; so that to the task of composition he
brought the results of a mournful experience in aid of the
resources of the imagination. To use the expression of
Voltaire, “ II n’etait pas seulement un auteur mais un
homme, ayant connu et sent! les passions.” Prevot is not
a great inventor of character; for to all his heroes, Cleve¬
land, Patrice, even the Chevalier des Grieux, he appears
to have lent much of his own feelings and his own peculi- Romance,
arities of mind. Though an extremely voluminous novelist,
none of his works appear now to be read or recollected
excep this painful but powerful story of Manon UEscaut,
a tale of crime and profligacy, strangely blended with
generous feeling, which has been translated into English
by Charlotte Smith. Manon FEscaut, though little more
than an episode, thrown off apparently with an easy negli¬
gence, bears the impress of genius, which it would be diffi¬
cult to recognise in an authentic form in any of the larger
productions of Prevot. Opening in the most unpromising
manner, with what appears to be the common-place history
of a vicious and discreditable connection between Des
Grieux and Manon, in which weakness of principle on the
one side is made the dupe of profligacy and vanity, united
with personal charms, on the other, the stream of feeling,
at first polluted and turbid, works itself purer as it runs;
and the scenes rise into elevation just as the character of
Manon herself, the “fair mischief” of the romance, around
whom Prevot has thrown no common fascination, changes
from the selfish mistress into the faithful companion, fol¬
lowing the fortunes of her husband, whom her charms had
ruined, into disgrace and banishment, and dying by his side
among the wilds of America.
Love also forms the subject of the novels of Madame de Madame de
Tencin (died 1749), the Siege of Calais and the Count tfeTenCln•
Comminges, which are admired for their tenderness and de¬
licacy,—qualities we should hardly have anticipated from a
lady who stood in so confidential a relation to the Cardinal
Dubois, and who left her illegitimate child, D’Alembert, to
the tender mercies of the public.
The greatest of the French novelists, however, is Le Le Sage.
Sage. Even in his first romance, the Diable Boiteux, the
plan of which has been suggested by the Diablo Cojuelo
of Luis Valez de la Guevara, and which appeared in 1707,
the wit, the graceful lightness, and the good-humoured
sagacity of observation, which distinguished the character
of Le Sage, were evident. The conception, in particular,
of his esprit follet, a “ diable bon-homme,” with so much
more gaiety than malice, that at times we are tempted to
think him rather amiable than otherwise, was a great im¬
provement on Guevara’s; and the effect of the work was
heightened by the skill with which he contrived to inter¬
weave with the story, if such it can be called, a multitude
of contemporary allusions. Such indeed was its popularity
and immediate sale, that two young men are said to have
fought a duel in a bookseller’s shop about tbeir right to the
only remaining copy; a well-attested anecdote, so much
in the spirit of those satirical traits in which Asmodeus in¬
dulges that, as Sir Walter Scott remarks, it deserved to be
recorded by the demon himself.
The reputation as a novelist which these most amusing
revelations of Asmodeus had founded, was brought to its
height by the production of the first three volumes of Gil
Bias, bringing the history down to the retirement to Lirias,
—a work, with the exception of Don Quixote, perhaps the
most universally popular in fictitious writing, pleasing
equally whether read in youth, in manhood, or in age, and
containing, as has been justly said, more “useful know¬
ledge” than twenty scientific and moral treatises. Le Sage’s
celebrated novel represents the level of life as it appears in
a large capital, without either its brightest lights or its
darkest shadows. He exhibits the average state of feeling
among such communities,—loving virtue and good conduct
within due bounds, but at the same time with that natural
toleration for selfishness, servility, vanity, or occasional de¬
viations from the path of strict integrity, which in such
society is certain to be engendered and countenanced. As
he saw nothing like an elevated morality in the world with
which he was best acquainted,—the Parisian public,—so 1m
has not attempted to introduce any such exalted tone of
288
ROMANCE.
Romance, feeling into his romance. His hero is an adventurer, to
V-^ whom a hundred parallels might probably have been pointed
out any evening among the audiences at the Foire, with
fair abilities, with a kindly heart, and naturally good in¬
clinations, but little moral firmness; by no means so en¬
amoured of the straight road of right as not to turn aside
occasionally when the deviation suits his purposes ; duped
at first by his own vanity, and then availing himself of his
dear-bought experience to take his revenge on others in
the same coin, but still with a gradually increasing pre¬
ference for good conduct and virtue, and a secret deter¬
mination, when a favourable opportunity offers, and his for¬
tune is made, of becoming in due course an honest man.
To this conception of an agreeable rogue, refined partly
by good feeling, and partly by calculation, into a better
being, Le Sage has imparted a wonderful air of particular
combined with general truth ; for though Gil Bias is the
representative of so wide a class, that almost all must ac¬
knowledge at times some common, and perhaps not very
flattering features of resemblance between ourselves and
him, he preserves throughout his whole career the most dis¬
tinct individuality of character. Nor are the other subsi¬
diary agents of the novel deficient in distinctness and clear¬
ness of portraiture. Sangrado, Scipio, the sleek Ambrose
de Lamela, the eloquent but apoplectic archbishop, are
made to stand before us. The historical personages have
the same look of truth. Lerma and Olivarez, in particular,
are admirably painted; so much so, that some Spanish cri¬
tics, like De ITsla and Llorente, have zealously maintained
that Le Sage merely translated from some unknown Spanish
manuscript which he had plundered. These critics reason,
in fact, in such an ingenious way as to make the accuracy
or inaccuracy of Le Sage’s Spanish pictures equally available
for their argument. If he be perfectly correct in his por¬
traits of manners and his allusions to Spanish customs, that
part of the work, they maintain, could not have been writ¬
ten by any but a Spaniard. If he falls into mistakes, it is
equally clear that these apparent slips were introduced by
him on purpose to hide the source of his depredations, and
to confuse, like Cacus, the traces of his retreat. It is need¬
less to say that the statement, at least as made in this un¬
qualified form, is totally incorrect. Le Sage had no doubt
thoroughly imbued himself with the spirit of the Spanish
humour, as it appeared in Cervantes and the writers of the
Picaresco school; and, as already said, he borrowed libe¬
rally incidents from various Spanish romances ; but he lent
to the whole a point, gaiety, and philosophy, which presented
the old materials with all the appearance of novelty, and
the charm of an original invention. “ All is easy and good-
humoured, gay, light, and lively; even the cavern of the
robbers is illuminated with a ray of that wit with which Le
Sage enlightens his whole narrative. It is a work which
renders the reader pleased with himself and with mankind ;
where faults are placed before him in the light of follies
rather than vices ; and where misfortunes are so interwoven
with the ludicrous that we laugh in the very act of sym¬
pathizing with them. All is rendered diverting, both the
crimes and the retribution which follows them.”1
Though Le Sage rightly considered his characters as
his chief object, he was well aware of the pleasing relief
which might be given to his story by the judicious com¬
bination of the repose of landscape-painting with the bustle
of incident; and though he does not succeed in bringing
before us with the vividness of Cervantes the sombre and
parched plains or rugged mountain scenery of Spain, his
work contains some country pictures, in a style of placid
beauty, which are models of stillness, comfort, and serenity.
To whom, for instance, does not that modest demesne at
Lilias, watered by the Guadalaviar, with its mansion-house
of four little pavilions, its garden bordered with orange trees, Romance.
and ornamented with its basin of white marble, and the
quaint, respectable, old Moorish furniture of the apartments,
not to mention the olla podndas of Master Joachim, and
the revenue of 500 ducats a year, rise up before the mind’s
eye as the very ideal of that happy rural retreat which, to
each of us, is to be the Euthanasia of a life of carefulness
and toil; making us long for the time when we may be
able to say with its fortunate possessor,—
“ Inveni portum ; spes et fortuna valete
Sat me lusistis, ludite nunc alios.”
It is unnecessary to dwell long on the romances of the Crebillon
younger Ciebillon (1707—'1777), as to which the only cir-the young-
cumstance which is remarkable is, that so much frivolity ofer* '
manner and real poverty of invention could have obtained
a temporary popularity even by the license in which they
indulged ; yet that they were very popular for a time, we
know; for Sterne represents hist/z//e de chambre inquiring
at a circulating library for the Egarements du Cceur et de
l Esprit in 1768. French writers, however, appear to re¬
cognise in his pictures some resemblance to the society of
the time; for D’Alembert says of him, “ he draws with a
delicate and just pencil the refinement, the shades and the
graces, of our vices.”
Much higher talent, though, like Crebillon’s, stained by Diderot,
a shameful association with licentious and profligate pic¬
tures, appears in the romances of Diderot (1713-1784).
His talent as a narrator, in particular, was scarcely inferior
to Voltaire’s. He had the picturesque particularity of Rich-
--ardson, with a more condensed expression. It is not, how¬
ever, in his larger and more notorious romances, such as
the Religeuse, that this talent is displayed. In these the
tedium is as conspicuous as the indecency and impiety. It
is in such short tales as L’Histoire de Mademoiselle de la
Chaux, or Les Deux Amis de la Bourbonne, short popular
simple histories, contrasting strongly with that air of false
simplicity, in reality tricked out with sentimental fard and
tinsel, whicl Marmontel (1719-1798) has given to his MarmonteL
amusing but not very moral tales.
The romances of Voltaire (1694-1778), such as Zadig, VoIWp’*
the Princess of Babylon, Babouk, and Candide, have but romances
slender pretensions to the title. They are chiefly satirical
fictions or illustrations in the form of a tale of irrelio-ious
or antisocial opinions. Their wit, their biting irony, Iheir
familiarity with the baser parts of human nature, their power
of rendering trifles pleasing by the art of narration, are un¬
deniable ; but we must not look in them for probable inci¬
dent, for Voltaire generally chooses, as if on purpose, some
extravagant oriental groundwork as his canvas, and bor¬
rows from Ariosto, from Gulliver, from the Arabian Nights,
or any source which suits his purpose; nor for the delinea¬
tion of natural characters, for both the incidents and per¬
sonages are merely made the instruments for working out
the preconceived theorem. They produce their effect, such
as it is, not by their fidelity to nature, but by the ingenious
malice with which its features are distorted.
From the time of Marivaux downwards, the tendency of
the French novel had been to narrow the province of inci¬
dent, and to extend proportionally that of sentiment. With
Rousseau (1712-1778) this tendency reaches its height. R0UJ!SealL
Hie description of feelings, and particularly of such as,
though often experienced, are seldom expressed in words,
was his peculiar field. Invention, either of character or
incident, he has none. To paint one strong passion, to
invest vice with an air of insane but reasoning morality,—
“ To make madness beautiful, and cast
O’er erring deeds and thoughts a heavenly hue
Of words like sunbeams, dazzling as they pass;—
this is the main aim of his Julie, and the only one in which
1 Sir Walter Scott's Lives of the Novelists—Le Sage.
ROMANCE. 289
Romance. Rousseau has been at all successful. Even in this respect,
■ too, the declamatory tone, the continued delirium of feel¬
ing, the total want of repose, which characterize the work,
combined with the pedantry of its dissertations, become
painful and oppressive. “ Ce sont des amans,” said Rous¬
seau himself, speaking of his characters, “ et non pas des
academiciens.” Never was an apology more misplaced. The
real fault of Julie and St Preux is, that they have both too
much of the academician in their composition, and too little
of the lover, so far as the expression of natural passion in
simple vvords is concerned. We have never been able, in
reading the romance, to persuade ourselves that its real
eloquence was not as dubious as its morality. It is not easy,
indeed, in perusing Rousseau’s apostrophes to purity and
virtue, to avoid thinking of the strange commentary which
his practice furnished to his theory. It was said of Sterne
with severity, but perhaps with some justice, that he could
bestow upon a dead ass the pity which he denied to a living
mother. And the man of nature and of truth, who expends
his trembling sensibilities on paper, suffers a fellow-servant
to be punished for the theft he had himself committed, and
provides for his natural children in the foundling hospital.
The total corruption of an exhausted society, tottering
to its fall, with the external varnish of gaiety and wit by
which it tried to gild its decay, are aptly represented in the
licentious romances of Louvet and La Clos ; its still more
vulgar profligacy in the coarse and incoherent, but occa¬
sionally striking and original novels of Restif de la Bretonne
(1734-1806.) The works of the two former writers are
unfortunately but too well known ; the numerous and hasty
productions of the eccentric printer, who was accustomed
often to set up his strange compositions in type, without
a manuscript, as the ideas occurred to him, are now almost
completely forgotten. Yet Schiller and several eminent
German critics have spoken with high approbation of the
vigour and talent which they evince in some parts, however
defective or revolting in others. “ I have scarcely imagined
anything,” says Restif, in his Drame de la Vie ; “ I have
simply related; my life has been so full of events, that I
have made four-and-twenty volumes out of it.” Any one,
indeed, who writes, as Laharpe says of Restif, in his Corre¬
spondence Russe, under the persuasion that all that he had
seen and thought, or learnt, deserved to be printed, and
who acted faithfully on that principle, could hardly fail to
produce compositions with very nearly the merits and de¬
merits of the novels of Restif; that is to say, with the
coarseness of feeling which was natural to the man, with
the disjointed air which a set of unconnected incidents
from life must present, and yet with that degree of fresh¬
ness and truthfulness of painting which sketches from life
almost invariably possess, however humble or disagreeable
may be the department from which they are drawn. His
best novel is usually considered to be the Paysan Perverti,
which appeared in 1776.
Two writers may be pointed out, however, about this
period, who were the representatives, if not of a better taste,
at least of better feelings.
St Pierre. Bernardin de St Pierre (1737-1814) maybe regarded
as the connecting-link between the eighteenth and the
nineteenth century: a graft of Fenelon upon Rousseau. His
pathos no doubt often merges in a weakly sentimentalism;
but the calm idyllic beauty of the Paul and Virginia and
the Indian Cottage (1789-1792) was not without its use
in restoring to French literature a feeling for nature and
its simple enjoyments, and the acknowledgment of a Provi¬
dence, a belief which both philosophy and fiction had for
some time past been labouring to obliterate.
The defects of St Pierre, with very little of his redeem¬
ing excellences, appear in the Atala, Rene, and Natchez
of Chateaubriand. He is, no doubt, in some departments an
original thinker, and a man of a poetical imagination, though
VOL. XIX.
a degree of vagueness and mysticism mingles even with Romance,
the best of his works ; but as a novelist, his sickly sentiment
and exaggeration of feeling are fatal to his success.
When the limbo of the Revolution, after its billowy heav¬
ing began to settle again into something like a calm, under
the despotism of the Consulate, the novel took the direc¬
tion of broad and extravagant humour, derived from the
gaieties and vulgarities of middle life, and, as might natu¬
rally be expected, liberally sprinkled with indecency, in
the voluminous novels of Pigault Le Brun,—to whom it
would be unfair to deny considerable powers of broad
mirth, and a fertility in imaginary burlesque situations
which remind us of Smollett. But the questionable cha¬
racter of the novel-writing of this period is not universal.
In the tales of Madame Cottin, the authoress of Elizabeth
and Mathilde, a pure morality and feminine tenderness re¬
appear ; and though those of Madame de Stael, with all
their eloquence, occasionally inculcate more doubtful lessons,
her genuine admiration for pure and elevated feeling pre¬
vents her from willingly lending her talents to the palliation
of vice. The novels of Madame de Stael, however, are far
more German in their character than French.
The works of the literary veteran Nodier certainly owe Nodier.
their attractions more to the charms of a beautiful style
than to their substance. Throughout his whole course he
has been but an imitator, putting on successively the man¬
ner of other writers. The Werther of Goethe appears to
have first given the tone to his novels, and the passionate
energy and wild complaints of the German suicide were
reproduced in his tale of Therese Aubert. To the influence
of Goethe succeeded that of Byron, and the spirit of the
Corsair and Lara were infused into the bandit Jean
Sbogar. From Byron he passed to Scott, whom he has
imitated in his Trilby, ou le lutin d’Argail,—a production,
the effect of which, though meant to be serious and pathe¬
tic, is unintentionally of the most comic kind, for the
“ tricksy spirit” of Argyle in the hands of Nodier becomes
one of the most absurd of supernatural conceptions. In his
Smarra, again, a Thessalian story in the manner of the
sorceries and diableries in the Golden Ass of Apuleius, he
seems to have been influenced by the German night-pieces
of the school of Hoffmann ; and he certainly succeeds
almost as well as his German master in producing a strange
ephialtic effect by a cloud of misty, murky phantoms, which
pass before us as if in a feverish and uneasy dream.
With the restoration of the Bourbons, some degree of
external decency at least distinguished the productions of
the French press, though still the license which its novel¬
ists permitted to themselves in their comic works, and the
extravagant and terrible cast of their more tragic stories, in¬
dicated at once a looseness of morality and a coarseness of
taste which might, in some measure, have prepared the
world for that strange and revolting spectacle which the
literature of fiction has presented in France since the Re¬
volution of 1830. The manner of Pigault Le Brun was
imitated and improved upon by Paul de Kock; for, adopt¬
ing his principle of drawing chiefly from middle life, and
his love for the representation of comic mischances, he has
thrown into the best of his novels scenes of simple humour,
of tenderness, and even of powerful passion, to which the
novelist of the Revolution had made no pretensions. To
sneer at him as a Parisian cockney, or as the romance-
writer of the Grisettes, is easy ; but we are much mistaken
if his tales, homely and even coarse as they may be, will
not be read when the atrocities of Sue and Masson, and the
delicate depravities of Balzac, are forgotten.
In the higher sphere of romance we have, during the Victor
same period, the earlier productions of Victor Hugo, Hans Hugo.
of Iceland and Bug Jargal. Hans of Iceland, wild and
extravagant as it is, is evidently not the work of an ordinary
writer. A stern, savage, northern spirit is breathed into
2 o
ROMANCE.
280
Romance, the romance. Spiagudry, Orugix, even the monster from
whom the tale derives its name, strange and ghastly crea¬
tions as they are, exercise a certain fascination over the
mind; and the youthful poet has turned to great account
the dreary wilds, gloomy lakes, stormy seas, and ruined
fortresses of Scandinavia. Bug Jargal was decidedly in¬
ferior to Hans of Iceland. The essential improbability in
the character of a Negro passionately in love with a white
woman, and yet tempering the wildest passion with the
deepest respect, is obvious; nor is that improbability dis¬
guised by the art with which Hugo has framed his story.
There was more of genius, we think, in his Dernier Jour
d'un Condamne, in which Hugo, like Sterne, has taken a
single captive, shut him up in his dungeon, and then
“ looked through the twilight of the grated door to take his
picture.” In this little work he has shown how a profound
interest might be given to a mere register of sensations,
and a dramatic movement imparted to a monologue, in
which the scene shifts only from the Bieetre to the Con-
ciergerie, the Hotel de Ville, and the Place de Greve.
Hugo’s great novel, Notre Dame de Paris, appeared in
1831. It is needless to speak of a work which has been
more than once translated into English; and the charac¬
teristics of which, the mingled genius and extravagance,
the poetical spirit in which it is conceived, and the want of
nature in the characters which it portrays, resembling
distorted and hideous masques rather than men, are now
very generally and correctly appreciated.
The popularity of the romances of Scott led, about the
same time, to a multitude of imitations by Jacob and others,
of which the Cinq Mars of Alfred de Vigny appears to be
generally considered the most successful.
We have no idea of entering on that mass of revolting
performances, equally offensive to good morals and good
taste, with which the French press has teemed since 1830;
and which we are but too happy to consider, with the
French themselves, as a literature of transition. This
school of blood and voluptuousness, funereal horrors and
drunken orgies, the transitions in which remind one of the
stage arrangement in the Rehearsal,—■“ the coffin opens,
and a banquet is discovered,”—we feel assured can be of
no long duration; and already we believe that the French
public begin to feel that they have had enough of the
endless Balzac, and Janin, and Sue, and Soulie, and Masson,
and the other labourers in this Montfaucon of fiction. As
for Madame Dudevant or George Sand,—the Chevalier
d’Eon of French literature,—a being whose sex it would
be impossible to ascertain from her works, with the warm
passions and headlong eloquence of the woman, and the
audacious speculation of the man,—while the principles
which she labours to inculcate are of the most odious na¬
ture, and the cynical hardihood with which she paints scenes
from which any woman would turn aside, is perhaps the
very worst proof which French literature at present pre¬
sents of a degraded standard of delicacy and right feeling
among the female sex,—we cannot deny that she appears
to us to possess far greater talent, even genius, though mis¬
directed, than any of the other ephemeral novelists to which
vye have alluded. In particular, she has an imagination
singularly alive to natural beauty; her pictures of scenery
are frequently captivating; and one evening landscape of
Venice, in her Lettres Venetiennes, has the combined charm
of deep sensibility and truth. By far the most pleasing of
her novels, because it in a great measure keeps in the back¬
ground her peculiar opinions, is Andre. And yet even the
general purity and right feeling of the tale is marred and
interrupted by some passages which English readers at least
would wish to blot.
The field of the novel or romance is not that which has
been cultivated in Germany with the most success. The
labourers indeed have been many; the produce most abun- Romance,
dant; but the quality of the harvest is at best equivocal, iv-,L_ >
Down to the time of Goethe and Tieck, the German lite- German
rature of fiction was almost entirely imitative, deriving both novels and
its form and spirit from other nations. Since their time, if romances,
it presents a greater air of originality, it has generally
assumed a character so fantastic, so unreal, so unlike all
that we have been accustomed to associate with the idea
of a novel, that it is extremely difficult to comprehend
vyhat is really the conception of the word entertained in
Germany.
As we have no very high idea of the German prose
fictions, the space which we propose to devote to them
will be extremely limited; for we shall confine ourselves
to a mere indication of the successive phases which the
German romance has presented. In doing so, it seems
unnecessary to go back beyond the latter portion of the
eighteenth century, or to revive the names of works and
authors which even the Germans themselves have for¬
gotten. The earlier part of the eighteenth century had
been occupied with numerous imitations of the Robinson
Crusoe of Defoe, or of the family pictures of Richardson,
the merits of which are not of a nature to demand notice
in the present sketch.
In the Greek romances of Wieland (1763-1812), such Wieland.
as the Agathon, the Aristippus, Peregrinus Proteus, and
Agathodcimon, the same didactic tendency is observable
which distinguishes those of Voltaire, but without their
cynical and mocking tone, and with a much greater power,
if not of actually inventing character, at least of working
up the scanty materials furnished by history into a con¬
sistent and plausible portrait of the historical personages
of antiquity; as in his Socrates, and still more perhaps in
his Aristippus. The main fault of his novels, besides this
didactic tone, which pervades them all, is the frequent
repetitions which they contain of the same views and per¬
sonages. Agathon in one manner, and the Abderites in
the other, contain the germ of almost all Wieland’s other
writings. The sceptical Hippias, for instance, only puts off
the Athenian stole in Agathon, to assume the mantle of the
Calendar; the Danae of that novel revives again in Theo-
clea and Devidassi,; the youth of Athagon, in Delphi, is
the prototype of that of Peregrinus in Parium ; and many
such instances must occur to any one familiar with Wie¬
land. He is a mannerist, in short, as to his matter, and
the mannerism extends even to his style, which, though
flowing and facile, has not a little of the solemn loquacity
of Boccaccio. This diffuseness is less felt in his shorter
tales, where his philosophy is not so obtrusively displayed;
and for this reason we prefer his Don Sylvia de Rosalva,
the history of a Quixotic believer in fairyism, graduallv
converted to common-sense by the extravagant demands
which are made upon his belief, assisted by the charms of
a mortal beauty,—and his little romance of the Salamander
and the Statue, to his more elaborate and aspiring com¬
positions.
I he influence of the novels of Richardson and of Field¬
ing re-appears about this time in a liberal effusion of family
novels, some portraying the serious and sentimental, others
the comic aspect of domestic life. Among the sentimental
novelists, Augustus La Fontaine (1758-1831) may be con-pa Fon
sidered as the most successful, and undoubtedly the most taine.
popular. He painted life as he had seen it in the little
German towns, villages, and chateaux of respectable pro¬
prietors about him, or as he had witnessed it during his cam¬
paigns as army chaplain, without ornament or alteration,
without any pretension to imagination ; and though there
is at times something vulgar and tawdry in his sentimental¬
ism, there is also a great deal of quiet simple nature in such
scenes of common life and domestic happiness as he has ex¬
hibited in his family of Haller; and a tone of frankness and
ROMANCE.
291
Comic ro¬
mances.
Richter.
Romance, good humour which carries the reader pleasingly along
v'—through incidents and characters that in themselves are
common-place enough.
The comedy of family life found numerous representa¬
tives, of whom Wetzel, Muller, Schulz, and Hippel, at¬
tracted some notice in their day and generation. Even yet
the Siegfried von Lindenberg of Muller, which appeared
about 1779, and of which many editions have appeared,
may be admitted to be a natural and amusing perform¬
ance.
A union of the sentimental with the comic in these do¬
mestic pictures was attempted at a somewhat later date in
the very singular novels of Richter (1763-1825), a man
of high powers, which he knew not how to use, and which
were alloyed in no common degree by false taste and an
incurable affectation of singularity. His earliest novel, the
Gronlandische Processe, appeared in 1784. The tricks and
clap-traps to which Sterne occasionally descends we find
habitual with Richter. The very titles of some of his works,
such as Selections from the Papers of the Devil, or Recrea¬
tions under the Cranium of a Giantess, and the absurd de¬
vices by which he generally introduces his narration, as in
the Hesperus, where a series of letters is represented as
mysteriously conveyed to the author in letter-bags tied
round the neck of a shock-dog, betray a mind anxious
to astonish by fantastic conceits, and insensible to the
beauty of simplicity. The constant recurrence of these in¬
stances of literary quackery, the want of connection which
his chaotic narrations exhibit, combined with the visionary
cast of his views, justifying his own remark, that the em¬
pire of the Germans was peculiarly that of the air, has been
fatal, and we think justly, to all attempts to naturalize
Richter in this country. His pathos we think in the worst
style of false and often meaningless effusions of sentimen¬
tality ; but as a quiet humourist, blending good feeling with
his satire, he is sometimes not unsuccessful.
A strong contrast to these pictures of ordinary life, whe¬
ther serious or comic, was presented by the mass of romances
connected with the feudal periods in Germany, which ap¬
peared from about 1780 to 1800, and formed the counter¬
part of the Ritter-stiicken or chivalrous dramas with which
the stage had been inundated since the example had been
set by Goethe’s Goetz of Berlichingen and Babo’s Otho
of Wittlesbach, Cramer, Spiess, Schlenkert, and Veit Weber,
(Leonhard Wachter), were the favourite writers of this tur¬
bulent school of fiction, which in all probability took its rise
from the popularity of the romances of Mrs Radcliffe.
Their materials were the blood-stained period of Faustrecht
and Vehm-Gerichte, feudal tyrants, suffering damsels,
devoted knights, with abundance of single combats and
splintering of lances, raising of trap-doors, escapes by slid¬
ing pannels, imprisonments in bottomless dungeons, mur¬
ders, witchcraft, and apparitions ; in short, all that apparatus
of the terrible, which, even in such hands, has a certain
fascination for the boy, but awakens only a feeling of the
ridiculous in the man.
Another department of German fictions, likewise dealing
with the marvellous, but fortunately cultivated by writers of
a very different order of talent, was the Mahrchen, or legend¬
ary tale. Three different modes may be pointed out in
which this class of subjects has been treated.
The first is exemplified in the Volksmdrchen, or popular
tales of Musaeus, in which the groundwork of marvellous
tradition which the writer has selected is treated, not in the
spirit of belief, but of a laughing scepticism, and where the
writer relies for effect, not so much upon the interest of his
materials, as upon the wit, the satirical allusions, and the
quaint description or broad drollery which he is able to in¬
fuse into the original legend. Whatever in such traditions
Feudal ro¬
mances.
bordered upon awe or terror, Musaeus rejected; he viewed Romance,
even these creations of the fancy in a prosaic light, and i v «_'
selected only such features as could be wrought into his in¬
genious mosaic of fanciful marvel, picturesque description,
and sly and somewhat irreligious pleasantry, in the style of
Voltaire. What he attempted, however, he accomplished
with success. Some of his tales, such as Stumme Liebe
(Dumb Love), and Melechsala, might be cited as models
of the art of combining the childish interest of a nursery
tale with that show of irony or philosophy which affords
even to grave personages an apology for the perusal of po¬
pular tales.
In this semi-derisive style of treating the traditionary le¬
gends of his country, Musaeus remains the solitary writer of
talent. This natural tendency of the German mind towards
earnestness and belief, even in the case of the marvellous,
led to a very decided preference of the serious manner in
the treatment of such themes. And undoubtedly at the
head of this second mode of treating the legend stand Lud-
wick Tieck (born 1773). Questionable as we think his Tieck.
claims are to the highest distinction, either as a poet or a
novelist, in the proper sense of the term, his success in the
management of traditional marvels in a poetical spirit is un¬
deniable. He seems without an effort to throw himself back
into the spirit of primitive and superstitious periods, when
the agency of an invisible world formed an article of belief,
and exercised the strongest influence over the conduct of
life;, a time of supposed prodigies, and omens, and secret
charms, whose agency pervaded and controlled the course
of nature. In reading the best of these legends of Tieck,
such as The Fair Eckbert, The Love Charm, or Peter of
Abano, we feel that he has the power of carrying us back
in advanced age into the very realm of Fairyland, and sub¬
jecting us anew to the influences of childhood. “ These
legends have a freshness about them like that of the earliest
morning, a sweetness as of wild flowers, and a calm beauty,
caught as it were from a radiant sunset or a rising morn.
The reader of the Runenberg is brought face to face with
the presiding spirits of the animal and vegetable kingdoms;
now he feels as if he were embosomed in luxurious vegeta¬
tion, bathed in fertilizing dew, and fanned by balmy zephyrs,
and now' as if he were transported to cavern depths or dark¬
est mines, where mountain spirits exercise an unholy influ¬
ence. All the other legends, The Fair Echbert, The
Fairies, and The Trusty Echhart, have the same beauty
and significance ; but it is impossible by mere description
to give any idea of their peculiar nature. They must be
studied and felt to be at all understood.”1
We are here speaking of Tieck merely as the writer who
has treated the traditional tale in the most poetical spirit.
Within the domain of the novel, taking the term even in
a very extensive sense, our estimate of his powers will be
very different.
The mode of treating the legendary lore of Germany, of
which the tales of Tieck had furnished the first example,
as the m st agreeable to the national character, soon found
numerous, or, it might rather be said, numberless imitators.
For the last thirty years the example of Tieck has been
implicitly followed, and all the legendary novelists of Ger¬
many have been melancholy and gentlemanlike, after the
pattern of the Phantasus. Of these, the writers best known
to English readers, through translation, are the Baron de la
Motte Fouque, the author of Undine, the Magic Ring, and
Sintrarn; Chamisso, the author of Peter Schlemihl; and
Apel, the author of the Freyschutz. It may be doubted
whether better specimens of the German tale might not be
selected from writers with which the English public is not
familiar,—some of Henrich Steffens’ short legendary stories
in particular,—such as the Sleeping Bride (Die Schlafende
1 Germany, by Bisset Haukins, p. 126.
R 0 M A N C E.
292
Romance. Braut), and the Nightly Betrothal in the Church of Ror-
wig (Die Nachtliche trauung im Kirche Rorwig), which
have not yet found a translator, appear not undeserving of
the attention of the lovers of the marvellous. In the wild
productions of Achim von Arnim, such as the Countess
Dolores and Isabella of Egypt, traits of talent sparkle in
the midst of absurdity. And from the works of Clemens
Brentano, and of Zshokke, the author of Abelino, several in¬
teresting legends might be selected. In particular, we are
surprised that the simple and beautiful legendary tale by the
former, “ The History of the Brave Kasperl and the Fair
Annerl,” is yet untranslated.
Hoffmann. The third form in which the Mahrchen was employed,
but at the same time perverted from its proper purpose,
and subjected to a more Mezentian union than it had sub¬
mitted to even under the satirical despotism of Musaeus,
was in the fantastic or grotesquely terrible manner intro¬
duced by Hoffmann, and since his death so injudiciously and
unsuccessfully imitated both in Germany and in France.
Hoffmann’s manner cannot be considered as entirely origi¬
nal, since an approach to it may be pointed out in the
Diable Amoureux of Cazotte. It is singular, however, that
his productions, such as the Sandman, the Magnetizer, the
Devil’s Elixir, and others of that class, deriving their whole
interest and effect from their connection with the peculiar
nature and idiosyncrasy of the writer’s mind, and so inca¬
pable of being imitated with the least success by any one not
possessing the same anomalous mental conformation and
physical irritability with the Prussian judge, should have
exercised a very decided though temporary influence
over the literature, not merely of Germany, but of Europe ;
and it proves that, notwithstanding the extravagances, there
does reside in them some charm,—something which appeals
successfully, not, indeed, to the mind in its calmer mood,
but to the imagination when in a state of temporary excite¬
ment. Only in such a mind as Hoffmann’s, moulded into
its existing shape by an ill-omened union of influences,
mental and bodily, habitually haunted with gorgons and
presentiments, seeing traces, as it were, of the devil’s hoof
in the commonest paths of life, and starting and trembling
at the chimeras with which his imagination peopled soli¬
tudes—could the phantoms bred in his eccentric brain, and
nurtured amidst the fumes of a Berlin tavern, have ever
assumed that appearance of reality and belief which could
render their introduction into a work of fiction at all practi¬
cable. Only by a mind accustomed, from a painful experi¬
ence, to brood over and dissect the origin and connection of
these strange phenomena, half mental half physical, which
makes “ life a dream,” but with a nightmare accompani¬
ment, could the possible connection of this phantasmagoria
with real existence, in morbid minds, be rendered so far in¬
telligible as to redeem them from the charge of the merest
puerility. Hoffmann’s tales, though they constantly suggest
the idea that they have had their source in the inspiration
of opium, seem really to be the only compositions in this
style of grotesque horror which can be said to possess the
redeeming quality of genius. They remind us of the images
of our dreams, calling up before us, as in sleep, long per¬
spectives of gloomy vastness, broken here and there by the
light ol the strangest ignes fatui, along which are seen,
flitting in antic movements, bands of the most fantastic
creatures, such as those which, in the pictures of Teniers,
disturb the solitude of St Anthony, or which give a strange
blending of the humorous and the horrible to the distempered
sketches of C allot. Yet, as a proof that the talent of Hoff¬
mann was by no means confined merely to the fantastic and
the supernatural, we may notice his truthful and vigorous
picture of the German burgher life of the middle ages, in
his Master Martin and his Apprentices, and his Mademoi¬
selle de Scudery, a tale of vivid and fascinating interest,
founded on a historical groundwork, moving in the simplest
and most direct manner towards its object, and exciting the Romance,
feeling of curiosity and suspense even to the last.
Some notoriety of an evil kind was obtained by a class Heinse.
of novels in which the attempt was made to invest sensu¬
ality with the graces of art, or to merge art in sensuality.
Such were the Ardinghello of Heinse (1749-1803), in
which painting was made the apology for the introduction
of voluptuous pictures, and his Hildegard von Hohenthal,
in which music was made to minister to a similar pur¬
pose,—no unfit sequel to a literary life which commenced
with a translation of Petronius. In truth, in the whole range
of the German novels, the tendency to an undue license of
this kind is observable. In those of Goethe, though veiled
by an appearance of decency, it is .sufficiently perceptible;
nor does Tieck appear free from the common taint. Many
passages in Wilhelm Meister are highly objectionable ; and
such a novel as the Wahlverwandschaften we regard as un¬
translatable into English.
Of Goethe’s novels we have already expressed our opi- Goethe,
nion in our biographical article on Goethe himself. If the
merits of a novel consisted, not in exhibiting an epitome of
human life, more or less poetically conceived, according to
the prosaic or imaginative turn of the writer’s mind, but in
speculating ingeniously on painting, agriculture, landscape,
gardening, the rules of good composition, or the state of the
theatre, connecting these speculations by a thread of mys¬
tical narrative, and introducing us to a set of beings without
the least trace of reality about them, who all appear to be
playing some theatrical part in a dreamy representation of
life, winch seems to have no intelligible object,—Goethe
may be a great novelist. With an English public, demand¬
ing some firm basis of reality, instead of that unsubstantial
cloud-land which envelopes us in the Wilhelm Meister’s
Lehrjahre and Wanderjahre, and accustomed to insist on
a plain meaning as a preliminary to poetical embellishment,
he never can be a favourite. A novel which does not ex¬
plain its purpose without a commentary seems to violate
the essential laws of such compositions; but a novel, in re¬
gard to the object of which no two commentators agree is
an anomaly in literature. Most of the German critics, in¬
deed, though professing a great admiration of these singu¬
lar performances of Goethe, are careful to confine their ob¬
servations in regard to the meaning or object of the novels
to the merest generalities. They describe Wilhelm Meis¬
ter, to use the congenial language of an English admirer,
as a picture of “ warm, hearty, sunny, human endeavour,
a free recognition of life in its depth, variety, and majesty,
but as yet no divinity recognised there.” The latter por¬
tion of the sentence is intelligible, and is unfortunately true,
but the rest reminds us of Mr Bangle’s remark, that the
interpreter appears the harder to be understood of the two.
These observations apply, with slight modification, to the Tieck.
novels of I ieck, when he abandons the province of the
traditional tale, and attempts subjects connected with real
life; the characters, the incidents, the whole cast of the tale,
appear so extravagant, that, but for the grave and lauda¬
tory criticism with which these effusions seem invariably to
be received by his countrymen, it would be difficult to be¬
lieve the author serious. His first romance, William Lovel,
was a gloomy and revolting extravagance, and his later
caprices, such as Das Alle Buch (The Old Book), the Vo-
gelscheuche (Scarecrow), Eigensinn and Laune (Self-will
and Humour), Wunderlichkeiten (Marvels), are utterly
unworthy of a man of genius. Even the merits of his Dich-
terleben (A Poet’s Life), have been greatly exaggerated.
Any tale in which Marlowe and Shakespeare figure as ac¬
tors has a certain interest for a Briton; but beyond some
eloquent disputations on the drama, and the formation of a
poet’s mind, in which Shakespeare and his companions are
made to utter modern German theories, the most opposite to
English notions of the sixteenth century, we cannot perceive
ROMANCE.
293
Romance, wherein the peculiar merit of this much-lauded perfor-
V*-'' mance lies. Tieck has said absurdly and presumptuously
of Sir Walter Scott, that “it is surprising how little he
wants to be a poet, but how much that little outweighs all
that he is.” Let any one who has read Tieck’s Aufruhr in
den Cevennen, in which he has come in competition with the
Scotch novelist on an historical subject, judge whether he
has himself made a nearer approximation to that character.
Schiller. talent displayed by Schiller in his Verbrecher aus
Ehre, and his fine fragnllnt of the Armenian, or the Ghost
Seer, excites regret that he did not give us less of philoso¬
phy, and more of fiction. The latter is an unfinished tale
of mystery, of deep interest, the idea of which, it is sup¬
posed, was suggested by the juggleries of Cagliostro, and
in which Schiller, though he never witnessed the scenery
which he describes, has caught the spirit of silence and se¬
crecy which seems to pervade Venice, with the same suc¬
cess as, in his William Tell, he has transported us into the
mountain recesses of the Oberland. And Lord Byron has
recorded the strong impression made upon his mind by the
recollection of the incomprehensible Armenian, one of those
conceptions which he was accustomed by anticipation to
associate with the image of the city of the sea.
Several female novelists, too, have respectably supported
the pretensions of their sex; such as Fanny Tarnow, the
Baroness de la Motte Fouque, Johanna Schopenhauer, Hen¬
rietta Hanke, and Caroline Pichler, the able authoress of
Agathocles. Many of their productions exhibit talent,
grace, and facility of style ; but we should be at a loss to
name any for which the praise of genius could justly be
claimed.
The class of romances called Kriminal Geschichten, turn¬
ing on stories of secret guilt discovered by circumstantial
evidence, has been a numerous one in Germany. At the
head of this class of novelists stands Kruse, who certainly
possesses in a high degree a power which at the present
day appears to be rather a rare one, that of constructing an
ingenious and complicated plot, keeping the curiosity con¬
stantly on the stretch, and defying conjecture as to the re¬
sult, till the author himself chooses to furnish the solution.
The Ring, Oath and Conscience, Diodatis’ Birth, the
Dance of Death, and the Red Dragon, are masterpieces in
this style of invention, which, though of a sufficiently pro¬
saic character, yet possesses at least this cardinal merit,
that it is rarely tedious.
Historical romances have always been numerous in Ger¬
many ; and after the appearance of those of Sir Walter
Scott they became still more so. Some of the chivalrous
pictures of Tromlitz, Van de Velde, and Blumenhagen, in
this style, are spirited, but in general the historical romance
of Germany does not rise above mediocrity. “ Sunt bona,
sunt quaedam mediocria, sunt mala plura.” Let us except
the very remarkable tale of Michael Kohlhaas, by the un¬
fortunate dramatist Kleist (1776-1811). In all of Kleist’s
tales there is too much of a spectral and fatalistic charac¬
ter; he delighted to contemplate and to delineate life as
necessitated by a mysterious and iron destiny. Kohlhaas
is not entirely free from a tinge of the supernatural,
wlfich harmonizes ill with the deep, humble, human inter¬
est of the tale itself; and nowhere does the idea of a grim
and unrelenting fate appear in more saddening colours.
There is truth, therefore, in Goethe’s remark as to this ro¬
mance, that “ it brings prominently into view a dissonant
principle in nature, with which poetry ought not to meddle,
with which it cannot reconcile itself, let the handling of the
matter be never so exquisite.” And yet this vigorous and
truthful picture from the Lutheran times must be to Eng¬
lish readers an object of interest, from the contrast it exhi- Romance,
bits to the usual style of the German novel; for it is told
with a directness, a simplicity, a dramatic liveliness, and an
absence of unnecessary reflection, which are qualities of
rare occurrence beyond the Rhine.
Of late years the German, following the example of the
English novelists, have somewhat enlarged their sphere ;
and have addressed themselves seriously to the portraiture
of contemporaneous society, in its true living features, as
contrasted with such vaguely sentimental, and decidedly
erotic productions as the Werther and Wahlverwandschaf-
ten of Goethe. Several novels of this class have reached us,
all of which exhibit more truthfulness and fidelity to nature
than we find in the older writers ; but, as a counterbalance,
there is decidedly less imagination, and the characters,
when original, and not borrowed from English authors, are
commonplace and dull. The best of these novels is the
Sollen und Haben (Debit and Credit) of Freytag, which is Freytag.
spirited, and conveys a faithful picture of life in Silesia,
both in the noble and the mercantile circles. But it is im¬
possible to read many pages of that novel without perceiving
the extraordinary influence which the perusal of the works
of Dickens has exercised over the mind of the author. It-
sig the Jew, and the old beer-drinking porter, are properties
of Mr Dickens’ which Freytag has unceremoniously appro¬
priated. He has hit off the minute, quaint, and sometimes ,
grotesque descriptive manner of the English novelist to the
life; and in his more tragic situations the resemblance is
so close as almost to have the effect of a parody. We may
also notice a very pleasing tale of historical as well as do¬
mestic interest, entitled Frederick the Great and his Mer¬
chant, a good translation of which has recently been made
by Lady Maxwell Wallace. The name of the author is
not given; but if this is the first attempt of an aspiring
novelist, we feel confident that it is only the precursor of
greater works, and that Germany may yet (for she has not
done so hitherto), produce a novelist worthy of a Euro¬
pean reputation.
We must not exclude from this sketch a notice of Hans Andersen
Christian Andersen, the Danish novelist, whose beautiful of Den-
tales have been translated into German, English, Dutch, mark,
and Russian. Without any pretensions to art, he has at¬
tained that which no study can give, a perfectly natural
expression. Without resorting to the mechanism of verse,
he touches intuitively and in succession the chords of
human sympathy; and more almost than any other living
author possesses the magical secret of endearing himself,
through his works, to the reader, without exhibiting any
trace of egotism or personal intrusion. Nor are high proofs
of talent in the fictional department wanting in another
region of Scandinavia. The Swedish novels of Frederica f^ederica
Bremer are well known in England through the medium of Bremer,
the translations by Mary Howitt; and though curiosity re¬
garding the customs of a land comparatively unknown to
us might account for some portion of the interest which
they excited, their intrinsic merit alone fully warranted the
introduction. Her novels are of the domestic kind, simple,
and true to nature, without much pretension in the way of
plot, but always graphic in description, distinct in delinea¬
tion of character, and in sentiment irreproachable and re¬
fined. Less known perhaps to English readers, but yet
deserving of notice, are the novels of Madame Carlen, also Madame
a Swede, whose writings display a strong imaginative ten- Carlen.
dency ; some lines verging on that dubious and undefined
manner which we are contented to designate as the “ melo¬
dramatic.” (g. m—R.) (w. E. A.)
294
ROMAN HISTORY.
SECT. I.—SITE OF ROME.
Site of The site of Rome occupies a cluster of low eminences
Rome, threaded by the winding stream of the Tiber. The Cam-
pagna, the modern name for the tract of land which en¬
compasses it, stretching from the sea to the Apennines,
is not a wholly level surface, but is generally varied with
gentle undulations. At one or two points only, such as in
the neighbourhood of Alba and of Rome, this tameness of
character is broken by more abrupt and prominent irregu¬
larities. The Alban hills soar in several peaks to an ex¬
treme altitude of 3000 feet, and inclose two deep basins
filled with water; but the hills of Rome hardly attain 150
feet, and the Tiber, running among them, serves to drain
the moisture descending from their flanks. The presence
of marine deposits in the gravel which composes a portion
of their soil shows that these hills have been raised in pri¬
mitive times from the bed of an ocean; while the configu¬
ration of the hills themselves bears token of the volcanic
agency by which this revolution was effected. On the left
bank of the river they form a large segment of a circle, rising
for the most part almost imperceptibly from the Campagna
beyond, but falling more suddenly into the interior crater;
while at either extremity, to the North and South, they
descend abruptly into the bed of the Tiber. On the right
they extend more irregularly along the river bank, rising
at one point to a somewhat greater elevation ; while the
ridge of the Monte Mario, less closely connected with them,
in the rear, reaches to a height of nearly 500 feet.
In the hollow formed by the circumvallation of the left
bank stands a single hillock with a level summit and steep
sides, well defined, and of figure nearly rectangular, mea¬
suring about 500 yards by 400. Removed about a quarter
of a mile from the bank of the river, and almost screened
from it by the advancing horns of the circumjacent ridge,
screened still more effectually in early antiquity by the thick
jungle which choked the valleys all around it, this hill—the
Palatine, as it came in after ages to be called—could hardly
be detected by the eyes of a stranger from beyond the
limits of the inclosure. Such a site might naturally tempt
the wandering brigands of Central Italy to fix on it their
permanent settlements. Though traces may be discovered
in the later manners of the Italians of their original descent
from a race of nomades, yet we find them distinguished at
the first dawn of history by the general adoption of settled
habitations. The idea of the city, and of municipal insti¬
tutions, was as strongly developed in Italy as in Greece;
and in this respect the earliest known inhabitants of either
peninsula were equally distinguished from the Gaul, the
Briton, and the German. The strongholds of these people
were the summits of bold eminences, such as rose some¬
times in clusters, sometimes with insulated projections, from
the plains or the scarped ridge of a mountain spur; and
the cultivators of the little territory around them resided
generally within the shelter of their walls. But the domain
of the first fortress on the Palatine was limited by the con¬
flicting claims of the occupants of similar retreats on al¬
most every height around it. The Tarpeian hill, looking
noithward up the stream of the Tiber, was the site, accord¬
ing to an early legend, of a town denominated Saturnia;
the Janiculan, across the river, bore a city of its own name ;
the Quirinal, which stood next in order to the Tarpeian,
was settled by a tribe of Sabines, the people of the district
reaching north-eastward to the Apennines; the Latins,
who held, with a confederacy of thirty states, the great
plain, of the Campagna to the south-east, had a place of Political
meeting on the Aventine ; the whole of the right bank of History,
the Tiber belonged to the still more powerful nation of the
Etruscans. 1 he earliest legends of Rome indicate the
seizure of the Palatine by an offset from a Latin tribe, and
its conversion into a stronghold for the unsettled brigandage
of the neighbourhood. But this confined and secluded
eminence afforded a retreat indeed, but no sustenance, to
its primeval occupants; and from the first the Romans
were compelled by the sternest necessity to fight with
every neighbour for their daily living. If constant warfare
was thus, on the one hand, from the first the law of their
existence, not less were they compelled in self-defence to
seek alliances and cultivate peaceful relations on the other;
and they soon learned to relax the rigid exclusiveness of
manners and family ties which characterized the politics of
the Italian races. While the martial temper of the Roman
people was formed in the school of perpetual aggression or
defence, they had the good fortune to be driven by cir¬
cumstances to fraternize liberally with their allies and de¬
pendents, and the habit of admitting fresh infusions of
foreign blood continued to be maintained by a necessity
ever increasing as the sphere of their foreign relations
widened. It was the remark of their own statesmen, as
well as of later students of their history, that the illustrious
career of Roman conquest was maintained by the seasonable¬
ness with which, however reluctantly, the franchise of the
city, with all its privileges and burdens, was conceded at
every crisis to strangers.
SECT. II. DERIVATION OF THE ROMAN PEOPLE FROM ETRUS¬
CANS, SABINES, AND LATINS.
Extending our view beyond the cluster of hills over Derivation
which the name of Rome was eventually to be extended, of the Ro-
we may observe, with the map of Italy before us, how man PeoPle
critically the future mistress of the world was placed with fromEtrus-
reference to the powers around her. Three considerable ^5,
nations, the names of which have been already mentioned, Latins
met just at this point. The Tiber, descending almost due
south from the Apennines to the Mediterranean, and mak¬
ing with that sea an acute angle on the right, an obtuse one
on the left, separated the country of the Etruscans from
that of the Sabines and of the Latins. Again the Anio,
running west from the central ridge of the peninsula, and
striking perpendicularly upon the Tiber three miles above
the spot just designated, formed the line of demarcation
between the Sabines and the Latins themselves. Rome,
therefore, was placed almost at the point of junction of the
three rival nationalities.
The institution of the fortified city as the nucleus of the
political combination, such as we find it to have existed
throughout Central Italy in these early times, may be taken
as a sign that the country is in possession of a foreign race,
which has subdued the original inhabitants and holds their
lands by the right of conquest. Wherever a tribe has
settled upon soil hitherto unoccupied, we find that it has
spread itself along the sides of the rivers and over fertile
plains, clearing the forest rood by rood, and planting its
scattered habitations securely on every spot to which chance
or convenience has conducted it. Thus the inhabitants,
first known to us, of Gaul and Germany, may seem to have
been the aborigines of the land. They found perhaps on
their arrival no prior possessors of the soil on which they
planted themselves, and they had no need to defend their
KOMAN HISTORY.
Political acquisitions by the establishment of fortified posts and
History. armed garrisons in the centre of every plot of ground they
occupied. But in Italy, on the contrary, both tradition
and early ethnological traces confirm our natural inference
from the mode of its ancient inhabitation, and assure us
that neither Etruscans, Sabines, nor Latins were aborigi¬
nal possessors of the peninsula, but were themselves in¬
truders upon the heritage of feebler and probably more
peaceful races. The early connection of these aborigines
with the Greeks appears from the identity of many of their
words, such especially as refer to agricultural usages and
ideas. The formation of the Latin tongue is also closely
allied to the Greek. This apparent identity of race we
signalize by giving to the Italians the name of Pelasgians.
But it is in these fragments of their language only that we
can trace the character of this primitive people. The Sa¬
bines and Latins have conquered and degraded them ; these
new-comers have long maintained themselves in their forti¬
fied and inaccessible citadels, like the Norman barons in
their castles, in the midst of their conquered serfs; and the
institution of the city, remains to attest the fact of con¬
quest, long after the elements of resistance which first sug¬
gested it have been trampled into the dust. Throughout
the territory of the Etruscans the conquest has been even
more complete. Here the conquered people have not left
even a feeble trace of their existence in the language of
their conquerors.
Resembling one another in this main feature of their
politics, the Etruscans, the Sabines, and the Latins are
distinguished in other important particulars. Whatever
may have been the course of migration which led the
Etruscans to their final seats in Central Italy, their early
connection with the East seems proved from the character
of their institutions. Their religion was a mystery and a
craft, like the Egyptian and other eastern systems, jea¬
lously guarded and professionally communicated; though
its priests were no longer on the freer soil of Italy a special
caste like the Druids, the Magi, and the Brahmins, but
were at the same time the warriors, the proprietors, and
the statesmen of the commonwealth. Such was the Etrus¬
can Lucumo, king, priest, soldier, and landlord, and such
he maintained himself in spite of the advance of commer¬
cial ideas among the people, some of whose cities on the
Tyrrhene coast had become emporia of the traffic of the
Mediterranean. But in the eighth century b.c. the power
of the Etruscans had already sustained a blow; they had
lost their hold of the countries they once possessed north
of the Apennines ; the connection with their advanced posts
in Latium and Campania seems to have been dislocated;
they were confined to a confederacy of twelve cities in
Etruria proper, strictly allied, and still by far the strongest
and most important section of the Italian communities.
The Etruscan religion was a refined theosophy. It pro¬
claimed the existence of a Supreme Being, a Providence
or Fate, who was rather the soul of the world than a per^
son exterior to it. The lesser gods, like those of Egypt
and India, were emanations from this being. The world
itself was subject to periodical mutations; men and things
had their appointed courses; there was a future state of
rewards and punishments. The Etruscans conceived, like
other heathens, that the will of the divinity and the course
of future events might be ascertained by the observation
of omens. Their soothsayers drew auguries from the flight
of birds, but they had a special gift of interpreting the signs
of victims’ entrails and of meteoric phenomena.
The religious ideas of the Sabines and Latins, on the
other hand, were less refined, and affected less mystery. The
indigenous cult of Italy had regarded the daily and common
wants of men: the husbandman worshipped the genii of the
winds and skies, the shepherd those who protected his flocks
from the wild beast or the murrain, the warrior those by
295
whom his arrows were wafted to the mark or the crafty Political
stratagem suggested. It was also domestic, and concerned History,
the preservation of property, the guardianship of family
rights and affections, the prolonged existence of the spirits
of the dead. The Sabines maintained these ideas in the
greatest purity and simplicity ; the Latins seem, from their
position on the coast, to have had an earlier connection with
the Greeks, some of whose colonies were planted on their
soil; and they partook more than their ruder neighbours
of the Greek devotion to moral abstractions, such as wisdom,
power, and beauty. But they both agreed in the infinite
multiplication of their objects of worship. Every city had
its guardian divinity; every wood and stream its Genius,
its Nymph, or Faun ; every family offered a special service
to the patron of the house, the deified spirit of its earliest
ancestor. The maintenance of this family worship was a
solemn obligation descending to the heir of the estate, and
in default of natural heirs the practice of adoption was en¬
joined for its preservation. The cult of the Lares and
Penates, the domestic fetishes of the house, seems to have
been common, with some variety of usage, to Etruscans,
Sabines, and Latins.
The religion of the Sabines and Latins was simple and
impulsive; that of the Etruscans philosophical and re¬
flective. The one bowed with submission to the gods,
the other inquired into their nature and explored their
will. But whatever difference we may trace between
them, we find them amalgamated together in the cult of
the Roman people, who were placed, as we have seen, at
the point where these ideas might first come in contact and
coalesce. We shall find the threefold origin of the state
marked no less strongly in its political institutions. From
Etruria came the division into tribes, curies, and centuries;
the array of battle, the ornaments of the magistracy, the
laticlave, the prsetexta, the apex, the curule chairs, the
lictors, the triumphs, and public games, the whole appara¬
tus of the calendar, the sacred character of property, the
terminal science, and, in short, the political religion of the
state. From Latium the names of praetor and dictator, the
institution of the fecials; the habits of husbandry and re¬
spect for the plough ; and, finally, the Latin language itself.
From Sabellia were derived the names of military weapons,
and of the spear or quiris, which gave one of its designa¬
tions to the Roman people. The Roman title of Imperator
seems to be a popular application of the Sabine word em~
bratur. The patriciate and patronship belonged more or
less to all the nations which surrounded Rome, and so did the
habit of dwelling in cities, and the institution of municipal
governments. Such was the case also with the division
into gentes, clans, or septs, and the remarkable extent of
authority accorded to the father and the husband. This
mixed formation of Roman society is mythically repre¬
sented to us by the legends which describe-the first and
third of the kings as Latins, the second and fourth as
Sabines, the fifth and two following as Etruscans. But
there is probably some historic truth in the claims of the
chief families to descent from one or the other people re¬
spectively. It is interesting to trace the Julii, the Tullii,
the Servilii, the Geganii, the Quinctii, the Curiatii, the
Clcelii, to Alba; the Furii and Hostilii to Medullia; the
Coruncanii to Cameria; the Porcii and Manilii to Tusculum,
—all in Latium. The Appii, Postumii, Valerii, Marcii, Fabii,
Claudii, and Calpurnii were Sabines. The Cilniiand Licinii
came from Arretium; the Caecinae from Volaterra; the Vettii
from Clusium ; the Pomponii, Papii, and Coponii from other
places in Etruria. (Duruy, Hist, des Romains, i. 89.)
SECT. III.—LEGENDS OF THE FIRST FOUR KINGS AND THE
POLITICAL INSTITUTIONS ASCRIBED TO THEM.
The early history of Rome, as written for us by Livy
296 ROMAN
Political and Dionysius, has no claim to be considered as a record
History, of actual facts, and such truths as it really may contain
V',—cannot be sifted with any certainty from the mass of fiction
Legends of with which it is embedded by the science of the historian
the first or the political philosopher. We can only regard it as
four kings, an attempt to account, under the guise of history, for exist-
^fitical institut’ons anc^ political phenomena at Rome, at a period
institutions when the consciousness of the people was aroused to seek
ascribed to the origin of their own life and being. The primitive legends
them. of the flight of Saturn to Latium, the advent of Hercules,
the arrival of Evander, the settlement of iEneas at Alba,
are attempts to explain the apparent presence of an Hel¬
lenic element in the language and usages of Italy. The
story of the birth of Romulus and Remus from Mars and
Rhea illustrates the warlike spirit and victorious career of
the Roman nation ; the suckling of the twins by the wolf,
the slaughter of the wicked uncle, the collection of a horde
of outlaws, the opening of an asylum for fugitives and rob¬
bers, the quarrel of the brothers, the rape of the Sabine
women,—all combine to represent the fierce and aggressive
spirit of the race of conquerors whose hand was to be
against every man, and every man’s hand against them.
The contest of the Romans and Sabines for the Tarpeian
citadel, and the final pacification and alliance between them,
soon followed by the accession of the Sabine Numa, the
founder of law and religion, indicate a consciousness of
the early introduction of a Sabine element into the Roman
polity. The wars of Tullus with Alba shadow forth the
ancient conquest of territory eastward of the city, and the
first extension of the Roman domain beyond the walls of
Rome. The establishment of a Sabine colony on the
Quirinal, a Latin on the Aventine, an Etruscan on the
Caelian, all finally comprehended in a single inclosure,
testify the rapid growth of the city by the fusion of the
three rival nations at their point of junction. The le¬
gends of the death of Remus and the slaughter of Hora-
tia seem to aim at explaining the origin of actual religious
ceremonies, and if we knew more of the domestic antiquities
of Rome, we might trace perhaps the ideas which gave
birth to many other stories, such, for instance, as the
treachery of Tarpeia. The murder of Romulus by the
Senate typifies a protest of the commons against the violence
of the aristocracy, while the accompanying legend of the
victim’s exaltation into the heavens justifies the hero-wor¬
ship of the state and of the Gentes. On the other hand,
the reign of Numa is evidently painted by the faction of
the nobles. Numa is the founder of the rites and institu¬
tions of Rome; and these are the charter of the Roman
aristocracy. The death of Tullus Hostilius, the third
king, is another instance of this class of legends: he is
struck with lightning for abusing the legitimate worship
of the gods, of which the nobles are the guardians and
expounders. Ancus, however, his successor, is the king
after the people’s heart; his reign is contrasted with that
of Tullus, as that of Numa with his predecessors, as an
epoch of peace instead of war; but Ancus, unlike Numa,
is celebrated for the favour he extended to the lower un¬
privileged classes, for his courting the breeze of popular
applause, and publishing the mysteries of the aristocratic
religion; nevertheless he is the founder of the prison
under the iarpeian hill, long known to the citizens as
the terror of the oppressed and degraded as well as of
the wrong-doer, a chief instrument in maintaining the
hateful ascendancy of the oligarchs. (Michelet, Hist, de
Rom. i.)
The classes opposed to one another throughout political
history are the nobles and the commons. The aristocracy
and the people are known in the Roman records by the
special name petti icictns and plebcictns. The first founders
of the commonwealth, whether by settlement on vacant
soil, or by conquest of a more primitive population, formed
HISTORY.
the original body of citizens, with equal rights of dealing Political
of marriage, of suffrage, among themselves. Such were History,
the patricians of Rome. The subjects of this dominant
race, whether by original conquest, or by later acquisition,
including such as ranged themselves, of their own free will,
under the powerful protection of the Roman city, became
known by the general name of plebeians (the plebs), and
were admitted to no share in the government, to no equal
rights, social, political, or religious, with the citizens. The}7
remained, according to the significant expression of a Ro¬
man patrician,^ “ without auspices, without families, without
ancestors.’ 1 hey were distinguished, however, from the
slaves of the Roman household, having their personal free¬
dom, property, and liberty to exercise handicraft trades for
their own benefit. They were subject also to the military
conscription. But such immunities as they enjoyed were
secured to them, not by law, but by the protection of the
patricians, to whom they stood individually in the relation
of clients to patrons. Thus every plebeian was originally
the client of a patrician ; but as the plebeians gradually
acquired legitimate civic rights of their own, the status of
the client was transferred to the ever-growing class of sub¬
jects who were not citizens at all.
The political institutions ascribed to Romulus must be
regarded as affecting the patricians only. This Roman
people was formed, we are told, into three tribes,—the
Ramnes, the Titles, and subsequently, but with inferior
rights, the Luceres. It is conjectured that the first of
these represents the original Latin people of the Palatine,
the second the Sabines of the Quirinal, the third an Etrus¬
can element in the population, which, according to tradi¬
tion, was settled on the Caelian hill. Each tribe was sub¬
divided into ten curice, and these bodies met in general
assemblies, or comitia, called after their name curiata, in
which resided the sovereign power of the state deputed by
it to a king. The Senate was a body chosen from the
curies as a council of state, consisting first of 100 members,
soon afterwards doubled by the incorporation of the Sa¬
bines ; but the Luceres were not originally admitted to a
share in this dignity. Each tribe was bound to furnish
1000 men on foot, and 100 to serve on horseback; and this
body formed the legion. The horsemen, originally desig¬
nated Celeres, became in course of time a distinct order
in the state, under the well-known title of Equites or
Knights.
As Romulus, the founder of Rome, whose name is con¬
nected with the Greek word poj/x-^, strength, was the author
of the military institutions which upheld the fabric of the
state, so Numa the Sabine, a name which must remind us
of the Greek vegw and vo/xos, law, was regarded as the
framer of its religious rites, the foundation of law and order.
He appointed as the guardians of the national religion four
pontiffs, the first of whom was specially designated the
Pontifex Maximus; he assigned two Flamens to the spe¬
cial service of the tutelary gods of Rome, Gradivus and
Quirinus, and a third to that of Jupiter. He instituted the
College of Augurs and of the Salii, who bore on their heads
the sacred shields of Mars ; and established the priesthood
of the sacred Virgin, who tended the never-dying flame on
the altar of Vesta, brought from the shrine of the goddess
at Alba, the mother city of Rome. Numa is also said to
have built the temple of Janus, the double God, whose faces
looked both before and after, and to have closed its portals
in sign of peace. He appointed also a long series of
ceremonial observances connected with the seasons of the
Roman year, and first completed the calendar by the addi¬
tion to it of the two months of January and" February.
The year of Numa consisted of twelve lunar months and
one day over, making 355 days in all. In all these insti¬
tutions he sought and enjoyed the counsel of the Camcena,
or goddess Egeria, a deity of the Sabines, and the grotto
ROMAN HISTORY. 297
Political at which he was wont nightly to meet her, near the
History. Porta Capena, continued to be shown at Rome for many
v*—ages.
SECT. IY. THE THREE LATER KINGS.
The three The first four reigns represent the struggles of Rome
later kings, with the Sabines and the Latins, and she is described as
victorious throughout a succession of wars. The next pe¬
riod bears a different character. Rome is now under the
sway of an Etruscan dynasty, and to this epoch are ascribed
certain works, still partly existing, which attest more surely
than record or tradition the fact of an Etruscan domina¬
tion on the spot. The chiefs under whom the low grounds
of the city were drained by the vast Cloaca, and the na¬
tional temple erected on the scarped brow of the Tarpeian
rock, under whom the Seven Hills, crowned with separate
fortifications, were united within one continuous inclosure,
were assuredly Etruscans; and they must have exer¬
cised their authority with the strong hand of conquerors
and despots. The legends, however, say nothing of an
Etruscan conquest of Rome. Tarquinius Priscus, or the
Elder, is represented as the son of a- Grecian refugee who
removed from Tarquinii in Etruria to Rome, by the ad¬
vice of his wife, the prophetess Tanaquil. Appointed tutor
to the sons of Ancus, he succeeds, on the king’s death, in
supplanting them on the throne. Rome receives from him
her first architectural embellishments—he establishes the
circus for national games—constructs the Cloaca, and com¬
mences the Capitol. The expense of these great works is
supposed to be defrayed, not by the forced labour of a na¬
tion of serfs, but by plunder seized from the Latins and
Sabines. Tarquin celebrates the first Roman triumph after
the Etruscan fashion, in a robe of gold and purple, and
his chariot is drawn by four white horses. Many of the
ensigns both of war and of civil office are assigned to
this epoch. And now we meet with the admission of one
hundred plebeians into the Senate, and the formation of
three new centuries of knights. The opposition of the
patricians to this democratic innovation is signalized in the
legend of Attus Navius, the augur, who insists the policy
of the sovereign, and confirms his resistance with the sanc¬
tion of a miracle. A statue of Attus, standing for many
centuries in the Forum, attested the stroke of the augur’s
razor, which cut the stone at Tarquin’s bidding.
These attempts at relaxing the stern exclusiveness of
the Roman polity were continued, it is said, and effected
more triumphantly by the next king. Servius Tullius, de¬
scribed in one account as originally a slave, is said to have
married a daughter of Tarquin, and to have gained the
throne by the contrivance of Tanaquil. Another, and pro¬
bably the Etruscan legend, represented him as a soldier of
fortune from Etruria, who attached himself to Caeles Vi-
benna, the founder of an Etruscan city on the Cselian hill.
His original name, Mastarna, was changed to that of Ser¬
vius, by which alone he became known in the native history
of Rome. Servius connected the Viminal, the Quirinal, and
the Esquiline, the three Sabine hills, with the Palatine, the
Tarpeian, now called Capitoline, the Aventine, and the
Caelian, thus completing the fated number of seven. The
agger, or mound, with which he defended this city to the
north, may be traced to this day; and some vestiges have
been discovered of the massive stone walls which encom¬
passed it in other quarters. He divided the city thus com¬
pleted into four regions, the Palatine, Suburran, Colline,
and Esquiline.
The chief external event of this reign, according to our
records, was the formation of an alliance with the thirty
cities of Latium, confirmed by the erection of a common
temple to Diana on the Aventine. The lands which Ser¬
vius won from the Veians and Etruscans he divided among
the plebeians, thereby incurring the hostility of the patri-
VOL. XIX.
cians towards a foreign dynasty, and especially to the slave- Political
born sovereign himself, the patron of the upstart com- History,
monalty. For the policy of Servius was directed to raising v—
the subjects of the state to a political equality with their
rulers, and carrying out the liberal views already indicated
by his predecessor. His plan, however, was not, we are
told, to raise the plebeian families to patrician rank, and in¬
troduce them into the special assembly of the curies, but to
create a new general assembly, under the name of the cen¬
turies, which should comprehend both classes alike. The
Servian constitution, such as later ages loved to picture it,
though confessing that it never really came into practical
operation, was the enrolment of the whole body of the
citizens, patrician and plebeian, in one great military array,
according to their census or means, and the arms which
they could bring into the field. Thus enrolled and ac¬
coutred, they were to assemble in the Field of Mars,
outside the city, and decide on all the gravest affairs of
state, of peace and war, of laws and ceremonies, with the
full powers hitherto enjoyed by the curies alone. But
though this division into classes existed only on paper in the
histories of a later age, the division of the people into its
tribes, from twenty to thirty in number, was an actual fact,
whether rightly ascribed to Servius or not. The tribes of
Romulus were only three, and were confined to the patri¬
cians ; those of Servius embraced the great body of the
plebeians. The former referred only to birth ; the latter
defined the habitation of the members belonging to them.
Of the Servian tribes, four only were in the city, the rest
were assigned to country localities in the domain of the
state. The names of most of these tribes, which continued
to exist with various additions to a very late period, have
been mostly preserved to us ; but though they formed the
basis of another assembly of the people which played a
great part in the subsequent history of Borne, so little inter¬
est or importance attaches to them that even their number
at this and at later periods is involved in the greatest un¬
certainty. The legend of Servius brings him to the wonted
end of a democratic reformer. Assailed by his own child¬
ren, the favour of the multitude is unable either to defend
or to avenge him. The people can do no more than
consecrate his memory in undying tradition, and mark the
day of his assassination by a religious ceremony repeated
every month. The street in which the abominable Tullia
drove her car over her father’s body continued ever after to
bear the name of “ The Accursed.”
The reign of the second Tarquin, or the Proud, is an
attempt to usurp the power both of the nobles and the
commons, and establish a pure despotism on the ruins of
the democratic monarchy. Wars are waged with the
Latins and Etruscans, but the lower classes are deprived of
their arms, and employed in the servile occupation of erect¬
ing monuments of regal magnificence, while the tyrant
recruits his armies from his own retainers and the forces of
foreign allies. The completion of the fortress-temple on
the Capitoline confirms his authority over the city of Rome,
and a connection by marriage with the dictator of the Tus-
culans secures him powerful assistance in the field. He
reigns with bloodshed and violence, oppressing the poor by
his exactions, and crushing the rich by slaugliter and pro¬
scriptions. The outrage of his son Sextus on the chaste
Lucretia at last precipitates a revolt; and L. Junius Brutus,
supported by the injured husband and father, proclaims the
fall of the foreign dynasty, and the establishment of a
republic. The name of Brutus was given in the Latin
language to an idiot ; and hence arose a legend that the
hero of the Regifuge, or flight of the kings, had simulated
madness to deceive the Tarquins, in whose house he had
been bred. Another conjecture has been hazarded by a.u. 24
modern critics, that the term means a slave, especially a b c.
revolted or fugitive slave, and indicates in this story the
2 p
KOMAN HISTORY,
298
Political insurrection of the commons, oppressed and degraded
History, slaves of the monarchy, against the tyranny of their foreign
masters.
But the legend of the Tarquins does not terminate with
their fall from power. Banished from the city, they take re¬
fuge with their allies at Tarquinii and Veii, and intrigue for
the recovery of their throne. While the citizens were organiz¬
ing their commonwealth, appointing Brutus and Collatinus
their first consuls (prcetors they were originally called), with
powers hardly less than regal, but limited to a single year,
the emissaries of Tarquin engage the sons of Brutus in a plot
to restore him, the execution of whom, when discovered, by
their own father’s decree, was recorded as a striking instance
of the sternness of the ancient patriotism. A second at¬
tempt with an army of Veians and Tarquinians was not
more successful, though Brutus himself fell in the combat
which gave victory to the Romans. Tarquin made a third
effort, with the aid of Porsenna, chief of the whole Etruscan
confederacy, and this powerful ally penetrated to the Tiber,
and would have followed the flying Romans into the city,
but for the courage with which Codes defended the bridge
till it could be broken down behind him. This ancient
peril of Rome was illustrated by the popular traditions of
Mucius and Clcelia; but though it continued to be confi¬
dently believed that the invader was compelled to retreat
discomfited, later inquirers professed to have discovered
documents proving that the city had in fact capitulated to
him, that the Romans had been subjected to Etruscan au¬
thority, and forbidden, like the Israelites under the sway
of the Philistines, the use of iron even in their domestic
implements.
To continue the popular story, however: we next read of
Tarquin betaking himself to his allies at Tusculum, of a
great Latin confederation for his restoration, and of the
battle at the Lake Regillus, in the which the exiles were
finally defeated by the assistance of Castor and Pollux,
who fought on the side of the Romans, conspicuous on
a. u. 255. white horses. The Latins make peace with Rome, aban-
b. c. 499. doning Tarquin to his fate ; and the old king dies event¬
ually, fourteen years after his expulsion, at the court of the
Grecian tyrant of Cumae.
SECT. y.—REMARKS ON THE FOREGOING ACCOUNTS.
Remarks The kingly power is said to have been overthrown in the
on the fore- year 244 of the city ; the reigns of seven kings having
going ac- filled up this long interval, the average of the six first, four
counts. 0f wfiicfi are cut short by violent deaths, being thirty-six
years to each. In addition to the startling improbability of
such a series of protracted lives, there are other chronolo¬
gical difficulties in the narrative which the ancients them¬
selves tried in vain to remove. In modern times these
inconsistencies gave the most powerful, if not the first,
incitement to the spirit of historical scepticism which has
resulted in an almost entire renunciation of the early Roman
records as genuine historical documents.
We shall consider presently, from an examination of the
sources of genuine information which were really open to
the Romans themselves, what amount of credence may rea¬
sonably be given to the reputed facts of their story. In
this place it will be sufficient to point out that the so-called
history of the kings presents an outline common to the
early annals of most states of antiquity, the growth of a
commonwealth by war and conquest till its ruler, at the
head of a veteran army, and in possession of a central
stronghold, sets himself above the laws, and plays the
despot with selfish violence, till stricken down by the
people whose patience he has outraged. To this kingly
period succeeds generally, as at Rome, an epoch of popular
government, in which the regal name is detested as the
symbol of violence and tyranny, and the supreme power,
which the rudeness of the times requires to be lodged in Political
strong hands, is guarded against abuse by distribution History,
among two or more possessors, with limitation to a single
year’s tenure ; when in cases of emergency this power is
still more concentrated in a single hand, the limitation of
tenure is reduced just in proportion to six months. From
this time, secure of their freedom as against their rulers, the
citizens plunge into a series of struggles among themselves,
class against class. The second period of Roman history
corresponds with the ordinary course of political affairs, and
is marked by a long and fluctuating contest between the
aristocratic and democratic elements of a republic. The
verisimilitude of the general outline commands our atten¬
tion and respect; but we must still hold ourselves fully on
our guard against giving credence to the details, confused,
contradictory, romantic, and repeated with little varia¬
tion over and over again, with which it is set forth and
enlivened.
SECT. VL—BEGINNINGS OF THE REPUBLIC.
The first circumstance which strikes us in the received Beginnings
account of the beginnings of the republic is, that the victory of the re¬
gained by the people over their tyrants turns to the advan- public,
tage of the aristocracy only. We hear no more of the
popular constitution of Servius. The patricians are masters
of the Senate and of the curies ; while by their wealth and
the number of their clients, they retain the chief influence
in the centuries, and as expounders of the state religion,
hold in their hands the most potent instrument of political
warfare. The struggle, however, which soon ensues be¬
tween the patricians and plebeians is no longer represented
as arraying two races or castes against one another : Rome
has entered upon a second phase of political existence ; the
rich proprietors are struggling to maintain their ascend¬
ancy over the poorer classes. The patrician generally re¬
presents the man of family and civic honours, residing
in the city, but owner of domains in the territory of the
state ; the plebeians, the small farmers and petty trades¬
men, and those who made their living by their own thrift
and industry. The patrician had also secured to his own
exclusive use the public lands, the ownership of which the
state reserved to itself. At this time, indeed, if we may
follow the traces of the accredited history, these con¬
quered domains had shrunk to very small dimensions, for
the limits of the Roman state, as well as its external rela¬
tions and influence, appear after the Regifuge in very cir¬
cumscribed proportions.
But the struggle between these classes is dated back to
the very first year of the commonwealth. One of the two
consuls is represented as a plebeian. Valerius Poplicola,
the first champion of the popular order, is supposed to have
acquired his name by the zeal with which he maintained its
claims. In the same spirit of mythical history, Poplicola is
said to have opened to the plebeians the competition for the
consulship, and proclaimed the penalty of death against any
aspirant to the tyranny. Popli.cola requires the consuls to
lower their fasces, the rods and axes borne before them by
the lictors, in the assembly of the people. Within the city,
indeed, the axe is to be removed altogether, to show that
the regal power of life and death over the citizens is with¬
drawn at home, and only exercised in the camp abroad.
But these restrictions on the outward show of power have
no effect in controlling the substantial preponderance of
the patricians, who for many years together held exclu¬
sive occupation of the consulship, who, whenever their
prerogatives are threatened by popular impatience, create
a dictator with absolute authority for its repression, and
who forbid any amalgamation of the two orders by inter¬
marriage.
It is in the nature of things that men should long bear
Political
History.
Secession
of the
plebeians
to the Mors
Sacer,
a.u. 260,
B.c. 494.
Origin of
the tribu¬
nate.
ROMAN HISTORY.
299
with social inequalities and political disabilities, and the his¬
tory of the republic corresponds with ordinary experience
when it relates that the first struggle of the two orders
was caused, not by a sense of abstract inferiority on the
part of the plebeians, but by the pressure of poverty, and a
tyrannical law of creditor and debtor. The decline of the
power of the republic would imply a very general impove¬
rishment of the citizens, and the wealthiest would be likely
to turn the hardness of the times to their own advantage.
The poor would need ready money to supply themselves
with arms, as well as to till their land and pay their taxes ;
the rich would lend to them at exorbitant rates of interest,
and on their failing to repay, would indemnify themselves
by seizing the debtor’s person and reducing him, or his
children in lieu of him, to slavery. We are assured, in¬
deed, that the Roman law allowed the creditor to kill his
insolvent debtor, or if there were several creditors, to cut
his body in as many pieces. Harassed by cruel exactions
and still more cruel punishments, the plebeians at last re¬
fused to enlist in the annual campaign against the Latins.
They had discovered the weak point in the patrician
armour. It was necessary to suspend the severity of the
law for the moment, with a promise to alter it at the con¬
clusion of the war. But the popular consul Servilius, who
made this concession, was denied the triumph he had
earned by the hands of the plebeians, and the patricians re¬
lapsed again into their old tyranny.
Not once or twice only are the plebeians and their
generous champions among the nobles thus cajoled and
disappointed. At last the plebeians, choosing themselves
generals, one of them a Brutus, and renouncing the autho¬
rity of the consuls, march forth under arms to the hill on
the junction of the Tiber and Anio, two miles from Rome.
Here they resolve to settle and form a new city. The
patricians deliberate, and under the hot counsels of their
haughtiest advisers, are almost prepared to accept this de¬
fiance, and allow Rome to be split asunder. But this peril
was averted by the prudence of more moderate leaders ; and
the sedition was appeased, according to the legend, by the
skilful eloquence of Menenius Agrippa, who related his
apologue of the belly and the members. The seceders re¬
quired a substantial guarantee for their future security; and
this, we may believe, was the origin of an institution des¬
tined to become one of the chief elements in the Roman
polity, the Tribunate of the Plebs. The citizens were
authorized to nominate two tribunes annually, who should
have a veto on the decrees of the Senate, and protect the
personal liberty of the commons. Their own persons were
to be inviolable; and that they might be always at hand to
defend their constituents, they must never leave the city
for a day; their houses were to be open day and night to
receive every application for assistance. It is remarkable
that the election was given in the first instance to the cen¬
turies, among which the patricians continued, through their
clients, to enjoy a large measure of authority. The num¬
ber of the tribunes was afterwards increased to ten, and as
any one of them could interfere to prevent the action of all
the others, it became the easier for the Senate to divide
and paralyse its opponents. But the election had previ¬
ously been transferred to the assembly of the tribes, which
were more independent than the centuries of patrician in¬
fluence.
We may remark in the institution of the tribunate the
fatal vice of the Roman polity, which sought to create a
permanent balance of powers by arraying the different
orders of the commonwealth in precisely equal force
against each other, instead of combining them together,
with joint interests and privileges. If, instead of playing
off the tribunes against the consuls, it had secured an equal
share in the consulships and the Senate to both patricians
and plebeians, it might have effected a harmonious co-ope¬
ration between parties which were henceforth ranged in Political
constant strife and jealousy one against the other. As it History,
was, the struggle between the two parties continues, ac-
cording to our accounts, to rage more violently than ever.
The first victory is on the side of the plebeians. C. Mar- Coriolanus,
cius, a brave patrician, who has acquired the surname ofA-u-26S,
Coriolanus, from the capture of the Volscian town Corioli, B,c' ‘1S^•
falls a victim to the jealousy of the people. His haughty
bearing had given offence to the multitude; they find
means of urging unjust or invidious charges against him;
they require him to defend himself before the assembly of
the tribes, in which the power of the plebs predominates,
and drive him into exile. He returns at the head of the
Volscian armies which he has so lately defeated, routs the
Roman legions, and prepares to lay siege to his native city.
Heralds, magistrates, priests, are sent out successively to
sue for peace ; but he remains inexorable, requiring humi¬
liating terms of concession to his new allies. At last his
vtfife and mother present themselves, with the Roman ma¬
trons, in his camp ; to them he yields, and withdraws his
troops from the attack, assuring them, at the same time,
that in sparing the city he has forfeited his own life. The
legend closes appropriately, in one account, with the state¬
ment that his foreign friends turn in anger upon him and
slay him ; another story represents him, less poetically, as
surviving still in exile to an old age.
It is needless to point out the marks of poetical invention
in this famous narrative. As a tradition of the power and
the deadly jealousy of the commons, it was to be paralleled
by a rival story from the opposite quarter. Spurius Cassius, Spurius
a patrician, and three times consul, resolved to become the Cassius,
benefactor of the plebeians. He proposed an agrarian law,
—that is, a division of the public domains among the poorer '
citizens, or at least a common right with the patricians,
who now usurped the occupation of it, a constant source of
dispute from this time forth, as will be hereafter explained,
between the two classes. The authority of the proposer
was sufficient to carry this law; but the patricians con¬
trived to thwart its operation, while they watched an oppor¬
tunity of avenging themselves upon him. He was accused,
as soon as his consulship expired, of granting too favourable
terms to the national enemies, and of seeking to make
himself tyrant of his native city. He was tried, found
guilty, and condemned to the traitor’s death by scourging
and beheading.
The wars of Coriolanus and Spurius Cassius against the
Volscians and Hernicans, two Sabine tribes who lay to the
eastward of the Latins, indicate an extension of the area
of military operations. Partly through their league with
the Latins, partly also from the increase of strength
gained to the republic by concession to the plebeians,
the Romans are advancing again in the career of con¬
quest. The campaigns of the following years are directed
against the Volscians, the iEquians, and the Veientes ; but
the progress of victory is still checked from time to time
by the refusal of the plebeians to serve until an agrarian
law is not only carried but executed. The contest of the
classes is not now fora relief from debts, or for an equaliza¬
tion of political rights, but for admission to a common right
of property in the public land. If we could accept an hypo- The Fabii
thesis of Niebuhr, the transplantation of the Fabii, a at the
numerous and old patrician house, to Cremera, where ^remera,
they were all slain by the Veientes, might be added
to the incidents of the agrarian feud ; for that historian
supposes them to have migrated from mortification at fail¬
ing, notwithstanding their high character, and their seven
successive consulships, to bring about the passing of a mo¬
dified law of property. But our authorities at least know
nothing of any such tradition; and the whole affair is far too
uncertain, as a matter of history, to bear the weight of any
conjecture of the kind.
300 ROMAN
Political But soon after the reported date of this event follows
History, another attempt at effecting an agrarian settlement by a
tribune named Genucius, accompanied by an impeachment
Genucius, of the consuls for frustrating the operation of the law.
a. u. 286, Against this attack another method of defence is adopted.
b. c. 468. Genucius is suddenly found dead in his bed; and from
. this account we infer the popular belief that he was mur¬
dered privily by the opposite party. After some further
manoeuvres, a compromise is at last effected, by the settle¬
ment of a plebeian colony on the conquered lands of
Antium.
SECT. VII.—HISTORY AND LEGISLATION OF THE
DECEMVIRS.
History We have remarked already that there is much of a poeti-
ktion of * ca1, 01,10,1 of wllat may be called a conventional, character
the decem- in t,ie ,1's^t>lT ^ the kings; and the same features continue
virs. strikingly to pervade the records of the early period of the
republic, lo some extent, indeed, these latter accounts
present superior marks of authenticity, in the regular recur¬
rence of family names, wholly wanting in the former, and
in the frequent mention of such domestic occurrences as
pestilences and portents. These incidents seem to show
that the families and the priests pretended at least to pos¬
sess some private registers of the events most interesting
to them; the first indeed may be mere fabrications of a
later date, but the others are not apparently of a character
to be deliberately forged. It may be added that there cer¬
tainly existed, at a much later epoch, some monuments of
early history, though we cannot vouch for their genuine¬
ness ; such as the brazen plates on which were engraved the
treaties made by Rome with Porsenna, and also with the
Hernicans. Polybius knew of a third, which recorded
a treaty between Rome and Carthage, in the first year
of the republic. However we may suspect, from con¬
siderations hereafter to be offered, the genuineness of
these documents, it is right to mark the first signs on
the part of our authorities of a reference to historic
testimony.
Such meagre incidental notices say little, however, for
the authenticity of our details of foreign wars or domestic
revolutions, and the minute accounts we have received on
these subjects should only serve to put us more on our
guard. Some remarks of Sir G. C. Lewis may put in a
clear light the grounds of our suspicion :—
“ It is a peculiarity of the constitutional history of Rome,
as it is related to us, that after an agitation of some years
for one demand of the popular party, another demand suc¬
ceeds, without any apparent redress of the former grievance,
or any distinct explanation of the reason why one claim is
abandoned and another takes its place. The first grievance
of the plebeians is the law of debt, which produces the first
secession; but Livy and Cicero both describe this move¬
ment as leading only to the establishment of the tribunate,
and not to a remission of debts, or to an alteration of the
law of insolvency. Yet from this time the complaints about
the law of debt cease, and the agrarian movement takes
place. Both historians represent the patricians as making
a successful stand against a division of public land among
the plebeians, until the sending of a colony to Antium in
467 b.c. ; nevertheless, from this year the agrarian ques¬
tion falls into the background, and another subject steps
into the most prominent place. Livy and Dionysius, in¬
deed, differ as to the course of the agrarian agitation ; for
vvheieas the former conceives the tribunes as proposing a
seiies of laws, all of which are successfully resisted bv the
patricians, the latter states that the Senate in the year jof
Cassius passed a general measure for the division of the
public lands, but that the successive consuls would never
cairy it into effect; that a solemn compact made between
HISTORY.
the Senate and the plebs was broken ; and that the efforts Political
of the tribunes were directed exclusively towards procuring History,
the execution of the unexecuted decree. In the practical v''—
tesult, however, that the division of the public lands was Terentillus,
averted by the patricians, they concur.” (On the Credi-A-v-293>
hility of Early Roman History, ii. 165.) b.c. 461.
Such, then, being the close of this series of agrarian dis¬
cussions, the old questions suddenly fall into abeyance, and
are superseded by a third. 1 he tribune Terentillus Arsa
demands a code of written laws. We are told that during
the monarchy the kings were the supreme dispensers of
justice, and acted therein at their own caprice or discretion ;
that the consuls succeeded to this along with the other
kingly prerogatives; and that accordingly up to this time
there was not only no written code of law and procedure,
but that no gradual accumulation of precedents had settled
into a definite system of acknowledged usage. The Romans
had to begin their law-making from the beginning, and
with this view the demand of the plebeians soon shaped it¬
self into a proposition for sending commissioners to Athens
to bring home the laws of that state, and make them the
basis of the new code of the republic. The demand, in¬
deed, of Lerentillus was resisted and evaded, and it was
not till the year 300 that such commissioners, three in
number, were actually despatched to Greece. In the mean¬
time, we may notice one exception to the remark just made
in the agrarian law of the tribune Icilius (a.u. 298) for
assigning lands on the Aventine to the plebeians. This in¬
terval contains also some other events of interest: the
surprise of the Capitol by Herdonius the Sabine, with a
troop of slaves and Roman exiles, implying the continu¬
ance of mutual violence between parties of the state, and
the repeated banishment of their leaders; again, the cam¬
paigns of the republic against the TEquians and Yolscians,
in the course of which the brave and frugal Cincinnatus cincinna-
was taken from the plough and made dictator, according tus,
to a romantic legend, to lead the forces of the state againsl a.u’. 296,
the foreign enemy. b.c. 458.
On the return of the commissioners in the year 303, so The decem-
mns the story, it was resolved to appoint a board of ten, virs,
called decemvirs, to arrange the Roman laws. The patri- a.u. 303,
cians insisted that all these officers should be chosen from 451.
their own order, and having gained this point, required
both the consuls and tribunes to abdicate their functions,
and leave them free scope for concerting and enacting
their measures. The decemvirs accordingly were not
legislators only, but the rulers of the state; and they were
too well satisfied with the prerogatives they wielded under
their extraordinary commission to acquiesce in the prospect
of resigning them. 1 hey procured the prolongation of
their office for a second and again for a third year; and it
was not till the year 305 that, in pursuance of a course of
arbitrary violence and license, Appius Claudius, the most Appius
tyrannical and selfish of the number, provoked the people Claudius
to rise in indignation and abrogate it by an abrupt revolu- and Vir-
tion. The story of the lust and cruelty of Appius, the Sinia>
peril,^ under a colourable procedure of law, of the fair Vir- A'V'?±g’
ginia’s honour, which her father could only preserve to her B C
by stabbing her to the heart in his despair, is one of the
most striking of the poetical legends of Rome, the more
deserving of attention as it is accompanied by none of the
supernatural incidents which usually throw suspicion on its
stories of valour, patriotism, and self-devotion. Neverthe¬
less the incident is related with a circumstantial minuteness
which alone seems to warrant us in rejecting it as a true
narrative; and indeed the discrepancies and improbabili¬
ties which surround the whole account of the decemvirate
render its history extremely questionable both in substance
and in details.
The fragments remaining to us of what the later Romans
themselves regarded as the genuine laws of the Twelve
ROMAN HISTORY.
Political Tables are exceedingly slender. Dr Arnold thus describes
History. t]iejr purport {Hist, of Rome, i. 291) :—“ 1. That there
v—should be an appeal to the people from the sentence of
Question of every magistrate ; 2. That all capital trials should be con-
the credi- ducted before the comitia of the centuries ; 3. That privi-
there^ or acts pains and penalties against an individual
ceived ac- s'10u^ be unlawful; 4. That the last decision of the people
counts. should supersede all former decisions on the same subject;
5. That the debtor whose person and property were pledged
to his creditors nexus, and he who remained the free mas¬
ter of both, solutus, should be equal in the sight of the
law ; that is, that the nexus should not be considered as
infamis. ... A sixth enactment is expressly ascribed to
the last two tables, which Cicero describes as full of un¬
equal laws (these were a later addition to the first ten, and
were considered more harsh and unjust to the people),
namely, that between the burghers and the commons there
should be no legal marriages; if a burgher married the
daughter of a plebeian, his children should follow the
mother’s condition, and were not subject to their father,
nor could inherit from him if he died intestate.” Upon
which the same author further remarks,—“ With no fur¬
ther knowledge than of these mere fragments, we can
judge but little of the tenor of the whole law ; but yet, if
we had the entire text of the twelve tables before us, we
should probably find in them no direct mention of the
great constitutional changes which the decemvirs are with
reason supposed to have effected. Their code of laws was
the expression of their legislative rather than of their con¬
stituent power ; it contained the rules hereafter to be ob¬
served by the Roman people, but would not notice those
organic changes by which the very composition, so to speak,
of the people itself, was so greatly altered.”
These are the remarks of a writer who is deeply imbued
with a persuasion of the fundamental authenticity of the
history of this and of much earlier times ; but to others
the pretended legislation of the decemvirs seems hardly
less apocryphal than the narrative by which it is accom¬
panied. The fall of these tyrants was followed, we are
assured, by a strong popular re-action ; so much so, that the
new consuls, bearing, it may be observed, the mythical
names of Valerius and Horatius, are enabled to restore the
tribunate, increased in number to ten ; to rehabilitate the
comitia of the tribes, degraded by the laws of the decem¬
virs ; to secure for the decrees of this assembly {plebiscitd)
a force binding on all the orders of the state; and yet the
prohibition of intermarriage, the most galling mark of class
inferiority, is not only suffered to remain, but is even pub¬
lished by them as the last legacy of the tyrants, and remains
as a brand upon tbe face of the plebeian order for many
years to come. “ The decemviral legislation,” says a bold
but candid inquirer of more recent date, “ was, as we have
seen, a measure which originated with the plebeians; but
it was turned to their oppression, and was overthrown by
their resistance. It was intended to remove the inequali¬
ties between the two orders, but it seems to have added to
them. The decemviral government having sprung out of
the demands of the plebs, is put down by a plebeian se¬
cession ; an extreme measure, and only one degree short
of insurrection or civil war. When the plebs return, they
appear to be able to dictate their own terms ; the consuls
chosen are devoted to their interest, and introduce im¬
portant legislative measures of a popular character. The
only real equalization of rights effected at this time is that
which follows the decemviral legislation ; the twelve tables
themselves did nothing for effacing the privileges of the
patricians and the disabilities of the plebeians The
description of the outburst of plebeian power, of the fears
of the patricians lest they should be made the subjects of
vindictive impeachment, . . . renders it quite unintelligible
why the laws of the two tables prohibiting marriages be-
301
tween patricians and plebeians should have been passed Political
after the fall of the decemvirs, or if it had been enacted by History,
the decemvirs, why it should not at this moment have been
repealed.” (Lewis, On the Credibility of Roman History,
ii. 253.)
Nor, it may be added, looking again at the reputed legis¬
lation of the decemvirs, can we conceive why it should
have been necessary to resort to Greece and Athens for
principles of law which issued in a series of enactments of
so local and national a colour. The matters upon which
the decemvirs are supposed to decide are precisely those
which have been ever in debate between the two orders of
the Roman people, and their methods of solution are the
same which have been already ventilated and discussed,
according to our authorities, in its assemblies. We shall
have occasion to notice hereafter how gratuitously the first
writers of Roman history sought to establish a connection
between primitive Rome and the more cultivated world of
Greece ; and there seems much reason to believe that this
pretended commission to the land of Solon was a pure in¬
vention either of Grecian vanity or of Italian admiration.
An attempt indeed is made by some modern critics to
establish a distinction between the military and political
history, such as we have received them, of early Rome.
“ While the sceptical conclusions of Sir G. C. Lewis,” says
Dr Liddell, “may be conceded in full for almost all the
wars and foreign transactions of early times, we must
yet claim attention for the civil history of Rome in the
first ages of the republic. There is about it a consistency
of progress, and a clearness of intelligence, that would make
its fabrication more wonderful than its transmission in a
half-traditionary form. When tradition rests solely on
memory, it is fleeting and uncertain ; but when it is con¬
nected with customs, laws, and institutions, such as those
of which Rome was justly proud, and to which the ruling
party clung with desperate tenacity, its evidence must
doubtless be carefully sifted and duly estimated, but ought
not altogether to be set aside.” (Liddell’s History of
Rome, Preface.) The same distinction had been previ¬
ously drawn by Niebuhr and Arnold, and made the ground
for an inferential re-construction of Roman history, after
the rejection of a large proportion of its details. We
have indicated in the preceding paragraph the nature of
Sir G. C. Lewis’s argument to show.that the pretended
records of constitutional progress of the republic bear tbe
same marks of confusion and invention as those of her ex¬
ternal career. The people who elaborated tbe wonderful
system of Roman jurisprudence had no doubt a peculiar
instinct for investigating the causes and origin of their poli¬
tical institutions ; and they naturally demanded from their
annalists a solution of the phenomena of political usage not
less urgently than an account of their families and their
conquests. In the entire absence, as we shall presently
see, of all authentic history or genuine tradition upon both
these subjects, they were perhaps as prone to throw them¬
selves upon pure invention for the one as for the other.
SECT. VIII.— THE GAULS AT ROME.
We shall content ourselves accordingly with passing as The Gauls
lightly over the political as the military history of the years at Rome,
next ensuing. On the one hand we may observe, the
patricians are represented as strengthening themselves by
the establishment of the office of censors, two magistrates The cen-
appointed at intervals of five years to hold a census of pro- sors.
perty and population, to revise the roll of the knights and
senators, and determine the civil status of every member
of the commonwealth. These arbiters of rank and privi¬
lege were to be patricians only. On the other hand, we
read that the tribune Canuleius obtained a law for remov¬
ing the disabilities which attached to marriage between the
ROMAN HISTORY.
302
Political two classes. At this period commenced the practice,
History, which continued for a series of years, of appointing mili-
tary tribunes, six in number, in the place of the two
Military consuls. According to some accounts, this was a con-
tribunes. trivance for evading the necessity of opening the consul¬
ship to plebeians; other authorities alleged that it was
demanded by the multiplication of wars in which the com¬
monwealth was now constantly engaged. In the year 315
(b.c. 439) Cincinnatus was created dictator a second time
to quell a fresh sedition of the commons; and his master
of the horse, or second in command, Servilius Ahala, per¬
formed the notable exploit of cutting down the demagogue
Sp. Maelius, Spurius Maelius, accused of aspiring to the tyranny. Thirty
a. u. 315, years later, the plebeians are said to have forced themselves
b. c. 439. jntC) tjie quaestorship, the first of the curule magistracies, the
lowest step in the career of honours, through which the
candidate for the consul’s chair was ordinarily required to
pass. Humble as this privilege was, it is said to have been
regarded by them as a great prize, inasmuch as it opened
the way to the long-coveted eminence—the command of
armies, and the glories of a triumph. Meanwhile the wars
of Rome were waged, for the most part, as before, with the
Yolscians, the ASquians, and the Veientes, with a general
success only occasionally chequered by defeat, but brought
Camillas, no apparent extension of her frontiers. The final conquest
Capture of of Veii in the year 358, after a ten years’ siege, by the
a u* 358 §rea* Camillus, attended by many circumstances which be-
b c 396' sPeak a legendary origin, was speedily followed by the first
authentic event in Roman history, the capture and burning
of the city by the Gauls.
The G-auls While the victorious Romans were pressing upon the de¬
in the Cis- clining power of the Etruscans in the south, the advance
alpine. 0f tjie Gauls 0f the great Cisalpine plain had harassed them
in the opposite quarter. Two centuries had elapsed since
the barrier of the Alps had been burst by a great Celtic
immigration, and the valley of the Po, once the seat of
numerous Etruscan colonies, had been overrun and occu¬
pied by the northern barbarians. The Senones, the van¬
guard of the Gaulish invasion, had penetrated to the banks
of the Alsis and the coast of the Adriatic, and had threatened
for more than a century to take advantage of the increas¬
ing weakness of Etruria, and descend upon the smiling
valleys oflower Italy. At last 30,000 warriors of this tribe,
having threaded the passes of the Apennines, appeared be¬
fore the walls of Clusium, and demanded an assignment of
lands. The Clusians implored the intervention of Rome,
—such it seems was the authority of the warlike republic
at 150 miles from its frontiers,—and the Senate dispatched,
not a military force, but three distinguished envoys, to re¬
quire the intruders to desist from their attack. But when
the Gauls refused to hearken to these demands, the envoys,
not content with delivering their message in the character
of ambassadors, violated the law of nations by actively join¬
ing the Clusians in the defence of their territory. The bar¬
barians indignantly broke up their leaguer, and poured the
full tide of invasion down the valley of the Tiber. The
Feciales or heralds, as interpreters of international law,
urged that the treacherous envoys should be surrendered
in expiation of the national sin ; but the influence of the
illustrious Fabian house, to which the culprits belonged,
prevailed to protect them, and engaged the people to repel
the assailants by force. The armed militia of the city
Battle of sallied forth to the encounter; but on the banks of the
the Allia, Allia, eleven miles from the gates of Rome, was routed
A U 394 ’ bloody and disasfrous defeat. So completely was the
B'c‘ ' strength of the republic broken by this single overthrow
that it was impossible even to defend the walls. The flower
of the citizens threw themselves into the Capitol, but the
mass of the population, remaining below, was exposed to the
fury of the barbarians; and while the priests and vestals
carried off the sacred images to the friendly city of Care in
Etruria, an hundred aged senators, who refused to leave Political
the city in whose service they had grown gray, were mur- History,
dered in the Forum or in their houses. Rome was given
up to pillage and conflagration. Burning of
1 his terrible catastrophe followed quickly upon the exile t^le city,
of Camillus, whom the people in their ingratitude had ac¬
cused of various misdemeanours, and who, in quitting the
city, had imprecated a curse upon it. Camillus had retired
to Ardea, and now watched his opportunity to relieve the
state on which the gods had so signally avenged him. The
fugitives from the Allia and those from the city had ral¬
lied at Veii; and, re-assured by some successful skirmishes,
they invited Camillus to put himself at their head, and
assume the office of dictator. To confirm this appoint¬
ment the consent of the Senate and curies was required ;
so punctually did even the legends of Rome respect the
claims of constitutional usage. A young plebeian, Pontius Pontius
Cominius, undertook to communicate with them, and scaled Cominius.
the rock of the Capitoline unperceived by the enemy. The
Gauls, hitherto unable to find an access to the summit,
tracked his footsteps, and surprised the garrison by night.
The defenders were sleeping securely ; even the dogs were
lulled in slumber; but the geese, sacred to Juno, clamoured
at the noise, awoke the guards just in time; and Manlius Manlius
distinguished himself above the rest by the vigour with defends the
which he repelled the assailants, and hurled them from the Capitol,
ramparts. The Romans, however, in their impregnable
fortress were suffering from scarcity. Camillus delayed to
appear; they were compelled to treat with the Gauls, who
on their part were anxious to withdraw for the defence of
their own country against an attack of the Veneti. It
was agreed that the invaders should withdraw with 1000 The ran-
1b. of gold as the ransom of Rome. When this sum was som of the
being weighed out, the barbarians were detected in using city,
false weights ; but when the Romans remonstrated, Bren-
nus the Gaulish chief cast his sword into the scale against
them, exclaiming, “Woe to the vanquished!” But this
insolence met its due reward. Camillus, having at last
collected and trained his forces, attacked the foe on his
route homeward, routed him with great slaughter, and re¬
covered the ransom of the city. The people, he declared,
had had no right to pay it without the consent of the dicta¬
tor. The sum thus restored was placed in the vaults of the
Capitol, to be there preserved as a sacred deposit, and never
expended except in repelling a future invasion of the Gauls.
Such an occasion never again presented itself, but the trea¬
sure, it was said, was centuries later rifled by the man who con¬
quered their country, and made invasion for ever impossible.
From first to last poetical justice is satisfied on all sides.
The story of the capture of the city is the most perfect in
all its parts of the poetical rhapsodies in Roman story. Yet
that the legend has a groundwork of actual truth, there can
be no reasonable doubt. That Rome was once sacked by
a sudden irruption of Gauls from beyond the Apennines,
must be regarded as proved by an authentic tradition. The
manner in which the city was rebuilt, so hastily and incon¬
siderately, that the lines of the new streets often crossed
the sewers of more ancient construction, was a visible proof
of this event to a later generation. To modern criticism
it is attested by the evident loss of almost every monument
of history and antiquity beyond this date. No such cata¬
strophe occurred again, and accordingly we seem at this
period to get hold at last of the extreme link of the chain
of genuine tradition ; and though we shall find reason
still, for at least another century, to question much of the
details of the history, we may believe that the main foun¬
dation of events, of names, and of dates, is preserved con¬
tinuously from henceforth through accredited records,
whether public or private. Camillus, the second founder,
as he was gratefully entitled, of the city, was in fact the ori¬
ginal founder of historic Rome.
Political
History.
Union of
the two
orders by
the Lici-
nian and
Publilian
laws.
’Manlius
Torquatus.
Valerius
Corvus.
Death of
Manlius,
A.U. 37,0,
C.B. 348.
ROMAN HISTORY
SECT. IX.—UNION OF THE TWO ORDERS BY THE LICINIAN
AND PUBLILIAN LAWS.
“ Yet still,” says Arnold, “ no period of Roman history
since the first institution of the tribunes of the commons
is really more obscure than the thirty years immediately
following the retreat of the Gauls. And the reason of this
is, that when there are no contemporary historians, the
mere existence of public documents affords no security for
the preservation of a real knowledge of men and actions.
The documents may exist, but they give no evidence ;
they are neglected or corrupted at pleasure by poets and
panegyrists ; and a fictitious story gains firm possession of
the public mind, because there is no one to take the pains
of promulgating the truth. And thus it has happened that
the panegyrists of Camillus and of the other great patrician
families, finding ready belief in many instances from na¬
tional vanity, have so disguised the real course of events
that at no other period of Roman history is it more difficult
to restore it.”1
To attempt any such restoration, even did it appear
feasible, would not be within the scope of this sketch of
history. It will be sufficient to make a passing reference
to a few striking incidents recorded, all of which have pro¬
bably a foundation in truth, though disguised no doubt, and
encumbered by many fictitious adjuncts. On the retreat
of the Gauls, the Roman people entertained, it is said, the
thought of abandoning their ruined homes, and migrating
in a body to Veii. Camillus in vain conjured them not to
desert the soil of their ancestors, but a passing omen, the
voice of a centurion exclaiming “ Plant the standard here,
here we had best remain,” determined them to stay. We
can easily believe that the losses of this Gallic war were
the occasion of an addition of four new tribes to the city,
comprising the free inhabitants of the lands taken from
the Veientines. The state was invigorated by this increase
in its numbers, and enabled to prosecute a fresh series of
campaigns with the Volscians and dEquians, as well as with
the Gauls, who, notwithstanding their alleged retreat home¬
wards, and the disastrous defeat which is said to have at¬
tended it, appear to have settled themselves in fixed habi¬
tations at Tibur on the Anio, and other stations on the
Sabine frontier. To this period, and to this continued
struggle with the northern barbarians, are referred some of
the most romantic incidents of Roman story,—-the winning
of the golden collar by Manlius, and the aid vouchsafed by
a heaven-sent crow to Valerius. Such were the pretended
facts by which the family panegyrists explained the names
of the Torquati and the Corvini, houses largely celebrated
in the later history of the republic.
As, however, the external history is now little else than
a repetition of such border contests as have been related
more than once before, so the internal history presents us
with a new edition of the old quarrels between the debtors
and their patrician creditors, of the struggles for political
equality between the rival classes, and for the establishment
of an agrarian law. With respect to the first, the story
still runs in its old channel. The people repine at the suf¬
ferings of their brave but impoverished veterans, and de¬
mand redress for the present and security for the future.
On the one side murmurs and sedition, on the other the
creation of a dictator. The gallant Manlius throws himself
into the pofadar cause; he is accused of treason ; the people
are induced to repudiate his championship; and he is cast
as a traitor from the Tarpeian rock. The house on the
Capitoline, presented to him for his brave defence of the
temple against the Gauls, is razed to the ground, and the
Manlian gens forbidden from henceforth to use the prae-
nomen of Marcus. The next domestic occurrence is the Political
carrying of an agrarian law by the tribunes Licinius and History.
Sextius in 377, by which it is provided that no citizen shall v'—
hold more than 500 jugera (about 320 acres) of the public Agrarian
land, nor feed on the public pastures beyond a certain laws of LH
number of cattle. Finally, in the same year, the plebs cmius an<l
achieves the great charter of its liberties, in the decree that
one of the consuls shall be always a plebeian. Such an B’c‘ 377’
enactment supposes, of course, the revival of the consul¬
ship on its old footing ; nevertheless the Fasti continue for
several years to insert the names, not of consuls, but of
military tribunes; and it is not till 388 that a plebeian
consul is at last appointed in the person of Sextius him¬
self. Our account of the way in which this change was
effected is characteristic of the strain of domestic romance
which forms the basis of so large a portion of our early
history.
Q, Fabius Ambustus, a patrician of high rank, had mar¬
ried his two daughters, the one to Sulpicius a patrician, the
other to the plebeian tribune Licinius. Visiting one day
at her sister’s house, the wife of Licinius was surprised at
the formal ceremony with which a lictor knocked at the
door of Sulpicius, who was then consular tribune. The
consort of the privileged noble laughed at the ignorance of
the plebeian’s wife, who complained with tears to her hus¬
band and her father, and engaged them to combine in
effecting a reform which should place her on a level with
her haughty sister. Modern critics gravely assure us that
this story must be a fiction, inasmuch as the plebeian’s wife
was daughter of a man who had been consular tribune not
long before ; and Licinius himself, though a plebeian, was
as competent to hold the office and enjoy the services of
the lictors as any patrician. If we felt that we were here
upon historical ground, we should not regard this as any
presumption against the truth of the story. The young
wife may have been as inexperienced as a child. But the
legend was never intended to challenge criticism.
We may conjecture that the interminable repetitions of
similar phases of the great constitutional conflict,—the same
complaints, the same concessions, the same evasions, the
same reprisals,—have arisen from an attempt to reconcile the
claims of various illustrious houses, some to having pro¬
posed popular measures, others to having baffled them;
thus spreading over various epochs, and dividing among
many individuals, the incidents of a political warfare really
limited in duration, and confined to a few prominent actors,
M. Michelet has pointed out a curious coincidence which
may be thought to have some significance, in the repetition
of the same names, as connected with these struggles.
Thus a Brutus, a Valerius, and a Horatius, are more than
once at hand whenever a popular movement requires a
patron, A Spurius Cassius, a Spurius Maelius, and a Spu-
rius Metilius, are all alike noble sufferers in the cause of
plebeian independence. If the well-known later meaning
of the word Spurius belong to it properly and originally,
the name may have been applied by patrician annalists to
those false aristocrats who betrayed the interests of their
own faction ; if, on the other hand, we assume its derivation
from super, implying true greatness and nobility, we may
ascribe its recurrence to the invention of the plebeians
themselves in their zeal for the glorification of such unex¬
pected champions. A son of Camillus, the first who held
the office of praetor, created by the dictator as a compro¬
mise between the two classes, is also known by the prae-
nomen of Spurius. The same is given also to Servilius
Ahala, one of the most noted champions of the aristocracy ;
from whence we should the more readily infer that in all
these cases it was alike applied in token of admiration by
1 Arnold, History of Rome, ii. 2.
304
Political
History.
ROMAN HISTORY.
The Publi-
lian laws,
a. u. 415,
b. c. 339.
The great
Latin war.
Decius
Mus.
a. u. 414-
416,
b. c. 340-
338.
the partizans of the person so designated. It is remarkable
that this praenomen, so common throughout the period of
these domestic struggles, occurs but rarely either before or
after it. But whatever may be our scepticism regarding
the early conflict of two classes, we may reasonably ac¬
cept the date at which we have now arrived as the epoch
of their actual union. The Temple of Concord, dedicated
on this occasion by the aged Camillus beneath the slope of
the Capitoline, constituted a visible record of the fact, of
which some remains are still existing. During the next
thirty years indeed the contest still continued fitfully ; the
patricians yielding step by step with reluctance, the ple¬
beians pressing their advantage. It terminated, however,
with the appointment of a plebeian dictator, Publilius Philo,
in 415, who carried enactments,—1. For enforcing the ob¬
ligation of the plebiscita on the whole nation ; and 2. For
allowing both consuls to be plebeians as well as the prsetors,
and requiring the appointment of one of the censors from
each class.
A period of warfare with the Etruscans and some of the
Latin tribes still accompanies this protracted struggle ; but
the Romans are strengthened by the conciliation of the
commons, and the alleged addition of two new tribes seems
to show an increase of numbers, probably from the sub¬
mission and incorporation of foreigners. The Latin states,
which had long since violated their ancient treaty with
Rome, now seek to renew it; but Rome chooses rather to
subdue her faithless allies than accept their alliance on
terms of equality. The “ great Latin war,” as the histo¬
rians have entitled it, is rendered illustrious by its legends
of the military execution of T. Manlius by his father, and
of the self-devotion of Decius Mus. The result of the war
is the complete and final reduction of Latium. “ Three
years,” says Dr Arnold, “ were sufficient to finish for ever
the most important war in which Rome was at any time
engaged.”
The Sara-
nite wars,
and con¬
quest of
central
Italy.
A. u. 411,
B. C. 343.
Dawn of
genuine
history.
SECT. X.—THE SAMNITE WARS, AND CONQUEST OF CENTRAL
ITALY.
Roman history now enters upon a wider field. A branch
of the great Sabellian nation, the inhabitants of the moun¬
tain tracts of central Italy, having extended their conquests
far into the south, have made themselves masters of the
Etruscan colonies in Campania. The Samnites are esta¬
blished in Capua, Nola, Cumae, and other cities, and have
here assumed the name of Campanians, from the country to
which they have succeeded. Their influence extends
throughout the Greek cities of the coast, Neapolis and
Palaepolis, Stabiae and Herculaneum ; with the old name
of Samnites they have lost their ancient language and na¬
tional associations ; and this offshoot from the parent race
now finds itself arrayed in war against other branches of
the same original stock, the Samnites of the mountains.
I he Campanians, as the weaker and less warlike of these
nations may now be called, solicited the assistance of Rome
against the attack of their hardier kinsmen, and offered to
surrender their city to the republic as the price of her
powerful protection.
We have now reached the dawn of genuine history, and
the narrative of events recorded by the historians assumes
a new complexion. We lose sight from henceforth of the
train of marvellous and romantic stories which imparted a
seductive charm to our earlier records; but in return we
obtain a glimpse at least of political combinations and stra¬
tegic manoeuvres which throws an air of truthfulness over
the narrative that follows. Family pride indeed may have
coloured some of the details and suppressed others; but Political
we have got beyond the era of mere fabrication. The History.
Roman history is at least simply told from Roman sources
and its very meagreness and obscurity may be accepted as
a token of its substantial genuineness. Yet this was the
period when the Romans first came in actual contact with
the Gieeks, the most curious and diligent of historical in-
quiiers, who might have taught them to understand and
describe events with greater spirit and precision. A Greek
wiiter assures us that at this era the Romans sent an em¬
bassy, along with the Etruscans, to the great Alexander of
Macedon.1 Another Alexander, King of Epirus, had landed
about the same time on the coast of Lucania, and defeated
a Samnite army in the neighbourhood of Paestum. The
Romans hastened to form an alliance with this new comer,
in tlm year 423 (b.c. 331). But from this alliance with
one Grecian power they were soon led into hostilities
against others. They engaged in war with the Greek
cities of Neapolis and Palaepolis, inadequately protected by
their dependence on the Campanians; but their means,
perhaps, for reducing places defended and fortified by the
rules of art were slender, and the war was protracted
through more than one campaign. The Roman armies
had now for the first time advanced so far from the capital
that it was inconvenient to return home with the approach
of winter. For the first time the consul in command was a.u. 428,
directed to hold his ground, and retain his place at the B c- 32Q-
head of the legions, with the title of proconsul.
An interval of fourteen years had elapsed since the sur¬
render of Capua and the first brief collision with the Sam¬
nites ; but the second war, commencing in the year 428,
was distinguished by a duration of more than twenty years,
and by the terrible disaster of the Caudine Forks, where a The Can-
Roman army was entangled in a defile, and compelled to dine Forks,
lay down its arms and pass under the yoke, by the gallant A-u- 433>
Pontius lelesinus. The disgrace was harder to bear than B•c• 321-
the disaster. I he city clothed itself in mourning; the
consuls, who had submitted in person to this ignominy,
dared not re-assume their places. Twice was a dictator
nominated, but each time the auspices forbade his creation.
At last Valerius Corvus, the interrex, or provisional chief
magistrate, caused two of the most distinguished citizens,
Papirius Cursor and Publilius Philo, to be elected consuls;
and Posthumius, one of the beaten generals, declaring that
the republic ought not to be bound by the terms which in
his distress had been extorted from him, insisted that he
should himself be given up to the enemy, together with his
colleagues the quaestors and tribunes, and every other officer
of the legions who had signed the disgraceful capitulation.
Pontius, indignant or generous, or possibly coolly calcu¬
lating the consequences of accepting the proffered satisfac¬
tion for a deliberate breach of public faith, refused to re¬
ceive these prisoners, and demanded the literal fulfilment
of the terms they had exchanged with him. War recom¬
menced. The Samnites gained some successes, but the
Romans gradually got the upper hand ; the consuls pene¬
trated into Apulia, took Lucania, and recovered the arms,
the ensigns, and the hostages captured at Caudium. Pos¬
sibly the Romans fabricated the story of a complete defeat
of their enemies, and the retrieval of their own dishonour
by making the Samnites pass under the yoke in their turn. p0ntius the
The brave Pontius, however, was carried captive to Rome. Samnite.
Nevertheless we hear soon afterwards of an irruption of the
Samnites into the Roman territories in Campania, the de¬
fection of Capua, and the great defeat of the dictator Fabius
Maximus at Lautulae. These losses were balanced again
by a second victory in 440, once more in the neighbour¬
hood of Caudium, in which the Samnites were totally
1 Strabo, v., p. 232; Arnold, ii. 172.
305
Political
History.
Battle of
Sentinum,
A. u. 459,
B. c. 295.
Battle of
the Vadi-
monian
lake,
a.ti. 471,
B.C. 283.
ROMAN HISTORY.
routed. Campania is now recovered ; the enemy shut up
in the Apennines; colonies established, as outposts of the
Homan power, at Suessa Aurunca, Interamna on the Liris,
Casinum and Luceria; and the Romans so far advance in
enterprise and confidence as to commence the construction
of a navy to overawe the distant seaport of Tarentum. In
442 (b.c. 312) a second Decius Mus gains a triumph, for
the first time, over the Samnites ; but this is speedily fol¬
lowed by a long succession of similar distinctions. An
alliance of the Samnites with the Etruscans created at this
moment a formidable diversion against Rome ; but the
vigour and fortune of the republic prevailed, and her out¬
posts were advanced far forward in every direction before
the Samnites sued for peace.
The second Samnite war was concluded in 450; the
third commenced in 455. The Samnites had again com¬
bined with the Etrurians, and had extended their league
to the Umbrians and other nations of central Italy. A
fresh body of Gauls was secured to this formidable alliance.
This was the crowning struggle for Roman supremacy in
the peninsula. The great battle of Sentinum, in which
victory was secured to the republic by the self-devotion of
the younger Decius, resulted in the total overthrow of the
Gauls and Samnites by Q. Fabius Maximus, and was un¬
doubtedly one of the most important actions in which the
arms of Rome were engaged. The alliance of the Italian
nations was broken up; henceforth the contest became
more desultory, and its details are imperfectly recorded.
L. Papirius Cursor and Sp. Carvilius are now the most dis¬
tinguished of the Roman generals. The brave Pontius is
made prisoner, led in triumph, and cruelly executed, ac¬
cording to the established usage of Roman warfare. The
Samnites submit for the third time in the year 464 (b.c.
290). They appear indeed once more in arms a few years
later, but only as the subordinate allies of a new enemy.
Their independence is now finally broken, and the Roman
power is definitively established over lower Italy, with the
exception of a few Grecian cities in Lucania and Bruttium.
Latium, Campania, Apulia, and Samnium, have now fallen
under the sword of the republic. In the north the Etrus¬
cans are still hostile, but cowed and dispirited. The Gauls
still hover on the frontiers of the Roman dominion, and
still shake from time to time, in a well-timed foray, the
unsteady allegiance of the Umbrians and Pelignians.
Bands of Samnites still maintain a guerilla warfare in re¬
mote districts, and agitate the untamed savagery of Cala¬
bria, a people formed, so both Greeks and Romans asserted,
by the concourse of fugitive slaves in its woods and moun¬
tains. The Grecian cities on the Lucanian coast were
trembling at the steady advance of the conquerors from the
Tiber. Tarentum, the only one of them which now re¬
tained an active vitality, hastened, in its feverish excite¬
ment, to form a new coalition against Rome, in which some
states of Etruria were induced to join. The praetor Me-
tellus, with 13,000 men, fell in an attempt to succour Arre-
tium, and at the new's of this disaster the Gaulish Senones
rushed at once to arms. The consul Dolabella swiftly
crossed the Apennines, and attacked these barbarians in
their own territory, which he ravaged, in return for the de¬
vastation they had so often committed in Latium. The
great battle of the Vadimonian lake crushed the Gauls
and Etruscans together. Peace was re-established about
472; and without a formal surrender of the Etruscan
cities, the Romans could depend from henceforth on the
sure effect of their weakness and despair in reducing them
to complete submission. Meanwhile the republic had
been no less successful in the south. Fabricius took
Thurii, and carried off the first Grecian booty to Rome.
The coalition was utterly broken; and Tarentum, still un¬
assailed, but denuded of her Italian allies, was obliged to
look beyond Italy for her future protectors.
VOL. XIX.
SECT. XI.—THE WAR WITH PYRRHUS.
Political
History.
Rome was now destined to encounter, for the first time,
the highest form of civilization and the most scientific mili- T^e war
tary tactics of the ancient world. The luxurious and un- 1 ^r‘
warlike cities of the Lucanian coast, though Greek by ori¬
gin, had long lost the valour and discipline of their nation,
and could only oppose to the rude warriors of Latium the
arts of policy and statecraft. But now a genuine Greek
soldiery was about to appear upon the stage, with the
strength of the Macedonian phalanx and the resources of
Grecian economy.
The Romans had constructed some vessels at Thurii.
With these they were cruising in the Gulf of Tarentum,
now nominally at peace with the republic, when the Taren-
tines, jealous of this attempt to form a navy, sallied forth
from their harbour, declaring that the Romans were bound
by treaty not to navigate their ships beyond the Lacinian
promontory, and destroyed or chased home the Roman ves¬
sels. They even followed up this insult by an attack on
the Roman garrison at Thurii. When Posthumius arrives
as an ambassador to lay his complaint before them, they
assail him with mockery and insult. He swears that the
filth they fling upon his toga shall be washed away in their
blood. A Roman army speedily appears before Tarentum;
and the nobles, who had taken no part, perhaps, in the
brutal violence of their populace, would have yielded at
once; but the people, in their vanity, scorned submission
to the foreigner, and invoked the aid of Pyrrhus, King of
Epirus. This chief, the most noted warrior of his age, w'as
the cousin, though several years junior, of Alexander the
Great. He had succeeded his father in regular course in
the throne of Epirus ; but his career had been from the
first that of an adventurer rather than of a sovereign. Am¬
bitious, restless, and captivated with a vague aspiration for
glory, in imitation of his illustrious relative, he was easily
persuaded by the Tarentines, who promised him an exten¬
sive alliance and a force of 350,000 combatants, to under¬
take the deliverance of the Greeks in Italy from the threat¬
ened yoke of obscure barbarians. Landing with a veteran
force of 25,000 men, and attended by 20 elephants, Pyrrhus
gained a victory at Heraclea over the first consular army Battle of
ol the Romans, but with such loss on his own side as caused Heraclea.
him to remark already, that such another victory would be
his ruin. He recovered, indeed, some towns on the coast,
as the fruits of this hard-won triumph; but the promised
allies failed to make their appearance ; he found the Taren¬
tines nerveless and inefficient; he was glad to disguise his
mortification by offering terms of peace to the Romans, on
condition of their leaving the Greek cities in freedom, and
restoring their lands to the Samnites and Apulians. Cineas,
the envoy whom he sent with these terms to Rome, re¬
turned unsuccessful, but filled with admiration of the num¬
bers, the bravery, and undaunted spirit of his master’s
enemies. This report inspired the King of Epirus with
increased anxiety; but,, brave and^aring as he was, he de¬
termined to make a bold dash, and, turning the flank of a
second army opposed to him, he got within a few leagues
of Rome itself. A third force was recalled from the bor¬
ders of Etruria to cover the capital, and he was compelled
to retreat, lest he should find himself surrounded. The
Romans now sent in their turn an embassy to treat for the
ransom of their prisoners. The courage and presence of
mind displayed by Fabricius, according to the well-known
story, made a deep impression on the mind of Pyrrhus;
and when the republic generously advertised him of a plot
for his assassination, he was so touched by this trait of
honourable feeling that he sent back the prisoners without
terms. Meanwhile the condition of the Greeks in Sicily,
assailed by the fleets of Carthage, became even more press¬
ing than that of their compatriots in Italy, and Pyrrhus
2 y
306
ROMAN HISTORY.
Political seized the excuse for postponing his contest with Rome,
History. an[| transporting himself to Syracuse. Here, again, his
first successes only led him into fresh difficulties, and once
more he was glad to escape from his actual embarrassments,
and try his fortune in Italy. The Romans, however, had
had time to recover from their losses; and now, familiarized
with the aspect of the formidable elephants,—bulls of Lu-
cania, as they ignorantly termed them,—they were fully a
match for the Greek army in the field. Curius Dentatus
gained the victory of Beneventum, and Pyrrhus was com¬
pelled to fly ignominiously to his own dominions. Curius
triumphed, in a chariot drawn by four of the Libyan mon¬
sters he had taught the Romans to despise. Pyrrhus fell
soon afterwards in an obscure struggle at Argos. Hostili¬
ties continued in the south of Italy for some years longer.
Papirius and Carvilius once more overcame the Samnites.
Tarentum submitted; its walls were overthrown, its arms
and ships forfeited to the conquerors. The Carthaginians,
who had recently offered their alliance to Rome, were
warned off the shores of Italy, which were now completely
subjected to Rome, from the jEsar and Rubicon in the
north to the Straits of Messana and the lapygian pro¬
montory.
Pattle of
Beneven-
tum.
Pyrrhus
slain at
Argos.
a. u. 482,
b. c. 272.
period of
the con¬
quest of
Italy.
SECT. XII. REVIEW OP THE ROMAN GOVERNMENT AT THE
PERIOD OF THE CONQUEST OP ITALY.
Review of The Romans had now conquered Italy, and made the
the Roman fb-gt great step towards the conquest of the world. We
govern- niust pause for a moment to review the way in which they
period of or5anized these new dominions, and made them a ground
of vantage for the further extension of their power.
The most striking difference in the development of an¬
cient and modern politics results from the generally repub¬
lican character of the one, and monarchic constitution of
the other. The extension of the Athenian and of the Ro¬
man empire was formed either by conquest or colonization,
while that of the great states of modern Europe has re¬
sulted far more commonly from dynastic marriages and
successions. Had ancient Italy been parcelled out among
a number of sovereign families, it would probably have
fallen, state by state, under the sway of one fortunate dy¬
nasty ; wars might have played a part in the transforma¬
tion, but dynastic alliances would have been still more
effectual; Mars might have brought many nations under
the yoke, but the influence of Venus would have proved
still more powerful. The populations of the peninsula were
sufficiently homogeneous to have constituted an aggregate
people, of equal laws and similar institutions, from the Ru¬
bicon to the Straits of Messana. It might still be a ques¬
tion whether the configuration of the country—its great
length and slender breadth of surface, its mountain divisions
and diversities of soil and climate—would have permitted
in ancient times a national union on such a footing, the im¬
practicability of which in our days is recognised as a poli¬
tical maxim ; but however this may be, the republican
character ot the Italian institutions of itself precluded the
operation of those peacelul influences which, as we have
said, might have been more effective to such an end than
war, and it only remained to be seen whether the rivalries
and animosities of so many equal neighbours would termi¬
nate in their mutual exhaustion and ruin, or in the avowed
predominance of one.
I he latter alternative, as we have seen, found place.
The predominance ot Rome was acknowledged. We have
now to see by what methods she maintained and perpetuated
it. It was no part ot her policy, for it did not come within
the scope of Italian ideas, to mould her conquests into one
nation. On the contrary, her object was to wrest from
the vanquished their independence, to stifle their nationality,
to make them docile subjects; for this end, to create dif¬
ferences and foster jealousies among them, to separate the Political
one from another in feeling and usage, and prevent their History,
combining together for any common purpose, least of all
for the purpose of extorting common terms from their con¬
querors.
In the early times the patricians had been the citizens,
the plebeians the subjects of the state. This distinction
had, in process of time, and through many struggles, be¬
come nearly obliterated. The Romans and Italians w^ere
now to go through a like career in relation to one another.
But the Romans had now' become more or less conscious
of the principle under which their early revolutions had
evolved themselves, and they seem to have contemplated
steadily from the first the gradual progress of the Italians
to the goal of civic equality. They decreed that the so¬
vereign people should be always the people of the Forum,
and that its civil rights should only be exercised within the
sacred limits of the city; but they provided at the same
time for the admission of their subjects, one by one, with¬
in these limits, as a long probation of service and dependence
should seem gradually to qualify them for political assimi¬
lation. Such admission might wound the pride and touch
the immediate interests of a race of conquerors and plun¬
derers; but the spirit of ambition and cupidity required fresh
recruits to maintain it, and as the empire was extended,
greater numbers were necessary to preserve it. Between
tlve years a.u. 370-490 (384 and 264 b.c.) twelve new
tribes were created, and the Ager Romanus, or national
domain, extended from the Ciminian wood in Etruria, on the
one side, to the middle of Campania, on the other. Upon
this territory the censors enumerated 292,334 men capable
of bearing arms, or a total population of 1,200,000 souls,
to form the great central garrison of Italy. Two centuries
before, according to one account, the military force of
Rome was computed at only 104,214 men. While we
may decline to place any reliance at least on these latter
numbers, the fact of their being thus recorded evinces the
belief of the Romans themselves in the early practice of
political incorporation.
If we may speak of an original Roman people as contrasted
with the aggregate now created, we may believe that at
this time its numbers did not exceed one-half of the whole
body. But the original twenty-one tribes gave it so many
suffrages in the assembly, while the new recruits were
enrolled in twelve additional tribes only, and exercised no
more than twelve votes. Such were the tribes of the
Etruscans, the Latins, the Ausonians, the ACquians, and
the Volscians. A little later than the era at which we
have arrived, in the year of the city 513, two more tribes
were appropriated to the Sabines. But besides their inferio¬
rity in number, these new and extraneous members of the
national body had little opportunity, from their distance from
the Forum, of influencing the course of affairs in the city.
Nor, though thus stationed in the immediate neighbour¬
hood of the capital, did these foreign tribes occupy the
whole surrounding territory. The Ager Romanus was
intersected, almost within sight from the gates, by parcels
of land which still remained in the hands of strangers, and
bore the designation of Ager peregrinus. Several cities of
Latium, such as Tibur and Prseneste, still bore the title of
Latin instead of Roman, retained their own municipal institu¬
tions, and were attached to the republic not by the possession
of the Roman franchise, but by the condition of a specific
eligibility to it. Any of their citizens who had served cer¬
tain magistracies in them, became qualified thereby for the
enjoyment of citizenship at Rome, and the constant acces¬
sion of individuals from this source helped to replenish the
void made by perennial warfare, no less than the occasional
introduction into the state of corporate communities.
The franchise, or rights of the city, thus obtained,—the
object for the most part of the dearest vows of the subjects
ROMAN HISTORY. 307
Political of Rome,—comprehended, 1. Absolute authority over the
History. vvjfe ancl children, slaves and chattels ; 2. A guarantee of
personal liberty, exemption from stripes, security from
capital punishment, except by the vote of the people or
under military authority in the camp; 3. The suffrage;
4. Access to honours and employments; 5. The possession
of Quiritary property, held under Roman law; 6. Immu¬
nity from all the taxes and tributes imposed at discretion
on the subjects of the state. Such was the complete
franchise of Rome ; the jus civitatis optima jure. To the
Italians beyond the pale of the thirty-five tribes some
portion of these privileges might be accorded in various
measure and degree. To some the Senate gave the right
of dealing (commercium), to others that of marriage {con-
nubiuni). The cities of the conquered nations were ar¬
ranged in different classes, according to the favour in
which they were held by the conquerors,—1. The muni-
cipia optima jure, or of the first class, the inhabitants
of which, whenever they visited Rome, were allowed to
exercise there the complete rights of Roman citizenship;
2. The municipia without franchise, which enjoyed in¬
deed the title and burdens of citizenship, such as the ser¬
vice in the legions, but were debarred from the suffrage,
and from the civil offices of the republic; 3. The cities
which had renounced their ancient usages to embrace the
laws and institutions of Rome, but yet were not entitled to
the name of Roman. But below the municipia was yet
another class otprefecture, towns subjected to the govern¬
ment of a Roman officer or prefect, under the forms of Roman
jurisprudence. These prefectures were generally so classed
by way of precaution or punishments Such was the state
to which Capua was reduced after a revolt in which she im¬
prudently engaged against the Romans. Such were the
various grades of subjection granted according to the terms
of capitulation in each case. There was still a lower rank in
the descending scale, that of the dedititii, or people who had
been reduced by the fortune of war to unconditional sub¬
mission; these were required to deliver up their arms to¬
gether with hostages, to raze their walls or to receive a
garrison within them, to pay a tribute, and to furnish be¬
sides a contingent to the armies of the republic.
The allies, as they were designated, of the republic were
a class of states differing in some particulars from all these.
They were the dependents of Rome, but flattered them¬
selves that they were not her subjects. The Senate in¬
dulged them in a delusion which soothed their pride, and
made them more serviceable as auxiliaries than they would
have been as indignant bond-servants. Tarentum was
allowed to retain the name of a free state, though here the
Romans went so far as to level the walls of the city and
establish a garrison in its citadel. Neapolis was free, but
required to furnish vessels for the Roman marine, and con¬
tribute to the pay of its mariners. The Camertines and
Heracleotes were declared “equals” of Rome (cequo
fcedere), on terms of mutual defence. Tibur, Prasneste,
and most of the Etruscan cities, ranked in the same class;
but the Romans took care to foster in all these cities a
party of their own friends and creatures, to mould the
external conduct of this free state, and, if occasion required,
to find them a pretence for interfering with its domestic
affairs. Such was the policy of the republic in its relations
towards its conquered enemies. It is characterized by
a studied absence of general measures, and of uniformity
of treatment. It is deliberately framed to maintain and
intensify the actual diversities of nations and circumstances.
With this view, every possible hindrance, often amounting
to specific prohibition, is laid in the way of common action
among them, of commerce, and even of intermarriage.
Gradually, however, as the power of Rome extended, her
jealousy relaxed, and these distinctions, long maintained, Political
became more and more effaced. They subsided at last History,
into three classes and conditions of rights : the jus civitatis, v—^
which conferred a share in the sovereignty ; the</M.v Latii,
which gave access or eligibility to the franchise ; the jus
Itahcum, of which the burdens were greater and the pre¬
rogatives inferior. This graduated scale of privilege
continued to exist under the same name down to a late
period in Roman history, and was extended to the later
possessions of the republic, long after the obliteration of all
political distinctions between the Romans, the Latins, and
the inhabitants of the peninsula generally.1
SECT. XIII. COLONIES AND MILITARY ROADS.
Neither the interest the more favoured of the Italians Colonics
might be expected to take in the Roman franchise, to and mili-
which they were admitted, nor the gratitude of the rest tary roads,
for the remnant they were allowed to retain of their own
nationality, could be regarded as sufficient security for their
permanent submission. Throughout the length and
breadth of the peninsula Rome established her armed gar¬
risons under the form of colonies. In the spot selected
for such a military station, a large portion of the national
territory was confiscated by the conquerors, and some
thousands of the citizens selected by lot, or on their own
demand, to receive it in full possession, engaging in return
to defend the interests of the republic, which were thus
identified with their own. The administration of the colony
thus formed, and thus strictly attached to the parent state,
was organized on the model of the city.. The colonists, as
Roman citizens, met in their public assemblies, and chose
their decemvirs and their decurions to represent the con¬
suls and senators. Their residence was in every case,
perhaps, not a new stronghold constructed for the purpose,
but the fortified city of some conquered people, dispos¬
sessed even of their habitations to make way for them.
Such cities were chosen, of course, for their natural
strength or their commanding situation. Thus 6000
colonists were established at Beneventum to cover Cam¬
pania; 14,000 at Venusia to check the Greeks of the
south-eastern coast, to defend Apulia, and control the
Lucanians and the Samnites. In Etruria, Sutrium and
Nepete watched the valley of the Tiber ; Ardea, Satricum,
and Antium held the long-disturbed districts of the great
plain of Latium ; Velitrae, Norba, and Setia kept the keys
of the Sabine mountains; Anxur closed the gates of
Campania ; Fregellae, Sora, Interamna, and Minturna; occu¬
pied the line of the Liris, the route of the Samnites when
they threatened an assault on Rome. Such were the
entrenched camps surrounding the city. Beyond these lay
a second line of fortresses, such as Atina, Aquinum, and
Casinum, in the heart of the Sabellian mountains; Vescia,
Suessa-Aurunca, Sinuessa, Teaman, Cales, among the defiles
through which the waters issue from them. To these
may be added Alba Fucentia, northward in the country of
the Marsians ; CEsula and Carseoli, among the /Equians;
and Narnia, which covered the route from Umbria. More
than once an enemy, such as Pyrrhus and afterwards
Hannibal, succeeded by a bold effort in penetrating this
double line ; but it was with the loss of his communications,
and such imminent danger to his rear, that his advance was
paralysed, and a rapid retreat rendered inevitable.
Throughout the rest of Italy the colonies were less closely
planted. Samnium was occupied by two only, Beneven¬
tum and jEsernia; Picenum by three, Adria, Firmum, and
Castrum ; Umbria by four, Narnia, Spoletum, Ariminum,
and Sena. In Campania we may enumerate Saticula,
Cales, and Casilinum ; Apulia was guarded by Luceria and
1 Duruy, Hist, des Romains, i., ch. xi., § 1.
308
ROMAN HISTORY.
Political
History.
Panegyric
the Ho¬
mans in the
fifth cen¬
tury.
Venusia ; Calabria by Brundisium and Valentia ; Lucania
by Paestum ; while Tarentum, Locri, Rhegium, and some
other places, were only held by Roman garrisons.
To bind all these places together, and afford the means
of rapid transport for the legions from point to point, the
whole peninsula was traversed by numerous roads, gene¬
rally branching out from Rome to every extremity. In
the midst of the great Samnite wars the censor Appius
commenced the construction of the Appian Way, which
led from Rome across the Pomptine Marshes to Capua.
From year to year this example was followed by other
munificent officers of the republic; and before the conclu¬
sion of another century, the Valerian Way connected the
city with Corfinium, the Aurelian coasted the shores of
Etruria, the Flaminian reached Ariminum on the frontier
of the Cisalpine, and the ASmilian prolonged this line as far
as Placentia, on the Po. These roads were “ built,” ac¬
cording to the phrase of their constructors, with several
layers of concrete and masonry, and paved with solid
blocks of stone cemented together, which in many places
have survived the revolution of centuries, and retain their
position at the present day.1
“ And what a race of men these new masters of Italy
on the cha- were ! Their private virtues legitimized their power ; and
raeter of it was in their manners, not less than in the ability of their
Senate, that the secret of Rome’s greatness resided. These
conquerors of Etruria and Tarentum held poverty, discip¬
line, and devotion ever in honour, and their patriotism par¬
took of a religious sentiment. Three Decii surrendered
their lives for the Roman army, and Manlius immolated his
son to the genius of discipline. The censor Rutilius, re¬
elected at the expiration of his term in 265 B.C., convokes
the people, and solemnly rebukes its assembly for having
conferred such important functions on the same citizens
twice in succession. If, on the one hand, a Rufinus must
be degraded from the Senate (275 b.c.) notwithstanding
his two consulships, a dictatorship, and a triumph, for pos¬
sessing ten pounds of silver plate, when he was allowed no
more than eight ounces ; if the consul Posthumius compelled
2000 legionaries to reap his corn or to clear his woods ;—
Atilius Serranus, on the other, received the consular
purple behind his plough ; Regulus, though twice consul,
possessed no more than one little field in the barren district
of Pupinia ; and Curius, like Fabricius and iEmilius Papus,
prepared his simple meal with his own hands in wooden
vessels. The same Curius refused the gold of the Samnites ;
Fabricius that of Pyrrhus; and Cineas, introduced into
the Senate, imagined that he saw before him an assembly
of kings.
“ By their rigid virtues and austere manners the Romans
of that age deserved their empire ; by their discipline and
their courage they had acquired, by their union they re¬
tained it. The perils of the war with Samnium had in
fact restored peace between the two orders of citizens.
Petty rivalries had been extinguished in the face of the
public interest; the emancipation of the plebeians had been
effectually accomplished ; and the new generation of patri¬
cians, bred in the camps, had lost its bitter recollection of
the popular victories. The ‘new men’ were now not less
numerous in the Senate than the descendants of old curial
families ; nor did the services and glory of Papirius Cursor,
of Fabius Maximus, of Appius Caecus, and Valerius Corvus,
efface the services and the glory of the three Decii, of
Publilius, four times consul; of Maenius, twice dictator ; of
Caecilius Metellus, who commenced the illustration of the
family of which Naevius was afterwards to declare, ‘the
Metelli are born consuls at Rome ;’ finally, of Curius Den-
tatus and Fabricius, plebeians, and not even of Roman
origin at all.
“ There was union because there was equality ; because Political
an aristocracy of blood was no longer recognised, nor was History,
more honour paid to that of fortune. At this epoch the ^
Roman constitution presented that safe combination of
royalty, aristocracy, and democracy which Polybius, Machia-
vel, and Montesquieu have so much admired. The con¬
sulship gave it unity in command, the Senate experience in
counsel, the people strength in action. By these three
powers, mutually restricting themselves within just limits,
all the forces' of the state, formerly turned one against
another, had found at last, after a struggle of more than two
centuries, that happy equilibrium which made them all
concur, with irresistible power, in working towards one
common end, the greatness of the republic.”2
SECT. XIV.—SOURCES OP THE HISTORY OP ROME IN THE
FIFTH CENTURY.
This glowing panegyric on the character of the Roman Sources of
people in the best age of the free state may be fairly de- the history
duced from the histories of the time which have come down ofRome in
to us. Doubtless in those histories much allowance mustthe
be made for a spirit of exaggeration and patriotic colouring
in painting the actions and principles of the heroes of the
republic. Nevertheless there seems sufficient reason for
admitting the general truthfulness of the accounts we have
received of this period, and accepting as commonly authen¬
tic what professes to be the history of Rome, at least from
the time of the wars with Samnium and with Pyrrhus. It
will be well to pause, then, at this point, and indicate briefly
what may have been the sources of Roman history at this
period.
The first writers of early Roman history in a connected
form were Greeks,—such as Diodes of Peparethus, Timaeus,
and Hieronymus. Aristotle had already obtained a glimpse
of the rising republic, and had signalized the taking of Rome
by the Gauls; but it was not till the Romans entered into
relations with Alexander of Molossus, and with Pyrrhus, that
their existence became a matter of interest to the people
beyond the Adriatic. The first Greek writers on the sub¬
ject of this Italian city would naturally resort to the colo¬
nists of Magna Graecia for such information of their neigh¬
bour as they could furnish, and this would be derived, in
the first instance, from the floating traditions which, during
the preceding century, had reached Neapolis or Tarentum,
conveyed by word of mouth, rather than ascertained from
the scanty writings and historical monuments which might
uxist in Rome itself. Hence, no doubt, these original his¬
torians gave a prominent place to the stories which con¬
nected Rome with Greece,—to the legends of Evander and
^Eneas, of recourse to the Delphic oracle, or to the records
of Athenian legislation, which thus obtained a credit not
their due with succeeding inquirers. It is probable that the
writings of these foreigners first excited the emulation of
the Roman annalists, such as Fabius Pictor and Cincius
Alimentus, who began in the sixth century to construct a
vernacular History of Rome. We have no reason to sup¬
pose that historical composition was an art of native growth
at Rome, any more than among other western nations, all
of which, including the civilized Etruscans themselves,
seem to have been wholly strangers to it. But the Romans,
when they applied themselves to the art, had access to other
sources than the Greeks who preceded them, and could
combine the traditions and fabrications of the Greeks with
the meagre chronicles and other fragmentary records exist¬
ing among them. Thus we know that from a very early
antiquity the priests had kept a register of the events in
which they were themselves chiefly interested, such as
omens and natural phenomena, to which they attached a
1 Duruy, Hist, des Romains, i., ch. xi., § 2.
2 Ibid., p. 333.
309
ROMAN HISTORY.
Political religious significance ; that there were also certain Fasti, or
History, lists of magistrates, dating from a primitive epoch ; and we
—may surmise that here and there a political incident was
noted in one or other of these journals. It is certain, more¬
over, that the Romans, with their intense family feelings,
left some private memorials of their own ancestors, and re¬
freshed their recollection of them from time to time by do¬
mestic ceremonies and funeral laudations. The highly ro¬
mantic character of so much of the early history may lead
us also to conjecture that some popular traditions were pre¬
served in the form of poetry, though of this we have no
positive testimony whatever; and the inference is by no
means strong enough to bear, in default thereof, the ela¬
borate superstructure built upon it by Niebuhr and his
followers. The notion, indeed, so suddenly enunciated and
so hastily adopted by the students of Roman history, that
our early accounts are mainly founded on a defunct series
of ballads and epics, may be regarded as already exploded.1
Thus much, however, is certain, that as far as the memory of
long past events was entrusted to a mere oral tradition, its
preservation was in the utmost degree precarious; while
the monuments, however scanty, of' written history were
subjected to the sweeping devastation of the Gallic confla¬
gration. The Romans indeed pretended that the Capitol
at least had escaped the capture of the city; but no reliance
can be placed on their account of the retreat and discom¬
fiture of the Gauls; and there is good reason to suppose
that their city, fortress and all, fell into the hands of the
destroyers. Very few, therefore, of their records can be
supposed to have escaped; it may be doubted whether the
two or three documents of a previous period, which Poly¬
bius or Pliny believed they had actually seen in their own
time, were genuine monuments of the age to which they
were presumed to belong. That from that period a syste¬
matic fabrication commenced of records pretending to an
anterior date may easily be believed ; and it is from such
fabrications, grounded more or less upon current traditions,
that the first annalists of Rome, both Greek and Roman,
drew, it may be presumed, a great part of their materials.
We see, then, that, down to the period of the Gallic war,
there is no firm ground for the historian of Rome. The
events recorded he must suspect of being pure inventions ;
in the pretended progress of the constitution he will trace
only a confused attempt to account for political arrange¬
ments existing at a later period. But in the sources of his¬
tory posterior to the great conflagration a great change
becomes apparent. Whatever the value of contemporary
records may have been, however much they may have em¬
bellished and falsified by family or national pride, we may
be sure at least that they once actually existed, and con¬
tinued no doubt to exist for centuries. The first annalists
had materials for history, were they but endowed with dis¬
cretion to sift and read them rightly. It is not to be ex¬
pected, indeed, that in a rude uncritical age these materials
were carefullv handled; and still, at least to the time of
Pyrrhus, and perhaps for one generation later, many evi¬
dent falsifications of history are apparent. But from the
commencement of the sixth century we may be sure that
the memory of events was sufficiently recent to secure the
first writers of Roman history from material error regarding
them. We may proceed, therefore, from this point, without
misgiving, to follow the lines they have traced for us.
SECT. XV.—THE FIRST FUNIC WAR.
Political
History.
While Rome was completing the reduction of Italy, the
republic of Carthage, on the opposite coast of Africa, was The first
rivalling her conquests in the islands of the western Medi- I>ur,ic war-
terranean. The Greek colonies in Sicily had fallen under
her dominion, as well as the barbarous tribes of Sardinia.
On the extinction of the Grecian power in this quarter,
the two rivals were about to come into serious collision.
The Carthaginians were preparing to seize the Alolian
Islands, barren rocks indeed, but almost within sight of
Naples and the Campanian coast. Still, however, a single
stronghold withstood them in Sicily, from whence the Ro¬
mans might hope to make good a footing in that important
island, and check their advance beyond it. Messana was
occupied by a band of buccaneering adventurers, who had
recently overthrown the government, and expelled or sub¬
jugated the inhabitants, but now, pressed hard by the Car¬
thaginian power, presumed to solicit assistance from the
legitimate government of Rome. To render such assist¬
ance was contrary to the principles of international law,
even as then understood ; the Romans, moreover, had just
before visited a similar act of lawlessness with the severest
punishment. Now, however, self-interest prevailed, and itA>tL49o
was determined to use the opportunity for establishing a B.c. 264.
Roman force in Sicily.
Such was the origin of the first Punic war, which com¬
menced in the year 490 (b.c. 264), and lasted without in¬
termission for twenty-two years. The great object of the
Romans was to gain possession of Sicily, a rich and fertile
country, and of special importance to them, from the abund¬
ance of corn which it was fitted to produce; for Rome had
already become dependent in some degree on foreign im¬
portation for the supply of a population withdrawn from the
pursuits of agriculture, and engaged perpetually in the bar¬
ren exercise of arms. The Strait of Messana is only 3
miles in width, and though watched by the naval forces of
the great maritime republic, the Romans had little difficulty
in throwing re-inforcements across it: nevertheless, they
soon found it essential to their views to contend with the
Carthaginians for the dominion of the seas. At first they
were obliged to build their ships of war from the model of
an enemy’s vessel, cast accidentally on their coasts ; but
this ignorance of naval architecture was the least of their
disadvantages in commencing the struggle ; for they had no
experience of naval tactics, nor even of navigation. Never¬
theless they exerted themselves with their usual energy,
constructed a numerous fleet, manned it by a conscription
of the lowest class of citizens, such as was not admitted to
serve in the legions, and fought their ships with crews of
mere landsmen, aiming rather at grappling and boarding the
enemy, than at manoeuvring against him, and sinking him
with the stroke of the beak. They succeeded almost from
the first, though not without many reverses, sometimes from
storms, sometimes from the greater skill of the Cartha¬
ginians, in keeping the sea at least on terms of equality.
In the year 498 (b.c. 256) they had so far gained the as¬
cendancy as to be able to land a large army, under the
consul Regulus, on the coast of Africa, with which they Regulugin
ravaged the country, and approached to the walls of the Africa,
capital. But the Carthaginians, putting forth all their a.u. 498,
power, here inflicted on them a decisive defeat, making b.c. 256.
l 11 The theory of Niebuhr respecting the derivation of the early Roman history from ballads or epic lays, is also examined and refuted
by Schwegler vol. i., pp. 58-63. His principal arguments are 1. That the conditions of an early national epic poetry were wanting
amono- the Romans • 2. That the early history bears no mark of proceeding from plebeian poets, whose songs were animated by an anti¬
patrician spirit - 3.'That these poems, if they had ever existed, would not have entirely disappeared; 4. That the early Roman history
has not the character of free political invention, but is composed in great part of aetiological legends, of stories laboriously invented in
order to explain existing names, institutions, customs, rites, and monuments. Schwegler lays it down that, as far as the early Roman
history does not consist of aetiological legends, it is the deliberate fabrication of historians, or formed of legal and constitutional tradi¬
tions.” (Sir G. 0. Lewis On the Credibility of Early Roman History, i. 229.) Such is the conclusion established also by the powertui
reasoning of this English writer, and it is now, we believe, generally accepted by the learned in Germany.
1
310 ROMAN HISTORY.
Political Regulus prisoner, and suffering a small remnant only to
History, make good its return to Italy. Regulus, we are told, was
afterwards sent to Rome on parole, to negotiate peace.
He dissuaded his countrymen from yielding to dishon¬
ourable terms, and returned to his captors, to be put to
death, according to the popular story, with tortures, but, as
the later Romans themselves allowed, to live some years in
custody, and eventually to die a natural death. War was
again renewed, and continued with alternate successes}
the reduction of Panormus by the Romans (a.u. 500, b.c.
254), the defeat of their fleet at Drepanum (505, 249),
the loss of another armament by tempest at Camarina, and
the final victory at sea off the islands Agates (513, 241).
It was terminated at last by the exhaustion of the Cartha¬
ginians, who were reduced to the necessity of purchasing
peace by the cession of all their claims on Sicily and the
^Eolian islands.
The Carthaginians now turned their attention to Spain,
where they raised in a few years a new empire, which more
than balanced the loss of Sicily, as well as that of Sardinia,
which revolted from them, and fell, as did also Corsica,
not long afterwards, under the power of the Romans. These
great rivals remained at peace with one another for more
than thirty years; but while the Carthaginians were acquir¬
ing the gold mines of Spain, and recruiting their armies with
its hardy infantry, the Romans were making great advances
in internal resources, and pushing their conquests at the
same time in other quarters. In 525 they crossed the Ad-
from Rome riatic, and made successful incursions into Illyria. The
to Greece, following year was distinguished by an embassy from Rome
to Greece, wdiere the Corinthians allowed the envoys of
the formidable “strangers” to take part in the Isthmian
games. About this period, however, we read of a threatened
invasion of Gauls. The city was struck with panic. The
priests required that two men of that nation should be buried
alive, as a sacrifice, in the Forum. A state of “tumult”
was declared, and the whole body of the citizens raised and
armed for the defence of their country. The consul AHmi-
lius went forth at the head of the legions, and confronted
the assailants in the valley of the Po, where he gained a
great victory over them, and received the honours of a
Marcellas triumph. In another battle the Roman leader Marcellus
gains the slew, in a personal combat, the king of the Gauls, Viridu-
“ spolia marus, and bore his arms, the “ spolia opima,” to the Capi-
opima. toj. This eminent reward of prowess had been won but twice
before by Romulus and Tullus Hostilius ; nor was it ever
Conquest of gained by a Roman captain again. The conquest of the
the Cisal- Cisalpine and of the Istrian peninsula followed upon this
pine. repulse of the Transalpine barbarians. Meanwhile the Car¬
thaginians were advancing to the entire dominion of Spain.
Their politic chief, Hamilcar Barcas, was succeeded in
his command there by his son Hannibal, whom he had
sworn in childhood to eternal enmity against Rome; and
this enmity the young captain was now about to gratify,
having persuaded his government to let him lead all the
forces of the province against Italy, cross the Pyrenees,
traverse the friendly regions of southern Gaul, and descend
from the Alps among the newly-conquered subjects of Rome,
whom h^expected to unite in a mighty league against their
enemies and his own.
Embassy
a. u. 526,
b. c. 228.
SECT. XYI.—THE SECOND PUNIC WAR.
The second The second Punic war commenced in 536 (b.c. 218)
Punic war. with the destruction of Saguntum by the Carthaginians,
in defiance of the Roman remonstrances. Spain was now
sufficiently reduced to form the basis of Hannibal’s pro¬
posed operations. Assembling an army of 82,000 foot and
12,000 horse, he commenced his march. This large force,
how-ever, was very considerably reduced by the fatigues of
the march, and by the garrisons it was necessary to leave
behind to secure communications through so long a route. Political
Hannibal crossed the Rhone with little more than 50,000 History,
men. His easiest and directest route into Italy lay by coast v*^
line, turning the lowest spur of the Maritime Alps ; but this
road was watched by the Roman general Scipio, and the
Ligurians, into whose territory it would have led him, were
less likely to receive him as a deliverer than the Gaulish
tribes, such as the Boii and Insubres, who lay among the
valleys of the Graian Alps, further to the north. Hannibal
determined to hazard two steps, both equally bold. He al¬
lowed Scipio’s army to land on his flank, at the mouth of
the Rhone, and occupy the tracts which he was about to
leave behind him; then taking the line of the I sere, he Hannibal
ventured to climb the almost inaccessible pass of the Little crosses the
St Bernard, in the middle of October, with his large force Alps,
of men, horses, and elephants. He had not even assured
himself of the co-operation of the rude mountaineers, who
harassed and attacked him on his march, and caused him
both losses and delay. Indeed that perilous enterprise,
which we must suppose he undertook after due calculation,
as the only means of accomplishing his purpose, and launch¬
ing a Carthaginian army into the bosom of a discontented
population, cost him more than half the force with which he
had crossed the Rhone ; and when, after pausing at the sum¬
mit of the pass, and encouraging his followers by showing
to them the land of promise, he descended into the valley
of the Po, he could muster no more than 20,000 foot and
6000 cavalry. Nor did the Gauls in these parts manifest at
first any ardour in his behalf. It was not till he had gained Battles of
some notable successes at the passage of Ticinus and the Ticinus
Trebia that they began to throw themselves vehemently ^ lre'
into his cause. But now his numbers rapidly swelled, and
while the Romans, disconcerted by their first disasters, were
recruiting their broken legions, he crossed the Apennines with
a force of 50,000 men. Again the passage of the marshes
of the Upper Arnus cost him a large portion of his troops,
and he suffered himself the loss of an eye by fever. These
troubles, however, were repaid by the great victory of the
Lake Thrasymenus, where the consul Flaminius, rashly Battle of
meeting him, was overthrown with immense loss, and slain. Thrasyme-
From Thrasymenus to Rome was no more than 100 miles; nu3,
nor was there any army to cover the city, for the other
consul had posted himself with his legions at Ariminum, to
guard the approach from the east. Hannibal had boldly
out-flanked two armies, and beaten a third; but with all
his boldness, he hesitated to strike at the enemy’s centre,
while leaving such forces in his rear. His intrigues with
the Umbrians, the Etrurians, and other people of central
Italy, had been unsuccessful. The country was generally
animated with a national spirit of jealousy towards the fo¬
reigner. He turned aside to the left, and re-crossed the
Apennines into Picenum; thence he directed his course
towards the Grecian colonies in the south-east of the pen¬
insula. Meanwhile the gravity of their danger had excited
the patriotism of the Romans to the highest pitch. Vast
exertions were made; another army was raised ; and Fabius
Maximus, the chie’f of the nobles, led it, as dictator, in quest
of the enemy, who had descended along the coast of the
Adriatic into Apulia. Here, too, where Hannibal had
had better hopes, the population showed itself indifferent,
if not hostile, to its deliverers. The Carthaginian was
anxious to stake his fortunes on a battle; but Fabius knew
the value of delay, and refused to allow his raw recruits to
engage with the despair of sturdy veterans and an able
general. Thus matters stood for some time. The condi¬
tion of the invader becoming daily more precarious, when
Terentius Varro, now'consul, and enjoying command every
alternate day, yielded to his own and his men’s impatience,
and engaged the enemy in the pitched battle of Cannae. This Battle of
was noted as the most disastrous defeat the Romans ever Cannae,
sustained. ^Emilius, the other consul, and 45,000 of their
311
Political
History.
Capture of
Syracuse,
a.u. 542,
B.c. 212.
Battle of
Metaurus,
A.TJ. 547,
u.c. 207.
ROMAN HISTORY.
soldiers were slain, and Hannibal sent to Carthage a bushel
of golden rings taken from the persons of the knights who
had fallen. It was only the extreme debility of the victor,
even after this victory, that gave Rome a breathing-time,
and the devotion of the citizens would not suffer them to
despair of the commonwealth in the hour of her greatest
humiliation. Hannibal was admitted into Capua ; but this
was almost the only fruit of his triumph; and the allure¬
ments of this luxurious retreat were more fatal to the dis¬
cipline of his army, and to his own reputation, than even a
defeat.
Hannibal now urged his government to send him re-in-
forcements; but a rival faction predominated in the Car¬
thaginian Senate, and caused the resources of the country
to be diverted to Spain: indeed, he possessed no port on
the coast of Italy at which an army could have made good
its landing. The Roman forces grew, in the language of
the poet, from defeat, as the branches of the ilex under the
pruning-knife. Numerous fleets and armies were speedily
arrayed, and Hannibal found himself surrounded in Capua
by 220,000 men in arms. During the following years he
was occupied painfully, and with little success, in the siege
of the strong places around him, while Fabius gained the
title of Cunctalor (“ The Delayer”), from the cautious tactics
with which he shunned encountering him in the field. At
last Hannibal was obliged to make his escape from the toils
which were closing around him by a rapid retreat into
Apulia, leaving Capua to the vengeance of the Romans,
who treated it as a revolted dependency. When it sur¬
rendered, after a long blockade, seventy of its senators were
scourged to death, three hundred nobles thrown into chains,
and the whole population sold as slaves. Such was a sample
of the policy of the republic towards a people whom, on the
principles of national law then recognised, it might justly
regard as rebels.
Disastrous, however, as Hannibal’s affairs in Italy now
were, he was able to get some respite by the diversions his
intrigues effected in other quarters. The Romans were
obliged to send Marcellus with a powerful fleet to chastise
the defection of Syracuse, which was only taken after a
long siege, rendered memorable by the ingenuity employed
in its defence by the mathematician Archimedes. Mar-
cellus himself fell soon afterwards into an ambuscade in
Apulia. Scipio, who had conducted several campaigns in
Spain, allowed Hasdrubal, the brother of Hannibal, to
escape him, and cross the Alps with a large re-inforcement.
Hannibal collected all his resources to effect a junction with
this powerful auxiliary. Rome put forth her full strength to
encounter the double danger. Livius confronted Hasdru¬
bal in Umbria, while Claudius Nero encamped before
H annibal. But Nero, with happy temerity, broke up from
his quarters with a picked division of his troops, and join¬
ing Livius, surprised Hasdrubal on the River Metaurus.
The united forces of the Romans obtained a complete vic¬
tory ; and Hannibal was first made aware of this terrible dis¬
aster by receiving the head of his brother thrown exultingly
into his camp.
The Romans, notwithstanding the occupation of so large
a part of their own territories by a hostile force, had con¬
tinued to maintain an army in Spain, and persisted in the
task of wresting that important province from Carthage.
In the course of this war two Scipios perished; but a third,
the most distinguished of this illustrious house, known
afterwards as the elder Africanus, completed the conquest,
and, flushed with victory, urged the Senate to transfer the
contest to Africa itself. This bold manoeuvre was opposed
by the cautious Fabius, but the enthusiasm of Scipio pre¬
vailed ; and when a Roman army was landed in the neigh¬
bourhood of Carthage, the enemy were compelled to recall
Hannibal for the defence of their own homes. Hannibal
effected his retreat, quitting Italy after an occupation of
fifteen years; but it was only to encounter a general of Political
equal skill, and an army not less trained to conquer than History,
his own, and to suffer the decisive overthrow at Zama,
which laid his country prostrate at the feet of the Romans. Battle of
Carthage sued for peace, but was required to surrender all ZarTia>
her remaining possessions except the district immediately
adjacent, together with her ships, her elephants, and her
treasure. She still retained her brave commander Hanni¬
bal, and allowed him to take the lead in her councils, in
which he was still animated by the same hatred of the Ro¬
mans and zeal for the advancement of his country’s interests.
The Romans watched his proceedings with jealousy, and
he was soon obliged to flee to the distant court of Syria,
lest they should insist on his being delivered up to them.
The second Punic war, thus brought to a triumphant close,
was the most important struggle in which Rome was ever
engaged,—one of the most important perhaps in the history
of the human race ; the event of which, instead of crushing
the rising fortunes of the republic, established her in the
secure enjoyment of the greatest power in the civilized
world, and was the harbinger of the rapid succession of
triumphs which made her, in the course of another century
and a half, mistress of the fairest regions of Europe, Africa,
and Asia.
SECT. XVII. POLITICAL CONDITION OP THE WORLD AT THIS
PERIOD.
The fall of Carthage secured to Rome a complete pre- Political
ponderance throughout the western regions of Europe and condition
Africa. Placing her ally Masinissa on the throne of Nu-ofthe
midia, she kept her prostrate rival in a constant state °f^°gld
terror and annoyance at home, while she prosecuted at p
leisure the plans of further aggrandisement she had long
contemplated. In Spain the legions which had formerly
assisted the rude natives against the Carthaginians were
now prepared to turn upon them, with every advantage of
skill and resources; and though the complete reduction of
the Iberian peninsula was the work of more than two cen¬
turies, and cost the efforts of many armies and a long suc¬
cession of generals, the issue was never doubtful, and the
progress of the invaders, which triumphed very early over
the best and richest parts of the country, was only retarded
in the mountains, or on distant and inhospitable shores.
Nearer home, in the Cisalpine, the Romans exercised a for¬
bearance or evinced a caution not easy to explain. They
suffered the Gaulish tribes to retain their independence
almost unassailed. But the Gauls themselves seem from
this time to have lost the aggressive spirit which had so
long distinguished them. They devoted themselves to the
habits of settled life, turned to good account the teeming
fertility of their soil, and prepared for Rome, when at leisure
to make the acquisition, the fairest and wealthiest of all
her provinces. Gaul beyond the Alps, and Germany be¬
yond the Rhine, remained at this time almost equally un¬
known to the conquerors of Carthage, and were equally
disregarded by her greedy ambition. In the south, the
north, and the west, there was little to engage the interest
of her predatory chiefs; but when they looked eastward,
they saw before them vast countries filled with the accumu¬
lated wealth of ages of civilization,—presenting indeed an
imposing front of arms and organization, but, as perhaps
they had already learned, devoid of the vital spirit of na¬
tionality, and ready to crumble into dust at the first rude
shock of a lusty and resolute assailant.
At the death of Alexander the Great the Macedonian
empire had been split into several parts; a century after
his death it had fallen to pieces. Babylon had become the
seat of a Parthian monarchy, which held the valleys of the
Tigris and Euphrates; while the realms to the eastward
had renounced all connection with the west, from which
they were now permanently separated. Antiochus main-
312 ROMAN HISTORY.
Political tained a powerful empire in Asia Minor and Syria, extend-
History. ing from Pelusium to Smyrna; but the northern districts
of the peninsula had been seized by various lesser poten¬
tates. The Gauls, under the name of Galatae, occupied
one province. There was a kingdom of Bithynia, another
of Pontus, another of Pergamus. The states of Lycia
maintained an independent confederation. In the interior
of the country, the Isaurians and Lycaonians, to whom may
be added some tribes of the Cilicians, to whatever sove¬
reign they were nominally subject, were merely lawless
freebooters. The most flourishing of all existing polities
at this time was the kingdom of Egypt, under the dynasty
of the Ptolemies, who, secure in their distant and scarcely
accessible territory, had leisure to accumulate wealth and
to foster the arts and sciences. The second century B.c.
in Egypt may be regarded as the crowning period of intel¬
lect and cultivation in the ancient world. Besides their
possessions on the continent of Africa, the Ptolemies pos¬
sessed the island of Cyprus, and the acquisition of this ma¬
rine dependency, as well as the interests of their commerce,
on which the prosperity of their kingdom mainly depended,
made them jealous of the Carthaginians, and disposed them
to an alliance with Rome. The republic had first entered
into relations with Egypt under Ptolemy Philadelphus, in
the year 481 (b.c. 273); and such was now the intimacy
between the two powers, that the Roman Senate was chosen
as the fittest guardian for Ptolemy Epiphanes, at this time
the youthful heir to the throne of his ancestors.
The European provinces of the empire of Alexander
were at this time divided among three principal powers.
The throne of Macedonia itself was occupied by a Phi-
lippus descended from the old royal stock; but southern
Greece had succeeded in re-asserting its independence,
and the greater number of its communities, drained as they
were by conquest and colonization, and enervated by
luxury and corruption, still maintained a shadow of their
former greatness by combination, under the title of the
Achaean League. To the west lay the semi-Hellenic dis¬
trict of AStolia, with its fierce predatory tribes, combined
under the sway of a military chieftain, ever threatening the
feeble civilization of Greece proper. Indeed, both within
and without the Achaean frontiers the greatest anarchy
prevailed; the control of a powerful protector had been
ill exchanged for the name of liberty, which was only the
license of the craftiest and strongest; day by day the mo¬
numents of ancient art, all that remained for Greece to
boast of, were scattered or demolished; and it is only to
Roman aggression and cupidity, soon to be let loose upon
them, that we owe the preservation of such remnants of
them as have survived to our times. Among these western
states Macedonia might still claim the pre-eminence. Sur¬
rounded by the sea or by almost impassable mountains,
inhabited still by a brave and patriotic people, this king¬
dom would have been truly powerful, but for the weakness
entailed upon it by the number of its distant and dis¬
jointed possessions. It held sway beyond its natural
frontiers over Thessaly and Euboea, Opus, Elatea, and part
of Phocis; and occupied the citadel of Corinth and the
town of Orchomenus in Arcadia. It maintained garrisons
in three of the Cyclades,—Andros, Paros, and Cythnus,—as
well as in Thasus and some cities on the coast of Thrace
and Asia. A considerable part of Caria also belonged to
it. Each of these possessions entailed upon it jealousies and
enmities of its own ; and its power was exhausted in the
attempt to make head at the same moment against all the
states of the Achaean League, against the kings of Per¬
gamus and the chiefs of Thrace, against the maritime
republic of Rhodes, and against the wild mountaineers of
vEtolia. I or a time the balance of forces was fairly main¬
tained ; but when the ACtolians invited the arm of Rome Political
to their assistance, this equality was speedily displaced. History.
Philip was the last to perceive the inevitable issue. When
the Senate sent to declare hostilities against him, he would
only reply to Paulus ASmilius, the Roman envoy, in terms
of raillery and scorn.
SECT. XVIII.—WARS WITH PHILIP AND ANTIOCHUS.
Already, during the occupation of southern Italy by Wars with
Hannibal, the Romans had been taught to regard the King Philip and
of Macedon as an enemy, who watched every opportunity Antiochus.
to crush them, and whose blow they must not hesitate to
anticipate. The overthrow of Carthage had hardly been
accomplished when the Senate insisted on declaring war
against this distant intriguer, and urged the reluctant com¬
mons of the city to pour forth their blood and treasure
again without a moment’s respite. At this period, indeed,
and for many years afterwards, Rome acted like the spend¬
thrift who squanders his capital in the enjoyment of the
hour. The blood of Rome and Italy was lavished without
stint, and the Senate, in its selfishness and short-sighted¬
ness was content to receive in its stead a constant influx of
foreigners and barbarians, captured in war or purchased in
the slave-market, and condemned to cultivate its fields in
chains. The fatal result of this policy will be soon exhi¬
bited ; at this era it was not foreseen, or was recklessly
disregarded. The cries of the Achaeans for protection
against Philip were eagerly listened to, and an army was
sent to rescue the feeble remains of Grecian liberty, as it
styled itself, from the menace of a second Macedonian con¬
quest. The teeming population of the Hellenic peninsula,
which had formerly been maintained by the commerce of
the world, had found vent, during the last century of decay
and impoverishment, in a constant stream of emigration to
Asia and Africa. As colonists, as traders, as mercenary
soldiers, the Greeks were scattered through both conti¬
nents ; but Greece herself had begun to experience a
rapidly-increasing depopulation, and her military force and
military spirit had sunk to a very low ebb. Sparta, indeed,
made an attempt to revive the warlike institutions of
Lycurgus, and Philopcemen, the general of the League,
displayed many of the highest qualities of his noble race;
but the nation was quite unable to defend itself against the
enemy, who had planted himself in so many important
positions within its territory. The aid, however, of two
Roman legions, backed by the alliance of flEtolia, sufficed
to drive Philip within his proper frontiers ; and though one
Roman army was ignominiously defeated, Flamininus with
a second routed the Macedonian phalanx at Cynoscephalae, Battle of
and established the superiority of the Roman tactics. The Cynosce-
consul proclaimed the restoration of Grecian independence, Phal3e>
presided in personal the Isthmian games, and declared
that the Romans themselves were descended from iEneas. B'C‘ '
The Greeks in return dedicated their offerings to “ Titus
and Hercules,” to “ Titus and Apollo.”1
Though’the Romans were thus moderate in their con¬
duct towards Greece, they took care to establish such a
balance of power between the JStolians, the Achaeans, and
Nabis the tyrant of Sparta, as would secure a perpetual
recurrence of strife among them, and require their own in¬
tervention in due season. But their policy was furthered
by a movement from without. Hannibal, whom they had
demanded from Carthage, had taken refuge with An¬
tiochus, King of Syria, and was urging his patron to send
him with an army into Italy. Antiochus, shrinking from
such a hazard, ventured to confront the Romans in Greece,
incited thereto by the ^Etolians; but both he and his new
allies were easily routed. In 562 (b.c. 192) the Romans
1 Michelet, Hist, de Rome, ii. 183. Titus was the prsenomen of Quinctius Flaminius.
Political
History.
A. u. 565,
B. c. 189.
State of
ideas and
manners in
the sixth
century of
the city.
Influence
of the
Greek lan¬
guage in
Home.
ROMAN HISTORY.
313
gained a complete victory over him at Thermopylae; he
was driven back from Europe, and compelled to take what
measures he could for closing the continent of Asia against
the triumphant advance of the legions. The Romans, how¬
ever, secured the alliance of Macedon, Rhodes, and Pergamus,
and obtained the necessary means of transport. In 564
they set foot for the first time in Asia, and after a short
campaign engaged the enemy at Magnesia, defeating him,
according to their own account, with unparalleled dispro¬
portion of loss, and reducing him at one blow to terms the
most humiliating. Antiochus consented to relinquish almost
all his possessions in Asia Minor, together with his ele¬
phants and 15,000 talents in money. Here, as in Greece,
the republic, unprepared to occupy the vast regions it had
so suddenly conquered, abstained from all territorial an¬
nexation, and contented itself with dividing the country
between its faithful allies. In the heart of Asia Minor
Rome encountered again her ancient enemies the Gauls.
Upon these people she made war separately, and reduced
them to dependence upon Eumenes, King of Pergamus and
Phrygia.
SECT. XIX.—STATE OP IDEAS AND MANNERS IN THE SIXTH
CENTURY OF THE CITY.
The desultory and occasional relations which Rome had
hitherto entertained with Greece became now constant,
and rapidly increased in closeness and mutual influence.
This influence is conspicuously apparent in the shape which
the old mythology of Italy began now to assume, in the
disappearance of many ancient national divinities, and the
introduction of Greek deities in their place. The Sabine
names of Census, Lunus, Juturna, Feronia, and others, are
lost altogether, or merged in those of foreign divinities,
whose attributes are supposed to resemble their Apollo,
first honoured with a temple at Rome, A.u. 324, advances
in estimation among the citizens, and obtains the distinc¬
tion of public games in 542. iEsculapius is evoked from
Epidaurus by a decree of the Senate in 463. Cybele, or as
the Romans call her, Bona Dea, is invited to Rome in
547. The introduction of the Bacchanalia, or mysteries of
the Grecian Bacchus, caused so much disturbance or
jealousy that the Senate in 568 issued a decree for their
suppression in Rome and Italy. But the sceptical philo¬
sophy of Greece followed quickly in the train of her reli¬
gious ceremonies. The poet Ennius introduced the
rational explanations of ancient belief recommended to
his countrymen by the Greek Euemerus ; and from ration¬
alism the step was easy to doubt, and finally to disbelief.
The magistrates of Rome maintained the ceremonial of
processions, sacrifices, and auguries, as an engine of state
policy, but the higher cla-sses almost wholly renounced
their fathers’ faith in them, and had little scruple in openly
deriding them. From the time, indeed, that the plebeians
had been admitted to the priesthoods and augurships, the
nobility of Rome had slackened in their zeal for the main¬
tenance of the old traditions. The Potitii abandoned to
their slaves the cult of their patron Hercules. Marcellus
threw into the sea the sacred fowls which refused to present
a favourable omen. The common sceptical disposition of
the day is represented by the expression of Ennius: “If
there are gods, at least they do not trouble themselves with
the care of human affairs.”
At this period the Roman nobles began to make use of
the Greek language, and got themselves instructed in it by
slaves or clients of Greek extraction. They employed
Greek writers to compose their history for them. Diodes
of Peparethus, as has been said, was the first who com¬
posed a narrative of the foundation of the city. I he freed-
men, to whom the task was now naturally assigned of cele¬
brating the exploits of their patrons’ families, were doubt-
VOL. XIX
less prompt in embellishing them. Hence we may ascribe Political
to this period the rage for discovering a Grecian extraction, History,
or a Trojan, which was considered equally honourable, for
the Roman gentes. iEneas and Hercules, with their sons
and comrades, were made to serve as founders for many
patrician houses. As soon as the Romans set foot in
Phrygia, they recognised their pretended connection with
the restored city of Ilium. The Scipios and other mag¬
nates paid court to Grecian poets and historians, and re¬
ceived the incense of flattery in return. Ennius, the first
of the Roman poets, a native of Calabria, who pretended
himself to a Grecian origin, and was equally versed in the
Greek and the Latin tongues, introduced the works of
Homer to the Italians by imitation and translation, and
was long held by his grateful countrymen as a worthy rival
of the father of epic verse. Instruction in the Greek lan¬
guage and literature became, under the name of Grammar,
the most essential part of a liberal education, and every
Roman mansion had its Grecian pedagogue to train the
children of the family in this necessary lore. The Greek
women, fascinating and accomplished, completed the sub¬
jugation of the Roman conquerors. The rough and homely
matrons of Sabellia could no longer retain the hearts of
their spouses, ensnared by the wiles of these foreign slaves
and mistresses. The injured ummen were not slow in
avenging themselves. The first divorce at Rome had
taken place in the year 520. About half a century later,
in 586, occurred the scandal of the Bacchanalian mysteries,
at which many hundreds of Roman matrons were found to
have devoted themselves to orgies of the most fearful licen¬
tiousness.
If we take a further glance at the manners and customs
of the Romans at this period, we may observe how the life
of the city becomes distinguished from that of the country,
and that of the Campanian baths or w'atering-places, from
both or other. The first was the life of the Forum and the
temples ; the stated performance of civil and religious acts ;
the holding of levees of freedmen in the mornings; giving
of legal opinions to friends and clients ; public business in
the Forum or Senate-house towards noon; preparation for
public speaking with hired rhetoricians; retirement for
sleep at mid-day ; the exercises of the Campus Martins,
swimming, wrestling, and fencing, in the afternoon; the
supper, diversified with singing and buffoonery; and so to
bed at sundown. In the country there was the superin¬
tendence of the farm and household ; hunting, fishing, and
other field-sports; the employment of leisure hours in
reading, writing, or dictating, generally on a couch or even
in bed ; sleeping much in the day, but watching with the
dawn of morning. At the baths there was a complete holiday
from all duties, public or domestic ; throwing off the toga,
going barefoot, and lightly clad in a Greek dressing-gown ;
lounging through the day, gossiping with idle acquaint¬
ances, indulging in long and frequent ablutions, invoking the
aid of foreign artists in song and music to while away the
hours of vacant indolence. While, indeed, the Roman was
equally proud of the austere discipline of the city and the
fields, he was ashamed of his recreations at the sea-side,
and regarded it as an indulgence almost akin to vice to
relax even for a moment from the stern routine of self-
imposed duty. But the siren sloth was gradually gaining
his ear, and every further step he took into the realms of
Grecian luxury and voluptuousness estranged him more and
more from the love of business which he had embraced as
a passion, and become inured to as a second nature. The
domestic morality of the Romans was thus already under¬
mined in many of its dearest relations, when a guilty ambi¬
tion began first to prompt them to seek, in the conduct of
public affairs, a personal and selfish aggrandisement.
At this period, indeed, the high civil position, maintained
by a narrow oligarchy of noble families closely connected
2 R
314 ROMAN HISTORY.
Political with one another by marriage, which shared among them-
History. selves all the great offices of the commonwealth, might na-
tura)iy foster such irregular aspirations, and point to the
Tendency establishment of a monarchy, limited by the jealousies of
towards its aristocratic assessors, in the place of a i epublic which
monarchy. was democratic in name only. To Scipio Africanus, in
Scipio tjie exuberance of their joy at his triumphs, the people had
Afrxcanus. 0^>ere(j) 0f their own accord, a consulship for life. This
would have made him at once a constitutional sovereign,
a do'm, or a king. We are told that he declined the proffered
honour : moderation both in pleasure and in ambition was
his characteristic quality. But at a later period, when any
such prudent and temperate resolution had become impos¬
sible, Cicero takes a melancholy pleasure in representing
another Scipio, the immediate descendant of the elder
Africanus, as praising in a limited monarchy the best ideal
of government. Had the nobles been left to work out
their own career, this is the consummation to which it
might soon have been brought; but their career was rudely
intercepted by the torrent of national corruption which now
broke down every moral barrier; the pride and luxury en¬
gendered by their Greek and Asiatic triumphs produced
a sudden re-action in the popular mind against them. When
Cato the Cato the elder, a rude but vigorous scion of the Latian
Censor. homesteads, took on himself to rebuke their abandonment
of national usage and tradition, he found the people well
disposed to support and urge him onwards. Ihe poet
Nsevius, the first of the Roman satirists, had met with po¬
pular sympathy in his gibes against the haughty Scipios and
Metelli; he had been banished through their influence to
Africa; but the spirit of criticism and raillery survived.
Cato served the state in war and peace, and was carried
through the career of honours to the consulship, and even¬
tually to the censorship, from which last office he derived
the title by which he is distinguished in history. In every
place, and on all occasions, he rebuked the pride of the
nobles and abated their insolence. He caused their
chiefs to be cited before the popular assembly, but they
had yet authority enough to repel the charges against
them by such language as that of Ahnilius Scaurus:
“ Varus accuses xEmilius of corruption; ASmilius denies
it: Romans, which do you believe?” Scipio Africanus
disdained, on a similar occasion, to reply at all; and only
exclaimed, as he surmounted the Capitol,—“ This is the
anniversary of my victory over Hannibal: Romans, thank
the gods, and pray that you may always have such a cham¬
pion !” Nevertheless Scipio was compelled at last to with¬
draw from affairs, and ended his life at a private residence
in Campania, directing these words to be inscribed upon
his sepulchre :—“ Thankless country, thou shall not pos¬
sess even my bones !” Further prosecutions were directed
against his family, some of whom seem to have been guilty
of accepting bribes from Antiochus ; and Cato had the
satisfaction of thoroughly humiliating the chiefs of the Ro¬
man oligarchy.
SECT. XX.—PROGRESS OF CONQUEST IN THE EAST AND WEST.
Death of Hannibal, driven from the court of Antiochus to that of
Hannibal, Prusias, King of Bithynia, and again demanded by the Ro-
a. u. 572, mans, had poisoned himself about the year 572 (b.C. 182),
b. c. 182. and thus relieved from equal anxiety both his friends and
enemies. The authority of the republic was becoming
consolidated throughout Greece and Asia Minor, when
Perseus, the son and successor of Philippus, undertook to
form a general confederacy of the eastern powers against
them. Before, however, this alliance had been effected, he
precipitated himself rashly into arms, hoping to cement it
by victory ; and though he obtained at the outset a brilliant
success, he was mortified to find himself still imperfectly
supported. Alone, or with no other aid than the neutrality
of the states invited by Rome to attack him, he still main- Political
tained the contest, defeating the enemy in several engage- Hlstory-
ments, till they sent against him their veteran general Pan-
lus yEmilius, with an overwhelming force of 100,000 men.
Once more the Macedonian phalanx seemed on the point
of recovering the charm of invincibility ; but after a fierce
struggle, the fortune of the legion prevailed : Perseus was Battle of
vanquished on the field of Pydna, in one of the most deci- gg’g
sive battles of Roman history, and soon afterwards taken. B'c‘-^gg’
The kingdom which he had hazarded and lost was annexed
to the dominions of the republic, and Perseus himself led at
the car of his conqueror to the Capitol, thrown into a dun¬
geon, and suffered to languish miserably till his death, two
years later. The last of the kings of Macedonia was long
remembered as one of the most formidable enemies Rome
had ever encountered, along with Hannibal and Pyrrhus.
The overthrow of Perseus was followed by an attack on
the precarious independence still allowed to Antiochus.
The King of Syria, after the check he had received in the
west, had turned his arms southward. He had almost
effected the conquest of Egypt, the ally of Rome, when
Popilius Lsenas, the envoy of the Senate, required him to
desist from his enterprise. He demanded some time to de¬
liberate, but Popilius drew a circle around him in the sand
with his stick, and peremptorily forbade him to pass it till
he had given his response. Antiochus, baffled by this a.u. 586,
firmness, acquiesced in the demand, and retired home crest- b-c. 168.
fallen. The Senate divided between two rival brothers of
the house of Ptolemy the throne which it had saved to
their family.
The kings of the earth bowed in succession before the
assembly of kings. Masinissa acknowledged that to them
he owed the crown of Numidia. Prusias saluted them as
his gods and saviours, and confessed that he was no better
than a client or freedman of his mighty masters. Phrygia,
Greece, and Rhodes were each subjected in different mea¬
sures to the anger of the republic, which they had failed to
defend against the late attack of the Macedonians. The
Greeks, irritated and alarmed, at last took up arms in their
own defence ; but the march of Rome was irresistible ; and
in 608 (b.c. 146) her barbarity was signalized by the sack sack 0f
and conflagration of Corinth under Mamarius. Of all her Corinth,
heinous acts, this was one of the most memorable. By the a.u. 608,
Greeks it was never forgotten; the Romans themselves, at B,c- 146-
least in later times, were ashamed of it. The same year
saw another melancholy catastrophe, the final destruction Final de-
of Carthage, which had ventured to rise a third time against struction of
her triumphant rival, and was taken and razed to the Carthage,
ground by Scipio iEmilianus. At the sight of this fearful
ruin the accomplished Roman could not but think, it was
said, with a sorrowful foreboding, of the time when his own
city might be destined to a like fate, and repeated the lines
of Homer predicting the overthrow of Troy divine.
It was from a reminiscence of the terror they had so long
felt in the rivalry of Carthage that the Romans persisted
for ages in characterizing her, in History and in poetry, as
the type of faithlessness and impiety. But they deigned
to give the title of a. second Carthage to a city of much
less fame and importance, though rendered memorable in
their annals by the obstinacy of its defence and the grandeur
of its fall. The perseverance of many Roman generals,
among them of Cato, and finally of Sempronius Gracchus,
had effected the pacification, as it was called, of the Iberian
peninsula. But such pacifications were never complete or
lasting. The Celtiberians in the north had continued to
harass the Roman outposts, and the praetors commanding
in the province had made their hostile attitude an excuse
for repeated massacre and pillage. Sulpicius Galba had
disgraced the Roman name by treating with the Lusita-
nians, and treacherously slaughtering them to the number
of 30,000. The consul Lucullus acted with equal baseness
ROMAN HISTORY.
315
Political
History.
mantia,
A. U. 611,
B. C. 133.
towards the Celtiberians. Driven to fury by such provoca¬
tions, the mountaineers became more implacable than ever.
^ Viriathus, the gallant chief of the Lusitanians, maintained
the war for five years with unexpected success; and uniting
in confederacy with the Celtiberians, forced the Romans at
last, after many defeats, to conclude peace with him on
eqnal terms. When hostilities again broke out, Ccepio found
means to assassinate this formidable enemy, and the Lusita¬
nians were at length reduced to submission. The last place
that now held out was Numantia, a city of the Celtiberians in
the upper valley of the Douro. Several consuls and praetors
Conquest of had failed in their attempts to reduce this fortress, and
Spain, and Fabius Servilianus had suffered a disgraceful defeat before
fall of Nu- Mancinus brought the defenders to terms ; but the
Senate was dissatisfied with his concessions, disavowed the
treaty, and at the same time, from a feeling of superstition,
not of honour, delivered its author to the enemy. It was
reserved for Scipio iEmilianus, the conqueror of Carthage,
to reduce Numantia at last by blockade. In the extremity
of famine, the survivors of many victories fell at last on
one anothers’ swords.
While interfering pertinaciously in the affairs of all the
kings of Asia, the Romans had hitherto abstained systema¬
tically from annexing any portion of their territories. They
conducted their astute policy by means of commissioners
rather than of legionaries. They left the ancient thrones
erect, but they occupied them with creatures of their own.
The princes of Egypt, as well as those of Cyprus and the
Cyrenaica, which had been constituted separate states, held
their crowns under the patronage or direct appointment of
the Senate. The republic had retained a son of Antiochus
Epiphanes as a hostage, and interfered with powerful autho¬
rity in the nomination of his successors. He designated
the heir of Eumenes, King of Phrygia; and at last, in the
year 621 (b.c. 133), allowed Attains III., the last of his
race, to bequeath his kingdom to Rome. Aquilius was
sent with an army to enforce the ratification of this testa¬
ment ; and thus the republic became possessed of the
province of magnj^cen|. territory which she entitled the province of
Asia, and which she continued always to regard as the
most choice and valuable of her acquisitions.
Acquisi¬
tion of the
Asia.
SECT. XXI. SPIRIT OP THE ROMAN GOVERNMENT AT HOME
AND ABROAD.
Spirit of The power of Rome was now paramount in the four
the Roman great peninsulas which project into the Mediterranean, to-
govern- gether with its principal islands, while her influence and
ment at authority were recognised at almost every point along its
abroadfar-reaching coast-line. Italy, the centre and nucleus of
this power, was either “ Roman soil,” or placed under the
ultimate control of the praetors and magistrates of Rome.
Spain, Greece, and Asia Minor, were reduced substantially
to the form of provinces; so were also the islands of the
Tyrrhene, the Ionian, and the Algean seas. Another pro¬
vince was constituted on the opposite coast of Africa, com¬
prising the dominion of Carthage ; while the kingdoms of
Numidia on the west, and of Cyrene and Egypt on the
east, were, as we have seen, in a state of pupilage and de¬
pendence. At the eastern end of the Mediterranean the
Jews had entered into alliance with the republic ; the inde¬
pendence of Syria was imperfect and precarious; Rhodes
was indulged with freedom, which she was fain to purchase
with impious flattery, in erecting a statue to the divinity of
Rome ; while a few petty states of Asia Minor existed only
on sufferance. The rugged districts of Illyria offered little
temptation to Roman cupidity; but the subjection of Ma¬
cedonia was fully assured. Massilia and Narbo cultivated
the alliance of the Senate, and were about to invite its
assistance against the surrounding barbarians, and lay the
first foundations of a province beyond the Alps.
The Romans regarded themselves as a race of con¬
querors, and at every point beyond the limits of their colo¬
nies they encamped rather than settled. A standing force
of one or more legions, with numerous auxiliary battalions,
was maintained in each of the provinces, and every year,
or at a later period triennially, an officer with the style of
proconsul or propraetor, having served the highest magis¬
tracies at home, wras sent forth to command it. This func¬
tionary wielded the whole authority of the state, civil as well
as military, within his own province, and was required to
govern with a single eye to the security and enrichment of
the republic. During his term of office his acts were un¬
questioned ; if he had not strictly the right to declare war
against a potentate on the frontier, his instructions were
generally such as to cover any excess of zeal which tended
to the advancement of his country’s interests. On his re¬
turn home, his quaestor was required to submit to the Senate
an account of his proceedings, and these might be dis¬
avowed by the hostile vote of an opposite faction. While
every act of the magistrates in the city was regulated more
or less strictly by rule and precedent, if not by written
enactment, the proconsul was at liberty to administer jus¬
tice to the provincials according to the edict or programme
published by himself on assuming the government. The
organization of the conquered territories in Etruria and
Samnium, already described, was extended to Iberia, Greece,
and Asia. Some communities were allowed to enjoy a
qualified independence, some were invested with Latin or
Italian privileges; the lands of others were confiscated,
wholly or in part, to the domain of the republic; tolls and
customs were exacted, partly for imperial, partly for local
expenditure ; but a contribution, varying in amount, levied
upon the produce of the land, formed a constant source of
revenue to the state. Such was the wealth which accrued
to the conquerors on the reduction of Macedonia, that from
thenceforth the land-tax was wholly remitted to the
favoured soil of Italy.
With the rights of conquest understood as they were at
Rome, we may imagine the tyranny to which the con¬
quered people were subjected. The spoliation of the pro¬
vinces by the chiefs and their subordinates was not only
winked at; to a great extent it was positively encouraged
and defended, on the plea that to impoverish the fallen
enemy was to cut the sinews of future rebellion. Neither
the property nor the honour, nor even the lives of the pro¬
vincials, were safe from the cupidity and cruelty of the pro-
consul, and of the cohort of officials whom he carried in his
train. It was fortunate, indeed, that the rapacity of these
oppressors was so often directed to seizing the choicest works
of ancient art, and transporting them to Rome, which proved
the safest receptacle for those precious relics of a perishing
civilization. The rude conquerors of Greece and Asia im¬
bibed a taste for these monuments of a genius with which
they had so little in common, and succeeded in persuading
the still ruder populace at home that no trophies of victory
were so glorious as the works of Grecian statuaries and
painters. The provincials, who had been born amongst
these cherished treasures, groaned at the loss of them, for
which many a bitter sarcasm at their ignorant spoilers
afforded slender consolation; nevertheless they learned to
profit by their security from the worse miseries of foreign
warfare, and extracted wealth from their fertile soil more
rapidly than their masters could consume it. Achaia, in¬
deed, or central Greece, was stricken with a palsy from
which no domestic tranquillity could restore her, and con¬
tinued to dwindle in population and resources; the ancient
arts of Carthage perished with the decay of the Punic ele¬
ment in her population, which seems to have been quickly
exhausted; but the progress of improvement was felt sen¬
sibly in Asia ; and the youthful vigour of Spain, now first
turned to the pursuits of industry and letters, struck deep
Political
History.
316
Political
History.
Assemblies,
orders, and
magistra¬
cies of the
Homan
people.
ROMAN HISTORY.
into the soil, and produced in the course of ages an abun¬
dant harvest of economical and intellectual improvement.
On the whole, the effete and imbecile among the nations
were extinguished by the blow which struck down their
liberties ; but the young and lusty rallied from the shock ;
and the empire of Rome became, throughout large portions
of the globe, the creator of a new life of progress and de¬
velopment.
SECT. XXII. ASSEMBLIES, ORDERS, AND MAGISTRACIES OF
THE ROMAN PEOPLE.
The warlike instincts of the Roman people, dispersed
over a great part of Italy, or planted in colonies beyond it,
were now in full play. The wealth of the East and West,
which served to inflame its cupidity, had not yet enervated
its vital forces. Its armies maintained the old traditions
of discipline and obedience, as well as their ancient valour;
its officers, ambitious and greedy for themselves, were still
devoted to the glory of their country, and inspired with
zeal for the extension of her dominion. Though the march
of Roman conquest advanced for another century with al¬
most unabated vigour, which was not exhausted in a second
or a third, all these conditions of a flourishing and lasting
empire began from this period to decline, and the social
decay which commenced at the heart spread slowly through
the limbs of the whole body. We have noticed some of
the moral causes of this decline; we will now pause once
more, to exhibit the seeds of destruction already germi¬
nating in the political constitution of the republic.
Notwithstanding the high reputation for disinterested
virtue which the ancient Romans have obtained with pos¬
terity, we know that no people was ever more intensely
devoted to making of money. They amassed riches not
only by plunder in war, but at home by usury and thrift,
abroad by commerce and speculation. To the possessors
of this much-coveted wealth they were ever prone to pay
the most slavish deference. Hence, whatever may have
been the real character of their political organization, as
long as a ruling caste held predominance in the republic,
the equalization of the rival orders was followed by the
establishment of an aristocracy almost purely of money.
The old constitution, such as it is represented to us, of the
patrician curies, or the heads of the gentes or houses, of
those who alone were proprietors, alone were judges, alone
priests and augurs, of those, in short, who formed among
themselves the ancient commonwealth of the Quirites, had
passed away. The comitia of the curies still nominally
existed, and was indeed convened for the performance of
some religious ceremonies, but it had no political weight.
The real elements of power resided in the comitia of the
centuries and tribes; and in both of these, though differ¬
ently constituted, the influence of property prevailed over
numbers. To secure this predominance in assemblies
which embraced the whole body of the Roman people,
some ingenious contrivance was required. The citizens
were divided, as we have seen, into 35 tribes, each tribe
was subdivided into senior and junior, and each of these
subdivisions discriminated again into five classes, according
to property solely. To the 350 centuries thus obtained
were added 18, appropriated to the knights, next to the
senators the wealthiest order in the state. In the assem¬
bly the vote of each century was equiponderant; and thus
the votes of the four first classes, which, as well as the
equestrian, were all filled by men of property, immensely
overbalanced those of the fifth, in which alone the mass of
the poor citizens was enrolled. The rise of the comitia of
the tribes in political importance did little to redress this
inequality; for though the distinction into classes did not
prevail here, the censors had the power of eliminating the
poorest citizens from every other tribe, and confininglhem
to the four appropriated to the city, which had each only an Political
equal vote with the others, and were appointed to give History,
their votes last. Hence every question was virtually settled,
in either comitia, by the suffrages of the first and wealthiest
voters. The poorer and more numerous were seldom
called upon to exercise their rights at all; and Cicero, in¬
deed, assures us, that in the assembly of the centuries the
first, or “prerogative” was always found to carry the de¬
cision.
The functions of these two assemblies, thus essentially
aristocratic, were twofold, elective and legislative. The
centuries elected the consuls and praetors, and other prin¬
cipal or curule magistrates; the appointment to inferior
offices was exercised by the tribes. The power of making
laws was claimed equally by both; and in this co-ordinate
prerogative, exercised by two assemblies, each comprising
the whole body of the citizens, but under a different form
and arrangement, consisted one of the most remarkable
anomalies of the Roman polity. If a consul, praetor, or
dictator had an enactment to propose, he convened the
centuries to deliberate upon it; if the measure were pa¬
tronized by a tribune, it was submitted to the popular
assembly of the tribes. In either case the law thus passed
was binding upon the whole people; but no such law could
be initiated by either the centuries or the tribes; every
legislative measure must be first promulgated in the Senate,
and receive the sanction of that paramount council of state.
If a few instances occur of the tribune’s proposing to the
people a bill for conferring special honour, which the Senate
had refused, they must be regarded as acts of irregular en¬
croachment. It would seem, then, that the legislative
power of the popular assemblies was that of sanction or re¬
jection rather than of enactment.
The eighteen equestrian centuries comprised the wealthi¬
est classes of the state. Such individuals among them as
had attained to magistracies and offices, the exercise of
which was generally unrewarded by salaries, and required
on the contrary an outlay for the amusement of the popu¬
lace, which none but the rich could undertake, acquired the
title of nobiles, together with an inchoate right of admis¬
sion to the Senate. This illustrious order was opened to
the public men who had served certain offices and charges,
and was limited to the number of 600. A high standard
of property was required of all its members; and this was
determined at the quinquennial valuation of the censors,
who had the power of revising the roll, striking off the
poor and unworthy, and selecting the most distinguished
personages to fill their vacancies. The nobles, having once
attained the distinction of admission, or merely of eligibility,
to the Senate, strained every nerve to maintain this position
for themselves and their families, and to keep out from it
their inferiors of the equestrian order, who were striving
with equal energy to attain it. Hence arose the political
conflict of the Senate and the knights, which colours
throughout the subsequent history of the free state. The
Senate, as the party of the richest and noblest, assumes
sometimes the name, as it succeeds to the political charac¬
ter, of the patricians; while the knights, with the names of
liberty and equality in their mouths, connect themselves
naturally for the most part with the inferior and poorer
classes, and occupy the place of the plebeians. But if these
old names still occur sometimes in the history of constitu¬
tional struarsdes, it must be remembered how far they have
diverged from their original signification.
The struggle for admission to the Senate affected most
directly the interests of the competitors. The Senate was
the fountain of Roman legislation. The Senate regulated the
administration of the provinces, organized the finances of the
commonwealth, determined questions of peace and war, and
received the ambassadors of foreign potentates. The Se¬
nate was the executive of the Roman republic; and to the
317
ROMAN HISTORY.
Political
History.
Senate, rather than to the people, every magistrate at home
ami abroad was answerable. If its power was confined by
the right of intercession or veto upon its acts appropriated
to the tribunes, it had the means of counteracting this op¬
position by sowing dissensions among them, or, in the last
resort, by creating a dictator, with unlimited powers, for the
protection of the state. The commons frequently com¬
plained, and probably with justice, that the pretence of
danger from abroad was often advanced when a dictator
was really required to overrule opposition from within.
But when the Senate found that the tribunes were manage¬
able without having recourse to this unpalatable expedient,
it ceased to invoke the arbitrary powers of a dictator. On
more than one occasion it attained the same end less obtru¬
sively by investing the consuls with irresponsible authority
to protect the commonwealth. Such a decree, known by
the formula, “ Viderent consules ne aliquid detrimenti res
publico, caperet, was entitled a senatus consultum ultimum.
Against this, however, the people had one weapon in store.
No citizen could be capitally sentenced, that is, to the loss
either of life or civil status, without an appeal to the people,
or permission to withdraw himself from it by voluntary exile.
If the consuls, under whatever authority, violated this con-
stitutional provision, they were themselves liable to sentence
at the hands of the comitia of the tribes. The conflicting
pretensions of the Senate and the people on this head were
never definitively settled, and came more than once into
violent collision.
Besides their authority, their influence, and their ho¬
nourable distinctions, the senators enjoyed a monopoly of
the most lucrative government appointments. The missions
of pro-consuls and pro-praetors, with their inferior officers,
were gilded, not by fixed salaries, but by gifts of states and
potentates, and by opportunities, hardly to be resisted, of
touching bribes and of peculation. When the rich field of
Greece and Asia was opened to their cupidity, the nobles
abandoned usury at home and commerce abroad to more
vulgar capitalists, and devoted themselves to the provincial
administration. They allowed the knights a large share in
the occupation of the most fertile domain land, and con¬
fined the poorer classes to the common pastures. When
the murmurs of these proletaries threatened danger to their
privileges, they invented the fatal scheme of satisfy¬
ing them by a cheap or gratuitous distribution of corn.
The corn-growing provinces of Sicily and Africa were
mulcted in an annual tribute of grain ; and while the
hunger of the populace was thus appeased, its passion for
amusement was at the same time gratified by shows in the
theatre and the circus, provided by the chief magistrates.
The exhibition of these shows was found to be a sure
source of popularity, and candidates for office vied with one
another in thus invoking the favour of the tribes by an
ever-increasing profusion. The cost of proceeding through
the regular course of honours, of buying the suffrages of
the people by shows and largesses, and eventually by direct
bribes, for the quaestorship, sedileship, praetorship,and consul¬
ship, advanced almost year by year, and by the time that
the aspirant had reached the highest object of his am¬
bition, he had impoverished himself, and so obliged himself
to his friends and his party, that it was only by the unscru¬
pulous exercise of his advantages in a province that he
could hope for indemnification. Hence the province paid
eventually for the voluptuous enjoyments of the Homan
people.
But the jealous knights, debarred from these guilty gra¬
tifications, kept watch over the conduct of the provincial
governors, and invoked against them the safeguard of the
laws. Murder, bribery, peculation, and corrupt adminis¬
tration of justice were public crimes, the cognisance of
which was reserved to the assembly of the tribes, and this
assembly was not indisposed to judge severely the crimes
of the nobles and monopolists. The Senate contrived, with Political
admirable dexterity, to escape from this hostile judicature History,
by the appointment, in the year 605 (b.c. 149), of the
qucBstiones perpetuce, or permanent tribunals, composed
solely of members of their own order, for the trial of this
class of offences. They turned the flank of the knights,
and laughed in the face of the people. The knights gra¬
dually recovered from their confusion, faced about, and
now directed all their efforts to obtain at least a share in
the administration of justice, and so use it as to bring the
Senate to terms on the ulterior question of the provincial
governments.
SECT. XXIII. AGRARIAN AGITATION OF THE GRACCHI.
While Rome w'as subduing her provinces, the provinces Agrarian
were re-acting upon Rome. We have already caught a agitation
glimpse of this foreign invasion which was filling Italy with °f tiie
a base mixture of the blood of every conquered nation, Gracchl*
and sending myriads of slaves from every quarter of the
world to till the fields from which the free native popula¬
tion was carried off by the unceasing drain of war. The
legionary, if he survived the long series of distant cam¬
paigns from which, while his manly strength endured, he
was not permitted to extricate himself, settled for the most
part in the countries which had become more familiar to
him than his own ; while the slave, if attached to the ser¬
vice of a Roman citizen, might hope, after some years of
bondage, for personal enfranchisement, and the acquisition
of a qualified ifanchise, and a family settlement in Italy. In
the second or third generation the libertini of Rome be¬
came generally citizens, with the full right of suffrage, pro¬
perty, and marriage. Thus the Roman people, still so
entitled, still preserving its political continuity in its rites
and traditions, and even in its names (for the freedman
entered into the gens of his former master, and assumed its
name), became from year to year more alien in blood from
the genuine stock of Romulus and Quirinus, from the
Latins, the Sabines, and the Etruscans of primitive anti¬
quity. Priests and magistrates, to whose vigilant guar¬
dianship the purity of the national religion and polity was
entrusted, shut their eyes to the revolution thus accom¬
plishing itself; but every now and then an expression or a
gesture showed that they were not really blind to its pro¬
gress, and that in their hearts they despised that scum of
nations which had settled on the surface of Roman society.
One day, when Scipio iEmilianus was interrupted in the
Forum by the clamours of this mongrel populace, he
exclaimed, “ Silence, false sons of Italy : think ye to scare
me with your brandished hands, ye whom I led myself in
bonds to Rome !” In this memorable sentence we read
the character of the times, and trace the interpretation of
much of the history which is to follow.
But though these foreign freedmen succeeded to the
votes of the genuine citizens they did not take their place
on the soil from which their predecessors had been trans¬
planted. The legionaries had been recruited from the
fields, from the small farms of Latium and Sabellia, from
the well-tilled allotments of seven jugers (about four acres)
to which the plebeian citizen was restricted. But as these
modest proprietors were decimated by war, their vacant
homesteads were bought up by the capitalists of the city,
the knights and senators, and annexed to those wide tracts
of public domain which they were permitted to hold rent-
free from the state. These possessions, thus greedily
appropriated, these latifundia, as they were called, were
cultivated for the most part by troops of slaves, imported
by purchase or as the spoil of war from beyond the sea,
chained to their work in the factories, or guarded by armed
retainers in the fields by day, and huddled in prison dor¬
mitories during the night. Throughout large districts of
318
ROMAN HISTORY.
Political
History.
Tiberius
Gracchu=,
A. U. 621,
B. c. 133.
Caius
Gracchus,
a.u. 133,
B.C. 121.
Italy, particularly in the south, the free cultivators, or
coloni, of an earlier period, had almost disappeared, though
in other parts they continued still to linger, and wage an
unequal struggle for existence with the great landlords and
their armies of servile labourers. Thousands of these small
proprietors, thus hardly pressed, migrated into the cities,
and particularly into Rome, and there mingling with the
herd of foreign-born freedmen, maintained themselves by
petty merchandize and handicrafts, by the sportula, or dole
of victuals at the patron’s gate, or by the distributions,
wholly or in part gratuitous, of bread, oil, and wine, made
regularly by the state, and enhanced occasionally by ma¬
gistrates or candidates for the magistracy.
Such was the state of things in Rome and Italy, full of
anxiety for the present and fatal warning for the future to
the few statesmen who marked the signs of the times,
when the young Tiberius Gracchus, a plebeian of the Sem-
pronian gens, well born, and connected through his mother
Cornelia with the blood of the Scipios, remarked with dis¬
may, as he traversed the plains of Etruria, the decline of
cultivation and the depopulation of the fields and farms.
He observed that the slave labour, ruder and more re¬
luctant than the free labour it had supplanted, was less
available for the operations of husbandry, which require
care and skill, and that large tracts of land once arable had
been converted into pasture, and gave employment to a
few herdsmen only. Tiberius resolved to restore a Roman
population to the territories of Rome. The cause of the
evil he deplored seemed to be the extensive occupation of
public land by the nobles by an evasion of the limitations
of the Licinian law. He persuaded the people to elect
him tribune in 621, and exerted himself in that capacity to
carry a new agrarian law, more strict and general than
those of ancient times, by which the domain of the state
should be divided in full ownership among the whole body
of citizens, instead of being held in fee by a small and fa¬
voured aristocracy. He demanded that the state should
assert its ownership of the estates now let at a nominal
rent to the nobles, in order to this new distribution. Of
this measure, so much debated at the time and since, it
may be enough to remark that, in strict law, it was quite
constitutional, in equity it was harsh and unjustifiable,
while in policy it was totally nugatory. Whatever were
the true merits of the question in debate, they were soon
lost sight of in the passions of two classes it set in array
against each other. The names of patrician and plebeian
were now obliterated ; the real combatants were the rich
and the poor. Many, however, of the rich and noble were
found to place themselves, from patriotism or faction, at
the head of the commonalty ; while the aristocracy of land¬
lords tbund means to enlist on their side more than one of
the tribunes, their natural opponents. It was by this
manoeuvre that Tiberius was ultimately baffled. Though
he succeeded in getting his measure passed, under the
pressure of the popular enthusiasm, he was not allowed to
put it himself in operation : on attempting to exercise the
powers he had reserved himself for allotting the lands he
had acquired for the people, he was confronted by one of
his colleagues named Octavius, accused to his own party of
aspiring to the tyranny, and in the course of the tumults
which ensued overpowered and slain. Three hundred of
his followers fell with him in the affray. This, it was said,
was the first blood shed at Rome in a popular tumult.
I he leaders, however, of the popular movement, though
stunned for the moment, were not discomfited. They
lormed an alliance with the Italians, who were excluded
rrom the franchise of Rome, and engaged to aid them in
suing for the boon of citizenship. Caius, the younger
brother of Tiberius Gracchus, took the lead of this com¬
bined party. Scipio JUmilianus, twice consul, and a chief
of the oligarchy, stepped boldly forward and undertook to
advocate the claims of the Italians ; but this redoubted Political
champion was found soon afterwards dead in his bed, and it History,
was natural to believe that the nobles had procured his
assassination. Caius was got rid of for a time by an ap¬
pointment beyond the sea. Fregellae, an Italian town,
thinking its cause abandoned, rushed desperately to arms,
but was worsted and sacked by the consul Opimius. Caius
now, feeling that he had been cajoled, hastened back to
Rome and secured his election to the tribuneship, from
which ground of vantage he aimed some hard blows against
the most eminent of his opponents, protected his own par-
tizans, founded colonies, and executed great public works.
He was the delight and pride of the citizens. His elo¬
quence was not less popular than his manners and his
policy. He caused the position of the rostrum, from which
the orators harangued the people in the Forum, to be
changed, so that the speaker should no longer turn towards
the comitium, the place of the patrician curies, but towards
the masses of the commons stationed in the opposite quarter.
He raised the knights to a share in the judicia or tribunals ;
he strove to extort the franchise for the Italians. The ob¬
ject of this bold demagogue’s reforms was the exaltation of
the commons into a distinct community, rather than the
fusion of the nobles and the commons in a single body,—
such at least was the judgment passed upon them by public
writers, who affirmed that Caius made the commonwealth
“ double-headed.” At any rate, his efforts, though but par¬
tially successful, led to a severance in public feeling which
precipitated a general commotion ; and he fell himself pre¬
maturely, as soon as he had finished his year of office, in a
tumult which he had himself unwarily excited. The Ro¬
mans long continued to honour the memory of the Gracchi
as the ablest of the early chiefs of the democracy, and
erected statues to them, and altars on the spots where they
had fallen. Yet the prejudices of the nobles prevailed in
the long run, and in the great body of Roman literature
the Gracchi are represented to us as the eponyms of factious
ambition, rather than of patriotic policy. Cornelia, the
mother of the ill-fated tribunes, obtained a purer fame, and
continued to be remembered among the most honoured
matrons of the republic. Opimius, having obtained a second
triumph over the disturbers of his faction’s supremacy,
erected a temple to concord in arrogant imitation of Ca-
millus, the second founder of Rome. In the course of the
next fifteen years the nobles, now unchecked, effected the
formal repeal of the measures of the Gracchi. The knights
were expelled from the tribunals; the lands remained in
the occupation of the rich lords; the Italians were left be¬
yond the pale of the Roman franchise; finally, the aid of
the censors was invoked to expunge from the list of knights
and senators all those members of either class who were
suspected of leaning towards a reform of the constitution.
SECT. XXIV. WARS WITH JUGURTHA AND THE CIMBRT,
AND POPULAR ASCENDANCY OF MARIUS.
Meanwhile the kingdom of Masinissa, which he had jUgurtha
held as a dependent upon Rome, had been divided on king of
his demise between his three sons, and again, on the death Numidia.
of two of these, had coalesced into a single sovereignty.
Micipsa, the survivor, proposed to divide his dominions be¬
tween his two legitimate children ; but a natural son named
Jugurtha, more able than either, and trained under Roman
generals in Spain, intrigued for the succession, assassinated
one of the princes, defeated the other, and hastened in per¬
son to Rome to engage its sanction to his usurpation. The
Senate repulsed him; but on his return home he boldly
took up arms and defended himself by force, with the full
support of his countrymen, against the best captains of the
republic. Metellus, a chief of the Optimates, reduced him
to great straits, but he extricated himself again with won-
ROMAN HISTORY.
319
Political
History.
Marius tri¬
umphs over
Jugurtha,
A. U. 650,
B. C. 104.
Invasion of
the Oimbri.
Rattle of
Aquae Sex-
tiae,
A. U. 652,
B. U. 102.
derful ability. This war, long protracted with various suc¬
cess, brought forward the remarkable talents of C. Marius,
a soldier who rose from the ranks to the consulship, and was
sent with the acclamations of the popular party, whose child
and champion he proclaimed himself, to bring the struggle
to a termination. The Numidian chieftain was thus at last
driven to bay, and captured by the dashing exploit of an
enterprising young officer, Cornelius Sulla, and carried to
Rome. There he followed the triumph of Marius in the
year 650, and was cruelly put to][ death. Numidia was
divided into three portions: the western part was annexed
to Mauretania, the realm of Bocchus, who had proved him¬
self a faithful ally; the eastern was united to the Roman
province of Africa; the remnant of the ancient kingdom
was allotted to two princes of Masinissa’s family, through
whose feuds the republic might hope to secure its own
supremacy over both.
The perils of the great Jugurthine war were long cele¬
brated by the Romans, and furnished a theme for one of
their masterpieces in historical composition. We may re¬
gret that we have no Sallust to recount for us the still more
terrible struggle of Rome with the Cimbri and Teutones, in
which the services of Marius were even more transcendent.
The republic had first interfered in the affairs of Massilia,
a Greek commercial city on the Gallic coast of the Medi¬
terranean, in the year 600, when she wrested some terri¬
tories from the barbarians at the request of that unwarlike
community, and bestowed them upon it. In 629 she under¬
took a campaign against the tribes of the lower Alps, and
founded the Roman colony of Aquae Sextiae (Aix), at the
same time making a further addition to the realm of her
Grecian clients. Further complications with the Gaulish
states speedily ensued. The Romans won a great battle
over the Arverni and Allobroges in 623 ; and in a short
time the south-western corner of Gaul, beyond the Alps,
was become a Roman acquisition, and received the special
designation of “ the Province,” Roads were now con¬
structed across the Alps, and the dominions of the republic
advanced to Narbo, beyond the Alps, and Tolosa, on the
Garonne. While, however, the Transalpine province was
thus growing and flourishing, it was well nigh overwhelmed
by a terrible disaster. Tribes sprung from the remotest
parts of Germany, known to Roman writers by the name of
Cimbri and Teutones, poured with an armed immigration
towards the northern portions of the Roman empire. On
the eastern side of the Alps they were repulsed, by treachery
rather than by arms, by Papirius Carbo; but they swept
round the skirts of the mountain barrier, and appeared again
on the Rhone and the Isere, spreading fire and devastation
in the Roman province, and threatening now to scale the
western Alps, and thence descend into Italy. Five consular
armies were sent against them, and suffered five defeats,
each more terrible than the last. Rome was in consterna¬
tion, but breathing-time was afforded by a diversion of the
main body of the barbarians into Spain. Marius was hastily
recalled from Africa, before the final completion of the
Jugurthine war, and the peril of the crisis compelled the
nobles to allow of his election again and again to the con¬
sulship, till he had succeeded in arresting and finally crush¬
ing this formidable onslaught. Marius gained the great
victory of Aquae Sextiae in 650, in which he destroyed the
Teutonic division of the enemy; he then hastened into
Italy, whither another swarm had already penetrated, and
overwhelmed the Cimbrian invaders with a second and not
less complete success at Vercellae, in the following year. By
the time he found leisure to return to Rome, he had enjoyed
in succession the unprecedented number of five consulships.
The disasters of foreign war had been aggravated by a
servile insurrection in Italy itself, and the necessities of the
state had compelled the nobles to relax their hold on the
privileges they so jealously maintained. A tribune named
Domitius had wrested the appointment of chief pontiff Political
from the priests’ college, a body highly aristocratic, and History,
had given it to the people. This afforded them important
protection against an unfair exercise of the political instru¬
ment which called itself the national religion. Another
tribune, Servilius Glaucia, restored once more the judicia to
the knights. Marius, though himself no party politician, and
with motives merely personal, was put forward by the popular
faction as their champion, and raised to a sixth consulship in
694. His election had been carried by intimidation and the
threats of his licentious soldiery, whom he had enlisted for
the first time, under the pressure of public calamity, from the
Proletarii, the rabble of the Roman people. His measures
were as violent as his manners were unpolished. He ven¬
tured so far to stretch the prerogative of his office as to confer
the franchise on a thousand of his soldiers levied in an Italian
municipium; and when remonstrated with on the illegality
of the act, coolly replied, “ amid the din of arms I could
not hear the voice of the laws.” Backed by the tribune
Saturninus, he continued to reward his rude warriors with
the boon of citizenship, and quartered many thousands of
them on the lands belonging to the colonists in the pro¬
vince, which he had rescued, as he boasted, from the hands
of the barbarians. The nobles resented these irregular
proceedings, and tried to interrupt the assemblies con¬
vened to sanction them, by alleging the frivolous omens,
such as rain or thunder, which were allowed to dissolve the
comitia. “ Be still,” cried Saturninus, “ or it shall pre¬
sently hail.” Tumult ensued in the city; the tribunes gained
the upper hand, and drove Metellus, the chief of the nobles,
into banishment. Saturninus continued to maintain his
influence over the people, and the Italians, it is said, offered
him kingly authority. But the nobles were still the stronger
party when they acted together with vigour, and under the
leadership of Memmius, Marius at this time shrinking
from the furious violence of his late adherent, drove the
tribune out of the Forum into the Capitol. There Satur¬
ninus defended himself with arms; but the notion that he
aimed at the tyranny was circulated among the people,
and, whether it were true or false, it sufficed to turn their
feelings against him. The water-pipes that supplied his
fortress were cut, and he was forced to descend from it. Overthrow
Marius indeed guaranteed him his life; but the people of Satur-
were not to be controlled: they forced themselves into ninus,
the hall in which he had taken refuge, and slew him, with
the remnant of his followers.
This was perhaps the last moment at which the establish¬
ment of a limited and constitutional monarchy, the dream
of Scipio and the regret of Cicero, might have been pos¬
sible at Rome. Had the popular faction possessed among
them a man of enlightened integrity as well as of ability, in
whose favour they could have agreed to exercise the power
which had exalted Marius to six successive consulships, and
had given authority in periods of public emergency to
the tribunes of the last few years,— had the nobles been di¬
rected by men of sense and patriotism, to yield to the
just claims of their own commons and of the Italians,—the
usurpation, fifty years later, of Caesar and Octavius might
have been anticipated under happier auspices. The mass
of the citizens was still sound at heart, and not incapable
of the self-control required for the due exercise of high
political rights. While it placed all private ambition under
the check of a sovereign authority, it might still have kept
a check on the sovereign himself by its own firmness and
moderation. Public virtue, indeed, could not have been
maintained without recognising on a wider scale the proper
claims of humanity, without renouncing the hateful privi¬
leges then generally accorded by the conqueror over his
subjects, and the master over his slaves. But neither the
philosophy nor the religion of the day set forth any prin¬
ciples of action adequate to commend such an apparent
320
Political
History.
The Ital¬
ians agi¬
tate for ad¬
mission to
the Roman
franchise.
ROMAN HISTORY.
sacrifice; and it must be confessed that the elements of a
secure and tranquil government by a limited kingly power
were hardly to be found at this time throughout the heathen
world. We shall presently see that neither the aristocracy
nor the democracy of Rome was capable of maintaining
the equilibrium of the commonwealth, and that the un¬
mitigated despotism under which she ultimately fell was
the only possible solution of the antagonism so long pre¬
vailing in the elements of her polity.
SECT. XXV. THE SOCIAL WAR.
For some time past the Italians, as we have observed,
had been putting forth claims to the Roman franchise. If
we would analyse, in a small compass, the motives from
which this pretension was generally urged, we must reject,
in the first instance, the notion, so natural to our modern
ideas, of equity and inherent rights. “ Rome for the Ro¬
man”—the enjoyment, that is, by the conquerors of all the
fruits of conquest—was the fundamental principle of Roman
policy, the moral basis of which was unquestioned by any
subjects or dependants of the republic. If, under any cir¬
cumstances, she relaxed from this primary idea of her govern¬
ment, even the states she favoured would only regard it as a
concession extorted by some necessity of the moment, which
it would have been preposterous to claim as a right. The
road to Roman honours and magistracies might have charms
for a few distinguished personages in an Italian burgh, but to
the population generally the Roman franchise offered, for
a long period, few attractions. The severe discipline to
which the Roman commons were subjected, the constant
military service demanded of them, the harsh prohibition
which long prevailed of the exercise of trade and arts, the
jealousy with which the avenues to office were guarded,
must have rendered the exchange of country (for the
Italian who acquired the Roman franchise lost his own) a
very slender gratification to the multitude. There was,
indeed, some immunity in matter of taxation to be set
against these drawbacks ; but the advantages to be derived
from a share in the provincial administration were con¬
fined to a small class, and could hardly be accessible to a
“new man” from Italy. The pressing motive which in¬
spired the cry now raised for this questionable privilege
was suggested by the agrarian struggles of the Gracchi.
The public domain within the peninsula being now occu¬
pied chiefly, as we have seen, by noble landholders, was
sublet by them to the natives. The Italians, deprived of
the legal possession of their own soil by the conquest, be¬
came virtually re-possessed of it by the mere abuse of pro¬
prietary right, which allowed a few great families to enjoy
the usufruct of the national territory. But from the strict
division of this territory among the citizens, as demanded
by the leaders of the movement, it would result that the
Italian sub-tenant w’ould be ejected from his farm to make
way for a plebeian proprietor. The measures threatened
by the Gracchi were really more formidable to the Italian
than to the Roman aristocrat himself. They touched the
pride and the privilege of the latter; but they menaced
the means of existence of the former. It was open to the
Italian either to join with the nobles in resisting the claim
of the people, or to urge his own admission to the franchise,
and so come in for share with the people in a new distri¬
bution of property. This latter course was that which he
adopted; and probably it was the most sagacious. The
leaders of the plebeian agitation found themselves at the
same time leaders of an Italian agitation also; the two
movements proceeded together, and during the external
troubles of the republic were suspended together. When
security was restored from without, the cry of the Italians
rose louder than ever; and it was plain that the next great
struggle of the governing classes at Rome would be against
the intrusion of their own subjects within the pale of Roman Political
property and privilege. But the knights availed themselves History. '
of this foreign aid in their contest with the Senate ; and thus
the noble party, the Optimates as they were called, found
themselves arrayed against the widest and most formidable
coalition they had yet encountered, in defence of their
prerogative.
The strength of the Optimates, sapped and battered as
it was, still lay in the remnant they had preserved of their
old control of the state religion, by which they could at
times make an effective appeal to popular interests and
prejudices ; but more in their own military organization,
and the well-trained bands of clients and retainers, trained
to the use of their suffrage as well as of their arms. They
effected the disgrace of Marius and the recall of Metellus;
and in 659 (b.c. 95) required the consuls to expel from the
city all the Italians who had sought a domicile within its
walls. The Italian faction was now headed by a tribune
named Livius Drusus, one of the most popular of the Livius
demagogues, of whom it was long remembered that, when Drusus,
his architect proposed to build him a house in which he tribune,
might screen himself from the observation of his neigh- A u- 663>
hours, “ Build it so,” he had answered, “ that every citizen B-C' 91-
may witness every action I perform.” The labours of this
man in the cause of Italian emancipation seemed approach¬
ing to success when, in the midst of the struggle, he was
suddenly struck down by the poniard of an unknown
assassin. The nobles, and especially the consul Philippus,
incurred the odium of the deed.
Measures of proscription against individuals were now
threatened and carried alternately on both sides; but all
semblance of legal procedure was soon cast away, and the
Italians rushed to arms. Their forces were derived chiefly
from the Marsians, the Picentines, the Vestines, the
Samnites, the Lucanians, and Apulians ; and thus the
allies of the Roman state, as they were specially denomi¬
nated, became its open and avowed enemies. In the
course of the campaigns which followed, the Etruscans also
joined the coalition ; and the object of the war, which was
at first the acquisition of the Roman franchise, became no
other than the extermination of the Roman republic. It
was proposed to organize and maintain a great Italian con¬
federacy, of which Corfinium, under the name of Italica,
should be recognised as the capital. On the Roman side
the names of Caesar, Crassus, and Pompeius, destined to
re-appear in the next age in fatal combination, obtained
their earliest illustration ; on the Italian, Judacilius,
Pompaedius, and Motulus were the most distinguished
leaders. The chief successes of the Romans were gained
by Marius and his former lieutenant Sulla, who crushed and,
as it was said, destroyed the Etruscans ; nevertheless, the
power of the republic would not have sufficed for the com¬
plete reduction of the insurgents, and the discretion which,
at the first turn of fortune in her favour, dictated a substantial
concession, saved her from an exhaustion of blood and
treasure which no barren victory‘could have compensated.
The lex Julia conferred the franchise on the Umbrians rphe jex
and Etruscans in 664; the lex Plautia Papiria in 666 Julia and
extended it to all their Italian allies. Every Italian who lex Plantia.
chose to come to Rome and claim the boon within sixty Admission
days, was received into the bosom of the commonwealth, tQ
Ten tribes were added to the thirty-five already existing. R*m*n
The boon after all was not very generally accepted. The citizenship.
Roman religion required that every legal measure should
be sanctioned by certain ceremonial observances, and these
could only be transacted within the sacred precincts of the
city. It was admitted on all sides that the suffrage could
only be exercised at Rome. Accordingly the franchise
offered little attraction to distant citizens, who were re¬
quired to forego their local citizenship for a privilege
which they had little opportunity of exercising. After all
ROMAN HISTORY.
321
Political the blood which had been spilt in the struggle, the Italians
History. foun(] themselves content for the most part to retain their
old position. The roll of the Roman citizens, which in
the census of 640 numbered 394,336, in that of 668, the
next of which we have the account, had not increased
beyond 463,000, and sixteen years later was only 450,000.
But the precedent now set for the first time on so large a
scale bore ample fruit in the course of Roman history.
The full franchise was conceded in special instances to
various states in Spain, Gaul, and Africa; while the Latin,
which conferred, as we have seen, a certain eligibility to tbe
Roman, was even more widely diffused. Pompeius Strabo
extended it to the entire nation of the Transpadane Gauls.
On the whole, the liberal concessions of this period evince
in a marked manner the prudence of the Roman govern¬
ment at one of the most perilous moments of its career.
The strong national prejudice against which they were car¬
ried was now finally overthrown, and the Roman writers
uniformly agree in applauding the policy which dictated
them, and ascribing to it the preservation of the state at the
time, and the unabated vigour of its subsequent progress.
SECT. XXVI. MARIUS AND SULLA—THE FIRST CIVIL WAR.
Contest of At a critical period of the late war Marius, in a splenetic
Marius mood, had quitted the camp and buried himself in a dis¬
and Sulla. tan(. retrea(-} leaving Sulla as consul, in 666, to bring the
contest to a close. The younger champion was now in
the ascendant. Mithridates, King of Pontus, had defied
the republic, had overrun the province of Asia, and caused
the massacre of the Roman colonists and traders, amount¬
ing, as was loudly proclaimed, to not less than 80,000 souls.
Sulla was appointed to carry on the war against this for¬
midable enemy ; but before he could set forth on his
mission, Marius, alarmed for his own pre-eminence in public
affairs, attempted to create a revolution in the city. Sulla
recalled his troops, which had not yet quitted Italy, drove
before him the Marian forces, and entered Rome in military
array. Marius, flying for his life, concealed himself in the
marshes of Minturnae. He was discovered and seized ; but
the Cimbrian captive who was sent to despatch him in
prison, fled in terror from before him, and he was allowed
to escape once more, and make his way into Africa. Re¬
clining among the ruins of Carthage, he meditated the
recovery of his power. On Sulla’s departure for the East,
the Marian faction again made head under Cinna, but was
put down again by the Senate and the consul Octavius.
Cinna fled into lower Italy, and raised some levies of
turbulent banditti. At the same time Marius re-appeared
suddenly in Etruria, and both chiefs approached Rome
simultaneously from opposite quarters. They entered the
city, overcoming all resistance, and executed a sanguinary
proscription of their enemies. Marius became consul for
the seventh time in 668, and though now seventy years
of age, prepared to lead an army into Asia to supplant his
Death of rival Sulla. At this crisis, however, the old man died
Marius, suddenly. Cinna succeeded to his powder, and sent
a. u. 668, Valerius Flaccus to assume the command of the Roman
b. c. 86. forces jri t]ie East. Scarcely had Flaccus crossed the
Hellespont when he was assassinated in the camp by one
of his own officers. Sulla was enabled, by the ascendancy
of his character, to join the legions of Flaccus to his own,
and, thus re-inforced, put Mithridates to the rout, and led
his combined forces against the enemies of the Senate at
Rome. Cinna had now been murdered in his turn. Carbo
and a son of Marius were the chiefs of the popular faction,
but they could make no head against the military talents
and the veteran legions of Sulla, fn the battle of Sacri-
portus, and again before the Colline gate of Rome, the
Italian militia who supported them went down before the
conquerors of Mithridates. The senatorial party received
VOL. XIX.
their avenger with exultation, not unmixed perhaps with Political
fear, and stood horror-stricken by his side while he did History,
bloody and remorseless execution on the abettors of the ^
late revolution. Sulla massacred several thousands of his Victory of
disarmed prisoners in the Campus Martius, and organized Sulla,
a system of terror and proscription for the extirpation 0^'^'
the popular leaders.
It still remained to re-establish the supremacy of the Sulla dic-
nobles on a legal basis, and to this purpose the conquerortator;
now applied the powers of the dictatorship which was now
conferred upon him without limitation of time. He was
even allowed to retain it, together with the consulship, in
the year 674.
Rome had hitherto been peculiarly fortunate in her
political revolutions. With whatever violence they might
have been conducted, they had perhaps uniformly worked
for her ultimate advantage. But this was because they
were all the offspring of a natural progress in the life of
the people. The re-actionary system of Sulla was, on the
contrary, the greatest disaster in her annals. The aim of
this despot was to undo all the popular measures of the last
half-century; to check the progress of agrarian distribu¬
tions ; to suspend the plantation of colonies ; to thwart, if
he could not abrogate, the late enactments for the enfran¬
chisement of the Italians; to destroy the popular authority
of the tribunes ; to repel the knights from the judicia; to
reserve the government of the provinces, with all the
advantages thence accruing, for the first estate, the senatorial
families only. The utter prostration of the opposite party
enabled him to carry out all these plans for the moment,
and the high character borne by some of his coadjutors, such
as Catulus, contributed to render them palatable. The
opening career of the young Cnaeius Pompeius, the bravest
of his lieutenants, whom he had seduced from the politics of
his family and placed in the first rank of the senatorial
partizans, augured brilliantly for the military triumphs of
the faction to which he devoted him. Having effected the
reforms he judged necessary for his views, filled the city and
magistracy with his friends and the provincial governments
with his creatures; having attained, for his uniform suc¬
cesses, the surname of Felix, “ the Prosperous” from an
admiring generation, Sulla ventured to resign his dictator¬
ship, and retired abruptly into private life. His good
fortune still befriended him: none of his enemies, no
friend of his slaughtered victims, molested him in his
defenceless retreat; and he died in his bed, though harassed his death,
indeed by a loathsome infirmity, in the year 676, at the A-u-676,
age of sixty. B-C'
SECT. XXVII. RE-ACTION AGAINST SULLA’S OLIGARCHICAL
CONSTITUTION.
The establishment of the Sudan oligarchy was a severe Sufferings
blow to the ambition of large classes at home, to the knights and com-
and other new men who were striving by their wealth, or Pjaints °.f
their credit in the courts and the Forum, to thrust them-®1I)r0Yin*
selves into public office, for which they had no claim from
birth or family illustration. It was an attempt to restrict
to a group of two or three hundred ancient houses the
honours and emoluments of the government of the world.
The time, indeed, was past when such a retrograde step
could be permanent; but in the meanwhile the provincials
were even greater sufferers than the citizens themselves.
Great as had been the cruelty and oppression of the gover¬
nors, their subjects had hitherto had a remedy in the ap¬
peal to the tribunals at Rome, to the judges of peculation
and extortion. This appeal, however, would have been of
little service but for the jealousy of parties in the city. As
long as the knights contended with the senators for thi
judicia, and the Marians with the nobles for the magistra¬
cies, advocates might be found, and the machinery, how-
2 s
322
ROMAN HISTORY.
Impeach¬
ment of
Yerres.
Sedition of
Lepidus,
a.u. 676,
B.c. 78.
Political ever imperfect, of Roman justice might be employed for
History, redress. Proconsuls charged with extortion towards their
subjects might sometimes meet with punishment, as well as
those whose crimes had been committed against the state
itself. But when t\\ejudicia were restored wholly to the
Senate, when the popular leaders were utterly silenced,
the magistrates enjoyed, at least for a moment, complete
impunity, and the provincials found, whatever their suffer¬
ings, -that redress from a senatorial tribunal had become
entirely hopeless.
It was fortunate for the subjects of Rome that the ram¬
pant supremacy of the Sullan oligarchy could not long be
maintained against the numbers, the activity, and the skill
of the party over which it had triumphed. The complaints
of the oppressed were encouraged by the chiefs of the op¬
position, and all the force of forensic eloquence was em¬
ployed to bring the oppressors to justice. The judges
were more accessible to bribery than to eloquence; but by
means of the one or the other many of the Optimates were
thus smitten with judicial sentences, while the feelings of
the public were roused against them, and a strong pre¬
judice excited against the monopoly of power which
they so fearfully abused. The case of Verres, the plun¬
derer of Sicily, and of other provinces before, who was
dragged at last before the bar of justice by the youthful
orator Cicero, and forced to abandon his defence in
despair, shook the authority of the nobles, while it vindi¬
cated in one conspicuous instance the rights of the subject
provincials.
But the Marians were not satisfied with these legitimate
modes of warfare. Immediately on the decease of Sulla,
Lepidus, then actually one of the consuls, took up arms
ostensibly in their interest, but was put down by his col¬
league Catulus. A remnant of the party, turbulent and
self-willed, and impatient of their loss of power, attached
Sertorius. themselves to an Italian officer named Sertorius, who raised
a revolt in Spain, and maintained a war there for several
years against the best generals of the Senate. After defeat¬
ing Metellus, he kept the brave Pompeius at bay till he
was murdered, in 682, by Perperna, one of his own lieu¬
tenants, after which event the movement was quickly sup¬
pressed. This was another great service done to the state
by one who was now acknowledged by the nobles as the
C. Pom- foremost man in the republic. The title of Magnus (“ the
peius, sur- Great”), with which Sulla in his lofty generosity had al-
«aTed „ ready saluted him, was ratified by the consent of the dic-
agnus. jaj.or>s faction ancl recommended by them to the general ap¬
proval of the citizens. The popular party were indeed not
without hopes of gaining him to their own side. Flattered
on all hands, he trimmed from side to side, and his estimation
still rose higher as fortune gave him opportunities of dis-
Hevolt of tinction. He was still absent in Spain when Rome was
Spartacus. terrified by the revolt of Spartacus and a handful of fugi¬
tive gladiators, soon swelled to an army by opening the
ergastula, or slave-prisons. More than one legionary force
was defeated by them: they were checked at last and
crippled by Crassus; but by this time Pompeius had been
recalled in haste to combat them, and his opportune arrival
completed their discomfiture, while it earned him the whole
glory of the victory (a.u. 683, b.c. 71). Such was the
favour in which this lucky general was now held that he
could lend a helping-hand to Crassus, and raise him to¬
gether with himself to the consulship ; an act of condescen¬
sion of which his colleague ever retained an uneasy recol¬
lection. Courted by both parties, the two consuls com¬
bined in their policy, and exerted their authority on the
side of the Marians. They restored the tribuneship, and
transferred \he judicia to the knights; and thus the chief
measures of Sulla were abrogated by the leaders he had
left behind him, after only eleven years’ continuance. The
consuls were supported in their reforms by the talents of
the rising orator Cicero, who formed in his own mind an
ideal, too bright for realization, of the harmonious co-opera¬
tion of all classes in the state, and strove to secure for the
second order its fair share in the administration, notwith¬
standing the selfish resistance of an unconvincible oli¬
garchy.
Political
History.
During the last few years a fresh war had been in pro¬
gress with the indomitable King of Pontus. The Roman
armies were led by Licinius Lucullus, an able commander,
but not vigorous enough to cope with the vast resources
and energy of Mithridates. While the republic was drained
of men and treasure in this unprofitable warfare, it was still
more painfully harassed by the pirates of Cilicia, who, since
the decline of the Greek maritime powers, had covered the
eastern Mediterranean with their vessels, and carried their
predatory enterprises to the coasts of Italy, and even to the
Pillars of Hercules. It was necessary to make an effort to
suppress them, and powers such as had never before been
conferred on a single commander at Rome were given to
Pompeius by the Gabinian bill for the purpose. He was
constituted captain-general of all the forces of the republic
throughout all her coasts, and fifty miles inland. Such a
command was practically unlimited ; such a commander was
virtually the autocrat of the empire. Nevertheless the re¬
sult, complete and speedy as it was, seemed fully to justify it.
The naval campaign, in which Pompeius collected all the Pompeius
maritime resources of the republic and her dependencies, overcomes
drove the pirates from sea to sea, and at last crushed them the Cilician
in their own harbours, was an achievement as brilliant as it Pirates-
was unique. Its effect also was permanent: from hence¬
forth the police of the seas was kept so well by Rome that
piracy never made head again in the Mediterranean during
the existence of her dominion. But while Pompeius was
thus gaining the most honourable of his distinctions, the
“piratic laurel,” one of his creatures in the city, named
Manilius, took advantage of his increasing popularity to ob¬
tain for him the command against Mithridates (a.u. 688,
B.c. 66), and over the eastern half of the empire. This
enormous grant, far exceeding the powers ever before con¬
fided to a proconsul, was advocated by all the eloquence of
Cicero ; and Lucullus was directed to resign his command
to the favourite of the people, and return as a private citizen
to Rome. Lucullus was one of the chiefs of the oligarchy ;
and this insult to the individual was felt more acutely by
his party than by himself, for by temper he was unusually
indifferent to public distinctions, and betrayed at least no
annoyance when on his return he withdrew himself from
affairs, and gave his leisure to the enjoyment of luxury, and
to private works of munificence. But the jealousy with
which the Senate had begun to regard their pretended
champion Pompeius was much exasperated: he repaid
their suspicions with haughty scorn, while the chiefs of
the opposite party fanned the flame of discord between
them. Cicero rose into distinction with the general
favour bestowed upon his patron. In the year 688 he
was chosen praetor, having already served the lower ma¬
gistracies ; and now in the full career of honours, he might
well hope, new man though he was, without fortune or
connections of his own, for the crowning glory of the con¬
sulship.
The nobles loudly asserted that their champion Lucullus
had already broken the power of Mithridates, when Pom¬
peius was thrust forward to reap the honour of his successes.
Certain it is that the King ofPontus sued for peace on the
first arrival of his new antagonist ; but it was not the object
of Pompeius to gain a bloodless triumph, and he refused to
treat with the enemy till he had reduced him to uncondi¬
tional submission. Mithridates withdrew from Asia Minor,
but he retired through the difficult, country of Iberia and
Albania to his dominions in the Tauric Chersonese, and
thither Pompeius tried in vain to follow him. Some poli-
323
ROMAN HISTORY.
Political
History.
Death of
Mithri-
dates,
A. U. 691,
B. c. 63.
Triumphs
of Pom-
peius in
the East.
tical complications occurring seasonably in Syria, the baffled
Roman made them an excuse for desisting from the pur¬
suit ; and turning southward, he arranged the affairs of the
province, and decided between the claims of rival pre¬
tenders in Palestine. Pompeius was the first Roman that
entered Jerusalem, where he penetrated into the Temple,
and even into the Holy of Holies. Meanwhile Mithridates
fell by private treachery in 691, being slain by one of his
own sons, Pharnaces, who obtained in recompense a con¬
firmation by Pompeius of his claims to the throne of the
Bosphorus. On the eastern frontier of Asia Minor, Cappa¬
docia, Paphlagonia, Galatia, and Comana were formed into
dependent sovereignties; their territories were declared
free states in the centre of the Roman provinces; but the
greater portion of the peninsula, including also Syria, was
definitively annexed to the empire. Palestine became a
vassal monarchy under the Herods. Beyond the Euphrates,
Armenia still retained a nominal independence ; but the
efforts of Rome were constantly directed to preventing her
from falling under the sway or influence of the Parthians.
Pompeius the Great, the conqueror and organizer of the
East, might regard himself in either capacity as the rival
of the great Alexander.
Revived
authority
of the
Senate
during the
absence of
Pompeius.
M. Porcius
Cato.
C. Julius
Caesar.
SECT. XXVIII. REVIVED AUTHORITY OF THE SENATE
DURING THE ABSENCE OF POMPEIUS.
During the absence of Pompeius in Asia the extreme
section of the senatorial party, well pleased at the removal
of a champion they suspected and feared to so distant an
exile, placed themselves under the guidance of their na¬
tural chiefs, men of ancient lineage and ancestral honours,
such as Catulus, Lucullus, Servilius, Lentulus, and Mar-
cellus. But none of these were men of commanding ability,
nor even of commanding energy. A large number of the
principal nobility were engrossed by luxury and indolence;
and the eloquence of Hortensius, their best speaker, was
speedily eclipsed by that of the upstart Cicero. In this
dearth of talent among them, they suffered a prominent
place to be taken by Cato, the great-grandson of the censor,
a man who resembled his illustrious ancestor in the antique
rigour of his manners, a pedantic assertor of the old sena¬
torial privileges, and inflexible in the maintenance of his
hereditary politics. This dogged resolution and dense ob¬
structiveness were as valuable qualities perhaps as a chief
of the Optimates could at that time possess ; for Cato knew
how to keep his position by sheer obstinacy long after a
reasonable statesman would have confessed that it was un¬
tenable, and he protracted the contest with the ever-increas¬
ing power of the popular faction through many a vicissitude
of triumph and defeat, as accident favoured or depressed
him. But fortune was on the whole against him ; and the
chance which arrayed the unequalled genius of C. Julius
Caesar in the first rank of his opponents, was alone suf¬
ficient to overwhelm the resistance of abler men than
Cato.
Caesar was descended from a noble family, sprung, as is
pretended, even from a Trojan origin. His ancestors had
enjoyed the highest honours of the state, and were natu¬
rally attached to the party of the Senate which some of
them had defended in arms during the Social and Civil
wars. But he was at the same time nephew to Marius, and
he had married a daughter of Cinna. These connections
outweighed in his mind the prejudices of his birth, and in¬
spired him with the ambition of ruling Rome at the head
of the democracy. In early youth he had been marked
out by Sulla as the heir of his rival’s principles, and a pos¬
sible successor to his own ascendancy. Caesar had escaped
the proscription of his party, had served abroad while it
was dangerous to appear in Rome; and when on his re¬
turn he found his friends once more drawing breath and
recovering their spirits, he had thrown himself manfully
into their cause, and insisted on restoring the trophies of
Marius, displaced by his successful enemy. During the
absence of Pompeius he pushed himself with Undaunted
energy into the first rank of the popular faction ; he dis¬
mayed the nobles by calling to account the instruments of
Sulla’s vengeance, and by inciting the people to inflict a
public slight upon Catulus. The Optimates were already
tottering under the repeated blows he thus dealt them,
when an event occurred which gave them an opportunity
of strengthening their position. Suddenly the coramon-
wealth was threatened with a ruinous disaster. Fortune
gave the nobles the means of averting it by an act of
extraordinary vigour, and recovering thereby the prestige
which a series of weaknesses and defects had well nigh
lost them. The conspiracy of Catilina and the courage
of Cicero gave the Senate another lease of power for four¬
teen years.
Political
History.
Amid the contests of ostensible parties in the state there The con-
lurked a greater and nearer danger in the numbers of dis- spiracy of
contented bankrupt youths thrown loose upon society by Catilina-
the accidents of civil commotion. These pests of the com- A-U-
monwealth fell at this moment under the lead of a profli-B'C‘ bJ'
gate monster, L. Sergius Catilina, who, having failed of his
election to the consulship, intrigued against all constituted
authority, and formed a conspiracy to seize the government
by force. The existence of such a plot had been vaguely
apprehended from the moment of Catilina’s defeat, and it
was with the presentiment that a man of vigour would be
required at the helm that the nobles, notwithstanding his
ignoble birth, allowed the election of Cicero, whose abilities
they knew, and on whose vanity they could play, to the con¬
sulship for 691. Cicero soon made himself master of the
plot, surprised certain envoys from the Allobroges with
whom the traitors had been tampering; but not daring to
seize the chief conspirator himself till he could make" his
guilt patent to the citizens, denounced him in the Senate-
house, and drove him in guilty agitation from the city.
Catilina threw himself prematurely on the feeble levies he
had prepared in Etruria ; while the consul arrested his chief
adherents, some of them men of rank and distinction,
strangely mixed up in so desperate an enterprise, brought
them before the Senate, disclosed their guilt by incontro¬
vertible proofs, and demanded their punishment. The
temper of the people, it seems, could not be trusted ; and *
notwithstanding the enormity of the guilt thus fastened
upon them, it was dangerous to allow them the appeal
which the law permitted. The nobles were well pleased at
the opportunity of showing their confidence in their own
power, and proving that they were not afraid to act with
the vigour of the ancient oligarchy, even in the absence of
Pompeius and his legions. They had armed the consul with
the “ ultimate decree,” requiring him to provide, by what¬
ever arbitrary measures, for the safety of the state; and
this stretch of their prerogative they did not scruple to
enforce with the instant execution of the criminals. Cicero
was hurried along by his enthusiasm, as the saviour, for
such he was loudly proclaimed, of his country. He lent
himself to the rash policy of his supporters and patrons;
dazzled by the splendour of his extraordinary position, in¬
toxicated by the incense of aristocratic flattery, and the
assurance that he had secured a permanent rank among the
haughty oligarchy of Rome, he consented to an act of
dubious justice and expediency, of which he had cause bit¬
terly to repent not many years after. The presumed asso¬
ciates of Catilina, whose actual guilt is affirmed only on
ex parte evidence, were strangled in prison ; Catilina him¬
self, brought to bay in the Apennines, was defeated in open a.u. 692,
battle by the forces of the government, and slain, fighting B-c- 62.
bravely in the field.
324
ROMAN HISTORY.
Political
History.
Kise and
progress of
Caesar.
He coal¬
esces with
Pompeius
and Cras-
A. u. 694,
B. C. 60.
A. u. 695,
B. c. 59.
Banish¬
ment of
Cicero,
A u. 696,
2i C. 58.
SECT. XXIX. COALITION OF POMPEIUS, CRASSUS, AND
CAESAR TO CONTROL THE GOVERNMENT THE FIRST TRI¬
UMVIRATE.
Caesar, as the chief of the popular party, the representa¬
tive of its constitutional traditions, had protested against
the infliction of capital punishment on the conspirators. It
required great courage to take this part; for the nobles
had tried to incriminate Caesar himself in the plot, and he
had with difficulty extricated himself from their meshes.
Such, moreover, was the influence they had now acquired
over the passions of the knights and men of property in the
city, that he was threatened by their poniards on the steps
of the Senate-house. But the reckless populace whom he
swayed with a handful of trusty adherents, by unbounded
profusion of money, reigned in the comitia. He was chosen
praetor and chief pontiff’; and in the year 693 went forth, with
money borrowed from Crassus, to gain his first laurels as a
governor in the further Spain. Pompeius, returning this
year, found himself the object of jealousy, not unmingled
with scorn, to his own party, elated as they were by their
recent triumph, and believing themselves strong enough to
cast off his odious patronage. On reaching the shores of
Italy, such was his confidence in himself, and in the posi¬
tion he supposed himself to hold, that he magnanimously
disbanded his army, and took his seat as a private citizen
in the Senate. But this moderation served only to confirm
the short-sighted vanity of the Optimates. They amused
themselves by treating him wdth the most marked coldness,
kept him waiting a year for the triumph he had so well
earned, and put off from day to day the ordinary compli¬
ment of ratifying his acts or political arrangements in the
East. Upon .this point, indeed, he could get no satisfaction
till he had formed a coalition with Caesar and Crassus, by
which they entered into a mutual pledge to support each
other’s pretensions to the highest offices and commands, and
to share, in fact, between themselves the actual govern¬
ment of the state. Caesar was suing for the consulship;
Crassus was desirous of some lucrative command ; Pom¬
peius, who had attained the summit of his ambition, wanted
only the confirmation of his acts, the reward of his legion¬
aries, and the solemn recognition of his pre-eminent de¬
serts. He felt as yet no jealousy of his associates ; the one
he regarded as a fashionable debauchee and spendthrift,
the other as a selfish and indolent miser. He hoped to use
them both as the props of his own supremacy, .and to cast
them away whenever he had recovered that authority with
the nobles which he considered due to his merits, whatever
attitude he might assume towards them. Such was the
origin of the compact of three private citizens for the con¬
trol of the republic, known by the name of the First
Triumvirate, the fruits of which were soon seen in the
success of Caesar’s application for the consulship, and in
the bold popular measures he was enabled to carry. On
the expiration of his term, he quitted Rome for the
province of Gaul, where he found himself suddenly en¬
gaged in wars with the Helvetians and the Suevi. The
Optimates recovered in his absence the curule chairs,
but their consuls fell under the patronage of Pompeius,
who now reigned paramount in the city. Jealous of the
renown Cicero had acquired in the affair of Catilina,
Pompeius allowed the infamous demagogue Clodius to
accuse him, as tribune, before the people, and obtain a
sentence of banishment against him for the execution
of the conspirators without due form of law. Cicero re¬
tired into Macedonia, and thence into Greece, and low¬
ered his character, spotless as it was, by his unmanly
lamentations. Pompeius managed also to degrade the
rigid Cato by sending him on a harsh and unjust fission
to dethrone the King of Cyprus, and annex his dominions
to the empire.
SECT. XXX.—PROCEEDINGS OF THE TRIUMVIRATE TILL ITS
DISSOLUTION BY THE DEATH OF CRASSUS.
Political
History.
Caesar had entered his province in 696, and during the
following years was intently occupied in subjugating the
tribes of Gaul from the Rhone to the Rhine and the At¬
lantic. According to the usual policy of Rome and of
other conquering races, he effected his purpose by directing
the passions of the native tribes against one another, rather
than by the strength of Roman arms and the effusion of
Roman blood. The Tldui and Arverni in the centre of
Gaul, the Remi in the north-east, were disposed, with self¬
ish views of their own, to assist in the ruin of their com¬
mon country, and the incursions of the Germans from be¬
yond the Rhine furnished the invader with an excuse for
proclaiming himself the protector of the Gauls. In 697
Caesar broke the confederation of the Belgic tribes in the Caesar’s
North. The next year he worsted at sea the naval power campaigns
of the Veneti in Brittany, while his lieutenants subduedin (^aul
Aquitania. In 699 he threw a bridge across the Rhine,
and penetrated for an instant into the German forests. In
the autumn of the same year he crossed with a powerful and Bri-
armament into Britain, and made a second attack upon the tain-
islanders in the succeeding summer. Landing on each oc¬
casion on the coast of Kent, probably on the beach at
Walmer, he made in his second campaign a rapid march
into the interior, forced the passage of the Thames some
miles above London, and defeated the King of the Trino-
bantes, the most powerful of the southern chieftains, before
his stockade in Hertfordshire. But his success was not
such as to encourage him to leave a garrison in the country,
or effect a permanent lodgment there. He was satisfied
with the promise of a slender tribute; and this, in all pro¬
bability, was never paid after the return of the legions.
The expedition, indeed, had been undertaken rather for the
amusement of the citizens, who listened with interest to
their hero’s despatches, and for the gratification of the sol¬
diers’ cupidity, than with any view of annexing a new pro¬
vince to the empire.
During the progress of his campaigns, whatever their
immediate purpose, the vigilance of Caesar was never en¬
tirely diverted from the march of events in the city. Year
after year, when the season for military operations was
closed, he repaired to the baths of Lucca on the frontier of
his province,—for the laws did not suffer an imperator to
enter Italy while retaining his command,—and there con- His in-
certed with his friends, who flocked to him in numbers from trigues in
Rome, the measures most conducive to the interests of histbe city-
party and of himself. He had carried his warfare against
the nobles to the furthest limits of the law, and had pro¬
voked and alarmed them beyond the possibility of forgive¬
ness. In his distant command he was beyond the reach of
their enmity: they were well pleased at his absence, and
did not grudge him the term of five years which he had
in the first instance required. But he knew that whenever
he returned as a private citizen to Rome he should fall
easily into their power, and he had no trust in the support
of either of his confederates. From the moment that the
compact had been made between them he had felt the ne¬
cessity of binding Pompeius to himself by a stronger tie
than political interest; for Pompeius could not persuade
himself that a party chief as yet so little distinguished could
do him more than a momentary service. With a keen dis¬
cernment of character, Caesar perceived how this reserved
and selfish magnate could be worked on through his senti¬
mental affections. Though advanced in years, and older
indeed than Caesar himself, Pompeius had consented to
give his hand to his rival’s youthful daughter, and had de¬
voted himself to her as the most uxorious of husbands. He
had thus been easily blinded to the schemes of the Gaulish
proconsul which kept the Senate in alarm. His attention,
ROMAN HISTORY.
325
and Milo.
Recall of
Cicero.
M. Lici-
nius Cras-
Political indeed, was diverted from them by the turbulence of Clo-
HOtory. djug an(l some popular tribunes, whose intrigues for harass-
ing and dividing the nobles were so propitious to Caesar’s
Turbulence views that we must suspect him of covertly instigating them,
of Clodius Pompeius, on his part, was well pleased to see the Senate
humbled. When, however, he was himself insulted, and his
life threatened, he thought that their degradation had gone
far enough, and joined with Crassus to secure the election
of vigorous consuls, and tribunes devoted to himself. He
countenanced the turbulent agitation with which Milo, a
creature of the Senate, rebutted the violence of Clodius,
and finally obtained the recall of Cicero from banishment.
The people, with their usual fickleness, turned their backs
upon Clodius, and received the patriot orator with accla¬
mations. Caesar congratulated him with a warmth con¬
genial to his generous character, and heaped favours on
his brother Quintus, then serving in his army. Pompeius,
indeed, looked coldly upon him. The nobles, who had
got, as they thought, all the use that was to be made of
him, were indifferent to his further career, and he remained
for some years in a subordinate position, seeking to keep
himself before the public by puerile appeals to his former
services, and by hollow flattery of the men really in power.
But Pompeius required his own services to be amply re¬
quited. On the occurrence of a scarcity in the city, the
Senate hastened to confer upon him extraordinary powers
for its relief, and Cicero was required to recommend this
commission to the people.
Crassus was now impatient of the inferiority of his posi¬
tion. He was not a great military chief like Pompeius;
he had conferred no commands, and bestowed no crowns ;
he was not a popular leader like Caesar, with a crowd of
hungry dependants urging him on for their own advance¬
ment ; he was not even to be compared as an orator to
Cicero, though he had made some useful connections as a
pleader and patron ; but he was the richest of the Romans,
and he represented one marked feature in the character of
his countrymen in his sordid pursuit of wealth and love of
accumulation. His career had been that of a banker and
money-lender in the city; his acquisitions, however great,
had been slow and gradual; now, advanced as he was in
years, his ambition began to reach further : he coveted the
fame of a commander and a conqueror, and lusted for the
plunder of a province or a foreign kingdom. After fulfilling
his term of office as consul, he demanded of the Senate the
government of Syria, and avowed as he set forth from Rome
his purpose of making war upon Parthia. The nobles, who
were unable to refuse him the proconsulate, professed a
pious horror at these unprovoked hostilities, and engaged
the tribune Ateius to denounce it as a sacrilege—to meet
him as he issued through the gates of the city, and devote
him, with awful solemnities, to the vengeance of the of¬
fended gods. The minds of the soldiers were painfully
affected by this formidable ceremony, and it was with diffi¬
culty that Crassus could overcome their terrors, and engage
them by redoubled promises to follow him on his ill-omened
expedition.
Then did the Senate watch and strain every nerve to
baffle the movements of the triumvirs. But the coalition
was too powerful for it. While Crassus was gratified with
his eastern command, Pompeius claimed and obtained the
provinces of Spain and Africa, which he governed by lieu¬
tenants, remaining himself in the immediate neighbourhood
of Rome ; and Caesar’s command in Gaul was prolonged for
a second period of five years. The power of the trium¬
virate was thus apparently confirmed ; but the Senate turned
with a gleam of satisfaction to the enterprise of Crassus, the
disastrous issue of which was already augured from surer
tokens than those of the diviners. Crassus was quite incom¬
petent for the task he had undertaken. Having defied the
Parthians upon frivolous pretences, he led his army across
Political
History.
the Euphrates, and directed his march across the desert
which divides that river from the Tigris. The Parthians
retreated before him till they had enticed him to a con- v'—
siderable distance, and finally attacked him with over¬
whelming force when his men were exhausted with fatigue
and heat. A Roman army of three legions was routed
and almost destroyed in the terrible battle of Charrhse, and Battle of
the disastrous flight which followed. The proconsul was Charrhae,
induced to sue for terms of capitulation, and then treacher-
ously slain. A remnant of his army was saved and con- De^th
ducted back to Antioch by Cassius Longinus, the ablest of crassus.
his lieutenants.
SECT. XXXI.—THE CIVIL WAR TO THE DEATH OF POMPEIDS.
The triple league thus suddenly dissolved had already Dissensions
been shaken by the death of Julia, the daughter of Caesar, between
espoused to Pompeius. The nobles saw their opportunity, p^are^sd
and exerted themselves diligently to improve it. They re- omPeiUs-
newed their overtures to Pompeius, who was becoming
jealous of the advance of Caesar in power and general esti¬
mation, and allowed him the unprecedented distinction of
holding the consulship for six months without a colleague,
—a kind of dictatorship without the name, for which the
disturbances in the city seemed to afford an excuse. The
Gauls, once apparently conquered, had risen again in a
wide-spread revolt, and the position of the conqueror had
become imminently precarious. Pompeius, who had suf¬
fered from a dangerous sickness, was elated by the extra¬
vagant acclamations of the citizens on his recovery, and the
Senate easily persuaded him that he could stand alone at
the head of the government, and, even if Caesar escaped
the perils in which he was involved, securely spurn his alli¬
ance and defy his enmity. But all these calculations were
doomed to disappointment. The abilities and fortune of
Caesar triumphed over the Gauls, and he was enabled to
complete his conquests, and recruit his exhausted legions
from the flower of the Gaulish youth. Before the expiration
of his second term of office, he had finished the task he had
undertaken to accomplish, and found himself in a position to
demand the consulship a second time. The Senate, alarmed
at the prospect of his return, required him to relinquish his
command before venturing to sue for a civil office ; but he
was well aware that, once divested of military support, he
would lie at the mercy of unscrupulous enemies; and he
retorted with the demand, which he knew would not be
complied with, that Pompeius, who at the moment held
the command of the armies in Spain, while continuing to
reside within sight of the city, should at the same time sur¬
render his extraordinary appointments. Both parties could
appeal to the letter of the law ; but on both sides the appeal
to law was a mere pretence. Party animosities and private
ambitions had come to such a head that Caesar could not be
safe without the guarantee of a high official position ; the
Senate could not be safe without degrading and trampling
him under its feet. A contest had become inevitable, and it
was little matter from which side the first blow actually came.
Still, with a people devoted like the Romans to the ob¬
servance of constitutional fictions, it was an object of some
importance to preserve a mere show of legality; and this
advantage, such as it was, was secured to Caesar when two
of the tribunes, who had protested against the fierce de¬
mands of the Senate, fled from Rome by night, affecting
alarm for their own safety, and sought refuge in the camp^
of the proconsul, which he had advanced to the frontier of
his province. The news of their flight outstripped their Caesar
own arrival; and Caesar, w;».h ins usual lightning-speed, crosses the
crossed the Rubicon with a few battalions, and met them at A “
Arimiorum, proclaiming that he entered Italy in arms to B‘c' ^ ’
vindicate the majesty of the law. Thus outraged in their
persons, Pompeius and the Senate were dismayed at the
326
ROMAN HISTORY.
Political
History.
Flight of
the Senate,
Campaign
in Spain.
Caesar
appointed
dictator.
boldness of this movement. Slender as were the forces of
the invader, they were unprepared to meet them in arms.
Their legions were scattered in Spain and in the East, and
the raw levies of the city were not fit to oppose to the de¬
termined veterans of the Gallic wars. Pompeius required
the knights and senators to quit the city and retire with
him to the south of Italy. The negotiations with which he
sought to amuse the assailant had no effect in retarding him.
One fortress after another fell with their garrisons into
Caesar’s hands ; the population of Italy rose to welcome
him; and he well-nigh succeeded in surprising Pompeius in
Brundisium, and intercepting his escape into Illyricum.
But the Senate had possession of the sea, and for the pre¬
sent their enemy was unable to follow them. Caesar then
retraced his steps to Rome, where the people received him
with acclamations. He summoned a Senate of the remnant
of the order, seized the treasures of the state, which Pom¬
peius in his haste had neglected to secure, gave an assur¬
ance of his favour to all the nobles who would abandon the
falling fortunes of the fugitives, and defied the abdicated
government as traitors and rebels.
In sixty days Cmsar had driven his enemies out of Italy.
He had cut their position in two. The best half of the
Pompeian armies were quartered in Spain; but Pornpeius
had more reliance on the resources of Greece and Asia,
which he had so long wielded, and left his lieutenants in the
west to defend themselves as best they might, while he
raised the forces of his own division of the empire, Roman
and barbarian, and trained them together for the future in¬
vasion of Italy. Caesar, as we have seen, had no ships for
transporting himself across the Adriatic. He was aware
also that it would take a long time to equip the Pompeian
armaments in the East. But meanwhile the base of his
own resources in Gaul was threatened by the forces of the
enemy in Spain, and his first operations were directed to
crushing this stronghold of the senatorial party and securing
his own rear. He led his legions along the coast of Italy
and Gaul; besieged and reduced Massilia, which ventured
to rise against him in the interest of the oligarchy; crossed
the Pyrenees, and attacked the Pompeian lieutenants in the
north of Spain. Having mastered his opponents in a
brilliant campaign, he returned swiftly to Rome, quelling a
mutiny among his own soldiers at Placentia on the way,
assumed the dictatorship with a faint show of legal forms,
and proclaimed himself once more the champion of the
state against every foreign and domestic enemy. Collect¬
ing his forces, to the amount of about 30,000 men, at
Brundisium, he effected the passage of the straits by skill
and good fortune, in the face of a superior fleet, and con¬
ducted operations against Pompeius, who had assembled a
large but ill-disciplined armament on the coast of Epirus.
It was the policy of Pompeius to avoid an engagement.
He suffered himself to be blocked up in his camp on the
land side, having still the command of the sea, and Caesar
found himself baffled and reduced to straits for the support
of his army. When at last he made a desperate attack on
the Pompeian lines he was repulsed with some loss, and was
obliged to break up from his position. Military critics have
affirmed that the younger captain had been out-generalled
by the elder. But this is hardly a fair account of the
matter. Caesar’s policy required him to fight against odds
both of numbers and position. It was no disparagement to
his military talents that he failed under such conditions.
But his peril was now extreme. Retreat across the sea,
could he have hazarded a retrograde movement, was inter¬
cepted. He boldly dashed into Thessaly, in the heart of the
enemy’s country, in the hope of drawing Pompeius from his
impregnable stronghold in pursuit of him. The Pompeians,
elated with their success, followed him with exultation, and
insisted on their leader accepting the battle so urgently
demanded. Pompeius hesitated, and only yielded to the
importunity of the civilians against his own judgment. His Political
forces doubled those of his antagonist, but they were not History,
equally serviceable. The armies met at last on the plain
beneath the hill-fortress of Pharsalia; and on the 9th of Battle of
August 706 the great battle was fought which utterly Pharsalia,
broke the power of the Senate, scattered their leaders, and^'Jg6’
drove Pompeius across the seas as a suppliant to the coast C’
°i Egypt. Caesar was intent on following the steps of his
great adversary, more formidable to him than all the rest
of his party ; but from the want of shipping he was obliged
to lead his troops by a long circuitous march through Asia
Minor and Syria. Meanwhile the young Ptolemaeus, who
owed his throne to the man who now sought his protection,
was persuaded by his ministers to sacrifice him. Pompeius
was inveigled out of ship, stabbed in the boat which con- Death of
veyed him to the shore, his head cut off and sent to Caesar. Pompeius.
SECT. XXXII,—CAESAR FOUNDS THE EMPIRE.
After Pharsalia the nobles for the most part made their Cassar’s
submission, and the clemency with which Caesar treated campaigna
them, so different from the measure dealt to their conquered Hgyph
enemies by a Marius or a Sulla, gained him the fervent ^it^as,and
applause both of his contemporaries and of posterity. A
remnant indeed of the defeated faction, under the indomi¬
table Cato, effected their escape to Africa, and raised the
standard of the oligarchy at Utica; but the greater num¬
ber of the senators and nobles returned to Rome, and ac¬
quiesced without a murmur in the acclamations with which
the people conferred the dictatorship on their favourite for
the second time. Caesar meanwhile was received with
hollow demonstrations of respect by Ptolemaeus in Egypt,
and he remained there for some months, fascinated, it was
said, by the charms of the king’s sister Cleopatra. He sup¬
ported her claims against her brother, seeking perhaps an
opportunity for demanding money, of which he was much
in need; but the Alexandrians, on discovering how slender
his forces were, rose in arms against him, and he was re¬
duced to the direst peril, till relieved by the advance of
re-inforcements from Syria. Had Cato’s Senate acted with
energy at this crisis, it would seem that it might easily have
crushed him. Possibly it was hampered by want of means
for moving an army by sea. It is difficult to understand
the next movement of Caesar, who it seems did not hesi¬
tate to leave such an enemy to gather force in his rear, while
he led his own troops through Syria into Pontus, and oc¬
cupied himself with waging war against its king, Pharnaces,
the son of Mithridates. He could describe, indeed, his
success, which was rapid and complete, by the three words
veni, vidi, vici; and here, too, we must suppose that the
motive of his delay was the need he felt for money to
satisfy his rapacious mercenaries. From Asia he repaired
to Rome, and assumed the dictatorship for the third time;
but before the end of the year (a.u. 707) he sallied forth
again to confront the remnant of the senatorial party, and
landed with a large force near Adrumetum. The battle Battle of
of Thapsus in 708, in which Cato’s troops, with their ally Thapsus,
the Numidian Juba, were routed, completed the overthrow A TJ>
of the senatorial faction. The chiefs of the party were B'c‘
slain in the battle or the pursuit. Caesar’s soldiers wreaked
their fury upon a large number of the captives. Cato,
finding it impossible to hold out in Utica, recommended
his followers to make their peace with the conqueror, and Suicide of
consummated his career of futile self-devotion by throwing Cato,
himself on his own sword.
Caesar returned once more to Rome to celebrate a series Termina-
of triumphs, to reform the laws, and lay the foundations Hon of the
of an empire. The battle of Thapsus is the termination Boman re-
of the republic. Though the old offices of the free state 1C'
were to be preserved, though the consuls, praetors, and
tribunes were to be selected as of yore by the assemblies
Political
History.
Cassar
“ Impera-
tor.”
Caesar’s
views.
His cle¬
mency.
His four¬
fold tri¬
umph.
Caesar’s en¬
actments
and pro¬
jects.
KOMANHISTORY. 327
of the people, and to issue from Rome for the government
of the provinces, the forms of the commonwealth were really
to be subordinated to the will of a single autocrat, and the title
of Imperator, “ a commander,” which Caesar now assumed,
not to denote an occasional and temporary office, but a
permanent distinction, symbolized the rule of the sword which
was henceforth to become actually predominant. Never¬
theless, Caesar is not to be regarded as a vulgar despot, who
seizes his opportunity to suppress the liberties of his country¬
men, and convert a free state into a tyranny. Caesar con¬
sidered himself the sovereign, not of the ancient Roman
people, but of the world, their subjects. His aim, from an
early period, had been to carry out to the fullest practica¬
ble extent the principle, long admitted but imperfectly
exercised, of provincial emancipation. The popular party
which he led had incorporated itself with the Italians; his
policy was to incorporate it with the nations beyond Italy.
He had enlisted the subject Gauls in the legions, and
placed them side by side with the Roman soldier. He had
conferred the citizenship on the Cisalpine population. He
now threw open the doors of the Senate to the chiefs of
Gaul, Spain, and Africa, and filled the mansions of Rome
with men of strange garb and uncouth idioms, that all the
nations which owned the sway of the republic might learn
to know each other, and mingle at last in one homoge¬
neous community. He did not scruple to proclaim his pas¬
sion for the Grseco-Egyptian princess Cleopatra, to invite
her to Rome, lodge her in a Roman palace, and allow one
of his creatures to propose a dispensation to enable him to
marry her. He suffered himself to be adored with the
title of a divinity, and his statue to be consecrated in the
temple of Mars. Such acts as these, in daring violation
of the national prejudices, announced a new era in public
ideas. If Csesar should succeed in effecting them, he
would lay the basis of a new national edifice; he would be
the last and the greatest founder of Rome. But though
he was thus unscrupulous in overthrowing the ancient fabric
of the constitution, he was considerate and clement in the
treatment of parties ; for the moment that they laid down
their arms, he regarded his adversaries in the same light
as the rest of the citizens. He suffered no punishments, no
confiscations. He took their chiefs into his favour, and ad¬
mitted them to his counsels. When he celebrated his four¬
fold triumphs over the Gauls, the Egyptians, over Juba and
Pharnaces, he allowed the greatest of his victories to be
passed over in silence. He pretended to be still the father
of his country, and accepted with a pride which he himself
believed to be legitimate, this title, the proudest which any
Roman had ever won from his countrymen. Rome had
indeed yet a series of revolutions to undergo before this idea
of a universal empire could be carried out, and when finally
established the empire was a doubtful blessing at best; but
it must be remembered that the continuance of the free
state, with the incitement it gave to lawless and turbulent
ambition, had become manifestly impossible; and further,
that the only possible solution of the political problem, the
establishment of a monarchy, had been long the half¬
conscious object of the great bulk of the Roman people.
The consummation, it must never be forgotten, had not
been averted, but only delayed, for forty years, by the bloody
occupation of the Sudan oligarchy. The fall of the ter¬
rible dynasty of the Epigoni, so to term the political heirs
of the dictator, was regretted neither by the citizens nor the
subjects of Rome.
As chief of the empire, Caesar effected many great works:
the building of temples, the construction of posts, the esta¬
blishment of colonies, the restoration of the great cities,
once the redoubted rivals of Rome, henceforth her sisters,
Capua, Corinth, and Carthage. He projected a complete
survey of Italy and the provinces, as the basis of the im¬
perial finance; the codification of the laws and usages of
the republic, which no doubt he would have applied to Political
every subject nation ; and he executed a correction of the History,
calendar, not the least practically useful of these reforms,
which has lasted, with trifling rectifications, even to our own
days, and become the common heritage of Europe.
SECT. XXXIII.^—DEATH OF CAESAR.
The power of the senatorial faction had been completely Final re¬
broken at Pharsalia and Thapsus, but Cnaeus and Sextus, volt of the
the sons of Pompeius, with a few desperate adherents of
his family rather than of any public cause, raised their
standard again in Spain, where they found recruits among
the Roman residents and the still turbulent natives. Caesar
hastened from Italy to crush this revolt, which he could
easily have effected had his own soldiers been disposed to
fight as constantly as hitherto in his behalf; but even the
tenth, his favourite legion, had been debauched by victory
and plunder, and could hardly be brought to engage till he
threw himself into the midst of the enemy’s ranks, and Battle of
called upon it to deliver him. The battle of Munda ended Munda,
in the final overthrow of the opponents of the empire. A-u-709>
Cnaeus was slain in the pursuit; Sextus escaped to lurk B,c’ 45'
for some years longer among pirates and outlaws. Return¬
ing to Rome, Csesar assumed the consulship with his friend
M. Antonins for the year ensuing; but now that all resist¬
ance had been quelled, and no further heights of glory
and ambition remained to be scaled, a change seems to
have come over the calm serenity of his temper, and that
perfect self-command and clear perception of his aims which
had so long distinguished him. The possession of unlimited
power still left a void to be filled up. He became proud to¬
wards his nobles, harsh and tyrannical towards his weaker
subjects, impatient in his temper, restless in his schemes.
While the whole Roman world lay before him to be moulded
into an empire of uniform laws and usages, he was bent on
prosecuting a vast scheme of foreign warfare, chastising
the Parthians, recovering the standards won from Crassus,
exploring the recesses of the Mithridatic realms on the
further coast of the Euxine, and uniting to the empire the
yet untrodden regions between the Don and the Danube.
These dreams of the imagination were destined to be rudely
broken. While in the first months of the year 710 he was
intent on his military preparations, and was sending forward
the legions designed for his expedition, Rome was filled
with rumours that the dictator, not satisfied with the glori¬
ous titles he had acquired, desired to be saluted with the
odious style of king. This was the device so often re¬
peated whenever the nobles of Rome wanted to raise the
people against their champions, which had never perhaps
failed of success; and it seems more probable that the
charge was invented by Caesar’s enemies, than that he
should have actually imperilled his life and fortunes for
an empty sound. Yet, none perhaps can tell what in¬
fluence a sound may exercise on the imagination of a man
like Caesar, who had attained the substance of all that he
desired, and still craved for something more to attain. All
Roman antiquity agreed in imputing this insane caprice to
the wisest of the Roman heroes, and refused to believe the
denial of it which it allowed him to have openly expressed.
Antonius, we are told, thrice offered him the diadem, and,
on hearing the murmurs of the citizens, he thrice rejected it.
But the jealousy of M. Brutus was aroused. This man,
son-in-law of Cato, had submitted after Pharsalia to the
conqueror, who treated him with peculiar indulgence, and
gave him the Cisalpine province to govern. He had ac¬
quiesced, however reluctantly, in the usurpation, and had
even consented to serve it; but his character for patriotism
stood high with the people ; he was reputed a descendant, on
the father’s side, from Brutus the liberator, on the mother’s
from Servilius Ahala the tyrannicide; his own imagination
328
Political
History.
Death of
Caesar,
A. u. 710,
B. c. 44.
He is hon¬
oured by
the people
as a di¬
vinity.
Intrigues
of M. An¬
toni us and
the young
Octavius.
ROMAN HISTORY.
had fed on the lessons of a self-devoting philosophy; and
when the conspirators against Caesar’s life looked for a
name under which to range themselves, they found none so
suitable as his for their purpose. Brutus was won over to
join them, with Cassius and others, who for the most part
were galled by personal slights, or inflamed by petty
jealousies. Brutus indeed, such was the judgment of the
Romans themselves, was the only one amongst them
whose aims were really pure and patriotic. Though Caesar
had renounced many of his highest qualities, his courage
had not deserted him. No tyrant was ever so fearless, so
confident in his fortune, and in the greatness of his own
destiny. His legions had quitted Italy; he had refused
the bodyguard offered him by the Senate. He traversed
the streets of Rome in the midst of all the factions he had
outraged with no other attendants than his troop of private
friends and clients. His person was assailable at any mo¬
ment ; and the conspirators selected the Senate-house itself
as the spot in which to attack him. On the Ides of March,
the 15th of the month, they fell upon him with poniards
borne beneath their robes; and he fell, pierced with thirty
wounds, at the foot of the statue of Pompeius.
Cicero, who had accepted the supremacy of the popular
leader even before the battle of Pharsalia, and had sub¬
mitted, with the sorrow of a philosopher and a patriot, to a
revolution which he had himself long felt to be inevitable,
was no party to this act of personal animosity. But when
the deed was done, and the assassins proclaimed themselves
the deliverers of their country, he too indulged in the dream
of reviving liberty, and cited many an ancient precedent to
justify the crime. Cicero now united himself to the band
of self-stylgd patriots in the Capitol, whither they had re¬
paired for fear of the populace, and assisted them with his
advice. It had been well, indeed, for the cause of the oli¬
garchy, if the men wdio now assumed to be its champions
had listened to his counsels. But they suffered themselves
to be cajoled by Antonius; and that skilful partizan, having
obtained permission to celebrate Caesar’s obsequies in pub¬
lic, contrived to play on the feelings of the multitude, and
raise a storm of grief and indignation which completely
paralysed them. The people insisted on burning the body
in the Forum, and erected a chapel on the spot, which was
afterwards converted into a temple. The murdered Caesar
was advanced to the honours of divinity, which had not
been offered to Marius, or Scipio, or Camillus, before him.
His soul, it was declared, was borne to heaven in the comet
which appeared conspicuously about the period of his de¬
cease. Not the citizens only, but foreigners of every na¬
tion residing in Rome, and particularly the Jews, united
in these demonstrations of sorrow, and showed that the death
of Caesar was regarded as a general calamity to mankind.
SECT. XXXIY.—THE SECOND TRIUMVIRATE, AND FINAL
OVERTHROW OF THE REPUBLIC.
Antonius and the liberators had combined together in
proclaiming a general amnesty ; but such was now the state
of irritation in the city, that the actors in the recent tragedy
for the most part withdrew from public sight. During the
dictator’s lifetime the friends of freedom had comforted
themselves, in the eclipse under which it had fallen, with
the remembrance of his advanced years, of the perils into
which he was continually thrusting himself, and of his having
no direct descendant. He had left, however, a nephew,
the son of an Octavius, whom he had adopted as his son,
and who now bore the name of C. Julius Caesar Octavianus.
This youth was at this time only nineteen, and at the mo¬
ment of his uncle’s death he was absent with a military tutor
in Illyricum. Few supposed he would have the courage to
proclaim himself the heir of the murdered usurper, to claim
his private property, which Antonius had got into his own
hands, still less to assert his legitimate title to the cham- Political
pionship of the popular party, and to the first place in the History,
commonwealth. But the ambition of the young Octavius
(such is the name by which he is most commonly desig¬
nated) was equalled by his confidence, and these again by
his cunning and ability. Throwing himself boldly into the
midst of the citizens, he cajoled Cicero with the warmest
professions of patriotism, while he demanded the restitution
of his private inheritance from Antonius. The field gra¬
dually cleared around him. Brutus and Cassius, finding
themselves unpopular and even insecure in the city, retired
first into Campania, and then to their provinces Macedonia
and Syria. Antonius put himself at the head of some le¬
gions, prepared to fight for pay and plunder under any
commander, and took up a threatening position in the Cis¬
alpine. The Senate, inspired with energy by the eloquence
of Cicero, who thundered forth the series of orations against
the traitor to which he gave the name of Philippics, armed
the consuls Hirtius and Pausa, and sent them to confront
nlm; while Octavius led an army of his own, the most de¬
voted of his uncle’s battalions, ostensibly to support the
government, but really to watch the event, and attach him¬
self to the party which should prove the stronger. A third
division of the Caesarean force had also assumed an attitude
of observation under Lepidus in Gaul. In the spring of
711 Antonius came to an engagement with the consuls near Battle of
Mutina, in which, though he was himself defeated, both Mutina,
Hirtius and Pausa were slain. This event proved a death- A-u- HI,
blow to the Senate. Octavius, instead of pursuing the B‘c*
routed Antonius, as he was expected to do, chose rather to
unite himself to him, and concert a coalition with Lepidus
and Antonius for the joint usurpation of the empire. This
combination, known by the name of the Second Triumvirate, The Second
was effected in an island of the River Rhenus, near Bologna. Triumvir-
The contracting parties agreed between themselves to ex- ate.
ercise consular power in common for five years, to dispose
of all the offices of state, and to enforce their decrees as the
law of the republic. They assigned the two Gauls to An¬
tonius, Spain and the Narbonensis to Lepidus, Africa and
the islands to Octavius. Italy was to remain neutral
ground ; the provinces of the East were to be left for future
division, when Brutus and Cassius should have been over¬
thrown by their united forces. This compact was followed
by the proscription of their enemies in Rome, each triumvir
claiming to insert the names of those most odious to him¬
self, and each sacrificing in return friends and kinsmen of
his own. Antonius demanded the head of Cicero, which
Octavius ungratefully surrendered to him. Their edicts
were immediately put in execution. Some hundreds of
the senators and 2000 knights were destroyed by hired assas¬
sins : Cicero, though long warned of his danger, neglected Death of
to make his escape till too late, and was overtaken and Cicero,
slain at his country villa.
An interval of eighteen months had elapsed since the re¬
treat of Brutus and Cassius into the East before the trium¬
virs were at leisure to engage in a campaign against them.
During this period the republican chiefs had foreseen the
struggle that was impending, and they had not been remiss
in assembling troops, and collecting money and munitions.
But their armies were for the most part composed of raw
levies; and in the indifference manifested by the popula¬
tions of Greece and Asia to the watchwords of party in the
West, they had been obliged to extort treasure by force,
sometimes to inflict cruel chastisement on the reluctant
provincials. Brutus himself had sullied his great name by
these terrible exactions. As the crisis of the struggle drew
near, and Octavius, with Antonius at his side, led their for¬
midable forces into Macedonia, his fortitude seems to have
forsaken him ; the peaceful philosopher was haunted with a
vision of Caesar’s ghost, and he was impatient for the day
which should end, either by death or triumph, the pertur-
ROMAN HISTORY.
329
Political bation of his afflicted mind. When the opposing armies
History. met at last on the plains of Philippi, Cassius, a more expe-
rienced officer, would have postponed the combat, but
Battle of Brutus insisted on precipitating the crowning struggle.
PbUippi, Brutus was confronted with Octavius, Cassius with Anto-
b.’c. 42. ’ niuS- Brutus had gained the advantage on his side of the
field; but Cassius, dismayed at his own partial failure,
Death of threw himself on his sword. The survivor now found him-
Brutus and self obliged to withdraw. Nevertheless, circumstances were
Cassius. still in his favour ; the enemy was straitened for supplies,
and delay might even yet have secured him a bloodless
triumph. But again his impatience was not to be con¬
trolled ; and in a second combat, twenty days later, on the
same ground, he suffered a defeat, which, by killing himself,
he rendered irretrievable. His party, deprived of both its
leaders, was now utterly broken. Several of the officers,
chiefs of the nobility, put an end to their own lives; but the
conquerors showed more clemency in the hour of victory
than at the outset of their enterprise, and allowed their
enemies for the most part to save themselves by submis¬
sion. Some of them escaped by sea, and attached them¬
selves to the fortunes of Sextus Pompeius ; but the repub¬
lican party never rallied again in the cause of liberty, and the
battle of Philippi closes the annals of the Roman free state.
SECT. XXXV.—CONTEST BETWEEN OCTAVIUS AND ANTONIES.
Antonius
faecinated
by Cleo¬
patra.
War of
Perusia.
Compact
with Sex¬
tus Pom¬
peius.
The battle of Philippi had been won by the efforts of
two only of the triumvirs, and the third found himself from
this time wholly set at nought by his more vigorous col¬
leagues, the masters of the united forces of the empire.
But the union of these mighty potentates was of short du¬
ration. Antonius assumed the command of all the regions
of the East; and while he amassed plunder for himself, or
squandered it upon his followers and parasites, he fell into
the toils of Cleopatra, the fascinating queen of Egypt, who
sailed from Alexandria to Tarsus to captivate him. Re¬
turning with her to the banks of the Nile, he abandoned
himself without remorse to voluptuous pleasures, which de¬
graded him in the eyes of the Romans, while his late col¬
league, now his rival, Octavius, was governing Rome and
Italy with a prudence and self-control which won the ap¬
plause of the citizens. Here the wife and brother of Anto¬
nius intrigued against him, and raised the standard of fac¬
tion. I he brother was overcome at Perusia; and, though
spared himself by the policy of the conqueror, three hun¬
dred of his most distinguished adherents were sacrificed,
according to the popular story, to the shade of the murdered
dictator. The wife retired to join her husband in the East,
but was ill received by him, and died, perhaps of mortifica¬
tion, soon after. A new alliance was now formed between
the rival leaders, who could not divide the empire between
them, or contend for its sole possession, till they had united
to put down Sextus Pompeius. The treaty of Brundisium,
effected by the agency of Cocceius, Pollio, and Maecenas,
provided for a combined effort against this annoying adver¬
sary, and was cemented by the marriage of Antonius with
Octavia, the sister of his ally.
Sextus, at the head of a piratical flotilla, occupied the
seas between Italy and Africa, and held some maritime
stations in Sicily. In this situation he was able to cut off
the corn ships which supplied Rome, and the city was re¬
duced from time to time to the direst necessity. The rule
of Octavius at Rome was shaken at every access of scarcity
and impending famine ; and the suppression of this cause of
annoyance was of more vital importance to him than to
Antonius. Octavius therefore undertook the conduct of
the war; but he prudently invited the enemy to come to
terms, and they arranged a treaty at Misenum, by which
he was admitted to a definite share in the empire. To him
were assigned the three great islands of the Tyrrhene Sea;
VOL. XIX.
and the families of Pompeius and Octavius were further Political
united by a marriage (a.u. 715, b.c. 39). Octavius was History,
now at liberty to turn his arms against some revolted tribes
in Gaul, while Antonius undertook to lead an expedition
into Parthia, and avenge the disaster of Crassus. The first
soon executed his purpose with his usual promptitude ; the
other lingered indolently in Greece. Sextus meanwhile
failed to surrender some places he had previously occupied
on the coast of Italy, and again intercepted the supplies of
the city. Octavius had no alternative but to make war
upon him. He summoned his colleagues to his aid. Le-
pidus promised, but delayed ; Antonius sent him ships, but
demanded soldiers for his Parthian expedition in return.
Octavius, however, was better served by the skill and
spirit of his friend Agrippa, who gained him victories at sea,
and repaired the disasters which he experienced in his own
person. The struggle ended in the complete overthrow of Sextus
the armaments of Sextus, from which the chief himself overcome
escaped only to perish miserably a few months afterwards. b>’ 9cta-
At the last moment Lepidus rashly committed himself to V1US‘
an act of hostility against the victorious triumvir. He was Fan 0f
instantly worsted; and though his life was contemptuously Lepidus,
spared, his armies and his provinces passed finally into the a.u. 718,
hands of Octavius. B-c. 36.
The contest for empire was now reduced to a struggle Contest be-
between two competitors, and it was not long before it came tween Oc-
to the arbitrament of the sword. While Octavius was tavius and
winning golden opinions in Rome and Italy by the plau- Antonius.
sible moderation of his manners, and by the ability of his
government, in which he was seconded by Agrippa and
Maecenas, his rival was falling more and more into contempt.
Antonius undertook indeed an expedition against the Par-
thians; but the issue was disastrous ; and the mortification
of the citizens was redoubled when their worsted champion
quitted his flying troops to fling himself into the pleasures
of his Egyptian capital, and celebrated, with Cleopatra at
his side, the mockery of a Roman triumph in a foreign de¬
pendency. He had already renounced the amity of Octa¬
vius by repudiating the sister, whom he had taken to wife.
He now devoted himself wholly to Cleopatra, and passed
his days and nights in sensual revelry. These eccentrici¬
ties, reported, perhaps with some exaggeration, at Rome,
caused the deepest feelings of disgust; and disgust was suc¬
ceeded by alarm when he was said to be preparing an
attack on the Empire of the West, and Cleopatra was declared
to have boasted of the laws she would issue from the Capi¬
tol. By this time Octavius had recruited his legions, and
amassed treasure. When he found the minds of the citi¬
zens fully enlisted in his support, he came forward as the
protector of the state,—the champion of the Senate, the
people, and the gods of Rome,—and led all his forces in per¬
son across the Adriatic. Antonius, on his part, had not
been slack in preparations. He too advanced, with Cleo- Battle ol'
patra in his train, and brought all the resources of the Actium,
wealthy realm of Egypt to support the presidiary cohorts of A-u- 72?
Greece and Asia. Armies, numbering more than 100.000 B-c- 31
men on either side, confronted each other on the coast of
Acarnania, near the entrance of the Ambracian Gulf; but
the fortune of war was first tried by the rival fleets off the
promontory of Actium. The vessels of Antonius were
bulkier and more numerous ; but the light barks of Octa¬
vius, under the command of the experienced Agrippa, were
more skilfully handled, and fought more gallantly. The
issue of the combat, however, was still doubtful, when Cleo¬
patra, through fear or treachery, gave her own squadron the
signal of retreat, and carried off with her sixty galleys of
Egypt. Antonius madly rushed away to follow her, leaving
his ships and armies to their fate. His ships, indeed, still
continued the combat under every disadvantage, and were
finally overpowered, and for the most part destroyed. His
legions, however, finding themselves thus miserably de-
2 T
330
ROMAN HISTORY.
Political serted, refused to fight for their betrayer, and surrendered
History, without a blow. The battle of Actium, fought on the 2d
Sept. a.u. 723 (b.c. 21), threw the whole military force of
the empire into the hands of Octavius, and assured him of
a complete and speedy triumph over the remnant of his
rival’s resources.
Antonius and Cleopatra reached Alexandria; but the
Roman was indignant at the conduct of his mistress, to
whose base desertion he ascribed his overthrow, and at first
refused to see her. Blinded, however, by his passion, he
yielded again to her blandishments, and she amused him
with schemes, sometimes for defence against the expected
enemy, at other times for flying beyond the southern sea,
and reigning in remote security over some Arabian pro¬
vince. She hoped probably to make her own peace with
Octavius by the sacrifice of her infatuated admirer. The
conqueror at last appeared on the frontier. Antonius went
forth gallantly to meet him, and gained some partial success.
But Cleopatra meanwhile had betrayed her fleet to the in¬
vader, and the gates of Alexandria were opened to him
without resistance. Antonius, in his frenzy, threatened to
destroy his ensnarer, and she took refuge in a tower, and
sent him word that she had killed herself. The passion of
Death of the insensate Roman revived; he stabbed himself, and
Antonius. while slowly dying, caused himself to be removed beneath
the windows of her place of retreat, and entreated her at¬
tendants to place him beside her body. Cleopatra caused
him to be lifted into her chamber, and he expired immedi¬
ately in her arms. She now exerted all her artifice to ob¬
tain terms from the conqueror. She had vanquished both
Caesar and Antonius by her charms, and she still hoped to
prevail over the youthful Octavius. Admitted to an inter¬
view, he resolutely kept his eyes averted, and she despaired
of moving his sensibility. She could consent to surrender
her kingdom, but she spurned with indignation his cruel de¬
mand to exhibit her to the Roman citizens in his triumph.
When he still insisted, though with the fairest words and
promises, she had no choice but death, and as he set a guard
over her to prevent her using the sword, she contrived to
Death of get an asp conveyed to her in a basket of figs, applied it to
Cleopatra, her arm, and perished.
The expected triumph of Octavius was deprived of its
most coveted ornament; but Egypt was straightway an¬
nexed as a province to the empire, Caesarion, a son of the
dictator by Cleopatra, put to death, the sons of Antonius
by the deserted Octavia carried to Rome to be bred as
scions of the conqueror’s own family. Octavius made a
progress through the eastern provinces on his return, re¬
ceiving the homage of dependent potentates, putting down
the partizans of his adversary, and setting up his own in
their place, securing the fidelity of the Roman garrisons
under officers of his own choice. When he arrived at his
a. u. 725 capital in the year 725 he had consolidated the whole em-
b. c. 29. pire under the government of his single arm, and the re¬
public of Rome was finally exchanged for a monarchy.
SECT. XXXVI.—CONSTITUTION OF THE EMPIRE BY AUGUSTUS.
Augustus -About this great political fact there could be no doubt
pretends to t^en or since; but the genius and the merit of Octavius con-
govern by sisted in the specious disguise which he succeeded in
constitu- throwing over it. At the moment of his return to Rome
tional pre- tlle ancient constitution was still existing in all its forms ;
cedents. t]le genate stjii possessed the ample prerogatives assigned
to it of old, and the people were still the legitimate deposi¬
taries of power in the last resort. Octavius affected still to
recognise the paramount authority of the public will. He
professed to have wielded hitherto only delegated functions,
and in these he pretended to have followed the spirit of
established precedents. In all extraordinary emergencies
the Romans had had resort to extraordinary commissions.
Such were the dictatorships of the early republic, the re- Political
peated consulships of Marius, the permanent dictatorship of History.
Sulla, the vast military charges and the sole consulship of
Pompeius. The “ triumvirate for the arrangement of
public affairs” was itself the application of an ordinary title
to one of these extraordinary commissions. But this com¬
mission, constitutional or not, Octavius had scrupulously
resigned at the expiration of the term to which he had re¬
stricted it; it was as consul and the elected of the popular
assembly that he had conquered at Actium and subjugated
Egypt. The regulation he had made of the affairs of the
empire in the East, after the manner of Pompeius and Sulla,
still awaited the formal sanction of the Senate; and the
Senate was supposed to retain authority for granting or
withholding from him the triumph he had so gloriously
earned.
The “ acts” were duly ratified, and the triumph was ac- Functions
corded. When the ceremony, together with the shows and of the Im-
festivals and glowing acclamations which accompanied it, Pefator an(l
had reached its termination, the imperator still stood at the 1 rincePs’
head of the legions which had followed his triumphal car.
According to the laws of the free state, Octavius must now
disband his army or resign it to the disposal of the Senate;
for with the triumph his imperium was become extinct.
But he evaded this necessity. He allowed the Senate,
prone as it was to flatter and caress him, to give him the
title of Imperator in the same sense in which it had been
conferred upon Julius Caesar, thereby proclaiming him com¬
mander-in-chief of the national forces, placing every legion
under his auspices, and every officer under his orders. As
imperator, he retained the right of bearing, even in the city,
the sword and cloak, the ensigns of military power; but
this prerogative he cautiously refrained from using. The
fate of Caesar had warned him to accept less than was offered
him. Content with the substance of power, he declined all
invidious shows and titles. Though the people, in their
enthusiasm for him, would have acceded to any usurpation
on his part, he knew that neither king nor dictator would
have been safe from the daggers of the senators. It was
to exalt the estimation and give a fair shadow of authority
to the Senate that his next efforts were directed. Having
obtained the powers of the censorship, he proceeded to re¬
vise the list of senators, to eject the unworthy, to endow the
impoverished, and create a body distinguished for its family
and personal influence. Caesar had degraded the order in
its own eyes by intruding into it foreigners and base-born
citizens. The triumvirs had been tempted to carry this
practice still further. Octavius now retraced his steps.
He reduced the number from 1000, to which Antonius had
swelled it, to its proper limits of 600, and required a
considerable property qualification. To the Senate, thus
re-modelled, he left its ancient distinctions, and the greater
part of its ancient prerogatives, directing its decisions in
political and legislative affairs by management rather than
by strict control; but he settled the course of his adminis¬
tration with the help of a private council of fifteen assessors,
and decided the vexed question of the judicia by appoint¬
ing a court of salaried judges, one hundred in number. To
the people he left the old forms of popular assembly and
the election of magistrates ; but here again he interfered so
far as to nominate the candidates to be submitted to their
choice. The names and generally the functions of these
magistrates remained as of yore. But in order to secure
an easy means of guiding the Senate, Octavius revived in
his own behalf the title of “ Princeps,” which gave him the
first place and the first voice in the curia. This purely
civil dignity, ennobled by some illustrious occupants under
the commonwealth, had been always held for life, and ac¬
cordingly Octavius could venture to accept it in perpetuity,
while he demanded the powers of the censorship for five
years only, and offered, with much appearance of earnest-
ROMAN HISTORY.
331
Political ness, to resign the imperium after ten. He allowed, how-
History. ever, both these powers to be renewed to him for successive
v—terms to the end of his career.
The Potes- The consulship Octavius continued to exercise for seve-
tas consu- ral years successively; but he ultimately renounced the title,
laris and though he retained its powers by an extraordinary preroga-
Tribunitia. tjve. Invested with the potestas consularis, he occupied
the highest place in the city, and was recognised as the
chief of the state, the head of the legislative and execu¬
tive, the organ of its foreign policy. When the consul
quitted his post in the city, he carried to the frontiers of
the empire the same supreme authority which he had be¬
fore wielded at Rome. When he vacated the office, and
assumed the government of a province, he commanded the
soldiers and citizens as imperator, and reigned as proconsul
over the subjects of the state. But Octavius allowed him¬
self to claim proconsular power together with the consular.
As imperator, he had divided with the Senate the direct
administration of the provinces, choosing for his own all
those in which large armies were maintained for aggression
or defence, and leaving to chiefs appointed by the Senate
a civil supremacy in the unarmed and tranquil; but his pro¬
consular authority was extended alike over all, and he
asserted paramount powers, when occasion required it, in
every quarter of the empire. The circle of the imperial
prerogatives was completed by the powers of the tribune-
ship. This potestas was also declared perpetual, though
renewed nominally from year to year. The authority this
power gave the emperor in the Senate was a safeguard
against any possible insubordination in that assembly; but
its chief value lay perhaps in the continued popularity ot
its name. The populace of the city still regarded the tri-
buneship as the legitimate guardian of its rights and in¬
terests, and hailed Octavius as its proper champion, its
protector against the sinister intrigues of the Senate. It
The chief gave a sanctity to his character, and rendered his person
priesthood, inviolable. When to this was added, at a later period of his
career, the dignity of sovereign Pontiff, he acquired the
control of the instrument of the state religion ; and the de¬
fence of the citizens against the machinations of the nobles
was supposed to be complete.
The assumption of all these offices and functions was not
effected at once : Octavius ascended to the summit of his
ambition cautiously, and step by step. Meanwhile he dis¬
creetly waived every designation which should imply in
itself the sovereignty he affected to disguise. Antonins
had abolished the dictatorship to gratify the people, and
Octavius took care not to revive it. No voice was suffered
to hail him with the title of king. Nevertheless he was
ambitious of a distinctive appellation ; but it must be per¬
sonal, not official. He wmuld not be called “ Quirinus,”—such
a title would be extravagant; nor “ Romulus,”—the name
The title of was of evil omen. To the epithet of “ Augustus,” which was
Augustus, next suggested, no objection could attach. It implied the
nobleness of his character and functions; it had an air of
sanctity, and even divinity ; it bore an auspicious reference
to the anticipated increase of his honours through time and
eternity. The worship of Octavius as a god was rapidly
spreading in the provinces ; in the city, it was only permitted
to pour libations to his genius—a distinction hardly pal¬
pable in the purest ages of religious usage and belief, and
which court poets and flatterers could now easily obliterate.
Acquies¬
cence of the
Romans in
the dis¬
guised mo¬
narchy of
Augustus.
SECT. XXXVII.—THE POLICY OF AUGUSTUS IN ITS MORAL
AND SOCIAL ASPECT.
Octavius, or, as he may now be styled, Augustus, retained
the sovereign power to the end of his career, a period
of more than forty years. During all that time his life
and fortunes were assailed twice or thrice, but only by
privy conspiracy among the nobles, never by any movement
of the people. From first to last no audible murmur w'as Political
raised against his ascendancy. This must be accepted as History,
a proof how' welcome were the safety and tranquillity he
offered to the Romans, after a century of intestine divisions
and sanguinary struggles ; but it proves beyond this, that,
in the deliberate judgment of the nation, a limited or veiled
autocracy was the form of government which, in the ad¬
vance or decline of civilization, whichever we may deem
it, had become most advantageous for them. Doubtless
their first impulse was to hail the victor of Actium as the
restorer of peace, snd the saviour of the state from foreign
aggression and domestic dissensions. The remains wre pos¬
sess of the literature of the period breathe this spirit of in¬
tense satisfaction, as at the revival of a golden age. The
mission of the Romans is now declared to be, not to con¬
quer all nations, to trample upon all national usages, or to
luxuriate in the enjoyment of the world’s wealth, but to
bind all peoples together in one common union ; to bend
the necks of rebellious potentates to the yoke of interna¬
tional law ; to quell all unruly ambitions, and inaugurate a
reign of universal contentment and moderation. Once be¬
fore, and once only, the ancient world had been brought
under the sway of a single sceptre, and enthusiasts might
have indulged under the Macedonian Alexander in such
dreams of human happiness; but the fair vision had been
quickly overclouded when his premature death left his em¬
pire to be torn in pieces by rival generals. The great bulk
of the Roman people had no other anxiety about the em¬
pire of Augustus but the fear lest at his decease—and his
constitution was weakly and his health precarious—the
solid fabric of material prosperity he had raised should
crumble under the violence of mere selfish usurpers. The
idea of hereditary succession in political office had hitherto
met with no favour in the republic; but the circumstances
of the time now strongly recommended it; and without any
formal concession of the principle, the minds of the Romans
became implicitly reconciled to the anticipation of a dy¬
nasty of Caesars.
But this favourable disposition on the part of the people His mode-
would have been of no avail to maintain and perpetuate the raUon
empire had not Augustus been himself singularly endowed dlscretlon-
with the temper and talents required for advantageously
using it. Heartless and cruel as he had proved himself in
the pursuit of his ambitious projects, he henceforth pre¬
scribed to himself a career of clemency and considerate
indulgence. He opened the field of public honours to men
of all parties, and caressed with marked favour the kins¬
men of his own most noted opponents. Even on those
who actually conspired against him, he could not always
be brought to inflict punishment. He gloried in constrain¬
ing his public enemies to become his private friends.
There may have been little genuine feeling in this course
of policy,—the Romans themselves may not have been
wholly deceived by this pretended generosity; but while
they enjoyed the benefit of it, they did not criticise it too
closely: Augustus succeeded in his object of securing
their confidence and affection. He was not satisfied, how¬
ever, with enlisting their personal feelings in behalf of his
government. His ambition was not wholly selfish ; he un¬
doubtedly looked beyond his own greatness, his own secu¬
rity, or even the establishment of his family in greatness
and security after him. He looked even beyond the esta¬
blishment of his own future fame. He had a true and
earnest desire to revive the fortunes of the Roman state,
and launch it again, after the terrible crisis of the civil wars,
on a fresh career of prosperity and glory. Unfortunately
his views were warped by the common spirit of antiquity,
the spirit of heathenism, which, devoid of a faith in Provi¬
dence and hope for the future, always placed its ideal of
excellence in some dreamy misconception of the past. Au¬
gustus sought to re-animate the life of Rome by restoring
332 ROMAN HISTOR Y.
Political the ideas and principles of a shadowy antiquity. These
History, ideas, indeed, in so far as they had really guided the ac-
^ tions of the Scipios and the Camilli, had sprung from the
His at- laws and usages of their times : it followed then, so he
tempt to fondly reasoned, that by restoring the usages the ideas
revive the themselves would be revived. By a strict execution of the
spirit of functions of the censorship, by sumptuary laws, by police
1(1UI regulations, by reviving the honour of matrimony and the
priesthood, by restoring the temples of the gods and the
temple services.—by these and such-like measures he
hoped to create again the people who had rejected the
bribes of Pyrrhus, and retorted the invasion of Hannibal by
an attack on Carthage. These efforts were no doubt
wholly unavailing: the Roman people had lost its belief
in religion, and therewith the only potent principle of self-
control ; the springs of public and private life had been
poisoned by selfish and criminal indulgence; and by draw¬
ing closer the bands of law, Augustus only produced some
outward decency at the expense of honesty and self-respect.
The corruption of the times is more painfully marked in the
affected decorum of Horace than in the glaring coarseness
of Catullus, in the easy indifference of Ovid than in the
open infidelity of Lucretius. In his vigilant control of the
public administration, the imperial reformer was more suc¬
cessful. The ordinary procedure of justice was conducted
with a firmness and equity unknown probably in the best
times of the republic. A strong check was imposed on the
violence and rapacity of the officials in the provinces. The
Romans and their subjects were taught to regard each other
with mutual respect. On the whole, whatever its draw¬
backs and defects, the policy of Augustus must be pro¬
nounced eminently successful in promoting the happiness
and prosperity of the Roman world. Few or none of the
citizens could look beneath the fair surface then presented
to them, and anticipate the decay of public feeling, the de¬
cline of high principles, the growing acquiescence in merely
sensual enjoyments, which would surely ensue from the
stagnation of public life, and the concentration in a single
hand of all the powers of the government. The Romans
had had no example, on a similar scale and under similar
conditions, of the transition from freedom to subjection.
The autocracy of Augustus was an experiment in politics,
from which they hoped the best, of which possibly they
augured the best, but of which, whatever they might hope
or augur, they felt in their inmost hearts the absolute and
over-ruling necessity.
SECT, xxxvm. INTERNAL GOVERNMENT OF THE EMPIRE.
Pacific On the restoration of universal peace, Augustus closed
policy of the temple of Janus, an act of grace which the citizens,
Augustus. w)10 could record but two previous instances of it, cele¬
brated with the loudest acclamations. His own military
ardour was satisfied by the victories he had won over
domestic enemies by the hands of Agrippa; he had no am¬
bition for the fame of a conqueror; and henceforth he only
led his legions to repress the brigandage of the Iberian
mountaineers, or sent a grandson to demand from the Par-
thians the long-abandoned standards of Crassus. He al¬
lowed some minor expeditions to be undertaken against
the predatory hordes which infested the frontiers of Egypt
or Mauretania ; and he sanctioned one wild and profitless
expedition against the nomade tribes of Arabia. The bor¬
der warfare on the Rhine, of which more special notice
must be taken presently, was another exception to this
pacific policy ; but generally the arms of Rome, under Au¬
gustus were confined to securing the peace of the empire,
and sedulously withheld from aggression in every quarter.
A long period of repose was required to consolidate the
heterogeneous elements which composed this vast dominion.
Italy, the centre of the empire, and now made to comprise
the whole peninsula from the Alps to the Straits of Mes- Political
sina, was divided into eleven regions, and placed under the History,
direct control of the praetor in the city. The rest of the
empire was apportioned, as we have said, between the em- Division of
peror and the Senate. The imperial provinces were the t^e Pro"
Tarraconensis and Lusitania in Spain ; the whole of Gaul vinces’ inY
beyond the Alps, divided into several commands, including Senatorial
the Upper and Lower Germanics, as they were called, on
the Rhine ; Pannonia and Macedonia; Ccelesyria, Phoe¬
nicia, Cilicia, Cyprus, and Egypt. To the latter were as¬
signed Bcetica, Numidia, Africa, the Cyrenaica, Achaia, and
Asia. Dalmatia, including Ulyricum, at first given to the
Senate, was soon afterwards taken by the emperor in ex¬
change for the Narbonensis and Cyprus. Before the end
of his career, Augustus annexed Palestine also to the em¬
pire, which then extended over every coast and island of
the Mediterranean. In some quarters, as in Gaul and Pan¬
nonia, the sway of Rome penetrated some hundreds of
miles into the interior of the continent; but the regions
remote from the great inland sea, the highway of interna¬
tional traffic, were almost wholly barbarous. Gaul and
I brace were little better than vast forests ; only a small
portion of their soil was as yet subjected to cultivation.
1 he great cities of the empire, the marts of human in¬
dustry and emporia of commerce, were for the most part
seated on the shore, or on the banks of navigable rivers.
When the Romans boasted of having subdued the world,
they really confined their view to the Mediterranean and
the countries immediately bordering upon it.
I he entire possession of this midland basin gave easy
access to every province of the empire ; and the facility thus
presented for communication between them, when the
police of the seas was vigilantly maintained, developed the
capabilities of every country simultaneously, and bound
them all together by the chain of a common interest. No
empire was ever more favourably circumstanced than the
Roman for the advancement of its national prosperity, and
for the interchange of thought through all its members.
So completely was peace the common interest of the in¬
habitants ol all its inland shores, that the Mediterranean
provinces were left almost wholly without military garri¬
sons: every state and town could be trusted to maintain its
own police, and keep watch over the behaviour of all the
others. Italy, and Rome itself, were left, without any regular
defenders: the emperor entrusted his own personal safety
to a few scattered cohorts of praetorians or bodyguards; it
was not till the reign of his next successor that these bat¬
talions were even collected together in a camp at the gates
of the city. Their numbers at no time exceeded 10,000
or 20,000. The legions which constituted the standing Military
army of the empire were relegated to the frontiers, or to establish-
distant and turbulent provinces. Three of these divisions, ment*
each a little army in itself, were stationed in the Spanish
peninsula. Ihe banks of the Rhine were guarded by no
less than eight: two were placed in Africa, two in Egypt,
four occupied the eastern frontier, four more were posted
on the Danube, and, finally, two were held in reserve in
Dalmatia, within easy reach of Rome itself, if their presence
should at any time be demanded there. The full com¬
plement of each of these 25 legions was 6100 foot and
726 horse ; and this continued, with occasional variations,
to be their strength for a period of 300 years. The cohorts
of which they consisted were 10 in number, besides the
squadrons or turms of horse. They were recruited gene¬
rally from the mountains beyond Italy, at first from the
genuine citizens of Rome in the provinces, but this re¬
striction was not long maintained. The inhabitants of Italy
itself began now to claim exemption from legionary service
altogether, and were enlisted only in the praetorian bands.
Numerous battalions of auxiliaries, with array and arms
differing from those of the legionaries themselves, were
ROMAN HISTORY.
333
Political levied from the most warlike of the subject populations,
History. anc] attached to each legionary division. Their numbers
no doubt varied considerably ; but it is generally computed
that they equalled those of the legionaries, and we may
thus assign a force of 340,000 men for the entire armies
of the empire, exclusive of the cohorts in the capital.
Fiscal esta- The sources of revenue by which the establishments of
blishment. the empire were maintained were numerous and varied.
The public domain, reserved in ancient times to the state
after each successive contest, had been perhaps wholly
divided among the citizens, or remitted to the subjects ;
the tribute, or land tax, originally imposed upon citizens
and subjects alike, had been remitted to the soil of Italy
since the conquest of Macedonia; but this contribution
was still levied throughout the rest of the empire, in money
or in kind, and the capitation tax pressed alike on every
inhabitant of the imperial dominions. Mines and quarries,
fisheries and salt-works, were generally public property
farmed by the state. Tolls and custom-duties were ex¬
acted on every road and in every city, and most of the
objects of personal property, both dead and live stock, in¬
cluding slaves, paid a duty to the government in propor¬
tion to their value. Augustus imposed a legacy duty of a
twentieth ; but this experiment in direct taxation caused
considerable murmurs. The great corn-growing countries
of Egypt and Africa made a special contribution of grain
for the supply of Rome and Italy The largesses, both of
victuals and money to the people, which had been an occa¬
sional boon from the early times of the republic, were
henceforth conferred regularly and systematically; and
there was no more fatal error in the whole administrative
policy of the empire, though it was neither invented nor
could perhaps be avoided by the emperors, than the taxa¬
tion of industry in the provinces to maintain idle arrogance
at home.
SECT. XXXIX.—THE REIGN OF AUGUSTUS.
Extent and When Augustus had consolidated under his sway the
population regions between the Rhine, the Danube, the Euphrates,
of the era- ancj Mount Atlas, the empire reached the farthest limits
^lre’ that it ever permanently retained. The population it
embraced at this period may be approximately calculated
at a little less than 100 millions; but it may be fairly sup¬
posed that, under the general reign of peace and domestic
prosperity which prevailed throughout it, the number con¬
tinued to increase at least for another century. With re¬
gard to the interesting question of the population of the
great city, “ the head and mistress of nations,” ftow at the
zenith of her glory, if not yet of her grandeur, some calcu¬
lation will be exhibited in another place. It will be suffi¬
cient here to estimate it roughly at 700,000, and to add
that this continued also to increase perhaps even after the
general population of the empire had become stationary, or
even declined, though it may never have much, if at all,
exceeded one million. One of the principal cares of the
new emperor was the embellishment of Rome. With this
view, he erected himself many temples and public buildings,
and he stimulated the great nobles of the city to follow his
example. In this and in every other object of his policy he
M. Vipra- was ably seconded by his friend Agrippa, whose valour had
nius Won some of his most important victories, whose counsels
AKriPPa were not less useful to him in peace than in war, and who
hn^erkl distinguished himself above all his countrymen by the
family.1 loyalty with which, having secured beyond dispute the
second place in the commonwealth, he abstained from aim¬
ing at the first. More than once Agrippa was entrusted
with the command of all the eastern provinces; but he
executed his charge with an unshaken fidelity, which it was
hardly less honourable in Augustus to appreciate without
fear or jealousy. On the death of the young Marcellus,
sister’s son to the emperor, and his presumptive successor, Political
Agrippa received the widow Julia, the daughter of Au- History,
gustus, in marriage. Caius and Lucius, the eldest children
of this union, were brought up as heirs to the empire, but
both of them were cut off prematurely. Agrippa himself
died many years before his patron, and Julia was married
a third time to Tiberius Claudius Nero, the stepson of the
emperor, whose mother Livia, a clever intriguer, contrived
to secure the succession for him over the heads of her hus¬
band’s direct descendants. The ambition and the vices
of his own family caused Augustus, particularly in his
latter years, more disquietude than the government of the
empire.
Besides the advantage he derived from the assistance of B. uilnius
Agrippa, Augustus was supported, throughout the earlier Maecenas,
part of his reign, by the tact and prudence of Maecenas.
This man had administered for him the government of
Italy during the period of the struggle with Antonius. He
continued to be his chief adviser in the settlement of the
empire; and the Romans ascribed to him the first delinea¬
tion of the principles of government which they saw gra¬
dually extended and confirmed from one reign to another.
A popular tradition, for which there is probably no other
foundation than the temper generally attributed to the men
respectively, affirmed that when Augustus deliberated
about resigning his power, he allowed Agrippa and Mae¬
cenas to discuss the question in his presence, and that
Agrippa counselled the restoration of the republic, Maecenas
the retention of supreme authority. The private manners
and habits of the minister were not less serviceable to his
master’s position than his political counsels. Maecenas con¬
trived to attach to the new system many of the best and
ablest public men of the day, while he secured in its favour
the suffrages of the literary class. The table at which
Virgil and Horace, Varius and Pollio, conversed genially
together, under the patronage of Maecenas, and in the pre¬
sence of Augustus himself, was the field on which all the
adverse theories of politics and philosophy laid down their
arms and came to an amicable understanding. Never was
a state revolution so gilded with the flattery of poets and
historians as the seasonable usurpation of Augustus.
Nevertheless, successful as the emperor had been in the
execution of his great enterprise, and in confirming its re¬
sults, his latter years were not unclouded by reverses.
While the citizens were getting at last a little weary of the
monotony of his long despotism, suffering some disgust at
the disgraces of his family, some apprehension at the pro¬
spect of an unpopular successor, they were suddenly
alarmed and dismayed at the occurrence of a great mili¬
tary disaster. Though Gaul had long been pacified, the Wars in
frontier was subject to the incursions of restless hordes Germany,
from Germany, and it was necessary to keep up a large
force and legions, as we have seen, in stationary camps on
the Rhine. The temptation to employ these troops in
aggression, no less than in defence, proved irresistible.
The scions of the Caesarean family were anxious for oppor¬
tunities of military distinction. Augustus allowed his step¬
sons, Drusus and Tiberius, to conduct expeditions into
Germany. Drusus penetrated as far as the Elbe, but died
in early life from an accident. His successors in the com¬
mand established the Roman outposts as far at least as the
Ems or Weser, and the district between the Mayn and the
Lippe was beginning to assume the form of a province, when
the government of this district fell into the hands of Varus, The disas-
a pedantic official, who so mismanaged his affairs as to ex- ter of Va-
cite against himself a general conspiracy of the natives, andrus-
allow himself to be surprised by them. Entangled in a
country with which they were imperfectly acquainted, his
legions, three in. number, were attacked by overwhelming
numbers, and destroyed in the forest of Teutoburg. Varus
was slain, the whole Roman establishment overthrown, and
334
ROMAN HISTORY.
Political the remnant of its soldiers and civilians driven in confusion
History, behind the Rhine. In the face of such a disaster Augustus,
now old and timid, gave way to nervous alarms. He
trembled for the tranquillity of the city, for the loyalty of
the citizens, much more than for the defence of the pro¬
vinces. With the assistance, however, of Tiberius, he acted
with sufficient vigour in recruiting his forces and restoring
confidence. The younger Caesar took the field, and made a
show at least of offensive operations against the victorious
Death of Germans. He did not venture, however, to occupy again
Augustus, the footing lately held beyond the Rhine. Augustus, who
I d 147’ dietl SOOn aftervvards’ in ^le year 767, left it in charge to
'A'D' ‘ his successor not to extend in any direction the limits of
the empire.
SECT. XL. REIGN OF TIBERIUS (A.D. 14-37).
Character Tiberius, now in his fifty-sixth year, had discharged the
of Ti- most important offices in the Senate and the field, and was
enus. regarded as an able and accomplished prince. But the state
of constraint under which he had lived as the presumptive
successor of the empire, under a jealous and exacting step¬
father, together with some sacrifice of the affections which
had been extorted from him in his youth, had soured a
temper naturally reserved and proud. For a time he had
withdrawn altogether from public affairs, and during his
retreat at Rhodes rumour had been busy in representing him
as indulging in the grossest vice and cruelties. But his
mother Livia, an able intriguer, watched over his interests.
On the death of Augustus, the Senate learnt that he had
been appointed the head of the Caesarean family, and they
readily, and indeed with much eager flattery, thrust upon
him all the public honours and functions which Augustus
had vacated. For some time he enacted the farce of pre¬
tending to refuse them ; but this affectation was speedily
overcome, and he retained a deep grudge against those
among the senators who had been blunt enough to take
him at his word. His first act, an omen of a bloody reign,
was the assassination of a surviving son of Julia and Agrippa,
called Posthumus, as having been born after his father’s
death ; a youth of acknowledged evil temper and defective
understanding, whom Augustus had himself removed from
public affairs and relegated to an island. The jealousy of
Tiberius soon extended to his nephew Germanicus, son
of his elder brother Drusus, whom Augustus had required
him to adopt and place on the same line of succession
German!- w'th a son ovvn* Germanicus was a great favourite
cus. with the people. He seems to have been a man of mili¬
tary genius, which he exercised with considerable success
against the Germans beyond the Rhine, though a naval
expedition under his orders suffered a terrible disaster from
tempest. He had formed a plan for the complete reduc¬
tion of the country as far as the Elbe, and the spirit of the
barbarians had been so far broken, in spite of the gallantry
of their hero Arminius that in another campaign he might
possibly have succeeded; but Tiberius was jealous of his
fame and popularity, and forbade any more blood and trea¬
sure to be lavished on conquests beyond the bounds of the
empire, as he had received it from Augustus. Germanicus
was recalled to Rome, and allowed the empty honour of a
truimph. 1 he emperor was glad to rid himself of his pre¬
sence on the first opportunity, and soon after dispatched
him into the East, to overawe the Parthians. Not content
with removing him from Rome, he deputed—such at least
was the common belief—an officer named Piso to watch
his conduct, and connived at this man’s thwarting and dis¬
obeying his legitimate commander. Germanicus ordered
Piso to surrender his office in Syria, but at the same time
Death of found himself attacked by a debility, which, after a short
German!- interval, terminated in his death. His family accused
cus. Piso of foul play either by poison or at least by magical
incantations. Agrippina, the spirited consort of the de- Political
ceased prince, prosecuted a charge of murder against him History,
at Rome. Confident in the emperor’s favour, Piso did not w'
shrink from meeting it; but when he found that the em¬
peror looked coldly upon him, and was disposed to abandon
him to his fate, he anticipated the decision of the judges by
a voluntary death. But the suspicions ot the people were
not thus averted from Tiberius. The deep sorrow they
evinced at the loss of their favourite gave great umbrage
to the tyrant, and induced him to treat with jealousy and
harshness the widow and her children.
From the first, Tiberius had dissembled with the Senate, Retirement
and he naturally distrusted them; while towards the other of Ti-
classes of his subjects, and particularly in the provinces, berius to
his conduct, though stern, was equitable; he took every CaPreae-
opportunity to trample on the pride of the senators, to
lower their estimation, and to make them feel his superior
power. It was a great relief to them when, towards the
middle of his reign, after devoting himself to the business
of state with unwearied assiduity for many years, and never
quitting Rome even for ordinary relaxation, he began gra¬
dually to withdraw more and more to the solitude of the
isle of Capreae, an imperial domain purchased by Augustus,
in which he took great delight. Though the popular no¬
tion, repeated by the historians, that he here abstained al¬
together from public affairs, and suffered the conduct of
the administration to slip from his hands, seems to be grossly
exaggerated, it was impossible but that an inordinate
share of influence and power should accrue to the confi¬
dential minister whom he must leave in his place at Rome.
Sejanus, the notorious favourite of Tiberius, had risen by
artifice and ability to the highest office of state. He ven¬
tured to pay his addresses to a kinswoman of the emperor
himself, and though he awakened thereby the emperor’s
jealousy, he seems not to have been unsuccessful. At all
events, he effected the removal of some of his master’s
nearest relations, among them the luckless Agrippina, and
the common rumour may not have been ill founded, that
he aspired in his daring ambition to a share in the empire,
and eventually to the succession. But Tiberius, it seems,
had dissembled with Sejanus, as with others, and had allowed
him to suppose himself more necessary to his master’s
policy than he really was. Once fully persuaded of the
extent of his views and of his own danger in consequence,
Tiberius had the energy to strike him down at a blow.
Sejanus was in the city, in the ripeness of his power, sur¬
rounded by the senators and the soldiers; and Tiberius, now
old and feeble, with scarcely a guard about his person, in
his distant* retreat, with only his ships to rely on for escape
if the blow should fail. Great circumspection and artifice Fa^ f „
were required, but the tyrant was equal to the crisis. ThejanUg° 6*
missive which he sent to be recited in the Senate, in which a.u. 784,
he flattered and honoured his victim till he had thrown him a.d. 31.
completely off his guard, and then ordered the consul to
arrest him, is celebrated as a masterpiece of king-craft.
Sejanus fell amidst the execrations of the senators, who up
to this moment had caressed him, and the people declared,
with thoughtless exultation, that the state had been saved
in the safety of Tiberius.
The citizens indeed were willing to persuade themselves ac
that the tyranny under which they had lately suffered was count of
due to the vile counsels of the upstart favourite, rather than Tiberius’s
to the evil disposition of their emperor himself. They en-personal
treated Tiberius to return to Rome, and administer the vices*
government in the presence of the people, as their poten¬
tates had done before. That the head of the Roman com¬
monwealth should lead the life of a voluptuous lounger
in the Grecian villas of Campania, seemed to them mon¬
strous and degrading. Of a noble Roman who could so
forget his country, and his duty to it, any horror might
easily be believed, any crime, or vice, or unnatural torpi-
EOMAN HISTORY.
335
Political
History.
Death of
Tiberius,
A.u. 790,
A.D. 37.
tude, might be plausibly imputed to him. If, then, the
account we have received of the vile debaucheries of
Tiberius at Caprese exceed any modern instance of human
depravity, it is not much more than might fairly be ex¬
pected from the tongue of popular rumour exasperated
at this glaring dereliction of duty and renunciation of
conventional principle. Considering the sources from
which we seem to have derived them, some shade of
doubt must certainly attach to these reputed enormities.
But even if we admit them in their fullest extent, we must
still acknowledge that, frightful as they are, they may be
paralleled perhaps in every particular in the conduct of
less notorious personages of heathen antiquity. The cruelty
and impurity ascribed to Tiberius belonged to his class as
much as to himself, and were exercised by many a noble
Roman at home and abroad, among their subjects and their
parasites. The horrors of imperial vice have become espe¬
cially notorious, from the pre-eminence of the personages to
whom they were imputed in the histories of the times; but
they were not the excesses of imperial pow'er uncontrolled
by law, so much as of our common -human infirmity unsus¬
tained by religious principle. However this may be,
Tiberius deserves credit as a ruler, for wielding his authority
twenty-three years almost without drawing the sword, and
for leaving his dominions in peace and prosperity. His end
was precipitated, at the advanced age of seventy-nine, and
on a sick-bed from which he could hardly again have risen, by
the hands of an attendant in the interest of his grand-nephew
Cains Caligula, impatient for the succession, and not wdth-
out apprehensions for his own life.
Political
History.
SECT. XLI. THE REIGN OF CAIUS CALIGULA (A.D. 37-41).
Caius Cali- Caius Caesar, the son of Germanicus and Agrippina, had
gula ob- been bred in his father’s camp, and received from the sol-
tains the diers the familiar nickname of Caligula (from the boot or
sole power, caliga), by which he is most commonly known at least in
later history. He w'as adopted by Tiberius on the same
footing as a younger Tiberius, the emperor’s own grandson.
As a few years older than his cousin, he w'as allowed, indeed,
to regard himself as the immediate heir to the empire,
though, according to the loose ideas of hereditary succes¬
sion still current among the Roman statists, Tiberius was
considered as having a presumptive claim to be asso¬
ciated with him when he should arrive at manhood. Thus
Augustus had delegated a portion of his authority, first
to Agrippa, and at a later period to the elder Tiberius.
His successor, indeed, had never prevailed on himself to
make any such surrender of his sole autocracy, nor was it
possible, perhaps, for two kings to reign together again at
Rome. From the first the young Caius, who assumed the
empire at the age of twenty-five, felt the deepest jealousy
of Ins unfortunate kinsman, and it was not long before he
invented a pretext for destroying him. At first, indeed,
no prince was ever more popular than this child of the
people’s favourite, succeeding as he did to a morose and
odious tyrant. During the first months of the new reign
both prince and people seemed to be equally intoxicated.
The provinces partook of the exultation of the citizens.
When the furious dissipation into which the young man
plunged had prostrated him with an alarming illness, the
Romans and their subjects combined in the expression of
the deepest distress, and in frantic vows for his recovery.
This assurance of his people’s devotion seems to have re¬
moved from its object all sense of shame or apprehension.
His iiceT1' indulged in every excess of vice and turpitude with-
tionsness out scruple. Utterly devoid of the conscious reserve wliich
and ty- had induced Tiberius to veil his indulgences from the pru-
ranny. rient curiosity of his countrymen, Caius was equally free
from the jealous fears which harassed his predecessor.
WTether from the wanton gaiety of his disposition, or from
a touch of actual insanity, he had none of the cowardice
which generally accompanied tyranny. From the second
year of his reign he continued to provoke the patience of
the world by a series of indignities and injuries such as the
provinces might have sometimes suffered from the worst
of the proconsuls, but such as had never yet fallen upon the
Romans themselves. His cruelties and oppressions were
indeed generally inflicted upon the nobles, who had lost
the respect and could no longer command the affection of
the populace, while the populace itself he soothed and
caressed by the profuseness of his shows and largesses ;
yet his blows fell sometimes among the crowd also, and the
Romans shuddered at the terrible exasperation with which
he uttered a wish that the whole people had but one neck.
The frantic dissipation in which this Caesar indulged kept Despotic
his mind and body in constant fever. His haggard conn- character
tenance, his shattered frame, his agitated gait, his frenzy by
day and sleepless perturbation at night, as described by the P°^cy-
historians, form one of the most fearful pictures on record
of the consequences of guilty indulgence. Shocking as
such a picture must be in the case of a private individual,
in a king of men—the tyrant of a hundred millions of fel¬
low-creatures—it is truly awful. Caius had imbibed from
the Jewish chief Agrippa, the companion and counsellor
of his early years, the oriental idea of monarchy. He
scouted the restraints of Roman law and usage; he tore
away the veil of republican forms by which Augustus and
Tiberius had disguised the real extent of their power; he
determined that all his subjects should know that he was
a despot, and that his w ill was practically as unrestrained
as that of a king of Babylon or Alexandria. He scorned
to dwell in a mansion suitable to a Roman noble, such as
the palatium of Augustus and Tiberius, and covered a
large part of the Palatine Hill with additional buildings,
which he connected with the Capitol by a bridge flung
boldly across the valley of the Velabrum. Over this bridge
he marched in pomp to the temple of Jupiter, seated him¬
self by the side of the god himself, and affected to whisper
in his ear, and suggest the counsels of Providence. He
aped the dress and style of the deities himself; and when
his sister Brasilia died, with whom, like an eastern poten¬
tate, he had lived in incestuous commerce revolting to the
feelings of the Romans, he declared that she had become a
divinity, and required his subjects to pay her worship. He
encircled his own head with the oriental diadem armed
with spikes or rays, the well-knowm symbol of divinity in
the East. Augustus had been honoured after his death
with a temple and a priesthood at Rome—a tribute of re¬
spect which the Senate had refused to Tiberius; but had
Caius lived a little longer, we can hardly doubt that he
would have insisted on receiving divine worship himself
from the citizens, as well as from the subjects of the
state.
The extravagances of this wretched tyrant were chiefly His extra-
shown in the games of the circus, in which he took a vagances.
frantic pleasure, so as to threaten, it was said, to make
his favourite horse a consul. The bridge of boats which
he constructed across the Bay of Puteoli, for the sake of
driving in triumph upon the ocean, was an extraordinary
freak of reckless ostentation. The story, that instead of
leading his troops, as he had promised, into Britain, he
drew them up with great parade on the shore at Boulogne,
and then bade them pick up shells, and return laden with
“ the spoils of the ocean” to Rome, may possibly be a mis¬
representation. I he account we have received of his ex- j, e(jjtj01
pedition into Gaul, and his aimless enterprises in that quar- into Gaul,
ter, is not much to be relied on. The commander of the a.d. 40.
forces on the Rhine had ventured to defy Tiberius in the
old age of that timid emperor, and it was an object not un¬
worthy of the boldness of Caius to throw himself in per¬
son into the camp of his formidable lieutenant, and inflict
336
ft O M A N HISTORY.
Political
History.
Caligula
assassin¬
ated, A.D,
41.
condign punishment upon him. We are loath to believe
that a prince who could act so promptly and courageously
on a suitable occasion, should have debased himself by the
wretched trivialities imputed to him in connection with this
expedition ; nevertheless, we must remember that we are
reviewing the career of one who can hardly be regarded in
any other light than as a madman.
This career, disgusting as it is, was happily cut short be¬
fore the end of four years by the blows of an assassin. A
madman in the possession of unlimited power must be con¬
sidered beyond the pale of moral sanctions ; and if there
was no other way to remove him, no one would judge
severely the man who wielded even the dagger against him.
But Caius was not doomed to the death he so amply merited
by the decree of the outraged Senate, or the general rising
of an indignant people. He had provoked a domestic enemy
in the person of an officer of his guard, and he was stabbed
by a band of private conspirators in the vault of a passage
in his palace. The blow was quite unexpected, and sur¬
prised both the Senate and the imperial family alike. There
was none to claim the succession on the one hand ; there
was no plan for assuming the government on the other.
After a moment’s delay, the consuls, finding the throne
vacant, proclaimed the restoration of the republic; but the
citizens were wholly unprepared for such a revolution, and
the soldiers of the guard, anxious only for the largess with
which the accession of a new emperor must be accompa¬
nied, seized on Claudius, the uncle of the deceased, whom
they found by accident lurking in a corner, carried him on
their shoulders to the camp, and announced to the still
trembling senators that they had chosen a chief for the re¬
public.
SECT. XLII. THE EEIGN OF TIBERIUS CLAUDIUS (A.D. 41-54).
Claudius Resistance was perhaps impossible; none at least was
follows the attempted. The consuls took at once the oath of devo-
political tion to the new emperor, and the Senate and people fol-
Atenistus l°wed their example. Tiberius Claudius was brother to
° ' Germanicus, and uncle to Caius. He had reached the age
of fifty, during which his natural taste for retirement and
study, as much perhaps as the jealousy of the heads of his
family, and the weakness of mind and body currently im¬
puted to him, had kept him almost entirely in a private
station. He had applied himself to abstruse studies, and
composed elaborate treatises, but he had made no acquaint¬
ance with the conduct of affairs, either military or civil.
He was addicted to women, and had generally allowed
himself to be swayed by them and by the freedmen who
surrounded them. His accession to power was regarded
as no augury of good government by any portion of his sub¬
jects : it was a relief, however, to be rid of the furious
caprices of their last tyrants; and the pledges Claudius gave
the Senate of deference to their counsels were accepted
with grateful acknowledgments. Though betrayed occa¬
sionally into acts of harshness and cruelty towards men of
distinction through his weakness rather than tyranny,
Claudius continued throughout his reign to respect the cha¬
racter of the senatorial order. His principle of govern¬
ment was to follow the example of Augustus,—to restore
and confirm ancient usages, to maintain the ancient laws,
to enact the head of the family rather than the emperor of
the state. His assiduity in business was extraordinary ;
presiding day by day at the tribunals, he tired out, infirm
as he was, the judges and officers ; and if at the close of an
exhausting session he indulged with indecent avidity in the
pleasures of the table, his excesses maybe partly accounted
for and excused by the exhausting labours to which he
had devoted himself. His manners and his measures were
equally those of a pedant on the throne ; his awkward
figure, rendered more uncouth by the effects apparently
of a paralytic seizure, gave occasion for much ribald mock¬
ery ; but on the whole we must in fairness pronounce
that his efforts at governing the world under such for¬
midable disadvantages were truly meritorious, and his
failure in a task to which he was constitutionally unequal
a matter of commiseration rather than of ridicule.
Nor was it only in the city and on the judgment-seat
that Claudius felt it incumbent on him to carry out the
complete idea of the prince and emperor of the Romans.
Augustus had placed himself at the head of the legions;
feeble though he too was in bodily frame, he had fought
against the enemies of Rome, and merited the glories of a
triumph. The successor of Augustus must not shrink
from following him in this field also. Caesar had imposed
a tribute on the Britons; Augustus had insisted on its
payment; but these obligations had been long evaded, and
the threats of Caius had resulted in ridiculous failure. Clau¬
dius determined to seek his laurels in an enterprise against
these distant enemies. He sent a lieutenant to secure a Conquest
landing and make good a footing on the island ; but hefol- of Britain,
lowed himself without delay, traversing the whole of Gaul A•I)• 43’
at the head of his army ; and after crossing the Thames
he succeeded in bringing a British potentate to an engage¬
ment, and obtaining a decisive victory. The foundation of
a colony at Camalodunum, or Colchester, secured the con¬
quest of the southern part of Britain ; and Claudius fully de¬
served the triumph with which his ambition was gratified.
This success, though shaken by a later disaster under the
emperor that followed, seemed to be completed by the cap¬
ture of the bravest of the Britons, the renowned Carac-
tacus. It does honour to Claudius, unless it may be
ascribed to the greater humanity of the times—inhuman
as in too many respects we must still regard them—that,
instead of being strangled in his prison like Jugurtha or
Pontius under the republic, this fallen enemy was treated
with the consideration due to his valour, and suffered to
live in freedom at Rome.
The contempt with which the character of this unfortu- Domestic
nate emperor has been loaded has been chiefly derived from troubles of
the mishaps of his domestic life, and the fatal effects of the Claudius-
influence exerted over him by his worthless consorts. He
had been more than once married as a private citizen ; after
he became emperor he united himself to Valeria Messalina,
a woman whose name has become a byeword for the excess
of female dissoluteness. In his relations to this v/anton
woman, Claudius is represented as a miserable wittol, cajoled
by a partner who hardly deigned to throw a veil over her
flagitious infidelities. To her fatal sway was imputed many
acts of cruelty and rapacity, covered by the name of the em¬
peror. If she ruled him, she shared her influence with Pallas
and Narcissus, freedmen and favourites of his court, who
amassed vast fortunes by the crimes to which they extorted
his consent. At last, to the relief of the Roman world,
these hateful confederates fell out among themselves. Nar¬
cissus vowed to effect the ruin of Messalina. Her own con¬
duct, now become utterly unguarded, soon furnished an
opportunity, which he was bold enough to seize. Having
fixed her roving passions on a comely young noble named anc} siiius,
Silius, she had the incredible audacity, so we are assured, to
insist upon his publicly espousing her. Besides the mon¬
strous impiety of the act in the eyes even of that careless
generation, it was an open avowal of treason. Silius could
have no other course but to overthrow, by force or fraud,
the prince whom he had so grossly outraged. Not without
difficulty did Narcissus open the eyes of Claudius to the in¬
sult he had sustained; with still greater difficulty he in¬
spired him with courage to inflict a suitable punishment.
The freeman insisted, and the emperor yielded: Silius and
Messalina were arrested and slain; and the execution was
hardly over before the stupidest of husbands was found to
have forgotten all about it.
ROMAN HISTORY.
Political
History.
Such is an outline of the story related or confirmed by
all our authorities. It is evidently derived from one source;
but whether that source be the actual truth of the occur¬
rence, 01 the fabrication ot one whose position was such as
to confer on it unmerited authority, may still be considered
as doubtful; for Messalina was succeeded by another wife,
Agrippina. Agrippina. Messalina left a son, liritannicus. Agrippina
had also a son, Domitius. The great object of this last of
the empresses was to advance the fortunes of this son by an
earlier marriage, to secure for him the succession over the
head of the orphan Britannicus. The wickedness of this
intriguing woman is at least as well accredited as Messa-
lina’s, and it may easily be supposed that she would scruple
at no falsehood to exasperate her husband against her pre¬
decessor, and to persuade him that Britannicus could not
really be a son of his own begetting. However she may
have represented the affair to Claudius, it is probable that in
the memoirs of her times, which she is known to have writ¬
ten, she coloured them to suit her own purpose and deceive
the citizens. Che child of Messalina was to be disparaged in
their eyes as well as in the emperor’s, and the narrative of
a palace scandal from the pen of a mistress of the palace was
likely to meet with ready acceptance from the prurient
curiosity of the Roman people. It is no unreasonable
scepticism to withhold implicit reliance from the story of
Messalina, even though told us by Tacitus.
The young Domitius was two or three years older than
Britannicus, and when Claudius was persuaded to adopt
him, he became, under the name of Nero Caesar, the pre¬
sumptive heir to the purple. Thus far successful in the
accomplishment of her cherished object, Agrippina was now
only solicitous to anticipate a reverse of fortune, and for this
end she did not scruple to compass the death of the now
dotingemperor. She caused poison to be administered to him
in a dish of mushrooms, and he died from the effects of it in
her presence, almost at table, in the year of the city 807.
She continued to conceal his decease till she had completed
her arrangements for securing the succession to her son,
who was led to the camp by Burrhus, the prefect of the
praetorians, and accepted without hesitation, on the promise
of an ample donative, as the heir of Claudius and the de¬
scendant of Germanicus. The Senate hastened to ratify
the choice of the soldiers.
337
Death of
Claudius,
A.D. 54:.
Domitius
Nero, the
favourite
of the
people.
SECT. XLIII.—THE REIGN OF NERO (A.D. 54-68).
The exultation with which the accession of Caius had
been received on the demise of Tiberius, was renewed with
increased favour on the auspicious transfer of imperial power
from the old imbecile Claudius, to the gay young prince
who now united the suffrages of all classes of citizens.
With their late emperor, whether from the real defects of
his character, or from the misrepresentations of it with which
their minds had been abused, the Romans had become
thoroughly disgusted ; but the youth and beauty of Nero
had made a very favourable impression on them, and this
was heightened by the artful terms in which his accomplish¬
ments, his abilities, and his temper had been described to
them. Seneca the philosopher, a man of known acquire¬
ments, and at the same time of popular manners, had been
given him for his tutor. The young man had been bred in
the school of wisdom and morality, which the sage seemed
to find means to reconcile with the tastes and habits of the
day. Nero was to combine the man of virtue with the man
©f fashion, and the world was invited to admire in his person
the harmonious results of an alliance between things which
the precepts of the schools and the experience of men had
hitherto pronounced incompatible. But the world accepted
the announcement without misgiving, on the word of the
philosopher, and echoed the applause with which he greeted
the w ork of his own hands, anticipating in the advent of this
VOL. xix.
favourite of fortune the return of a golden age, the descent Political
of an Apollo upon the earth. History.
Nero possessed perhaps some graces of person, and
some natural abilities. He was not devoid of natural feel¬
ings, of kindliness, and affection. With an impulsive tem¬
per, and a rather feminine susceptibility, he was easily led
to seek the applause of those around him, and to shun their
disapproval. The objects of interest which his tutor set Nero’s
before him were no doubt pure and virtuous, such as the tutor
love of his kindred, respect for his mother, regard for the Seneca,
common weal and for the pleasures of the people. But if
Seneca led his pupil well, he exerted no moral power in con¬
trolling him. From the moment that the youth began to
press upon the reins, Seneca relaxed his restraint, and gave
full course to the indulgence of his passions. He hoped to
retain a little influence by yielding much, and for some
years after his accession the force of habit still inclined the
restless pupil to lend an ear to his occasional suggestions.
The first five years of the new reign, the Quinquennium'Yho “ Quin-
Neronis, as this term was called by way of favourable dis- quennium
tinction, have been celebrated as a period of really good Neronis.”
and conscientious government; nevertheless, they were
marked by crimes of the deepest dye, and no wise man
could anticipate from the weak and wicked prince who com¬
mitted such enormities any other development of his career
than the frightful tyranny which actually succeeded to
them.
Notwithstanding the marked applause with which Nero’s
accession was greeted by the Senate and the people, it was
soon suggested to him that he might have cause of fear in
the victim whom he had supplanted. The feelings of na¬
ture were too strong for those of custom, and still regarded
Britannicus, the actual son of the late emperor, a more
legitimate claimant of his throne than Nero, whom he had
only adopted. The usurper was easily persuaded that it
was necessary to remove the rightful heir '; and by the agency D ,
of the notorious poisoner Locusta, the child of Messalina Britanni-
was murdered, not, it may be feared, without the sanction Cus.
of Seneca himself. Nero was married to Octavia, the sister
of Britannicus; but this creature, though celebrated both
for her beauty and her virtue, gained no ascendant over him.
He fell under the fascinations of the intriguer Poppaea,
whom he took from his friend Otho, and under wdiose influ¬
ence he engaged in the horrible design of ridding himself of
his own mother. The rivalry between Agrippina and
Poppaea had continued for some time. In her eagerness to
retain her authority in the palace, the mother, it was said,
had actually tempted her wretched son to incest; but when
disappointed and defeated, she began to set up a rival court, Death of
and threatened to divulge the murder of Claudius, and re- Agrippina,
commend Octavia to the citizens, he was prevailed on to
sacrifice her to the anger of his mistress, and what he con¬
sidered the necessity of his own position. Again, it is re¬
ported that Seneca consented to the crime; it is more
probable that he was not consulted about it; but undoubt¬
edly both he and Burrhus, who had also the character of a
brave and honest man, allowed themselves to justify it when
done. Under the mildest view their conduct is with¬
out excuse. Nor was it of any avail. The people were
horror-struck; the Senate, awakened by some sufferings of
their own to the hollowness of their prince’s professions of
good government, resented it with murmurs and conspira¬
cies. Seneca and Burrhus lost all favour and all influence,
and both fell victims in a short time to their master’s inap-
peasable jealousy. Seneca, indeed, seems to have entered Death of
into a plot for his overthrow, the discovery of which cost the Lucan and
lives ot many distinguished nobles, as well as of an old com- Seneca,
panion ot Nero, the republican poet Lucan. The cruelties
of Nero were now repeated and extended, falling upon the
men most conspicuous for virtue, as well as the noblest and
the wealthiest. The murders of Barea Soranus and of
2 u
338
ROMAN HISTORY.
Burning of
the city,
a.d. 64.
Persecu¬
tion of the
Christians.
Nero’s
licentious
am use-
ments.
Political Paetus Thrasea, two of the staunchest professors of the Stoic
History, creed of philosophy, seemed to aim at the “ extinction of
's——virtue itself.”
Amidst these dismal excesses of an unlimited despotism,
the reign of Nero is remarkable for a disaster of another
kind, of which, though imputed by many voices at the
time to Nero himself, the hand of man may fairly be ac¬
quitted. In the year 817 Rome was swept by a terrible
conflagration, which consumed a large proportion of the
whole city. The populace, in their terror and distress, de¬
manded victims, and the emperor suffered the Christians to
be convicted on the charge of wilfully destroying it.
Against the persons thus designated, of whom there were
many now at Rome (but whether they were exclusively the
believers in the gospel of Jesus Christ, or, partly at least, in¬
cluded the Jewish sectarians, the followers of take Christs,
who had often caused disturbance even in the heart of Italy,
is still liable to question), a cruel persecution, and the most
cruel of punishments were directed. Death by burning
was an ancient punishment of the republic for the crime of
seditious incendiarism; and to this death the reputed burners
of the city were devoted. They were tied to stakes and
consumed in shirts smeared with pitch. The fierceness of
the flames thus kindled, added to the horror of the execu¬
tion, and ,the brutal levity of Nero in driving his chariot by
the light of these human torches, heightened the com¬
miseration to which the fury of the people had been quickly
converted; but there can be no doubt that the invention
of the pitched shirt was meant to shorten and not to aggra¬
vate the sufferings of the victims.
The horror with which Nero’s cruelties were regarded
by the Senate was enhanced by their indignation at the
levities with which he gratified his own morbid passion for
applause, and courted the flattery of the populace. He
was devoted to the games of the circus, and insisted on
outraging decorum by driving the chariot in person. He
was not less addicted to the amusement, reported equally
vile by the graver citizens, of playing and singing in public.
It was said that in the midst of the general dismay at the
great conflagration he had witnessed the scene from the
top of a tower in his palace, and performed upon his flute
the drama of the sack of Troy. This piece of unfeeling
impertinence, followed by the avidity with which he seized
on the space laid open by the flames to construct the im¬
mense extent of his “ Golden House,” gave colour to the
suspicion above noticed, that he had actually caused the
fire, or had at least forbidden its extinction. Soon after
this event he quitted Rome to seek new laurels among the
games and shows of Greece, where he expected to find his
peculiar talents better appreciated than by his own morose
or ignorant countrymen. He travelled from theatre to
theatre, and won all the applauses and all the chaplets
which Athens, Corinth, and Olympia could bestow. Dur¬
ing the course of his reign foreign affairs had proceeded on
the whole prosperously. A disaster in Britain had been
retrieved. Some successes had been gained, by negotia¬
tion rather than by arms, over Parthia ; and Nero had got
much ridicule by claiming a triumph tor them. Plis ablest
Beath of lieutenant, Corbulo, he had wantonly put to death, when
Corbulo. the breaking out of a revolt in Palestine demanded his best
generals and his bravest legions. The conduct of this war
was entrusted to the veteran Vespasian ; but when at last
a revolt broke out against him in his own army in Spain,
he found himself without men or commanders to meet it.
While he was still lingering in Greece, Galba, at the head
of his forces, was marching towards Rome. The troops
stationed in Gaul were induced to join the movement, or
to observe neutrality. Nero returned in haste to Italy;
but at the first news of some temporary success relapsed
into his frivolous dissipations. The arrival of each succeed¬
ing courier roused him to paroxysms of alarm or confidence;
The “Gold¬
en House.”
but he made no effective preparations to repel the danger, Political
till the Senate, seeing the defencelessness of his position, History,
summoned courage to anticipate the arrival of the avenger,
by denouncing him as a public enemy, and setting a price
on his head. The wretched tyrant evinced the utmost
pusillanimity in this crisis of his fortunes. He fled from Death of
the palace in disguise, but despaired of ultimately escaping, Ner0>
and after much hesitation, and with much childish com- gg1,
plaint, at last gave himself the death-blow.
SECT. XLIY.—WARS FOR THE SUCCESSION (A.D. 68-69).
Galba, as he advanced towards Rome, declared that he Galba pro-
had turned his arms against the tyrant in the interest of the claimed
Senate, and that he left to that venerable body the future emPeror‘
settlement of the empire. He had lived to a great age in
the tranquil discharge of high civil and military functions;
and it is probable that he had first commenced his move¬
ment for his own safety rather than from motives of ambi¬
tion. But when'his enterprise was crowned with success,
he could not doubt that the Senate would offer the empire
to him, nor had he any scruple in accepting it. With
Nero the last of the imperial race of the great Julius had
perished: there remained no chief to whom the proconsul
owed obedience. Galba was released from the military
oath which bound him to the successor of Caesar and Au¬
gustus, the descendant of Drusus and Germanicus. He
accepted the honours proffered him, and having quelled
all opposition to himself, and learnt the discomfiture of
some military pretenders in the provinces, he entered the
city at the head of his forces, and assumed the empire not
less as the nominee of the army than as the chosen of the
Senate. Servius Sulpicius Galba was a man of good family ;
the heralds tried to connect him with a mythological an¬
cestry ; but the transfer of empire from the race of the
Julii, of whom three at least had been enrolled among their
tutelary deities, gave a shock to the national feeling from
which it never recovered. Never again could the Romans
surrender themselves to the illusion, that their emperor
reigned by right of a divine descent; the attempt to esta¬
blish such a descent, though made in favour of some later
rulers, never again laid hold of the national sentiment, and
established itself as a popular superstition. As regarded
the successor to Nero, it was wholly futile. The man¬
ners which Galba brought from the camp to the palace
were rude and harsh ; his principles were austere ; he was
frugal hirnself, and parsimonious in relation to others. He
refused the soldiers their expected donative; and to both the
soldiers and the people showed himself a strict disciplinarian.
Such a commencement of a new reign—a reign founded on
favour, not on right—irritated all classes, and made them
apprehend a severity more galling than the capricious
cruelties of the late tyrant. Warned, but not dismayed at
the murmurs he heard around him, Galba selected an as¬
sociate more young and vigorous than himself, named Piso;
but intrigues were already in motion against him; Otho,
once the confident of Nero, and as profligate as his master,
was tampering with the praetorians. Galba had exercised
his power but one fortnight when this conspiracy burst upon
him, and unsupported by the people, undefended by his own Death 0f
guards, he fell by the swords of a mutinous soldiery. Galba, and
The successor to Galba was proclaimed by the praeto- accession
rians without even a pretence of consulting the senators,of Otho.
who tacitly acquiesced in the appointment, but abstained
perhaps as far as they could from actually acknowledging
it. While the emperor assumed the privilege of striking
the gold and silver coinage, the privilege of issuing the
more vulgar copper currency was accorded to the Senate.
The fact, that no copper coinage of Otho’s brief reign has
been discovered, may be taken to show the reluctance of
this outraged body to stamp their approval of'his usurpa-
ROMAN HISTORY.
Political
History.
Battle of
tion on the public money. But however this may be, the
/ usurper’s career was speedily cut short. The legions in
the north of Gaul had already declared against Galba, and
put Aulus Vitellius at their head to contest the empire
with him. The report of Galba’s death and Otho’s succes¬
sion made no difference in their measures. They wanted
an emperor of their own creation, from whom they might
receive a largess worthy of their services; perhaps they
already thirsted for the plunder of Italy and Rome. Otho,
though long steeped in luxury, was by nature gallant and
high-spirited. He accepted the challenge with alacrity,
and went forth to the Cisalpine to encounter the enemy.
But his temper was light and capricious, and on the first
check received by his followers, he resolved to put an end
to the contest, of which he was weary rather than afraid,
by falling on his own sword. The victory of Bedriacum
Bcdi-mcum, thus crowned by the self-sacrifice of his rival, there was
of Othoth nothinS to prevent or delay the succession of Vitellius to
Accession Power> enforced by the swords of his impatient soldiery,
of Vitellius an^ accepted with entire submission by the Senate. At
the head of his Gauls and Germans,-the conqueror entered
the city in military array and accoutrements ; and Rome, for
the first time, felt herself in the power of an undisguised
invader.
Vespasian But the same high tide of revolution which had wafted
fn the East an<^ Vitellius to Rome on the wave of military insur-
’ rection was preparing the triumph of yet another competitor
for the purple. While the armies of the West were con¬
tending for the substantial rewards of nominating to the
empire, the legions which occupied the opposite portion of
the Roman dominions were not less eager to strike in with
a claim of their own. The progress of the war in Pales¬
tine retarded their movements; but at last, suspending
though not abandoning these important operations, which
also promised abundant glory and plunder, their leaders
agreed to set up Vespasian, chief in command among them,
as the worthiest candidate for the empire. Vespasian in¬
deed remained for a time in Egypt to secure the resources
of that important province, and placed his son Titus in
charge of the war against the Jews; but his friend Muci-
anus led a mighty force through Asia and Greece into
Italy, and his lieutenant Antonius Primus engaged the
Vitellians in the Cisalpine with the first division of his
armaments. Vitellius was hardly seated in his palace, where
he was disgracing himself by the vilest sensuality, and be-
traying a total incapacity for government, when his repose
was shaken by the attack of these new assailants. A second
battle at Bedriacum broke the strength of his forces. An-
/ tonius, anxious to secure the full 'merit of completing his
success before Mucianus could come up with further re-in-
forcements, followed on the heels of the Vitellians, and
the partizans of Vespasian mustered so strongly in the Sen¬
ate-house and the Forum that Vitellius, sluggish and pusil¬
lanimous, hastened to proffer his submission. Sabinus, the
conqueror’s brother, dictated the terms of his abdication;
but his soldiers, enraged at his cowardly desertion, still re¬
tained their arms, and made a tumultuous night attack on the
position of their adversaries in the Capitol. The venerable
citadel of the republic was not regularly defensible. Climb¬
ing over the roofs of the adjoining houses, and flinging
torches before them, they involved the august temple
Burning of 0f Jupiter in flames, and burst in the confusion into the
api o1, inclosure. Sabinus was captured and slain; Domitian, a
younger son of Vespasian, escaped in disguise. Vitellius
was compelled to resume the purple ; but Antonius had
now reached the outskirts of the city, and his opponents,
who went forth without a leader to encounter him, were
beaten back step by step within the walls, which he entered
along with them, filling the streets with slaughter. A
remnant of the Vitellians withdrew into the praetorian
camp, but their last stronghold was speedily stormed.
339
Their wretched emperor lingered about the palace, uncer- Political
tain whether to fly or sue for mercy, but was seized by the History,
infuriated soldiery, and slaughtered with many indignities. ^ ^ - •
Mucianus, following in the rear of Antonius, and bringing Death of
Domitian with him, assumed the government in the name Vitellius.
of Vespasian; and Rome once more settled down in the
hope of tranquillity under the new usurper.
SECT. XLV.—REIGN OF VESPASIAN (a.D. 70-79).
Titus Flavius Vespasianus, the founder of the Flavian Accession
dynasty, had been saluted emperor by his soldiers in the °f Ves-
East in July 822, and it was from that era that the years 0f Pasian-
his government were technically numbered ; but his acces¬
sion to power at Rome dates from the first days of 823
(a.d. /0), when he assumed the consulship, and received
all the ensigns of imperial sovereignty from the Senate,
though still absent from the city. He allowed some months
to intervene before making his appearance in the capital,
choosing perhaps to leave to his lieutenants the invidious
task of punishing the most obnoxious of the citizens, and
smoothing his entrance into power. When he arrived,
about the middle of the year, he accepted the submission
of the Senate with complacency, and assured it of his favour
and consideration. He proclaimed the advent of a new era
of peace, and this announcement was received with the
same satisfaction as when Augustus closed the temple of
Janus. But the announcement was at least premature, War in
while the Jews still maintained, behind the walls ofJudea.
Jerusalem, their indomitable defiance of the power of
Rome. Driven in three campaigns from almost every other
stronghold they defended the Holy City with desperate ob¬
stinacy. Religious fanaticism supplied the place of skill or
discipline. Though weakened by internal dissensions, they
repulsed every attack of the enemy, and submitted to the
extremity of famine rather than surrender to the sacri¬
legious assailant. Exhausted by a long blockade, they
were at last overpowered by the perseverance of Titus;
their walls were stormed one after another, the inclosure
of the temple scaled, and the Holy of Holies given to the
flames. I he resistance was still protracted for a time in
the streets of Jerusalem, and even when the city was taken
and razed to the ground, a dying gleam of glory was shed
over the fall of Judaea by the defence of Machaerus and
Massada. But Titus at length completed his bloody task, Fall of Je-
in which he had exercised relentless severity. On his rusalem,
arrival at Rome he was associated with his father in the A,D-
honours of a triumph, commemorated by the arch, still ex¬
isting, which bears his name, and received a share in the
government of the empire.
The conquest of Judea had cost Rome a greater effort
than any of her foreign wars since the great struggle with
Carthage; but such was her energy, such at this period
the extent of her resources, that she had continued to con¬
duct it in the midst of the distractions of civil strife, and
during the determined mutiny of one of her finest armies.
Immediately on the departure of Vitellius for Rome, with Mutiny of
a large portion of the Germanic legions, the German and the Ger-
Gaulish auxiliaries in the north of Gaul revolted against ™anic
their commanders, set up the standard of a Gaulish empire, legions-
and succeeded in breaking up the whole of the Roman A-D' 69“70
force in their country. Under the Batavian chief Civilis,
they continued to defy the power of the empire till the
overthrow of Vitellius allowed the new government at
Rome to pour its legions across the Alps. Civilis was
beaten in several encounters by the Flavian general Ceri-
alis. Domitian advanced in person into Gaul to support
the efforts of his lieutenant; but the resistance of the muti¬
neers was crushed before his arrival on the Rhine, and in
the north, as well as in the east, the sway of Vespasian
was secured and consolidated.
f
840
ROMAN HISTORY.
Political This fortunate soldier held the reign of empire ten years,
History, during which period the Senate was allowed to resume
much of its ancient consideration, and the personal virtues
of the ruler, his simplicity and moderation of character,
exercised a favourable influence on the manners of the age.
A re-action set in, from the reckless extravagance fostered
by the example of Nero. The fortunes of the great nobles
had been broken down by the exactions of that rapacious
tyrant, and had suffered still more perhaps in the con¬
fusion of the civil wars ; many of the chief families had be¬
come extinguished, and their place in the Senate, and in
the high offices of the state, was supplied by men of meaner
birth and provincial extraction. Raised by Vespasian to
their new dignities, these men took Vespasian for their
model, and introduced into their households the fashion of
economy and self-control. Though rude and unpolished
himself, the soldier-emperor paid respect to letters, and
established throughout his dominions a corps of salaried
professors. On the other hand, he banished the philoso¬
phers from Rome; but to this harsh measure he was per¬
haps amply provoked by the pertinacity with which they
preached disaffection and rebellion. Vespasian had none
of the finer qualities of the high-bred Roman aristocrat;
there was nothing genial or magnanimous in his character;
once or twice he acted with revolting cruelty. But his rule
was marked on the whole by equity and mildness, and his
reign deserves to be noted as one of the brightest periods
in the annals of the empire.
SECT. XLVI. REIGNS OF TITUS AND DOMITIAN (a.D. 79-96).
Accession
of Titus.
Death of
Titus.
Domitian.
Vespasian had prudently erected a temple to his prede¬
cessor Claudius, and he received a similar honour after
death from his successor Titus. The Flavian family was
formally admitted among the tutelary divinities of the Ro¬
man people; but the hero-worship of the emperors was a
service from which the life and spirit had now wholly eva¬
porated. The conqueror of Judea, who now occupied his
father’s place on earth, bore the character of a mild and
studious philosopher. His conduct indeed in the field had
been marked with the cold-blooded cruelty common to all
the Roman generals, but towards the citizens, and espe¬
cially the senators, he displayed the moderation and self-
control which always commanded their warmest acclama¬
tions. Out of deference to the prejudices of his country¬
men, he refrained from marrying the Jewish princess Dru-
silla, of whom he was passionately enamoured; and this
condescension to national feelings gained him perhaps no
less applause than the sentiment he was said to have once
expressed, that “ he had lost a day ” in which he had per¬
formed no special act of virtue. There seems to have
been some softness, and perhaps some effeminacy, in the
character of Titus. He was addicted to voluptuous habits ;
he was prone to indulge in expensive ostentation ; and had
he not succeeded to a hoard of treasure amassed by his
father’s economy, which he did not live to exhaust, he
might have resorted at last to the cruelties of a Nero to
supply his prodigality. Though the Romans agreed in
entitling this prince the “ delight of the human race,” they
admitted that he was saved by an early death from the
snares of a position to which he might have proved un¬
equal. litus died of a fever, his frame having been weak¬
ened by an immoderate use of the bath, after a short reign
of only two years, in 834 (a.d. 81).
Domitian, who succeeded to his elder brother, had
never been regarded with the same hope and favour by the
Romans. His head had been turned by the glories which
accrued to his family in his tender years. During the
short interval in which he had exercised power before his
father’s arrival at Rome, he had given the rein to his youth¬
ful passions, and the evil nature thus early developed in
him had been repressed but not eradicated by the control Political
of Vespasian. The Romans declared that he had shown History,
the cruelty of his disposition in early youth by his passion '
for killing flies. He seems to have had some taste for
literature; he was himself a poet; he encouraged and re¬
warded poets, and instituted poetical contests and prizes.
He persecuted the philosophers, indeed, like his father;
nevertheless the reign of Domitian did not fail to produce
many brilliant writers and enduring works of genius. But
the temper of this emperor was weak and cowardly ; and
after a few years of professed deference to the Senate, he
grew weary of the dissimulation he had practised, exacted
from them the grossest adulation, watched all their move¬
ments with anxious jealousy, tormented them with his miser¬
able fears, and decimated them, on the slightest pretext,
with remorseless barbarity. He was himself tormented
with the desire of emulating his father and brother in their
military achievements. With this view, he did not hesitate
to exchange the pleasures of the capital for the hardships of
war. He made one campaign beyond the Rhine, and
another beyond the Danube. He pretended to obtain
successes, and to celebrate triumphs over both the Ger¬
mans and the Dacians; and his equestrian statue, one of
the most magnificent works of art at Rome, represented
him trampling victoriously on the captive enemies of his
country. Whether really satisfied or not with the applauses
he demanded from the citizens, he could not; bear to wit¬
ness the genuine glory of a lieutenant. During the latter
years of Vespasian, and through the short reign of Titus,
the gallant Agricola, one of the best of the Roman captains,
had conducted a series of campaigns in Britain. The Agricola in
country south of the Humber or the Tyne had been al- Britain,
ready reduced; but Agricola undertook to complete the
conquest of the island, which he was the first to circum¬
navigate. In the course of eight years he penetrated to
the foot of the Grampians, and finished his career of vic¬
tory with the defeat of the Caledonian Galgacus. He
drew a line of forts from the Firth of Forth to the Clyde,
which was strengthened at a later period, and established
as the boundary of the Roman possessions. But he would
not have rested here, with his work half accomplished, had
not the emperor suddenly recalled him to Rome, and re¬
minded him of the danger of making himself too conspi¬
cuous among the subjects of so pusillanimous a master.
He conducted himself at Rome with becoming modesty
and reserve; but the jealousy of the tyrant w'as not to be
appeased, and his death, which speedily followed, was too
surely attributed to poison.
Domitian had purchased the favour of the populace by Domitian
shows and largesses, but at the expense of the nobles, reigns by
whose estates he confiscated; and as his enemies multi- debauch-
plied and his fears increased, he was constrained to secure *nS the
the support of the soldiers by raising their pay, and in-solliiers-
dulging their indolence and vanity. The guards had now
become well aware of their position as the real masters of
the city and of the empire. Their vanity and their licen¬
tiousness were almost equally odious to the citizens, over
whom they domineered with impunity. The life and power
of the emperor were in their hands, and he was obliged to
wink at their excesses. They could only be restrained
by the strong arm of a soldier like themselves. They had
quailed before veteran Vespasian,—they had respected the
victorious Titan ; but Domitian, whose futile pretences to
military prowess they despised, could only retain their
swords by yielding immediately to all their caprices. Thus
supported, however, the nobles, now trembling daily for
their lives, could not venture to assail him. He continued
to persecute them with unceasing barbarity, while himself
so apprehensive for his own safety that he shut himself up
in apartments mirrored on every side, and so thickly car¬
peted that his footfalls could not be heard* beneath. At
ROMAN HISTORY.
341
Political last, however, vengeance overtook him from the centre of
History, his own palace. He was wont to inscribe on his tablets
day by day the names of those he meant to put to death,
continuing to treat them, till the moment arrived, with at¬
tentions which disarmed all suspicion. An accident dis¬
covered the fatal record to the Empress Domitia, who was
dismayed at finding her own name set down in it, together
with those of others in high office about the emperor’s
person. To these she imparted the secret; and they all
conspired together to save themselves by assassinating
Death of their treacherous master. The tyrant of Rome fell by the
Domitian, hand of a Greek freedman ; and with him the line of the
a.d. 96. Flavian emperors came to an end. He left no children,
nor would the indignant senators, who met to nominate a
new ruler before the guards could recover from their con¬
sternation, have endured another scion of a stock now ren¬
dered detestable to them. Domitian was the twelfth of
the Caesars, a name or title which the Flavian emperors
had continued to bear, and which was still perpetuated in
their successors ; but the accident, perhaps, of the Lives of
the Caesars by Suetonius terminating with him has limited its
special application in popular language to these twelve only.
SECT. XLVII. REIGNS OF NERVA AND TRAJAN (A.D. 96-117).
Nerva The praetorians were irresolute, the populace was indif-
chosen by ferent; and when the Senate declared that Cocceius Nerva,
the Senate. an age(j veteran of high birth and character, should suc¬
ceed to the chief place in the state, his election might be
regarded as ratified by the suffrage of the Roman people.
But Nerva, it was remarked, was the first of the emperors
of Italian, not of Roman parentage. His family came from
Narnia, in the Umbrian territory ; and he might still, it
seems, be stigmatized as a foreigner, though the Italians
had now enjoyed Roman citizenship for nearly two centu¬
ries. In this respect the new appointment of the Senate
was considered by some as a striking innovation on the
ideas of antiquity. It was remembered, however, that the
elder Tarquin, one of the most popular of the kings, was
by birth an Etruscan ; and a saying was current among
the curious in such matters, that the Romans had generally
prospered most by their native genius under foreign rulers.
But such reflections as these, delivered to us by some of
their latest writers, were no doubt the sophisms of another
age : at the moment, the citizens thought little of the
origin of their new emperor ; they were occupied with feel¬
ings of vengeance against the slaughtered tyrant, whose
images they overthrew, while the Senate decreed that his
“acts” should be abolished, and the honour of the apo¬
theosis refused to him. The man of their choice was
pledged to support their authority and respect their per¬
sons. Nerva bound himself by an oath that no senator
should suffer death during his reign ; a pledge which was
formally repeated by some succeeding sovereigns. This
was the charter of the Roman constitution under the new
dynasty, which depended only on the word of the emperor,
but was preserved inviolate at least by Nerva and his next
successor. Under this pledge of personal safety the sena¬
tors again raised their heads, and enjoyed a considerable
share of real authority in affairs. Nerva, indeed, was a
man of no great strength of character, nor were his health
and vigour of body such as to allow him to enter on any
struggle with the patrons who had advanced him to the
. head of the commonwealth. The Senate, however, on
their part, fully acquitted themselves of their share in the
compact implied between them, exalting the natural mild¬
ness and moderation of his temper as the highest sense of
justice and most unbounded clemency. It mattered little
to them that the poor old man surrendered to the clamours
of the praetorians the freedmen who had slain Domitian ;
and when he himself put swords into the hands of some
nobles whom he knew to be conspiring against him, they Political
extolled what was perhaps mere conscious helplessness as History,
the most magnanimous intrepidity. It was in the interest ^
of this class that the legislation of Nerva seems to have
been principally conceived. He enacted rigid laws against
the informers, and screened the senators from delation, not
in cases of treason only, but of other criminal charges; while
he enforced the utmost severity of the barbarous law of Rome
against the slaves of their households. The reign, however,
of this prince did not last long enough to try the principles on
which he conducted it. He died, after holding power a little Death of
more than sixteen months, but not before he had conferred Nerva,
the greatest of all boons on the Roman empire, in the choice a-®-
of the best and ablest of his subjects to succeed him.
This man was M. Ulpius Trajanus, a native of Italica Trajan
in Spain, distinguished for his bold and straightforward cha- nominated
racter, as well as for his military capacity. It was for these ^ ^erva-
qualities, and not for his rank or riches, for he was the son
of a plain officer in the armies of Vespasian, that the em¬
peror chose him for the support of his own throne, and
adopted him into his family. This was, moreover, the
best way of securing the tranquil transmission of the em¬
pire on the vacancy which might soon be expected to occur.
Trajan was in command of the forces at Cologne at the
time of Nerva’s death ; but not only the Senate and people,
but the praetorians and the soldiers generally, acquiesced
with perfect satisfaction in the announcement of his suc¬
cession. He seems, indeed, to have been personally popu¬
lar with all classes ; nor did he, throughout the whole course
of his reign, seek to ingratiate himself with any one at the
expense of the others. The accounts delivered to us of
this reign, as well as of others of the same period, are un¬
fortunately very meagre. We possess, however, abundant
evidence that the Romans, not then only, but for many
generations afterwards, regarded it as the brightest epoch
in the imperial annals. The Senate continued to enjoy the
highest respect and consideration ; the people were grati¬
fied by shows,—not indeed the aimless extravaganzas of
Nero, but the martial displays of the amphitheatre, bar- His insti-
barous and disgusting, no doubt, according to our ideas, tutions, his
yet dignified in Roman eyes by ancient national associa- works, his
tions. The government of Trajan is also distinguished by mil!tary
the attention it paid, for the first time perhaps in the poli- ments
tical history of antiquity, to the relief of poverty by elee¬
mosynary institutions. The provision it made for the main¬
tenance of orphans in Italy, though we can but imperfectly
understand it from the notices which remain, is a marked
feature in the public economy of this interesting period.
The architectural works of Trajan for the embellishment of
the city were conceived on the grandest scale, and executed
with no want of taste. He constructed, moreover, the
naval stations of Centumcellae and Ancona. But the bent
of his genius was military, and he humoured the passions
of the army, as well as his own, by the wars he waged
against the enemies of Rome. He avenged the humi¬
liation inflicted on the empire by the Dacians and their
king Decebalus, which the pretended triumph of Domitian
had failed to disguise, and reduced the countries of modern
Hungary and Transylvania to the form of a province. The
remains of Roman cities, and the deep root still held there
by the Eatin language, prove the completeness of the con¬
quest he effected, though his next successor thought fit to
resign this tardy acquisition. The Pillar of Trajan at
Rome, sculptured with the events of the Dacian war, still
exists as another monument of the conqueror’s prowess.
The emperor carried his arms also across the Euphrates,
and annexed to the empire some districts in Mesopotamia.
He penetrated into the deserts of Arabia, extending the
empire, nominally at least, as far as the city of Medina.
It is said that his lieutenants carried the eagles beyond
Syene on the Nile, and subjugated Nubia. But these.
342
ROMAN HISTORY.
Political
History.
Death of
Traian,
A.D. 117.
Persecu¬
tion of the
Christians.
Commence<
ment of
decline in
military
spirit.
conquests, if they really deserve the name, were also sur¬
rendered on the death of the conqueror, which took place
at Selinus in Cilicia, in the year 870, after a reign of nine¬
teen years and a half.
The chief blot on the character of this able and potent
prince is the persecution which he suffered to be inflicted
upon the Christians, who were becoming at this period an
important element in the population of the empire. By the
earlier Caesars the Jews had been treated with great favour,
both in their own country and in Rome. This people had
taken the part of Julius Caesar in their hatred of Pompeius;
they had sided with Augustus against Antonius; and thus
had been suffered to return to practise their rites unmolested
in the city, and to make a great harvest of proselytes among
the noble and wealthy classes, particularly of the female
sex. Under Tiberius, indeed, and Claudius, their turbulence
had subjected them to rigid measures of repression ; they
had been banished for a time from Rome; but these mea¬
sures were soon relaxed, and they returned in no less
numbers nor less turbulently-disposed than before. In
their own country the leaders of these repeated seditions
had been known by the appellation of Christs, and when the
true disciples of Jesus of Nazareth became first conspicu¬
ous in the city, we might expect them to be popularly con¬
founded with the deluded followers of Judas the Galilean,
or fheudas, who had made the name of Christ odious to
the Roman people. We have seen how Nero gratified
the Roman populace by sacrificing the Christians at Rome
to their fury, and we have remarked that under this name,
not the true disciples only, but the unbelieving Jews also,
may possibly have been included. The fierce struggle
which ensued in Palestine, ending in the overthrow of
Jerusalem and a general dispersion of the native popula¬
tion, exasperated the feelings of the Romans against the
Jews, and it is probable that, though the Christians were
now of almost every nation under the Roman dominion,
the fundamental connection of their religion with that of
the Jews marked them as in some sense pertaining to those
detested enemies of Rome. Hence every jealous measure
directed against the Jews themselves, or against their rites
and usages, would apply with equal force to the Christians;
the believers might be required at any moment, at the
discretion of the rulers and governors, to give a pledge for
their loyalty to Rome by swearing in the name of the em¬
peror, or by sacrificing to his genius. This was a simple
test, which saved all discussion on the character of the
Christians or the merits of their religious tenets ; the prae¬
tors in the provinces might be anxious to show their zeal
for their master by exacting this compliance; they were
bound at least to exact it in the case of any person denounced
to them as the holder of dangerous opinions, whether
specified as Jewish or Christian, and hence we find such in¬
quisition made, and cruel punishments inflicted, both under
Domitian and Trajan. The latter prince checked the zeal of
his officers by expressly forbidding, as in the case of Pliny in
Bithynia, any inquiry for Christians to be made. If de¬
nounced, then indeed the test must be applied, but not other-
wise. Ihus circumscribed, the persecution seems to have
quickly relaxed, and before his death, Trajan, with his natural
jusflce and benevolence, resolved to suppress it altogether.
Tiajan was undoubtedy the greatest of the Roman
commanders after the days of Caesar, and under him the fron¬
tiers of the empire were advanced to the farthest limits they
ever attained. The legions were never more triumphant;
the bravery of the soldiers, the conduct of their officers,
never more conspicuous: the military power of Rome was
raised perhaps at this epoch to its highest pitch. It may
be doubted, however, whether the men who bore the eagles
of I raj an were really animated with the same spirit of de¬
votion to the service, of discipline and endurance, as the
conquerors of ^ama or of Pydna i they won many victories,
but it was over barbarian enemies; and their constancy was Political
seldom tried by defeats. The practice, introduced indeed History,
before, but carried out most systematically by Trajan, of
defending the frontiers of the empire by long lines of for¬
tifications, such as that which may still be traced in many
places from the Rhine to the Danube, must have contri¬
buted to weaken the soldier’s reliance on his own strength
and courage, and taught him to depend on the shelter of
ditches and ramparts. Thus protected, he would soon begin
to relax in his attention to drill and exercise. It is pro¬
bable, indeed, that the immediate object for which these
works were raised was not so much defence as employ¬
ment. The legions on the frontiers had too little occu¬
pation. On the Danube they had broken out in dan¬
gerous mutinies; on the Rhine they had set up an em¬
peror of their own against the emperor of the Senate.
Ihe Roman soldier had been always taught to use the
pick-axe as well as the sword; the raising of earthworks
and fixing of palisades were part of his business as much
as the leaping, running, swimming, and fencing which
formed his daily exercise. Every night on march, on ar¬
riving at his halting-place, he was required to throw up a
wall of turl round his camp before betaking himself to rest.
The arrangement and dimensions of the camp are fully
set forth by the historian Polybius, from which we mav
calculate the amount of labour imposed on the legionary in
the best age of the republic. But under Trajan we find
that a new system of castrametation was in practice, known
by the name of its expounder Hyginus, according to which
an equal number of men was lodged in an encampment
of not more than half the size of those of the Caesars and the
Scipios. We cannot suppose that the armies of the empire
carried with them less baggage or required fewer followers
than those of the republic; and we can only see in this re¬
duction of the size of the camp a relaxation of discipline, and
a concession to the indolence of the legionaries. The walls
of Trajan in Germany and Moldavia, and the diminished
extent of the Hyginian encampments, are the first visible
symptoms of decline in the military spirit of the Romans.
SECT. XLYIII.—REIGN OF HADRIAN (a.D. 117-138).
The wise and vigorous rule of Trajan seems to have Hadrian
completely restored the harmonious working of the different nominated
orders and classes in the empire. The sovereign authority ^7 Trajan,
of the Senate was recognised on all hands; and the
emperor, when engaged on his distant expeditions, could
leave the reins of government to the consuls without fear
for his own power or for the tranquillity of the state.
When he suddenly died in a corner of an obscure province,
the mere assertion by his wife Plotina, that he had nomi¬
nated Hadrian his heir and successor, was received without
opposition or question ; and, in default of sons of his own,
it was considered most natural and proper that he should
thus endow with the purple a man of known ability and
experience, a native of his own province, and allied to his
own family. T. JSlius Hadrianus, who really owed his
elevation to an intrigue of the palace rather than to the
actual choice of his predecessor, was a man whom even a
Trajan, the best hitherto of the Roman emperors, might
be proud of appointing to succeed him. Though his
private conduct was not devoid of defects, and though his
temper was eventually spoiled by indulgence, he seems to
have possessed on the whole the highest combination of
princely qualities that ever graced the Roman purple.
I hough a brave and skilful captain, he refrained from the Hadrian
unprofitable pursuit of military laurels, and chose rather to abandons
abandon the useless and expensive conquests of Trajan sorne of
than waste the resources of the empire in retaining them. Trajan s
The Euphrates and the Danube became again, and long con<luests'
continued to be, the frontiers of his ample dominions.
HOMAN HISTORY.
343
His energy
and pru¬
dence.
Political While he retained the swords of the legionaries in their
History, scabbards, he did not shrink from passing a large portion of
his time, as an imperator should do, among them ; and
whether in the camp or in the field, he set a noble example
of abstinence and simplicity. He marched at the head of
his troops generally on foot, never in a litter, from one end
of the empire to the other ; his fare was as rude as that of
the meanest soldier ; he wore no covering to his head, but
he endured without a murmur the oppressive weight of his
arms and corslet. But the merits of Hadrian as a com¬
mander were far outshone by those he manifested in the
conduct of civil affairs. He visited every province in suc¬
cession, exercising a vigilant control over the local adminis¬
tration, securing to his people the due execution of justice,
alleviating their fiscal burdens, adorning their cities with
sumptuous edifices, labouring night and day, with the
assistance of the ablest counsellors, for the happiness and
prosperity of his subjects. Hadrian was the first to under¬
take the great work of codifying the Roman law, a work
which Caesar had proposed, but which none of his succes¬
sors had ventured to lay their hands to. This object,
indeed, was not destined to be accomplished by any single
emperor; but Hadrian deserves the full credit of showing
it was practicable by commencing it. In the attitude he
assumed towards the religious creeds of his subjects, he
proved himself an intelligent statesman. In the absence of
any definite views of his own, he displayed an enlightened
tolerance of those of others, and relaxed the harsh re¬
strictions which the empire still placed, in the spirit of
antiquity, on many foreign superstitions. Unfortunately
tion of the his liberality deserted him, like so many other philosophers
Christians of heathendom, in the presence of Christianity alone.
Against the true believers he did not scruple to exercise
the rigour of old Roman prejudice. He still confounded
them apparently with the Jews, from whom they could not
yet be at first sight easily distinguished; and the Jews had
alarmed and irritated him by a furious revolt, which, com¬
mencing under Trajan, continued to rage far into the reign
of his successor, and to demand for its suppression all the
energy and unscrupulous cruelty of the ruling people.
On the ruins of Jerusalem Hadrian planted the colony of
JElia Capitolina, called TSlia after himself as the founder,
and Capitolina after Jupiter of the Roman Capitol, whose
shrine he reared on the spot once honoured by the temple
of Jehovah. The Jews were now at last finally subdued,
and they never made head again against the power ap¬
pointed to overthrow them.
The state-religion of the empire was honoured by
several monuments of Hadrian’s munificence. The temple
of Rome and Venus which he erected, the remains of
which are still visible between the Forum and the Colosseum,
was the largest of all the buildings devoted to the worship
of the gods in the city; while that of Jupiter Olympius,
which he completed at Athens, the work of a series of
governments and princes, was reputed the most magnificent
of all earthly shrines, and alone worthy of the mighty
being to whom it was dedicated. But while the emperor
paid this external homage to the religious sentiment of his
people, he did not scruple to outrage it by exalting to divine
honours a minion of his own, the beautiful Antinous, who
was drowned accidentally in the Nile. Both the compliment
and the outrage, however, were regarded probably with
equal indifference by the great majority of his subjects,
whose notions of the supernatural world were limited for
the most part to a belief in omens and incantations, while
the outward forms of religion served them merely as a
Persecu-
and con¬
quest of
the Jews.
Hadrian's
buildings.
pretext for the cultivation of art and taste. Hadrian has Political
left another monument to himself deserving of notice in History,
our own island. Consistently with his uniform policy of v"—
withdrawing the presidiary garrisons of the frontier from the
least tenable outposts, he abandoned the forts of Agricola be¬
tween the Forth and Clyde, and drew a line of military sta¬
tions, connected with a fosse and rampart of earth, from the
Tyne to the Solway : this became now the boundary of the
province of Britain.1 It is probable that he also completed
the rampart of Trajan between the Rhine and Danube,
which is sometimes called after him the Limes Hadriani.
With such claims to respect in his public character, it Defects of
must be confessed that Hadrian showed much personal Hadrian’s
weakness. It is probable that no man, in that age 0f character-
moral decline, could cultivate every intellectual faculty
to the utmost without betraying some pitiable vanity and
overweening self-confidence. Not in the arts of govern¬
ment only, but in letters, in science, in taste, he would
allow of no superior. He put to silence the grammarian
Favorimis, who found it prudent, as he said, to desist from
arguing “ with the master of thirty legions.” It is asserted
that he put to death the architect Apollodorus, through
jealousy of his professional accomplishments. In his latter
years he became more than ever impatient of contradiction,
and the fretfulness of his temper, which degenerated at
last into gloominess and cruelty, was aggravated by painful
infirmities. Towards the end of his reign he adopted L.
Verus, with no other merit than that of being the hand¬
somest of the Roman nobles ; but this intended successor
fortunately died before him, and on his death-bed he made
the more auspicious choice of T. Aurelius Antoninus, a
man of the highest promise, which promise he amply ful¬
filled. Hadrian died, worn out by bodily sufferings, in the Death of
year 891 (a.d. 138), at the age of sixty-three, after a reign Hadrian,
of twenty-one years, having unfortunately lived long A-D-138>
enough to cloud with indelible stains the career of the
wisest of the Roman emperors.
SECT. XLIX.—REIGNS OF ANTONINUS PIUS AND M. AURELIUS
(a.d. 138-180).
Before his death Hadrian had raised the mausoleum in Antoninus
which he wished his ashes to repose; and the remains of Pius,
this immense work still existing constitute one of the most
striking monuments of antiquity at Rome. But his repu¬
tation he was obliged to leave in the hands of jealous
survivors, and the Senate would have vented its spite on
his memory by refusing him the honours of an apotheosis,
had not his successor interfered, and exerted all his influence
to gain him the coveted distinction. Antoninus earned, it
is said, the title of “ Pius” by the affection he thus displayed
towards his adoptive father. The character of this prince
was truly amiable ; and the strict though generous discipline
of his immediate predecessors had fortunately so calmed
the temper of the Roman people, and suppressed all
irregular ambitions, that the heir of their power was
enabled to carry on the government on the principles of
magnanimous moderation which naturally belonged to him.
During the three-and-twenty years of Antoninus’s reign
we read of no intestine dissensions; nor was even the
peace of the frontiers disturbed by foreign aggressions.
Hadrian is accused of being the first to sanction the fatal
policy of bribing the barbarians. Flow far he is justly
amenable to the charge we do not positively know. He cer¬
tainly did not adopt any such plan generally, and excep¬
tional occasions there may have been on which it was not
1 Some modern writers affirm that not the rampart only, but the wall which runs mostly parallel to it a few paces to the north, was
the work of this emperor. The wall has more commonly been ascribed to Severus. The Roman authorities are vacillating and incon¬
sistent. Hildas and Bede ascribe the wall to the latest period of Roman dominion in Britain. Amidst this uncertainty, it may be suffi¬
cient to remark that the rampart, running along the southern slope of the hills, must have been constructed for shelter rather than
for defence; the wall, which follows the summit of the ridge, indicates a time when defence was paramount to every other consideration.
344
KOMAN HISTORY.
Political
History.
Death of
Antoninus
Pius,
a.d. 161.
M. Aure¬
lius, “the
philoso¬
pher.”
Verus as¬
sociated in
the empire.
Victories
in the
East.
unwise to employ it. However this may be, we find that
the peace of the empire was now substantially secured for
more than a quarter of a century. Antoninus, indeed, saw
reason to depart from Hadrian’s cautious policy in Britain,
where his lieutenant, Lollius Urbicus, advanced again to
the boundary-line of Agricoia. He departed from it also
in another particular, in which we may take a greater
interest, by repressing the persecutions which had so long
raged against the Christians. On the whole, however,
there is no period of equal length in the Roman annals of
which we know so few particulars as this. This is owing
partly, no doubt, to the uneventful character of the times,
and partly also to the tameness of the Roman people
themselves, who seem to have produced no men of pro¬
minence in public life during this reign. Even in arts and
literature the spirit of Rome seems to have been quiescent;
but Greece witnessed a great revival in letters, and was dis¬
tinguished by a flourishing school, if not of original genius,
at least of correct and elegant imitation. But the single
history of the times which survives is peculiarly meagre,
and wTe must regret the transient glimpse which is allowed
us of a reign so full of social if not of political interest.
Antoninus Pius evinced his regard for his predecessor
by honourably fulfilling the obligation imposed upon him
of adopting M. Aurelius, the son of Annius Verus, and his
own nephew. For this youth, even in his tender years,
Hadrian had shown a great predilection, being struck by
his noble character as well as his excellent abilities. He
used to call him, not Veras, but Verissimus; and on the
death of his associate AUius Verus, he was only prevented
by his extreme youth from nominating him at once as his
successor. Aurelius was carefully educated under his
uncle, whose daughter Faustina he received in due time in
marriage. Acquiring after his adoption his father’s name
Antoninus, he became distinguished from him in common
speech by the further title of “the Philosopher.” He de¬
voted himself to the study of the Greek writers on morals,
and professed himself a strict disciple of the Stoic school.
The memoir he has left, consisting of reflections on his
own life and conduct, is considered one of the most inter¬
esting relics of antiquity. It presents us at least with a
picture drawn from life of a man in high station, and full of
public cares, striving ingenuously to square all his actions
to the rules of the truest wisdom of the ancients. Austere
and pure as the Stoic principles were, they were not, it
seems, too high-flown to be practically fulfilled by a man
of strong resolution, lofty feeling, and thoroughly in earnest.
The noble Roman, imbued with the Grecian philosophy,
formed the fairest combination of moral excellences of
which heathen antiquity was capable. Aurelius succeeded
Antoninus in the year 914 (a.d. 161), and following again
the arrangement prescribed so long before by Hadrian, asso¬
ciated with himself Lucius Verus, a son of Hadrian’s favour¬
ite. This man was indeed of a very different character
from himself; but while Aurelius, whose health was not
strong, inclined to a quiet career of business and study at
home, he might expect to find in his colleague, who was a
man of great vigour of body, without any tincture of let¬
ters, an able assistant in the affairs of the camp. Imme¬
diately on the death of Antoninus the Parthians threatened
the empire with war, and Verus was dispatched to take the
field against them. But neither did Aurelius contemplate a
life of tranquil retirement. The Chatti, a German people
on the Mayn, were assuming an attitude of defiance ; and an
insurrection was at the same time apprehended in Britain.
The defence of the West was undertaken by the Philosopher
in person.
While the vigilance of Aurelius kept the Germans and
Britons in check, the lieutenants of Verus, rather than Ve¬
rus himself, who indulged without stint or shame in the
licentious voluptuousness of his Syrian head-quarters, in¬
flicted a severe defeat on the arrogant Parthians. The sue- Political
cesses of the eastern war were celebrated by the two em- History,
perors in a splendid triumph, and commemorated in the
sounding titles they appended to their names. But in the
midst of these rejoicings a double calamity was impending
over the empire : a combination of hostile tribes along the
northern bank of the Danube, known by the terrible names
of the Marcomanni, the Quadi, the Alani, and the Sarmatae,
was preparing to pour over the frontier and overwhelm the
Pannonian and Illyrian provinces; at the same time the
seeds of a fatal pestilence had been imported by the soldiers Great
of Verus from the East, and become disseminated among the plague and
mass of the population almost throughout the Roman domi- other dis-
nions. The alarm and distress of the people were aggravated asters,
by the inclemency of the seasons. The city was visited by
one of the fearful inundations, periodically recurring, against
which no adequate precautions had been taken through
so many centuries, which swept away the magazines of
corn by the river’s side, and cut off the supplies of the tur¬
bulent multitude. The two emperors went forth together
to combat the enemy on the frontier, and returned after a
temporary success. Again they were summoned to the
rescue, and this time Verus died on his march. The pre¬
valence of the plague rendered recruiting slow and diffi¬
cult ; and Aurelius, determined to spare no effort in the de¬
fence of his country, did not scruple to enrol slaves and
gladiators in his legion, a resource which had never been
adopted but in the greatest extremity. At the same time
he made what was to him a much less sacrifice, by selling
the vast stores of jewels and furniture amassed by a suc¬
cession of princes in the imperial palaces. The victory of
Aurelius over the Quadi, in 927 (a.d. 174), is rendered me¬
morable by the claim advanced by the Christians to a mi¬
raculous interposition. The affairs of the Romans were
retrieved, it seems, by the occurrence of a seasonable storm ;
a fact which is commemorated on the column erected by
the emperor in Rome. Some fathers of the church main¬
tained, at a later period, that the rain was sent in answer
to the prayers of a legion of Christian soldiers, to which the The “Thun
name of Fulminatrix (“ the thundering”) was in conse-dering Le-
quence given. They added that Aurelius suspended the gion.”
persecution of the believers in consequence of this mani¬
fest sign of the Divine favour towards them. It has been
proved, however, that the name of Fulminatrix was of
earlier origin ; and modern Christian divines will not allow
that there was any suspension of persecution during the
reign of the philosophic emperor. The story, we must sup¬
pose, was embellished, perhaps unconsciously, by the fervid
imagination of Tertullian.
But before he had broken the power of the Danubian Intrigues
tribes, Aurelius was called away to confront a more press- of Faus-
ing danger in the East. The Empress Faustina, the daugh- *1e°^’ltanfd
ter of the good Antoninus, inherited, it seems, none of her ^.°dj
father’s virtues. The dissoluteness of her conduct is said Qa8sius.
to have been notorious at Rome, and her husband, who
loved her tenderly, was alone blinded to it. A crime of
still deeper dye is imputed to her by the historians. Appre¬
hensive of the risks the emperor ran from the infirmity of
his health, as well as from the chances of distant warfare, and
trembling for the succession, in case of his sudden death,
of her young son Commodus, she intrigued, we are assured,
with Avidius Cassius, the commander in Syria, offering him
her hand in the event of her husband’s demise; an offer
which might be considered equivalent to an invitation to
accelerate it. While Cassius was deliberating on this pro¬
posal, a false rumour of the emperor’s death actually reached
him. He immediately started up as a candidate for the
empire, and his soldiers were not indisposed to lead him in
triumph to Rome. Aurelius, on his part, prepared to meet
him in the East; but when the conflict was on the eve of
commencing, the usurper was assassinated by one of his
Political
History.
Attacks of
the bar¬
barians.
Death of
M. Aure¬
lius,
a.d. 180.
Commodus,
the un¬
worthy son
of M. Aure¬
lius.
HOMAN HISTOKY.
345
own officers. The conduct of Aurelius, while the event
was still uncertain, seems to have been truly noble. He
declared that he only wished to have an opportunity of par¬
doning his inconsiderate rival; and it is much to be lamented
that the history of Rome should have been deprived of so
rare an instance of imperial clemency.
Aurelius set the affairs of the East in order, still retain¬
ing his generous confidence in the guilty Faustina, who
accompanied him on his progress, but who died by her
own hand, as some affirmed, in the course of it. He visited
Egypt and Athens, and celebrated a triumph at Rome in
the year 929. After six months’ respite, he was dragged
away again to the Danube, where he continued to conduct
operations against the restless barbarians for two more
years. His self-devotion was crowned with repeated suc¬
cesses, but he was still unable to make a decisive impres¬
sion on the wide-spread combination of Germans and Sar-
matians. Vexed by the cruel destiny which retained him
so long in the camp, but lamenting still more deeply the
manifest weakness of the empire, which his arm only could
uphold, he sank at last, from fatigue and chagrin, in the year
933 (a.d. 180), the fifty-ninth of his age, and the twentieth
of his reign. His career, though calamitous, had been
glorious. He had attained the fame which he never coveted,
of a warrior ; but he has earned still greater fame, and such
as he would doubtless have more dearly prized, as a patriot
and a philosopher. He seems to have lived up to his profes¬
sions, and those professions the highest perhaps that a hea¬
then could make, more fully than any heathen and almost
any Christian moralist. No character, at least in ancient
history, deserves to be held in higher honour by the wise
and good of all ages. In his virtues, in his sufferings, in
his triumphs and his reverses, he ran very nearly the same
course as our English Alfred; but Alfred has been appre¬
ciated more and more by the advancing goodness and wis¬
dom of his countrymen, Aurelius, in the now rapid decline
of the empire, found no Roman imitators and few admirers.
SECT. L. REIGNS OF COMMODUS AND PERTINAX.
If the good and wise Aurelius betrayed some weakness
of character in suffering himself to be blinded to his wife’s
infidelities, he erred more seriously in allowing the succes¬
sion to his empire to devolve on a son so unworthy as
Commodus. This youth seems to have possessed none of
his father’s virtues, nor had the training in wisdom which
we must suppose his father to have given him produced
any fruit. Though eminently handsome in person and
skilful in his martial exercises, he was coarse and brutal in
manners, cruel and cowardly in disposition. Admirably as
the empire had been governed from the time of Nerva, and,
with the exception of Domitian’s reign, from the time of
Vespasian, a period of more than a hundred years, it now
became evident that the happiness of the Roman world de¬
pended on the general good qualities of the sovereign, and
not on the stability of the principles on which the adminis¬
tration was founded. Vespasian had restored the dignity
of the Senate, and the improvement he introduced in the
manners of the nobility had contributed to strengthen its
position in public opinion. Succeeding emperors, with one
base exception, had condescended to lean upon the autho¬
rity of this illustrious body, to consult it in the conduct of
affairs, to defer to it in cases of adoption or association in
their supreme power. The Senate, on the other hand, had
had the good sense and modesty to accept the part assigned
it without presuming further: it had responded to the em¬
peror’s appeals, but had refrained from dictation and per¬
haps even from suggestion. It is undoubtedly one of the
most remarkable incidents in history, that two co-ordinate
powers, so unequally matched in real force, should have con¬
tinued to maintain for so long a period the tacit understand-
YOL. XIX.
ing which secured the peace and happiness of mankind. Political
The machine had hitherto moved so easily that no one per- History,
haps at Rome was aware, at the moment of Aurelius’s death,
how precarious were the ties which actually held it to¬
gether. Aurelius himself was unable to anticipate the cer¬
tain disruption which must ensue from the collision of a rude
and selfish prince with a proud but impotent nobility.
The detestation which the new emperor incurred may
throw some suspicion perhaps on the details transmitted to
us of his cruelties and other enormities, in which he is said
to have equalled the jealousy of Domitian, the caprice of
Nero, and the extravagance of Caius. But with these
loathsome particulars we need not much concern ourselves.
The peace which, immediately on his father’s death, he
made with the Marcomanni was undoubtedly premature ;
it is not necessary to inquire whether, as asserted, it was
purchased with money. After his departure for Rome the
frontiers were more than once assailed by the barbarians,
but successfully defended by the captains trained under
the brave Aurelius. Commodus commenced at once a
career of profusion and dissipation, showing too plainly the
weakness of character which an untoward accident soon
exasperated into fury. The jealousy of a sister tovvards his
wife seems to have been the cause of the first conspiracy
against him, which only failed from the hasty exclamation
oi' the assassin, “ The Senate sends you this 1” Commodus
had time to parry the blow. His life was saved, the con¬
spirators punished; but his suspicions had been awakened,
and from this time he could never rest while he saw before
him the wise and able men whom his father had introduced
into the highest places of the state. All his moments were
now divided between extravagant amusements on the one
hand, and sanguinary precautions for his own safety on the
other. His sensuality was as brutal as that of the worst of
his predecessors; his prodigality in shows and entertain¬
ments as excessive: he exhibited his skill in shooting the
beasts in the circus; but the Roman spirit, even in this
stage of its decline, was outraged by his assuming the name
ami attributes of Hercules, and requiring (the first of the
Roman emperors) that divine honours should be paid him
while still living. He commanded that not one only, as
Julius, Augustus, and others, but all the twelve months
should be named after his own titles, and that the city and
empire itself should be designated, not as Roman, but Com-
modian. All power he threw into the hands of a favourite
named Perennis; but this man was eventually murdered
by the praetorians. Disgusted and incensed as the se¬
nators were at the outrages of all kinds committed by this
abominable tyrant, they were utterly incapable of concert¬
ing any plan for overthrowing him. They neither raised the
people against him, nor won over his guards, nor invited
the commanders of the legions to draw the sword in their
behalf; they had not even confidence enough in one
another to plot his assassination. He fell at last, after a nf.
career of twelve years, by an intrigue of the palace. The c^,mo°du3
contriver of his death was his own concubine Marcia, who A ^ 945,
discovered, it was said, her own name on the list of the A.D. 192.
victims he was about to massacre.
The Senate, it seems, was not privy to the murder, and
had made no preparations to profit by it. Laetus, the pre¬
fect of the guards, and Eclectus, chamberlain of the palace,
agreed to present Publius Helvius Pertinax, an officer of pertinax
obscure family, but of distinguished ability, to the praeto¬
rians, and by the promise of a liberal donative their sup¬
port was purchased. The Senate, to whom Pertinax next
exhibited himself, accepted the nomination with joy, and
declared that he was the emperor of their own choice.
Probably the empire could have furnished no worthier suc¬
cessor to Trajan than this brave and virtuous veteran, and
the nobles of Rome might be proud of the respect and de¬
ference he manifested towards them. It seemed as if, after
2 x
346
Political
History
ROMAN HISTORY.
Murdered
by the
praetorians
The so-
called
“ happiest
period of
the human
Didius Ju-
lianus.
a momentary eclipse, the principles of government conse¬
crated by so many virtuous rulers, from Vespasian to Aure¬
lius, were about to shine out again. But it was too late.
The interregnum of Commodus had lasted too lono-. The
interval of licentiousness in the court had corrupted the
discipline of the camp. The praetorians, thoroughly de¬
bauched by the indulgence of the late tyrant, disdained the
restrictions placed upon them by their new master. An
attempt at reform and repression resulted in a military
insurrection, in which Pertinax lost his life, after a brief
' reign of only three months. Though the real power of the
Senate had long passed away, it had still retained up to this
fatal epoch a shadow of authority, and we have seen how
throughout the Flavian and Antonine period all the good
emperors, all, that is, but two of the series, had lent their
countenance to its pretensions. Though ruling by the
sword themselves, they had kept the sword carefully under
the gown, or suspended it from the palace wall. This mo¬
deration had been well rewarded. he good emperors of
Rome had reigned long and prosperously. The honours
they had bestowed on the Senate had been repaid them by
the Senate, the people, and, so at least the Romans might
believe, by the gods of Rome also. This period has often
been distinguished with the title of “ the happiest era of the
human lace. It is difficult indeed to point to any period,
at least of ancient history, in which so large a portion of
mankind enjoyed peace so nearly unbroken, wealth so
widely diffused, laws so generally equitable, manners so
polished, the appliances of art and science so numerous
and so accessible. Yet we cannot commit ourselves to so
bold a panegyric on an age in which morality was so
lax, religion so effete, public spirit so nearly extinct. Even
amidst unclouded material prosperitv such deficiencies as
these must have left a canker in millions of hearts, and poi¬
soned, though unseen, the actual enjoyment of life. Indi¬
cations, however, are not wanting that even the material
prosperity of the Romans was undergoing through this
period a slow but steady decline. Population was sta¬
tionary or decreasing; production was suffering with the
decay of industry and the vital forces of the state. When
a nation has arrived at this turning-point in its career an
external shock from war or pestilence may give it a blow
fiom which it cannot recover. At a healthier and stronger
period the onslaughts of the barbarians on the frontiers, and
the ravages of the plague within, would have been cheer¬
fully encountered and rapidly repaired. But stricken as
she was at heart, Rome could now recover from neither.
The barbarians ever continued to prey on her vitals
through the remainder of her feeble career, and the great
plague of Aurelius swept away resources which she had no
longer strength to replace.
SECT.LI.—REIGNS OF JULIANUS AND SEVERUS(a.D. 193-211).
From this epoch all the interest of Roman history, as the
recoid of a political organization, must cease. We enter
upon a period of an hundred years, during which the
government remains an undisguised military usurpation,
extorted and retained by the drawn sword. On the death
of Pertinax the Senate lost all hope. The men of the
gown cowered in silent despair; while the praetorians pro¬
claimed aloud that they would offer the empire to the men
o t eir c toice, and allowed, it is said, more than one
competitor to bid for their suffrages with largesses. Didius
Julian us, a wealthy but incapable senator, promised most,
an was accor ingly accepted. He commenced his reign
at Rome with the acquiescence of the civil power, but
under the protection of the guards; but the legions were
not content with leaving such lucrative patronage in the
hands of a few favoured cohorts, and as soon as the acces¬
sion of their nominee was known in the camps abroad, the
army of Illyncum proclaimed their own general, Septimius Political
beyerus; that of Syria, Percennius Niger; and that of History.
Butain, Clodius Albinus. Of these, Severus was the nearest
to Rome, and he was perhaps the most active and energetic
or all the competitors. He marched without delay upon the
capital, and the Senate hastened to anticipate his reprisals
by decreeing the death of Julianus. The puppet of the n -
praetorians was deserted by his mercenary patrons, and julianus
suffered without an attempt at defending himself. Severus
had conquered Rome, and this fact he made no affectation
of disguising. Supported by the armv, he disarmed and
broke up the praetorian cohorts; he punished also the
muiderers of Pertinax; but he did not pretend to rule by
any other means but force, and he immediately replaced
the old guards of the city with more numerous battalions of
legionaries. Having thus fortified his position in the city,
he prepared to encounter the rivals arming against him in
the provinces. It was easy to deceive the voluptuary Al¬
binus with overtures for a division of the empire; but
Nigei was a man of spirit and ability, and required to be
met boldly in the field. The shock of battle took place vw •
near the Gulf of Issus in Cilicia in the year a.d. 174, and 0f Severus
ended in the defeat of the Syrian pretender. Niger was over Nigpr
soon afterwards slain, and Severus exercised remorseless an(f Albi-
vengeance on his adherents. From thence he turned hisnus-
steps westward, first attempting to effect the death of Al¬
binus by assassination, but when that failed, leading his
victorious troops to encounter him in Gaul. Against a
man so vigorous and resolute the British commander had
no chance of success ; but the hopes of donatives and plun¬
der still animated his men, and they ventured to contend
with the forces of the emperor near Lyons. Albinus was
completely routed, and fell on his own sword. Severus
again followed up his victory with a bloody vengeance.
But though relieved from all his rivals, and secured against
the renewal of domestic hostilities, the conqueror was not
peimitted to rest for a moment. The overthrow of the
Syrian army had laid bare the frontier of the Euphrates,
and the Parthians invaded the undefended province. Se¬
verus hastened to confront the foreign foe with unabated
alacrity, and the exploits of his legions in the East, under
his able guidance, might be likened to those of Trajan, the
greatest commander of the empire.
I he reign of Severus was in fact a series of marches Severus in
bom one end of the empire to the other. His sojourns in Britain.
Rome were few and transient, but his conduct when there
was marked with the arrogance and harshness of a mere
soldier. Ihe nobles, whom he insulted and harassed,
hailed his departure with satisfaction. Old and infirm, he
determined at last to visit Britain in person, and complete
the subjection of the Caledonians, by whose inroads the
province was repeatedly afflicted. He recovered the ter¬
ritory south of the Clyde and Forth, and penetrated some
way into the Highlands. I he Roman stations, which may
still be traced as far north as the Moray Firth, are due
perhaps to the energy with which he pushed his successes.
But he was now suffering from gout; his constitution was 0f
bioken by excessive fatigues; and while his conquests were Severus,
yet uncompleted, he retired to Eboracum (York) to die. a.d. 211.
His last watchword, given on his death-bed, Laboremus
(“ we must be doing”), marks the character of this inde¬
fatigable warrior, whose whole idea of political government
was unceasing movement and action.
SECT. LII.—THE SUCCESSORS OF THE FAMILY OF SEVERUS
(a.d. 211-235).
Severus left his inheritance in partnership between his
sons Bassianus, vulgarly called “ Caracalla,” and Geta. The
elder proved him a monster of tyranny, of the coarse type
of Cams and Commodus; the younger hardly promised
Political
History.
Caracalla.
Extension
of citizen¬
ship
throughout
the empire.
Macrinus,
a.d. 217.
Elagaba-
lus,
A.D, 218.
ROMAN HISTORY.
347
better; but he was early cut off, being stabbed by bis own
brother in bis mother’s arms, before he had fully developed
his evil qualities. Of the other crimes of Caracalla, his
dissoluteness and ferocity, there is no occasion to say more ;
they will be too easily understood from the examples already
presented to us. Timid as well as ferocious, he too was
assassinated by Macrinus, the prefect of his own guards, after
a bloody reign of six years. The Roman world was already
weary of him. The vast edifice which he had constructed
for the pleasures of the people bore the title of Thermae An-
toninianae, for down to Caracalla the successors of the first
Antoninus had all assumed his venerated name in conjunc¬
tion with that of Augustus ; but this once-cherished appella¬
tion was now rendered odious to the Romans, and was hence¬
forth dropped from the imperial appellations. Yet, not¬
withstanding his personal excesses, the reign of Caracalla
deserves to be noticed as an epoch in Roman jurisprudence.
The administration of the wise and learned Papinian ex¬
tended over the latter years of Severus, and commencement
of the following reign, and was distinguished by the applica¬
tion of just principles of law and government. That great
jurist himself fell a victim to his young master’s jealousy;
but to him may probably be ascribed the grand and com¬
prehensive measure by which the boon of citizenship, the
cause of so many contests in earlier times, was finally ex¬
tended to the whole mass of the free population through¬
out the empire. It is true that this concession was no
longer regarded as a favour. It conferred no privilege or
exemption, as in days of yore; on the contrary, it brought
all the subjects of the emperor within the scope of the
direct tax on successions, which had been imposed by
Augustus on the citizens of Rome only. But the effect of
this great measure was to obliterate henceforth all distinc¬
tions of descent and race, and complete the fusion into a
single nation of a hundred millions of civilized men.1
The deed of blood had been accomplished on the borders
of Syria, where the emperor was engaged in leading an ex¬
pedition against the Parthians. Severus had enjoined his
son to pay court to the soldiers, and despise all other classes
of his subjects; and the army, which was attached to him,
would not have conferred his power on Macrinus had it
been aware that the assassination had been committed at
that chief’s instigation. Macrinus, however, as the ablest
of its officers, was now chosen for the command ; and the
distant Senate was informed, probably with no punctilious
phrases, th^t a new ruler had succeeded to the throne of
the Caesars. The Senate would have offered no resistance;
but in fact it had not time to resist. The news of the elec¬
tion could hardly have reached Rome when Macrinus him¬
self fell by a revolt of the province in favour of a cousin of
Caracalla, a Syrian by birth, Elagabalus, priest of the Sun
at Emesa, who bore himself the name of the divinity he
was appointed to serve. It was time that all the nations
of the empire should coalesce into one when their rulers
were thus repeatedly chosen from the provinces. Trajan
and Aurelius had been Spaniards, Antoninus a Gaul, Se¬
verus an African. But these men were great themselves,
and the nations to which they belonged deserved to be
respected by the Romans. Elagabalus was a miserable
stripling, without virtue or talent; and the Syrians, as a
people, were despised for their effeminacy and profligacy.
The claim of affinity with Severus was the sole recommenda¬
tion this unworthy creature possessed; but his grand- Political
mother Mcesa was a clever intriguer, and played on the History,
affections of the soldiery, who eagerly embraced his cause,
They quickly overthrew the upstart Macrinus, who per¬
ished wdth his son and associate Diadumenianus. Ma¬
crinus had already purchased peace from Parthia. The
soldiers carried their new emperor to Rome, where he
speedily immersed himself in the vilest and most disgusting
debauchery. The majesty of the purple, often as it had
been sullied by stains of every kind, was never perhaps so
utterly prostituted and degraded as by the nameless enor¬
mities of Elagabalus. For four years the praetorians en¬
dured him ; then even their patience was exhausted, and
they rose and slew him ignominiously.
The empire was now offered to another scion of the Alexander
stock which claimed connection with Severus. Mcesa, the Sevei^2
sister of that emperor’s consort, had had two daughters.
Socemias, the elder, was the mother of Elagabalus ; the
younger, Mammaea, had borne Alexander Severus, whose
character throws one bright though transient gleam over
this gloomy period. Under the prudent training of his
mother, this prince had unfolded both virtues and abilities ;
and he continued to profit on the throne by the lessons he
still permitted her to instil into him. With the aid of Ul-
pian and other illustrious jurists, he carried on the great
work of Roman legislation ; the sole but sufficient token
which enables us to augur that, amidst the depravity of its
rulers and the violence of its soldiers, the empire was still the
cherished home of private graces and tranquil enjoyments.
The rescripts of Alexander himself, and the digests of his
ministers, are more significant monuments of the civiliza¬
tion of the age than the baths, the columns, and the pa¬
laces which continued to be raised to the vanity of princes,
or for the gratification of the populace. The reign of this
gallant emperor was prosperous both in peace and war, but
be too was required to buckle on his armour for a contest
in the East. The revolution, indeed, by which the dynasty Revolution
of the Parthian Arsaces was overthrown, and the Sassanidae, in Parthia.
a native race, succeeded to power at Seleucia, was an au¬
gury of evil days to come. The great Eastern Empire,
henceforth no longer Parthian, but Persian once more, as
of old, sprang up in renewed vigour, and inflicted, under
succeeding rulers, many terrible blows on Rome.
The last of the Alexanders gained, however, a great vic¬
tory over the foes of his illustrious namesake, and returned
to celebrate a triumph in the Capitol. Scarcely had he
enjoyed the reward of his bravery, when he was summoned
to repel another attack of the Germans on the Rhine, and
the necessary enforcement of discipline caused a mutiny
among the enervated legions on that long peaceful fron¬
tier, in which he unfortunately lost his life. His reign had Death of
lasted thirteen years, and for that brief space his prudence Alexander,
and vigour had arrested the decline, now too clearly appa¬
rent, of the empire. It had now become abundantly mani¬
fest that it was by the soldiers alone that an emperor could
be made, and that the soldiers themselves could not long
endure the creatures of their own making. The long list
of military princes who now follow in rapid succession pre¬
sents us with one or two names only that command the
slightest respect; while the events of our history become
as uninteresting as the characters of the chief actors in
them. A rapid glance will suffice for the period of half a
1 By this number we intend to specify approximatively the whole population of the empire. Of course it will be understood that the
slaves, included properly in the total of the population, are excluded from citizenship. Of the numbers of this class it is impossible to
form any calculation. The guess of Gibbon and others, that the slaves were as numerous as the freemen throughout the empire, is
wholly gratuitous, and appears to us extremely wide of the mark. In the great cities, in Italy, and in some special districts, they were
undoubtedly numerous, though nowhere, we conceive, did they approach at all near to this proportion. But throughout the greater
part of the provinces they must have formed but a small section of the population. In this respect the condition of modern Turkey
presents perhaps the nearest analogy we can discover with the Roman empire in the third century ; and our statisticians have not gene¬
rally thought it worth while, in enumerating the elements of population in Turkey, to ‘ake any account of the slaves at all. Possibly
the slaves in Rome might be one-third, those in Italy one-fifth, those in the provinces generally one-tenth or even one-twentieth of the
whole numbers.
348
Political
History.
ROM AN HISTORY.
Maxim in
and the
three Gor-
dians,
a.d. 235-
244.
Philippus
the Ara- •
bian,
a.d. 244.
Secular
games,
A.D. 248.
Decius,
A D. 249.
century, from the death of Alexander in 235, to the acces¬
sion of Diocletian in 284.
j [j]< attempts of the senate to recover authority.
Such is the variety of names which now rapidly succeed
one another at the head of the Roman world, that it will be
‘well to divide the period on tyhich we now enter into two
parts, according to the leading features w'hich distinguish
it. The first comprises the attempts of the Senate to re¬
sume its sovereignty over the empire ; the second signalizes
the efforts of the generals, when these attempts have com¬
pletely failed, to secure the permanence of military supre¬
macy by restoring the discipline and subordination of the
soldiers. The elevation of the Thracian peasant caused
an unwonted shock to the susceptibilities of the Roman
nobles ; and if their disgust was enhanced by the report of
his severities and barbarous violence, they were encouraged
to make head against him by his continued absence from
Italy, which, during his short career of undisputed power,
he did not even deign to visit. It was not from the Senate,
however, or in Italy, that the movement against Maximin
arose. While he was occupied with military operations on
the northern frontiers, the chief inhabitants of Africa raised
an aged noble named Gordianus to the purple, in which
they associated with him his son, and invoked the Senate
of Rome to accept him as their leader against the emperor
of the army. The Senate acquiesced ; denounced "Maximin
as a usurper, and called on all the provinces to rise against
him. The summons was not ineffectual. Maximin found
himself deserted both by provinces and armies. But a
fresh insurrection in Africa cut off both his rivals : and when
he led his troops into Italy, and besieged Aquileia, he
found himself opposed, not by the Gordians, but by Maxi¬
mus and Balbinus, whom the Senate hastily elected in their
place. Maximin fell in a camp mutiny; Maximus and
Balbinus were slain soon afterwards in a military insurrec¬
tion ; but a third Gordian, a mere stripling, had been al¬
ready associated with them, out of respect for the great
virtues of the grandfather, and the soldiers suffered this
nominee of the Senate to retain possession of the purple.
The third Gordian was amiable, but probably weak in dis¬
position. The reins of power were held for him w ith a
strong hand by his prefect Misitheus; and the government
was conducted, while this man lived, with credit and suc¬
cess. The formidable attitude of the Persians called the
emperor to the Syrian frontier. Misitheus was-cut off by
the intrigues of Julius Philippus; and when this man suc¬
ceeded to the post of prefect, the emperor fell helplessly
into his power, and was soon sacrificed to his ambition.
Philip, who now seized the empire, was a native of Bostra.
He is generally called “ the Arab,” but it is not necessary
to suppose that he was of Arabian extraction. At all
events, he wg,s received without a murmur by the Senate,
•whose feelings were gratified, no doiibt, by the celebration
of the Secular games, which he instituted in 248, on the
thousandth anniversary, for so it was reckoned, of the foun¬
dations. The government of this emperor was mild and
prudent. Some Christian writers have claimed him for a
convert. If the evidence for the fact is slender, the argu¬
ments against it may be dismissed as nugatory; but the
Christians, it may be enough to remark, were disposed to
speak favourably of the victim of a man who was noto¬
rious as one of their fiercest persecutors. Philip fell in a
military insurrection, and was succeeded by Trajanus De¬
cius, an excellent officer, and a man of genuine Roman
descent. Thus recommended to both the soldiers and the
Senate, he confirmed the predilection of the first by the
bravery with, which he made head against the attacks, now
renewed year by year, of the Goths and Sarmatians in the
north ; and of the latter, by the sweeping attack he made
Political
History,
Persecu¬
tion of the
Christians.
against the long-hated sect of the Christians, of whom we
have for some time lost sight in our history.
The Christians, harmless as they were both socially and
politically, had been objects of popular hatred from the time
when they were first confounded in the common apprehension
with the turbulent and rebellious Jews. They had fallen
under the suspicions of emperors and prefects, and had often
been required to make proof of their loyalty by performing
acts of heathen sacrifice, or swearing by the imperial name ;
and the firmness with which, on such occasions, they had
maintained their religious principles had consigned them too
often to tortures and death. More than once the anger and
alarm of the civil authorities had prompted still further in¬
quisition into the tenets of the new sect, and from single
and occasional cases of violence the persecution had ex¬
tended to congregations and communities. It is probable,
however, that the persecution was first general under De¬
cius ; and we may believe that to the vigorous and syste¬
matic effort this emperor made for the suppression of the
true faith he was prompted not only by his wish to con¬
ciliate the nobles at Rome, but by a long-growing per¬
suasion that the evils which afflicted the empire might be
traced to the alleged impiety of these reputed fanatics.
The recent celebration of the secular games had given a
stimulus to Roman superstition; and this now wreaked
itself, without stint or scruple, on the unresisting victims,
whose marked indisposition to enroll themselves in the
military service of the state rendered them doubly ob¬
jects of suspicion in the general panic which prevailed
throughout the empire. For this panic, indeed, there were
sufficient grounds, both within and without. 1 he northern
nations, then known under the names of the Quadi and
Marcomanni, had been controlled by M. Aurelius, and
had remained generally quiescent during the seventy years
which had followed; but now the Franks, the Goths, and
the Alemanni were pouring in ever-increasing numbers
across the Rhine and Danube : the inundation, long pent-
up, had gathered force and volume, and threatened to over¬
flow the whole empire. The resources of the government,
first shaken by the long-protracted pestilence of the An-
tonine period, had never been restored. The population
and wealth of Italy and the provinces continued gradually
to decline; but if these distant symptoms of decay were
yet hardly visible except to statesmen, the plagues which
swejlt the great cities of the empire in succession, between
the years 250 and 265, alarmed men of every cl^ss with the
prospect of its impending dissolution.
SECT. LIV. THE EMPERORS OF THE CAMPS (A.D. 251-284).
There was' no hope for Rome in the favour of its gods
nor in the virtues of its people; but there was still hope in
the personal bravery of its captains; and from this time we
find, with only one or two interruptions, a remarkable suc¬
cession of able chiefs at the head of its affairs. Decius fell
in battle against the Goths. The legions, satisfied with the
late appointments, left the choice of his successor to the
Senate, and Gallus purchased a respite from attack by the Gallus,
payment of tribute to the barbarians. I his disgrace was a.d. 251.
soon wiped out in his blood. Valerian, a favourite officer ya]er;an
of Decius, reigned in his stead. The franks and Ale-an(j
manni were checked in the West; but in the East the enus,
Goths made an irruption into Greece and Asia Minor, a.d. 253.
crossing the Black Sea, and traversing the Hellespont, and
were stopped rather by the effects of luxury and climate
than by the sword of a defender. When these swarms
were cleared away from the fertile lands they had deso¬
lated, Valerian had a harder task to perform in hurling back
the IVsians from Syria. Defeated and taken by Sapor, he
was conaemned to chains and menial offices, while his son
Gallienus, a dissolute youth, refused to arm for his recovery.
Great in¬
vasion of
barbarians.
Repeated
pestilences.
Political
History.
Odenathus
and Zeno-
bia.
The “thir¬
ty tyrants.”
Claudius,
a.d. 268.
Aurelian,
a, D. 270.
The Ale-
manni in¬
vade Italy
a.d. 271.
Tacitus,
a.d. 275.
Probus,
a.d. 276.
KOMAN HISTORY.
349
The advance of the Persians was checked, not by the em¬
peror and the legions of Rome, but by the brave Odena¬
thus, and the still braver Zenobia his wife, the rulers of the
tributary kingdom of Palmyra. Elated by his success, and
vain of the splendour of his capital in the desert, Odena¬
thus was not content with aspiring to independence, but
claimed, it is said, to be associated with Gallienus in the
government of the empire. But pretenders to the purple
sprung up now in various quarters. The attacks of the bar¬
barians called forth the legions On every frontier into the
field, and whenever a victory was gained, or an imposing
front assumed by the defenders of the state, there a new
emperor was proclaimed, and the submission of the Senate
and people demanded. To this host of competitors, most of
whom fell quickly by one another’s hands, the name of the
“ thirty tyrants” was popularly given. Their teal number
was little less than twenty. One of the most successful of
them, Aureolus, penetrated into Italy, and Gallienus fell in
a tardy attempt to assert his power and dignity against him;
But the usurper was shut up in Milan, and the death of
Gallienus served only to raise up a stronger antagonist in
the person of M. Aurelius Claudius, whom the Italian forces
appointed their commander. Claudius was a man of high
military virtue. He destroyed Aureolus, overcame the
Germans, and totally routed the Goths in the great battle
of Nissa, from which he derived the title of “ Gothicus.
But this brave chief was speedily cut off by sickness on his
route to the East. Claudius breathed his last at Sir-
mium on the Danube, and it was at Sirmium that Aurelian,
his illustrious successor, had been born. I his man, the son
of an Illyrian peasant, was one of the greatest, as he was
almost the last, of the heroes, of the Roman legions. He
was intelligent as well as brave ; and after defeating a fresh
attack of the Goths, he recognised the policy of withdraw¬
ing the outposts of the empire from beyond the Danube,
and finally renounced the conquests of Irajan in Dacia,
which seem to have been re-occupied after the time of
Hadrian. A still more urgent necessity compelled him to
admit into his pay large bodies of these formidable ene¬
mies, which, for a time at least, added fresh vigour to the
Roman arms. Aurelian led his forces against the Queen of
Palmyra, Odenathus being now dead. I hough gallantly
resisted, he overcame his presumptuous rival, and exhibited
Zenobia in his triumph at Rome. He continued to rule
with vigour and discretion ; but the barbaric inundation
’ was still swelling on the frontiers, and at last a body of
Alemanni burst into Italy, and advanced for a moment
within the confines of Umbria. 'At this crisis the safety of
the city itself seemed in question. Aurelian condescended
to secure it by tracing the ample lines of fortification which
now for the first time encompassed the capital of Augustus
and Trajan. But the legions, under a chief like Aurelian, ’
formed still a stronger rampart than brick or stone. The
Alemanni were speedily repulsed. Aurelian was sum¬
moned soon afterwards into the East ; but while leading an
expedition against the Persians he was assassinated in his
tent, at the instigation of his secretary Mnestheus. The
soldiers lamented his loss, and avenged it with the blood of
the assassins. They paid a higher tribute of respect to his
memory by awaiting six months the election of his suc¬
cessor by the Senate. When that body placed the vic¬
torious but aged Tacitus at their head, they cheerfully ac¬
quiesced in the well-meant but imprudent choice. Tacitus
led his troops manfully against the Scythian Alani. lie
was victorious in battle; but the fatigues of the campaign
were too much for his enfeebled powers, and he died of
exhaustion in the course of a few months.
The army now chose their own leader, and they also
chose well. Aurelius Probus was accepted by the Senate,
and Florianus, the brother of Tacitus, who had assumed the
purple, without authority either from the one power or the
other, relinquished the contest he had provoked by a volun- Political
tary death. Probus, like Aurelian, was a native of Sirmium, vHlst°ry‘y
and he proved himself.worthy of military rule,—the only rule
now possible,—by his skill, his bravery, and his hardy vir¬
tues. During a short but active reign of six years he de¬
feated the Germans on the Rhine and Danube, and con¬
structed, or rather repaired, the rampart which connected
those rivers. He overthrew the Goths; and, passing from .
the West to the East, led life forces against the Persians.
From this enemy he extorted an honourable peace, and then,
having put down some competitors for power, employed his
legions in draining marshes and planting vineyards. But
the discipline he enforced, and the wholesome labours he
required, alike disgusted his licentious warriors; and Probus,
who never quitted the camp, lost his life in a mutiny.
The head-quarters of the deceased monarch were again
the spot on which his successor was to be elected. The
choice of the soldiers fell once more on a rude but valiaut
soldier named Carus, and the Senate once more ratified itCaru®’
without a murmur. These warrior-princes paid no atten-A,D-~ •
tion to Rome, and the nobles’ of the city had discovered
that if they lost in dignity, they were gainers by their ab¬
sence in ease and security. The movements of the army,
wholly recruited and supplied from the frontier provinces,
were regarded with little interest by the voluptuaries of the
capital. These unworthy Romans were content to leave
the task of defending the empire to men who claimed from
them only a few empty titles in token of their submission.
Cams, associating with himself his sons Carinus and Nu-
merianus, gained some fresh victories over the Goths.
Leaving Carinus in the West, he again confronted and
overthrew the Persians. He advanced as far as Ctesiphon
on the Tigris, where his career was suddenly arrested.by a
stroke of lightning, according to the popular account, but
more probably by some secret conspiracy. The sons of
Carus were unable to retain the diadem of their father:
Numerianus was slain by his prefect Aper, though his death
was speedily avenged by Diocletian. The soldiers in j)jociet;an
East immediately proclaimed this man their emperor, re- A Di 284
gardless of the claims of Carinus, which were supported by
the armies in the West. The contending powers met on
the plains of Mcesia. Diocletian was worsted in battle ; but
in the moment of his success Carinus was slain by an officer
whose wife he had dishonoured; and thus suddenly deprived
of a leader, the victorious legions united with the vanquished
in acknowledging the surviving candidate.
SECT. LY. THE EMPIRE RE-CONSTITUTED BY DIOCLETIAN
(a.d. 284-305).
The accession of Diocletian to power marks the last great
epoch in the history of the Roman empire. Hitherto, how- tian-
ever intrinsically weak, the Senate had found opportunities
for putting forth its claims to authority ; if-it was but rarely
allowed to exercise its cherished prerogative 'of election to
the throne, it was still regarded as the legitimate centre of
administration, the fountain of law and social order. There
was at least no constituted authority to oppose it. The
chosen of the legions had been for some time past the com¬
mander of an army rather than the sovereign of the state.
He had seldom quitted the camp, rarely or never presented
himself in the capital; content with the provision for his
own pride and power extorted from the provinces in which
he quartered himself, he had allowed the ordinary march of
government to proceed in its usual routine; the social fabric
continued to be upheld in Italy and throughout the pro¬
vinces bv the force impressed upon them by the Antonines.
But this was the torpor of decrepitude, not the tranquillity
of contentm'ent. The provinces lay at the mercy of the
armies of the frontier ; and the empire might split asunder
at any moment into as many kingdoms as there were armies,
250
ROMAN HISTORY.
Political unless the chiefs of tlie legions felt themselves controlled by
History, the strength or genius of one more eminent than the rest.
We have noticed many local revolts, and no doubt many
more of the kind were constantly occurring. Gaul, Britain,
Africa, or Egypt were more than once the prey of soldiers
who aspired to become independent sovereigns; the chief
of the strongest camp and largest army, who called himself
the emperor, found prompter aid in the daggers of assassins
than in the swords of his own legionaries: his opponents
were generally struck down by their own unruly followers;
and it was by fortune rather than by any controlling prin¬
ciple of cohesion that the frame of the empire was still held
together. The danger of disruption was becoming from
year to year more imminent, when Diocletian arose to re¬
establish the organic connection of the parts, and breathe
a new life into the heart of the empire.
A jealous edict of Gallienus had forbidden the senators
to take service in the army or to quit the limits of Italy.
Ike degradation of that once illustrious order, which was
thus made incapable of furnishing a candidate for the em¬
pire, was completed by the indolent acquiescence of its
members in this disqualifying ordinance. The nobles of
Rome relinquished all interest in affairs which they could
no longer aspire to conduct. The emperors, on their part,
ceased to regard them as a substantive power in the em¬
pire ; and in constructing the new imperial constitution Dio¬
cletian wholly overlooked their existence. Nevertheless it
would seem that he was still haunted by the undying tra¬
dition of the majesty of Rome itself, and it seemed more
fitting to abstain from visiting the city than to take up his
residence there without paying due respect to the Senate,
which was still enthroned on its seven hills. While he dis¬
regarded the possibility of opposition at Rome, he contrived
a new check upon the rivalry of his distant lieutenants, by
associating three other chiefs with himself, welded together
by strict alliances into one imperial family, each of whom
should take up his residence in a different quarter of the
empire, and combine with all the rest in maintaining
The Au- t!leir common interest. His first step was to choose a
gusti-Dio- single colleague in the person of a brave soldier of obscure
cletian and origin, an Illyrian peasant like himself, by name Maximian,
a n> w^orn invested with the title of Augustus, in the year
286. The associated rulers assumed at the same time the
epithets of Jovius and Herculius; auspicious names, which
made them perhaps popular in the camp. Maximian was
deputed to control the legions in Gaul, and to make head
against the revolt of Carausius in Britain, while Diocletian
opposed the enemies or pretenders who were now rising up
in various quarters in the East. His dangers multiplied, and
again the powers of the empire were subdivided to meet
The Caesars them. In the year 292 Diocletian created two Caesars:
Galerius the one, Galerius, to act subordinately to himself in the
and Con- East; the other, Constantins Chlorus, to divide the govern-
Chlorus 1116111 of the western provinces with Maximian. The Caesars
a.d. 292. were bound more closely to the Augusti by receiving their
daughters in marriage; but, though they acknowledged
each a superior in his own half of the empire, and ad¬
mitted a certain supremacy of Diocletian over all, yet each
enjoyed monarchical sway in his own territories, and each
established a court and capital as well as an army and a
camp. Diocletian retained the richest and most tranquil
portion of the empire, and reigned in Nicomedia (now Asia
Minor), Syria, and Egypt; while he entrusted to the Caesar
Galerius, established in Sirmium, the more exposed pro¬
vinces on the Danube. Maximian occupied Italy, the
islands, and Africa, stationing himself however, not in Rome,
but at Milan. Constantius was required to defend the
Rhenish frontier ; and the martial provinces of Gaul, Spain,
and Biitain were given him to furnish the forces necessary
for the maintenance of that important trust. The capital
of the western Caesar was fixed at freves. Inspired with
a common interest, and controlled by the superior genius p0ng i
of Diocletian himself, all the emperors acted with vigour in History,
their respective provinces. Diocletian recovered Alexan- V — j
oria, and quieted the revolt of Egypt. Maximian routed
the unruly hordes of Mauretania, and overthrew a pretender
to the purple in that quarter. Constantius discomfited an
invading host of Alemanni, and wrested Britain from the
hands of Allectus. Galerius brought the legions of Illyri-
cum to the defence of Syria against the Persians, and though
once defeated in the plains of Carrhee, he succeeded even¬
tually in reducing the enemy to submission. Thus vic¬
torious in every quarter of the empire, Diocletian celebrated
the commencement of the twentieth year of his reign with
a triumph at Rome, and again taking leave of the city of
the Caesars, returned to his customary residence at Nicome¬
dia. The illness with which he was attacked on his journey Ab(1- ..
suggested, or more probably fixed, his resolution to divest 0f Diode0-"
himself of the purple; and on the 1st of May, a.d. 305, tian,
being then fifty-nine years old, he performed the solemn A>D- 305.
act of abdication on the spot where he had first assumed the
empire at the bidding of his soldiers. Strange to say, he
did not renounce the object of his ambition alone. On the
same day a similar scene was enacted by his colleague
Maximian at Milan ; but the abdication of Maximian was
not a spontaneous sacrifice, but imposed upon him by the
influence or authority of his elder and greater colleague.
Diocletian had established the principle of patrimonial suc¬
cession by which the supreme power was to descend. On
the abdication of the two Augusti, the Caesars Constantius
and Galerius stepped into their places respectively, while
each of them called up another Caesar to supply the posts
thus vacated by themselves. Flavius Severus succeeded
to Constantius, Maximinus Daza to Galerius. Having seen
the completion of all these arrangements, and congratulated
himself on the success of his great political experiments, Dio¬
cletian crowned his career of wisdom and moderation by
confining himself strictly during the remainder of his life to
the tranquil enjoyment of a private station. Retiring to the
residence he had built for himself at Salona, he found occu¬
pation and amusement in the cultivation of his garden ; and
the story went, that when his more restless colleague soli¬
cited him to resume the honours from which he had disen¬
gaged them both, he invited him to see the vegetables he
had grown, and lear'n a lesson of simplicity and contentment.
I he wisdom and moderation of Diocletian’s character persecu-
have been justly praised, and it is with pain that we notice tion of the
how he forfeited both the one and the other in his sanguinary Christians,
and obstinate persecution of the Christians. The disciples
of the true faith were still increasing in numbers ; they were
continuing more and more to absorb into their body the
intelligence, the activity, and the moral force of the empire.
Diocletian cannot have been blind to the impossibility of
reviving the spirit of heathenism, or raising up in the strong¬
holds either of superstition or philosophy any moral or
intellectual force to combat them. Nor can we suppose
that he was actuated by the alarms so prevalent as we have
seen fifty or a hundred years earlier, when many of the
best, and some no doubt of the wisest of the heathens, really
believed that the calamities of the empire were caused by
the anger of their gods at the impiety tolerated in its bosom.
I he era of Diocletian, under the sway of a oold and able
ruler, was a period of comparative revival and hopefulness.
1 he worst seemed to be past. A better day had dawned.
New objects were in view, new principles of government
were coming into operation. The Senate of Rome, the
stronghold of old and vain tradition, had ceased to exercise
any influence in the government. Diocletian had no need
to sacrifice to its prepossessions, or to buy its favour by the
concession of a principle. The fury which animated three at
least of the emperors (for Constantius alone held aloof from
the persecution which now raged through three-quarters of
ROMAN HISTORY.
Political the empire) must be traced to a different source. The object
History, of Diocletian’s policy was to establish a uniform system of
administration, radiating from each centre of government.
' During the last century the government of the empire had
become completely de-centralized. Each province had
provided for itself; each army had drawn its supplies from
its own neighbourhood. The authority of the Senate had
hardly extended beyond Italy ; the power even of the
emperor had generally been limited to the territory in the
midst of which his army w as quartered. Even Decius and
Probus, vigorous as they proved themselves in their own
camp, might fear to provoke a resistance which they had
not leisure to quell, if they tried to enforce their edicts in
Gaul or Africa. But when, by the multiplication of sove¬
reigns, the executive authority was extended once more
throughout the empire, it became necessary to show that
the imperial power was no longer a mere shadow. The
laws w'ere to be enforced, uniformity to be restored, every
province and every subject to be made to acknowledge the
paramount supremacy of the monarch’s will. Christianity,
however innocent in act, had become in its forms and in
its ideas a state within the state. Whatever the govern¬
ment might think of its opinions, it could not fail to see a
rival in its organization. Counts and prefects were jealous
of metropolitans and bishops ; and the claims of the church
to admit to, or exclude from, a share in privileges of mem¬
bership, which had now became connected with the enjoy¬
ment of benefices and endowments, might seem to trench
upon political prerogatives. Having subdued every external
enemy and competitor, Diocletian turned his attention to the
domestic foe, for as such he regarded it, which had set up
a co-ordinate sovereignty within the limits of his own juris¬
diction : he proclaimed internecinal war against the Chris¬
tian society, the extent of which he perhaps miscalculated,
the moral power of which he totally misapprehended ; and
he committed himself to a struggle in which success was
impossible, though he did not live himself to know how
completely he was defeated.
SECT. LYI.—WARS OF DIOCLETIAN’S SURVIVORS.
Notwithstanding the ability which Diocletian had dis¬
played in the government of the empire, the distribution
he made of power on his abdication marks caprice and
weakness, and was speedily followed, as might have been
expected, by fresh disturbances. Instead of inviting both
the Caesars to associate with them princes of their own
choice, he had allowed his son-in-law and favourite, Ga-
lerius, to nominate both the new candidates, and to pass
over the claims of Constantine, the son of Constantius,
altogether. The Caesar of the Gaulish provinces was far
distant in Britain, and was ill: Galerius expected his
death, or ventured to overlook him in his absence ; and
hoped, by calling creatures of his own to the succession,
to secure supreme authority over the whole empire for
himself. But the moderation of Constantius, which had
made him an object of dislike and jealousy to his unscru¬
pulous colleagues, endeared him to his own subjects as
well as to the Christian faction throughout the empire.
Great multitudes of the new faith had taken refuge under
his sway, and had enjoyed his protection. The legions
admired him for his victories over the Alemanni and the
Caledonians; and when, at the moment of his death, they
proclaimed his son Constantine emperor in their encamp-
Constan- rnent at York, the nomination was received with enthusiasm
Constan 0f ^ ^ P0Pu^at‘on t*ie western provinces. Galerius did
tiuT^p- not venture to oppose this demonstration of feeling. He
pointed suffered his new rival to exercise authority in the place of
Cffisar, his father, but claimed the right, as the eldest and first of
a.d. 306. the associated princes, to assign him only the fourth rank
among the rulers of the empire, with the subordinate title
251
of Caesar. Constantine was satisfied for the present, and Political
continued for six years (a.d. 306-312) to confine himself History,
to the administration of the Gaulish prefecture. During
this period he carried out his father’s policy in every par¬
ticular. He chastised the barbarians in the north of Bri¬
tain, and put the Roman possessions in that island in a
complete state of defence. He flew to the succour of the
garrisons on the Rhine, which, on the death of Constantius,
were immediately assailed by fresh incursions of the Ger¬
man tribes; and followed up the great victory of Novio by
the most terrible massacres of his captives. At the same
time he displayed the utmost moderation and clemency
towards his subjects, tolerating and protecting the Christians,
and remitting the fiscal burdens of all classes of the commu¬
nity. Though personally indifferent perhaps to all forms of
religion, he could not fail to mark how great were the num¬
bers, how active the intelligence, of the Christian society, and
to feel the miserable impolicy of alienating them by persecu¬
tion. His vigorous imagination was at the same time kindled
by the claim these sectarians advanced to divine interferences
and miraculous powers ; it is probable also that the deference
which their bishops were willing to pay to him as the temporal
ruler, while the pagan hierarchy regarded him with undis¬
guised dislike, affected him favourably from the first towards
the outward forms of Christianity. While watching his oppor¬
tunity for raising himself to the highest place in the empire,
Constantine was already perhaps meditating terms of al¬
liance with the greatest spiritual influence of the period.
Meanwhile, the Senate also, the centre of heathenism,
exhibited for a moment fresh signs of vitality. Affecting
indignation at the claims of its late ruler Maximian being
entirely postponed to those of Galerius, it had taken on
itself to confer on his son Maxentius the title of Augustus.
Maximian himself, defying the remonstrances of the aged
Diocletian, issued from his retirement, and re-assumed
power, under pretence of lending the weight of his name and
experience to the cause of his son. He gave his daughter
Faustain marriage to Constantine, and cemented an alliance
between the prefect of Gaul and the claimant of Italy. But
no sooner did Maxentius taste of power than he drove his own
father out of his dominions; and Constantine suffered his
father-in-law to find an asylum in Gaul only on condition of
resigning a second time all share in the imperial government.
When, on the report of Constantine’s death, the restless ve- Death of
teran again assumed the purple, he was attacked, defeated, and Maximum,
put to death without remorse by the Gaulish emperor. A-D- 310
The death of Maximian was followed in 311 by that of Death of
Galerius, whose painful sickness was ascribed with grim Galenas,
satisfaction by the Christians to a divine visitation. Four ^
Augusti of equal rank now once more shared the empire;
but it was immediately apparent that, without the avowed
ascendancy of one, in genius if not in power, the rude
edifice of the Caesardom must inevitably fall in pieces.
The genius, indeed, of Constantine soon proved to be pre¬
eminent ; but his ascendancy was admitted by none of his
colleagues, and it remained to be seen whether he had the
means of establishing it by force. Maxentius in Italy and
Africa, and Maximian in Asia and Egypt, ruled in voluptuous
indolence, making themselves more and more detested by
the provinces which had fallen under their sway. Severus
was already dead, and Galerius had survived to replace him
in Illyricum by a Dacian peasant named Licinius, recom¬
mended to him by his military abilities and his popu¬
larity among the soldiers. This man had now at least
discretion enough to ally himself himself with Constantine ;
he contrived also to leave his new confederate to conduct
hostilities against Maxentius alone, while he watched him¬
self from a distance the issue of the contest. Scarcely,
indeed, was Galerius dead before the two Augusti of the
West rushed into deadly conflict with one another. Con¬
stantine crossed the Alps, and gained three successive victo-
252
ROMAN HISTORY.
Political
History.
Battle of
the Milvian
Bridge,
Oct. 3,
a.d. 312,
and death
of Maxen-
tius.
The decree
of Milan.
ries at Turin, at Verona, and, lastly, at the Milvian bridge, two
miles from Rome. Maxentius, routed in this final engage¬
ment, was drowned in the Tiber; and Constantine entered
Rome towards the end of the year 312, where he was re¬
ceived with acclamations, and was acknowledged as chief of
the empire by Italy and Africa, as well as by the provinces of
his own prefecture. He had already issued from Milan the
famous decree which assured the Christians of his favour and
protection ; and it was on his march towards Rome, before
the battle of the Milvian bridge, that he beheld, according
to the historians, the vision of the cross in the heavens, in¬
scribed with the blazing legend—“ By this conquer.”
Constantine had little sympathy for the name of Rome,
or for the Senate which represented it; nevertheless, upon
entering the old capital of the Caesars in triumph, he
affected to restore the consideration of that illustrious but
decrepit body, while he took measures for preventing Rome
from ever again giving laws to the empire, by disbanding
the praetorian guards and destroying their fortified camp.
With this military institution the imperial power departed
finally from Rome, and the seat of empire was henceforth
to be established wherever the emperor should choose to
take up his own permanent residence. Master of the
West, Constantine was not satisfied till he had brought the
East also under his sceptre. His rival Licinius equalled
him in ambition, but neither in ability nor fortune. Dur¬
ing the contest in Italy the prefect of Illyricum had been
prosecuting his own views of conquest no less successfully
in Asia. He had overthrown Maximin, and seized all the
eastern provinces of the empire, confirming his victory by
the massacre of all the children of Galerius and Severus,
as well as of Maximin himself. So far did he carry his pre¬
cautions as to insist on the execution of the widow and
daughter of Diocletian. Thus triumphant in opposite
quarters of the empire, the two competitors were equally
prepared for a struggle with one another. In the first
contest between them, Constantine wrested Illyricum from
Licinius. After an interval of eight years, war was re¬
newed. Licinius was overthrown in the great battle of
Adrianople, in the year 323 ; but his spirit was still un¬
broken, and while Constantine was occupied in the siege
of Byzantium, he collected a numerous force of raw levies
to try his fortune in another field. The battle of Chrysopolis
brought the contest to a final decision. Licinius was de¬
prived of his imperial honours, and permitted to retire to
Thessalonica, there to pass the remainder of his days in a
private station. But Constantine had not magnanimity
enough to observe the conditions he had imposed on him¬
self. The deposed emperor was soon afterwards accused
of intriguing with foreign powers for his restoration, and
the victor did not scruple to secure his own supremacy by
putting his last rival to death. The family compact devised
by the astute Diocletian resulted, in the second generation,
in the re-establishment of an undivided monarchy.
SECT. LVII.—UNION OF THE EMPIRE UNDER CONSTANTINE.
Union of Conscious of his own energy and abilities, and sensible of
the empire tbe inherent weakness of the scheme for dividing the
under Con- imperial powers devised by his predecessor, Constantine
Btantine. determined to retain in his own hand the sceptre of the
united empire, while he contrived a more elaborate scheme
for lightening the burden it imposed upon him. The
original policy of Augustus, according to which the
emperor was regarded as the delegate of the state, and
his functions were only those of the various popular magis¬
tracies combined together in one person, had become
utterly obliterated for at least a century. The specious
constitutionalism of the early Caesars had vanished, but no
organized system of despotism had been substituted in its
place. The chiefs of the state had been content, as we
Political
History.
Overthrow
of Licinius,
a.d. 323.
have seen, to rule with the sword, and to announce their
caprices from the camp. In return, their title had received
no sanction in the feelings of their subjects. They had
been accepted by the Senate and the people as emperors
de facto, but no idea of right had clung to their names and
titles, no honour had been paid to their families, no respect
shown to their memories. The notion of monarchical
government had been in a state of transition ; the old
foundations had perished; it remained for Constantine to
replace them with the ideas of hereditary succession, of
divine right, and of organized administration, upon which
they have subsisted throughout Europe to the present day.
It was only in the oriental courts that the imperial Nfw ^on-
reformer could find the exemplar of government by which stltution of
to shape his own system. He surrounded his own per- the emI)ire>
son with the pomp and ceremony of Asiatic sovereignty,
affecting the reserve of a superior being, and allowing access
to him only through a crowd of eunuchs, chamberlains,
and ministers. The old Roman idea of the essential
equality of the emperor and his chief nobles was entirely
swept away. A complete separation was made between
the civil and military authorities ; and again the vital
principle of the ancient republic, according to which every
citizen was a soldier, and the chief civil magistracies wielded
the power of the sword, was finally abolished. All the
great offices of state were accordingly re-modelled, with
new titles suited to the new arrangements. They were
classed in the three ranks of Illustres, Spectabiles, and
Clarissimi, and distributed among the three departments
of the court, the army, and the civil service. The of¬
ficers of the court and of state were chiefly the lords
of the bed-chamber and the palace, with special ministers
of finance, of justice, of the interior, of the crown revenues,
and of the household guards. The army was controlled
by a commander-in-chief, assisted by generals of infantry
and generals of cavalry ; and below these were officers of
inferior rank, known as dukes {duces) and counts {comites). Dukes and
The civil department was divided into four great prefec- counts,
tures: those of the east, including Thrace and the Asiatic Prefectures
provinces ; of Italy, comprising Italy, Rhaetia, Noricum, and dio“
and Africa ; of Illyricum, embracing Illyricum, Pannonia, ceses‘
Macedonia, and Greece; and of Gaul, which compre¬
hended the provinces of western Europe. Under the four
prefects were thirteen high functionaries, who presided
over the thirteen dioceses into which the prefectures were
sub-divided, and who were known by the titles of comites
or vicarii. Asia, Africa, and Achaia were governed by
proconsuls, and the whole number of provinces, each
under a separate but dependent governor, a proconsul, a
corrector, a consularis, or a praesidens, amounted to 117.
I he department of the imperial court was occupied by
seven high functionaries, of a character entirely new in the
history of the Roman monarchy. The chief of these was
the prcepositus sacri cubiculi, or lord chamberlain ; next to
him the magister officiorum, who may be compared to a
modern minister of home affairs; the qucestor, or lord
chancellor and keeper of the seals; the comes sacra-
rum largitionum, or chancellor of the public exchequer;
the comes rerum privatarum divince domus, or lord of the
privy purse; and finally, two comites domesticorum, or
captains of the imperial body-guard. While the machinery
of government was thus re-constructed, the finances by
which it was to be kept in motion were placed upon a new
footing. We may suppose that for many years the collec¬
tion of the revenues had fallen into the utmost confusion.
It had become necessary to review the entire basis of the
land-tax, the most permanent and certain source of the Indictions,
imperial revenues; and the Indictions, or fifteen years’
settlements, which became important eras for the chro¬
nology of succeeding ages, are dated from the acquisition
of Italy by Constantine, in the year 312.
ROMAN HISTORY.
Political The Christian church, which the emperor determined to
History, convert into a great instrument of government, was already
modelled to his hand in the hierarchical form in which he
Establish- desired to cast the state. Its metropolitans, its primates,
mentof the its archbishops and bishops, with the inferior classes of
Christian clergy, formed a spiritual subordination of powers similar
church. tQ tj]at which he introduced into the civil administration,
and quite unlike anything which had existed in the sacer¬
dotal arrangements of Greek and Roman antiquity. The Ro¬
mans had never recognised a distinction between clergy and
laity ; they had never admitted the powers of priestly abso¬
lution or excommunication ; the idea of a spiritual autho¬
rity independent of the civil was totally alien from their
views of polity. But undoubtedly the spread of Christian
ideas, and the gradual decay of those which were most
essentially opposed to them, had rendered these principles
more and more familiar to subjects and rulers ; and
Constantine was struck with the vast influence they
evidently exercised over the minds of their votaries, and
was prepared to subject his own fervid imagination to their
control. When he found that the Christian priesthood had
discovered a way of reconciling their own spiritual claims
with a technical supremacy in the ruler of the state, he was
satisfied with the terms of the alliance they offered to him,
and quickly determined to exchange the toleration he had
already extended to their religion for special favour and
formal establishment. The revenues bequeathed in past
times by private piety to the uses of Christian worship, which
had been confiscated under the persecutors of the faith, were
sedulously restored, the Christian temples repaired and re¬
opened, many public halls or basilica especially appro¬
priated to Christian use, and fresh endowments secured to
them; the bishops and ministers of the Christian religion
were invited to court, and placed in situations of trust
and favour about the emperor’s person. On the other
hand, the institutions of pagan worship were placed under
many jealous restrictions: the old distinction between pub¬
lic and private, licensed and unlicensed cults, was harshly
enforced, and many shrines shut up, many special services
Discour- abolished. The civil laws against immorality and inde-
agement, of cenCy were applied to many licentious usages connected
paganism. wjtji ^ heatiien ceremonies; and, discountenanced as the
ancient worship was by the emperor and the court, it may
be supposed that the magistrates w'ere often tempted to
stretch the powers accorded them by legislative enactments
to the control and even the persecution of the falling faith.
Personally, indeed, Constantine still halted between two
opinions. Up to the age of forty at least (a.d. 314), he
continued to make public profession of paganism, although
he had already struck severe blows against its interests
as well as its pride of exclusiveness. His devotion was
divided between the gods of Olympus on the one hand,
and Christ and the saints of Christendom on the other.
As late as the year 321 he insisted on consulting the Ha-
ruspices. The consolidation of his power confirmed his
wavering confidence in the Being whose favour he was
assured he had gained, even by the limited honour he had
paid to him. After the defeat of Licinius he surrendered
Ids conscience to his favourite bishop, Eusebius of Caesarea,
allowed his children to be educated as Christians, and
assumed without scruple the headship of the Church
and the presidency in its councils, which its rulers
freely tendered to him. It was not, however, till he
felt the approaches of a mortal disease, in the sixty-third
year of his life, that he finally enrolled himself among
Baptism of the converts to Christianity, by submitting to the rite of
Constan- baptism, which he was taught to regard as the pledge of a
tine- blessed death rather than the token of a new life.
The policy indeed of the emperor, raised to a precarious
elevation, and maintaining himself by force or craft against
innumerable jealousies and animosities, was constantly de-
VOL. XIX.
353
manding the perpetration of some crime which struck his Political
awakened concience with horror and alarm, though he had History,
not courage and religious confidence to repudiate it. His v—
execution of his son Crispus is still the deepest stain upon Death of
a character which, notwithstanding its many great qualities, Crispus.
must ever be subject to the charge of dissimulation and
cruelty. There seems reason for questioning the justice of
the charge commonly made against him, of having caused
the assassination of his wife Fausta; and generally we must
remember that the hostility of the pagan writers is quite as
marked in their account of this prince as the favour of the
Christians. It is to the encomiums of the latter, no doubt,
that he owes the appellation of “ the Great,” which has
been appended in after-ages to his name; nevertheless so
distinguished a title is not undeserved by one who, not to
mention his claims to the respect of Christian posterity,
effected the consolidation of a vast unwieldy empire by his
personal valour and ability, and maintained it in honour and
prosperity against all enemies, foreign and domestic, for
more than thirty years. In the history of the Christian
church he assumes a prominent place, from the zeal with
which he devoted himself to adjusting the dogmatic differ¬
ences which prevailed in it during his reign ; and especially
from the council of Nicaea, at which be presided in the year Council of
325, in which the orthodox creed was triumphantly estab- Nic0ea>
lished. But with this, and with the controversies which A,I)‘ 325-
followed, the history of Rome has nothing to do. We have
felt, during our account of the last hundred years or more,
how far we have drifted away from the ideas which ani¬
mated the records of Rome during the earlier periods of
her existence. We can with difficulty recognise any bond
of continuity between the Rome of the lower empire and
that of Augustus and the Scipios. From the time that all
the subjects of the empire became comprehended in a com¬
mon citizenship we have lost all interest in the name of
Romans. Since the edict of Gallienus, which interdicted
military service to the senators, we have ceased to regard
the nobles of the capital as an element in the polity of the
state. The armies of the empire have long been composed
almost wholly of subsidized barbarians, and been led almost
without exception by provincials, half-barbarian themselves.
Roman literature, which revived from the false taste of the
silver age of Nero and Domitian, and produced a school at
least of correct imitators under the Antonines and Severi,
perished utterly in the age which followed, or was trans¬
ferred to the camp of the Christians, and became the inhe¬
ritance of Gauls, Africans, and Asiatics. The contempt
and decrepitude into which Rome had fallen is finally
marked by the incident, which may on some accounts be
considered the most memorable in the memorable reign of
Constantine,—the foundation of the new Rome on the
Bosphorus, to which he gave the name of Constantinople, Founda-
and which he made the seat of his government and the tion of
capital of the Roman empire. It was in the year 330 that Constanti-
this revolution was effected. Though Rome, as we have g30
seen, had long ceased to be the residence even of the
western emperors, her influence, and in some sense her
authority, as a metropolis, might still be recognised as long
as no rival was formally installed in the place of honour she
had so long held unquestioned. The removal of the seat
of empire to the East carried away many of the ancient
families still surviving in the palaces of the republic; it
converted the descendants, if any still remained, of the
Claudii and Cornelii into Greeks and Asiatics. It left to Conclusion,
ancient Rome her name, her buildings, a more obstinate
attachment to old forms and traditions, to the old pagan
cult, and to the observation of heathen auguries; but
it broke for ever the continuity of her political history,
which must henceforth be transferred to another centre,
and assume another title. (See Constantinopolitax
Histoky.) (c. m.)
2 Y
i
354
R O M
ROM
Romano ROMANO, a town of Austrian Italy, in the province
li and 13 miles S.S.E. of Bergamo, in a rich country, near
Romans, t]ie seno. [t is well built, with broad, straight streets, many
Epistle to tjlem lined wjth arcades. There are here some elegant
v ^ e'^ y churches, a convent, and an hospital. Silk-spinning, tan-
ning, and tile-making are carried on ; and much-frequented
markets are held. Pop. (1846) 4199.
ROMANS, The Epistle to the, claims our interest
more than the other didactic epistles of the apostle Paul,
because it is more systematic, and because it explains espe¬
cially that truth which became subsequently the principle
of the Reformation, viz., righteousness through faith. At
the period when the apostle wrote the Epistle to the Ro¬
mans, he had passed through a life full of experience. Paul
was at this time between fifty and sixty years old. After
having spent two years and a half at Ephesus, he planned
a journey to Macedonia, Achaia, Jerusalem, and Rome
(Acts xix. 21). Having spent about three months in tra¬
velling, he arrived at Corinth, where he remained three
months (Acts xx. 2) ; and during this second abode at Co¬
rinth he wrote the Epistle to the Romans (comp. 1 Cor.
xvi. 1-3, and 2 Cor. ix. with Rom. xv. 25). He des¬
patched this letter by a Corinthian who was then travelling
to Rome (xvi. 1), and sent greetings from an inhabitant of
Corinth (xvi. 23 ; comp. 1 Cor. i. 14). The data in the
life of the apostle depend upon the year in which his con¬
version took place. Some think that this event occurred as
early as a.d. 35 or 41 ; but it is by far more probable that the
epistle was written about the year a.d. 58 or 59. The con¬
gregation of Christians at Rome was formed at a very early
period, but its founder is unknown. Paul himself mentions
two distinguished teachers at Rome, who were converted
earlier than himself. According to Rom. i. 8, the Roman
congregation had then attained considerable celebrity, as
their faith was spoken of throughout the whole world.
From chap. xvi. we learn that there were a considerable
number of Christian teachers at Rome ; from which we
infer that the congregation had existed there for some time ;
and it is most likely that the Jews at Rome were first con¬
verted to Christianity. Under Augustus there were so
many Jews at Rome that this emperor appointed them
quarters beyond the Tiber. These Jews consisted mostly
of freedmen, whom Pompey had carried to Rome as slaves;
and some of the early Christians at Rome followed mer¬
cantile pursuits. At the time when this epistle was written,
there were also Gentile Christians in the Roman church ;
and from passages like xi. 13 ; xv. 16; i. 7 and 13 ; we
learn that the Gentile Christians were then more numerous
than the converted Jews. It is well known that in those
times many heathens embraced Judaism (Tacitus, Annul.
xv. 44; Juvenal, Sat. xiv. 96). These converts to Judaism
wTere mostly women. Among the converts from Judaism
to Christianity, there existed in the days of Paul two parties.
The congregated apostles had decreed, according to Acts
xv., that the converts from paganism were not bound to
keep the ritual laws of Moses. There were, however, many
converts from Judaism who were disinclined to renounce
the authority of the Mosaic law. The opinions concerning
the occasion and object of this letter to the Romans differ ac¬
cording to the various suppositions of those who think that the
object of the letter was supplied by the occasion, or the sup¬
position that the apostle selected his subject only after an op¬
portunity for writing was offered. In earlier times the latter
opinion prevailed, as, for instance, in the writings of Thomas
Aquinas, Luther, Melanchthon, Calvin. In more recent
times the other opinion has generally been advocated, as, for
instance, by Hug, Eichhorn, and Flatt. Many writers sup¬
pose that the debates mentioned in ch. xiv. and xv. called
forth this epistle. Hug, therefore, is of opinion that the
theme of the whole epistle is the following—Jews and Gen¬
tiles have equal claim to the Kingdom of God. According
to Eichhorn, the Roman Jews being exasperated against the Romans,
disciples of Paul, endeavoured to demonstrate that Judaism Epistle to
wras sufficient for the salvation of mankind ; consequently t*ie-
Eichhorn supposes that the polemics of St Paul were not
directed against Judaizing converts to Christianity, as in
the Epistle to the Galatians, but rather against Judaism it¬
self. This opinion is also maintained by De Wette (Ein-
leitung ins Neue Testament, 4th ed. § 138). According to
Credner (Einleitung, § 141), the intention of the apostle
was to render the Roman congregation favourably disposed
before his arrival in the chief metropolis, and he therefore
endeavoured to show that the evil reports spread concern¬
ing himself by zealously Judaizing Christians were errone¬
ous. This opinion is nearly related to that of Dr Baur
who supposes that the real object of this letter is men¬
tioned only in ch. ix. to xi. The journey of Phcebe to
Rome seems to have been the external occasion of the
epistle: Paul made use of this opportunity by sending the
sum and substance of the Christian doctrine in writing, hav¬
ing been prevented from preaching in Rome. The apostle
had many friends in Rome who communicated with him;
consequently he was the more induced to address the Ro¬
mans, although he manifested some hesitation in doing so
(xv. 15).
Contents of the Epistle to the Romans.—It belongs to
the characteristic type of St Paul’s teaching to exhibit the
gospel in its historical relation to the human race. In the
Epistle to the Romans, also, we find that peculiar charac¬
ter of St Paul’s teaching which induced Sehelling to call the
apostle’s doctrine a “ philosophy of the history of man.”
In the Epistle to the Romans Paul commences by de¬
scribing the two great divisions of the human race, viz.,
those who underwent the preparatory spiritual education of
the Jews, and those who did not undergo such a preparatory
education. The chief aim of all nations, according to St
Paul, should be the SiKaioowr/ ivunuov rod fleov, righteous¬
ness before the face of God, or absolute realization of the
moral law. According to St Paul, the heathen also have
their vo/xos, laiv, as well religious as moral internal revela¬
tion (Rom. i. 19, 32; ii. 15). The heathen have, however,
not fulfilled that law which they knew, and are in this re¬
spect like the Jews, who also disregarded their own law (ii.)
Both Jews and Gentiles are transgressors, or by the law se¬
parated from the grace and sonship of God (Rom. ii. 12;
iii. 20); consequently if blessedness could only be obtained
by fulfilling the demands of God, no man could be blessed.
God, however, has gratuitously given righteousness and
blessedness to all who believe in Christ (iii. 21-31). The
human race has gained in Christ much more than it lost in
Adam (v. 12, 21). If some of the Jews are left to their own
obduracy, even their temporary fall serves the plans of God,
viz., the vocation of the Gentiles. After the mass of the
Gentiles shall have entered in, the people of Israel also, in
theircollective capacity, shall be received into the church (xi.)
The Authenticity and Integrity of the Epistle to the
Romans.—The authenticity of this epistle has never been
questioned. The Epistle to the Romans is quoted as early
as the first and second century by Clemens Romanus and
Polycarp. Its integrity has lately been attacked by Dr
Baur, who pretends that chs. xv. and xvi. are spurious, but
only, as we have observed above, because these chapters do
not harmonize with his supposition, that the Christian church
at Rome consisted of rigid Judaizers. Schmidt and Reiche
consider the doxology at the conclusion of ch. xvi. not to be
genuine. In this doxology the anacolouthical and uncon¬
nected style causes some surprise, and the whole has been
deemed to be out of its place (ver. 26 and 27). We how¬
ever observe, in reply to Schmidt and Reiche, that such
defects of style may be easily explained from the circum¬
stance, that the apostle hastened to the conclusion, but
wrould be quite inexplicable in additions of a copyist who
ROM
Romans, had time for calm consideration. We find an analogous in-
stance in Ephes. iii. 20, 21, where a doxology occurs after
the mystery of salvation had been mentioned : we are there¬
fore of opinion that the doxology is rightly placed at the
conclusion of ch. xiv., and that it was in some codices er¬
roneously transposed to the conclusion of ch. xiv., because
the copyist considered the blessing in xvi. 24 to be the real
conclusion of the epistle. In confirmation of this remark
we observe that the same codices in which the doxology
occurs in ch. xvi. either omit the blessing altogether, or
place it after the doxology.
Interpreters of the Epistle to the Romans.—Chrysostom
is the most important among the fathers who attempted
to interpret this epistle. He enters deeply, and with psy¬
chological acumen, into the thoughts of the apostle, and
expounds them with sublime animation. Among the Re¬
formers, Calvin is distinguished by logical penetration and
doctrinal depth. Beza is distinguished by his grammatical
and critical knowledge. Since the period of rationalism the
interest about this epistle has been revived by the Com¬
mentary of Tholuck, the first edition of which appeared
in 1824. It was translated into English in 1834-36. No
other book of the New Testament has, since that period,
been expounded so frequently and so accurately. From
1824 to 1844, there have been published as many as seven¬
teen learned and critical commentaries on it; and, in addi¬
tion to these, several practical expositions. In the Com¬
mentary von Riickert, 2d ed., 1839, 2 vols., we find copious
criticisms of the various interpretations, and a clear and pleas¬
ing, although not always carefully-weighed, exposition. The
Commeniar von Fritzche, 1836 to 1843, 3 vols., exhibits a
careful critique of the text, combined with philological ex¬
planation, but the true sense of the apostle has frequently
been missed. The Commentar of Olshausen, 2d ed., 1840,
generally contains only the author’s own exposition, but
presents a very pleasing development of the doctrinal con¬
tents. It has been translated into English in 1850. De
Wette manifests on the whole a correct tact (3d ed., 1841);
however, his book is too comprehensive, so that the contents
of the epistle do not make a clear impression. Lately there
has been published in French also an interpretation of
the Epistle to the Romans, worked out with much dili¬
gence and ingenuity, by Hugues Oltramare.
The principal English works on the Epistle to the Ro¬
mans are—Willet, Hexapla, or a Sixfold Comment on the
Epistle to the Romans, 1611 ; Taylor’s Paraphrase and
Notes on the Epistle to the Romans, 1747 ; Jones, The
Epistle to the Romans analysed, from a development of the
circumstances by which it was occasioned, 1801 ; Cox, Horce
Romano:, 1824 (translation, with notes); Turner, Notes on
the Epistle to the Romans, New York, 1824 (exegetical,
for the use of students); Terrot, The Epistle of Paul to the
Romans, 1828 (Greek text, paraphrase, notes, and useful
prolegomena). Stuart, Commentary on the Epistle to the
Romans, Andover, U.S., 1832, is undoubtedly the greatest
work on this epistle which has been produced in the Eng¬
lish language ; Hodge (also an American author) On the
Romans; VeWe, Annotations on the Epistles, 1850; Knight,
A Critical Commentary on the Epistle to the Romans, Lon¬
don, 1854; Purdue, A Commentary on the Epistle to the
Romans, Dublin, 1855; Oxv'Ason, An Introduction to the
New Testament, London, 1848; Brown’s Epistle to the
Romans, 1857.
ROMANS, a town of France, in the department of
Drome, in a picturesque situation on the right bank of the
Isere, here crossed by a handsome bridge communicating
with Peage on the opposite side, 10 miles N.E. of Valence.
It is still partially inclosed by its ancient walls and towers;
and entered by five gates. There are no buildings in it of
any note except the theatre, and the curious Gothic church
of St Antoine. Silk, hosiery, woollen fabrics, serge, and
ROM 355
leather are manufactured here ; and there is much trade in Romanus.
wool, hemp, linen, silk, wine, and other produce of the v^
surrounding country. Romans has a court of com¬
merce, chamber of manufacture, and ecclesiastical semi-
nax-y. Pop. 7228.
ROMANUS I., Lecapenus, Emperor of the East, was
admiral of the fleet on the Danube in 919, when he deter¬
mined to seize the supreme power during the reign of the
young prince Constantine VII. Sailing forthwith to Con-
stantinople, he executed his enterprise with great success.
The influence of the dowager empress was gained ; his
daughter was married to the emperor ; and he himself soon
afterwards assumed the title of imperial colleague, and the
real authority of sole sovereign. Romanus long enjoyed
the undistux-bed possession of his ill-gotten power. Sevei'al
predatory inroads of the wild Bulgarians were the only
events that at all endangered his security for nearly five-
and-twenty years. It was not until 944 that his dissolute
conduct provoked a conspiracy. In that year, during the
stillness of a winter noon, the two sons of Romanus seized
their father in his palace, smuggled him away to a mon¬
astery on a small island in the Propontis, and that it
might not be lawful for him to resume the sceptre, lost no
time in shaving his head. Thus hopelessh dethroned, he
commenced the quiet life of a monk, invited his unnatural
sons to share his herbs and water, when they were soon
afterwards exiled to the same place, and died within the
convent in 948.
Romanus II., Emperor of the East, succeeded his father
Constantine VII. in 959. The beauty and excellences of
his person made him a gymnast and a sportsman. His
days were spent in the circus, in the tennis-court, and in
hunting the wild boar on the Asiatic side of the Bosphorus.
The welfare of his government was left to the mercy of
those unprincipled times. Accordingly, in 963 his wife
Theophano, a remorseless wretch, poisoned him.
Romanus III., Argyrus, Emperor of the East, was living
in 1028 an unambitious and married life, when a sti’ange
fortune called him to the throne. One day in the midst of
his conjugal felicity a mandate came to him fi-om the dying
Constantine VIII., commanding him to x’epair to the palace,
in order that he might be made the husband of the princess
Zoe, and the successor of the emperor.. He refused to
leave his present spouse ; but the alternative of losing his
eyes was held up to him. He then preferred to suffer that
penalty; but his self-sacrificing wife prevailed upon him
not to forego his own welfare for her sake. The ci’own
thus forced upon Romanus was the cause of nothing but
evil. A repulse which the Arabs gave him in Syria pro¬
duced a discontent among his subjects. The repeated
successes of his generals against the same foe increased his
unpopularity. Taking advantage of the public feeling, his
faithless wife formed a conspiracy against him. At length,
in 1034, she poisoned him, and gave her hand and the
empire to her paramour Michael the Paphlagonian.
Romanus IV., Diogenes, Emperor of the East, was
raised to the purple in 1067 by a very romantic incident.
He had been sentenced to death for treason against the
Empress Eudoxia. On the eve of his execution that prin¬
cess ordered him to be brought into her presence. The
manly beauty of the ill-fated felon immediately won her
heart. His sentence was repealed ; and in a few days af¬
terwards he found himself the husband of the empress.
Romanus wore the crown worthily. Taking the field soon
after his coronation, he boldly attacked the Turks, who,
under the able Sultan Alp-Arslan, had encroached as far
westward as Phrygia. His movements became rapid, pre¬
cise, and energetic. The scattered hordes of the enemy
felt themselves checked and driven back at every point.
Defeat was followed by defeat, until, at the end of the third
campaign, they were swept beyond the River Euphrates.
356 ROM
llombouts The fourth campaign, however, in 1071, was ruinous to
Romanus. His plans were disconcerted at the outset by
Rome, dexterous manoeuvres of Alp-Arslan. He was forced
to fight at a disadvantage on the banks of the Araxes.
There, after struggling during a long autumn day, his
troops were completely cut to pieces. He himself, fighting
like a lion among the slain bodies of his attendants, was
overpowered by numbers, and taken prisoner. It is true
that his brave foe treated him generously, and released him
under certain conditions. But on returning to his domi¬
nions he found that his subjects had rebelled. In vain did
he employ force to regain his crown. He was twice de¬
feated, was compelled to surrender, and was at last put to
death with most diabolical cruelty. (See Gibbon’s Decline
and Fall of the Roman Empire?)
ROME OUTS, Theodore, an eminent Flemish painter,
ROM
was born at Antwerp in 1597, and studied first under Rome.
Abraham Janssens, and then at Rome. His ready inven-
tion, correct design, animated expression, and brilliancy of
colour, gained for him valuable patronage wherever he
went. A nobleman at Rome gave him a commission for
twelve pictures from the Old Testament. The Grand Duke
of Tuscany employed him to embellish the palace at Flo¬
rence. The citizens of Antwerp on his return hired him
to paint pieces for their churches. His talent, in fact, was
so much flattered that he actually entered into competition
with the great Peter Paul Rubens, who was then in the
full blaze of his fame. Theodore Rombouts, however, died
in 1640, before he had convinced the age that he was at
all equal to his competitor. One of the best known of his
pictures is “ The Taking Down from the Cross,” in the
cathedral at Ghent.
ROME.
THE SITE OF ROME—HISTORY OF THE CITY.
The city of Rome is situated (?.e., the observatory of the
Collegio Romano) in N. Lat. 41. 53. 52., E. Long. 12.
28. 40. It is about 14 miles in a direct line from the coast,
and the cross on the summit of St Peter’s church may be
seen above the hills from the sea. The mean level of the
River Tiber, where it flows through Rome, is 20 feet above
the level of the Mediterranean. This stream divides the
modern, as it did formerly the ancient city, into two une¬
qual parts, the larger portion having been always on the
left or eastern bank. The modern city indeed, while it
nominally retains and at one point overlaps the limits of
the ancient, is chiefly built on a part only of the ancient
site,—e.e., on a plain formed by a sweep of the river to the
north of the cluster of hills, seven, as they are commonly
reputed, in number, which are historically identified with
the name of Rome. These hills, which form the most re¬
markable feature of the locality, present a nearly conti¬
nuous ridge extending over a large segment of a circle, and
embracing one eminence in the centre, more distinctly
marked than any of the others, named the Palatine. To the
north, the Capitoline, which forms one horn of this ridge,
approaches within 300 yards of the river; while to the
south, the Aventine falls almost directly into it. These
two hills are almost wholly separated from the common
ridge, but the Quirinal, the Viminal, the Esquiline, and the
Cselian present a continuous elevation of nearly uniform
altitude, and are distinguished from each other only by their
interior outline. On the east and south they melt insen¬
sibly with a common slope into the Campagna.1 The
Pincian, included at a later period in the city, and not
counted among the seven hills, is another offshoot from
this plateau to the north; and they are confronted on the
opposite side of the Tiber by the Janiculan, from which
the best general view of Rome may be taken, and by the
Vatican. These hills are spurs of the loftier range of
Monte Mario.
The calculations of the height of these hills which pre¬
tend to exactness give various and apparently conflicting
results. The Janiculan, which is considerably the highest,
is said to reach 260 feet near the Villa Spada; while the
Vatican hardly exceeds 100. On the left bank the hills
attain a nearly equal level of 150 or 160 feet. But the site
of the Villa Negroni, at the back of the Esquiline, is said
to be 200 feet above the level of the Tiber. As early as
the second century the Romans remarked that the summits
of the hills had been considerably raised by the accretion
of debris from the ancient buildings. But this accretion
must be now much greater in the valleys, from the quantity
of soil continually washed into them by the rains. The
level of the lower parts of Rome may now be estimated
generally at 15 feet higher than it was in the second or
third century, and that of the Forum at considerably more.
Vast masses of debris must have been wafted also into the
Tiber ; but so great is the scour of that rapid and often
violent stream, that its bed seems not to have been raised
more than two or three feet at most. Of this fact we are
enabled to judge from the remains of the piers of some of
the ancient bridges, and from the arch of the Cloaca
Maxima, where it enters the river. Hence, though the
waters often rise formidably in their deep channel, and
sometimes overflow their banks, the modern city is not
liable to the terrible inundations which in ancient times
repeatedly carried devastation to the foot of the Pincian
and the Quirinal.
I he stratum of soil on which Rome immediately rests is
chiefly a tertiary marine deposit; but it is not strictly cor¬
rect to infer, as is sometimes done, that the spot was once
occupied by an arm of the sea running up from the Medi¬
terranean. At the period when the site of Rome was
submerged beneath the waters of the ocean the relations of
land and sea in these regions must have been wholly dif¬
ferent from the present. The hills of Rome are of later
origin, and have been thrust up from the surface of the
marine deposit by submarine volcanic action. The base of
these hills is generally a red volcanic tufa, known as “ tufa
lithoide,” of which a great part of the ancient and modern
city has been built. It was after the extrusion of these
hills, according to the views of the geologists, that the sur¬
face of the Campagna was raised from the bed of the sea,
and fresh-water lakes or marshes formed upon it. Again,
a still later series of igneous revolutions thrust up the Al¬
ban and other volcanic hills, the craters of which are now
conspicuous in the basins of Albano, Nemi, and others.
Among these hills masses of fresh-water deposits are found.
From the volcanic action which caused these latter changes
were formed the beds of peperino, as well as of pozzolana
and tufa granolare, used extensively for mortar in the
buildings of the city. The primitive legend of the monster
Cacus, who breathed forth fire in his cave in the Aventine,
seems to indicate an early observation of the igneous for-
Brocchi and Dr Arnold compare the first three of these hills, with the Pincian farther N.W., to the hack of a man’s hand, the
fingers representing the hills, slightly forked out from one another, but connected with a common surface sloping in the opposite direc¬
tion at the back, the knuckles forming, as it were, the watershed. Adopting this image, we would liken the Caelian, which is less
closely connected, to the thumb; it is the right hand that must be thus compared. (See Arnold’s Home, i. 51, note.)
R O M E. 357
History, mation of the Roman hills. Warm springs and gaseous
\ ^ ^ / emanations still occur within the limits of the city, and
are said to have been once more widely distributed than
at present.
Earliest oc- It was the observation of Cicero that Rome was admir-
cupation of ably adapted for human habitation, from the healthiness of
the site of its situation in the midst of an unhealthy tract of country.
Rome. This is in a great measure true at the present day, some
parts of the city being still remarkably exempt from the
malaria common to the Campagna generally, which, how¬
ever, seems to have encroached upon the site of the city
itself far more than in ancient times. Partly, however, for
its healthiness, but still more, it may be presumed, from its
strength, as a tract of rocky hills in the midst of an exten¬
sive plain, this spot seems to have attracted settlers from a
very early antiquity. To the traditions regarding these
early settlements current among the Romans themselves at
a later period we can only allude in passing.
The Capitdline and Janiculan are represented as the
first of the summits then occupied, the one by Saturn, the
other by Janus, who gave their names to the strongholds
erected upon them respectively. The appellation of Jani¬
culan survives to the present day. That of Saturnia was
early lost in the name Tarpeian, supposed to be an Etruscan
word for “ rock,” and this again gave way to the more
common designation of Capitoline, now transformed into
Campidoglio. The original settlement of the Palatine was
ascribed to Evander, a fugitive from Arcadia, and the name
of the hill itself, which has remained unchanged through
all the revolutions which have passed over the site, was
derived by the Roman antiquarians from the founder’s son
Pallas.
A more specific and circumstantial notice of the early
city, though not perhaps really more historical, is that of
the settlement of Romulus. This, according to the legend,
was also upon the Palatine ; and the stronghold here erected
was said to have been surrounded by a wall running along,
not the crest, but the foot of this hill, pierced by three gates,
after the fashion of the cities of Etruria. A narrow belt of
ground within and without this wall, under the^ name of
pomcerium, was kept free from buildings, and formed the
limit within which the “ auspices” could be taken, and the
most important religious and political acts be performed.
The limits of this original city are accurately traced by Ta¬
citus, and nearly correspond, as far as we can follow them,
with the trapezoidal area of the Palatine Hill, the four sides
of which, measuring along the crest, vary from four to five
hundred yards in length.
The Palatine and Aventine are separated by a hollow
called the Vallis Murcia, through which flows a little stream
named by the ancients the Aqua Crabra, now Marrana.
Here, outside the walls, Romulus placed his circus, called
afterwards Maximus, an oblong inclosure for games of skill,
speed, and strength, originally of turf, afterwards fitted
with wooden galleries, and lastly with seats of stone and
marble. It was 600 yards in length, and was ultimately
capable of holding 260,000 spectators. The stream which
now creeps through this area must either have been arched
over, or carried by an artificial channel on one side of it.
While the Palatine was thus occupied by the tribe of
Latins, Etruscans, or mixed races, to whom we give the History,
name of Romans, the Quirinal, and possibly the Viminal
and Esquiline, were held by a Sabine people. The Capi¬
toline seems to have been an object of contention be¬
tween them, but the Roman tradition represents these hills
as originally in possession of the Romans. The reported
result of the conflict may be presumed to be historical:
the two hostile tribes coalesced together, divided the dis¬
puted site between them, and occupied the intervening
hollow, under the name of the Forum Romanum, as a
common place of meeting.
Of the foundation of cities on the Caelian and Aventine
different accounts are given. The Aventine at least seems
to have been assigned to an outlying tribe, politically
dependent on the Romans, but not admitted to full citi¬
zenship with them. We also find this hill used as the place
of meeting of the great Latin confederacy, under the pa¬
tronage of the goddess Diana, whose temple stood through¬
out the period of Roman history on its summit. This edi¬
fice is supposed, but on very slight grounds, to have
overlooked the Circus, and faced the Palatine ; its exact
site may in that case be nearly indicated by the existing
church of S. Prisca. The temple of Romulus, under the
name of Quirinus, was said to have been erected by the
Sabine Numa upon the Quirinal, which then assumed that
name, having been previously denominated Agonus. The
fortification of the Janiculan is attributed to the fourth
king, Ancus Martius, who is also said to have con¬
structed the Mamertine prison, on the N.E. face of the
Capitoline.
It was not, according to the Roman authors, till the reign The Ser-
of Servius Tullius that the hills of Rome were united in a vian city,
single city, and included in a common line of fortifications.1 an(^ re"
This original circumvallation seems to have presented in mcUns
some places a strong rampart of stone, traces of winch are
supposed to have been discovered quite recently on the slope
of the Aventine, and possibly elsewhere. The rear of the
Quirinal and Esquiline was defended by an earthen mound,
known as the Agger Servii, and of this also some vestiges
may still be detected. The heights of the Tarpeian Hill,
which is generally precipitous, were left perhaps to the pro¬
tection of their natural strength ; and we are expressly told
that the stream of the Tiber was considered a sufficient
defence for the city, where it reached the river-bank.
The Janiculan was probably at first an unconnected out¬
post, communication between the Transtiberine suburb and
the city being maintained by a wooden bridge, the Subli-
cian, placed under the care of the pontiffs, who thence de¬
rived their name bridge-makers), and repaired solely
with wood down to the latest period of the empire. The
actual position of this celebrated bridge is still a matter of
dispute. It is generally supposed, indeed, to have stood
immediately under the Aventine, where some stone piers
are still visible at low water. There is great difficulty,
however, in reconciling the authorities with this position,
and besides that the locality seems not sufficiently central,
nor to correspond with the lines of traffic on either side of
the river, there is an obvious inconsistency in identify¬
ing the primitive wooden bridge with existing piers of
stone.1 2
1 The seven hills were those on the left hank, viz., the Capitoline,, Palatine, Aventine, Quirinal, Viminal, Esquiline, and Cselian.
The Janiculan was not included among them j and the several heights of the Esquiline, the Mons Cispius and Oppius, and others, were
all merged in one common appellation.
2 The story of Horatius Codes, as told both by Livy and Dionysius, seems very clearly to imply that the bridge led directly into the
city. On the other hand, the account of the death of C. Gracchus in Val. Maximus and Aurelius Victor is relied on to show that it
reached the left bank outside the walls, and tha porta trigemina under the Aventine. These latter passages seem, however, to admit of
another interpretation; at all events, Livy and Dionysius are to be preferred to the inferior writers their successors. The easy access
this bridge gave to the open city might be the reason for placing it under the care of the priests and the sanction of religion,—-t.e., in the
power of the patrician caste; and its construction in wood was to be maintained in order that it might be readily broken down at a
moment’s notice.
358
ROME.
History. Among the citadels which originally crowned the sum-
>—mils of most, perhaps, of these hills, it was natural that one,
when all the hills were united together, should assume the
pre-eminence, and become the proper citadel, or Arx, of
Rome. The Tarpeian Hill rises in two summits, that to the
N.E. being about 30 feet higher than the other to the
S. W., with a small level space, known to the topographers by
the name of the Intermontium, between them. One of
these summits was already occupied by the fortress of Rome,
the other was crowned by the Tarquins with the national
temple which received the name of Capitolium. The pre¬
cincts of this temple formed a square of about 200 feet each
way, surrounded by porticoes, in the centre of which was
placed, under a common roof, the triple shrine of Jupiter,
Juno, and Minerva. The importance of this building, as
the focus of the national rites, caused the whole hill to as¬
sume the name of Capitoline, the term Tarpeian becoming
specifically restricted to the S.W. summit, or more strictly
to that portion of it which presented a precipitous cliff, over
which political offenders were thrown. But, strange to say,
the critics are utterly disagreed as to which summit was
surmounted by the Arx and which by the Capitol. The
remains of ancient literature afford us perhaps no decisive
passage on the subject, though the constant application of
the epithet Tarpeian to the Capitol can hardly in fairness
be explained away as merely archaic or poetical phraseology.
It is not intended to enter into a discussion of the question
here. It will be sufficient to say that the earliest writers on
Roman antiquities, following the tradition of the middle
ages, assumed that the Capitol stood on the S.W. summit;
that this view was first impugned by some Italian writers
in the seventeenth century, the most eminent of whom was
Nardini, but they seem to have been mainly influenced by
a wish to identify the Capitol with the existing church of
Araceli; and possibly by a crude idea that the N.E., as the
loftiest summit, was the fittest site for the most important
temple in the Roman world. This view, however, was ac¬
cepted with little examination, and generally prevailed
among the learned, till a knot of German antiquarians,
among whom Niebuhr was the most conspicuous, subjected
the question to a critical investigation, and carried the tide
of opinion back to the earlier theory. The native anti¬
quarians, the school of Nibby and Canina, never indeed al¬
lowed themselves to be convinced on a point which became
almost a national question, and within the last few years
they have received an accession of strength from the de¬
fection to their side of the German iEmilius Braun, carry¬
ing with him an English writer of great authority, Mr Dyer.
The Italian view now reigns triumphantly in Rome, and
most of our countrymen who examine the question under
the guidance of local antiquaries are naturally led to adopt
it. It has been stereotyped in the minds of English travel¬
lers by the compiler of Murray’s Hand-Book. The present
writer, however, still professes himself a firm adherent of
the ancient theory.1
A monument of very great antiquity, popularly ascribed
to the pei'iod of the Tarquins, and still existing in the
Cloaca Maxima, or large subterranean drain, which has
been traced from the river as far as the upper part of the
Velabrum, a course of about 800 feet. It is said to have
been constructed to carry off the waters which accumulated
in the hollow between the Palatine and the Capitoline hills,
together with the contents of the various sewers directed
into it from other parts of the city. The network of ancient
sewers beneath the streets of Rome seems to have been com¬
plicated and extensive; a few of them have been discovered History,
here and there, but there has been no attempt to make out
a regular plan of them. The great Cloaca is an arched
channel, vaulted with immense blocks of peperino, and 10
oi 12 feet in width. It is high enough to admit one of
the small waggons in use among the ancients, and Agrippa,
who made a cleansing of it in the time of Augustus, went
up it in a boat. 1 he solidity and durability of this ex¬
traordinary work are deservedly admired; but an attempt
has been recently made to throw suspicion on the great
antiquity claimed for it, on the ground that the principle of
the arch was certainly not adopted by the Romans when
they tunnelled under the Alban Hills, at a much later period.
Such an objection will not generally be deemed conclu¬
sive.2
One other remnant of the so-called kingly period still
existing is the Mamertine prison above mentioned. It con¬
sists of two chambers, one above the other, with a hole in
the floor of the upper one through which prisoners were let
down into the cell below. History records the confinement
of Jugurtha, Sejanus, Vercingetorix, and the Catilinarian
conspirators in this dungeon : an ancient ecclesiastical tra¬
dition asserts that St Peter was also imprisoned here. The
upper chamber has accordingly been fitted up as an oratory
dedicated to the apostles; and a church has also been
erected above it.
After the period of the Etruscans, or, as Niebuhr seems The repub-
to hint, the pre-Etruscan Pelasgians, passed away, we have fican Pe'
no more monuments of gigantic masonry to point out until
we arrive at the historic era of Rome. A century, or per¬
haps more than one century, intervened from the date of
the Cloaca and the Servian walls, and we find the city oc¬
cupied by a race of degenerate mortals, who built their
houses, and probably even their temples, merely of wood
or baked mud, and thatched them with straw and shingles.
The Forum was still a swamp, the cliffs of the Palatine and
Capitoline were still fringed with briars and brushwood, when
the Gauls swept away the ancient city in one great confla¬
gration. Roman antiquarians might pretend, indeed, some
centuries later, to point out the Ruminal fig-tree, the hut of
Romulus, the temple of Vesta, and other monuments of a
primitive age ; but the genuineness of these alleged antiqui¬
ties was belied by the admitted records of its history, as well
as by its intrinsic improbability. The first topographical
notice of the republican period on which we can rely is the
reference of Livy and Pliny to the enormous substruction of
the Capitoline, by which the hill itself was encased and sup¬
ported, of which some trifling vestiges only can be traced
under the north-east angle at the present day. But after
the fire of the Gauls, the city, we are told, was generally
rebuilt in a hasty and irregular manner, without regard
even to the old lines of the streets, or of the sewers be¬
neath them. The lanes which choked the plains and hol¬
lows were tortuous and narrow, with lofty houses obstruct¬
ing the light and air; while the hills were almost entirely
occupied by the temples, or by the mansions and gardens
of the nobles. The names of a good many of the streets
or alleys of the lower city are recorded ; but there is hardly
a single one that is known to have run over the summit of
any of the hills—a significant indication that the great mass
of the population was now confined, and indeed continued
always to be confined, to the valleys. But indeed, in all
Rome there was at this time but one street that deserves
the name of an avenue, and offered a common thorough¬
fare for men, horses, and vehicles. This was the line along
been occunied Rom^n hlstoi7 represents at least a genuine tradition, when it supposes the Tarpeian Hill to have
lower E? SmmandS bv "r?0; f. *he w0“ld be to imagio, .h.Ythe fortress fv.s placed on the
.rple ™ b^rSoweyr ™“,T.“l“wb°WSh0t- “ *lme e‘the'' “i«hl h“' “ ^ ^ «>Lw .hat the
This is the argument of Mr Duppa, as cited by Lord Broughton in his Italy, vol. ii., p. 116.
ROME.
History, which the procession of the triumphs passed; and it
Was for this and other sacred ceremonies that its width and
straight direction were preserved. Entering the city at
the Porta Triumphalis, near the S.W. extremity of the
Capitoline, the victorious general was conducted across the
Velabrum into the Circus Maximus, and so, following per¬
haps exactly the line of the ancient pomaerium, along the
valley which separates the Palatine from the Caelian. At
the spot now marked by the arch of Constantine, his route
made another angle to the left, climbed the. gentle slope of
the Velia, at the top of which he came directly in sight of
the Arxand the Capitol. From hence he descended, keep¬
ing the right side of the Forum, to the foot of the Capitoline,
which he ascended, making another bend to the left, by the
Clivus Capitolinus, till he reached the temple of Jupiter.
This road was dignified with the name of the Sacra Via.
The Appian Way, which branched off from it, and issued
from the city at the Porta Capena, was paved in 312 B.C.,
and the Flaminian in 220 ; but it was not till 174 that this
care was extended to the streets in the city itself, and to
the Clivus Capitolinus. Wherever the accretion of the
soil has been removed in the line of the Sacred Way, an
ancient pavement, consisting of large angular blocks of
basaltic lava, has been found, still in admirable preser¬
vation.
Of all the localities of Rome at this period, the Forum
alone admits of any specific topographical account. This
open space, appropriated to the meetings of the Roman
people, lay, as has been already indicated, at the foot of the
Capitoline, and reached to the slope of the Velia, em¬
bracing the area of the modern Campo Vaccino. The
Italian antiquaries have generally given it a lateral exten¬
sion, between the Capitoline and Palatine, in the direc¬
tion of the Velabrum ; but at all events, they must confess
that at a later period it was confined on this side by the
Basilica Julia. This oblong space, such as we consider it,
narrowing as it approached the Velia, was inclosed north
and south by the lines of the Sacred and the New Way.
Along these lines stood rows of open wooden booths,
fronted by stone pillars ; the southern row was interrupted
by the house of Numa, the temple of Vesta, and possibly
that of Castor and Pollux. An altar near the middle of
this area marked the site of the Curtian Pool, which in
early times had been a mere swamp; and three sacred
trees, a vine, a fig, and an olive, were carefully preserved
and renewed hard by, still showing that the spot had been
formerly a jungle. The Forum was already decorated
with some statues of illustrious citizens. The Comitium,
an open platform raised a few steps above the Forum, was
the meeting-place of the patricians, and was adorned with
their curia. Upon it, and opposite to the curia, stood the
rostra, the pulpit from which the orators addressed them.
The Comitium may best be placed at the N.W. angle ot
the Forum. C. Gracchus was the first to turn, in his public
harangues, from the patricians on the Comitium to the
commons in the Forum below.
While the houses of the chief nobles were generally
placed on the Palatine, the Ceelian, or in a street called
the Carinae, on the slope of the Esquiline, the dwellings of
the poor plebeians were crowded for the most part about
the principal seats of traffic—the Velabrum on the one side
of the Forum, and the Suburra on the other. The man¬
sions, however, of the nobles were also frequently sur¬
rounded by the cabins of their clients, resting against their
walls, so as to form a single block of building with them.
A single house, standing by itself, was called a domus ;
a cluster of dwellings, such as has been just described, re¬
ceived the designation of an insula ; but the little cabins
which went to form the aggregate insula were often loosely
denominated uisulce themselves. It was not till after the re¬
duction of the Grecian settlements in Italy, and afterwards
359
of Greece proper, that the Romans began to decorate their History,
city with handsome architectural monuments ; and these,
it may be supposed, were constructed by Grecian artists,
and were simply reproductions, or at least adaptations, of
the Greek style. The models generally followed were
the florid edifices of the Corinthian order. The most inter¬
esting of the temples of the republican period is that
Concord, erected by Opimius after the slaughter of C.
Gracchus. It stood immediately beneath the Intermon-
tium, facing the Forum, and became in the last century of
the republic the most usual place of meeting for the Senate.
It was here that Cicero pronounced the first and last of
his speeches against Catiline. Some portion of the pave¬
ment of this temple has been discovered on the spot; and
the word Concordia^ engraved upon one of the stones,
sufficiently serves to identify it.
The public amusements of the Romans were consecrated
to religion; and, next to the temples, we may refer to the
theatres of the city. The first scenic representations at
Rome were derived, not from the Greeks, but from the
Etruscans, and the first theatres were constructed before
the introduction of Grecian models. The Romans, indeed,
had not the same facility as the Athenians for excavating
their theatres out of the solid rock; it was not, therefore,
till they had advanced to a high pitch of luxury and extra¬
vagance that they undertook to erect edifices of stone capa¬
cious enough to receive a large portion of the citizens. The
first permanent theatre in stone was that of the great Pom-
peius, which was placed in the Campus Martius, the com¬
mon resort of the people for purposes of entertainment. It
wa« connected with porticoes and groves, and was combined
with a temple, to which the seats of the theatre formed, it
is said, a magnificent ascent. The consul Flaminius built
a second circus, also in the Campus Martius, below the
Capitoline. In this quarter stood also the septa, or polling-
booths, of the Roman people, when they assembled in their
military organization, by classes, to elect the magistrates
of the republic; and here also, in the temple of Bellona,
their generals were wont to meet the Senate on their return
from foreign service, for the citizens of Rome were not
suffered to enter the city under arms. During the last
century of the republic the erection of basilicas, or halls for
public business, and of private palaces, as well as of temples,
went on with increasing magnificence, particularly in the
neighbourhood of the Forum. The mansions of C. Octa¬
vius, of iEmilius Scaurus, of Crassus the orator, and of Ca-
tulus, the prince of the Senate, are specified among the
finest of their day ; but these were speedily eclipsed by
those of Crassus the Rich, of Lepidus (consul b.c. 78), and
others. The house of this last magnate was adorned with
a profusion of Numidian marble, and was esteemed the
most splendid of its day in Rome ; but only thirty-five years
later, according to Pliny, it was outshone by no less than a
hundred aristocratic mansions. The gardens of Lucullus
and Sallust maybe mentioned among the chief monuments
of advancing luxury. The latter stood on the Pincian Hill,
near the Porta Salara, and continued to hold a high place
among the ornaments of the city in the period of the em¬
perors.
Among the most remarkable features of Roman archi¬
tecture were the aqueducts, which supplied the city with
water from many distant sources. Two of these were con¬
structed under the republic,—the Aqua Appia by Appius
Csecus in 312 B.c., and the Anio Vetus, as it was called,
b.c. 273, by Curius Dentatus. The first of these was led
from a spot on the road to Praeneste, 7 or 8 miles from
the city, to the Salinae, outside the Porta Trigemina,
under the Aventine ; but the water was conveyed in leaden
pipes to the Porta Capena, and the twelve arches on which
it was carried into the city seem to have extended only 60
paces. The second began beyond Tibur, and was not less
360 R O
History, than 43 miles in length ; but this also was built on arches
only 221 paces, where it entered the city at the back of the
Esquiline. Such were the humble beginnings of a series
of works which became at a later period some of the noblest
embellishments of the city and neighbourhood.
The tribune Saturninus was blockaded in the Capitoline
in the year 100 b.c. ; but he was reduced to surrender by
cutting the pipes which supplied the citadel, and no injury
was done to the buildings. The Capitoline temple was less
fortunate in the wars of Marius and Sulla, when it fell a
prey to the flames, together with some adjacent buildings.
Sulla plundered the unfinished Olympieum at Athens to
decorate the restored edifice ; and Catulus, who was charged
with the task of completing it, had the honour of inscribing
his name on the entablature. He added to the splendour
of its architectural features, though he was forbidden to
make any change in its ground-plan or proportions. Hence,
though conspicuous from its position, and the centre of re¬
ligious interest to the Roman people, the Capitol was neither
spacious nor lofty, and we never find it extolled for the
grandeur of its dimensions. Catulus rebuilt also the Ta-
bularium, or public record office, in front of the Intermon-
tium, between the Arx and the temple ; and his name, which
he inscribed upon it, has actually been discovered among
its ruins in modern times.
The first We may date the first imperial period of the city from
imperial Julius Csesar, who commenced a great revolution in its ex-
bTsq — ternal appearance. The Julian basilica on the right, and
a.d. 64. the -''Emilian on the left, defined the future limits of the
area, which must now be distinctively entitled the Forum
Romanum. For Caesar, perceiving that the population and
business of the city had outgrown the accommodation pro¬
vided by the Forum of the early republic, undertook to ex¬
tend it with characteristic boldness and energy. The Julian
Forum, which he laid out with surrounding porticoes, and a
temple of Venus in the centre, to the north of the Roman,
was the first of a series of works of a similar character with
which succeeding emperors filled the level space at the foot
of the Viminal and Quirinal. To make room for these
open places in the heart of the city great numbers of the
inhabitants, even though the population must have been
reduced by the civil wars, were undoubtedly displaced; and
from this time, perhaps, dates the first encroachment of
suburban habitations on the public domain of the Campus
Martius. Caesar, indeed, designed a great extension of the
Campus by turning the stream of the Tiber; but this and
other projected changes were intercepted by his death. On
the spot where the dictator’s body was consumed—in front,
that is, of the temple of Vesta in the Forum—a small chapel
was erected to his divinity, which was afterwards embel¬
lished and enlarged. The spot was probably a little in
advance of the modern church of St Francesca. The reign
of Augustus, who succeeded him, and consolidated the
empire on a peaceful foundation, forms an important epoch
in the history of the city. In the first place, this emperor
undertook a general restoration of the sacred buildings,
which had fallen into a lamentable state of decay ; but he
also founded several temples of his own, together with other
public edifices. Of these, the most important were the
temple of Mars Ultor, which was placed in the centre of a
new forum to the north of the Julian; the temple and li¬
brary of Apollo on the Palatine ; the portico and library of
Octavia, and theatre of Marcellus, at the entrance of the
Campus Martius. Augustus constructed also a basin for
mimic sea-fights and other amusements on the right bank
of the liber, below the bridges, and a magnificent mauso¬
leum for his family, near the modern Ripetta. But the
efforts of Augustus himself were rivalled by some of his
wealthiest nobles, btatilius laurus erected a theatre in the
M E.
Campus Martius, and Agrippa constructed several magnifi- History,
cent edifices in the same quarter, embracing baths, foun-
tains, porticoes, and a hall for the payment of the troops,
called the Diribitorium, with a roof of wider span than any
other in the city. The Pantheon, generally supposed to
have been a temple, but the real design of which has not
been satisfactorily explained, still remains as the greatest
existing monument of the Augustan city.
A tolerably vivid picture of Rome at this period is pre¬
sented to us in the contemporary description of Strabo, of
which we can afford room for a portion only :—“ It may be
said that the ancient Romans neglected the beauty of their
city, being intent upon greater and more important objects ;
but later generations, and particularly the Romans of our
own day, have attended to this point as well, and filled the
city with many beautiful monuments. Pompeius Julius
Csesar, and Augustus, as well as the children, friends, wife,
and sister of the last, have bestowed an almost excessive
care and expense in providing these objects. The Campus
Martius has been their special care, the natural beauties of
which have been enhanced by their designs. This plain is of
surprising extent, affording unlimited room not only for the
chariot-races and other equestrian games, but also for the
multitudes who exercise themselves with the ball or hoop,
or in wrestling. The neighbouring buildings, the per¬
petual verdure of the grass, the hills wFich crown the oppo¬
site banks of the river, and produce a kind of scenic effect,
all combine to form a spectacle from which it is difficult to
tear oneself. Adjoining this plain is another (the Campus
Flaminius), and many porticoes and sacred groves, three
theatres, an amphitheatre, and temples, so rich and so close
to one another, that they might appear to exhibit the rest
of the city as a mere supplement. Hence this place is con¬
sidered the most honourable and sacred of all, and has been
appropriated to the monuments of the most distinguished
men and women. The most remarkable of these is that
called the Mausoleum, a vast mound near the river, raised
upon a lofty base of white stone, and covered to its summit
with evergreen trees. On the top is a bronze statue of
Augqstusj while under the mound are the tombs of himself,
his relatives, and friends, and at the back of it a large
grove, affording delightful promenades. In the middle of
the Campus is an inclosed space where the body of Au¬
gustus was burnt, also constructed of white stone, sur¬
rounded with an iron rail, and planted in the interior with
poplar trees. Then, if we proceed to the ancient Forum,
and survey the numerous basilicas, porticoes, and temples
which surround it, and view the Capitol and its works, as
well as those on the Palatine and in the portico of Livia, we
might easily be led to forget all other cities.” 1
The regulation of Augustus, recorded by this writer, for¬
bidding any houses to be constructed in future of more
than 70 feet in height, may serve to remind us that, while
the numerous public edifices of this period were systema¬
tically erected in the style of Greece, with long columnar
fagades, strong horizontal lines, and generally of low eleva¬
tion, the private houses in the older parts of the city still
retained their native character, and were tall and narrow,
with projecting upper-works, and sometimes with lofty
gables. The subsequent career of building in Rome was
marked by the gradual displacement of the Italian by Gre¬
cian features. Augustus could boast, towards the end
of his reign, though with considerable exaggeration, that
he had found Rome of brick and had left it of marble:
no doubt the old Italian materials of wood and brick were
displaced also from year to year by masses of solid ma¬
sonry which befitted a style of architecture fashioned on
that of Athens or Corinth. It was not, however, till the
time of Nero, when the great fire, presently to be de-
J Strabo, lib. v., translated in Mr Dyer’o art. “ Koma,” Smith’s Dictionary of Classical Geography.
R 0
History.' scribed, swept away the larger part of the ancient city, that
full scope was afforded for the development of this revolu¬
tion in taste. Before proceeding to this epoch, we must
notice the new division of the city by Augustus into
fourteen regions. The four Servian quarters, which oc¬
cupied the space within the old walls, were now re-distri¬
buted into six; but the walls themselves had been long
neglected as lines of defence; they had been passed in
almost every direction by suburban buildings, and had be¬
come obliterated, if not actually demolished, in many places.
It does not seem that Augustus scrupulously preserved the
old limitation. At all events, he added as many as ten
new regions, including the Transtiberine, making fourteen
in all, in which he embraced, we may suppose, all the con¬
tinuous buildings which had grown up round the city, to¬
gether with some considerable open spaces which it might
be convenient to comprehend in one municipal system.
It seems that the principal addition of private habitations
lay in the direction of the Caelian and the lower Aventine;
but the public edifices which now thronged the Campus
Martius were also included in the -new city, as were also
the extensive range of private parks and gardens which
skirted it on the north and east from the Pincian Hill to the
Esquiline.
The house which Augustus first occupied on the Pala¬
tine was the modest mansion of a noble but not illustrious
family. When this was consumed by fire he was encour¬
aged by the citizens to enlarge and embellish it. He
connected it at the same time with the official residence of
the chief pontiff, attached to the temple of Vesta. The ori¬
ginal palace, as it now came to be called, of the Caesars oc¬
cupied the north-west angle of the Palatine Hill. The chief
architectural works of the next emperors were still further
enlargements of the imperial residence. Tiberius extended
it along the west side of the hill. Caligula made con¬
siderable additions, and seems to have connected it by
open colonnades with other distant buildings. He threw a
bridge, possibly of wood, over the Velabrum, to unite it
with the temple of Jupiter on the Capitoline. The con¬
ceptions of Nero were still more extravagant. After com¬
mencing a temple to Claudius on the Caelian, he suspended
or pulled down his work, in order to erect on the spot a
wing to his palace; and he connected the house of Mae¬
cenas, which had become imperial property, on the Esqui¬
line, with the Palatine, by means of a colonnade, called the
Domus Transitoria. These works, however, while yet un¬
finished, were interrupted by the great fire of Rome, the
most important event in the history of the city, in the year
64 of our era. The conflagration commenced in the region
of the Porta Capena, near the south-east angle of the Pala¬
tine, and was carried by the wind in two directions, follow¬
ing the course of the valleys between the Palatine and
Caelian on the one hand, and the Palatine and Aventine on
the other. It was not arrested till these two streams of fire
had met again in the Forum or the Velabrum. Thus they
completely encircled the Palatine, and swept at the same
time the base of most of the other hills. They were not
yet entirely extinguished when a second conflagration burst
out in the Via Lata, N.W. of the Capitoline, and the wind
having veered to the opposite direction, some portions of
the city which had hitherto escaped fell now a sacrifice to
its fury. Of the fourteen regions, four, it is said, were
wholly consumed, and seven others more or less injured:
three only escaped unhurt. Generally the lower parts of
the city, the old plebeian quarters, suffered more than the
elevations. The buildings on the Capitoline were unin¬
jured; those on the Palatine only partially damaged; but
the old monuments of the republic in the Suburra, the
Forum, the Velabrum, were swept entirely away. Space
and opportunity were now presented for the re-construction
of the city in the fashionable style of Greece, and the very
VOL. XIX.
M E. 361
eagerness with which Nero improved the occasion in the History,
taste of the day, lent a colour to the imputation current
against him, of having actually kindled the flames,or at least
of having forbidden them to be extinguished.
With the aid of his architects, Severus and Celer, Nero Theculmi-
undertook to rebuild Rome after the manner of the great nat*nSP®'
oriental capitals. Antioch, indeed, and Alexandria, as well 0 t e
as the chief cities of European Greece proper, occupied areas a.d/64-
for the most part level, and it was impossible to carry out on 271.
the varied surface of the seven hills the uniform plan of
rectangular streets and places which characterised the archi¬
tecture of the East. But the avenues of the restored city
were now widened and straightened as far as was practi¬
cable ; the great blocks of houses were generally surrounded
by colonnades; the height of the private buildings was dimin¬
ished ; and the basements at least, even of the plebeian
cabins, were constructed of stone. The old inhabitants
complained, we are told, of the loss of their lofty houses
and narrow alleys, which at least afforded shade from the
sun and shelter against the winds. They were right per¬
haps in alleging that the architecture of Egypt and Syria
was not suited to the variable climate of Rome. The re¬
storation of the city was carried on with great vigour, and
seems to have been nearly completed during the four re¬
maining years of Nero’s reign. The emperor repaired and
completed his palace also, which occupied the heights of
the Palatine, Esquiline, and Caelian, connected together by
a vast series of colonnades. The principal entrance seems
to have been placed near the site of the Colosseum, erected,
as we shall see, a few years later, and named from the
colossal statue of Nero in the atrium of the palace. This
enormous edifice was not less remarkable for its decorations
within and without than for its size, and received from
thence the designation of the Golden House. Another of
Nero’s architectural works was the circus he constructed
for his private amusement on the slope of the Vatican, the
scene of the cruel martyrdom of the Christians, and pos¬
sibly the spot on which the church of St Peter’s now partly
stands.
The civil wars which followed on the death of this tyrant
are memorable in the history of the city, from the burning
of the Capitol, the narrative of which clearly shows that the
Arx had become wholly untenable, and was held of no ac¬
count for the defence of the hill. Vespasian undertook the
restoration of the temple, and was allowed to raise its ele¬
vation, but not to enlarge its foundations. The restoration
was hardly finished when the temple was again destroyed
or damaged by an accidental fire, and the repairs of Domi-
tian seem to have been still more magnificent. The gild¬
ing of the roof is said alone to have cost the incredible sum
of 12,000 talents, or nearly three millions sterling. The
embellishment of the city by the Flavian emperors and
their next successors was conducted on a more magnificent
scale than ever. Vespasian destroyed the greater part of
the Golden House, restricting the imperial palace once
more to the Palatine Plill, and transferring to public uses
the areas thus recovered from it. One part of the site he
devoted to a temple of Claudius on the Caelian, some re¬
mains of which are supposed now to exist, from which we
may estimate the extent of ground it occupied at not less
than one of the squares of London. He constructed a new
forum at the foot of the Esquiline, which received its name
from the temple of Peace in its centre ; above all, he
converted the site of Nero’s fish-ponds into an arena for his
vast amphitheatre, which is known by the name of the Co¬
losseum. Titus transformed a portion of the palace on the
brow of the Esquiline into public baths of unprecedented
extent and splendour. Domitian erected the triumphal
arch, which still exists, in honour of his brother. This
prince commenced also a new forum, to connect that of
Peace with the older constructions of Julius and Augustus,
2 z
\
ROME.
362
History, and adorned it with a temple of Minerva, but the work was
completed by Nerva. The equestrian statue of Domitian
in the Roman Forum has been described by Statius in
lines interesting to the topographer, from the aid they give
him in determining the sites of various buildings in that
quarter,—of the basilicas, for instance, of Julius andiEmilius,
of the temples of Vespasian and of Concord under the Capitol,
of Castor and Pollux and of Vesta at the foot of the Palatine.
The long period of peace and prosperity which followed
was signalized by the erection of a series of magnificent
buildings. Trajan completed the imperial forums by open¬
ing a new area beyond the Julian and Augustan, cutting
through the low ridge which joined the Capitoline and
Quirinal, to get a level space for his extensive works. This
Place also was decorated with a temple, and its site is defined
for us by the column still standing in its centre, which was
surmounted by a statue of the emperor. The principal works
of Hadrian, besides the completion of Trajan’s forum and
temple, were the temple of Venus and Rome, with two cells
back to back, the largest of all the sacred edifices of the city,
on the eastern slope of the Velia, and the colossal mausoleum
erected for his own sepulchre, now known as the castle of
St Angelo, on the other side of the Tiber. The Mole of
Hadrian, as this building was popularly designated, was
connected with the Campus Martius, now almost wholly
occupied with buildings, by the Pons ^Elius, still existing.
The fashion of erecting commemorative columns, first
set, at least on a large scale, by Trajan, was followed by
both the Antonines. The column of Pius was indeed of
much smaller dimensions. It was found in fragments lying
on the ground early in the last century, and an unsuccess¬
ful attempt was made to raise it. The base has been since
removed to the garden of the Vatican. The column of
Aurelius still stands, and forms one of the most conspicu¬
ous objects in the centre of the modern city. Under Corn-
modus the city suffered again from fire, but the particulars
of the disaster are not known. Severus built the Septi-
zonium, a large edifice raised on seven ranges of columns,
in imitation perhaps of the mausoleums of Augustus and
Hadrian. This building is frequently mentioned in the
history of Rome in the middle ages, but its site has not
been satisfactorily determined. The triumphal arch of
Severus, still standing at the foot of the Capitoline, is the
noblest of the ancient monuments of its kind now existing.
The Antonine baths, wdiich exceeded in extent those already
mentioned of Titus, filled a large space beyond the Porta
Capena, and seem to show that the population was not
densely located at this time in that quarter. The erection of
this work is ascribed to Caracalla: probably it was finished
by Alexander Severus. The series of aqueducts introduced
into the city, already eight in number, was completed by
the Aqua Alexandrina of this latter emperor, by which these
baths are supposed to have been supplied. Alexander con¬
structed also a new circus in the Campus Martius, the limits
of which are precisely defined by the existing Piazza Na-
vona. The city had arrived at the height of its splendour,
extent, and population, when it was finally encircled with
a continuous line of fortification by the policy of the Em¬
peror Aurelian.
I he walls with which Aurelian surrounded Rome were History,
meant as a defence against the attacks, now first appre-
hended, of the barbarians, and were so drawn as to embrace The walls
all the continuous buildings pertaining to the city. They of Aure-
comprehended pretty exactly the whole of the fourteen lian-
regions of Augustus, with the addition of the camp of the
praetorians, which had lain originally beyond their limits.
On the left bank of the river they corresponded very closely
with the line of w'alls now existing; on the right they in¬
cluded the Janiculan Hill, but did not extend to the Vatican.
No certain vestiges, however, of this fortification can now
be discovered. A space, indeed, of about 40 feet at the
slope of the Pincian Hill, remarkable for the inclination of
the wall from the perpendicular, presents a specimen of
opus reticulalum, a species of brick-work belonging, it is
said, to the period of the early Caesars. It would seem,
therefore, that at this point at least Aurelian connected his
work with some building already in existence. We have,
however, no other traces of construction which can be re¬
ferred with confidence to any very ancient date. Even
in the time of Honorius these walls had fallen into decay,
and required considerable repairs; an operation which
was repeated, as we shall see, by Belisarius, and again by
Narses.
The actual circuit of the walls of Rome has been very
variously stated. Some of the ancient authorities on the
subject have been misunderstood, but others are manifestly
in error. The best measurements have been made by
the simple process of walking round them. The Servian
enceinte, as far as it can be traced, has thus been found to
extend to about 8 miles, that of Aurelian to \2\} This
agrees very nearly with the statement of Pliny, that the
mcenia of Rome had a circuit of 13 m. p. The word mcenia
has been taken for the walls; and as the walls of Pliny’s
time were the so-called Servian, it has been thought that
for xiii. we should read viii.1 2 Mcenia, however, properly im¬
plies not walls, but continuous edifices, and was used no
doubt by the author to indicate the extent of the regions of
Augustus, comprehending the actual city of his day.
This conclusion is important, as it furnishes us with the
best data we possess for determining the population of
Rome. There are, indeed, a variety of proofs that the
suburbs of the city were never either extensive or populous,
derived from the paucity of remains beyond the walls, from
the practice of lining the roads for miles with sepulchral
monuments', from the absence of bridges across the Tiber
either above or below the walls, and from the frequent men¬
tion of country villages, lanes, and retired woods at but a
short distance from the gates. We may conclude, then,
that the mass of the population was strictly confined to the
limits comprised within the walls of Aurelian.
Although, however, these walls are above 12 miles in
circuit, about the same as the outer boulevards of Paris,
it must be observed that they do not inclose a regular figure,
and the area they embrace is far less than it would be if
the circumference, as at Paris or ancient Athens, approached
a circle or ellipse.3 We have seen that, in the time of
Augustus, a large proportion of the area was very thinly
inhabited; and even in later times indications are not
1 Lord Broughton’s Italy, i., p. 308, note. The author adds, however, that in trying the distance with a pedometer, he found it “con¬
siderably less.”
2 This is the solution adopted by Bureau de le Malle in his Econ. Pol. des Romains, i. 345, after D’Anville.
The area of Rome has been accurately measured at 3263 acres. We may compare this with the areas of some modern cities, as given
in the Quarterly Review, vol. xcix., p. 445 r—
Acres. Population. Average Density.
1. West London....    2547 199,885 75
2. Central London  1938 393,256 203
3. Liverpool (Central)  1830 255,055 131
4. Calcutta (excluding the suburbs)  4796 413,182 86
5. Florence  1297 95,927 74
6. Frankfort-on-Main   1312 66,244 50
7. Paris  8026 1,050,000 130
ROME.
363
Desertion
of the em-
the barba¬
rians.
History, wanting that great spaces within the city were still occu-
P*ed by gardens and pleasure-grounds, while the extent of
the public buildings seems to have constantly increased.1
The emperors appear to have experienced no difficulty in
clearing the ground for their enormous constructions. On
the whole, Rome in the Augustan age cannot have stood
on more ground than the city of the present day, nor in
the time of Aurelian did it occupy a greater space than
Naples; and these Italian cities present in many respects
the fittest objects to compare with it. When we add that,
while repeated fires were thinning the density of habitation,
new regulations were introduced for reducing the height of
houses; that Trajan fixed the limit at 60 feet, while in
London they rise very generally to 70 or 80, and in mo¬
dern Rome and Naples still higher;—we shall be content
perhaps with a very moderate estimate of the population of
the ancient city. Into other data, at best uncertain, for
fixing it, we cannot here enter; but, judging from the ex¬
tent of the area, and the character and density of the
buildings, we shall hardly believe that it ever approached
to the number of one million.
From the time of M. Aurelius, the Roman world was
visited by a succession of pestilences, which, it may be sup-
perors, and posed, would fall most heavily on the areas of densest po-
attacks of pulation. It seems probable, however, that whatever loss
Rome sustained from this cause during the century which
followed would be compensated by the crowding into it of
the distressed and impoverished people from the towns
and country round. We cannot infer that the numbers of
the urban population actually diminished along with the
undoubted decline of the empire generally in the third
century.
The first great blow that was struck at the numbers of
the city was the building of Constantinople. Several of
the noblest and wealthiest families then quitted the Tiber
for the Bosphorus, and. carried with them their troops of
clients and families of slaves. The servile population had
now ceased to draw recruits from successful frontier wars,
and the decay of general affluence must have rendered the
breeding and maintenance of this class unprofitable. The
construction, however, of splendid edifices still continued
after the age of the Severi, though we may guess, from the
example of the arch of Constantine, that older buildings
were often pillaged to decorate the new. Aurelian erected
the temple of the Sun on the Quirinal, the substructions
of which are still seen in the gardens of the Colonna
palace; the arches of Gallienus and Constantine exist at
the present day ; the baths of Diocletian were equal in
extent and splendour to those of Titus or Caracalla; Max-
entius and Constantine erected the great Basilican, the
remains of which are among the most conspicuous monu¬
ments of Roman antiquity. The walls, it is said, were
completed by Probus.
But with these works the additions to the splendour of
the ancient city terminate. When Constantins visited
Rome he was struck with admiration at its architectural
magnificence, and despairing of leaving any monument of
himself which should vie with those of his predecessors,
was satisfied with offering, as his humble tribute, an obelisk
erected in the Circus Maximus. Two centuries later, a
noble column, still standing, was raised to the Emperor
Phocas in the Forum; but this, it is supposed, was taken ■^lstory-
from some earlier edifice. Honorius is extolled by the poet
Claudian for breathing new life into the ancient city, but
his meiits seem to have been really confined to some par¬
tial repairs of the walls, which we cannot suppose to have
fallen into general decay in little more than a hundred
years. His minister, Stilicho, set the first example of pil¬
lage, in carrying off the gilded plates on the doors of the
Capitoline temple. The first assault of the barbarians
quickly followed. Alaric entered Rome in 410 by the Sa-
laran Gate, 'and gave the nearest parts of the city to the
flames. Procopius, writing a century and half later, ascribes
the destruction of the house of Sallust, such as he witnessed
it in his own day, to this disaster. The extent indeed of
the damage may not have been great. The Goths re¬
mained only six days in Rome, and could not, had they
been inclined, have demolished or injured many of the
buildings in that short time.
T. he second sack of Rome was that by Genseric and the
Vandals in 455. The Gothic historian Jornandes, who
had denied the imputation of barbaric violence applied to
his own countrymen, speaks of the desolation inflicted by
the rival conqueror. The Vandals occupied the city four¬
teen days ; but they employed themselves too diligently in
collecting its treasures to spend time in destroying its mas¬
sive edifices. The golden candlesticks and table of the
Holy of Holies, taken from Jerusalem by Titus, are spe¬
cified among the spoils of Genseric. When these objects
weie recovered by Belisarius, they were sent as precious
trophies to the Christian capital of the empire. The Van¬
dals carried off one-half of the gilt tiles on the roof of the
Capitol; and a vessel laden with gold and silver statues was
lost on its way to Africa. In 472 Rome was sacked a
third time by Ricimer; but the object of this adventurer
was a political revolution, and he was animated by no hos¬
tility to the people or city. It is not probable that he in¬
flicted any great amount of damage, and indeed he too
died within forty days.
Thus far we cannot suppose that Rome had suffered any
material damage in her external appearance, nor such as
might not have been speedily eflaced had she retained spirit
and resources for repairing the loss. To some extent, indeed,
both of these were supplied by Theodoric, who succeeded
to the supreme power in Rome in the year 493. Cassio-
dorius mentions by name several of the chief monuments
of the city as existing at this epoch in their ancient splen¬
dour, and considerable sums were now set apart for the
repair of those which time or violence had injured. For
this purpose also, marble was imported from Greece by the
successors of Theodoric, Amalasuntha and Deodatus. At
this period the public games might still be witnessed in the
Circus Maximus, and the Claudian aqueduct was in play.
Such indeed was the case with the aqueducts generally,
which were first broken down, as we are expressly told, in
the attack of Vitiges (a.d. 537), when the country round
Rome was devastated by the Goths. To resist this attack,
Belisarius, who then held the city for the Greek emperor,
repaired the walls, and fortified the Mole of Hadrian. In
the course of the siege the defenders hurled many statues
from the walls of this edifice upon the heads of the assail¬
ants. But the sack of Totila, which followed in 546, was
It will be seen that, computing the area of Rome at 3263 acres, it would contain, if peopled
on tne scale
Of Ko. 1, a population of 274,224
2, „ 662,389
3, „ 379,487
Of No. 4, a population of 280,618
„ 5, „ 259,536
„ 6, „ 159,150
Of No. 7, a population of 424, 190
The population of modern Rome, it may be added, is now about 180,000; that of Naples 450,000.
1 Besides the numerous large edifices, theatres, circuses, &c., already specified, we are informed that Rome possessed 424 temples,
most of them with external areas and sacred groves attached; 265 squares or open places, and that Agrippa alone erected 170 baths for
the use of the people. See these and many other details in Bureau de la Malle, i. 350, &c.
364
History.
  ^
Effects of
the esta¬
blishment
of Chris¬
tianity.
ROME.
marked by the burning of some portions of the city, espe¬
cially that beyond the Tiber. This conqueror overthrew
also a third part of the walls. The city is said to have been
deserted by its inhabitants, and the barbarian threatened
to turn its site into pasture ground. It is still affirmed,
however, that he was diverted from the execution of his
threats against the buildings and monuments of Rome by
the remonstrances of Belisarius, who, on the retreat of the
Goths, once more repaired the walls, and repulsed another
attack. The city, indeed, was subsequently surrendered to
Totila by treachery ; but the invader now established him¬
self there, not as an enemy, but a sovereign, and caused no
further injury. After his death it reverted once more to
the rulers of Constantinople, after having been taken and
retaken five times in the course of twenty years, but with
more loss perhaps to the harassed population than to the
buildings themselves. With Totila the damage inflicted
by the barbarians may be said to terminate. The Lombards
devastated the Campagna in 578 and 593, but did no
injury to the city. As late as 754 the walls were assaulted
by the German Astulphus, and the buildings which lay near
them may have suffered from his violence; and we thus
reach the'era of Charlemagne, and the general recognition
of Papal Rome as the centre of mediaeval civilization.
During the period of five centuries, at which we have
glanced in the last section, while Rome was subjected to
the effects of imperial neglect on the one hand, and of bar¬
barian crime on the other, a third cause of decay was also in
operation, which contributed no doubt more than either of
these to change the face of the city, and obliterate its
ancient topography. This was the establishment of Chris¬
tianity, or, to speak more precisely, the transition from the
old religion to the new.
Constantine first allowed the Christians to make use of
some public halls for their worship. We cannot indeed
specify any such case with certainty; but the application of
the term basilica to five of the larger and eight smaller
churches in Rome, and the evident derivation of the style
of Roman ecclesiastical architecture, sufficiently attest the
fact. Though the internal decorations, especially the sta¬
tues, of these pagan edifices, would be destroyed on their
application to the religious service of the Christians, we
may believe that the practice of conversion was on the
whole favourable to the preservation of this class of struc¬
tures externally. But with the temples the case was dif¬
ferent. It is impossible but that, in the decline of paganism,
these sacred buildings must have suffered from neglect,
even before the churches of Christianity rose to supplant
them. Neither Constantine nor his immediate successor
ventured to close them. Theodosius, who destroyed the
temples at Alexandria, still spared those of the pagan me¬
tropolis. But the violence of the Christians grew with
their strength. In 399 the edict of Honorious suspended
all the temple services; and the clause which forbade any
outrages to be committed on the buildings themselves
seems to show, not only that such were to be apprehended,
but that they had been already offered. Augustine boasts
in one place that all the statues in the Roman temples had
been demolished, but he speaks elsewhere of temples and
sacred groves being appropriated to Christian worship and
sanctified thereby ; and we must suspect Jerome of his
usual exaggeration where he exults in the general ruin
which, as he asserts, had fallen upon the sacred places of
the heathens. At all events, there is no more brilliant
description of the pagan shrines of Rome than that of
Claudian, himself a pagan, at the very epoch to which we
are now referring. At last, in 426, the younger Theodo¬
sius issued an edict for their destruction, and this edict is
generally supposed to have been carried out pretty com¬
pletely. It is said that from this era we meet with no re¬
ference to the temples in the imperial legislation ; but this
indeed was hardly to have been expected when the temples
had ceased to be public property or objects of public in¬
terest. It is not strictly true that from henceforth there is
no mention of them in the narrative of political events.
Procopius in the sixth century alludes to the temple of
Peace as then existing, with other similar monuments, and
particularly describes the form, the dimensions, and the
material of the temple of Janus. The populace, he says,
Christians though they nominally were, attempted to open
the gates of this temple as a protection against an advanc¬
ing enemy ; a trait of superstition which shows that they still
retained a lurking respect for the ideas of antiquity ; and
would have revolted against any indiscriminate attack upon
their monuments and emblems. If, however, these vener¬
able edifices escaped a general proscription and demolition,
they fell for the most part by a more lingering process,
being despoiled from time to time by the cupidity or
caprice of the private owners into whose hands they came.
Thus in the reign of Justinian, a Roman matron, the pro¬
prietor of a ruined temple on the Quirinal, presented eight
of its columns to the emperor for the decoration of S.
Sophia. Vast numbers of columns, friezes, and entabla¬
tures, were thus transferred to Christian churches. The
application of the temples themselves to ecclesiastical uses
was more rare, and is believed to have begun rather later.
The Pantheon had escaped destruction or serious mutila¬
tion down to the seventh century; it was converted into a
church in the year 604, in which year the gilded tiles of the
temple of Venus and Roma were also transferred to the
roof of St Peter’s basilica. We know, however, of four or
five only of the ancient temples which were equally fortu¬
nate with the Pantheon,—those, namely, which were dedi¬
cated to SS. Cosmas and Damianus ; to St Stephen, St
Hadrian, and that of Vesta or Romulus, which has assumed
the name of St Theodore. On the other hand, we read of
not less than fifty-six churches erected on the sites of
temples either previously destroyed or actually pulled down
for the purpose. The destruction of the theatres, baths,
and circuses, together with other places of public resort, in
which the magnificence of the ancient city had most con¬
spicuously displayed itself, must be ascribed more directly
than even that of the temples to the change of religion,
sentiments, and manners. Against the social institutions
to which these buildings were devoted the early Christian
preachers had most sedulously inveighed; the converts
were instructed to shun them, as the strongholds of the ido¬
latry, cruelty, and sensuality which disgraced the heathen
world. It was long indeed before the Roman populace,
even when Christian in name, could be effectually weaned
from their fascinations : the games of the circus did not, it
is said, finally cease till 496, and the baths were not per¬
haps wholly deserted till the overthrow of the aqueducts
which supplied them. But as early as the tenth century
there were three churches standing within the area of the
baths of Alexander, which must have been previously
deserted and in ruins. The immediate causes of the de¬
struction of these monuments must be looked for in those
natural agencies to which we shall next refer, and which
we shall find to have been really far more effectual in
their operation than either the fury of the barbarians or the
fanaticism of the Christians.
The popular charges against Pope Gregory the Great, ^eca7 of
of having urged the destruction of temples, the demolition
of statues, and the burning of libraries, have been chiefly ral causea>
derived from the declamatory assertions of John of Salis¬
bury, a writer of the twelfth century. Gregory himself,
we may believe, would have disclaimed the praises of his
fanatical panegyrist. He has left us in memorable words
his own mournful impression of the decay and ruin of the
great city around him, which he ascribes to the operation
of tempests, earthquakes, and inundations. Such agencies^
History.
HOME.
365
History, as we learn, had been always more or less in activity on the
w-v—' spot, but in better times the injury they inflicted was
speedily repaired by the energy of a vigorous and increas¬
ing population : at this period there was neither strength nor
spirit to retrieve the accumulating disasters. Pestilence and
famine had repeatedly succeeded to the calamities of war;
the remnant of the citizens had been driven more than once
in terror from their dwellings, and many no doubt had aban¬
doned them for ever. At the second siege of Totila there
was so much vacant soil within the city as would have suf¬
ficed to maintain both the inhabitants and the garrison.
Sufferings and apprehensions had blunted every sentiment
of national pride or interest. The Romans had become
ignorant of their own history, or at least indifferent to its
monuments; they were wholly insensible to the grandeur
and beauty of their works of art; they left their noblest
statues to be buried in the gradual accretion of soil, as in
the baths of Antoninus and Titus; while the names and
uses of their most illustrious edifices sank into oblivion
around them.
Against the agencies above enumerated a people so
listless could not contend. The rains swept the soil from
the hills into the valleys; the inundations undermined the
buildings ; the earthquakes overthrew them. A rank vege¬
tation orew up among the ruins, and embedded them in
its accumulating debris. There is evidence, from certain
appearances in the walls, that even when Honorius repaired
them the soil had already risen in some places to several feet
above the original level. In modern times excavations on
the hills, but still more in the lower parts of the city, and
especially in the Forum, have exhibited a rise of level of
10, 15, or even 20 feet. The process of accretion is thus
described by Lord Broughton“ Such open spots as were
decorated by single monuments were likely to be first over¬
whelmed by the deposit left by the water and collected
round those monuments. On this account the forums, and
even the Palatine, though on an eminence, being crowded
with structures, appear to have been buried deeper than
the other quarters under the deposit of the river and the
materials of the crumbling edifices. The latter accumu¬
lation must be taken into account when it is recollected
that the broken pottery of the old city has at some unknown
period been sufficient to form a mount of 150 paces high
and 500 paces in length. The population was too languid
to dig away the obstruction, and employed their remaining
strength in transporting the smaller materials to the more
modern and secure quarter of the town. 1 The failure of
the supply of water from the aqueducts would help to
drive the dwindling population to the banks of the river;
and in the eighth and ninth centuries, when the number
of inhabitants had fallen perhaps to its lowest point, a large
proportion of the area within the walls was occupied with
fields and vineyards, the people crowded together under
the western slope of the Capitoline, and in the nearest por¬
tions of the Campus Martius, where the oldest parts of the
modern city are at this day to be found.
History of The citY of the Caesars had sunk to its lowest degrada'
the City in tion about the end of the eighth century ; its old habitations
the middle had been destroyed, even the course of most of its streets
aSes* obliterated; the remains of antiquity were confined to the
bare walls of palaces and temples, and a few other monu¬
ments of unusual strength and solidity. Of these remains
a list is given by a topographer of the next age, according
to the division, still it seems remembered, of the fourteen
regions. It includes the baths of Alexander, Commodus, History.
Trajan, Sallust, Diocletian, and Constantine ; temples of
Jupiter and Minerva; the Roman Forum and that of Tra¬
jan ; the three circuses; the arches of Severus, litus, Gra-
tian, Theodosius, and Valentinian; the Flavian and prae¬
torian amphitheatres; the Capitol, the Septizonium, the
palace of Nero, and another, pretending to be that of Pontius
Pilate ; the theatres of Pompey and Marcellus; the Trajan
and Antonine columns; a Nymphaeum; an obelisk; several
remains of aqueducts and porticoes; together with various
specimens of ancient sculpture.2 These monuments, it will
be observed, still for the most part exist; their continued
preservation will be presently accounted for ; but the demo¬
lition of the ancient city had already advanced at this period
almost to the point at which it has now arrived, a thousand
years later. A change, however, now occurs in the history
of Rome. The spiritual importance which begins to attach
to her as the centre of Christendom, and the spot from
whence the chief of the revived empire is content to de¬
rive his authority, inspires her government with a renewed
sense of dignity. The Popes, now the acknowledged
masters of the venerable city, attempted in every interval
of domestic tranquillity to repair the most vital injuries she
had suffered. The Aqua Virgo was made again to convey
water to the dwellings about the Pantheon, and the Claudia
to those which encircled the Lateran. A new town was
rising under the protection of St Peter’s, which Pope Leo
VI. fortified in 846, and gave it the name of the Civitas
Leonina, now the Borgo. Rome had become a cluster
of little towns, one of which grew up around each of her
principal sanctuaries; and from this time her records teem
with notices of the building of new churches, and even the
restoration of old ones. The Papal city had itself become
an antiquity.
The exemption, however, which Rome now enjoyed
from foreign assault encouraged the citizens to dissensions
among themselves. The strongest monuments of the old
city still standing were seized by the barons and converted
into fortresses. Even the monasteries sought to protect
themselves by similar means. Thus the convent of S.
Gregory on the Caelian had its outposts in the Septizonium
and the arch of Constantine; while other religious houses
made use of the columns of Trajan and Antonine for bel¬
fries. In the twelfth century the noble family of the
Frangipani had possession of many ancient buildings, such
as the Colosseum, the Circus Maximus, the Septizonium,
the arches of Titus and Janus ; the Orsini occupied about
the same time the mole of Hadrian and the theatre of
Pompeius; the Colonna the mausoleum of Augustus and
the baths of Constantine ; the Savelli maintained themselves
in the theatre of Marcellus and the tomb of Caecilia Metella;
the Corsi had fortified the Capitol, and were in possession
of the basilica of S. Paul. The Pantheon was defended
as a fortress for the Pope.3 We may suppose that the
defiant attitude assumed by the holders of these places of
strength provoked mutual hostilities; but they were pre¬
served at least from natural decay by the pains taken to
fortify them. We can trace, however, some of the damage
inflicted upon them in the struggle between the Popes and
Emperors, and we may guess at more. Rome was attacked
more than once by the emperor Henry IV. In the siege
of 1082 the portico of St Peter’s suffered injury; in the
following year that of Hadrian’s mole, or castle of S. Angelo,
was destroyed.4 The assaults were generally directed
i Lord Broughton’s Italy, i. 373. 2 Ibid-> i- 382> fl,om Bianchini, Vit. Pontif.
4 Th^modern^am^of thi^monument is^erived fronf a*chapel once erected on its summit by Pope Gregory the Great at the close of
the sixth^century1 Mid dedicated to the archangel Michael, who was said to have appeared on the spot and protected the city from a
nestilence The name of S. Angelo, however, does not seem to have been applied till several centuries later. The mole was r
Td by St" XII “bout 960,tgain in 1378, and dually in 1644. It ia now uSed a. a state prison. All the upper part.» modern.
366 R O
History, against the Transtiberine portion of the city, and in 1084
the Borgo was overthrown. At the same time the long
colonnade which connected St Paul’s-beyond-the-walls with
the city was demolished. Thus far the injury inflicted had
lighted chiefly on objects comparatively modern; but the
emperor now penetrated the walls, and made a furious
attack on the Capitol, which caused the ruin of many an¬
cient remains. The outrages of the imperialists, however,
were far exceeded by those of the Normans and Saracens,
who recovered the city for Pope Gregory VII. under
Robert Guiscard. These savage allies burnt their way
from the Flaminian Gate to the Antonine column, and they
assaulted with barbarian violence both the Capitol and the
Colosseum, and laid waste the area of the city from thence
to the Lateran. The greater part indeed of this space was
at this time uninhabited, and even uncultivated. The re¬
mains of the several borgos were thus separated by desert
tracts; and William of Malmesbury, in writing of this la¬
mentable period, could describe Rome as “ quite a small
city.” At the end of this century, under Innocent III., it
is said to have contained only 35,000 inhabitants.
In the thirteenth century the violence of the nobles was
brought in some degree under the control of the muni¬
cipal government, anti the senator Brancaleone caused the
demolition of 140 baronial “ towers.” These were perhaps
for the most part turrets of brick erected on the summit of
the ancient monuments, but their destruction extended in
many cases, as we are specially assured, to the monuments
themselves; the extent, however, of the demolition has
probably been exaggerated,—at least the check it inflicted
was incomplete and transient. We continue to hear, again
and again, of the feudal castles in Rome: as many as forty-
four existed,it is said, at a much later period in a single borgo.
The removal of the Popes to Avignon in the fourteenth
century tended on the whole to the preservation of the
ancient remains. It was a period of stagnation, with less
of violence on the one hand, and less of improvement and
embellishment on the other, which were almost equally
fatal to monuments of merely antiquarian interest. The
lamentations of Petrarch over the desolation of Rome are
generally taken as a sign of its advancing ruin. Perhaps
they should rather be regarded as a favourable symptom.
They exhibit the first indication of an interest in antiquity,
and an anxiety to preserve what was perishing. The abor¬
tive attempts of Rienzi were not ineffectual for the great
end he had in view, to revive among his countrymen the
love of their city and pride in their historic recollections.
But in the middle of the century the venerated spot was
visited with an inundation and an earthquake of more than
usual violence, in which some of the ancient as well as
more modern monuments were overthrown. The con¬
tinued absence of the Popes, as Lord Broughton remarks,
might have been fatal to the city, and reduced it to a soli¬
tude ; “ but such a solitude,” he adds, “ would have pro¬
tected many a fragment, and preserved the ruins at least
for the eyes of a more inquisitive generation.” The return
of the Popes, and the new population which followed in
their train, introduced a new series of injuries, in the conver¬
sion of the old materials to other objects. “ The Colonna
and the Orsini, the people and the church, fought again for
the Capitol and the towers; the fortress of the Popes, the
refitted mole of Hadrian, repeatedly bombarded the town;”
but the injuries thus inflicted on the imperial remains were
less serious than the pillage to which they were to be again
subjected by the Papal re-constructors and beautifiers.
The return of the Popes from Avignon was soon suc¬
ceeded by the great western schism, which suspended the
restoration of the city for forty years ; but the era of its
re-construction in the general form it now presents may be
M E.
dated from the pontificate of Martin V. (1417). This was History,
the most flourishing period of the Papal power, when its
revenues were most abundant, and its authority throughout r^g rise of
Europe uncontested. The last revolt of the Romans was the modern
suppressed in 1434 by Eugenius IV., and the work ofcitytothe
building and restoring was now carried on rapidly andn,i(ldle
without interruption for many years. A great many of thethe 17th
churches of Rome date their origin from this century, and cen ur^*
perhaps a still larger proportion of its palaces, erected for
the most part by the Popes themselves, or by the families
they founded. The monuments of imperial Rome still
existing, and especially the enormous Colosseum, supplied
inexhaustible quarries of travertine to the builders.
Nicolas V. has been called the Augustus of modern Rome ;
but he stripped the ancient edifices of their marble to burn
into lime, and left only the brick. So rapidly did the work
of demolition proceed that Pius II. was obliged to interfere
with a bull in 1462 to arrest it. But the interdict seems
to have been little regarded, and this Pope is himself
accused of building the palace of St Mark with materials
taken from the Colosseum. In 1474 Sixtus IV. destroyed
what remained of the stone piers of the supposed Sublician
bridge to make cannon balls. Alexander VI. constructed
his gallery from the Vatican to the castle of St Angelo
with the fragments of a pyramid destroyed for the purpose.
Pius III. plundered the temple of Antoninus and Faustina,
the arch of Titus, the forum of Trajan, and the theatre of
Marcellus ; and built the Farnese palace with stone from
the Colosseum. Sixtus V. removed some works of art
from the Septizonium to decorate St Peter’s. “ The stupen¬
dous vaults of the Diocletian thermae were converted into
churches ; the walls of those of Constantine were adjusted
into the Rospigliosi palace ; the Alexandrine thermae
supplied with columns the repairs of the Pantheon ; a
circus was gradually cleared away for the opening of the
Piazza Navona; the marble of a temple on the Quirinal
was cut into the 124 steps which ascend to the church of
Araceli.”1 The fountain of Trevi and the Barberini
palace were constructed by Urban VIII. with materials
taken from the Colosseum ; he also stripped the porch of
the Pantheon of some sheets of bronze, which, strange to
say, had so long escaped the spoilers of the city. These
last and other acts of barbarism were perpetrated in the
middle of the seventeenth century; and finally, Alexander
VII. destroyed the arch of M. Aurelius about 1660, as an
obstruction to the street called the Corso. “ Those who
peruse the topographers from Blondus to Nardini will
assign to the latter half of the fifteenth century, and the
succeeding 150 years, a greater activity of destruction than
to those immediately preceding ages in which we have no
authentic writers to tell us what was left or what was lost.”2
The laying out of the plan of the city as it now exists
dates from the pontificate of Sixtus IV. (1471-1484). A
peculiar feature of modern Rome, as distinguished from
other cities, is the combination it presents of long and
straight avenues with clusters of the narrowest and most
tortuous alleys. We see before us in this respect a repeti¬
tion of Rome as it was rebuilt after the fire of Nero.
From the Capitoline (Campidoglio), the Quirinal, and the
centre of the old Campus Martius respectively, three
streets, the Corso, the Babuino, and the Scrota, con¬
verge upon the Porta del Popolo, near to the site of the
old Flaminian Gate. The first of these runs partly, pos¬
sibly indeed altogether, in the line of the Flaminian Way,
and it is evident that they must have all been driven
through the habitations, long deserted perhaps, of an
earlier generation, and that many ancient remains must
have been sacrificed to them. In the same manner, we
are informed, the remnant of Nerva’s forum was removed
1 Lord Broughton, Italy, i. 421.
2 Ibid., i. 423.
U 0
History, to make way for the Via Alessandrina ; and other antiqui-
ties were demolished to effect a communication between
the forum of Trajan and St Maria Maggiore. During
almost the whole of the period now before us, the modern
church of St Peter’s was rising in its incomparable grandeur
(1450--1626). Before the secession to Avignon, the Popes
had inhabited the Lateran. On their return, they took up
their residence in the Vatican, chiefly on account of its
proximity to the friendly shelter of St Angelo. From
that time they continued to enlarge and beautify this
palace, till its length has extended to 1151 and its breadth
to 767 feet, and it contains by exact computation 4422
rooms.1 The square of palaces which occupies the centre
of the Campidoglio was built by Paul III. (1534-1549),
from the designs of Michael Angelo, and is ascended by a
stair on the northern slope of the hill, the side which in
ancient times was regarded as inaccessible. The Popes
have another residence on the Quirinal, in a palace com¬
menced by Gregory XIII. in 1574, and enlarged by several
succeeding pontiffs down to Urban \TII,
By the middle of the seventeenth- century Papal Rome
had reached perhaps its full extent, and enjoyed a splendour
which it has hardly since maintained. Though not free
from the ravages of fire and inundation, once only during
the period of its restoration it suffered a great disaster from
martial violence. In 1527 it was stormed by the constable
Bourbon, and surrendered to a lawless soldiery for the space
of nine months. Churches and palaces were pillaged, and
the paintings and frescoes which had begun to decorate their
walls were subjected to considerable damage. Nevertheless,
the outcry of the sufferers, who declared that the troops of
Charles V. inflicted more devastation than the Goths, is no
doubt exaggerated. They plundered, but they do not
seem to have destroyed. At all events, the condition of
Rome was now very different from what it had been in the
fifth or sixth century. The spirit of the people and their
rulers was vigorous and elastic ; their resources were over¬
flowing ; and whatever injury they might occasionally
suffer from the hands of man or from natural causes they
easily retrieved and obliterated. Had Charles V., says
Donatus, returned to Rome in the pontificate of Urban
VIII. (1623-1644), he would not have recognised the city
he had seen from the top of the Pantheon.2
Kevived Petrarch and Rienzi in the fourteenth, and Poggio in
interest in the next century, pleaded for the ruins of ancient Rome,
Roman an- an(j raise(j at ]east a momentary enthusiasm in their behalf,
tiquities. revjvaj 0f ciassicai learning gave force and permanence
to the feeling they had awakened. The sixteenth century
witnessed first its development in the classical and almost
pagan tastes of Leo X. and other chiefs of the Papacy, by
whom the first steps were taken in collecting statues and
works of art, and uncovering the foundations of imperial
Rome. About 1520, Raphael, who had witnessed the dis¬
covery of the remains on the Esquiline, and had himself
copied the arabesques in the chambers of the palace of
Nero, could venture to draw a plan of ancient Rome from
his own investigations and conjectures ; but the great
painter’s zeal as an antiquarian met with little encourage¬
ment. Some of Leo’s successors affected to condemn the
devotion of the classicists to the monuments of a godless
superstition ; and though Paul III. (1534) is favourably
known for his enforcement of the edict against their de¬
struction, as well as for the erection of the noble Piazza del
Campidoglio from the designs of Michael Angelo, Sixtus
V. (1585) distinguished himself on the other side by
removing “the heathen statues on the towers of the
M E. 367
Capitol,” by which we may understand perhaps the marbles History,
there collected by the taste of his predecessors.3
This Pope deserves honourable mention, however, for
his repairs of the Trajan and Antonine columns, and for
the species of consecration he bestowed on them by
crowning them with statues of St Peter and St Paul
respectively. He sought perhaps to preserve the Colos¬
seum from further spoliation by establishing a manufactory
in it, an experiment which was repeated by Clement XL
a century later ; but in both cases the scheme proved
abortive. It was not till 1750 that the building was conse¬
crated by Benedict XIV. to the memory of the Christian
martyrs who had perished in the arena. The arch of Con¬
stantine had been restored by Clement XII. in 1733, on
the ground of its connection with the triumph of the
Christian faith. It would seem that some excuse of this
kind was necessary to plead the cause of heathen antiquity
against the interest or fanaticism of the populace. In
1817 Lord Broughton might remark, perhaps with bitter
truth, that “ the frequent repairs of the Pantheon, those of
the Antonine and Trajan columns, the erection of the
obelisks, the restoration of the Cestian pyramid, and the
late protection of the Flavian amphitheatre, with that of
the arch of Constantine, seem to compose the sum of all
the merits of all the Popes, as far as respects the stable
fabrics of antiquity.” “ The taste and magnificence of the
Popes must be sought and will be found,” he adds, “ in
the museum of the Capitol and the Vatican,”—the first
commenced by Clement XII. (1730), the latter designed
and executed by Clement XIV. and Pius VI., from whom
it derives the name of Museo Pio-Clementino. “ It was
reserved,” he continues, “for the conquerors who plundered
those noble repositories to recompense Rome for her losses
by clearing away the offals and dirt which had accumulated
for ages round the buried temples at the foot of the Capitol
and under the windows of the Senate-house, by cleansing
the base and propping the porches of the Colosseum, by
removing the soil in front of the temple of Peace [the
basilica of Maxentius], by re-opening the baths of Titus,
and, finally, by excavating the forum of Trajan.” In 1858
the same author has added in a note—“ There is no doubt
that in that short period (1810-1814) more was planned
and executed by the French administration than by all the
Popes and other successive masters of the Eternal City from
the fall of the empire to the beginning of the present
century. But it would be unjust not to acknowledge that
recent Popes have not forgotten their duties in this respect.
Gregory XVI. in particular, whose political policy has been
denounced as cruel and unjust, cannot be said to have
neglected the arts of peace.” Of late years the greatest
pains have been taken to strengthen and preserve the
Colosseum and other antiquities. The bases of several
temples, arches, and columns, especially in the Forum,
have been laid open, and the original pavement of the
Sacred Way uncovered through a portion of its course.
Pius VII. established the Museo Chiaramonti and Braccio
Nuovo for ancient sculptures in the Vatican ; and Gregory
XVI. the Etruscan museum in the Vatican, as well as a
museum of Christian antiquities in the Lateran. Under
Pius IX. the rows of tombs on both sides of the Appian
and other ancient roads have been uncovered, and a new
class of objects of the highest antiquarian interest brought to
light. The same pontiff, now reigning, has evinced a laud¬
able zeal in promoting the exploration of the catacombs;
and the promised work of the Cavaliere di Rossi, in which the
subject will be critically discussed after the investigation is
1 Murray’s Hand-Book of Rome, p. 173. 2 Lord Broughton’s Italy, i. 420.
3 Bargseus, “ De Obeliscis,” in Graev. Thes. iv. 1931. Bunsen, in Rom. i. 257, misquotes his authority. In this section of his work
we notice several inaccuracies; among others, the substitution of Sixtus V. (1585) as the constructor of modern Rome, for Sixtus IV.
(1471).
368
Statistics.
Basilicas.
St Peter’s.
ROME.
completed, may be expected to settle at last the questions
so long debated about their use and origin. (c. m.)
STATISTICS OF ROME.
It has been said that perhaps no city in the world abounds
with such a number of churches as Rome, or with fewer
handsome ones as respects their architecture. Seven of the
earliest churches of Rome are still called Basilicas, and
enjoy a metropolitan rank. Four of them are within the
walls,—St Peter’s, St John Lateran, Santa Maria Maggiore,
Sante Croce in Gierusalemme ; and three outside the walls,
—S. Paolo, S. Sebastiano, and S. Lorenzo.
Foremost among them all is St Peter’s, which Gibbon
styles “ the most glorious structure that has ever been ap¬
plied to the use of religion.” It occupies the site of a Basi¬
lica built by Constantine in 306 ; but has nothing ex¬
cept the name in common with the ancient style of build¬
ings. Of the present church the foundation was laid by
Julius II. in 1506, and the building was dedicated by
Urban VIII. in 1626; its erection having been spread over
the reigns of twenty Popes, and carried on by twelve dif¬
ferent architects, the most celebrated of whom were Bra-
mante, who planned the building in the form of a Greek
cross with a hexastyle portico, and a cupola in the centre,
and erected the piers and arches that support the dome;
Raphael, who changed the plan from a Greek to a Latin
cross ; Michael Angelo, who returned to the former, and
designed the dome ; Giacomo della Porta, who completed
the dome; and Maderno, who returned to the Latin cross
plan, and added the facade. Of all the parts of the build¬
ing, the work of the last architect is the most open to
criticism ; for the front, as seen from the piazza, is so pro¬
minent as almost to hide the dome ; whereas, had Bra-
mante and Michael Angelo’s plan of a Greek cross, and
a feticide like that of the Pantheon, been followed, the whole
dome would have been seen from the piazza. The situation,
too, of the building is singularly unfortunate, in a hollow
surrounded on three sides with hills; so that the exterior
view does not show the church to advantage. But the in¬
terior is unrivalled for grandeur and beauty; its immense
size is not perceived on account of the exquisite proportions
of the whole, and the colossal dimensions of the statues in
the niches and the mosaics on the dome.
The stupendous dome, viewed in its design, its altitude,
or even its decoration, is altogether unrivalled, and has justly
been pronounced the triumph of modern architecture.
The ascent to the top of the church is so gradual as to be
accessible to persons on horseback ; from thence the dome
is reached by a succession of ingeniously-contrived stair¬
cases. From the top an extensive prospect may be obtained
of the beautiful amphitheatre of hills which incloses the
Campagna on all but the western side; the summits of
the loftier Apennines behind, wreathed with snow; the
Tiber in its sinuous windings through the district; in the
distance the blue waters of the Mediterranean gleaming in
the sunbeams ; and, far beneath, Rome, with her churches,
her palaces, her dark and distant ruins, the rich verdure, and
golden fruit of the orange gardens of her convents, contrast¬
ing with the deep shade of their mournful cypresses. Be¬
neath the dome stands the high altar, under a canopy of
solid bronze, covered with the richest ornaments. The
monuments are for the most part unworthy of the church; but
to an English visitor there is a singular interest in Canova’s
monument of the last of the infatuated and unfortunate race
of Stuart. The principal dimensions of St Peter’s are as
followsLength in the interior, 613 feet; breadth of the
nave and aisles, including the pilasters that divide them,
197f feet; height of the nave, 152 feet; length of the
transepts, 446£ feet; diameter of the dome, including the
walls. 195 feet, or nearly 2 feet more than that of the Pan¬
theon ; diameter of the dome in the interior, 139 feet, or 3 Statistics,
feet less than that of the Pantheon ; height from the pave- y—
ment to the base of the lantern, 405 feet; to the summit of
the cross outside, 448 feet. Thus the whole of St Paul’s
cathedral in London might stand within the shell of St
Peter’s, and yet leave 46£ feet at either end, 25 feet all
round the cupola, and 64 feet above the dome. The semi¬
circular colonnades on each side of the piazza in front of the
church, form, along with the covered galleries that extend
from them to the portico, amagnificent approach to St Peter’s.
The basilica of St John Lateran is another most interest- st John
ing church, and as it is considered the “mother of all churches Lateran.
in the city and the world,” its chapter takes precedence
even of that of St Peter’s. It stands at the east of the
Caelian Hill, on the site of the house of Plautius Lateranus,
a senator put to death by Nero, but has been so frequently
restored and altered as to retain little of its original form.
In a portico to the north of this church stands the Scala
Santa, twenty-eight marble steps, said to have belonged to
the palace of Pontius Pilate, and protected by planks of
wood from the attrition caused by the knees of the devout
who ascend. This church was the place where the five ge¬
neral councils, known in history under the name of Lateran
councils, were held in 1123, 1139, 1179, 1215, and 1512.
The basilica of Santa Maria Maggiore, more than anygantajia-
other in Rome, preserves the simple character of the ancient ria Mag-
buildings, and has one of the finest interiors in this style, giore.
The old basilica of St Paul fuori le mura, founded by gt Paul’s.
Constantine, and rebuilt by Theodosius and Honorius,
contained 138 pillars of the rarest marble and granite, the
spoils of some of the noblest edifices of antiquity. In 1823
this church was destroyed by fire, but it has since been re¬
built in a style of even greater magnificence than before, and
open to public worship, and dedicated by Pius IX., in 1854.
The church of St Clement, on the slope of the Esquiline, gt cje.
has the reputation of occupying the site of the house of ment’s.
Clement, the companion of Paul. The churches of the
Jesuits and of St Ignatius are distinguished for their riches,
and the immense number of ornaments which they contain.
The church of Santa Maria sopra Minerva, built on the
site of Pompey’s temple of Minerva, contains the celebrated
“ Christ” of Michael Angelo, and in the church of St Pietro
in Vincoli is the famous statue of Moses by the same ar¬
tist. Many of the churches of Rome are adorned with fine
paintings by the greatest masters, but their beauty and
colouring has generally suffered much from time, neglect,
dirt, and damp. In the church of Santa Maria della Pace
are the four “ Sybils” of Raphael, and the church of St
Augustine contains his inimitable fresco of “ Isaiah.” A
number of admirable paintings in fresco by Domenichino
adorn a chapel in the church of San Luigi de Francesi.
The church of the Capuchins possesses Guido’s celebrated
painting of the “ Archangel Michael trampling upon Satan.”
Domenichino’s “ Ecstacy of St Francis,” and a cartoon by
Francesco Beretta representing St Peter walking upon
the waves also adorn this church. Daniel da Volterra’s
“ Deposition from the Cross,” which Poussin pronounced to
be the third picture in the world, enriches the church of
the SS. Trinita de Monti. The house of Claud Lorraine
stood beside this church ; on the opposite side of the way
was that of Nicholas Poussin, and close by it a house once
inhabited by Salvator Rosa. The church of San Andrea
della Valle is built upon the spot where the curia of Pom-
pey once stood, in which Caesar fell. It contains some fine
paintings in fresco by Domenichino, representing the Four
Evangelists. In the church of San’ Onofrio the remains
of Tasso repose.
There are in Rome 54 parishes and 364 churches, 186
convents, and numerous benevolent institutions.
Nothing strikes a stranger with more admiration on his
arrival in Rome than the immense number of fountains
ROME.
369
Palaces.
Statistics, which pour forth on every side an inexhaustible supply of
the finest water. They exhibit great variety in their com¬
position. Some of them are beautiful; one or two grand;
but they are all, generally speaking, deficient in simplicity,
and several of them, such as the renowned fountain of Trevi,
are completely overloaded with mythological sculpture.
Rome has more palaces, or noblemen’s houses, than any
other city in the world. Of these, no fewer than seventy-
five are of a superior kind, uniting in their external appear¬
ance something of the fortress, the prison, and the palace.
Many of the families to which these buildings once belonged
have sunk into poverty, and their residences are now turned
into ecclesiastical colleges or hotels, or let to foreign am¬
bassadors or consuls. In the others which have escaped
this fate the lower storey is sometimes let for shops, some¬
times retained for stables, coach-houses, and servants’
rooms. The second storey is generally a picture gallery,
consisting of a suite of rooms opening into one another,
and richly adorned with marble columns and painted ceil¬
ings. The owner of the building and of these precious
works of art often lives in the third or highest storey, and
generously throws open the gallery to artists and to all who
choose to give two or three paoli to the servants. The
exterior of these palaces is in general grand and magnifi¬
cent in architecture; but in the interior, notwithstanding
the magnitude of the apartments and the magnificence of
the decorations, they are, generally speaking, uncomfort¬
able dwellings, and most of them are deficient in cleanliness
and order. The immense palaces of the Doria, the Colonna,
and the Borghese, are still occupied only by their own fami¬
lies and dependants. The Doria palace contains the largest
collection of paintings in Rome, among which are found
some of the finest specimens of the ancient masters. The
gallery of the Colonna palace, which is by far the grandest
hall in the city, once contained a number of celebrated
paintings, but the finest have been sold. The palace
garden, which hangs on the steep side of the Quirinal
Hill, contains the picturesque remains of a magnificent
ancient edifice, the name of which is unknown. The
palace of the Barberini family formerly contained that cele¬
brated museum of ancient sculpture, vases, gems, medals,
&c., which was so long the wonder and admiration of
Europe, but it is now sold and dispersed. The famous
Portland vase was brought from this museum. There are
still some interesting pictures, among which the famous
“ Cenci” by Guido Reni. The palace of the Borghese
once contained a fine museum of sculpture, and it still
possesses one of the best collections of paintings in Rome.
In the Palazzo Massimi is the famous “ Discobolus,” found
in the grounds of the Villa Palombari on the Esquiline
Hill. The Palazzo Spada contains the celebrated statue
of Pompey, at the foot of which Caesar fell. In the
palace of the Braschi once stood the beautiful colossal
statue of Antinous, which was dug up on the site of
the ancient Gabii, and has been removed to the Lateran
museum. The Palazzo Nuovo di Torlonia, the residence
of Torlonia the Roman banker, who has purchased the title
and estate of the Duca di Bracciano, is fitted up with all
the magnificence that wealth can command. The gallery
is adorned with Canova’s colossal group of “ Hercules and
Lycas.” The Farnese palace contains the far-famed gallery
painted in fresco by Annibal Caracci. In the gallery of
the Sciarra palace are Raphael’s “ Player on the Fiddle,”
Lionardo da Vinci’s “ Vanity and Modesty,” and other
masterpieces.
The Vatican has long been celebrated for its unrivalled
splendour and magnificence. Its ceilings richly painted in
fresco ; its pictured pavements of ancient mosaic; its mag¬
nificent gates of bronze; its polished columns of ancient por¬
phyry, the splendid spoils of the ruins of imperial Rome;
its endless accumulation of Grecian marble, Egyptian gra-
TOL. XIX.
The Vati-
can.
nites, and oriental alabasters; its bewildering extent and Statistics,
prodigality of magnificence; but, above all, its amazing trea-
sures of sculpture, far surpass even the gorgeous dreams of
eastern magnificence. In common with all the other col¬
lections of the fine arts in Rome, the Vatican suffered ma¬
terially from the rapacity of the French, but on the down¬
fall of Bonaparte the stolen treasures were restored to their
rightful owners. The Vatican contains a museum filled
with the most splendid specimens of ancient sculpture:
the tapestry chambers hung with tapestry woven in the
looms of Flanders, and copied from the cartoons of Raphael;
a picture gallery, filled with the masterpieces of painting;
“ the Camere” and “ Loggie” of Raphael, painted in fresco
by himself and his pupils ; the Sistina and Paolina chapels,
painted in fresco by Michael Angelo; and the library, the
halls and galleries of which alone are more than 130C) feet
in length. The view from the balcony in front of the
windows gave the name of Belvedere to an octagon court
of this museum, surrounded by porticos and cabinets, in
which is the matchless statue of Apollo Belvedere, pro¬
nounced by universal consent to be the finest statue in the
world. It was found near Antium, in the ruins of a Roman
villa, supposed to have originally belonged to Nero. The name
of its artist is unknown. Here, also, are the Belvedere “ An¬
tinous,” “Perseus,” and the “ Two Boxers,” by Canova, and
the celebrated group of the “Laocoon,” which Pliny states to
have been executed by Agesander the Rhodian, and Athe-
nodorus and Polydorus, who are believed to have been his
sons. This wonderful masterpiece was found in the palace
of Titus, on the very spot where it is described by Pliny to
have stood; and every successive generation that has passed
since it was found has gazed with admiration on its
matchless sublimity. The Vatican also contains the two
finest paintings in the world,—the “ Transfiguration” by
Raphael, and Domenichino’s “ Communion of St Jerome.”
The library contains a splendid collection of books, and is
peculiarly rich in rare and valuable manuscripts. But a
minute account of the immense treasures of art accumulated
in this magnificent building would occupy too much of our
space. Another of the Pope’s palaces, the Lateran,was con¬
verted into an hospital in 1693, and into a museum in 1843.
The museum of the Capitol contains a very extensive Museum of
collection of specimens of ancient sculpture. The finest the Capitol,
works in it are the famous statue called the “ Dying Gladi¬
ator,” found at Antium in the same spot with the “ Apollo
Belvedere,” and the “ Fighting Gladiator;” the two Furietti
“ Centaurs ;” the group of “ Cupid and Psyche ;” the noble
seated statue of Agrippina, the wife of Germanicus; the
“ Camillus;” the bronze urn which bears the name of Mi-
thridates; the four doves, a mosaic, which must be either
the original or a copy of the famous mosaic of Sosus, in the
temple of Pergamus, described by Pliny; the “Venus” of
the Capitol; and the celebrated bronze wolf, with the Ro¬
man twins, supposed to be that alluded to by Cicero as
having been struck by lightning. The Capitol contains
also a museum of painting, but it is of comparatively inferior
interest. The academy of St Luke, in the Forum, contains
Raphael’s famous picture of “ St Luke painting the Virgin’s
portrait.” Rome contains eleven public libraries, some of
which are excellent. In the Augustine convent there is
one, called the Angelica, containing upwards of 90,000 vols.
and 3000 MSS.; and the Minerva, adjoining the Dominican
convent of Sta. Maria sopra Minerva, contains 120,000 vols.
and 4500 MSS. They are open daily to the public.
There are a great many villas in the immediate vicinity yftjag
of Rome, and even within its walls. The gardens of the
Villa Borghese, which were by far the most beautiful plea¬
sure-grounds at Rome, were almost wholly ruined during
the revolution of 1848. The villa, with its works of art,
however, was preserved. The Villa Ludovisi, within the
walls of the city, is nearly two miles in circuit. It contains
3 A
370 ROM
Romford an invaluable collection of celebrated pieces of ancient sta¬
ll tuary, of which no copies are known to exist. Ihe magni-
Rornilly. fjcent Villa Medici,on thePincian Hill, is now converted into
ti-,e French academy, where a number of young artists of
promise are supported at the charge of the French govern¬
ment, with the view of enabling them to enjoy the ad-
vantao-es of a few years’ study at Rome. The Villa Albani
is enriched with the most precious collection of ancient
sculpture that any private cabinet ever contained. The
finest specimens of this collection are the famous “ Apollo
Sauroctonos” the most beautiful bronze statue now left in
the world, and which, in the judgment of Winckelmann, is
the original of Praxiteles, described by Pliny ; the statue of
Minerva, which is pronounced by Winckelmann to be the
only monument now existing at Rome of the sublime age
of art that lasted from the age of Phidias to that of Praxi¬
teles ; and the far-famed relievo of Antinous, which, says
the same critic, “ after the ‘ Apollo’ and ‘ Laocoon,’ is
perhaps the most beautiful monument of antiquity which
time has transmitted to us.”
Castle of The castle of St Angelo, “ the mole which Hadrian rear’d
St Angelo, on high,” was originally called “ Moles Hadriani,” from the
name of its founder, who destined it to hold his remains for
ever. It is a circular building, and was formerly reckoned
very strong; it. has stood many sieges, but as a fortress it is
wholly untenable against modern tactics. It has been so
often taken and retaken, repaired and altered, that but little
of the original structure now remains, except the walls. It
communicates with the Vatican by a long covered gallery,
made by Pope Alexander VI. to afford him a way of escape
from the just, fury of his subjects. The castle of St Angelo
is now used as a place of confinement for prisoners sen¬
tenced to the galleys. The upper part of it also serves as
a state prison for criminals of rank, and those who fall under
the suspicion and displeasure of the Pope.
ROMFORD, a market-town of England, in the county
of Essex, on the left bank of the Bourne or Rom, which is
crossed by a bridge, 12 miles E.N.E. of London. It is
generally well built, and consists of one principal street,
long and wide, having a market-house and town-hall near
its centre. The old parish church, which was a beautiful
specimen of the early English and Norman architecture,
has been replaced by a modern building, to which many of
its ancient monuments have been transferred. I here are
also Wesleyan, Independent, and Baptist churches; na¬
tional, infant, and other schools; a literary institution, work-
house, and savings-bank. Agricultural tools are manu¬
factured here, and many of the inhabitants are employed
in farming and market-gardening. I here is a considerable
trade; and the place is noted for its markets for corn and
cattle, as well as for its ale. Romford is a place of great
antiquity, and stands at or near the site of the ancient Ro¬
man Durolitum. Pop. (1851) 3791.
ROMILLY, Sir Samuel, one of the most enlightened
and virtuous public men whom England has ever possessed,
was, as his family-name indicates, the descendant of a
French family. He was the son of a jeweller in London,
and was born there on the 1st of March 1757. The educa¬
tion of this child, destined in time to occupy so distinguished
a place, was conducted for some time with even less care
than might have been expected from the station held by
his family. But heartily disliking his father’s business, he
was at length allowed to change it for professional employ¬
ments, though as yet in an inferior department. At the
age of sixteen he was articled to one of the six clerks in
Chancery ; and in the easy mechanical duties of his master’s
chambers, relieved by the zealous prosecution of his studies
both in English and Latin, passed several years of his life.
He then resolved on coming to the bar, a step which, he
informs us, all his friends, with one exception, considered
as highly imprudent. One circumstance which helped to
ROM
The city of Rome is divided into fourteen quarters or Romilly,
rioni, twelve on the left and two on the right bank of the
river. These accidentally correspond in number, but not
at all in size or situation, with the regions of Augustus.
The municipal government is in the hands of a senator ap¬
pointed by the Pope, and eight, conservators and forty coun¬
cillors, elected by their own body, along with two delegates
from each of the rioni. All hold office for six years, with
the privilege of re-election ; and one-half of the conserva¬
tors and councillors go out every three years. One-half of
the body is taken from the nobility and landowners, the
other from the middle classes. The police of the city,
however, is not under their jurisdiction, but under that of
the director-general of police, who is a member of the
ministry, subordinate to the minister of the interior and
secretary of state. There are no important manufactures
in the city. Catgut, perfumes, artificial flowers, silk, leather,
cloth, and other articles, are indeed made; but Rome is
more celebrated for its mosaics and cameos. There are
many artists, engravers, and copyists of ancient works of
art in the city.
The population, which at its greatest height, in the
second or third century, we have not been able to estimate
so high as a million, amounted, according to the census
of 1858, to 179,950. “ It has been nearly stationary,”
adds the author of Murray’s Hand-Book, “for the last ten
years; the highest point it ever reached in modern times
being 180,200 in 1846. It was 153,000 in 1800, from
which it decreased gradually until 1813, when it was only
117,900.” Gibbon estimated it in his own time, but we
know not from what precise data, at 170,000. It may be
remarked that the buildings of the modern city seem to oc¬
cupy fully one-half of the Aurelian area, and are probably
more closely packed, as well as loftier, than those of the
empire.
determine Romilly was very interesting; the purchase of a
seat in the office in which he had been articled would have
cost a sum which he knew it would be inconvenient for his
father to advance. He had completed his twenty-first year
when he entered himself at Gray’s Inn, becoming at the
same time a pupil of an able equity-draftsman. General
reading both in English and Latin, translation habitually
practised from the latter language into the former, the com¬
position of a few political essays lor newspapers, and oc¬
casional attendance on the houses of Parliament, now
alternated with a closeness of application to legal study
which, after a time, injured his health, and compelled him
to retire, first to Bath, and afterwards to the Continent.
At Geneva he became acquainted with some of the men
who were then beginning to attract notice in that city;
and among acquaintances thus made the most valuable
was that of Dumont. After visiting some of the nearest
scenery of the Leman Lake, and of Savoy, Romilly pro¬
ceeded to Paris, where he met D’Alembert, Diderot, and
other eminent men. On the last day of Easter term 1783
he was called to the bar. For some years afterwards he
obtained an increasing employment in the drawing of
chancery pleadings ; but during this time, as he says himself,
he had hardly once occasion to open his lips in court. In
the spring of 1784 he went upon the midland circuit, which
he continued to frequent until, even as admitted in his
own modest Memoir, he was decidedly its leader. Long
before he left the circuit, he had attained a distinguished
position in the eyes of those who were qualified to appre¬
ciate him, not merely as a lawyer, but as a statesman. In
1784 he became acquainted with Mirabeau, who was then
in London, and of whose character he appears to have
formed an exceedingly just estimate. Mirabeau was the
medium through which Romilly became known to Lord
Lansdowne, and thus to the leaders of that political party
of which he had throughout been an honest and warm
ROM
Romilly. adherent. To that nobleman he was recommended both
 ' by the hearty praises of Mirabeau and by a pamphlet he
had written, called A Fragment on the Constitutional
Power and Duties of Juries. Lord Lansdowne, directing
Romilly’s attention to a recent sanguinary tract on Criminal
Punishments, induced him to write an answer, which was
published anonymously under the title of Observations on
a late Publication entitled ‘ Thoughts on Executive Justice’
In the meantime he continued vigorously to prosecute in
private the inquiries into the reform of the laws, especially
the criminal laws, of which he had thus begun to announce
publicly the parts.
In the vacation of 1788 he paid a third visit to Paris. In¬
troductions from England, and other circumstances, brought
Romilly and his fellow-traveller Dumont into intercourse,
upon this occasion, with many men distinguished then, and
with others still more celebrated in the bloody struggle
that was about to ensue. Mirabeau at this time translated
into French, and published, observations made by Romilly
on the hospital and prison of Bicetre. This pamphlet had
the honour to be suppressed by the police of Paris, but in
the original English was afterwards printed by the author
himself in an obscure London periodical. In July 1789
Romilly wrote a pamphlet which was afterwards published^
Thoughts on the Probable Influence of the French Revo¬
lution on Great Britain. But the lively interest he took
in the events which emerged in Paris, while he was en¬
gaged in composing these remarks, led him back to that
city in August of that year; and he now saw, both in pub¬
lic and private, many of the persons who had become most
distinguished in the National Assembly. Dumont’s ob¬
servations upon the eventful summer of 1789 in France
were translated into English by Romilly, and, with the
addition of some observations by himself on England, were
published in 1792, receiving the title of GroenvelCs Let¬
ters. Many of Romilly’s opinions on the progress of the
French revolution are contained in his published corre¬
spondence with Dumont, Madame Gautier, Dugald Stewart,
and others, and in a diary which he kept during a journey
to Paris in the autumn of 1802. While Romilly was thus
advancing to the highest rank in his profession, and had
gained the confidence and admiration of some of the best
statesmen in England, his domestic position underwent a
most beneficial change, the immediate cause of which was
a visit paid to Lord Lansdowne. His marriage with the
eldest daughter of Mr Garbett of Knill Court in Hereford¬
shire took place in January 1798, when he had nearly com¬
pleted his forty-first year.
He continued to be chiefly occupied in the discharge of
his duties as a leader of the Chancery bar for several years,
after which he united with these the other avocations that
have given to his name so distinguished a place in the list of
British satesmen. In the autumn of 1805 he had received
from the Prince of Wales the offer of a seat in Parliament,
which he declined upon grounds strongly marking his
sturdy independence of character.
In February 1806 he was appointed solicitor-general
under the government of Mr Fox and Lord Grenville,
with neither of whom had he previously any connection.
He was obliged, much against his will, to accept the honour
of knighthood, and was elected to represent the borough of
Queenborough, accepting this seat, without scruple, from
the government. In March 1807 the Whigs were over¬
thrown, and Parliament was dissolved. In the new Parlia¬
ment he was returned for Horsham, on the Duke of Norfolk’s
interest, and he subsequently purchased the representation
of Wareham. Defeated in an attempt to represent Bristol
in 1812, he was returned for the borough of Arundel by
the Duke of Norfolk. This seat Romilly held till the
dissolution in 1818, when he accepted a requisition from
the electors of Westminster, upon which he had the satis-
It O M 371
faction of a triumph after a severe contest. The results to Romney,
which this great victory was expected to have led were un- ^ j
fortunately never realized. Lady Romilly, to whom he
was very greatly attached, died on the 29th October 1818,
and the shock occasioned by that event so preyed upon his
health that he put an end to his life on the 2d of Novem¬
ber 1818, in his sixty-second year.
The public character of Sir Samuel Romilly would be
best drawn by a few warm and vigorous strokes, all of which,
with no exception worth noticing, would convey images of
distinguished excellence. These traits would exhibit his
manly and ratiocinative oratory, lighted up into eloquence
by the fervour of his moral sense* that antique spirit of
mental independence which bowed to the demands of no
man and of no party, not even his own, unless his con¬
science told him that those demands were just. And these
virtues of the statesman and the jurisconsult, which, by
their stern majesty, commanded from those that viewed
them at a distance an awe not altogether unmingled with
fear, were tempered in private life by the warmest and
kindest feeling, by the most felicitous union of public
labours with personal accomplishments. His second son,
the Right Hon. Sir John Romilly, was made Master of the
Rolls, in March 1851. (See Memoirs of Sir Samuel Ro¬
milly, written by himself, 3 vols., London, 1840.)
ROMNEY, George, an eminent English artist, was the
son of a cabinetmaker, and was born near Dalton in Lan¬
cashire in 1734. Although placed at the age of eleven in
his father’s shop, he soon began most vigorously to de¬
velop his genius for painting. His fellow-workmen were
his models; the deals which he planed were his canvas ;
the living world around him was his school. In course of
time his progress became so marked that his father was in¬
duced to apprentice him to a portrait-painter of the name of
Steele at Kendal. There he applied himself sedulously to
discover the secrets of colouring. A marriage which he
contracted at the age of twenty-one only gave a stimulus
to his ardour. He laboured for six years in painting the
likenesses of the country squires of Westmoreland. Then,
villainously deserting his wife and two children, he set out
in 1762 to seek his fortune in London, and took up his
abode in Dove Court, near the Mansion-House. It was
not long before the manliness and poetic dignity of Rom¬
ney’s style began to ensure success. The Society of Arts
awarded him a prize for his “ Death of King Edmund.”
Other historical, pictures followed, which were said by his
admirers to rival the old Italian masters. He was also in
the meantime receiving numerous commissions for por¬
traits. His emoluments from that branch of his vocation
became so considerable that he was enabled to spend about
two years at Rome in studying Raphael and Michael An¬
gelo. Nor did he fail, on his return to London in 1775, to
take a higher place in his profession. He set up his studio
in a spacious house in Cavendish Square. Many of the
noble and the distinguished became his sitters. It even
began to be said that he was dividing the rich province of
portraiture with Sir Joshua. Scarcely less than thirteen
hours a day sufficed to meet all his engagements; scarcely
less than L.3000 or L.4000 was realized in a year. Rom¬
ney, as he grew older, became more and more engrossed
with ideal painting. His active imagination found its sub¬
jects in many fields of literature,—in Shakspeare, in Milton,
in classical mythology, and in the sacred Scriptures. The
greater part of those designs he left unfinished on the
canvas, to litter his studio and every spare corner of his
house. Romney’s nerves became unstrung, and his mind
became unhinged. He imagined that the dwelling in Ca¬
vendish Square was too small for the execution of his
great projected works. Nothing would satisfy him but to
build a large whimsical pile on Hampstead Hill. The re¬
moval thither in 1797 only exasperated his disease. His
372
Romney,
New
II
Ronda.
ROM
nervous uneasiness had become so great in 1799 that he
suddenly left London by the coach, and hastened north¬
ward to Kendal to seek the sympathy and kindness of his
faithful and much-enduring wife. There he gradually
pined away until death put an end to his suffering in 1802.
The celebrated Flaxman gives the following account of
some of Romney’s best ideal pictures :—“ ‘ Titania with
her Indian Votaress’ was arch and sprightly ; ‘Milton dic¬
tating to his Daughters,’ solemn and interesting. Several
pictures of wood-nymphs and bacchants charmed by their
rural beauty, innocence, and simplicity.” (See Cunning¬
ham’s Lives of British Painters, &c.)
ROMNEY, New, a cinque port, market-town, and de¬
cayed borough of England, in the county of Kent, in the
middle of Romney Marsh, a wide, level tract of pasture-
land, defended from the sea by an embankment, 31 miles
S.E. by S. of Maidstone. There is a magnificent Norman
church of the twelfth century, with a lofty and handsome
square tower; also Wesleyan and Baptist places of worship,
a market-house, town-hall, hospital, and assembly-room.
Though now a mile and a half from the sea, it was once a
considerable seaport. The borough was disfranchised by
the Reform Act of 1832. Pop. (1851) 1053.
ROMORANTIN, a town of France, capital of an ar-
rondissement, in the department of Loire-et-Cher, on the
right bank of the Sauldre, an affluent of the Loire, 24 miles
S.E. of Blois. It was once a very ill-built place, but has
recently been much improved: the streets have been
widened and straightened, and many new houses built.
There are here an old castle, prison, courts of law, and a
theatre. Cloth, leather, parchment, and other articles are
made, and form the staple of an active trade. Romorantin
was besieged in 1356 ; and cannons were used then, some
say for the first time. Pop. (1856) 7863.
ROMSEY, or Rumsey, a market-town and municipal
borough of England, Hampshire, on the left bank of the
Anton or Test, here crossed by a bridge, 10 miles S.W. of
Winchester, and 73 S.W. of London. It consists princi¬
pally of a broad street, crossed by another at right angles;
and its most notable building is the parish church, which,
from its cruciform plan, has something of a cathedral ap¬
pearance. It is said to be a part of the abbey founded by the
Saxon king Edward the Elder in the tenth century, and is
interesting to the antiquary for its architecture and monu¬
ments. The other places of worship belong to Methodists,
Independents, Baptists, and Sandemanians. There are
several schools, a town-hall, audit-house, jail, alms-houses,
&c. The manufactories include saw-mills, corn and paper
mills, tanneries, breweries, &c.; and there is some trade in
corn, timber, and coal. Pop. of the town (1851) 2080.
ROMULUS. See Roman History.
RONALDSHAY. See Orkney.
RONCIGLIONE, a town of the Papal States, in the
delegation and 12 miles S.S.E. of Viterbo, occupies a
romantic position on a rocky precipice overhanging a deep,
wooded ravine, on the edge of the Campagna di Roma.
Many of the streets aad buildings are handsome ; and there
is a ruined Gothic castle and several ancient palaces, which
are deserted and falling into decay. There are, however,
flourishing iron-works and paper-mills. Pop. 4600.
RONDA, a town of Spain, Andalucia, in the province
and 40 miles W. of Granada, and 48 N.N.E. of Gibraltar.
It stands on a rock nearly surrounded by the Guadalvin,
which flows through a deep chasm, separating the old from
the new town, and spanned by two bridges, an old and a
new, the latter 300 feet in length, crossing the chasm 600
feet above the water. Several cascades are formed by the
stream, dashing out of the dark cleft through which it
flowed, and sparkling with foam in the light of the sun.
At the foot of the clilfs is a curious grotto, hewn out of the
rock for the Moors by Christian slaves in 1342, At the
RON
edge of the precipice is a rose-garnished alameda, or public RSnne
walk, commanding a wide and beautiful prospect. The old I
part of the town has a Moorish aspect, with narrow, steep, ^ onsar '
and crooked lanes, and several old Moorish towers and
other buildings; but the new town contains many broad,
handsome streets and squares. The fine stone bull arena
(Plaza de Torres) is one of the largest in Spain, and can
contain 10,000 spectators. Besides churches and convents,
there are among the public buildings a town-hall, an ill-ar¬
ranged prison, and a large, old castle that protects the whole
town. The last, however, is not now of any importance, and
it was much injured by the French in 1812, when they occu¬
pied the town. Ronda is the seat of much traffic in leather,
saddlery, and horses. It is a very gay place: an annual
fair is held, and much smuggling is carried on. The climate
is salubrious and favourable to longevity. Pop. 15,943.
RONNE, a town of Denmark, capital of the island of
Bornholm, stands on its west coast, and has a fortified har¬
bour, active trade, manufactures of clocks, and numerous
potteries. Here are also a grammar school and an hospital.
Many of the inhabitants are sailors or fishermen. Pop. 4000.
RONNEBURG, a town of Saxe-Altenburg, in the
circle and 14 miles S.W. of Altenburg, stands on a height,
and is walled and defended by two forts. It has a palace,
Latin school, woollen factories, dye-works, and some trade
in corn and wool. In the vicinity there are mineral baths.
Pop. 5978.
RONSARD, Pierre de, a French poet, was born at
the castle of Poissonniere in Vendomois in 1524. He was
descended of a noble family, and was educated at Paris in
the college of Navarre. Academical pursuits not suiting
his genius, he left college, and became page to the Duke
of Orleans, who resigned him to James Stuart, King of
Scots. Ronsard continued in Scotland with the Scottish
king upwards of two years, and afterwards went to France,
where he was employed by the Duke of Orleans in several
negotiations. He accompanied Lazare Ba’if to the Diet of
Spires. Having from the conversation of this learned man
imbibed a passion for the belles-lettres, he studied the
Greek language with Baif’s son under Daurat. It is re¬
ported of Ronsard that his practice was to study till two
o’clock in the morning, and when he went to bed, to
awaken Baiif, who resumed his place. The Muses pos¬
sessed in his eyes an infinity of charms ; and he cultivated
them with such success that he acquired the appellation of
the “Prince of Poets” of his time. Henry II., Francis II.,
Charles IX., and Henry III. loaded him with favours.
Having gained the first prize of the Jeux Floraux, they
thought the reward promised below the merit of the work
and the reputation of the poet. The city of Toulouse
caused a Minerva of massy silver of considerable value to
be made and sent to him. This present was accompanied
with a decree, declaring him “ The French Poet,” by way
of distinction. Ronsard afterwards made a present of his
Minerva to Henry II., and this monarch appeared as much
elated with this mark of the poet’s esteem for him as the
poet himself could have been had he received the present
from his sovereign. Mary, the beautiful and unfortunate
Queen of Scots, who was equally sensible of his merit with
the Toulonese, gave him a rich set of table-plate.
He wrote hymns, odes, a poem called the Franciade,
eclogues, epigrams, sonnets, &c. In his odes he takes
bombast for poetic raptures. He wishes to imitate Pindar ;
and by labouring too much for lofty expressions, he loses
himself in a cloud of words. He is obscure and harsh to the
last degree; faults which he might easily have avoided
by studying the works of Marot. But what could be ex¬
pected from a man who had so little taste that he called
Marot’s works, “ a dunghill, from which rich grains of gold,
by industrious working, might be picked.” He has, how¬
ever, some pieces not destitute of real merit; and there
RON
Roof, are perhaps few effusions of the French muse more truly
poetical than his Four Seasons of the Year, where a most
fertile imagination displays all its riches. Ronsard, though
it is doubtful whether he ever was in orders, held several be¬
nefices. He died at Saint-Cosme-les-Tours, December 27,
1585, aged sixty-one years. He appeared more ridiculous
as a man than as a poet; he was particularly vain, and
his immoderate indulgence in pleasure served to hasten his
old age. In his fiftieth year he was weak and valetudinary,
and subject to attacks of the gout. He retained his wit,
his vivacity, and his readiness at poetic composition to the
R o o
373
last. Ronsard’s poems have been published in folio, in Ronsdorf
quarto, and in 10 volumes duodecimo, in 1567. The Oeuvres
Choisies de Ronsard were published at Paris in 1840. v ^,
RONSDORF, a town of Prussia, in the province of the
Rhine, and government of Diisseldorf, on the slope of a hill
on the Morsbach, 17 miles E. of Diisseldorf. It has manu¬
factories of cutlery, silk, linen, cotton, and woollen fabrics,
ribands, &c. The town owes its origin to a religious sect
in the eighteenth century. Pop. 7302.
ROOD, a piece of land equal to 40 square perches, or
the fourth part of an acre.
ROOF.
Definition. Roof, the covering of any building by which its inhabitants
and contents are protected from the injuries and incle¬
mencies of the weather. So essential is it, that the word
is frequently used for the house itself. To “ come under
the roof” is a Hebrew phrase ; and the word “ tectum” had
the same meaning among the Roman's. It is derived from
the Anglo-Saxon hrof, who thought so much of its import¬
ance, that they called the carpenter hrof-wyrhta, or the
“ roof-worker.”
Varieties Roofs may be considered as to their covering, and the
of cover- framing which carries such covering. The former is either of
inS- metal, as lead, copper, zinc, corrugated or galvanized iron,
&c.; or of tile, either Italian, pan or Flemish tile, plain
tile, &c.; or of slate, and sometimes of stone. The Greek
temples were covered with long thin pieces of marble sunk
or worked hollow by the mason, so that the wet could not
run back under the next, and consequently these roofs shot
off the water easily, and were very flat. Both in ancient
and modern times, in all countries, the poorer classes of roofs
are covered or thatched with straw, reed, heather, or some
similar material. In most hot climates, and also in many
parts of Italy, the roofs are flat, and covered with a sort of
concrete or cement, which is carried on joists like a floor;
the object being to form a sort of terrace to walk on early
in the morning or late in the evening, to enjoy the cool air,
which can only be felt in elevated situations.
Pitch. The elevation of a roof, which governs the angle its
rafters make with the horizon, is called its pitch. On this
subject there has been a great deal of controversy. Some
have considered, as they find the farther we go south the
flatter the roofs are, that the pitch must be governed by
climate; and most elaborate calculations have been made
of certain angles at which it is proposed that roofs should
be constructed in various latitudes. But it should be re¬
membered that in hot climates the rains come all at once; in
such floods our roofs could not resist; and it would be poor
economy, because for months together there were no rain,
if, when it does come, the house should be daily drenched.
Others have considered the whole a mere matter of taste,
and the pitch is chosen as we wish more or less of a roof to
be seen. The Greeks made their roofs very flat, and placed
large antefixes along the eaves, so that the roof could not
be seen from below except from a great distance. (See
the restored view of the Parthenon, Architecture, Plate
L.) The angle is about 16°, the pitch or height at the
apex being about a seventh of the width. Roman roofs
average about 22°, or a fifth pitch. That the mediaeval
builders had no rule, is shown from the extreme variety of
the height of roofs in their different edifices. In the Lom-
bardic cathedral of Pisa, erected 1063 (Architecture,
Plate LXX.), the roof is about 27°, or nearly quarter pitch.
The Norman roofs are seldom more than 40°, or less than
half pitch ; while in the early English period they suddenly
sprung up to whole pitch,—i.e., the height equal to the
entire width (see Beverley Minster, Architecture, Plate
LXVIII., fig. 1), being an angle of about 64°. They then
gradually were less in height till the perpendicular period,
when many roofs were nearly flat; that of Henry the Seventh
chapel, for example, being but about 16°, or as flat as a
Greek roof. Now, that this variety was matter of taste,—we
had almost said caprice,—is evidenced by this fact: these
examples are all covered with lead (which might have
been laid quite flat, and yet have been perfectly sound),
and all have a stone groined roof below them, which has
nothing whatever to do with the upper covering, and which,
after all, is the real roof or cover which protects the build¬
ing from the weather. Much has been said of the propriety
of always showing the roof of a building, and the Gothic
architects have been eulogised for so doing. T. he facts
stated above, however, prove this was not always the case.
We cannot, however, justify the going out of the way to
conceal a roof by false attics, stilted balustrades, &c.; and
the screen wall at St Paul’s at London must always be
considered a defect in that fine building. Still, a wide
expanse of plain roof is as ugly in itself as a bare wall; and
we cannot approve of such roofs as some of the modern
imitations of early English work are, where the wall is so
low that we could touch the eaves with a walking-stick, and
there is three or four times as much roof as wall. The roof
of a house has not inaptly been likened to a man’s hat.
There is no need to try and hide or disguise it if you are
obliged to wear it; and if the weather is warm, and you do
not require it, it would be folly to wear one without a
crown. If on board ship, you would wear as low a hat as
possible to avoid striking it against the beams ; but, above
all, it should bear some reasonable proportion to the height
of a man, as the roof should to the wall. It would be ab¬
surd to wear a hat as tall as the man himself.
After all, although much latitude must be given to taste, Pitch de-
it is probable the pitch of a roof mainly depends on the pe^epton
material with which it is covered. The largest number of “^tderials
buildings are erected with a view to utility and strict eco¬
nomy, and without any regard to aesthetics. Everybody
knows that if slates or tiles are laid at too flat a pitch, the
wind will drive the rain up under them, and the roof will
leak ; and everybody also knows that if the same covering
be taken off and re-laid to a steeper pitch, the roof will be
sound. Practice teaches what is the safe minimum pitch.
Let us suppose it to be quarter pitch, and for considera¬
tions of taste we make it three-quarter pitch. Now, it is
quite clear we waste not only the rafters and covering, but
our whole roof must be constructed of stronger timbers, and
our walls also must be thicker and stronger, inasmuch
as they have more weight to bear. We therefore pay
dear in more ways than one for our liking for high-pitched
roofs.
Although it happens that both Greek, Roman, and Ita- Pitch not
lian roofs are flatter than ours, and the climate is warmer, due t0 cli~
the same material used in our climates would answer per- mate>
fectly well. An inspection of the elaborate plate 97, in the
Architettura Antica Greca of the celebrated Canina will
show this; and the frequent failure in our climate of Italian
374
ROOF.
Roof.
Pitch re¬
quired for
different
materials.
Qualities
of various
roof cover¬
ings.
"Weight of
different
roof cover¬
ings.
tiles (which are exactly like the ancient Roman) arises
from the fact, that the tegole and imbrici only have been
used, our builders being ignorant of the use of the mattoni,
which in Italy are a very essential part of the soundness of
those roofs. In one respect climate must be considered,
and that is, where there are long winters, and the snow is
likely to lie on them; in this case they should be sharper
in pitch, and stronger in framing.
If covered with lead or other metals, roofs may be made
nearly Hat, with only so much fall, in fact, as to prevent the
water flowing back under the drips. (See Building,
Plumbers’ Work, &c.) Italian tiles, to be sound, should
have a fifth pitch, or 22°. Slates with extra lap may be
laid at quarter pitch, about 27°, if it be necessary the roof
should be flat; a third pitch (34°) is rather too much: the
mean between a third and fourth (31°) is a good rule. Pan¬
tiles should be laid rather sharper still, and plain tiles from
about 35° to 40°; but of course very much will depend on
the gauge they are laid to, or the length of the part of the
slate or tile which overlaps the other, as the larger this lap
is, the less likely the rain is to drive under. Thatched roofs
should be somewhat sharper in pitch than plain tiles.
Lead or copper, in an economical point of view, are the
best materials for roofs. They may be laid nearly flat, and
so save all the framing and roof timbers; and the metal,
should it be worn into holes, is nearly as valuable as when
first laid down ; the only objection is, that the first expense
is so great. Zinc, though very cheap and light, and though
it can be laid flat, is apt to go into holes with the action ot
acids. Slating is both light and very cheap, and will lie at
a flat pitch ; and consequently requires much lighter walls
and timbers than tiles. It will not decay with the weather.
It is apt to break under the feet; and if not very well done
will lift with heavy winds. Each slate should be nailed
with two copper nails, as iron rusts and breaks them. (See
Building, Slating, &c.) Pan-tiles are dearer than slates,
but not much heavier; they also break if trodden on, and
the snow will drift under if the pointing comes out. Plain
tiles are very durable, but they require a steep pitch, and
are very heavy : thus in two ways distressing the walls and
the roof timbers.
This also depends on the gauge; but the following may
be taken as the ordinary average:—
A square (100 feet superficial, or 11 yards su¬
perficial nearly) of zinc will weigh about... 1 cwt.
A square of lead, according to thickness, from...5 to 7 „
A square of slating from 5£ to „
A square of pan-tiling 7J „
A square of plain tiling 14 to 16 „
All roofs, till very lately, except some which have been
arched or domed, were framed with timber ; no other mate¬
rial being known at that time which possessed such lengths
with such qualities of tension. Later years, however, and
more extended requirements, have developed the advan¬
tages of the use of iron. As everything must depend on
the soundness of both design and execution of framing,
whether in wood or iron, it is proposed to divide this sub¬
ject, one of the most important in architecture, into the fol¬
lowing sections:—
I. Theory of Roof will comprehend the whole of the
scientific part of the celebrated essay of Professor Robison,
which was originally written for this work, and which is
acknowledged to be the best yet given to the public.
II. Causes of Failure of Roofs, given in terms that are
intelligible to those unacquainted with the higher branches
of mathematical analysis.
III. Mediceval Roofs.
IV. Account of Roofs of great span (a grande portee.)
1. 1 hose trussed with straight timbers {en hois plat).
2. 1 hose trussed with curved timbers—a, With tim¬
bers side by side, breaking joint (systeme en planches
de champ) ; b, Those bent in
leur plat).
V. Roofs constructed of Iron
thickness {courbes sur
Roof.
The late Professor Robison's Theory of Roof.
We shall attempt in this article to give an account of the Purpose of
eading principles of this art, in a manner so familiar and this article,
palpable, that any person who knows the common proper¬
ties of the lever, and the composition of motion, shall so far
understand them as to be able, on every occasion, so to dis¬
pose his materials, with respect to the strains to which they
are to be exposed, that he shall always know the effective
strain on every piece, and shall, in most cases, be able to
make the disposition such as to derive the greatest possible
advantage from the materials which he employs.
It is evident that the whole must depend on the prin- Principle*
ciples which regulate the strength of the materials, relative which re-
to the manner in which this strength is exerted, and the ?l,Iate the
manner in which the strain is laid on the piece of matter. of
With respect to the first, this is not the proper place forjf^. '
considering it, and we must refer the reader to the article
Strength of Materials in Mechanics. We shall just
borrow from that article two or three propositions suited to
our purpose.
The force with which the materials of our edifices, roofs,
floors, machines, and framings of every kind, resist being
broken or crushed, or pulled asunder, is immediately or ul¬
timately the cohesion of their particles. When a weight
hangs by a rope, it tends either immediately to break°all
the fibres, overcoming the cohesion amongst the particles of
each, or it tends to pull one parcel of them from amongst the
rest, with which they are joined. This union of the fibres
is brought about by some kind of gluten, or by twisting,
which causes them to bind each other so hard that any one
will break rather than come out, so much is it withheld by
friction. I he ultimate resistance is therefore the cohesion
of the fibre ; and the force or strength of all fibrous materials,
such as timber, is exerted in much the same manner. The
fibies are either broken or pulled out from among the rest.
Metals, stone, glass, and the like, resist being pulled asun¬
der by the simple cohesion of their parts.
The force which is necessary for breaking a rope or wire
is a proper measure of its strength. In like manner, the
force necessary for tearing directly asunder any rod of wood
or metal, breaking all its fibres, or tearing them from amongst
each other, is a proper measure of the united strength of all
these fibres; and it is the simplest strain to which they
can be exposed, being just equal to the sum of the forces
necessary for breaking or disengaging each fibre. And, if
the body is not of a fibrous structure, which is the case with
metals, stones, glass, and many other substances, this force is
still equal to the simple sum of the cohesive forces of each
particle which is separated by the fracture. Let us distin¬
guish this mode of exertion of the cohesion of the body by
the name of its absolute strength.
When solid bodies are, on the contrary, exposed to great
compression, they can resist only a certain degree. A piece
of clay or lead will be squeezed out; a piece of freestone
will be crushed to powder; a beam of wood will be crip¬
pled, swelling out in the middle, and its fibres lose their
mutual cohesion, after which it is easily crushed by the
load. A notion may be formed of the manner in which
these strains are resisted, by conceiving a cylindrical pipe
filled with small shot, well shaken together, so that each
sphericle is lying in the closest manner possible, that is,
in contact with six others in the same vertical plane, this
being the position in which the shot will take the least
room. Thus each touches the rest in six points. Nowr
suppose them all united, in these six points only, by some
cement. This assemblage will stick together and form a
Their
weakness
in relation
to trans¬
verse
strains.
ROOF.
375
cylindrical pillar, which may be taken out of its mould.
' Now suppose this pillar standing upright, and loaded above.
The supports arising from the cement act obliquely, and
the load tends either to force them asunder laterally, or to
make them slide on each other : either of these things hap¬
pening, the whole is crushed to pieces. The resistance of
fibrous materials to such a strain is a little more intricate,
but may be explained in a way very similar.
A piece of matter of any kind may also be destroyed by
wrenching or twisting it. We can easily form a notion of
its resistance to this kind of strain by considering what
would happen to the cylinder of small shot if treated in this
way.
And, lastly, a beam, or a bar of metal, or piece of stone
or other matter, may be broken transversely. This will
happen to a rafter or joist supported at the ends when
overloaded, or to a beam having one end stuck fast in a wall
and a load laid on its projecting part. This is the strain
to which materials are most commonly exposed in roofs;
and, unfortunately, it is the strain which they are the least
able to bear ; or rather it is the manner of application which
causes an external force to excite the greatest possible im¬
mediate strain on the particles. It is against this that the
carpenter must chiefly guard, avoiding it when in his power,
and in every case diminishing it as much as possible. It is
necessary to give the reader a clear notion of the great weak¬
ness of materials in relation to this transverse strain. But
we shall do nothing more, referring him to the articles
Strain, and Stress, and Strength.
Let ABCD (fig. 1) represent the side of a beam project¬
ing horizontally from a wall
in which it is firmly fixed,
and let it be loaded with a
weight W appended to its ex¬
tremity. This tends to break
it; and the least reflection
will convince any person, that
if the beam is equally strong
throughout, it will break in
the line CD, even with the
surface of the wall. It will
open at D, while C will serve
as a sort of joint, round which
it will turn. The cross sec¬
tion through the line CD is
for this reason called the sec~
lion of fracture ; and the ho¬
rizontal line drawn through
C on its under surface is called the axis of fracture. The
fracture is made by tearing asunder the fibres, such as DE
or FG. Let us suppose a real joint at C, and that the
beam is really sawed through along CD, and that in place
of its natural fibres, threads are substituted all over the sec¬
tion of fracture. The weight now tends to break these
threads, and it is our business to find the force necessary
for this purpose.
It is evident that DCA may be considered as a bended
lever, of which C is the fulcrum. If f be the force which
will just balance the cohesion of a thread when hung on it
so that the smallest addition will break it, we may find the
weight which will be sufficient for this purpose when hung
on at A, by saying, AC: CD =r/: p, and cp will be the
weight which will just break the thread, by hanging <p by
CD
the point A. This gives us p =/ X If the weight
be hung on at a, the force just sufficient for breaking the
CD
same thread will ben/X In like manner, the force <p,
which must be hung on at A in order to break an equally
Fig. I.
strong or an equally resisting fibre at F, must be =/ X
CF
CA'
Roo£
And so on of all the rest.
If we suppose all the fibres to exert equal resistances at
the instant of fracture, we know, from the simplest elements
of mechanics, that the resistance of all the particles in the
line CD, each acting equally in its own place, is the same
as if all the individual resistances were united in the middle
point ff. Now this total resistance is the resistance or
strength f of each particle, multiplied by the number of
particles. This number may be expressed by the line CD,
because we have no reason to suppose that they are at un¬
equal distances. Therefore, in comparing different sections
together, the number of particles in each are as the sections
themselves. Therefore DC may represent the number of
particles in the line DC. Let us call this line the depth of
the beam, and express it by the symbol d. And since we
are at present treating of roofs whose rafters and other parts
are commonly of uniform breadth, let us call AH or BI the
breadth of the beam, and express it by b, and let CA be
called its length /. We may now express the strength of
the whole line CD by f X d, and we may suppose it all
concentrated in the middle point g. Its mechanical energy,
therefore, by which it resists the energy of the weight w,
applied at the distance /, isyx CD X C <7, whilst the momen¬
tum of MJis X CA. We must therefore have/ X CD X Cg
= ioX CA, or fd x ^d— wl, and fd:w= t: ^d, or fd:w
= 2 l: d. That is, twice the length of the beam is to its
depth as the absolute strength of one of its vertical planes
to its relative strength, or its power of resisting this trans¬
verse fracture.
It is evident, that what has been now demonstrated of
the resistance exerted in the line CD, is equally true of
every line parallel to CD in the thickness or breadth of the
beam. The absolute strength of the whole section of frac¬
ture is represented by fdb, and we still have 2 l: d—fdb : 10 ;
or twice the length of the beam is to its depth as the abso¬
lute strength to the relative strength. Suppose the beam
twelve feet long and one foot deep; then whatever be its
absolute strength, the twenty-fourth part of this will break
it if hung at its extremity.
But even this is too favourable a statement. All the fibres
are supposed to act alike in the instant of fracture. But
this is not true. At the instant that the fibre at D breaks,
it is stretched to the utmost, and is exerting its whole force.
But at this instant the fibre at g is not so much stretched,
and it is not then exerting its utmost force. If we suppose
the extension of the fibres to be as their distance from C,
and the actual exertion of each to be as their extensions, it
may easily be shown (see Strength and Strain), that the
whole resistance is the same as if the full force of all the
fibres were united at a point r distant from C by one third
of CD. In this case we must say, that the absolute strength
is to the relative strength as three times the length to the
depth ; so that the beam is weaker than by the former
statement in the proportion of two to three.
Even this is more strength than experiment justifies,
and we can see an evident reason for it. When the beam
is strained, not only are the upper fibres stretched, but the
lower fibres are compressed. This is very distinctly seen,
if we attempt to break a piece of cork cut into the shape
of a beam. This being the case, C is not the centre of frac¬
ture. There is some point c which lies between the fibres
which are stretched and those that are compressed. This
fibre is neither stretched nor squeezed, and this point is
the real centre of fracture; and the lever by which a fibre
D resists, is not DC, but a shorter one Dc, and the en¬
ergy of the whole resistances must be less than by the se¬
cond statement. I ill we know the proportion between the
diiatability and compressibility of the parts, and the relation
376
HOOF.
*
Roof, between the dilatations of the fibres and the resistances which
they exert in this state of dilatation, we cannot positively say
where the point cis situated, nor what is the sum of the actual
resistances, or the point where their action may be supposed
concentrated. The firmer woods, such as oak and chestnut,
may be supposed to be but slightly compressible ; we know
that willow and other soft woods are very compressible.
These last must therefore be weaker; for it is evident, that
the fibres which are in a state of compression do not resist
the fracture. It is well known, that a beam of willow may
be cut through from C to <7 without weakening it in the
least, if the cut be filled up by a wedge of hard wood stuck
in.
We can only say, that very sound oak and red fir have
the centre of effort so situated, that the absolute strength
is to the relative strength in a proportion of not less than
that of three and a half times the length of the beam to its
depth. A square inch of sound oak will carry about 8000
pounds. If this bar be firmly fixed in a wall, and project
twelve inches, and be loaded at the extremity with 200
pounds, it will be broken. It will just bear 190, its rela¬
tive strength being ^ of its absolute strength ; and this is
the case only with the finest pieces, so placed that their
annual plates or layers are in a vertical position. A larger
log is not so strong transversely, because its plates lie in
various directions round the heart.
Practical These observations are enough to give us a distinct no¬
inferences. tion of the vast diminution of the strength of timber when
the strain is across it; and we see the justice of the maxim
which we inculcated, that the carpenter, in framing roofs,
should avoid as much as possible the exposing his timbers
to transverse strains. But this cannot be avoided in all
cases. Nay, the ultimate strain arising from the very na¬
ture of a roof is transverse. The rafters must carry their
own weight, and thy tends to break them across. An oak
beam a foot deep w;!\ not carry its own weight if it project
more than sixty feet. Besides this, the rafters must carry
the lead, tiling, or slates. We must therefore consider this
transverse strain a little more particularly, so as to know
what strain will be laid on any part by an unavoidable load,
imposed either at that part or at any other.
Effect when We have hitherto supposed, that the beam had one of its
beams are ends fixed in a wall, and that it was loaded at the other end.
supported This is not an usual arrangement, and was taken merely as
and loaded aff°rd‘ng a simple application of the mechanical principles,
in the mid- ^ much more usual to have the beam supported at the
die. ends, and loaded in the middle. Let the beam FEGH
(fig. 2) rest on the props
E and G, and be loaded
at its middle point C with
a weight W. It is re¬
quired to determine the
strain at the section CD.
It is plain that the beam
will receive the same
support, and suffer the
same strain, if, instead
of the blocks E and G,
we substitute the ropes Ffe, Flhg, going over the pulleys f
and g, and loaded with proper weights e and g. The weight
e is equal to the support given by the block E; and g is
equal to the support given by G. The sum of e and g is
equal to W ; and on whatever point W is hung, the weights
e and g are to W in the proportion of DG and DE to GE.
Now, in this state of things, it appears that the strain on
the section CD arises immediately from the upward action
of the ropes Ff and HA, or the upward pressions of the
blocks E and G ; and that the office of the weight W is to
oblige the beam to oppose this strain. Things are in the
same state in respect of strain as if a block were substitut¬
ed at D for the weight W, and the weights e and g were
Fig. 2.
hung on at E and G, only the directions will be opposite. Roof.
The beam tends to break in the section CD, because the
ropes pull it upwards at E and G, whilst a weight W holds
it down at C. It tends to open at D, and C becomes the
centre of fracture. The strain therefore is the same as if
the half ED were fixed in the wall, and a weight equal to
<7, that is, to the half of W, were hung on at G.
Hence we conclude, that a beam supported at both ends,
but not fixed there, and loaded in the middle, will carry
four times as much weight as it can carry at its extremity,
when the other extremity is fast in a wall.
The strain occasioned at any point L by a weight W,
DE
hung on at any other point D, is = W X X LG. For
EG is to ED as W to the pressure occasioned at G. This
would be balanced by some weight g acting over the pul¬
ley A; and this tends to break the beam at L, by acting
DE
on the lever GL. The pressure at G is W X ^7^5 and there-
EG
DE
fore the strain at L is W X tttt X LG.
EG
In like manner, the strain occasioned at the point D by
DE
the weight W hung on there, is W X vttt X DG ; which is
EG
therefore equal to ^ W when D is the middle point.
Hence we see that the general strain on the beam aris¬
ing from one weight, is proportional to the rectangle of
the parts of the beam (for * ^EG* *s as X DG),
and is greatest when the load is laid on the middle of the
beam.
We also see, that the strain at L by a load at D, is
equal to the strain at D by the same load at L. And the
strain at L from a load at D is to the strain by the same
load at L as DE to LE. These are all very obvious corol¬
laries, and they sufficiently inform us concerning the strains
which are produced on any part of the timber by a load
laid on any other part.
If we now suppose the beam to be fixed at the two ends,
that is, firmly framed or held down by blocks at I and K,
placed beyond E and G, or framed into posts, it will carry
twice as much as when its ends were free. For suppose it
sawn through at CD, the weight W hung on there will be
just sufficient to break it at E and G. Now restore the
connection of the section CD, it will require another weight
W to break it there at the same time.
Therefore, when a rafter, or any piece of timber, is
firmly connected with three fixed points, G, E, I, it will
bear a greater load between any twro of them than if its
connection with the remote point were removed; and if it
be fastened in four points, G, E, I, K, it will be twice as
strong in the middle part as without the two remote con¬
nections.
One is apt to expect from this that the joist of a floor
will be much strengthened by being firmly built in the wall.
It is a little strengthened; but the hold which can thus be
given to it is much too short to be of any sensible service,
and it tends greatly to shatter the wall, because, when it is
bent down by a load, it forces up the wall with a momen¬
tum of a long lever. Judicious builders therefore take care
not to bind the joists tight in the wall. But when the joists
of adjoining rooms lie in the same direction, it is a great
advantage to make them of one piece. They are then
twice as strong as when made in two lengths.
It is easy to deduce from these premises the strain on Inferences,
any point which arises from the weight of the beam itself,
or from any load which is uniformly diffused over the whole
or any part. We may always consider the whole of the
R O O F.
Roof.
weight which is thus uniformly diffused over any part as
' united in the middle point of that part; and if the load is
not uniformly diffused, we may still suppose it united at its
centre of gravity. Thus, to know the strain at D arising
from the weight of the whole beam, we may suppose the
whole weight accumulated in its middle point D. Also the
strain at L, arising from the weight of the part ED, is the
same as if this weight were accumulated in the middle point
d of ED; and it is the same as if half the weight of ED
were hung on at D. For the real strain at L is the up¬
ward pressure at G, acting by the lever GL. Now, calling
the weight of the part DE e, this upward pressure will be
377
Roof.
e X dE i e x DE
EG
or
EG
Therefore the strain on the middle of a beam, arising
from its own weight, or from any uniform load, is the weight
ED
of the beam or its load X ^ X DG; that is, half the
weight of the beam or load multiplied or acting by the lever
DG 5 for is
Also the strain at L, arising from the weight of the beam,
or the uniform load, is £ the weight of the beam or load
acting by the lever LG. It is therefore proportional to
LG, and is greatest of all at D. Therefore a beam of uni¬
form strength throughout, uniformly loaded, will break in
the middle.
Relation It is of importance to know the relation between the
between strains arising from the weights of the beams, or from any
or sST uniformly diffused load, and the relative strength. We have
EJvf6 rG already seen> diat the relative strength is where m
strength. . , , , , */ ml
is a number to be discovered by experiment for every dif¬
ferent species of materials. Leaving out every circum¬
stance but what depends on the dimensions of the beam,
viz. d, b, and l, we see that the relative strength is in the
_ d~b
proportion °f —that is, as the breadth and the square of
the depth directly, and the length inversely.
Now, to consider, first, the strain arising from the weight
of the beam itself, it is evident that this weight increases
in the same proportion with the depth, the breadth, and the
length of the beam. Therefore its power of resisting this
strain must be as its depth directly, and the square of its
length inversely. To consider this in a more popular man¬
ner, it is plain that the increase of breadth makes no change
in the power of resisting the actual strain, because the load
and the absolute strength increase in the same proportion
with the breadth. But, by increasing the depth, we in¬
crease the resisting section in the same proportion, and
therefore the number of resisting fibres and the absolute
strength ; but we also increase the weight in the same pro¬
portion. This makes a compensation, and the relative
strength is yet the same. But, by increasing the depth,
we have not only increased the absolute strength, but also
its mechanical energy. For the resistance to fracture is
the same as if the full strength of each fibre was exerted
at the point which we called the centre of effort; and we
showed that the distance of this from the under side of the
beam was a certain portion (a half, a third, a fourth, &c.)
of the whole depth of the beam. This distance is the arm
of the lever, by which the cohesion of the wood may be
supposed to act. Therefore this arm of the lever, and con¬
sequently the energy of the resistance, increases in the pro¬
portion of the depth of the beam, and this remains uncom¬
pensated by any increase of the strain. On the whole,
therefore, the power of the beam to sustain its own weight
increases in the proportion of its depth. But, on the other
VOL. xix.
hand, the power of withstanding a given strain applied at
its extremity, or to any aliquot part of its length, is dimi¬
nished as the length increases, or is inversely as the length ;
and the strain arising from the weight of the beam also in¬
creases as the length. Therefore the power of resisting
the strain actually exerted on it by the weight of the beam
is inversely as the square of the length. On the whole,
therefore, the power of a beam to carry its own weight
varies in the proportion of its depth directly and the square
of its length inversely.
As this strain is frequently a considerable part of the
whole, it is proper to consider it apart, and then to reckon
only on what remains for the support of any extraneous
load.
In the next place, the power of a beam to carry any Power of
load which is uniformly diffused over its length, must be beam to
inversely as the square of the length; for the power 0fcar.r7aloa<1
withstanding any strain applied to an aliquot part of the l!nj.forn?1-v
length (which is the case here, because the load may be over Us
conceived as accumulated at its centre of gravity, the length,
middle point of the beam) is inversely as the length; and
the actual strain is as the length, and therefore its momen¬
tum is as the square of the length. Therefore the power
of a beam to carry a weight uniformly diffused over it, is
inversely as the square of the length.
It is here understood, that the uniform load is of some
determined quantity for every foot of the length, so that
a beam of double length carries a double load.
We have hitherto supposed that the forces which tend Effect
to break a beam transversely are acting in a direction per-when die
pendicular to the beam. This is always the case in level a.ctifjn of.
floors loaded in any manner ; but in roofs, the action of load 13
the load tending to break the rafters is oblique, because :qUe'
gravity always acts in vertical lines. It may also frequently
happen, that a beam is strained by a force acting obliquely.
This modification of the strain is easily discussed. Sup¬
pose that the external force, which is measured by the
weight W in fig. 1, acts in the direction A.n/ instead of
AW. Draw Ca' perpendicular to Aiv. Then the mo¬
mentum of this external force is not to be measured by
W x AC, but by W X # C. The strain therefore by which
the fibres in the section of fracture DC are torn asunder,
is diminished in the proportion of CA to Ca', that is, in the
proportion of radius to the sine of the angle CAa', which
the beam makes with the direction of the external force.
To apply this to our purpose in the most familiar man¬
ner, let AB (fig. 3) be an oblique
rafter of a building, loaded with a
weight W suspended to any point C,
and thereby occasioning a strain in
some part D. We have already
seen, that the immediate cause of
the strain on D is the re-action of the
support which is given to the point
B. The rafter may at present be
considered as a lever, supported at
A, and pulled down by the line CW.
This occasions a pressure on B, and
the support acts in the opposite di¬
rection to the action of the lever,
that is, in the direction B b, perpendicular to BA. This
tends to break the beam in every part. The pressure ex-
W x AE
erted at B is AB , AE being a horizontal line. There-
W' V AT?
fore the strain at D will be  — X BD. Had the
beam been lying horizontally, the strain at D, from the
weight W suspended at C, would have been^^^X BD.
Fig. 3.
3 b
AB
378
ROOF.
Roof. It is therefore diminished in the proportion of AC to AE,
' y ' that is, in the proportion of radius to the cosine of the ele¬
vation, or in the proportion of the secant of elevation to the
radius.
It is evident, that this law of diminution of the strain is
the same whether the strain arises from a load on any part
of the rafter, or from the weight of the rafter itself, or from
any load uniformly diffused over its length, provided only
that these loads act in vertical lines.
Strength We can now compare the strength of roofs which have
of roofs different elevations. Supposing the width of the building
having dif- to pe given, and that the weight of a square yard of cover-
vations e" 1S a^so given. Then, because the load on the rafter
compared. will increase in the same proportion with its length, the
load on the slant-side BA of the roof will be to the load of
a similar covering on the half AF of the flat roof, of the
same width, as AB to AF. But the transverse action of
any load on AB, by which it tends to break it, is to that of
the same load on AF as AF to AB. The transverse strain
therefore is the same on both, the increase of real load on
AB being compensated by the obliquity of its action. But
the strengths of beams to resist equal strains, applied to si¬
milar points, or uniformly diffused over them, are inversely
as their lengths, because the momentum or energy of the
strain is proportional to the length. Therefore the power
of AB to withstand the strain to which it is really exposed,
is to the power of AF to resist its strain as AF to AB. If,
therefore, a rafter AG of a certain scantling is just able to
carry the roofing laid on it, a rafter AB of the same scant¬
ling, but more elevated, will be too weak in the proportion
of AG to AB. Therefore steeper roofs require stouter
rafters, in order that they may be equally able to carry a
roofing of equal weight per square yard. To be equally
strong, they must be made broader, or placed nearer to each
other, in the proportion of their greater length, or they must
be made deeper in the subduplicate proportion of their
length. The following easy construction will enable the
artist not familiar with computation to proportion the depth
of the rafter to the slope of the roof.
Let the horizontal line af (fig. 4) be the proper depth of
a beam whose length is half the
width of the building; that is,
such as would make it fit for
carrying the intended tiling laid
on a flat roof. Draw the verti¬
cal line fb, and the line ab hav¬
ing the elevation of the rafter ;
make ag equal to af and de¬
scribe the semicircle bdg ; draw
ad perpendicular to ab, then ad
is the required depth. The de¬
monstration is evident.
We have now treated in sufficient detail what relates to
the chief strain on the component parts of a roof, namely,
what tends to break them transversely; and we have en¬
larged more on the subject than what the present occasion
indispensably required, because the propositions which we
have demonstrated are equally applicable to all framings of
carpentry, and are even of greater moment in many cases,
particularly in the construction of machines. These con¬
sist of levers in various forms, which are strained transverse¬
ly ; and similar strains frequently occur in many of the sup¬
porting and connecting parts. We shall give, in another
article, an account of the experiments which have been
made by different naturalists, in order to ascertain the ab¬
solute strength of some of the materials which are most
generally framed together in buildings and engines. The
house-carpenter will derive from them absolute numbers,
which he can apply to his particular purposes by means of
the propositions which we have now established.
We proceed, in the next place, to consider the other
Fig. 4.
strains to which the parts of roofs are exposed, in conse- Roof,
quence of the support which they mutually give each other, '
and the pressures, or thrusts, as they are called in the lan¬
guage of the house-carpenter, which they exert on each
other, and on the walls or piers of the building.
Let a beam or piece of timber AB (fig. 5) be suspended Effect of
by two lines AC, BD ; or other
let it be supported by two strains, &c.
props AE, BF, which are
perfectly moveable round
their remote extremities
E, F, or let it rest on the
two polished planes KAH,
LBM. Moreover, let G
be the centre of gravity
of the beam, and let GN /e
be a line through the cen¬
tre of gravity perpendicu¬
lar to the horizon. The
beam will not be in equi-
librio unless the vertical
line GN either passes
through P, the point in
winch the directions of the
two lines AC, BD, or the directions of the two props EA,
FB, or the perpendiculars to the two planes KAH, LBM in¬
tersect each other, or is parallel to these directions. For the
supports given by the lines or props are unquestionably
exerted in the direction of their lengths, and it is well
known in mechanics that the supports given by planes are
exerted in a direction perpendicular to those planes in the
points of contact; and we know that the weight of the
beam acts in the same manner as if it were all accumulat¬
ed in its centre of gravity G, and that it acts in the direc¬
tion GN perpendicular to the horizon. Moreover, when a
body is in equilibrio between three forces, they are acting
in one plane, and their directions are either parallel or they
pass through one point.
The support given to the beam is therefore the same as
if it were suspended by two lines which are attached to the
single point P. We may also infer, that the points of sus¬
pension C, D, the points of support E, F, the points of con¬
tact A, B, and the centre of gravity G, are all in one ver¬
tical plane.
When this position of the beam is disturbed by any ex¬
ternal force, there must either be a motion of the points A
and B round the centres of suspension C and D, or of the
props round these points of support E and F, or a sliding
of the ends of the beam along the polished planes KAH and
LBM ; and in consequence of these motions the centre of
gravity G will go out of its place, and the vertical line GN
will no longer pass through the point where the directions
of the supports intersect each other. If the centre of gra¬
vity rises by this motion, the body will have a tendency to
recover its former position, and it will require force to keep
it away from it. In this case the equilibrium may be said
to be stable, or the body to have stability. But if the cen¬
tre of gravity descends when the body is moved from the
position of equilibrium, it will tend to move still farther;
and so far will it be from recovering its former position, that
it will now fall. This equilibrium may be called a tottering
equilibrium. These accidents depend on the situations of
the points A, B, C, D, E, F ; and they may be determin¬
ed by considering the subject geometrically. It does not
much interest us at present; it is rarely that the equili¬
brium of suspension is tottering, or that of props is stable.
It is evident, that if the beam were suspended by lines from
the point P, it would have stability, for it would swing like
a pendulum round P, and therefore would always tend to¬
wards the position of equilibrium. The intersection of the
lines of support would still be at P, and the vertical line
ROOF.
379
Roof, drawn through the centre of gravity, when in any other si-
tuation, would be on that side of P towards which this cen¬
tre has been moved. Therefore, by the rules of pendulous
bodies, it tends to come back. This would be more re¬
markably the case if the points of suspension C and D were
on the same side of the point P with the points of attach¬
ment A and B ; for in this case the new point of intersec¬
tion of the lines of support would shift to the opposite side,
and be still further from the vertical line through the new
position of the centre of gravity. But if the points of sus¬
pension and of attachment are on opposite sides of P, the
new point of intersection may shift to the same side with
the centre of gravity, and lie beyond the vertical line. In
this case the equilibrium is tottering. It is easy to perceive,
too, that if the equilibrium of suspension from the points C
and D be stable, the equilibrium on the props AE and BE
must be tottering. It is not necessary for our present pur¬
pose to engage more particularly in this discussion.
It is plain that, with respect to the mere momentary
equilibrium, there is no difference in the support by threads,
props, or planes, and we may substitute the one for the
other. We shall find this substitution extremely useful,
because we easily conceive distinct notions of the support of
a body by strings.
Observe farther, that if the whole figure be inverted,
and strings be substituted for props, and props for strings,
the equilibrium will still obtain. For by comparing fig. 5
with fig. 6, we see that the vertical line through the centre
of gravity will pass through the intersection of the two
strings or props; and this is all that is necessary for the
equilibrium ; only it must be observed in the substitution
of props for threads, and of threads for props, that if it be
done without inverting the whole figure, a stable equili¬
brium becomes a tottering one, and vice versa.
Examples. This is a most useful proposition, especially to the unlet¬
tered artisan, and enables him to make a practical use of
problems which the greatest mechanical geniuses have found
it no easy task to solve. An instance will show the extent
and utility of it. Suppose it were required to make a man¬
sard or kirb roof whose width
is AB (fig. 7), and consisting
of the four equal rafters
AC, CD, DE, EB. There
can be no doubt but that
its best form is that which
will put all the parts in
equilibrio, so that no ties or
stays may be necessary for
opptising the unbalanced
thrust of any part of it. Make a chain acdeb (fig. 8) of four
equal pieces, loosely con¬
nected by pin-joints, round
which the parts are per¬
fectly moveable. Suspend
this from two pins a, b,
fixed in a horizontal line.
This chain or festoon will
arrange itself in such a
form that its parts are in aJ__^ .f
equilibrio. Then we know
that if the figure be invert¬
ed, it will compose the
frame or truss of a kirb-
roof ay bib, which is also
in equilibrio, the thrusts of
the pieces balancing each
other in the same manner that the mutual pulls of the hang¬
ing festoon acdeb did. If the proportion of the height df
■> the width ab is not such as pleases, let the pins a, b be
iced nearer or more distant, till a proportion between the
width and height is obtained which pleases, and then make
Fig. 7.
Fig. 8.
the figure ACDEB, fig. 7, similar Roof,
to it. It is evident that this pro- Fig. 9.
position will apply in the same
manner to the determination of the
form of an arch of a bridge; but
this is not a proper place for a fur¬
ther discussion.
We are now enabled to compute
all the thrusts and other pres¬
sures which are exerted by the
parts of a roof on each other and
on the walls. Let AB (fig. 9) be
a beam standing anyhow oblique¬
ly, and G its centre of gravity.
Let us suppose that the ends of
it are supported in any directions
AC, BD, by strings, props, or
planes. Let these directions meet
in the point P of the vertical line
PG passing through its centre of
gravity. Through G draw lines
Go, Gb parallel to PB, PA. Then
The weight of the beam 1 f PG
The pressure or thrust at A V is proportional to 1 Pa
And the pressure at B J ^ P6.
For when a body is in equilibrio between three forces,
these forces are proportional to the sides of a triangle which
have their directions.
In like manner, if Ag be drawn parallel to P b, we shall
have
Weight of the beam ^ (Pg
Thrust on A V proportional to -] PA
And thrust on B j (^Ag
Or, drawing By parallel to Pa,
Weight of the beam 1 f Py
Thrust at A > proportional to ^ By
And thrust at B j i PB.
It cannot be disputed that, if strength alone be con- The pro-
sidered, the proper form of a roof is that which puts the Per f°r.m °*
whole in equilibrio, so that it would remain in that shape jqjatwhieh
although all the joints were perfectly loose or flexible. If puts the
it has any other shape, additional ties or braces are neces- whole in
sary for preserving it, and the parts are unnecessarily strain- equili-
ed. When this equilibrium is obtained, the rafters which hdo.
compose the roof are all acting on each other in the direc¬
tion of their lengths; and by this action, combined with
their weights, they sustain no strain but that of compres¬
sion, the strain of all others that they are the most able to
resist. We may consider them as so many inflexible lines
having their weights accumulated in their centres of gra¬
vity. But it will allow an easier investigation of the sub¬
ject, if we suppose the weights to be at the joints, equal to
the real vertical pressures which are exerted on these points.
These are very easily computed; for it is plain, that the
weight of the beam AB (fig. 9) is to the part of this weight
that is supported at B as AB to AG. Therefore, if W
represent the weight of the beam, the vertical pressure at
AG
B will be W X -^-g, and the vertical pressure at A will be
13G
W X In like manner, the prop BF being considered
as another beam, and J' as its centre of gravity and w as its
weight, a part of this weight, equal to w X is support-
AG
ed at B, and the whole vertical pressure at B is W X
fF
+ za X gg. And thus we greatly simplify the considera¬
tion of the mutual thrusts of roof frames. We need hard-
380
ROOF.
Hoof.
ly observe, that although these pressures by which the parts
’ of a frame support each other in opposition to the vertical
action of gravity, are always exerted in the direction of the
pieces, they may be resolved into pressures acting in any
other direction which may engage our attention.
All that we propose to deliver on this subject at present
may be included in the following proposition.
Let ABCDE (fig. 10) be an assemblage of rafters in a
Fig. 10.
force Ic is the equivalent of the contractile forces ck, cm,
and is therefore equal and opposite to the force of gravity
acting at C. In like manner, make dn = cm, and com-
p ete the parallelogram ndpo, having the vertical line od for
its diagonal. Then dn and dp are the contractile forces ex-
cited at d, and the weight hanging there must be eoual to od.
Iherefore, the load at b is to the load at d as bg to do.
but we have seen that the compressing forces at B, C, D
may be substituted for the extending forces at b, c, d.
herefore the weights at B, C, D which produce the com-
pi ess ions, are equal to the weights at b, c, d which produce
the extensions. Therefore
i,:<fc = FX^ + Gx“
Hx — + Ix —
X CD + 1 X DE‘
vertical plane, resting on twro fixed points A and E in a ho¬
rizontal line, and perfectly moveable round all the joints A,
B, C, D, E; let it be further supposed to be in equilibrio,
and let us investigate what adjustment of the different cir¬
cumstances of weight and inclination of its different parts
is necessary for producing this equilibrium.
Let F, G, H, I, be the centres of gravity of the different
rafters, and let these letters express the weights of each.
Then, by what has been said above, the weight which
presses B directly downwards is F X — + G x ~
AB ^ BC’
The weight on C is in like manner G X — + D x —
BC CD’
and that onDisHx^ + IX ^.
bfj JJb
Let AbcdE be the figure ABCDE inverted, in the man¬
ner already described. It may be conceived as a thread
fastened at A and E, and loaded at b, c, and d with the
weights which are really pressing on B, C, and D. It will
arrange itself into such a form that all will be in equilibrio.
We may discover this form by means of this single con¬
sideration, that any part be of the thread is equally stretched
throughout in the direction of its length. Let us therefore
investigate the proportion between the weight /3, which we
suppose to be pulling the point b in the vertical direction
bp, to the weight d, which is pulling down the point din a
similar manner. It is evident, that since AE is a horizon¬
tal line, and the figures AbcdE and ABCDE equal and si¬
milar, the lines Bb, Cc, Ed, are vertical. Take bf to repre-
sent the weight hanging at b. By stretching the threads
c ^ndi C 11 18 Set m 0PPosition to the contractile powers
of the threads, acting in the directions bA and be, and it is
in immediate equilibrio with the equivalent of these two
contractile forces. Therefore make bg equal to bf, and
make it the diagonal of a parallelogram hbig. It is evident
that Mi, bi, are the forces exerted by the threads bA, be.
1 hen, seeing that the thread be is equally stretched in both
directions, make equal to bi; ck is the contractile force
which is excited at c by the weight which is hanging
t ere. Draw hi parallel to cd, and Im parallel to be. The
Let us inquire what relation there is between this pro¬
portion of the loads upon the joints at B and D, and the
angles which the rafters make at these joints with each
^ TQer’n^nd t^le J101^2011 or ^ie plumb-lines. Produce
^ t^e ver^cal Cc in Q ; then draw BR parallel to
a ^ Parallel to DE. The similarity of the figures
ABCDE and AbcdE, and the similarity of their position
with respect to the horizontal and plumb lines, show, with¬
out any further demonstration, that the triangles QCB and
gbi are similar, and that QB : BC=.gi; ib = hb; ib. There-
f°re BC as the contractile force exerted by the
thread Ab to that exerted by be; and therefore QB is to
C as the compression on BA to the compression on BC.1
I hen, because bi is equal to ck, and the triangles CBR and
c^are similar, CB : BR = ck :kl = ck: cm, and CB is to
BR as the compression on CB to the compression on CD.
And, in like manner, because cm = dn, we have BR to BS
as the compression on DC to the compression on DE.
Also BR : RS = nd: do, that is, as the compression on DC
to the load on D. Finally, combining all these ratios,
QC : CB = gb : bi = gb : he,
CB : BR =: kc : kl =: kc : dn,
BR : BS — nd\ no = dn : no,
nn : r>^ ~ no : d° — no • do, we have finally
QC : RS = gb:od= load at B : load at D.
Now
: uS ^ S-n' SPC : sin- BQC = sin* ABC: sin. ABb,
= Sin- BRC : sin- BCR = sin- CDrf : sin. bBC,
BR : RS = sin. BSR : sin. RBS = sin. dEE : sin. CDE.
Therefore
?S 7Lsin- ABC sin- CDi/ sin- : sin. CDE sin.
ABb sin. 6BC.
Or
or.Rs-. sin. ABC
sin. CDE
sin. AB6 sin. CBb ' sin. dEQ, sin. dEE'
That is, the loads on the different joints are as the sines
of the angles at these joints directly, and as the products of
the sines of the angles which the rafters make with the
plumb-lines inversely.
Or, the loads are as the sines of the angles of the joints
directly, and as the products of the cosines of the angles of
elevation of the rafters inversely.
Or, the loads at the joints are as the sines of the angles
at the joints, and as the products of the secants of the angles
of elevation of the rafters jointly; for the secants of angles
are inversely as the cosines.
Draw the horizontal line BT. It is evident, that if this
TU!COnS^derCd aS ra<Rus a circle, the lines BQ, BC,
BR, BS are the secants of the angles which these lines
the substitution gives dfstinct notions of°the modfof W1/ihout any USe of tlie inserted figure, or consideration of contractile forces • buA
make it familiar to the mind, because iC^vL^n 1 V ^ not rnudl conversant in such disquisitions and we i’sh tn
who has little science, with solutions of fhe most diffi f0. utlon 0f the most complicated problems, and furnishes the practical carnenter
«0 certain that the foVnrs into whSif^ ^SL^olK^rfeel
Roof.
ROOF.
381
Koof.
The length
of the
beams de¬
pends on
the weights
at the an¬
gles.
Practical
inferences.
To deter¬
mine the
best form
of a kirb-
roof.
make with the horizon ; and they are also as the thrusts
of those rafters to which they are parallel. Therefore, the
thrust which any rafter makes in its own direction is as the
secant of its elevation.
The horizontal thrust is the same at all the angles. For
it — k% — iiifjj — nv — pn. Therefore both walls are equally
pressed out by the weight of the roof. We can find its
quantity by comparing it with the load on one of the joints.
Thus, QC : CB =: sin. ABC : sin. AB6
BC : BT — rad. : sin. BCT — rad. : sin. CB6.
Therefore, Q.C : BT = rad. X sin. ABC : sin. 6BA X sin.
6BC.
It deserves remark, that the lengths of the beams do not
affect either the proportion of the load at the different
joints, or the position of the rafters. This depends merely
on the weights at the angles. If a change of length affects
the weight, it indeed affects the form also ; and this is
generally the case. For it seldom happens, indeed it never
should happen, that the weight on rafters of longer bearing
is not greater. The covering alone increases nearly in the
proportion of the length of the rafter.
If the proportion of the wreights at B, C, and D is given,
as also the position of any two of the lines, the position of
all the rest is determined. If the horizontal distances be¬
tween the angles are all equal, the forces on the different
angles are proportional to the verticals drawn on the lines
through these angles from the adjoining angle, and the
thrusts from the adjoining angles are as the lines which con¬
nect them. If the rafters themselves are of equal lengths,
the weights at the different angles are as these verticals and
as the secants of the angles of elevation of the rafters jointly.
This proposition is very fruitful in its practical conse¬
quences. It is easy to perceive that it contains the whole
theory of the construction of arches; for each stone of an
arch may be considered as one of the rafters of this piece
of carpentry, since all is kept up by its mere equilibrium.
We may have an opportunity in a future article of exhi¬
biting some very elegant and simple solutions of the most
difficult cases of this important problem ; and we now pro¬
ceed to make use of the knowledge we have acquired for
the construction of roofs.
We mentioned by the by a problem which is not un¬
frequent in practice, to determine the best form of a kirb-
roof. M. Couplet of the Royal Academy of Paris has given
a solution of it in an elaborate memoir in 1726, occupying
several lemmas and theorems.
Let AE (fig. II) be the width, and CF the height; it
Fig. 11.
is required to construct a roof ABCDE, whose rafters AB, Roof.
BC, CD, DE, are all equal, and which shall be in equili-
brio.
Draw CE, and bisect it perpendicularly in H by the line
DHG, cutting the horizontal line AE in G. About the
centre G, with the distance GE, describe the circle EKC.
It must pass through C, because CH is equal to HE and
the angles at H are equal. Draw HK parallel to FE, cut¬
ting the circumference in K ; draw CK, cutting GH in D ;
and join CD, ED. These lines are the rafters of half of the
roof required.
We prove this by showing that the loads at the angles C
and D are equal; for this is the proportion which results
from the equality of the rafters, and the extent of surface
of the uniform roofing which they are supposed to support.
Therefore produce ED till it meet the vertical FC in N ;
and having made the side CBA similar to CDE, complete
the parallelogram BCDP, and draw DB, which will bisect
CP in R, as the horizontal line KH bisects CF in Q. Draw
KF, which is evidently parallel to DP. Make CS perpen¬
dicular to CF, and equal to FG; and about S, with the ra¬
dius SF, describe the circle FKW. It must pass through
K, because SF is equal to CG, and CQ, QF. Draw
WK, WS, and produce BC, cutting ND in O.
The angle WKF at the circumference is one half of the
angle WSF at the centre, and is therefore equal to WSC
or CGF. It is therefore double of the angle CEF or ECS.
But ECS is equal to ECD and DCS, and ECD is one half
of NDC, and DCS is one half of DCO or CDP. There¬
fore the angle WKF is equal to NDP, and WK is parallel
to ND, and CF is to CW as CP to CN; and CN is equal
to CP. But it has been shown above that CN and CP are
as the loads upon D and C. These are therefore equal, and
the frame ABCDE is in equilibrio.
A comparison of this solution with that of M. Couplet
will show its great advantage in respect of simplicity and
perspicuity; and the intelligent reader can easily adapt
the construction to any proportion between the rafters AB
and BC, which other circumstances, such as garret-rooms,
&c. may render convenient. The construction must be
CD 4- DE
such that NC may be to CP as CD to    . What¬
ever proportion of AB to BC is assumed, the point D; will
be found in the circumference of a semicircle H'DVf, whose
centre is in the line CE, and having AB : BC = CH': HTl
= ch': //E. The rest of the construction is simple.
In buildings which are roofed with slate, tile, or shingles,
the circumstance which is most likely to limit the construc¬
tion is the slope of the upper rafters CB, CD. This must
be sufficient to prevent the penetration of rain, and the
stripping by the winds. The only circumstance left in our
choice in this case is the proportion of the rafters AB and
BC. Nothing is easier than making NC to CP in any de¬
sired proportion when the angle BCD is given.
We need not repeat that it is always a desirable thing to The truss
form a truss for a roof in such a manner that it shall be inf°r a roof
equilibrio. When this is done, the whole force of the struts sllou1id al:
and braces which are added to it is employed in reserving
this form, and no part is expended in unnecessary strains.
For we must now observe, that the equilibrium of which we
have been treating is always of that kind wdiich we call the
tottering, and the roof requires stays, braces, or hanging
timbers, to give it stiffness, or keep it in shape. We have
also said enough to enable any reader acquainted with the
most elementary geometry and mechanics, to compute the
transverse strains and the thrusts to which the component
parts of all roofs are exposed.
It only remains now to show the general maxims by General
which all roofs must be constructed, and the circumstances maxims for
which determine their excellence. In doing this we shall all roofs,
be exceedingly brief, and almost content ourselves with ex-
382
R O O F
Roof.
Simplest
notion of
a roof.
hibiting the principal forms, of which the endless variety
of roofs are only slight modifications. We shall not trouble
the reader with any account of such roofs as receive part of
their support from the interior walls, but confine ourselves
to the more difficult problem of throwing a roof over a wide
building, without any intermediate support; because when
such roofs are constructed in the best manner, that is, de¬
riving the greatest possible strength from the materials em¬
ployed, the best construction of the others is necessarily
included. For all such roofs as rest upon the middle walls
are roofs of smaller bearing. The only exception deserving
notice is the roofs of churches, which have aisles separated
from the nave by columns. The roof must rise on these.
But if it is of an arched form internally, the horizontal
thrusts must be nicely balanced, that they may not push
the columns aside.
The simplest notion of a roof-frame is, that it consists of
two rafters AB and BC (fig. 12), meeting in the ridge.
Fig. 12.
Roof.
But even this simple form is susceptible of better and worse.
We have already seen, that when the weight of a square
yard of covering is given, a steeper roof requires stronger
rafters, and that when the scantling of the timbers is also
given, the relative strength of a rafter is inversely as its
length.
Best form But there is now another circumstance to be taken in-
of rafters. t0 the account, viz. the support which one rafter leg gives
to the other. The best form of a rafter will therefore be
that in which the relative strength of the legs, and their
mutual support, give the greatest product. Mr Muller, in
his Military Engineer, gives a determination of the best
pitch of a roof, which has considerable ingenuity, and has
been copied into many books of
military education both in this
island and on the continent. De¬
scribe on the width AC (fig. 13)
the semicircle AFC, and bisect it
by the radius FD. Produce the
rafter AB to the circumference
in E, join EC, and draw the per¬
pendicular EG. Now AB : AD
= AC : AE, and AE = *
AB
and AE is inversely
as AB, and may therefore represent its strength in relation
to the weight actually lying on it. Also the support which
Arc t'0 as CE, because CE is perpendicular to
AB. Therefore the form which renders AE X EC a maxi¬
mum seems to be that which has the greatest strength.
But AC : AE = EC : EG, and EG = AE * EC, and is
therefore proportional to AE X EC. Now EG is a maxi¬
mum when B is in F, and a square pitch is in this respect
t e strongest. But it is very doubtful whether this con¬
struction is deduced from just principles. There is an-
ot er strain to which the leg AB is exposed, which is not
taken into the account. This arises from the curvature
which it unavoidably acquires by the transverse pressure of
its load. In this state it is pressed in its own direction by
the abutment and load of the other leg. The relation be
tween this strain and the resistance of the piece is not very
distinctly known. Euler has given a dissertation on this 'v''’-'
subject, which is of great importance, because it affects
posts and pillars of all kinds; and it is very well known that
a post of ten feet long and six inches square will bear with
great safety a weight which would crush a post of the same
scantling and twenty feet long in a minute; but his de¬
termination has not been acquiesced in by the first mathe¬
maticians. Now it is in relation to these two strains that
the strength of the rafter should be adjusted. The firm¬
ness of the support given by the other leg is of no conse¬
quence, if its own strength is inferior to the strain. The
force which tends to crush the leg AB, by compressing it
in its.curved state, is to its weight as AB to BD, as is
easily seen by the composition of forces; and its incurva¬
tion by this force has a relation to it, which is of intricate
determination. It is contained in the properties demon¬
strated by Bernoulli of the elastic curve. This determina¬
tion also includes the relation between the curvature and
the length of the piece. But the whole of this seemingly
simple problem is of much more difficult investigation than
Mr Muller was aware of; and his rules for the pitch of a
roof, and for the sally of a dock-gate, which depends on the
same principles, are of no value. He is, however, the first
author who attempted to solve either of these problems on
mechanical principles susceptible of precise reasoning. Be-
lidor’s solutions, in his Architecture Hydraulique, are be¬
low notice.
Reasons of economy have made carpenters prefer a low
pitch; and although this does diminish the support given
by the opposite leg faster than it increases the relative
strength of the other, it is not of material consequence,
because the strength remaining in the opposite leg is still
very great; for the supporting leg is acting against com¬
pression, in which case it is vastly stronger than the sup¬
ported leg acting against a transverse strain.
But a roof of this simplicity will not do in most cases. Thrust on
There is no notice taken, in its construction, of the thrustthe wall3.
which it exerts on the walls. Now this is the strain which
is the most hazardous of all. Our ordinary walls, instead of
being able to resist any considerable strain pressing them
outwards, require, in general, some ties to keep them on
foot. When a person thinks of the thinness and height of
the walls of even a strong house, he will be surprised that
they are not blown down by any strong puff of wind. A
wall three feet thick, and sixty feet high, could not with¬
stand a wind blowing at the rate of thirty feet per second
(in which case it acts with a force considerably exceeding
two pounds on every square foot), if it were not stiffened
by cross walls, joists, and roof, which all help to tie the dif¬
ferent parts of the building together.
A carpenter is therefore exceedingly careful to avoid every How this is
horizontal thrust, or to oppose them by other forces. Andavoi(led-
this introduces another essential part into the construction
of a roof, namely, the tie or beam
AC (fig. 14), laid from wall to wall,
binding the feet A and C of the
rafters together. This is the sole
office of the beam; and it should
be considered in no other light
than as a string to prevent the roof
from pushing out the walls. It is
indeed used for carrying the ceiling
of the apartments under it, and it is even made to sup¬
port a flooring. But, considered as making part of a roof,
it is merely a string; and the strain which it withstands
tends to tear its parts asunder. It therefore acts with its
whole absolute force, and a very small scantling would suf¬
fice if we could contrive to fasten it firmly enough to the
foot of the rafter. If it is of oak, we may safely subject it
Fig. 14.
- to a strain of three tons for every square inch of its sec*
ROOF.
383
Fig. 15.
Roof. tion. x4.nd fir will safely bear a strain of two tons for every
v—' square inch. But we are obliged to give the tie-beam
much larger dimensions, that we may be able to connect it
with the foot of the rafter by a mortise and tenon. Iron
straps are also frequently added. By attending to this of¬
fice of the tie-beam, the judicious carpenter is directed to
the proper form of the mortise and tenon, and of the strap.
We shall consider both of these in a proper place, after we
become acquainted with the various strains at the joints of
a roof.
These large dimensions of the tie-beam allow us to load
it with the ceilings without any risk, and even to lay floors
on it with moderation and caution. But when it has a great
bearing or span, it is very apt to bend downwards in the
middle, or, as the workmen term it, to sway or swag; and
it requires a support. The question is, where to find this
support. What fixed points can we find with which to
connect the middle of the tie-beam ? Some ingenious car¬
penter thought of suspending it from the ridge by a piece
of timber BD (fig. 15), called
by our carpenters the king-post.
It must be acknowledged, that
there was very great ingenuity
in this thought. It was also per¬
fectly just. For the weight of
the rafters BA, BC tends to
make them fly out at the foot. A
This is prevented by the tie-
beam, and this excites a pressure, by which they tend to com¬
press each other. Suppose them without weight, and that a
great weight is laid on the ridge B. This can be supported
only by the abutting of the rafters in their own directions AB
and CB, and the weight tends to compress them in the op¬
posite directions, and, through their intervention, to stretch
the tie-beam. If neither the rafters can be compressed, nor
the tie-beam stretched, it is plain that the triangle ABC
must retain its shape, and that B becomes a fixed point
very proper to be used as a point of suspension. To this
point, therefore, is the tie-beam suspended by means of the
king-post. A common spectator unacquainted with carpen¬
try views it very differently, and the tie-beam appears to
him to carry the roof. The king-post appears a pillar rest¬
ing on the beam, whereas it is really a string; and an iron
rod of one sixteenth of the size would have done just as
well. The king-post is sometimes mortised into the tie-
beam, and pins put through the joint, which gives it more
the look of a pillar with the roof resting on it. This does
well enough in many cases. But the best method is to
connect them by an iron strap like a stirrup, which is bolted
at its upper ends into the king-post, and passes
round the tie-beam. In this way a space is Fig. 16*
commonly left between the end of the king¬
post and the upper side of the tie-beam. Here
the beam plainly appears hanging in the stir- g
rup ; and this method allows us to restore the
beam to an exact level, when it has sunk by
the unavoidable compression or other yielding ^
of the parts. The holes in the sides of thej
iron strap are made oblong instead of round;
and the bolt which is drawn through all is made
to taper on the under side; so that driving it
farther draws the tie-beam upwards. A notion of this may
be formed by looking at fig. 16, which is a section of that
post and beam.
It requires considerable attention, however, to make this
suspension of the tie-beam sufficiently firm. The top of the
king-post is cut into the form of the arch-stone of a bridge,
and the heads of the rafters are firmly mortised into this
projecting part. These projections are called joggles, and
are formed by working the king-post out of a much larger
piece of timber, and cutting off the unnecessary wood from
Roof.
jKey.
the two sides ; and, lest all this should not be sufficient, it is
usual in great works to add an iron plate or strap of three
branches, which are bolted into the heads of the king-post
and rafters.
The rafters, though not so long as the beam, seem to
stand as much in need of something to prevent their bend¬
ing, for they carry the weight of the covering. This cannot
be done by suspension, for we have no fixed points above
them. But we have now got
a very firm point of support Fig. 17.
at the foot of the king-post.
Braces, or rather struts, ED,
FD (fig. 17), are put under the
middle of the rafters, where
they are slightly mortised, and
their lower ends are firmly
mortised into joggles formed
on the foot of the king-post.
As these braces are very powerful in their resistance to com¬
pression, and the king-post equally so to resist extension,
the points E and F may be considered as fixed j and the
rafters being thus reduced to half their former length, have
now four times their former relative strength.
Roofs do not always consist of two sloping sides meeting Construc-
in a ridge. They have sometimes a flat on the top, with tion of flat-
two slopping sides. They are sometimes formed with atopPed
double slope, and are called kirb or mansarde roofs. They1-00 s‘
sometimes have a valley in the middle, and are then called
M roofs. Such roofs require another piece, which may be
called the truss-beam, because all such frames are called
trusses; probably from the French word trousse, because
such roofs are like portions of plain roofs trousses or short¬
ened.
A flat-topped roof is thus constructed. Suppose the three
rafters AB, BC, CD (fig. 18),
of which AB and CD are
equal, and BC horizontal. It
is plain that they will be in
equilibrio, and the roof have
no tendency to go on either
side. The tie-beam AD with¬
stands the horizontal thrusts
of the whole frame, and the
two rafters AB and CD are
each pressed in their own di¬
rections in consequence of their abutting with the middle
rafter or truss-beam BC. It lies between them like the
key-stone of an arch. They lean towards it, and it rests
on them. The pressure which the truss-beam and its
load excites on the two rafters is the very same as if the
rafters were produced till they meet in G, and a weight
were laid on these equal to that of BC and its load. If
therefore the truss-beam is of a scantling sufficient for car¬
rying its own load, and withstanding the compression from
the two rafters, the roof will be equally strong, whilst it
keeps its shape, as the plain roof AGD, furnished with
the king-post and braces. We may conceive this another
way. Suppose a plain roof AGD, without braces to sup¬
port the middle B and C of the rafters. Then let a
beam BC be put in between the rafters, abutting upon little
notches cut in the rafters. It is evident that this must pre¬
vent the rafters from bending downwards, because the points
B and C cannot descend, moving round the centres A and
D, without shortening the distance BC between them. This
cannot be without compressing the beam BC. It is plain
that BC may be wedged in, or wedges driven in between
its ends B and C and the notches in which it is lodged.
These wedges may be driven in till they even force out
the rafters GA and GD. Whenever this happens, all the
mutual pressure of the heads of these rafters at G is taken
away, and the parts GB and GC may be cut away, and the
Fig. 18.
384
ROOF.
Roof-
They are
not so
strong as
the plain
roofs.
Members
of which
the frame
of a roof
consists.
roof ABCD will be as strong as the roof AGD furnished
" with the king-post and braces, because the truss-beam gives
a support of the same kind at B and C as the brace would
have done.
But this roof ABCD would have no firmness of shape.
Any addition of weight on one side would destroy the equi¬
librium at- the angle, would depress that angle, and would
cause the opposite one to rise. To give it stiffness, it must
either have ties or braces, or something partaking of the
nature of both. The usual method of framing is to make
the heads of the rafters abut on the joggles of two side-
posts BE and CF, whilst the truss-beam, or strut as it is
generally termed by the carpenters, is mortised square into
the inside of the heads. The lower ends E and F of the
side-posts are connected with the tie-beam either by mor¬
tises or straps.
This construction gives firmness to the frame; for the
angle B cannot descend in consequence of any inequality
of pressure, without forcing the other angle C to rise. This
it cannot do, being held down by the post CF. And the
same construction fortifies the tie-beam, which is now sus¬
pended at the points E and F from the points B and C,
whose firmness we have just now shown.
But although this roof may be made abundantly strong,
it is not quite so strong as the plain roof AGD of the same
scantling. The compression which BC must sustain in or¬
der to give the same support to the rafters at B and C that
was given by braces properly placed, is considerably greater
than the compression of the braces. And this strain is an
addition to the transverse strain which BC gets from its
own load. This form also necessarily exposes the tie-beam
to cross strains. If BE is mortised into the tie-beam, then
the strain which tends to depress the angle ABC presses on
the tie-beam at E transversely, whilst a contrary strain acts
on F, pulling it upwards. These strains, however, are small;
and this construction is frequently used, being susceptible
of sufficient strength, without much increase of the dimen¬
sions of the timbers ; and it has the great advantage of giv¬
ing free room in the garrets.
Were it not for this, there is Fig. 19.
a much more perfect form
represented in fig. 19. Here
the two posts BE, CF are
united below. All transverse
action on the tie-beam is now
entirely removed. We are
almost disposed to say that this is the strongest roof of the
same width and slope. For if the iron strap which connects
the pieces BE, CF with the tie-beam have a large bolt G
through it, confining it to one point of the beam, there
are five points, A, B, C, D, G, which cannot change their
places, and there is no transverse strain in any of the con¬
nections.
When the dimensions of the building are very great, so
that the pieces AB, BC, CD, would be thought too weak
for withstanding the cross strains, braces may be added as
is expressed in fig. 18 by the dotted lines. The reader wfill
observe, that it is not meant to leave the top flat external¬
ly; it must be raised a little in the middle, to shoot off the
rain. But this must not be done by incurvating the beam
BC. I his would soon be crushed, and spring upwards.
I he slopes must be given by pieces of timber added above
the strutting-beam.
And thus we have completed a frame of a roof. It con¬
sists of these principal members : the rafters, which are im¬
mediately loaded with the covering; the tie-beam, which
withstands the horizontal thrust by which the roof tends to
fly out below and push out the walls ; the king-posts, which
hang from fixed points and serve to uphold the tie-beam,
and also to afford other fixed points on which we may rest
the braces which support the middle of the rafters; and,
lastly, the truss or strutting-beam, which serves to give mu- Roof,
tual abutment to the different parts which are at a distance ~v~«—’
from each other. The rafters, braces, and trusses are ex¬
posed to compression, and must therefore have not only co¬
hesion, but stiffness. For if they bend, the prodigious com¬
pressions to which they are subjected would quickly crush
them in this bended state. The tie-beams and king-posts,
if performing no other office but supporting the roof, do not
require stiffness; and their places might be supplied by ropes,
or by rods of iron of one-tenth part of the section that even
the smallest oak stretcher requires. These members re¬
quire no greater dimensions than what is necessary for giv¬
ing sufficient joints, and any more is a needless expense. All
roofs, however complicated, consist of these essential parts ;
and if pieces of timber are to be seen which perform none
of these offices, they must be pronounced useless, and they
are frequently hurtful, by producing cross strains in some
other piece. In a roof properly constructed there should
be no such strains. All the timbers, excepting those which
immediately carry the covering, should be either pushed or
drawn in the direction of their length. And this is the rule
by which a roof should always be examined.
I hese essential parts are susceptible of numberless com- They are
binations and varieties. But it is a prudent maxim to make susceptible
the construction as simple, and consisting of as few parts, Pf numb^'
as possible. We are the less exposed to the imperfections
workmanship, such as loose joints, &c. Another essential varieties,
harm arises from many pieces, by the compression and the
shrinking of the timber in the cross direction of the fibres.
The effect of this is equivalent to the shortening of the piece
which abuts on the joint. This alters the proportions of
the sides of the triangle on which the shape of the whole
depends. Now, in a roof such as fig. 18, there is twice as
much of this as in the plain pent-roof, because there are
two posts. And when the direction of the abutting pieces
is very oblique to the action of the load, a small shrinking
permits a great change of shape. Thus, in a roof of what
is called pediment pitch, where the rafters make an angle
of thirty degrees with the horizon, half an inch compres¬
sion of the king-post will produce a sagging of an inch, and
occasion a great strain on the tie-beam, if the posts are mor¬
tised into it.
This method of including a truss within the rafters of a
pent-roof is a very considerable addition to the art of car¬
pentry. But to insure its full effect, it should always be
executed with abutting rafters under the principal ones,
abutting on joggles in the heads of the posts. Without this
the strut-beam is hard¬
ly of any service. We Fig. 20.
would therefore recom¬
mend fig. 20 as a
proper construction of
a trussed roof; and
the king-post which is
placed in it may be em¬
ployed to support the
upper part of the rafters, and also for preventing the strut-
beam from bending in their direction in consequence of
its great compression. It will also give a suspension for
the great burdens which are sometimes necessary in a the¬
atre. The machinery has no other firm points to which it
can be attached ; and the portions of the single rafters which
carry this king-post are but short, and therefore may be
considerably loaded with safety.
We observe in the drawings which we sometimes have of
Chinese buildings, that the trussing of roofs is understood
by them Indeed they must be very experienced carpen¬
ters. We see wooden buildings run up to a great height,
which can be supported only by such trussing. One of
these is sketched in fig. 21. There are some very excel¬
lent specimens to be seen in the buildings at Deptford, be-
R O O F.
385
Roor. longing to the victualling-office, commonly called the Red-
house, which were erected about the year 1788, and we be¬
lieve are the performance of Mr James Ar¬
row of the Board of Works, one of the most
intelligent artists in this kingdom.
Remarks Thus have we given an elementary,
addressed but a rational or scientific, account of this
to practical important part of the art of carpentry. It
carpenters. jg tbat any practitioner, wfith the
trouble of a little reflection, may always
proceed with confidence, and without rest¬
ing any part of his practice on the vague
notions which habit may have given him
of the strength and supports of timbers,
and of their manner of acting. That these
frequently mislead, is proved by the mutual
criticisms which are frequently published by the rivals in the
profession. They have frequently sagacity enough, for it
seldom can be called science, to point out glaring blunders ;
and any person who will look at some of the performances of
Mr Price, Mr Wyatt, Mr Arrow, and others of acknowledged
reputation, will readily see them distinguishable from the
works of inferior artists by simplicity alone. A man with¬
out principles is apt to consider an intricate construction
as ingenious and effectual; and such roofs sometimes fad
merely by being ingeniously loaded with timber, but still
more frequently by the wrong action of some useless pieces,
which produces strains that are transverse to other pieces,
or which, by rendering some points too firm, cause them
to be deserted by the rest in the general subsiding of the
whole. Instances of this kind are pointed out by Price in
his British Carpenter. Nothing shows the skill of a car¬
penter more than the distinctness with which he can fore¬
see the changes of shape which must take place in a short
time in every roof. A knowledge of this will often correct
a construction which the mere mathematician thinks un¬
exceptionable, because he does not reckon on the actual
compression which must obtain, and imagines that his tri¬
angles, which sustain no cross strains, invariably retain
their shape till the pieces break. The sagacity of the ex¬
perienced carpenter is not, however, enough without sci¬
ence for perfecting the art. But when he knows how much
a particular piece will yield to compression in one case,
science will then tell him, and nothing but science can do
it, what will be the compression of the same piece in another
very different case. Thus he learns how far it will now
yield, and then he proportions the parts so to each other, that
when all have yielded according to their strains, the whole
is of the shape he wished to produce, and every joint is in
a state of firmness. It is here that we observe the greatest
number of improprieties. The iron straps are frequently
in positions not suited to the actual strain on them; and
they are in a state of violent twist, which both tends strong¬
ly to break the straps, and to cripple the pieces which they
surround.
In like manner, we frequently see joints or mortises in a
state of violent strain on the tenons, or on the heels and
shoulders. The joints were perhaps properly shaped for
the primitive form of the truss; but by its settling, the bear¬
ing of the push is changed. The brace, for example, in a
very low-pitched roof, comes to press with the upper part
of the shoulder, and, acting as a powerful lever on the te¬
non, breaks it. In like manner, the lower end of the brace,
which at first abutted firmly and squarely on the joggle of
the king-post, now presses with one corner in prodigious
force, and seldom fails to splinter off on that side. We
cannot help recommending a maxim of M. Perronet, the
celebrated hydraulic architect of France, as a golden rule,
viz. to make all the shoulders of abutting pieces in the form
of an arch of a circle, having the opposite end of the piece
for its centre. Thus, in fig. 18, if the joggle-point B be of
VOL. XIX.
Roof.
this form, having A for its centre, the sagging of the roof^
will make no partial bearing at the joint; for in the sagging' v
of the roof the piece AB turns or bends round the centre
A, and the counter-pressure of the joggle is still directed
to A, as it ought to be. We have just now said bends
round A. This is too frequently the case, and it is always
very difficult to give the tenon and mortise in this place a
true and invariable bearing. The rafter pushes in the di¬
rection BA, and the beam resists in the direction AD.
The abutment should be perpendicular to neither of these,
but in an intermediate direction, and it ought also to be of
a curved shape. But the carpenters perhaps think that
this would weaken the beam too much to give it this shape
in the shoulder ; they do not even aim at it in the heel of
the tenon. The shoulder is commonly even with the sur¬
face of the beam. When the bearing therefore is on this
shoulder, it causes the foot of the rafter to slide along the
beam till the heel of the tenon bears against the outer end
of the mortise (See Price’s British Carpenter, plate C, fig.
IK). This abutment is perpendicular to the beam in
Price’s book; but it is more generally pointed a little out¬
wards below, to make it more secure against starting. The
consequence of this construction is, that when the roof set¬
tles, the shoulder comes to bear at the inner end of the
mortise, and it rises at the outer, and the tenon, taking hold
of the wood beyond it, either tears it out or is itself bro¬
ken. This joint therefore is seldom trusted to the strength
of the mortise and tenon, and is usually secured by an iron
strap, which lies obliquely to the beam, to which it is bolt¬
ed by a large bolt quite through, and then embraces the
outside of the rafter foot. This strap is very frequently
not made sufficiently oblique, and we have seen some made
almost square with the beam. When this is the case, it not
only keeps the foot of the rafter from flying out, but it
binds it down. In this case, the rafter acts as a powerful
lever, whose fulcrum is in the inner angle of the shoulder,
and then the strap never fails to cripple the rafter at the
point. All this can be prevented only by making the strap
very long and very oblique, and by making its outer end
(the stirrup part) square with its length, and making a
notch in the rafter foot to receive it. It cannot now crip¬
ple the rafter, for it will rise along with it, turning round
the bolt at its inner end. We have been thus particular
on this joint, because it is here that the ultimate strain of
the whole roof is exerted, and its situation will not allow
the excavation necessary for making it a good mortise and
tenon.
Similar attention must be paid to some other straps, such
as those which embrace the middle of the rafter, and con¬
nect it with the post or truss below it. We must attend to
the change of shape produced by the sagging of the roof, and
place the strap in such a manner as to yield to it by turn¬
ing round its bolt, but so as not to become loose, and far
less to make a fulcrum for any thing acting as a lever.
The strains arising from such actions, in framings of car¬
pentry which change their shape by sagging, are enormous,
and nothing can resist them.
We shall close this part of the subject with a simple me- Mode of
thod, by which any carpenter, without mathematical sci- calculating
ence, may calculate with sufficient precision the strains or
thrusts which are produced on any point of his work, what¬
ever be the obliquity of the pieces.
Let it be required to find the horizontal thrust acting
on the tie-beam AD of fig. 18. This will be the same as
if the weight of the whole roof were laid at G on the two
rafters GA and GD. Draw the vertical line GH. Then,
having calculated the weight of the whole roof that is sup¬
ported by this single frame ABCD, including the •weight
of the pieces AB, BC, CD, BE, CF themselves, take the
number of pounds, tons, &c. which expresses it from any
scale of equal parts, and set it from G to H. Draw HK,
3 C
386
ROOF.
Roof.
is in a direction Ee perpendicular to BA or BC. But as
this is to be resisted by the brace /E acting in the direc¬
tion fE, we must drawee perpendicular to Ee, and sup¬
pose the strain augmented in the proportion of Ee to E/i
Having thus obtained in tons, pounds, or other measures,
the strains which must be balanced at/by the cohesion of
the king-post, take this measure from the scale of equal
parts, and set it off in the directions of the braces to G
and H, and complete the parallelogram G/H K ; and/K
measured on the same scale will be the strain on the king¬
post.
Strength of The artist may then examine the strength of his truss
the truss, upon this principle, that every square inch of oak will bear
at an average 7000 pounds compressing or stretching it,
and may be safely loaded with 3500 for any length of time ;
and that a square inch of fir will in like manner securely
bear 2500. And, because straps are used to resist some
of these strains, a square inch of well-wrought tough iron
may be safely strained by 50,000 pounds. But the artist
will always recollect, that we cannot have the same confi¬
dence in iron as in timber. The faults of this last are much
more easily perceived; and when the timber is too weak,
it gives us warning of its failure by yielding sensibly be¬
fore it breaks. This is not the case with iron; and much
of its service depends on the honesty of the blacksmith.
Sketch of ln this way may any design of a roof be examined. We
h£'re give reader a sketch of two or three trussed
roofs, which have been executed in the chief varieties of
circumstances which occur in common practice.
Fig. 22 is the roof of St Paul’s Church, Covent Garden,
sed roofs,
&c.
Fig. 22.
London, the work of Inigo Jones. Its construction is sin¬
gular. The roof extends to a considerable distance beyond
the building, and the ends of the tie-beams support the
luscan corniche, appearing like the mutules of the Doric
order. Such a roof could not rest on the tie-beam. Inigo
Jones has therefore supported it by a truss below it; and
the height has allowed him to make this extremely strong
with very little timber. It is accounted the highest roof of
its width in London. But this was not difficult, by reason
of the great height which its extreme width allowed him to
employ without hurting the beauty of it by too high a
pitch. The supports, however, are disposed with iudg-
ment.1 r J
Fig. 24 is the celebrated roof of the Theatre of the Uni-
Fig. 24.
versity of Oxford, by Sir Christopher Wren. The span be¬
tween the walls is 75 feet. This is accounted a very in ¬
genious, and is a singular performance. The middle part
of it is almost unchangeable in its form ; but from this cir¬
cumstance it does not distribute the horizontal thrust with
the same regularity as the usual construction. The hori¬
zontal thrust on the tie-beam is about twice the weight of
the roof, and is withstood by an iron strap below the beam,
which stretches the whole width of the building in the
form of a rope, making part of the ornament of the ceiling.
In all the roofs which we have considered hitherto, the Cases in
thrust is discharged entirely from the walls by the tie-beam, which the
But this cannot always be done. We frequently want greatthrust ca.n“
elevation within, and arched ceilings. In such cases, it is11.01 be ?is'
a much more difficult matter to keep the walls free of all fro^the
pressure outwards, and there are few buildings where it is walls by
completely done. Yet this is the greatest fault of a roof, the tie-
We shall just point out the methods which may be most beam,
successfully adopted.
We have said that a tie-beam just performs the office
of a string. We have said the same of the king-post.
Now suppose two rafters AB, BC (fig. 25), moveable
about the point B, and rest-
Fig. 25.
ing on the top of the walls. If
the line BD be suspended
from B, and the two lines
DA, DC be fastened to the
feet of the rafters, and if these
lines be incapable of exten¬
sion, it is plain that all thrust
is removed from the walls as
effectually as by a common
tie-beam j and by shortening
BD to Be?, we gain a greater inside height, and more room
for an arched ceiling. Now if we substitute a king-post
BD (fig. 26), and two stretch- pv gg
ers or hammer-beams DA, DC
for the other strings, and con¬
nect them firmly by means
of iron straps, we obtain our
purpose.
* Let us compare this roof with a tie-beam roof in point
of strain and strength. Recur to fig. 25, and complete the
parallelogram ABCF, and draw the diagonals AC, BF,
crossing in E. Draw BG perpendicular to CD. We have
This church was burnt down after the present article was written.
ROOF.
387
Roof, seen that the weight of the roof, which we may call W, is
—  to the horizontal thrust at C as BF to EC ; and if we ex-
W v EC
press this thrust by T, we have T zz —=- —. We may
BF
at present consider BC as a lever moveable round the joint
B, and pulled at C in the direction EC by the horizontal
thrust, and held back by the string pulling in the direction
CD. Suppose that the forces in the directions EC and
CD are in equilibrio, and let us find the force S by which
the string CD is strained. These forces must, by the pro¬
perty of the lever, be inversely as the perpendiculars drawn
from the centre of motion on the lines of their direction.
ThereforeBG:BE=T: S,andS =T X || = W X
Therefore the strain upon each of the ties DA and DC
is always greater than the horizontal thrust or the strain on
a simple tie-beam. This would be no great inconvenience,
because the smallest dimensions that we could give to these
ties, so as to procure sufficient fixtures to the adjoining
pieces, are always sufficient to withstand this strain. But
although the same may be said of the iron straps which
make the ultimate connections, there is always some hazard
of imperfect work, cracks, or flaws, which are not per¬
ceived. We can judge with tolerable certainty of the
soundness of a piece of timber, but cannot say so much of
a piece of iron. Moreover, there is a prodigious strain ex¬
cited on the king-post when BG is very short in compari¬
son of BE, namely, the force compounded of the two
strains S and S on the ties DA and DC.
But there is another defect from which the straight tie-
beam is entirely free. All roofs settle a little. When this
roof settles, and the points B and D descend, the legs BA,
BC must spread further out, and thus a pressure outwards
is excited on the walls. It is seldom therefore that this
kind of roof can be executed in this simple form, and other
contrivances are necessary for counteracting this superven¬
ing action on the walls. Fig. 27 is one of the best which
Fig. 27.
we have seen, and is executed with great success in the
circus or equestrian theatre (now, 1809, a concert-room)
in Edinburgh, the width being sixty feet. The pieces EF
and ED help to take off some of the weight, and by their
greater uprightness they exert a smaller thrust on the walls.
The beam T)d is also a sort of truss-beam, having some¬
thing of the same effect. Mr Price has given another very
judicious one of this kind (British Carpenter, plate IK, fig.
C), from which the tie-beam may be taken away, and there
will remain very little thrust on the walls. Those which
he has given in the following plate, K, are, in our opinion,
very faulty. The whole strain in these last roofs tends to
break the rafters and ties transversely, and the fixtures of
the ties are also not well calculated to resist the strain to
which the pieces are exposed. We hardly think that these
roofs could be executed.
General It is scarcely necessary to remind the reader, that in all
observa- that we have delivered on this subject, we have attended
tions. only to the construction of the principal rafters or trusses.
In small buildings all the rafters are of one kind; but in Roof,
great buildings the whole weight of the covering is made
to rest on a few principal rafters, which are connected by
beams placed horizontally, and either mortised into them
or scarfed on them. These are called purlins. Small raft¬
ers are laid from purlin to purlin; and on these the laths
for tiles, or the skirting-boards for slates, are nailed. Thus
the covering does not immediately rest on the principal
frames. This allows some more liberty in their construc¬
tion, because the garrets can be so divided that the princi¬
pal rafters shall be in the partitions, and the rest left unen¬
cumbered This construction is so far analogous to that
of floors which are constructed with girders, binding, and
bridging joists.
It may appear presuming in us to question the propriety
of this practice. There are situations in which it is una¬
voidable, as in the roofs of churches, which can be allowed
to rest on some pillars. In other situations, where partition-
walls intervene at a distance not too great for a stout pur¬
lin, no principal rafters are necessary, and the whole may
be roofed with short rafters of very slender scantling. But
in a great uniform roof, which has no intermediate supports,
it requires at least some reasons for preferring this method '
of carcass-roofing to the simple method of making all the
rafters alike. The method of carcass-roofing requires the
selection of the greatest logs of timber, which are seldom
of equal strength and soundness with thinner rafters. In
these the outside planks can be taken off, and the best part
alone worked up. It also exposes to all the defects of work¬
manship in the mortising of purlins, and the weakening of
the rafters by this very mortising; and it brings an addi¬
tional load of purlins and short rafters. A roof thus con¬
structed may surely be compared with a floor of similar
construction. Here there is not a shadow of doubt, that
if the girders were sawed into planks, and these planks laid
as joists sufficiently near for carrying the flooring boards,
they will have the same strength as before, except so much
as is taken out of the timber by the saw. This will not
amount to one-tenth part of the timber in the binding,
bridging, and ceiling joists, which are an additional load,
and all the mortises and other joinings are so many dimi¬
nutions of the strength of the girders ; and as no part of a
carpenter’s work requires more skill and accuracy of execu¬
tion, we are exposed to many chances of imperfection. But,
not to rest on these considerations, however reasonable they
may appear, we shall relate an experiment made by one on
whose judgment and exactness we can depend.
Two models of floors were made, eighteen inches square, Confirmed
of the finest uniform deal, which had been long seasoned, by experi-
The one consisted of simple joists, and the other was framed ment.
with girders, binding, bridging, and ceiling joists. The
plain joists of the one contained the same quantity of tim¬
ber with the girders alone of the other, and both were made
by a most accurate workman. They were placed in wooden
trunks eighteen inches square within, and rested on a strong
projection on the inside. Small shot was gradually poured
in upon the floors, so as to spread uniformly over them.
The plain joisted floor broke down with 487 pounds, and
tne carcass floor with 327. The first broke without giving
any warning, and the other gave a violent crack when 294
pounds had been poured in. A trial had been made be¬
fore, and the loads were 341 and 482; but the models
having been made by a less accurate hand, it was not '
thought a fair specimen of the strength which might be
given to a carcass floor.
The only argument of weight which we can recollect in
favour of the compound construction of roofs is, that the
plain method would prodigiously increase the quantity of
work, would admit nothing but long timber, which would
greatly add to the expense, and would make the garrets a
mere thicket of planks. We admit this in its full force;
«
Roof.
388 R O
Roof, but we continue to be of the opinion that plain roofs are
>—V ' greatly superior in point of strength, and therefore should
be adopted in cases where the main difficulty is to insure
this necessary circumstance.
Of the It would appear very neglectful to omit an account of
roofs put t]le roofg put on round buildings, such as domes, cupolas,
on round ^ 'i'}iey appear to be the most difficult tasks in
jui mgs. carpenter’s art. But the difficulty lies entirely in the
mode of framing, or what the French call the trait de char-
penterie. The view which we are taking of the subject, as
a part of mechanical science, has little connection with this.
It is plain, that whatever form of a truss is excellent in a
square building, must be equally so as one of the frames of
a round one ; and the only difficulty is how to manage their
mutual intersections at the top. Some of them must be
discontinued before they reach that length, and common
sense will teach us to cut them short alternately, and al¬
ways leave as many, that they may stand equally thick as
at their first springing from the base of the dome. Thus
the length of the purlins, which reach from truss to truss,
will never be too great.
The truth is, that a round building which gathers in at
top, like a glass-house, a potter’s kiln, or a spire steeple, in¬
stead of being the most difficult to erect with stability, is
of all others the easiest. Nothing can show this more for¬
cibly than daily practice, where they are run up without
centres and without scaffoldings ; and it requires gross blun¬
ders indeed in the choice of their outline to put them in
much danger of falling from a want of equilibrium. In like
manner, a dome of carpentry can hardly fall, give it what
shape or what construction you will. It cannot fall, unless
some part of it flies out at the bottom. An iron hoop round
it, or straps at the joinings of the trusses and purlins, which
make an equivalent to a hoop, will effectually secure it.
And as beauty requires that a dome shall spring almost
perpendicularly from the wall, it is evident that there is
hardly any thrust to force out the walls. The only part
where this is to be guarded against is where the tangent is
inclined about forty or fifty degrees to the horizon. Here
it will be proper to make a course of firm horizontal joinings.
We doubt not but that domes of carpentry will now be
raised of great extent. The Halle du Bled at Paris, of two
hundred feet in diameter, was the invention of an intelligent
carpenter, the Sieur Moulineau. He was not by any means
a man of science, but had much more mechanical knowledge
than artisans usually have, and was convinced that a very thin
shell of timber might not only be so shaped as to be nearly
, in equilibrio, but that, if hooped or firmly connected hori¬
zontally, it would have all the stiffness that was necessary ;
and he presented his project to the magistracy of Paris. The
grandeur of it pleased them, but they doubted of its possi¬
bility. Being a great public work, they prevailed on the
Academy of Sciences to consider it. The members who
were competent judges were instantly struck with the just¬
ness of M. Moulineau’s principles, and astonished that a
thing so plain had not been long familiar to every house-
carpenter. It quickly became an universal topic of conver¬
sation, dispute, and cabal, in the polite circles of Paris. But
the academy having given a very favourable report of their
opinion, the project was immediately carried into execution,
and soon completed; and now stands as one of the great
exhibitions of Paris.
I he construction of this dome is the simplest thing that
can be imagined. The circular ribs which compose it con¬
sist of planks nine feet long, thirteen inches broad, and
three inches thick ; and each rib consists of three of these
planks bolted together in such a manner that two points
meet. A rib is begun, for instance, with a plank of three
feet long standing between one of six feet and another of
nine; and this is continued to the head of it. No machinery
was necessary for carrying up such small pieces, and the
O F.
whole went up like a piece of bricklayer’s work. At various
distances these ribs were connected horizontally by purlins
and iron straps, which made so many hoops to the whole.
When the work had reached such a height that the dis¬
tance of the ribs was two thirds of the original distance,
every third rib was discontinued, and the space was left
open and glazed. When carried so much higher that the
distance of the ribs is one third of the original distance,
every second rib, now consisting of two ribs very near each
other, is in like manner discontinued, and the void is glazed.
A little above this the heads of the ribs are framed into a
circular ring of timber, which forms a wide opening in the
middle ; over which is a glazed canopy or umbrella, with an
opening between it and the dome for allowing the heated
air to get out. All who have seen this dome say that it is
the most beautiful and magnificent object they have ever
beheld.
The only difficulty which occurs in the construction of
wooden domes is when they are unequally loaded, by car¬
rying a heavy lanthorn or cupola in the middle. In such a
case, if the dome were a mere shell, it would be crushed
in at the top, or the action of the wind on the lanthorn
might tear it out of its place. Such a dome must therefore
consist of trussed frames. Mr Price has given a very good
one in his plate OP, though much stronger in the trusses
than there was any occasion for. This causes a great loss
of room, and throws the lights of the lanthorn too far up.
It is evidently copied from Sir Christopher Wren’s dome of
St Paul’s Church in London ; a model of propriety in its
particular situation, but by no means a general model of a
wooden dome. It rests on the brick cone within it; and
Sir Christopher has very ingeniously made use of it for stif¬
fening this cone, as any intelligent person will perceive by
attending to its construction.
Fig. 28 presents a dome executed in the Register Office
in Edinburgh by James and Robert Adam, and is very
Fig. 28.
agreeable to mechanical principles. The span is fifty feet
clear, and the thickness is only four and a half feet. (j. R.)
Causes of Failure in Roofs.
It has been shown in the preceding treatise that the
simplest form of a roof is that given in fig. 12. Let us
now inquire the method in which such a roof would fail,
as deduced from the former treatise, and given there in
scientific language. Let the dotted lines (fig. 29) show
the original line of roof. If an undue weight be put on
this, it has been shown the point B will descend, and A
and C will spread or open to the right and left, just as
pressing on the top of a pair of compasses makes them
open. The rafters must then either slip off the top of the
walls, or, if properly secured to them, which we ought to
suppose, must push the walls over; or if they be very
strong, the rafters must bend or sag in the middle at D and
E (fig. 30). Now, to prevent the walls being thrust over,
an easy remedy, as our author shows, is fig. 14, to tie them
together with either a piece of string or a rod of timber, or,
as Mr Robert Stephenson (art. Iron Bridges, fig. 13) shows,
by a chain. But whether the walls be kept upright by this
tie or by their own size and strength, still the same bending
ROOF.
389
Roof.
at D and E will take place if the timbers be not strong enough
to bear the weight. Now, in small roofs we have a ready
'K
Fig. 29.
remedy ; we put a collar beam DE (fig. 31) between them,
which has a double effect,—it not only keeps these points
Fig. 30.
from coming towards each other, which they must do if the
rafters bend, but it also assists very much to prevent the raft¬
ers AB, BC, going out, as is shown in fig. 29. If, however,
the roof be too large and the timbers too weak, or, which
is the same thing, the load be too heavy, the roof, though
it cannot bend (fig. 31) between BD, BE, will yield be-
Fig. 31.
tween DA, EC ; and either sag, as we have before said, or
push out the walls if they are too weak. This is the great
cause of failure in the early mediaeval roofs (see figs. 35’ Roof.
38), where they are all weak between A and B. How-
ever trusses may be braced together at the apex of the
triangle, it is clear nothing except excessive thickness of
timber will prevent one of these results. We will now go
back to fig. 14, and for the present lay aside the considera¬
tion of a collar-beam. We are here liable to fall into this
contingency,—the beam AC must have considerable weight
if strong enough to act as an efficient tie. Now wood is
always weakest in horizontal position ; it is therefore liable
to sink or sag in the middle, and the effect of this will be
to bring the points AC (fig. 32) closer together, and to
Fig. 32.
pull the walls in. It would interfere with our space to
prop this beam up from below; but some ingeniouscarpenter
at some time has thought of hanging it up to the ridge by
another string or tie, BD (fig. 15), usually called a king¬
post, though it does not act as a post to prop up, as is
shown above, but as a string or tie, to hang up the tie-
beam and keep it straight. We will now suppose the
rafters AB, BC (fig. 15) too weak for their weight. We
must bear in mind, in all questions of carpentry, there are
two difficulties to contend with. First, timber itself is
limited in size; and next, if it be made too strong for its
length, its own weight will cause it to bend. So we are
between two difficulties. But we have several remedies:
either we may resort to a collar-beam in addition to a tie-
beam, as in fig. 31; or, what is better, we may employ two
struts, DE, DF (fig. 17). An inspection of this diagram
will show why, although a chain or rod would answer every
purpose at BD, we prefer a post of wood. Ihe struts FD,
ED are supports and not ties, and require a good butment,
which is best got by framing them into the king-post, as
shown at D (fig. 17), and also in the various diagrams of the
article Carpentry. Still referring to the same diagram
(fig. 17), we will suppose the span still further increased;
then the tie-beam may be too weak, and may sag between
AD and DC. This must be remedied by again suspend¬
ing the weak parts, which may be done by two rods or
posts BE, CF (fig. 18), which are generally called queen-
posts, as BD (figs. 15 and 17) is called a king. This sys¬
tem divides the tie into three parts instead of two, or
if a king-post also be used, into four parts, each of
which is suspended. Fig. 18, however, shows what is
generally called a queen-post roof, and is framed with a
collar BC, in the points of which the purlins are usually
seated, and the common rafters run up, as AG, DG, unless,
as in the figure, it is intended to make the roof flat be¬
tween B and C. In the same manner, an inspection of
390
ROOF.
Roof, the diagram following will show (as well as those in Car-
pentry), and infra fig. 51, how the principle of using
queen-posts and struts may be multiplied almost to any
extent.
Roofs sometimes fail in consequence of the trusses being
placed too far apart; the purlins are then unable to sustain
the weight, and the surface undulates between truss and
truss, bringing down the ridge, and producing the most
unpleasant and sometimes pernicious effects. The medimval
architects braced the purlins upon the principles as shown
in fig. 40. A better plan, however, has been devised
at the Lambeth Baths, which will be hereafter de¬
scribed.
Roofs also frequently fail from the weakness of walls,
or the want of extra thickness under the principals; but
this is rather matter for consideration under the article
Stone Masonry. They, however, often fail from a
simpler cause. The plate or template is generally of
timber, and bedded into the wet brickwork. It swells
with the moisture, and afterwards shrinks, which causes
it to lose its hold in the walls; so that in case of settle¬
ment it is easily pulled out; and the walls, which should
be kept upright by the tension of the tie-beams, are un¬
supported, and settle outwards. The best remedy is to
make the templates of stone, and pin down the tie-beams
to them by strong iron pins, going some depth into the
walls. There is another benefit about this system, that
air may be allowed to come sideways to the rafter feet,
or ends of the tie-beams, and so prevent their becoming
rotten. °
Mediceval Roofs.
no doubt it was hoisted to its place. It is of one huge
smgle block, all chiselled out of the solid.
Of baxon roofs we have no remains; but from the illu-
mmations in the MSS. of the ^Elfric Pentateuch, and to
Caedmon, now in the British Museum, we should suppose
Uiey formed an angle of 45°. They seem to be covered
with a sort of tiles rounded at the end, or they probably
may ave i een of shingles. A very curious instance, taken
from the Harleian MS. (fig. 34), shows not only a gabled roof,
Roof.
The subject is Lot entertaining
but also a sort of dome,
the two angels.
Few Norman roofs now remain, if any, and those which
are supposed to be so are evidently much altered. Judg¬
ing from the string courses up the gables, and the water-
1 Flg' 33 8h0WS the roof of San PaoI° Fuo»
Mura ktdy consumed by fire at Rome. It is upward
withnm cons‘sts a king-post and two que
rubied from%hbUtEWi? " C0,lar- The principal rafte
adds immensely to itTstrenSh ^Th 1° ^ ^ Wl
not fa™;, imo the tie.b:^ut^
known K & Jhis P,erhl>Ps is tlle
the conrtmction nf “ '‘’T'1 Te of the chief feature
onwards of 140(1 ! “ roo^and ,this « said to have si
found in the tomb o?XheodosTus rEaT"06 ^ ^
have been erected shortly afterThe yea^e? ZTo
posed of a circular dome of white marble 36 feet in
meter, surrounded by a number of ears or lugs, by wl
tables, they seem to have been of about the same angle as
those named above ; but in the next style, the early Eng¬
lish, as has before been stated, the roofs suddenly sprung
up to equilateral, and often even to whole pitch, or an
angle of 64°. The singularity is, that many of them are
covered with lead, and groined beneath ; so that if bare
economy or dry utility were the only object of the Gothic
architects, as has been stated by many, the roof might have
been flat, and an immense expense both in timber and lead
have been saved. It only serves to show that, like all other
architects, they were not always guided by considerations of
dry utility alone, but had high, bold, artistic, and icstheti-
cal feeling besides. It is not improbable that, as the pointed
arch and slender shaft are evidently of Saracenic origin,
and their use no doubt brought to Europe by the Crusaders,
ROOF.
Roof. so the aspiring roofs of the refined orientals suggested
those of the early English
period.
Year by year, as styles
changed, the roofs became of
less pitch, till in the latter
styles,as hasbeen stated,many,
if covered with lead, became
almost flat. A very curious
illustration is found in the
tower of St Regulus’ church at
St Andrews, on which are the
marks of the lines of three
roofs which have covered the building at three different
periods. The lower is probably the line of the original
Norman roof, the upper that of the early English period,
and the middle that of the decorated. Much of course
depended at all periods on the covering, tiles, for instance,
conceive how else they could have stood; but in the sue*
ceeding styles, when • internal height became an object,
these were often omitted, and as the thrust of the roof was
enormously increased thereby, it was necessary to build
large projecting buttresses to keep up the walls, instead of
391
using those of the Norman period, which are in fact mere Roof,
shallow pilasters. The truth is, the buttresses, which were ^
originally intended simply to stiffen the walls, were after¬
wards enlarged to that extent that they became struts to it
(A, A, fig. 42), especially the flying buttresses, which con¬
tinued the line of the principal rafters down to the ground,
making the earth, as it were, the tie-beam. To such a
degree was this system carried, that in many continental
churches, and in some of our own, of which Henry VII.’s
chapel is a known instance, there is literally no support de¬
rived from the walls, the windows filling the whole space be¬
tween buttress and buttress, which last, from their vast
mass and projection, sustain both roof and groining.
Mediaeval roofs may be consiuered,—Is/, As those
in which every pair of common rafters is framed
together, and forms of itself a separate truss, or, as it
was called in those days, a “ couple2d, As those with
common rafters and trusses framed with collar-beams;
3c/, As those with hammer-beams; 4/4, As those with tie-
beams.
But before going into this subject, we must warn our
readers who are accustomed to roofs framed of fir, that the
mediaeval timbers are almost invariably of oak or some
hard wood; so the strength or the scantling of the tim¬
ber must not be judged by our modern notions. That
of oak to fir is assumed by Professor Robison to be as
three to two. An inch of oak may be safely subjected to
a strain of three tons for every square inch, while fir will
bear but two.
The most common form of the first is a simple St An
392 R 0
Roof, drew’s cross, as at fig. 35 ; a cross and collar, as fig. 36 ; a
collar and struts, as fig. 37; or two collars and struts, as
fi<T. 38. All these are taken from examples of the thirteenth
and fourteenth centuries. As has been before explained,
these roofs are liable to spread, as there is nothing to tie
the plates together, and they are all weak at the point be¬
tween the end of the brace A, and the top of the ashler-
piece B. To obviate this, various contrivances were used j1
one of the most elegant is the addition of curved braces,
which not only strengthened each
rafter, but tended to brace the whole
together. Fig. 39 is a common ex¬
ample in England, particularly in
Somersetshire.
As those roofs with simple couples
could not be erected of any great
span, they were commonly framed
with trusses, purlins, and
common rafters ; and then
the defect of these open
roofs became more felt, as
each truss had not only to
bear its own load, but that
of the adjacent common raf¬
ters. The usual means of
strengthening the roofs last
described, that of introducing
curved braces to the couples,
was adopted for the truss col¬
lar-beam roofs, till at length
they assumed the form of an
arch, filling in the space be¬
tween the principal rafter and
collar like a rib of solid tim¬
ber. Fig. 40 is from St Mary’s,
Leicester, and is a very good
example. But the most ex¬
traordinary mediaeval roof, on the principle of a collar-beam
and curved braces, is that over the Salle des Pas Perdus
at Rouen, which was built in 1493, and is of inconceivable
lightness and boldness (see fig. 41). It is 54 feet 5 inches
English in span, and covers a hall 155 feet long, the trusses
being not quite 4 feet apart. It is close-boarded inside, so
0 F.
as to show as one long, pointed vault below. The thrust, R0of.
which is immense, is resisted by walls 6 feet thick, with
huge buttresses. The upper part of the construction is
very good; but how the part between AB can sustain the
weight of the upper part without bending has puzzled
everybody. It can, in effect, be only due to the excellence
of the workmanship and strength of the materials.
On looking back to fig. 40, it will be seen not only that
the curved brace was intended to strengthen the rafters,
but also to relieve the thrust by conveying it lower down
the wall, and distributing it over a much larger portion of
its surface* as well as bringing it more in a line with the
Fig. 42.
buttress A A (fig. 42). Fig. 43 shows the beautiful roof
over the church at Wymondham in Norfolk. Here the
Fig. 43.
brace at the foot of the raf¬
ter is composed of two curved
pieces, which meet together
in a horizontal piece carved as
the figure of an angel. This
construction, at once so ele¬
gant and useful, soon became
developed as the hammer-
beam roof. Figure 42 is from
a church in Suffolk. In this
A, A are the wall buttresses ;
B the hammer-beams; C the wall-pieces,
or, as some call them, the pendant-posts; D
the hammer-braces; E the collar; F the
collar-braces * G the side-posts ; H the
ashler-pieces ; I, I the purlins ; K, K the
principal rafters. There is an infinite
variety of those roofs in England, chiefly
of the perpendicular period. As they
were required of a larger span, the roof
became a double hammer-beam roof.
Figure 44 shows the general section of
these: the nomenclature is the same,
with the addition that A is the upper hammer-beam, B the
upper hammer-brace, and C the upper side-post. Of these,
1 Most Gothic curved braces are cut out of boughs of large trees bent by nature.
Roof. the most celebrated are those over Westminster Hall, Hamp-
ton Court, the palace at Eltham, and very many of our col-
folk. But it was reserved for the perpendicular period to
design the most elegant roofs with level tie-beams. These
Roof.
Fig. 46.
are of infinite variety in design, and are generally filled in
with tracery, and ornamented with carving. Figure 47
shows a very beautiful example, that of St Martin’s at Lei¬
cester. In many instances these roofs are richly adorned
with painting and gilding of the most brilliant description.
Another sort of mediaeval roof is yet to be noticed, and
that is where, instead of timber principals, arches of stone
are thrown across from wall to wall, and carry the purlins
and common rafters : among these may be named the great
hall at Mayfield ; but they are of very rare occurrence.
Account of Roofs of Large Span (a grand portees') and
some modern Roofs.
For many years the roofs of the basilicas at Rome were
the largest spans that had been covered by the carpenter’s
art; but about three-quarters of a century ago there was a
great desire to roof over much larger spaces without internal
supports, for the purpose of military and other riding-schools.
The vast roof over the Salle d!Exercise at Darmstadt,
erected by M. Schubknecht in 1771, is 228 feet long and
154 feet in the clear of the walls, or 2 feet more in span
than that roof lately erected over the railway station at
Lime Street, Liverpool, and was the largest roof in the
world till that we are about shortly to describe was erected
over the New Street station at Birmingham. It appears
to have stood very well, although its construction is cer¬
tainly not on the best principles. The thickening out of
the tie-beam by packing beam after beam, one on the other,
must have caused considerable shrinkage; and the struts
would be much better if placed the reverse way. This
roof attracted considerable attention; and about ten years
after its erection the Emperor of Russia, Paul I., happened
to travel through Darmstadt, and visited the building. He
expressed great astonishment at its vast proportions, and
determined on his return that one should be erected at
Moscow which should entirely eclipse it in magnitude.
Accordingly the design was prepared. This gigantic roof
was intended to have covered a hall 852 feet in length, by
308 feet in width from out to out. The walls were double,
and formed a system of arcaded galleries round the build¬
ing about 25 feet in depth ; so that the span of the roof in
the clear was reduced to about 230 feet. The main sup¬
port of this roof was the curved rib of three thicknesses of
timber, notched on to each other en cremailliere. Krafft
says it was executed, and was used in 1790 for the exercise
of the Cossack cavalry and infantry. But M. de Betan¬
court, of whom we shall speak presently, affirms that it never
was finished. The dotted lines show a method proposed by
Rondelet and Krafft to strengthen this roof and make it
effective. The chief defect, however, seems to be, that the
3 D
Fig. 44.
lege halls. It will be seen by the section, the use of the
hammer-beam framing was to deepen, as it were, the prin¬
cipal rafter, and thereby prevent its bending between the
collar and the plate; besides which it got better hold of
the wall ; but there was nothing to tie the walls together,
nor to keep the truss from spreading ; the consequence is,
in spite of the buttresses, many of these roofs have opened,
and the walls have gone over. A very curious roof, and
one which is much stronger in point of construction, is that
over the Parliament House at Edinburgh, which was begun
in 1632. In this roof the pieces which act as hammer-
beams are not horizontal but incline, or rather radiate
towards a centre; they are filled in with arched pieces
bearing pendants, and have a very original and pleasing
effect.
The use of level tie-beams in roofs is of two kinds : one
where the rafters are in couples, and they seem merely in¬
troduced to tie the plates together, and probably were in¬
serted afterwards; the other where they form parts of the
trusses themselves. In large roofs, we have already an ex¬
ample in fig. 35. In smaller roofs of the fourteenth century,
fig. 45 is a very common and pleasing example. From
Fig. 45.
the tie-beam springs a king-post, from which branch four
curved struts, one pair serving to support the principal
rafters, the other pair doing the same for the ridge. This
is called a tree-post roof. Figure 46 shows a very curious
combination of a level tie-beam and curved struts. It is
from the church of St Mary the Virgin at Pulham in Nor-
VOL. XIX.
394
ROOF.
Roof.
principal rafters are too weak, and receive no direct sup¬
port from the cross struts. Ihe troubles in Russia seem to
have caused the matter to drop, till the year 1817, when
the Emperor Alexander, being at Moscow, resolved on car¬
rying out a roof that should rival the one at Darmstadt. A
great number of designs were piepaied, none exceeding
spans of from 110 to 115 feet. They were referred to
General de Betancourt, before named, who was then chief
director of public roads. After some study, this officer
prepared the design of it. It is for a
hall 501 feet long and 150 in width,
which was executed in the short
outside, to prevent their shifting apart, and are of vast
strength, and particularly adapted to rooms where the ceil¬
ing is intended to represent a large arch or barrel vault, or
Roof.
__ ot five months. On strik-
the scaffold, which had sup¬
ported the roof during its erection,
the tie-beams went down about
two inches. This depression in¬
creased in three months to eight
inches, when the tie-beam of the
twenty-fourth truss gave way, in
consequence of the existence of
a large knot. The roof was shored
up and strengthened, and after¬
wards stood perfectly well. In
justice to M. Betancourt, it should
be stated that such was the hurry
in which the work was done that
^ the greater part of the timbers
/ were cut down and floated on the
river only a few days before they
were framed, which was done by 400 carpenters, or rather
woodmen, who hewed the wood with axes -the) being igno¬
rant of the use of any other tool. T. he writer of this article
has designed a roof for the first-class swimming bath in
the Westminster Road. rIhis is on entirely a new piin-
ciple, being, in fact, the adaptation of the trellis or lattice
principle to a roof. The trusses are about 18 feet apait,
or nearly double the usual distance. The purlins, however,
are prevented from bending by a series of light longitudinal
trusses, likewise on the lattice principle. The roof is, in
truth, trussed fore and aft, so that no part can move. It is
of extraordinary lightness and cheapness, the trusses being
so few and the timbers so slender. Its deflection, after
receiving the load of slates, skylights, &c., was scarcely
perceptible.
(a.) Roofs Trussed with Curved Timbers.—These are (a)
with timbers side by side, flatwise, the ends breaking joint,
or, as the system is called by French writers, “ en bois plat.”
It is the invention of Philibert de Lorme, a French archi¬
tect, who published it in 1561, in a work called Trade sur
la Maniere de Tien Batir, et d Petits Frais. In this system
the rafters are in effect curved ribs, of several thicknesses of
timber, nailed side by side, care being taken that the ends
do not come in the same place; in other words, that they
break joint. 'The rib then resembles a beam cut out of a
crooked limb of a tree, and owes its strength simply to cohe¬
sion of the particles. These beams are often used in pairs
joined together by cross pieces, which are keyed on the
to domes intended to be covered with lead or other metal.
One of the most ingenious adaptations of this principle is
at the Hotel Legion d’Honneur at Paris, where it forms a
dome, with an inner half-dome or cove which carries a
gallery. The roof over the great hall of the Pantheon in
Oxford Street is a long vault on this principle, the middle
thickness or flitch of each rib being of teak wood. That
lately erected over the Surrey Music Hall is also a long
vaulted ceiling; but here the main ribs are formed of four
thicknesses of 1^-inch deal, 1 foot 3 inches wide at bottom
and 1 foot at top, in the middle of which is a rib of rohed
§ths boiler-plate, 6 inches wide, the whole of which are
bolted together. The main ribs are 17 feet apart, between
which are two intermediate ribs of slighter construction.
(5.) Roofs constructed of Timber bent on the flat ^ en
bois plat.”—This is the reverse of the former system ; the
boards being bent over a centre, and thickness added
upon thickness till the beam is thought strong enough, when
the whole is bolted together, care being taken, as in the
former system, that the ends of the boards break joint. I he
difficulty is, to prevent the natural tendency of the wood to
spring back to the straight, as well as to counteract the
weight of the roof covering, which would cripple the curve
either at the haunch or crown, as the pressure might be
exercised. In this respect something analogous to the laws
of arches will apply to explain the result.
The roof over the great riding-house at Libourne was
designed by the celebi’ated Colonel Emy, and executed in
1826. Every rib is composed of five thicknesses of deal,
each nearly 2 inches thick, about 6 inches wide and 40 feet
long. The rib is semicircular, the springing about 24 feet
from the ground, and the span about 70 fieet. Ihe ribs^
are not only bolted together, but clipped with a sort of
stirrup-iron and bolts. From these ribs a number of struts
radiate to and support the principal rafters, purlins, &c., and
at the same time prevent the rib from being crippled at
either the haunch or crown. T he worst of this roof is,
there is nothing to prevent their spreading at the foot.
The consequence is, the wall was not only of unusual thick¬
ness (nearly 5 feet), but large buttresses were added to
counteract the thrust. The roofs over the Great Northern
Railway station at London are of about the same span, and
are of similar construction, except that the ribs are of 1J
deal in 16 thicknesses, and the spandrils are filled in with
ornamental cast-iron work in form of circles, guilloches,
&c., which have a very pretty effect. Like the Libourne
395
R 0
Roof, roof, the thrust was compensated by massive brick-
—work.
To prevent this last defect, as well as to stiffen the rib at
the springing, M. Ithny designed the roof for the cavalry
school at Saumur. This is intended for a span of upwards
of 130 feet. Each truss is composed of two sets of ribs,
similar to those before described, kept apart at the foot by
a series of trellis, and joining together as one rib about half¬
way up the curve. Instead of one thick wall, it was in¬
tended to carry the ends of the trusses partly on an outer
wall, which has strong double pilasters, and partly on one
large square pilaster, intended to stand under the inner part
of the end of the truss, as shown in the figure given in
his work; so that, though the space is available for specta¬
tors, and little room is lost, the truss itself has a level bear¬
ing 18 feet in width from whence to spring.
But of all roofs ever projected, either in wood or iron,
the most gigantic, the most original, and the boldest, is one
for another riding-house, also by Colonel Emy. This has
a span of 328 feet, or at least half as much again as the
largest existing roof in the world,—that at New Street,
Birmingham. It is intended to be composed of two ribs
similar to those before described, with another intermediate
rib carried up about two-thirds of the span, and braced, as
shown in the figure. The building was to have been sur¬
rounded by an ordinary wall, at right angles to which, under
the foot of every truss, was a return wall 50 feet long and
4 feet thick, perforated below with arches to form passage¬
ways, and to serve for spectators, as in the former instance.
Iron Roofs.
Like most important discoveries, the use of iron in
roofs has grown up from the smallest beginnings to the
largest and most extraordinary results. From the simple
substitution of an iron rod for a king or queen post
in a wooden truss, we have attained the art of covering
spaces so vast as to throw all other modes of construction
into insignificance, so light as to appear the work of fairies
rather than of human beings, and yet so strong as to bear
their weight with ease, and to resist unshaken and unhurt
the action of the roughest wind. The theory of these roofs,
however, is just the same as those of timber, allowing only
for the difference of weight and power of resistance of the
materials. The tie keeps the walls together, the king and
queen rods prevent the tie from sagging: all these are
in a state of tension; while the struts prevent the rafters
from bending, and are in a state of compression. Fig. 48
shows the earliest use of iron as the king-post of roofs
suited to those of from about 20 to 30 feet span. In Plate
CLXII1., Carpentry, figs. 38, 40, is shown the method of
employing iron as king or queen posts of still larger dimen¬
sions. Fig. 49 shows a very convenient method of using
iron rods as king-post and tie-beam in a collar-beam roof
where height or head-room is of consequence ; but this was
shortly after superseded by the form fig. 50, the adjustment
of the screws, &c., at A being more convenient than at
o F.
fig. 49. With large spans, however, the wooden tie-beam
continued in use for a long time. One of the best in-
stances for the time it was executed may be found in the
roof over the passenger-station at London Bridge of the
Croydon Railway. This roof, which is about 54 feet in
span, is constructed with an iron king-post and ten sets of
iron queens, with wooden struts. (See fig. 51.) It is, how¬
ever, somewhat twisted on the face by the winding of the
timber. The great fire at the Houses of Parliament, and
subsequently at the Royal Exchange, drew attention
strongly to the importance of fire-proof roofs ; and the first
of these structures of any size or importance was designed
by Sir Charles Barry for the new palace at Westminster.
Fig. 52 shows the section of that over the committee-
rooms in the front next to the river. This is entirely of
wrought iron, excepting the shoes, by which the ends of
the various pieces are connected. The iron is flat bar,
simply cut to lengths, and punched to receive the bolts
that pass through them and the shoes. They vary in
width from 2 to 3| inches, and in thickness from f ths to f ths.
These light principals are not quite 3 feet apart, and are
covered with a species of galvanized iron tile reaching from
one to another, hung on a sort of connecting-rod without
purlins. It is stated that the sulphurous acid in the smoke
of London is already causing serious oxidation, and several
methods have already been tried to prevent premature de¬
cay. This is to be regretted, as the material is very pic¬
turesque in character, as well as light, and not expensive.
Some fault at the time was found with the construction of
the shoes or connecting-plates, but they stand perfectly
w?ell, and there has been no failure. The suspension-rods
at each side of the king are a peculiar feature ; they not
396
Roof.
K O 0 F.
only keep up the tie, but bind the roof together at each
intersection. ' .1 ^.
Fig. 53 shows the roof over the House of Lords. This is
of much larger span, being 45 feet, while the former is
28 feet 3 inches. It is of exactly similar construction,
except that the struts, wall-plates, purlins, and bearers are
Roof.
New Houses of Parliament—Roof over North and South Curtains.
of cast-iron, the section of the struts being the form of a are 7 feet 6 inches apart—more than twice as much as the
cross. The suspension-bars are double. The principals other roof, which of course necessitates the use of purlins.
These carry two common rafters 2 feet 6 inches apart, this
being the width of the iron plate or tile with which the
roofs are covered.
Much animadversion has been expressed as to these
roofs. The nearness of the principals has been criticised,
as well as the small subdivision of detail; in fact, we shall
shortly show roofs of three times the space with a less
number of junctions, the principals of which are very much
farther apart: so in this respect they are very much more
economical. But it must be remembered these Gothic
roofs are of high pitch, while the others are very flat; and
therefore more struts and queens are necessary ; and that
the distance of the principals was x’egulated in great mea¬
sure by the nature of the covering. It we also consider
they were the first roofs of the kind, we think they may be
regarded with great commendation. The progress of rail¬
ways caused a great demand for light roofs ot every span
and length, and the facilities for obtaining rolled T and L
ROOF.
Roof iron, and the machines invented for punching and rivetting,
> combined with the fact, that iron was not only the lightest
material of its strength, but was at the same time incom¬
bustible, brought it day by day into more general use.
The awkwardness of fitting wooden struts to an iron tie-rod
suggested the use of cast-iron for that purpose ; and a very
pretty light roof, first used on the Manchester and Bir¬
mingham line, was invented (fig. 54), which has since been
397
Roof.
Engine-House Roof, Manchester Station.
of almost universal adoption for moderate spans. For small the same principle as in fig. 54 is carried out, but to a much
spans, a very simple and cheap contrivance was used larger scale; fig. 57 shows the details ot the strut au,
(fig. 55). It is composed of ordinary wrought-iron tubing: A the principal rafter, and tie. This roof, however, is weak
Fig. 55.
is a common tee-piece with right and left screws ; the king
and tie are thus brought together, the other ends first being
put into the fire, and hammered into the form of straps.
The considerations before named soon caused the aban¬
donment of the use of wood as principal rafters altogether.
Some important roofs were constructed with rafters ol cast-
iron ; but this is a material which, if it gives way, breaks
quite suddenly, and without any warning ; and by degrees
the rolled T iron superseded its use. A very large roof,
87 feet in span, was erected at Paris on the Quai Jemappes,
over the Providence magazine, as shown in fig. 56, where
between A and B, there being too long a bearing without
a strut. It was, however, much improved at Paris at the
terminus of the Rouen Railway, where one of a span ot
88 feet 6 inches was erected, as shown in fig. 58; while
fig. 59 shows the detail of the junction of the ties and
struts. The introduction of more struts has much strength¬
ened the principal rafter; but the triangle ABC is too
large, and ought to have been subdivided by another strut
from B to D, the point C being unfairly loaded, and
there being a tendency to sink at the point D. A still
larger roof, 97 feet 5 inches in span, was shortly after put
r
398
Roof.
ROOF.
Fig. 60.
up at the terminus of the Strasburg Railway at Pans (fig.
60). This is of an arched form, the principal rafter being
a huge circular arc of wrought iron framed on the trellis
principle. The top and bottom ribs are of rolled T iron,
3j inches deep, with a 3£ flange, the web of the metal
beino- Jths thick. The struts are of cast-iron. The rods
which tie this vast structure together are only from If to If
inch diameter. The walls which support it are above 40 feet
hio-h; and the effect is almost cobweb-like, so slight do the
ties appear when viewed from beneath. There is perhaps
a defect in making the centre part of the trussing two paral¬
lelograms, which could be easily prevented by the introduc-
Roof.
Fi
58
tion of a strut from A to B. The ex¬
treme inconvenience of having columns
or other internal supports to a railway
station, and the success of these large
roofs, emboldened our engineers day by
day to increase their spans; and in the
year 1850 Mr R. Turner of Dublin
erected the roof over the great station at
~ 1 Liverpool. This was 374 feet in length,
of the enormous span of 153 feet, and of the principle
shown in fig. 61. The height of the springing is 25 feet,
and to the crown 55 feet. The principals are 21 feet
6 inches apart, and are more like a trussed girder than
They are composed of a rib or
the ordinary form of roof,
arc of rolled iron 9
inches deep and |-ths
of an inch thick,
with top flange 4^-
and bottom 3 inches
wide; on this is
rivetted a plate 10
inches wide and ^th
of an inch thick.
From the springing
to the haunches
these ribs are
strengthened
plates rivetted on
both sides. The
struts radiate as
shown, and are con¬
structed like the
ribs, but are only 7 inches in depth. From strut to strut
there are three sets of tie-rods between the two extreme ra¬
diating struts, and two between the others, varying
from 2 inches to 1£ inch in diameter. The dia¬
gonal braces are If inch. The ends of the prin¬
cipal are secured to a chair of cast-
iron, resting partly on cast-iron co¬
lumns, partly on the walls of the office,
and partly on a box-girder.
Each purlin is composed of
three pieces of T iron. The
centre piece runs straight
Fiff
59
Roof of Station, Strasburg Railway, Paris.
from principal to principal, the other two branch off, so as to strut them in three points ; besides this, they are crossed by
ROOF.
399
Roof.
diagonal braces; so that the whole roof is trussed fore and
aft, and forms one solid mass of framing. The attachments
are made by linking-plates, much like those in fig. 59*
The roof is covered partly with corrugated galvanized
Fig. 61.
iron of No. 16 guage, and partly with glass, in
sheets averaging 12 feet 4 inches by 3 feet 6
inches, and fths of an inch thick.
But this roof, vast as it is, sinks into compara¬
tive insignificance by the side ot that over the joint station
in New”Street Birmingham (fig. 62), which was finished
Roof.
in 1854, and is the largest and lightest in the world. It
is about ^-thof a mile in length, and varies from 191 to 212
feet in width, the ground being irregular. It spans at once
ten parallel lines of railway, four passenger platforms, and a
long carriage'road. The principals are 24 feet apart, and
are supported on one side by the walls of the offices, and
on the other by cast-iron columns 2 feet in diameter, con¬
nected together at the top by cast-iron arched girders. The
top of these, on which the principals rest, is 33 feet above
the rails ; the tie-rod has a versed sine of 17 feet, the curved
principal is 23 feet deep, and the total height to the top of
the louvre is 84 feet. The rib forming the principal rafter
is of rolled iron 15 inches deep, and -f^ths of an inch in
thickness. In each edge, both
^ at top and bottom, are rivetted
two angle irons 6 by 3, which
^ together form two flanges 12f
inches wide. All junctions are
made to break joint, and have plates rivetted on each side,
forming a species of fishes. The tie is a solid rod 4 inches in
diameter, and is thickened out at every screw; so that the
full diameter of the rod is preserved independent of the
thread of the screws, which are right and left handed, and
which meet at wrought coupling-boxes. On these the struts
and diagonal braces take their seating; this is a cast-iron
shoe vvith the requisite lugs and bolt-holes, and which clips
the coupling-box, and is screwed to it from beneath. The
diagonals are of fths rolled iron, varying from 5 to 3 inches
in width. The struts, twelve in number, are of very original
construction. They are vertical, composed of four pieces of
angle iron set back to back, as if upon the four corners of
a square, and are kept apart by iron crosses to which they
are bolted. These crosses are larger in the middle of the
strut than at the ends, so as to cause the angle irons to
curve out each like a bow, and form a sort of open swelling
strut, which is not only very strong, but has a very pleasing
effect. At one end these vast ribs are secured to stones
let into the wall; at the other, which is over the columns,
are sets of plates, one attached to the foot of the ribs, and
the other to the girders, between which are a series of
rollers 2 inches in diameter, on which the ribs have
play, so as to compensate for contraction or ex¬
pansion of the metal by change of temperature.
The purlins are of wood 6 inches square, and are 10
feet apart, trussed with three-quarters tension-rods. Louvres
for ventilation are shown in the figure. A little more than
half the roof is covered with rough-rolled fluted glass
■j-^ths thick, each plate being 6 feet long and 16 inches
wide ; the other part is covered with galvanized corrugated
iron. Some idea of this vast construction may be formed
when we are told it comprehends 2 acres of galvanized
iron coverinsr, and rather more than 2 acres of glass. This
last weighed 115 tons, and the whole iron work 1050 tons.
The cost was L.32,274, or about L.19 per square ; but
iron at that time was exceedingly low in price—more so,
in fact, than had ever been known.
A very ingenious roof (fig. 63) has just been erected
over the new Royal Italian Opera House at Covent Gar¬
den. It was designed by Mr Edward Barry, and is 90 fact
in span, and on the ridge-and-furrow principle. The spans
being supported by a series of double-trellis girders 9 feet
deep, and 19 feet 6 inches apart from centre to centre,
R O O
R O 0
between which are the painting-rooms, carpenters’ shops,
&c. They are entirely of wrought iron, the ends AB
(fig. 63) being, in fact, box-girders for a length of 3 feet 9
inches. A double set of iron trellis is then constructed, as
Rooke.
Trellis Girder and Roof, Royal Italian Opera.
in fig. 63, 9 feet deep, and 6 inches apart. On the top series of angle iron is rivetted, on the top and bottom of
and bottom of each set, and on both sides (fig. 64, AB), a which, again, a plate of flat iron is also rivetted, forming
upper and lower compression and tension flanges 1 foot 6
inches wide. The whole may be regarded as a perforated
hollow beam 90 feet long, 9 feet deep, and 6 inches in
thickness, having, as has before been stated, top and bot¬
tom flanges 1 foot 6 inches wide. From each of these rises
a light transverse roof 19 feet 6 inches in span, the gutter
of which is on the top of the girder. The tie and king are
of flat iron, and the struts, rafters, and purlins of T iron, all
as shown in fig. 64. At the top are skylights which open
for ventilation; the rest of the roof is covered with slabs of
slate. The floor of the painting-rooms is supported by iron
bearers (CC, fig. 63), on which rest common joists and the
ordinary boarding. The strength is enormous, and the
construction has these advantages: It is not only lighter
than any known roof, but there is no thrust in the walls; on
the contrary, it tends to tie them together, and there is no loss
of room, as the interval between each girder forms a fine
room 90 feet long, 19 feet wide, and 9 feet high. (a. a.)
R.OOKE, Sir George, Admiral, a gallant naval com¬
mander, was the son of Sir William Rooke, and was born
at his father’s seat near Canterbury in 1650. His merit
raised him by regular steps to be vice-admiral of the blue,
in which station he contributed largely to the gaining of the
battle of La Hogue, on the 22d of May 1692. The vice-
admiral was rewarded for this important service by a pen¬
sion of L.1000, and he was subsequently made vice-admiral
of the red, and had bestowed on him the honour of knight¬
hood. He was in 1694 appointed admiral and commander-
in-chief in the Mediterranean. During King William’s
reign Sir George was twice elected member for Ports¬
mouth ; and upon the accession of Queen Anne in 1702,
he was constituted “ vice-admiral and lieutenant of the
admiralty of England, as also lieutenant of the fleets and
seas of this kingdom.” Upon the declaration of war against
France, he was ordered to command a fleet sent against
Cadiz; and on his passage home he attacked the Plate fleet,
pillaged and destroyed it. For this action Sir George re¬
ceived the thanks of the House of Commons, and was
appointed to a seat in the Privy Council. In the spring
of the year 1704 Sir George commanded the ships of
war which conveyed King Charles III. of Spain to Lis¬
bon. In conjunction with Sir Cloudesley Shovel, he
attacked Gibraltar in the month of July, when, by the
bravery of the English seamen, the place was taken on the
24th,—an action which was conceived and executed in less
than a week, though it has since endured sieges of many
months’ continuance, and more than once baffled the united
forces of France and Spain. On the 9th of August of the
same year Rooke fell in with the French fleet, which con¬
sisted of 52 ships of the line and 24 galleys. After fight¬
ing the whole of that autumn day, the enemy wore off
to leeward in the evening and escaped. The French lost
3000 men in that bloody engagement, and the English
2000. This brave officer being at last obliged, by the pre¬
valence of party spirit, to quit the service of his country,
retired to his seat in Kent, where he spent the remainder
of his days as a private gentleman. He was thrice married,
and by his second wife left one son. “ I do not leave
much,” said he on his deathbed, “ but what I leave was
honestly gotten : it never cost a sailor a tear, or the na¬
tion a farthing.” He died on the 24th of January 1708,
in his fifty-eighth year. (See Life and Glorious Actions
of Sir George Rooke, Vice-Admiral of England, London,
1707).
401
E 0 P E.
Rope, a general name for all kinds of cordage, but more
correctly applied to such as is above one inch in circum¬
ference, the smaller sorts being distinguished by the names
of twines, cords, and lines.
The art of twisting into lines and ropes various materials,
such as thongs of animal hide, the hairs of animals, tough
grasses, and vegetable fibres, is of remote antiquity, and
has existed even among the rudest people.
The tarabita or rope-bridge of the Peruvians, and the
lasso of the Chilian hunter, are formed by twisting together
thongs of ox’s hide; and in our own country at the pre¬
sent day ropes for particular purposes are made of horse s
hair. The coir-ropes of Ceylon and the Maidive Islands
are made from the fibrous husk of the cocoa-nut; the
Manilla rope from the fibres of a species of the wild ba¬
nana, the Musa textilis ; and the Sunn ropes from those
of the Crotolaria juncea.
Many other vegetables have fibres of great tenacity, and
fitted for the purposes of the rope-maker; but preference
is given to those of the CcuiTicibis saliva, or cultivated
hemp, and the Linum usitatissimum, or flax, the fibres of
both of which possess in a remarkable degree the essential
qualities of flexibility and tenacity. Some idea of the im¬
portance of the manufacture under consideration may be
obtained from the fact that, in the year ending January
1857, the value of the hemp alone imported into Great
Britain and Ireland was L.1,953,444, and the value of the
cordage exported was L.246,925.
The fibres of the hemp are first twisted together to form
a thread or yarn. Many yarns are then combined by
twisting, and form a strand; three strands are in like man¬
ner combined, and form what is properly a rope, and leck“
nically termed a shroud-laid rope or hawser-laid rope; and
three of these ropes may be again combined, forming
what is termed a cable-laid rope. Ihe fibres should be so
arranged that each in the finished rope shall offer the great¬
est resistance to its being torn asunder in the direction of
its length.
If we take a bundle of fibres, equal in length and
strength, and fasten it at the ends, each fibre will, upon a
strain being applied to the bundle, bear its proper share o
the stress; and the strength of the bundle will evidently
be measured by adding together the strength of the sepa¬
rate fibres. But if we twist this bundle so as to form a
thread, the strain will no longer be equally distributed
among the fibres; for, by the torsion, the external fibres
of the bundle will be wound round those that lie nearest
to the centre, and, in proportion to their distance from the
heart of the bundle and the amount of twist given, will
form spirals more or less inclined from the axis of the
thread. The external fibres will in consequence be longer
than the internal ones, and the greatest share of the strain
will be borne by the latter. Further, by the operation of
twisting, the fibres in a thread are strained, and, on account
of their position, the external ones the most. It is of im¬
portance to consider the proper length of the primary fibres,
and the degree of torsion that ought to be given in forming
them into a thread. , „ ,
All threads require the fibres to be so fine, and of such a
length, that the quantity of fibres used, and the number of
turns each has round its axis, shall be so great as to pro¬
duce the necessary compression amongst them, to prevent
them from sliding upon each other. If the thread be small,
the fibres must be fine, and may be short; and if the thread
be large, then must the fibres be long. If the fibres be long
in proportion to the size of thread to be made from them,
VOL. XIX.
less twisting will obviously be necessary to keep them from Rope,
sliding; and the finer and softer the fibres are, the more
may the twist be diminished; for soft fibres enter into
closer combination with each other than those that are
hard. Long fibres requiring thus less twist than short ones,
it has been a standing rule with all theoretical writers, that
fibres should always be spun into the thread endlong, and
never by their bight or double. Now, in the practice of
hand-spinning, the fibres are always spun into the thread by
their bights, and never by their ends.
It is certainly an advantage in
threads which are to be used merely
as such, to secure as great a length
of fibre as possible, as any strain tends
directly to pull the fibres asunder;
and they are retained in their posi¬
tion merely by the compression among
the co-fibres, produced by twisting.
But many threads are combined in
forming strands; new forces are
brought into action, and so at every
further combination. This will be
better explained by the following dia¬
gram. Let aa be the primary fibres,
formed into threads b; in each thread
the fibres are retained in their posi¬
tion by the compression produced by
twisting. Let bb be threads twisted
together to form a strand. Here the
threads mutually compress each other,
and the primary fibres of each thread
are compressed by the surrounding
threads. Let cc be strands twisted to
form a hawser-laid rope. In this the
compression on the primary fibres is again increased, and
so in the next combination, where the three hawser-laid ropes
are twisted into the cable-rope d.
We may from this deduce, that it is not the length so
much as the intrinsic strength of the fibre which fits it for
the purpose of the rope-maker; and practice perfectly fixes
this position, the ropes made from the short waste fibre of
the hemp called tow being by no means so weak when
compared with those made from the hemp itself, as theory
would lead us to suppose, seeing that these fibres are the
shortest and weakest of the material. It may therefore be
laid down as a rule, that in the making of ropes it is of
greater consequence that the fibres should be strong, soft,
and finely hackled, than that they should be of great length.
Let us consider a little more how the twist of the thread
is affected by its future combination. The fibres are first
twisted in a certain direction to form threads. A collection
of these threads is then twisted together to form a strand;
and this last twist being in a direction contrary to that of
the threads, untwists them to a certain extent.
Had the twist in the first instance been no more than
would just have kept the fibres from sliding upon each other,
it would now be inadequate to produce that effect. Hence
one would think it necessary to provide means to put more
twist into the threads as they were being formed into
strands, or to put as much more twist into the threads
while spinning, as the twisting of the strands abstracts from
them; but when these strands are combined to form a
hawser-laid rope, the direction of the twist is again the same
as that of the threads, and restores to them a certain portion
of what they had lost. If, however, three of these hawser-
laid ropes are formed into a cable-laid rope, the threads are
402
ROPE.
Rope.
again to a certain extent untwisted. The untwisting suf¬
fered by the thread in forming the strands is much greater
than the subsequent retwisting in forming the rope; and
if the thread had been at the first too little twisted, or too
soft, as it is termed, it would never make a serviceable rope ;
and for such ropes as require to be impervious to water, it
would be totally unsuitable.
It is, then, on the proper angle of twist in the combined
threads, and not in the threads when separate, that the ef¬
ficiency of the rope depends; and this can be determined
by experiment alone.
When many threads or yarns are combined to form
strands, the effects produced on the latter by strains are
analogous to those produced on the fibres when formed
into threads, and, from the greater size of the component
parts, are more apparent.
In the ordinary method of procedure the threads are all
stretched to the same length, and then twisted together in
a direction contrary to their individual twist. This, by wind¬
ing the external yarns round those beneath them, shortens
the whole mass, and puckers up the yarns nearest the cen¬
tre, and thus the greatest share of any strain is thrown on
the external yarns. It has therefore been considered of
primary importance in all inventions intended to improve
the making of ropes, to equalize the strain on the yarns in
the strands.
Belfour attempted to effect this by shortening the internal
yarns in the degree necessary to prevent their puckering up.
Now, although the fibres of hemp are not in themselves very
extensible, yet the rope formed from them is; and when
such an extension takes place in a rope formed by Belfour’s
method, the strain is thrown entirely upon the internal yarns,
which, if the strain be great enough, will break from the
centre outwards.
The manner in which the external yarns of a strand
lengthen, will be seen at once by fig. 2. Here a is a section
of a newly formed strand; a! a section of the same strand af¬
ter having been used; while b'd is a part of the surface of
the first, on the stretch out; and b'd a part of the surface of
the other. By the straining produced by use, the yarns in
a are brought into closer contact, and the diameter of the
strand is reduced. If in the strand a, be represents the angle
at which any external yarn is
supposed to lie, this, by the Fig. 2.
reduction of the diameter,
will in a' be changed to b'd;
and if in a, de represents a
heart-yarn, this yarn in a'
must stretch to d, or break,
which, as it is very little
extensible, it is likely to do.
It is of importance to ob¬
serve, that the breaking of
the heart-yarns of a strand
in this manner is attended
with much greater danger
than the breaking of the ex¬
ternal yarns, as the injury not only remains concealed, but
water can easily penetrate to the core of the strand, which
in consequence speedily decays.
It would appear, then, that a certain degree of pucker¬
ing in the internal yarns of a strand is necessary to com¬
pensate for the extension that the superficial yarns undergo
by use; and where ropes are made by machinery, it would
be perfectly possible to arrange it so that, from the central
yarn outwards, every one could be wrought into the strand
in due length to allow for the stretching.
The further operations are the forming the strands into
hawser-laid ropes, and these again into cable-laid ropes.
The many uses to which ropes are applied preclude the
possibility of applying specific rules to their manufacture.
Some require flexibility, others impenetrability to water ;
strength may in some be of primary importance, or it may
be secondary to other qualities which better adapt the rope
for its peculiar purpose. The goodness of the rope depends
upon the previous operations; but it must be a standing
rule in all the processes, never to make use of so much twist
as will impair the strength of the fibre.
To prevent the decay of such ropes as are exposed to
continual changes from wet to dry, the yarns forming them
are soaked in hot tar previously to their being worked up.
It would be well if some other substance than tar could be
found suited for this purpose, as it unfortunately happens
that ropes lose much of their strength in the operation of
tarring ; and after having been kept for some time, the loss
of strength is progressively increased, and this to a greater
extent in hot than in cold climates. M. Duhamel made
several experiments on this subject in 174)1-1746, and from
the results obtained he concludes,
1st, That untarred cordage in constant use is one third
more durable than the same cordage when tarred;
2dly, That untarred cordage retains its strength for a
longer time when kept in store;
3dly, That untarred cordage resists the ordinary influ¬
ence of the weather one fourth longer than when it is tarred.
Some experiments wrere made in 1803 by Mr Chapman,
civil engineer, to determine the effects of a new process of
washing the tar to free it from the soluble substances con¬
tained in it, and for which process he had obtained a patent.
Yet although the result of these experiments proved beyond
a doubt the superiority of Mr Chapman’s method, it is sin¬
gular that it has never come into use. The same gentle¬
man made some other experiments in 1806-1807, confirma¬
tory of those of M. Duhamel. The result of one series is
given in the table below.
Rope.
Date of Experi¬
ment.
180C, Oct 2.
  Oct. 24.
1807, May 8.
White rope.
Tarred rope.
Same rope...
Girth in
Inches.
2-75
2-8
2'8
Breaking
Weight.
75 CWt.
55
41-4
Compara¬
tive
Strength.
100
73-3
55-2
Cwts. on
each Inch
of Square
of Girth.
9 9 cwt.
7
5-3
We shall now offer a few of the rules which have been
given by different authors for computing the strength of
ropes.
Mr Tredgold says, “ that in a hawser-rope, it may be
proved that the strength of the straight fibres of hemp is
to the strength of the rope as the radius is to the mean
between the square and the cube of the cosine of the angle
of twist, when the fibres are all equally extended, and the
angle of twist measured at the greatest stretch the rope will
endure without fracture. The cosine of the angle under
these circumstances is in general about 0,87, and therefore
the strength is about 0-708 times the strength of the hemp,
or very little exceeding two thirds of its strength ; but in
most cases the loss of strength will be greater than one third,
because the stretching of the different parts is unequal. And
in a cable-laid rope, that the strength of the hemp is to that
of the cable as the radius is to the mean of the third or
fourth power of the cosine of the angle of twist under the
same circumstances as before; or, that its strength is to
that of the ropes which form it simply as the cosine of
the angle of twist. This, in usual cases, will be nearly as
eighty-seven to a hundred, that is, there are thirteen parts
in every hundred of the strength lost in forming cable-laid
ropes.”
The following rule is given by Dr Robison for finding
the strength of ropes: Multiply the circumference of the
rope in inches by itself, and the fifth part of the product will
be the number of tons which the rope will carry. Thus,
in the experiment of Mr Chapman, the weakest tarred rope
ROPE-MAKING.
403
Rope¬
making.
broke with two tons, and by our rule we find that it ought
to carry with safety one ton eleven hundredweight. The
practical rules of the workshop are as follows :—To find the
breaking weight of 3-strand hawsers ; square the circum¬
ference, and divide by 3. To find the breaking weight of
3-strand cables ; square the circumference, and divide by 5.
The following rule may also be of use:—To find the
weight in pounds of a foot in length of any hempen rope,
multiply the square of the circumference in inches by 0,04o
for shroud-laid ropes, and by 0027 for cables. (j. N.)
Rope-making is the art of combining fibrous materials,
by twisting in such a manner as to form a continuous flexi¬
ble cord.
We have before stated that the fibres used for this pur¬
pose are those of flax and hemp ; the former for small lines
and cords only, and the latter for all kinds of cords, from
the smallest to the largest. The preparation and manufac¬
ture of hemp and flax into such articles as either are adapt¬
ed for being the same in both, we mean, in the following
sketch of these operations, to speak of hemp as the mate¬
rial made use of. This article we obtain from Riga and
St Petersburg, whence it is shipped for our ports in great
bundles, weighing, according to quality, from forty-five to
sixty-five poods each, the pood being equal to thirty-six
pounds avoirdupois. On the arrival of the vessels, these great
bundles are cut up, and the hemp is thrown from the hold in
small bundles, bound at one end, and weighing each about
twelve pounds. These small bundles are termed ; and
in this condition the rope-manufacturer gets his raw material.
The fibres of hemp, of a good quality, should be long,
fine, and thin ; smooth and glossy on the surface ; of a yel¬
lowish-green colour ; and free from spills or small pieces of
the boon or woody fibre of the hemp plant, which remains
after the operation of breaking; and they should, above all,
possess the essential qualities of strength and toughness.
Hemp loses many of its good qualities by lying long in
warehouses; and when shipped in a damp state it loses its
glossy appearance, becomes what is termed rusted, and is
then much weaker, and hard and disagreeable to work.
The operations of the rope-maker are carried on in the
following order:—
1st, Hackling the hemp; 2d, Spinning or twisting the
fibres into threads or yarns ; 3c?, Tarring the yarns;
Ath, Making the yarn into strands ; 5th, Laying or form¬
ing the strands into ropes, called hawser-laid ropes ; Qth,
Laying or forming hawser-laid ropes into cable-laid ropes.
ls£, Hackling.—To prepare the fibres for the use of the
spinner, they are drawn over pronged instruments called
hackles, which clear from them the refuse, and split them
into different degrees of fineness, to suit the size of thread
into which they are to be spun.
Fig. 1 is a representation of a hackle of the largest kind,
called a cag. Here aa is a strong board; and hh steel
prongs, polished and tapered, and made very sharp at the
point.
The prongs of the next
size of hackle are smaller
and closer set, and so on,
diminishing to the finest
size, which reduces the
fibres to the last degree
of tenuity.
The operation of hack¬
ling is performed in the
following manner. The
operator stands at a convenient distance in front of the
hackles, which are fixed on a steady bench at a proper
height. He then takes a bundle of hemp, and divides it
into such portions as he can conveniently grasp. One of
these he holds firmly by one end, and draws it over the
hackle, beginning with the end of the bunch farthest from
Fig. 1.
his hand, and by repeated operations disentangles and splits Rope-
the fibres nearly to where he grasps the bunch. He then % ina In£‘ v
takes hold of the finished end, and operates on the part
which he before had grasped. To facilitate these operations,
he from time to time oils the hemp with a little whale-oil.
When the hemp is combed out and split as perfectly as the
first size of hackle enables the workman to do, he carries it,
if it be necessary for the purpose intended, to the next in
degree, and so on to the last. The short fibres which are
pulled out of the bunch by the hackle, and remain sticking
to it, are collected from time to time by the workman, as
they impede his progress, and are laid aside. They are after¬
wards drawn over the hackle to lay the fibres straight, and
are, under the name of tow, used in making inferior ropes.
As the workman finishes his handfuls of hemp, he lays
them aside in bundles for the spinner.
The operation of hackling would seem to require little
skill on the part of the workman ; but this is by no means •
the case, as bad workmanship would convert the greater
part of the hemp into tow. Hackling is performed in a
house, which ought, for convenience, to be near to where
the threads are spun, that the spinners be not put to un¬
necessary expense of time in getting their stuff.
2dly, Spinning.—The place where the operation of spin¬
ning is carried on, is one division of a walk or alley termed
the rope-walk, and is generally enclosed by walls, and roof¬
ed over ; and in some places where ropes and twine are made,
the building is in two stories, the rope-yarns being spun
below, and the twine in the loft above.
The walk for rope-yarns is, according to circumstances,
from 600 to 1200 feet long, and the width is regulated by
the extent of the business to be carried on. One end of
the walk is termed the head or fore-end, and the other the
foot or back-end; at both ends the machines for communi¬
cating twist to the yarns are erected; and along both sides
of the walk, at equal distances, and opposite to each other,
are erected posts. Between every pair of posts a rail
stretches across the walk, at the height of eight feet above
the ground ; and along the under side of the rail, hooks are
fixed, on which the yarns are hung as they are spun; and to
one of the upright posts of each pair a large hook is fasten¬
ed, on which the yarns are hung when collected together.
Fig. 2 shows this arrangement; aaaa being the upright posts,
Fig. 2.
hb the rails stretching across the spinning walk, ee the hocks
for the yarns, and cc the large hooks on which the collected
mass of yarns is hung. At the head of the walk a stout
post is fixed in the ground, and to it the yarns are fastened
as they are finished. At the foot of the walk a similar post
is fixed for the same purpose. These posts must be at that
side of the walk on which the large hooks are fixed.
The walks on which small threads for twines and small
cords are spun, have, in place of these rails and hooks, rails
about three feet long, let loosely into mortises sunk in the
top of upright posts, about three and a half feet above the
ground ; and along the top of the rail upright pins are fixed,
to keep the threads separate.
The spinning machines for rope-yarns consist of two up-
404
Rope¬
making.
HOPE-MAKING.
Fig. 3.
&
right posts, aaa, fig. 3, between which the wheel Z>Z> is hung
on its axis c. A belt from this
' wheel passes over and gives
motion to a number of small
pulleys, called whirls, ddd, in¬
serted in a circular arc ee,
called the head, fixed to the
top of the posts. The axis of
each of these pulleys is pro¬
longed in front of the head,
and bent into a hook, as shown
more distinctly at /; and on
this hook the fibres of hemp
are hung to be twisted.
The spinning-wheel for the
smaller sorts of threads differs
from this chiefly in being smal¬
ler, and having the parts slight¬
ly modified to suit the dimi¬
nution of size.
The operation of spinning
is conducted as follows. The
spinner takes a bundle of hemp of sufficient size to make
one or more threads the whole length of the walk; he puts
this bundle round his waist, the bight or double being in
front, and the ends passing each other at his back ; and he
secures it in this position by buckling a strap round it, or by
fastening it with his apron. He then draws out from the
face of his bundle as many fibres as he thinks will make the
size of yarn required ; the bight of these fibres he hangs on
one of the whirl-hooks, and the wheel being now turned by
an assistant, it throws twist or turn into the fibres. The
spinner having laid a piece of thick woollen cloth in the
hollow of his right hand, with the end hanging over his fore¬
finger, grasps with it the fibres he had drawn out, pressing
them firmly with his thumb and forefinger, the interposed
cloth preserving his fingers from being cut by the fibres as
they pass. He now walks backward down the walk, that is,
from the head to the foot, the wheel-man all the while
turning the wheel just so fast as to keep the turn or twist
up to the spinner, of which he is admonished by signs made
by the left hand of the latter, or, in complete establish¬
ments, by a bell, the cord of which traverses the walk. The
aim of the spinner is to regulate the supply of fibres from
his bundle in such a manner as to render the thread equal
in size throughout. This he does with his left hand, draw¬
ing back the fibres as they enter his right hand in too great
number, and pulling forward more when the supply is de¬
ficient in quantity. He takes care, too, that many ends of
fibres do not come together in the same place, and that they
so arrange themselves as that the strength of the thread
shall be equal throughout. If the spinner slacken his grasp
of the fibres with his fore-finger and thumb, the turn will
pass his hand, and the thread will be spoiled; and it is ne¬
cessary not only that the thread be firmly grasped by the
thumb and fore-finger, but also by the whole hand, that it
may be compressed and moulded into a cylindrical form.
We have hitherto described the operation as performed
by one spinner; but as many spinners may work together
as there are whirls in the head. Suppose, then, that all
the spinners have set on, as the fastening of their threads
to the whirls is termed. They proceed together down the
walk, and when they are a few paces below the first rail,
6, fig. 2, every man throws his thread on one of the hooks,
and so at each rail, until they arrive at the foot. They
then join the ends of every pair of yarns, and hang them
over the post already mentioned ; and for the convenience
of afterwards separating them, the pairs are kept apart in
the following manner. A piece of twine is tied by its mid¬
dle to the first pair, a little in advance of the post; the se¬
cond pair is then put over the post, and the string is tied
over them ; and in like manner every pair is tied in. This
is called nettling. The spinners now set on at the foot or>
back-end wheel, and spin up the walk. The fore-end wheel- '
man having unhooked the yarns from the whirls of his
wheel, and hung them over the post, and tied them in pairs
as at the back-end, proceeds down the walk, collecting the
yarns from the hooks of the rails, and laying them in a
heap in the large hooks c, c, fig. 2. When the spinners again
spin down the walk, these same operations are performed
by the back-end wheel-man. When the collected yarns
number about 400, they are coiled up in a haul, and are
ready either for tarring, or laying into white ropes. Pre¬
vious to the haul being taken up for tarring, there is a
slight turn put into it to keep it from getting entangled in
the tar-kettle. In the government rope-works, by the re¬
gulations of 1802, the spinners had to produce, from a bun¬
dle of hemp weighing 64 lbs., 18 threads of 170 fathoms
each; 400 of such threads constituted a haul, and weighed
12 cwt. 2 qrs, and when tarred 15 cwt.
Sd/y, Tarring.—The next operation is that of tarring.
This is variously performed. Here we shall describe the
simplest method of doing it.
The apparatus used in tarring consists of a copper bedded
in brickwork with a proper furnace below, and flues around
it. The copper is termed the tar-kettle, and at one side of
it is erected a strong frame, in which a capstan works.
Fig. 4 shows this arrangement. Here a is the kettle; bb the
frame; cc the capstan, which may be turned either by ma¬
nual labour, or horse or other power; dd. a truck, on which the
haul is being coiled away as it comes from the capstan ; and
ee small rollers by which the haul is supported. In the up¬
right nearest the boiler is fixed the nipper for squeezing the
superfluous tar out of the haul. The nipper is drawn to a
Fig. 4.
Rope-
making.
Fig. 5.
larger size in fig. 5. Here aa is a copper-plate with a hole in
it about twTo and a half inches dia¬
meter ; above it another plate bb
slides, and out of its lower edge a
semicircular piece is cut, corre¬
sponding to the hole in the lower
plate, so that by sliding this plate
down, the aperture is diminished.
A lever dd of the second order is
fixed at one end to the chain c,
and presses on a stud fixed on the
upper plate, so that by moving the
weight on the lever the yarn may be pressed to the degree
necessary as it passes through the aperture; and as the tar
oozes out of the yarn, it is received and carried back to the
kettle by the spout ^ fig. 4.
The tar having been put into the kettle and heated to
the proper degree, which is about the temperature of boil¬
ing water, and is known to the workman, in the absence of
more correct means, by a scum closing over its surface, the
HOP E-M A K I N G.
405
Rope-
making.
superintendent begins to pass through the haul. A rope
attached to the capstan is passed through the nippers, and
attached to the end of the haul. The haul is then coiled
gradually into the kettle, and the capstan is moved round.
The haul is thus drawn slowly through the tar, and the
superfluous tar squeezed out of it as it passes through the
nippers, the superintendent regulating the weight on the
lever, so as to produce the required pressure ; and the end-
of the haul, as it comes from the capstan, is coiled away, or
reeled upon large reels. In this operation the heat of the
tar is the most important point to be attended to. If it be
too hot, the yarn will be charred; and if too cold, it will be
black, whereas yarn intended to be made into ropes should
be of a bright-brown colour. The proper heat is indicated,
as was before stated, by a scum closing over the surface of
the tar, which takes place at
about 212° Fahrenheit. If
this scum do not rise, the tar
is too cold ; and if there be
an appearance of ebullition,
the tar is too hot.
\thly,Forming Strands—
The yarn is now ready for
the next operation, which is
the making of the strands.
This comes under the head
of laying. The place where
this and the subsequent
operations are carried on is
termed the laying-walk ; it
of which the spinning-walk forms a portion, and it may be
of such a width as to allow of many ropes being made at
one time. The fixtures of this walk consist of tackle-
boards and wheels for twisting strands, and stakes and stake-
heads for supporting them. The tackle-board for twisting
large strands is fixed at the head, and is represented in fig,
6 ; aa strong upright posts, bb a plank pierced with holes
corresponding to the
number of strands in
a rope, which is gene¬
rally three. Through
these holes winches,
called forelock hooks,
work. Fig. 7 is an en¬
larged section of the
board, with a forelock
hook in its place; a is
the handle, b a collar
working against the WMll
board, and c the fore¬
lock let into an eye in that end of the hook which points down
Fig. 7.
Fig. 6.
the walk. Fig. 8 is a re¬
presentation of one of the
wheels for twisting smaller
strands ; bbb being pinions
with their axes prolonged,
and bent into hooks at 6'; aa
is the driving-wheel, moved
round by the winch c, and
dd is a strong post fixed at
the head of the walk, and
to which the wheel is at¬
tached in such a manner
that it can be easily dis¬
engaged, and a larger or
smaller wheel applied, as
the rope may require. Cor¬
responding to every twist¬
ing apparatus, at the head
there is a row of bearers
or stake-heads for sup-
Fig. 8.
porting the strands when twisting, and
top to the bottom of the walk. These
are represented in fig. 9, where aa is an
upright post, called the stake, firmly
fixed, and standing four feet above
the ground ; and b the stake-head, let
through a mortise in the upright at
foot below the head of the post. In
the stake-head there are upright pins,
between which the strands are laid,
as seen by the drawing. There are
also posts at the head and foot for fas¬
tening the yarns to when run out for laying. As twisting
the strands shortens them, it is necessary to provide at the
foot moveable machines for communicating twist. These
are called sledges; the largest are formed as in fig. 10, and
the smaller sizes as in fig. 11.
extending from the Rope-
making.
Fig. 10.
In fig. 10, aa corresponds to the tackle-board, and is call¬
ed a breast-board; it is bolted to the uprights bb, which
again are firmly fixed and stayed to the frame cccc. The
part of the frame behind the uprights is called the tail of
the sledge, and on it are laid weights to afford pressure
enough to keep the strands stretched. These weights con¬
sist of old tar-barrels filled with clay, and are called press-
barrels. In laying large ropes, sufficient pressure cannot be
obtained by the barrels; and in that case a double block
and tackle is used, one end being fastened to a strong bolt
behind the sledge, and the other to the tail of the sledge,
and with the tackle-fall a turn or two is taken round a
post. The smaller sledges (fig. 11) have only one upright
post, to which some one of the wheels, similar to fig. 8, is
fixed ; and they have likewise two trucks to run on.
Of the smaller implements used, the first are the tops
(fig. 12) for laying the strands into
a rope. These consist of conical Fig. 12.
blocks of wood, of different sizes,
having three equidistant grooves
along their surface, and pins through
them laterally, serving for handles.
A piece of soft rope is attached to
each handle of the top by its bight,
and the ends are used to wrap round
the rope in the process of laying.
These ropes are called tails. When
the top is very large, it requires to
be supported on a sledge, as shown in fig. 13; and in that
406 R O P E-M A K IN G.
Hope- case the tails are attached to the Fig. 13.
making, pledge. Woolders are stout pins
Y ^ with a rope fastened to one end,
and are used to assist the action of
the machine in twisting the rope.
In addition to the above, there is
used in making white ropes a rub¬
ber, formed of steel rings inter¬
woven like linked mail; and it is
probably from the resemblance that it is termed a mail.
In the operation of laying, the yarn is first warped for
the strands. The haul is run out along the bearers of the
laying walk, and the number of yarns for the size of rope
about to be made is separated from it by means of the
nettling. The separated yarns are then divided into three
equal portions. Each portion is laid in a separate division of
the bearers, and hung upon its hooks at the tackle-board
and sledge. The sledge is then pulled backwards by the
tackle-purchase before described, until the yarns are all
stretched tight, and press-barrels are now laid on. When
things are in this position the threads are examined, and if
any be longer than the others, they are drawn up until
every yarn is equally tight. The hooks at each end are
now heaved round in time, and in a direction contrary to
the spinning twist; and each collection of yarns is twisted
round its axis, and becomes a strand. The twisting of the
strands shortens them, and draws the sledge up the walk.
When the torsion in all the strands is sufficient, or when,
in technical language, the strands are full hard, the twisting
is stopped. The sledge is then drawn up the walk a small
piece to slacken the strands and allow the outer ones to be
taken off their hooks and hung on the middle hook. It is
again drawn back by the purchase, and the top (fig. 12) is
inserted among the strands which will occupy its grooves.
The top is now forced back as near the hook of the sledge
as possible, and the workmen at the head again turn their
hooks in the same direction as before. As soon as the
workmen at the sledge perceive it moving forward, they
remove some of the pressure, and begin to turn their hook
in a direction contrary to its former motion. The top is
by this forced forward, and the three strands closing be¬
hind it form the rope. When the top gets far enough
from the sledge to admit of their application, the tails are
wrapped round the rope, and by their friction they enable
the workmen to keep the top from moving forward by jerks,
and they also make the rope close better. The care of the
topman is to regulate the speed of his top in relation to the
twist at both ends, the mean of doing which is simple. He
makes a mark across the strands at every bearer previous
to putting in the top. If, when the top reaches a bearer, he
find the mark above the bearer, then the turning at the fore¬
end is too fast for the motion of the top ; and if below the
bearer, then the turning is too slow.
In the case of a very thick rope, the power of the men
applied to the hook of the sledge is insufficient of itself to
pass the turn up the rope. To aid them, other workmen
apply the woolders at necessary intervals between the sledge
and the top. The strap of the woolder is wrapped round the
rope, and the pin used as a lever to heave round the twist;
the workmen at the woolders keeping time in their heaving
with those at the hook of the sledge. And in the case of a
heavy rope, the top sledge (fig. 13) is made use of to sup¬
port the top.
The mail is used for white ropes only. When the strands
are hardened, and before the top is put in, workmen rub the
strands with the mail to smooth down any rough fibres, and
give a good surface to the rope.
W e have now seen that in the processes described, every
step is dependent on the skill of the workmen. In supply¬
ing fibres of hemp in due quantity to form the thread, in
giving the proper degree of twist to the thread, in giving
the strand the degree of hardness required, and in the pro- Hope-
per speed of the laying top, the workman has no certain making-
guide ; and it is surprising that, although machinery for the'
improvement of almost every other manufacture had been
introduced, no attempt appears to have been made to apply
it to the art under consideration, until about 1783, when a
machine to supersede the necessity of a rope-ground was
invented by a Mr Sylvester; and this invention was followed
up by many others. Such of these as have come under our
notice are briefly described in the following account of them,
arranged according to their dates.
1783. About this time Mr Sylvester’s machinery was in¬
vented. In it the threads were spun by bobbins and spin¬
dles ; the three several quantities required for the strands
were wound on three separate reels, which turned individu¬
ally round their axes, and also round a common centre, by
which motions the rope was formed; and by the machinery
it was further wound up as it was made. This invention
was not patented, and was never carried into effect.
1784). In this year a patent was taken out by a Mr Sey¬
mour for improvements in rope-making ; but the invention
consisted in the substitution of animal for human power to
drive the ordinary machinery of the rope-work.
1792. In this year the Rev. Edward Cartwright took out
a patent for a rope-machine, which he called a cordelier.
A part of this machine was adopted by Mr Huddart in a pa¬
tent taken out by him in 1805.
In the machines of Sylvester and Cartwright the only
advantage proposed was the saving of labour. There was no
attempt made to improve upon the old defective principles
of rope-making ; the merit of the first attempt to do this is
due to the next inventor.
1793, March 16. John Daniel Belfour, of Elsineur, ob¬
tained a patent for machinery “ to improve the manufac¬
ture of ropes and cordage, by making every yarn employed
in the composition thereof bear its proper and equal propor¬
tion cf the stress.” This the patentee proposed to effect
by keeping every yarn tight at the time of its being twisted
into the strand, so as to prevent its being puckered up in
the inside of it. For this purpose the yarns were by ma¬
chinery wound regularly on separate reels. The reels were
suspended in tiers in a square frame on iron spindles on
which they could turn freely ; and by a contrivance the reels
could be made to turn round along with the spindles when
required, and motion in a similar direction could be given
to all the spindles at the same time. The yarns were spread
regularly on the reels by a simple apparatus. When the
yarns were so wound upon the reels in the frame, the ends
of those on the first or lowest tier of reels were carried down
the rope-walk, and dropped into the separators, one of which
was placed at every fifteen fathoms or so. These separators
consisted of a series of vertical bars, fixed to a frame at their
lower end, the upper ends being left free; into the inter¬
vals between these bars the yarns were dropped, and the
different tiers kept separate by horizontal iron rods passed
through holes in the side bars, so as to divide the whole
frame into a series of reticulations; and these rods were
so contrived as to be withdrawn separately or together. By
being passed through these reticulations, the threads would
be suspended at equal distances from each other from the
top to the bottom of the walk, and, if meant to form one
strand, would be hung on the hook which was to give them
motion; and on the reels in the frame would be left just so
much yarn as the strand should take up in hardening. The
strand would then be ready for twisting; and to do this in
such a manner as to make every yarn occupy its proper
place, Mr Belfour employed an instrument called a top-mi¬
nor. This was a block of wood formed somewhat like a
sugar-loaf, and having inserted round its larger circumfe¬
rence a number of projecting pins. Into the recesses form¬
ed by these pins the yarns were inserted, and motion being
R O P E-M A K I N G.
matint? £>’ven "heel, the top was moved slowly up the walk the thin edges of the one part overlapping those of the
by tfr0 workman, the reels at the same time giving out the other, and the two parts being compressed by a thong or
yarns as they were taken up by the twisting. When the wire wound round them several times, and fastened to the
workman arrived at the first separator, the iron rods were, jaws of an instrument called a heaver. By means of this,
by the contrivance already alluded to, at once withdrawn, and the yarns, in passing through the tube, can be compressed
the yams left fiee, and so the workman proceeded until he by a constant force; and if the yarns be thicker or smaller
ailived at the reel-frame, when the turning or heaving at tne in different parts of the strand, the tube will expand or con-
hook was stopped, and the strand prevented from untwist- tract, to suit the difference of size.
ing, bj/ being seized in a kind of nipper formed of iron. In addition to these, an instrument called a register-gauge
The ends of the yarns were then unfastened from the reels, is used to measure the angle of twist of the yarns in the
and the strand was completed. By increasing the size of strands, with the view to employ the same twist when the
the reel-frames and separators, and by using three top- strands are formed into a rope. Some of the parts of the
minors fixed to a sledge or otherwise, three strands could machinery above noticed, it will be seen, have been adopted
at the same time have been formed. The strands formed by other inventors, and some of them are still in use.
by this machinery were then laid together into ropes in the 1797, September 13. At this time Mr William Chap-
01 dinary manner. man of Newcastle obtained a first patent for laying, twist-
1793. In April 12th of this year, Mr Richard Fothergill ing, or making ropes or cordage, of any number of yarns
obtained a patent for rope-machinery, embracing the follow- or strands, or any number of threads tarred or untarred,
ing objects: First, freeing the hemp from its native husk, from the size of a cable down to the smallest line formed
and fitting it for the subsequent processes ; secondly, dress- of more than one thread. The machinery for this purpose
ing the hemp, and di awing it out into slivers fit for spin- was less complicated than those formerly mentioned, but
ning; thirdly, spinning the hemp; and, fourthly, twisting or was only capable of forming ropes on the' common prin-
making it into ropes or cordage. All these operations re- ciple. In the month of January 1798 he obtained a pa-
quired no rope-walk to carry them on. Engravings of the tent for Scotland for further improvements in rope-machi-
machinery will be found in the fourteenth volume of the nery, and containing the substance of his former one and
second series of the Repertory of Arts. of another taken out for England on the 6th of March
1793. In April 25th, Mr Joseph Huddart took out a pa- 1798. The inventions embrace the making of ropes either
tent for certain improvements in the formation of ropes, by stationary machines, or by moving machinery on a rope-
His method of registering the strands, in order to acquire walk. In the former, the operations of forming the yarns
an additional degree of strength, by giving the length of into strands, twisting the strands into a rope, and coiling
the yarns which compose the strand a certain ratio, ac- away the rope, on reels or otherwise, go on at the same
cording to the angle and hardness or compression the rope time. One of the arrangements of the machinery by which
is intended to be laid with, and thereby acquiring a more these different operations are carried into effect, is as fol-
equal distribution of the strain upon the yarns than ropes lows. Three or more discs, according to the number of
made in the common way, consisted of the following prin- strands, are placed round a common centre, with their
ciples : First, by keeping the yarns separate from each other, planes inclined to each other in such a manner that their
and drawing them from bobbins which revolve, to keep up produced axes would meet in a given point. These discs
the twist whilst the strand is forming; secondly, by passing are by the inventor termed strand-tables, and each of them
through a register which divides them by circular shells of is fixed to a hollow shaft, capable of revolving round its
holes, the number in each shell being agreeable to the dis- axis ; which shaft is called the strand-shaft or upper shaft,
tance from the centre of the strand, and the angle the yarns These shafts are on the sides of the discs which are inclin-
make with a line parallel to it, and gives them a proper ed to each other. On the opposite sides of the discs yarn-
position to enter; thirdly, by a cylindrical tube, which com- reels are suspended on spindles, on which they can turn
presses the strand, and maintains a cylindrical figure to its freely. The yarns from the reels are passed through the
surface ; fourthly, by a gauge to determine the angle which shafts, and by the turning of the discs or strand-tables they
the yarns in the outside shell make with a line parallel to are twisted into strands. In a part of the shaft there is a
the centre of the strand when registering, and according transverse opening to admit of two blocks of hard wood or
to the angle made by the yarns in this shell, the length of other matter being applied on each side to press the yarns,
all the yarns in the strand will be determined ; lastly, by and retard their passage through the shafts, so that they may
hardening up the strand, and thereby increasing the angle be twisted to the degree required. These blocks are call-
in the outside shell, which compensates for the stretching ed press-blocks or compressors, and are held together by
of the yarns and compression of the strand. springs or weights. Instead of blocks the patentee some-
In this, as in Belfour’s invention, the registering appara- times substitutes rollers moving round their axes, and bold-
tus was moved up the rope-walk by the twisting of the ing the yarns by their friction. Besides these, the yarns
strand; but the machine differs from Belfour’s in the fol- pass through a perforated plate called a yarn-guide,
lowing particulars. First, in place of the bobbins or reels The strand-tables all move round in one direction, and
being fixed in an upright frame, they are placed in hori- the strands as they proceed from the shafts are concen-
zontal ranges, each range rising higher from the front to- trated into a point, over a fixed grooved block, correspond-
wards the back part of the machine. Secondly, in place of ing to the top in the ordinary process. Behind this block
the separator of Belfour, sets of horizontal rails, notched the strands are received into a hollow axis, which turns
to receive the yarns, and hung in cleats fixed to upright round in a direction contrary to the twist of the strand-
posts, are placed at regular intervals down the walk, so as tables, and in which the strands are formed into a shroud-
to keep the yarns separate the whole length of the strand, laid rope, by being twisted by the apparatus attached to
Thirdly, in place of Mr Belfour’s top minor, a plate pierced the shaft. This consists of a pair of wheels or sheaves,
with concentric circles of holes is made use of, the circles moving easily on their axes, to admit the rope a free pas-
being about two inches asunder; and behind this plate a sage, and at the same time compel it to twist equally round
smaller plate, pierced with a similar number of holes, is with the shaft. These sheaves are grooved in such a man-
fixed, the holes in the latter plate being so close together ner as to prevent the rope from turning sideways, and are
as merely to keep the yarns clear of each other. Imme- called twisting-sheaves. Instead of the sheaves moving
diately behind this last plate is fixed a tube made of thin freely on their axes, such a motion may be given to them as,
steel, of a spring temper, and in two parts longitudinally; in every revolution of the rope-shaft, which makes one turn
407
Rope-
making.
HOP E-M A K IN G.
408
Rope- of the rope, the groove of the sheaves shall move such a
making. Space as is equivalent to the length of rope that is designed
 v^to be made by every turn. When the rope has passed
through these sheaves, it is coiled upon a reel in such a
manner as merely to require tying up ; but if too unwieldy
for reeling, it is coiled on a revolving platform. Such is
an outline of the process of making shroud-laid ropes by
Mr Chapman’s machinery. For cable-laid ropes the same
or similar machinery is used, the chief difference being, that
in cable-laid ropes the twists are contrary, and the disparity
of turns in the strands and rope not so great as in shroud-laid
ropes ; for which reasons, if the same machine be used, the
means must be provided for making the shaft to assume
contrary motions, and making them to move in different
proportions.
“ By the method previously described,” says Mr Chap¬
man, “ for making a complete rope at one operation, I,
during the act of making the strands, unite them into a
rope by means of what I then call a rope-shaft, in which
they are all concentred, and receive the twist which forms
them into a rope ; but I also occasionally omit the concen¬
tring of them, and the subsequent part of the operation,
during the making of the strand or strands, and in place
of twisting them into a rope, I only draw the strand for¬
ward as made, and coil it or them in any manner whatso¬
ever, they in this instance having no rotative motion.
The apparatus for drawing them forward is not fixed to
the revolving shaft, containing the reel or reels and other
necessary appendages, but may be permanent, and receive
its motion in any proportion whatever to the revolutions or
twists given to the strand by that shaft.
“ The principles of making the strand in these two dif¬
ferent ways are obviously portions of the process that would,
as has been described, make the whole rope at one opera¬
tion. And these two methods of making the strand, inde¬
pendently of making the complete rope, are reducible to
the following principle : That in making a strand simply,
one end need only to be twisted, and the other held from
turning, but that both be permitted to pass forward, and
progressively change place; and that the yarns be, if deemed
necessary, so regulated as to come off these reels in such a
manner as the part of the strand they come into may require.
“ There is a third method of making a strand, com¬
pounded of the two preceding, which may be followed, viz.
that of using two revolving shafts in place of one ; the reels
being placed on one of them, and the strand coiling upon
the other. These two shafts ought to turn in contrary di¬
rections to each other.”
The part of the invention in which a common rope-walk
is made use of is thus described by the inventor : “ At the
head of the ropey, or in any other part, I fix upon pins so
many reels as will contain all the yarns requisite for a strand,
or the given number of strands determined to be made at
one time, each reel containing one or more yarns; then in
the instance of making three strands, I fix to three different
hooks on the foreboard of a sledge, so many yarns, separate¬
ly concentring to each other, as are requisite; the yarns
being previously passed through the openings of these se¬
parate fixed tops or yarn-guides, one opposite to or corre¬
spondent with each hook. Before, or on the face, or on the
face of each top, toward the sledge, there may or may not be
fixed a cylinder, such as I have described, below the laying
block at the head of the rope-shaft. The yarns are then to
be prevented from passing too easily off their reel, either by
a pressure on the reels themselves, or on the yarns in their
passage to or upon their separate tops, or in any manner that
will permit them to come off as wanted.
<f The men are then to heave upon, or turn round, the
hooks of the sledge in the usual way; and the only re¬
maining difference consists in the sledge being drawn pro¬
gressively backwards, as the strand is making, until the
whole, or any determinate part, of the strand be made. Rope-
The process of drawing back the sledge may be done in ^ making,
various ways; amongst others, by a rope to a capstan, v^“
moved either by a horse or men, according to the strength
requisite.” When the strands are thus twisted, the rope
may be completed in the usual way. Such, then, is a brief
outline of the general features of these important inven¬
tions of Mr Chapman; but his own specification, with il¬
lustrative drawings, will be found in the ninth volume of the
first series of the Repertory of Arts.
1798. In this year also Mr Belfour obtained a patent for
an improvement on his former machinery; and in 1799 Mr
Belfour’s machinery was adopted in the government-yards,
and the sum of L.4000 was paid to the inventor for his su¬
perintendence of the erection of his machine, and the use of
his patent.
1798. November 8th, Mr Chapman at this time patent¬
ed an invention, which was so to regulate the motion of the
sledge that for every revolution of the strand it should move
backward through the exact length of axis assigned to it,
and thus render the twist uniform. The sledge, in this case,
travelled backwards on a railroad; and along the whole length
of the walk, a rope, called a ground-rope, was laid. This rope
was passed in the form of an S round two or more grooved
wheels, which were pressed together so as to bind the rope,
and having upon their axles toothed wheels connecting
them with each other, and with the hooks for twisting the
strands, which in this case were driven by one great crank.
Thus, when the hooks were driven by the crank to twist
the strands, the sledge was also moved backwards by the
grooved wheels acting upon the rope ; and by changing the
connecting toothed wheels the backward motion could be
given in any ratio to the twist of the hooks. Besides this,
Mr Chapman connected the sledge by a rope to a horse
capstan at the foot of the walk ; and as the horse’s power
applied to the capstan could not draw the sledge faster back¬
wards than the ground-rope permitted, the spare power was
of course given in aid of the twisting of the strands by means
of the wheels which connect that operation with the back¬
ward motion.
1798. November 17th, Mr John Curr of Sheffield took a
patent for forming flat ropes for the use of mines, &c.
“ The said flat rope may be formed,” says Mr Curr, “ by
connecting two or more small ropes sideways together, by
sewing or stitching, lapping, or interlacing them with thread,
or small rope made of hemp, flax, or other fit material, or
with brass or iron wire, in such a manner as to prevent their
separating from each other, and so as to cause them to ex¬
hibit, as nearly as possible, a flat form, or flat pliable rope.
1799. April 30th, Mr Belfour obtained another patent
for a further improvement on his invention. This consisted,
among other things, in winding a number of yarns, not ex¬
ceeding four, upon each reel, and forming them, as before,
into strands. He farther proposed to spin the hemp after
having been tarred; and also to place a spinning-wheel at
each end of the rope-walk, to enable the spinners to spin
both up and down in the manner now practised. If we
mistake not, this method of spinning up and down is men¬
tioned by Duhamel as being in use in his time. However
this be, it was, on Mr Belfour’s recommendation, adopted
in the government rope-works, and, according to the report
of Mr Fenwick, the master rope-maker at Chatham, a sav¬
ing was effected by it to the amount of a sixth part of a
day’s work to each man.
1799. July 26th, Mr William Chapman, in conjunction
with Mr Edward Chapman, took a patent for many improve¬
ments in the art; the first of which was for machinery to spin
the yarns in such a manner that the fibres of hemp, on en¬
tering the thread, were shortened in proportion to their proxi¬
mity to the axis ; and further, that by this machinery, wo¬
men, children, and invalids could be employed as spinners.
R O P E-M A KIN G.
Rope- Although the yarn thus produced was of superior strength
making. to hand-spun yarn, yet, as it was attended with additional
cost in the manufacture, the invention was laid aside.
The next part of the invention was in the application of
locomotive power to the machinery of the rope-work. Part
of this consisted in the application of an endless rope, reach¬
ing from end to end of the rope-walk, and moved with
considerable speed, to any of the machines, whether station¬
ary like the fore-end wheels, or changing position like the
sledges. The application of the endless rope to the sledge
was effected by passing a turn round suitable grooved
wheels fixed to the sledge, and capable of giving motion to
its machinery. By this machinery great advantages were
gained, as each revolution of the strands and the rope, and
the proper motion of the sledge, were predetermined and fix¬
ed by changes of wheels. For this purpose tables were made
out to show what wheels were to be used for each kind of
rope. Instead of two hundred men, the number usually
employed in closing a twenty-one inch cable, fourteen only
were required ; and they, with the help of the steam-engine,
which was only of eight horse power, were able to coil
away the rope when made.
1799. In the same month Mr Mitchell obtained a patent
for a “ method of manufacturing cables, hawsers, or shroud-
laid ropes, and other cordage, on scientific principles.”
These principles consisted in combining by twisting the
integral yarns of a strand, in numbers of two, three, or more,
previous to their being formed into the strand, and there¬
by lessening the strain on the external yarns when ulti¬
mately formed into a rope. The strain on the external
yarns would doubtless be by this method lessened, but the
number of yarns exposed to external injury would, at the
same time, be increased. The ropes formed on this prin¬
ciple were by the patentee termed selvagee cordage.
1799. August 20th, Mr Huddart took out a patent for
an improvement on his apparatus of 1793. In this the re¬
gistering apparatus, instead of being moved up the walk,
was, like Mr Chapman’s press-blocks, fixed to the tackle-
board, and the machinery for twisting the strands was sta¬
tionary, and also contained apparatus for winding the strands
upon reels as they were formed.
1799. In the same month Mr Grimshaw obtained a patent
for improvements in rope-machinery, which consisted, first,
in dressing the hemp preparatory to spinning; secondly,
in winding up the yarn; thirdly, in preparing the yarns for
tarring; and, fourthly, in laying the ropes or cordage. The
first step appears to be best entitled to notice. The hemp in
this was conducted to rotatory hackles through conical flut¬
ed rollers, by which means the hemp was equally mixed.
1800. July 1st, Mr Huddart took another patent for
further improvements in the manufacture of cordage. “ A
considerable expense,” says the patentee, “ is attached to
having the tarred yarns wound upon bobbins; and also
the tar, especially when the ropes are laid in cold weather,
is not sufficiently incorporated amongst the yarns to render
it compact for durability, whether registered or laid in the
common way. In order to obviate these inconveniences,
I have invented a method of registering the strands of ropes
during the operation of tarring the yarns, which may be
effected in the following manner. The white yarns must
be wound separately on reels or bobbins, and placed upon
a frame or otherwise, so that the yarns may be delivered
from them with as small and equal a tension as possible,
and to pass under rollers, or through holes, or between se¬
parating rods of wood or metal, to be guided into the tar,
when sufficiently heated in the kettle, and thence to the
register, separate from each other, to prevent entanglement,
until they enter the tube, which must be placed at the end
of the tar-kettle opposite to that where the bobbins of white
yarns are placed. The registering tube now acts in a
double capacity, viz. in forming the strand fair, as in ordinary
VOL. XIX.
409
cases, and in acting as a nipper to squeeze out the superfluous Rope-
tar. The strands are now twisted as before, and the twist- making.
ing forces out some more tar, which must be cleared off ^
by making the strand pass through the common adjustable
nipper plate.”
1801. July 16th, Mr William Hoard obtained a patent
for “ a portable machine for manufacturing ropes and cord¬
age of any length in a short space, particularly adapted for
shipping.” This machine consists of separate reels, one
containing the full length and number of yarns for a strand,
from which reel they are drawn out to such distance as
the two reels can conveniently be placed asunder, and are
attached to the other, which is then empty, one of the reels
being in a sledge or moveable frame. The process then
begins by twisting the intermediate length of strand, until
the reels have approached to each other the usual propor¬
tional space, namely, one fifth. The length of strand thus
made is then wound up on the second described reel, and
so much is let off from the first reel as to admit of their being
at their greatest distance asunder, which process is neces¬
sarily continued until the whole strand be made, and wound
up on the second reel. Lastly, three strands thus made
have their ends united to a fourth reel placed opposite to
them at its greatest convenient distance. By these four reels,
the process of making the rope is carried on similarly to
that of making a strand, except in the use of a top to regu¬
late the progress of the twist of the rope in its approach to
the three strand reels.
In 1801, Mr Archibald Thompson of Plough Court, Lom¬
bard Street, took out a patent for “ certain new or improved
machinery, for the purpose of spinning rope yarn and sail¬
cloth yarn, and for laying and making ropes and cordage.”
Mr Thompson’s invention includes the whole process of
spinning, tarring, and laying the cordage. Preparatory to
spinning, he draws out the hemp into a long sliver, by differ¬
ent sets of chain hackles, moving with progressively greater
speed; and in the end the sliver is spun by a spindle with
its plyer and bobbin into a thread. The threads remain
wound up on their bobbins until wanted to be made into a
rope, tarred or untarred. The bobbins are then, according
to the number of yarns wanted in a strand, placed so as to
form two circles of the same diameter, round an open cylin¬
der consisting of three hoops or rings, distant from each
other the length of a bobbin, and placed near to one end
of a long horizontal axis; and, if the rope be to be tarred,
the yarns are led through a ring of a few inches diameter,
near that end of the described open cylinder which has the
spare length of axis projecting from it. The yarns are then
diverged in different degrees, so as to form, when passed
longitudinally through an open cylindrical frame of several
feet in length, so many different concentric circles round
the axis mentioned, as there are different shells or concen¬
tric coats of yarns in the strand ; and from the further ex¬
tremity of this last-mentioned cylindrical frame, the yarns are
concentrated to one focus at the extremity of the axis, which
is there concave, and has an opening through which the
yarns pass to the machine which is to twist them into a
strand, and draw them forward to be coiled up within itself.
At the focal point described, there are nippers to express
the tar from the yarns, which is put into them in the fol¬
lowing manner, viz. the last-mentioned open cylinder, be¬
tween the ring from which the yarns enter to it, and the
perforation of the axis where they concentre and quit it,
lies over a tar-kettle, and has a portion of its lower half im¬
mersed in the tar, just so far as to imbue either the whole
or any portion of the yarns with tar, as may be deemed ex¬
pedient. This cylinder must, of course, turn round with
such a convenient degree of speed as not to let the yarns be
drawn off the cylinder before it comes in their rotation to
pass through the tar. When the full length of strand is
made, the twist of which is principally given by the revo-
3 F
HOP E-M A K IN G.
410
Rope- lution of the frame, in which it is progressively wound up
making, during the process of making, the yarns are cut off; and
—  ' three of these strands, from so many stationary strand frames,
each of which has performed the operation last described,
revolving only round its own separate axis, are concen¬
tred together, and pass through the axis of one end of a
rotatory frame, which twists them into a rope, and coils it
up, progressively as made, upon a barrel within the frame.
1801. Mr Cutting of the United States invented a me¬
thod of making lines and ropes. His machinery was of much
the same kind as Sylvester’s, FothergilPs, and others already
described.
1802. January, a patent was granted to Mr Chapman
for his invention of the application of certain substances to
the preservation of cordage. This has already been noticed
under the head Rope.
1802. March 9th, a patent was obtained by Messrs
Mitchell and Son for further improvements in rope-making,
in addition to their patent of 1799. The specification of
this patent will be found in the second series of the Reper¬
tory of Arts (vol. viii. p. 241).
1804. Mr Huddart took out a patent for a machine for
manufacturing hemp and flax into yarn. We have seen
that in hand-spinning the fibres of hemp are spun into
the yarn by their bight or double, but by this invention
they were to be spun into the yarn by their end. The
spinner, in this case, instead of walking backwards, remain¬
ed stationary, with the machine containing the apparatus for
twisting at a little distance from him. In front of the spin¬
ner a table or other support, containing a number of up¬
right pins like those of the hackle, was fixed. This table was
made broad enough to hold on it half the length of the ar¬
ticle to be spun, while the other end was held by the spin¬
ner. The spinner commenced his work by drawing some
fibres of the hemp, and making them fast to the hook of a
whirl; the machine was then set in motion, and the spin¬
ner with his spinning cloth took hold of and compressed
the yarn as it was formed. By this means, says Mr Huddart,
in his description, the longest hemp or flax may be spun
without having its fibres reduced in length ; for the pins
before mentioned occasion all the fibres to be drawn out to
their full respective length, or nearly so, and also prevent
irregular drawing of the fibres.
It may not be amiss to mention in this place, that in
France a method of spinning fibres by the end instead of
the bight had long existed. Instead of the spinner fas¬
tening his bundle of hemp round his waist, it was fastened
to a distaff by being laid along it and tied at the upper end,
and the distaff was fastened by its lower end to the waist,
and lay on the left shoulder of the spinner ; the lower end
of the bundle of hemp thus hung loose, and the fibres were
spun into the thread endlong.
M. Duhamel made certain experiments to ascertain what
advantage this method had over the usual way of spinning
by the bight, and the result did not warrant him in recom¬
mending its adoption where the men had been accustomed
to the other mode.
1805. October 30th, Mr Huddard took another patent
for improvements in the manufacture of large cables and
cordage in general. This invention consisted of a machine
for twisting into ropes the strands formed by the machinery
formerly invented by him, and resembled in some parts the
machine of Mr Cartwright, called the cordelier.
In Mr Huddard’s machine the three strands were wound
on their separate reels, which were hung in frames having
a motion round their own axes, so as to give hardening to
the strands; and also a motion round a common centre in
an opposite direction, in order to combine the strands into
a rope. On the end of the axis round which the reels
were carried for the last-mentioned purpose, the top was
fixed, having in it three holes for the strands, and behind
the top the rope was passed round three whirls, in such a Rope-
manner as to regulate its tension while twisting. making.
1805. November 16th, Mr Curr secured by patent an " ^ v—
invention of a method of laying or putting together the
strands which form a rope.
The invention consisted, first, in so proportioning the
teeth of the wheel at the upper end of the walk which twists
the strands, to the teeth of that of the lower end which
closes the rope, that the workmen, by keeping time with
each other in their heaving round the winches of their re¬
spective wheels, would give the proper amount of harden¬
ing twist to the strands and closing twist to the rope ; and,
second, in regulating the motion of the laying-top, by hav¬
ing attached to it the end of a line or wire which is wound
on a reel fixed to one of the wheels of the sledge, and made
to move with a certain velocity according to the size and
intended hardness of the rope.
1806. August 9th, Mr Ralph Walker of Blackwall took
out a patent for a new mode of making ropes and cordage,
applicable to the making of ropes and cordage of any size.
The machinery for effecting these purposes is on the
same principles as many of those already described; but the
arrangement of the parts is different, and very ingenious.
In place of the reels with their yarns being hung on the face
of three revolving discs, as in Mr Chapman’s machine, they
are arranged on the surface of three cylindrical flyers, and
the yarns are carried over rollers in the inside of the cylin¬
ders, and conveyed to their axes at one extremity, where
they are compressed by passing through a hole. These cy¬
linders, like the discs, revolve round their axes, and twist
the yarns at that point of the axis where they pass through ;
and they also revolve round a common axis, which is the
main shaft of the machine. When the strands leave the cy¬
linders they are guided by pulleys to a point in the main
shaft, where they are formed into a rope. The patentee also
describes a manner of tarring the yarns previously to their
being wound upon the reels. In this case the tar in the
kettle is heated by steam, and the yarns are passed through
the kettle under a large roller which keeps them immersed.
Engravings of all the machinery may be found in the Reper¬
tory of Arts, 2d series, vol. xxvi.
1806. In this year Mr Curr took out a patent for pro¬
portioning the number of twists in the yarns to the length,
moved by the spinners, so that they might elongate equally
on being untwisted in forming the strand. To effect this
purpose he had a cord wound upon a barrel attached to the
spinning-wheel, and receiving a determinate motion from
it; the end of this cord, when the spinners were going to
set off, was attached to any one of them, whose speed could
thus be regulated by the unwinding of the cord, and the
other spinners had to keep pace with him.
1807. October 30th, Messrs Chapman obtained a patent
for a method or methods of making a belt or flat band of
rope for mining and other purposes. This invention con¬
sisted in the combination of two or any greater number of
the strands of shroud laid-ropes placed side by side so as to
form any determinate breadth of belt or band; and in a
locomotive machine for stitching or riveting them together
when stretched at full length.
1808. June 25th, Mr S. Gadd took a patent for a method of
forming ropes, which consisted in twisting the threads together
in pairs, and forming the strands of these doubled threads.
1808. June 28th, Mr John Hall took a patent for regu¬
lating the twist of the thread in spinning, by means of an
endless band traversing the walk, and moved with a given
speed by pulleys fixed on the head of the spinning-wheel.
To certain parts of this band marks are attached. When
one of these marks is at the wheel, a spinner sets on, and
in spinning keeps pace with the motion of the band, as in¬
dicated to him by the mark.
1828. September 4th, Mr Robertson took a patent for im-
ROPE-MAKING.
411
Rope- provements in the manufacture of hempen rope or cord-
making. age. The improvements consist in impregnating the yarns
v "" with tannin, by steeping them in an infusion of oak-bark,
catechu, sumach, or valonia, previous to their being twisted
into cordage.
1832. February 1st, Mr James Lang, flax-dresser, Green¬
ock, obtained a patent for such improvements in the con¬
struction of the gill spreading or drawing heads, and rov¬
ing or spinning frames, as adapted them for the spinning of
rope-yarns. Fig. 14 shows a side view, and fig. 15 a top
view, of the first drawing or spreading machine ; and fig. 16
is a diagram illustrative of its mode of action. The same
letters refer to the same parts in all the figures. Here a is a
portion of a board called the spreading-board. Over the sur¬
face of this board an endless band of leather travels, in the
direction indicated by the arrow; and on this band the hemp
to be operated upon is spread. By the motion of the band
the hemp is carried forward until it is taken hold of by the
feeding rollers bb, by the motion of which it is carried on¬
wards to be acted on by the gills or travelling hackles ccc ;
and the gills are fixed to slips of brass screwed to bars which
extend across the machine, as seen in fig. 15. These bars
pass through grooves formed in the links of an endless
chain, by the motion of which they are carried round; and
their ends move in peculiarly formed slits in the framing
of the machine, by which they are confined to their proper
course. By the gills being made to move faster than the
surfaces of the feeding rollers, they pass through the hemp
many times in the course of its passage across the space in
which it is acted on by them, and they are thus enabled to
split and straighten the fibres. The hemp now passes be¬
tween the drawing rollers ee, the surfaces of which can be
made to move from forty to sixty times faster than those of
the feeding rollers, according to the material to be acted
on. By them the hemp is drawn into a sliver of a certain Rope-
state of fineness, and this sliver, after passing through the making.
delivering rollers, falls into the can g. When a certain quan- '—
tity of sliver is delivered into the can, a bell is rung by the
machinery ; the filled can is then removed by the attendant,
and an empty one substituted. The filled cans are then
conveyed to the second drawing machine, which differs from
the first chiefly in being smaller, in having no spreading-
board, and in having a double set of rollers and gills in the
width, as will be seen by the top view, fig. 17. The cans
Fig. 17.
containing the slivers from the first drawing machine are
placed at the end of this, in such number as maybe requir¬
ed, and many slivers are then passed together through each
set of feeding rollers. After having been acted on by the
gills and the drawing rollers, the slivers may be delivered se¬
parately, or they may be combined, as shown in the draw¬
ing, by passing through a tray previous to entering the last
pair of delivering rollers. The slivers, after having been
subjected to a third drawing, in a machine the parts of
which are still finer than those of the second machine, are
carried to the roving or spinning machine. This machine
has feeding rollers, gills, and drawing rollers similar to the
drawing machines ; but the parts are still finer than those
of the last machine. In fig. 18 the spinning apparatus is
shown. The slivers, on leaving the drawing rollers, pass in¬
to the trumpet-mouthed tubes aa. The upper part of these
tubes is in two halves, one of which is fixed to the cross
rail of the machine, while the other is pressed against it by
means of a spring, in such a manner as gently to compress
the sliver on entering the tube. The bottom of the tube is
set into another tube serving as a socket, and into this last
tube discs of felt or cloth are put, through which a slit is
made for the reception of the thread, which is thus com-
Fig. 19.
412
ROPE-MAKING.
Rope- pressed and smoothed in the same manner as by the cloth
making. }n hand-spinning. From these tubes the threads are led to
' v'~ ' the flyers bb and bobbins cc, as in the ordinary spinning appa¬
ratus. Any degree of twist and of tension during twisting
can be given to the yarn, by making the bobbins take up
more or less of it for each revolution of the flyer ; and this
is simply effected by means of a drag formed of two steel
springs fixed to the bobbin-rail. The ends of the springs
partly embrace a peculiarly-formed pulley attached to the
bottom of the bobbin, and by means of a pinching screw
they can be made to bear with a greater or less degree of
pressure on this pulley, and, according to the amount of
pressure, the motion of the bobbin is in a greater or less
degree retarded.
These machines differ from those in common use chiefly
in the following particulars: 1st, In the distance between the
feeding rollers and drawing rollers being capable of altera¬
tion, to suit longer or shorter hemp, by means of the
grooves in the framing of the machines, seen in the side
view, fig. 14 ; 2dly, in making the yarn to pass through the
compressible tubes and the felt discs, which act in a man¬
ner analogous to the cloth in the grasp of the workman in
hand-spinning; 3dly, in the power which the manufacturer
has in regulating the tension and twist of the yarns while
forming, by means of the drag applied to the bobbins.
The yarn produced by this machine is of excellent qua¬
lity, and is much stronger than hand-spun yarn, as appears
from certain experiments made for the purpose of testing
them; the result showing, “ that the patent-spun yarns are
stronger than those of equal grist when spun by hand, and
from the best staple or long hemp, by fifty-five per cent.”
Mr Lang’s machinery has in consequence been adopted
by some of the most extensive rope-manufacturers in Great
Britain.
1832. August 8th, Mr Crawhall obtained a patent for
an improvement in the manufacture of flat rope, such as is
used in mines. It will be remembered that in Mr Curr’s
patent, the method described of forming these bands was by
sewing several ropes together side by side ; and the improve¬
ment of Mr Crawhall consists in adding such wheels to the
ordinary rope-work machinery as to enable it to make four
ropes of the same size, of the same material, twisted in the
same manner, and at the same time. By this equality of
the ropes greater strength is insured ; and they are put to¬
gether by sewing or plaiting, as in the other patents.
1832. September 22d, Mr J. H. Kyan obtained a patent
for the application to cordage of his now well-known pro¬
cess of steeping materials in a solution of deuto-chloride of
mercury for the purpose of preserving them.
1833. May. Mr Norvel of Newcastle at this time took
out a patent for machinery for rope-making. In this ma¬
chinery the bobbins are, like Mr Walker’s, arranged on the
surface of cylindrical flyers, and in some of its other parts
there is a resemblance to that of Mr Chapman; but there
is much that is new, and the general arrangement appears
to be excellent.
1838. August 8, a patent was obtained by Mr John
Stewart, rope-manufacturer in Glasgow, for machinery for
spinning yarn, and forming lines, cords, and ropes.
In figs. 19 and 20 a side and end view of the machine for
spinning are exhibited. Here aaa is the framing; bb', a fast
and loose pulley on the principal shaft; ccc, bevel-wheels
on the same shaft, gearing into pinions fixed on the frames
ddd, which run in two bearings, one at the foot, and the
other at eee, fixed to the rail of the frame ; fjf are sliver-
cans. with projecting pins for hanging them in the hooks of
the frames dd, so that any can may be shifted without dis¬
turbing the machinery; ^ is a roller moved by a belt
on the principal shaft, round which roller a turn of the
thread is taken as it comes from the cans, and the motion
of the roller, which may be increased or diminished at plea-
Fig. 20.
Rope¬
making.
sure, draws the thread away from the can more or less ra¬
pidly. The action of the machine will now be easily un¬
derstood. The cans having been filled with sliver at the
common drawing-frame, are hung in the hooks of the
frames ; on motion being communicated to the machine,
the frames are turned round, and twist the sliver into a
thread; and as it is twisted, it is drawn away by the
roller.
An essential part of the machine remains yet to be de¬
scribed. This is the nipper, or apparatus for holding tight¬
ly and regulating the twist of the sliver; one of these is
fixed to each frame above its upper bearing. Fig. 21 is a
section, and fig. 22 a plan, of one
of the nippers to a large scale. In Fig. 21.
it aa is a part of one of the frames,
bb the upper bearing, cc the hole ^
through which the sliver passes, d h
a pinching screw to fix the nipper
in the top of the frame ; the part e
works through a parallel mortise
cut through the partj^ of the nip¬
per. By turning the nut gg the
part ee is thrust into the mortise,
so as to allow the sliver to pass
through cc with more or less free¬
dom, as may be required. Any ir¬
regularity in the thickness of the
yarns is provided for by the spring
hh, which allows e to yield a little when a part of the yarn
happens to be thicker, or forces it
inwards when any part happens to
be smaller, than the general size,
while the steady pressure is main¬
tained by means of the nut gg.
Through this part of the appara¬
tus, then, the end of the sliver is
put previous to being carried to
the roller, and it is between this
and the roller that the sliver re¬
ceives its twist to convert it into a thread or yarn. When
the yarns leave the roller they are wound on bobbins, or
made use of in some other manner. The patentee de¬
scribes a method of putting a slight twist into the slivers
before the cans are hung in the frames of this machine.
He also describes a modification of the frame, in which, in
place of the cans, bobbins may be used ; and he describes
an apparatus for filling the bobbins. His machinery for
forming lines, cords, strands, and ropes is represented in
Fig. 22.
HOP E-M A KIN G.
413
Rope- fig. 23, a vertical, and fig. 24, an horizontal, section. Here rection from under the bracket i, and meet in one which is Rope-
making. is the framing; sliver cans, mounted each in its frame carried to the top of the spindle, where is fixed a nipper ma
 CCCi which is furnished with a nipper at its upper bearing, similar to those of the can-frames. The roller v is for the
purpose of pulling away the strand, cord, or rope, as it is
Fig. 23.
Fig. 24.
formed; and in this case is made slightly conical, so that
by shifting it along its shaft, the speed with which it draws
may be varied. The action of the machine will be easily-
comprehended. By the revolution of the spindle ee the
can-frames are carried round a common centre; and as
they turn they receive a motion, each round its own axis,
by means of the wheel r and the pinions ss. If sliver be
put into the cans and carried through their nippers, they
will be twisted into yarns between the nippers and the holes
in the upright spindle, and by the revolution of the spindle
they will be combined so as to form a strand or cord. If
in place of slivers strands be used, the result will be a rope.
The patentee further describes machinery for the formation
of flat ropes, or bands for mines and the like purposes.
Having thus, as far as in our power, given an account of
the progressive improvement of the art by the application
of machinery, we shall conclude with a description of the
most improved forms of machines and apparatus used in
laying ropes in the present day.
When the yarns have been spun upon Mr Lang’s or
other spinning machines, or by hand, they are wound from
the bobbins in a haul, upon a large octagonal reel about
eight or nine feet diameter: the number of yarns in the
haul are, of course, regulated by the conveniences of the
manufactory. The haul is then passed from this reel through
the tar-kettle, and, after undergoing the action of the nip¬
pers, is again wound upon a similar reel. From this reel
the yarns are wound singly upon the reels or bobbins to
be used in the laying. The bobbins, with their yarns, are
then hung in frames, and the further machinery used is
an improved form of Mr Chapman’s locomotive apparatus.
The whole arrangement of these parts will be better under¬
stood from the drawings. In the drawings the connection
of the different parts with the moving power is not shown.
This may be steam, water, or any other power, and may be
placed in any convenient situation, so as best to serve all
the purposes of the establishment.
Figs. 25 and 26 show the general arrangement of the
Fig. 25.
These can- frames run in brackets dd, d'd', fixed upon an
upright spindle ee ; the bottom bracket dd is shown in the
ground plan as a round plate, and the parts for the pivots
of the can-frames to run in are raised upon it partly on
each side. The spindle ee is made to revolve by means of
a bevel-pinion / fixed upon it, which pinion gears into a
wheel gg fixed upon the shaft hh. A belt from the pulley
communicates motion to the main shaft hh, which carries
a spur-pinion k, gearing into a wheel l fixed on the shaft
mm. Upon this shaft the cone nn is fixed, which by a belt
drives the cone o, running loose upon the main shaft h.
Upon the large end of this cone the bevel-wheel p is either
cast or fixed; and this gears into the pinion q fixed to the
wheel r, the teeth of which are in its inner edge. This
wheel with its pinion turns on the spindle ee, and its teeth
gear into spur-pinions ss, fixed on the bottom of the can-
frames. From the nippers at the top of the can-frame,
each sliver is conducted to a separate hole near the top of
the spindle ee ; these holes run upwards in an angular di¬
winding apparatus; fig. 25 Fig. 26.
an end view, and fig. 26 a
back view, of a portion of
the winding-table, aa, reel
about eight feet diameter,
on which the haul is wound;
bb, frame containing eight
bobbins or reels ccc, fas¬
tened on vertical spindles
dd, on the lower end of which the pulleys ee are fixed; on
the horizontal shaft a corresponding number of pulleys
are fixed, to drive those of the vertical shaft by belts. One
end of the horizontal shaft carries a fast and loose pulley g,
rope-making.
414
Rope- to which motion is given by a belt from the driving power,
making. The apparatus for spreading the yarns on the reels consists
of a rail N, with loops or eyes opposite to each reel: through
these eyes the yarns are passed. The rail is supported by
two upright rods h, h, which slide through holes in the
brackets i, i. To these rods the alternating motion is given by
a chain connecting them with the lever k, which is wrouglit
by the heart-wheel m. Figs. 27, 28, 29, show the ar¬
rangement of the apparatus for twisting
the strands, and laying them into a rope.
aa the reel-frame; bb the register-plate,
through the concentric circles of holes of
which the yarns are put. These holes are
seen in the detached front-view of the
plate at B. Immediately behind the plate
the yarns are passed through the press-
blocks, one of which is figured detached
at C. They are then hung on the hooks of the sledge cc.
These hooks are on the prolonged axes of pinions driven by
a spur-wheel d, which again is driven by the mitred wheel
e. This wheel can be connected with either of the wheels/
and g, by means of a clutch wrought by the lever h. On the
end of the axes of these mitre-wheels the pinion h, is fixed,
and receives motion from the spur-wheel l, fixed on the
axis of the gub-wheel m. Round the gubs of this wheel a
turn of the endless band nn, which traverses the walk, is
passed, and gives motion to the machinery. On the other
end of the gub-wheel axis a pinion o is fixed, which drives
the spur-wheel p. On the middle of the axis of this wheel
another gub-wheel is fixed; round it a turn of the ground-
rope q is passed, and by this the sledge is moved progres¬
sively backwards: the wheels of the sledge are flanged, and
run upon a railroad r. When the endless band is set in
motion after the yarns have been hung on the hooks of the
sledge, the sledge travels backwards at a rate which may be
pioportioned to the twist required to be given, by the gubs
of the ground-rope wheel being made to shift further from
or nearer to its centre, so as to move the sledge through a
greater or less space for each revolution of the hooks.
When the sledge has reached the foot of the walk, the Rope-
strands are hung together on the centre-hook of the wheel, making,
and by means of the lever h the motion is reversed; at the
same time the yarns are cut over by the tackle-board, and
hung on the hooks s, s, s, at the fore end. To these motion is
given by the spur-wheels t, i, the latter of which may be
driven either by the pinion u and spur-wheel w, or directly
by the pinion a1, as a quicker or slower motion is required.
1 o the shaft on which the pinion x and spur-wheel w are
fixed, motion is given by the mitre-wheels y, y', y, the two
latter being fixed to a vertical shaft, which receives its mo¬
tion from the driving power by the intervention of cones,
by which that motion may be regulated.
The end of the ground-rope is wound upon the barrel z,
by unwinding from which it is slackened so as to allow it
to be removed from the gubs of the sledge.
Since the above article was written, some improvements
have been introduced in the details of the machinery for
rope-making. In the spinning apparatus the screw-gill has
for the most part superseded the link-gill, represented in
figs. 14 to 18. The gill-bars of the screw-gill are moved
forward by their ends being forced into the threads of two
parallel screws, one placed at each side of the machine.
The pressure on the thread, too, in place of being produced
by the apparatus shown in figs. 21 and 22, is now more
commonly obtained by a dead weight. This consists of a
piece of iron which lies over and presses on the thread,
and being hinged at its upper extremity, it rises and falls
with the slight variations in its thickness. In winding the
bobbins, too, a simpler apparatus than the frame (fig. 26)
is used. Each bobbin rests on a roller somewhat shorter
than itself, which moves freely within its flanges. The
roller revolves, and by friction communicates motion to the
bobbin, the axis of which moves in vertical slits, so as to
allow it to rise as the yarn accumulates on it. The pres-
sunp is said to improve the yarn.
In the laying apparatus (fig. 27) the pressure-block c is
heated by being inserted into a steam chest substituted for
the former solid bar. This is a great improvement, and is
due to Mr Swallow, engineer, Liverpool.
In the sledge (figs. 27, 28, and 29) grooved pulleys have
been substituted for the gub-wheels, and the change in
velocity is produced by various-sized pinions. In place,
too, of loading the sledge, any required amount of pressure
is produced by a break-wheel fixed on the axis of the
ground-rope pulley. This was introduced by Messrs Gar-
n®ck and Bibby.
Wire-Rope.—The apparatus used in the making of wire-
rope is exceedingly simple. The bobbins containing the
wire are mounted in frames set in the periphery of a larger
frame like a cage. The larger frame revolves round an
axis, on the bottom of which is a fixed spur-wheel; and
the lower end of the vertical axis of each bobbin-frame
carries a spur-wheel gearing into this. There is thus ob¬
tained a sun-and-planet motion; the large frame carrying
the bobbins round the central axis, and each bobbin-frame
revolving also round its own axis. The wires from the
bobbins pass through holes in the top of the central axis,
and are there united to form the strand or rope as the case
may be. The apparatus for small strands or ropes is some¬
times arranged so that the bobbins revolve round a hori¬
zontal in place of a vertical axis. /j. n.)
Fig 29.
R 0 Q R 0 S 415
Roque ROQUE, San, a town of Spain, Andalucia, in the pro-
11 vince and 56 miles S.E. of Cadiz, and 7 N. W. of Gibraltar.
Rosa. stands 0n a hill, and consists chiefly of low houses. In
the principal square is a town-hall; and the other public
buildings are a church and convent, several schools, an
hospital, poor-house, and prison. Outside the town is a
public walk and a cemetery. Wine, cordage, leather, soap,
pottery, &c., are made here, and there is some trade in
corn. San Roque was built by the Spaniards in 1704, after
their loss of Gibraltar, principally out of the ruins of the
ancient Carteia. The climate here is salubrious, and living
very cheap. Pop. 7619.
ROREE, or Lohuree, a town of British India, in Sinde,
on the left bank of the Indus, 20 miles S.S.E. of Shikarpoor.
It occupies a picturesque position on a rocky precipice 40
feet high, round the base of which sweeps the river, here
about 1200 yards broad. There are four rocky islets in the
stream; and the ruins of some buildings in the centre seem
to give countenance to the ancient tradition, that the Indus
formerly flowed in a different bed. Roree has narrow
streets; and the houses are large and lofty, but not very
substantial. There are about forty mosques, the largest
of which is a gloomy brick building on a rising ground.
The town has also two bazaars, and a large lodging-place
for travellers. The manufactures are few and insignificant.
Pop. estimated at 8000.
ROSA, Salvator, a celebrated landscape-painter, was
born at the village of Arenella, in the neighbourhood of
Naples, on the 20th of June 1615. His youth was charac¬
terised by a wild and self-willed disposition. The desire of
his father that he should enter the church had no effect on his
conduct. He behaved so rebelliously at the college of
the congregation of Somasca that he was expelled. No¬
thing would satisfy him but to become a painter. When
he found himself unable to obtain a proper instructor in that
art, he resolved to learn from nature. Setting out alone, he
was soon lost among the solitary and romantic scenery of the
Bay of Naples. It is even said that he ventured into the
den of the bandits of Sant’ Angelo, and spent some time
in sketching their mountain haunts and their own picturesque
features. Nor, on his return to Naples, was he less bold
in displaying the artistic skill which he had gained. He
painted history after Ribera, and battle-pieces after Aniello
Falcone, and assailed with satirical epigrams all those envious
rivals who dared to scoff at the first attempts of his genius.
Salvator Rosa settled at Rome in 1634, and commenced to
practise as a professional landscape-painter. The obscurity
and poverty in which for a long time he toiled had an effect
upon his genius. His imagination conjured up scarcely
any scenes but what were dark and awe-inspiring. Yawn¬
ing ravines, gloomy thickets, barren wildernesses, and
lonely sea-shores, were his favourite subjects. The rocks
were rugged and riven ; the trees were maimed and dis¬
hevelled ; the skies were black and troubled; and the
figures were lurking bandits, wayworn travellers, solitary
anchorites, and castaway mariners. The general effect,
indeed, was to give a striking and complete representation
of uncultivated and savage nature. Between 1647 and 1657
Rosa was in Florence, enjoying a brilliant career of fame.
The grand duke and the courtiers caressed him and heaped
favours upon him. Many of the citizens admired his pic¬
tures, sung his cantatas, and could repeat parts of his un¬
published satires. His house was the resort of all the men
of genius and refinement in the place. Among these he
appeared in the character of a very prodigy of versatility.
He acted comic pieces, recited his own poems, sang his
own songs to his own tunes, performed upon every kind of
instrument, and discoursed upon every kind of subject.
The remaining days of Salvator were spent at Rome in
the composition of historical pictures. In these he showed
that he could transfer to figures the same gloomy loftiness
which he had imparted to landscape. “ Pythagoras on the Rosamond
Sea-shore,” “ Pythagoras issuing from a Subterranean Ca- 11
vern,” “Jeremiah thrown into a Pit,” “The Catilinarian v^osaiT-^
Conspiracy,” and “ Saul and the Witch of Endor,” were
terrible and grand. He might even have attained to higher
efforts in the same line, had he not been cut off by dropsy
on the 15th of March 1673.
Many of Rosa’s pictures are in Britain. A large land¬
scape, representing “ Mercury and the Woodman,” is in
the National Gallery. There are also two of his paintings,
a landscape and a sea-piece, in the National Gallery of
Scotland. The chief biographers of Salvator Rosa are
Baldinucci, Passeri, and Pascoli. His Life and Times by
Lady Morgan is far too romantic and rhetorical to be
worthy of its name.
ROSAMOND, daughter of Walter, Lord Clifford, was
a young lady of exquisite beauty, and is generally known
by the common epithet of “the Fair Rosamond.” The popu¬
lar story of her is as follows :—Henry II. saw her, loved
her, declared his passion, and triumphed over her honour.
To avoid the jealousy of his queen Elinor, he kept her in a
wonderful labyrinth at Woodstock; and by his connection
with her had William Longsword, Earl of Salisbury, and
Geoffrey, Bishop of Lincoln. On Henry’s absence in
France, however, on account of a rebellion in that country,
the queen found means to discover her ; and, though struck
with her beauty, she recalled sufficient resentment to poison
her. The queen, it is said, discovered her apartment by
a thread of silk; but how she came by it is differently
related. This story of “Fair Rosamond” was once ex¬
ceedingly popular in England, and is still heard of through
the medium of attractive broadsides in remote districts,
wLere it is eagerly read, and as eagerly believed. Yet
it is not supported by history. She was buried in the
church of Godstow, opposite to the high altar, where her
body remained till it was ordered to be removed, w ith every
mark of disgrace, by Hugh, Bishop of Lincoln, in 1191.
She was, however, considered as a saint after her death.
ROSARIO DE CUCUTA, a town of New Granada, in
the province of Boyaca, stands in the fertile valley of Cucuta,
30 miles N.N.E. of Pamplona. The surrounding country pro¬
duces large quantities of cacao, sugar, coffee, and cotton; and
an active trade is carried on here in these articles. Pop.5000.
ROSARY (Lat. rosarium, a rose-garden), a string of
beads used by Roman Catholics in their devotions, on which
they reckon the number of times they repeat the Pater¬
noster and the Ave Maria. The former, or Lord’s Prayer,
they recite fifteen times ; the latter, or angelical salutation,
they recite one hundred and fifty times. Accordingly, the
rosary is three times the ordinary chaplet. It is reported
to be instituted in honour of the fifteen principal mysteries
in our Saviour’s life, and that of the Virgin Mary. Some
have attributed the origin of the rosary to St Dominic. A
Spanish writer tells us “ we owe to Dominic de Guzman,
a canon of the order of St Augustin, two most important
blessings, the rosary and the holy office,” a.d. 1202. Mo-
sheim, among others, ascribes to this institution a higher
antiquity (Eccles. Hist., cent, x., part ii., c. 4). “ Pretty
distinct traces,” he says, “ of the rosary and crown of St
Mary, as they are called, or of praying according to a nu¬
merical arrangement, are to be found in this (the tenth)
century. For they who tell us that St Dominic invented
the rosary in the thirteenth century do not bring satisfac¬
tory proof of their opinion.” “ This,” he adds in a note,
“ is formally demonstrated by Mabillon, Acta Sand. Ord.
Bened., Praef. ad saecul. v., p. 58, &c.” This festival falls
on the first Sunday in October. Its name is said to have
been changed by Gregory XIII., from St Mary of the Vic¬
tory, given to it by Pius V. on its institution in honour of
the battle of Lepanto, which took place on that day. (See
Brande’s Did. of Science.)
*»
416
R O S R 0 S
Roscius ROSCIUS, Q., the most celebrated comic actor of
J) Rome, is spoken of in terms of the highest commendation
Roscoe. by Cicero. The exact period of his birth is unknown, but
—he must have been somewhat older than Cicero (born B.C.
106), as he had already earned a high reputation before
the death of Sulla, B.C. 78. His subsequent career was
said to have been predicted by a strange occurrence whilst
he was still a child. His early years were spent at Solonium,
near Lanuvium; and whilst he was sleeping in his cradle,
a serpent entwined itself round his body without injuring
him. This circumstance in the life of the actor was after¬
wards represented by the artist Praxiteles, and celebrated
by the poet Archias. Of his education we know nothing, ex¬
cept that he and iEsopus, the tragic actor, used to attend the
Forum when Hortensius the orator pleaded, that they might
imitate on the stage what they admired in him. Roscius
had a peculiar squint of the eye, but this was of course
concealed by the mask he wore. His private character was
highly respected, and Cicero remarked that he was such
an artist that he seemed the only one fit to appear upon
the stage, and yet so excellent a man that acting was be¬
neath his dignity. He thought him w orthy of the Senate.
He used to contend with Cicero which of them could re¬
present the same sentiment in the greatest variety of ways,
he by acting, and Cicero by his eloquence. So high an
opinion did he entertain of his profession that he wrote a
work comparing it with oratory. He gave lessons in elo¬
cution, and used to say that he never had a pupil whom
he could altogether approve of. His gains as an actor
are variously stated,—by Macrobius at 1000 denarii
(L.32, 5s. lOd.) a day ; and by Cicero at 600,000 sesterces
for ten years (LAS,434 10s.), which would make it some¬
what less than L.5000 a year; but for the last ten years
he had refused to receive this pension from the Roman
people. He had a dispute with one Fannius Chcerea re¬
specting a slave of whom they were joint owners, and
Roscius was defended by Cicero in a speech which has
come partially down to us. At what time this took place
we have no means of judging. He died a little before the
time (about B.C. 61) that Cicero delivered his oration in
defence of Archias. (See Unterholzner, in Savigny’s
Zeitschrift, vol. i., p. 248; also Miinchen, Oratio M. T. C.
pro Q.R. C. juridice exposita, Coloniae, 1829.)
ROSCOE, William, a distinguished writer, was born
at Liverpool on the 8th of March 1753. He was the only
son of William Roscoe, who then kept a public-house called
the Bowling-Green, to which he united the profession of a
market-gardener. The elder Roscoe is described as a man
below the middle stature, but of remarkable bodily strength
and activity. His wife, Roscoe’s mother, is said to have
been a woman of a superior mind and of warm affections,
and to have exercised over the character of her son an
influence, of which the effects were never obliterated to
the latest period of his life. The first elements of learn¬
ing he acquired under the tuition of a schoolmistress; and
at the age of six he was removed to a superior school.
Roscoe quitted school at the age of twelve, the master
having reported that his scholar had learned all that he
professed to teach. He acquired a very early relish for
reading, and particularly for poetical reading. “ I was
at this period of my life,” he has recorded, “of a wild,
rambling, and unsocial disposition; passing many of my
hours in strolling along the shore of the River Mersey, or
in fishing, or in taking long walks alone  I now
began to assist my father in his agricultural concerns, par-
. ticularly in his business of cultivating potatoes for sale, of
which he every year grew several acres, and which he
sold, when produced early in the season, at very advanced
prices. His mode of cultivation was entirely by the spade ;
and when raised early, they were considered in that part
of Lancashire as a favourite esculent. When they had at¬
tained their proper growth, we were accustomed to carry Roscoe.
them to the market on our heads, in large baskets, for sale,
where I was generally entrusted with the disposal of them,
and soon became a very useful assistant to my father. In
this and other laborious occupations, particulary in the care
of a garden, in which I took great pleasure, I passed
several years of my life, devoting my hours of relaxation
to reading my books. This mode of life gave health
and vigour to my body, and amusement and instruction
to my mind; and to this day I well remember the deli¬
cious sleep which succeeded my labours, from which I
was again called at an early hour. If I were now asked
whom I consider to be the happiest of the human race, I
should answer, those who cultivate the earth by their own
hands.”
Having reached his fifteenth year, he found it expedient
to make choice of a profession. His love of reading in¬
duced him to prefer the avocation of a bookseller, but he
was disappointed in his expectation of finding it altogether
pleasant, and after a trial of a month, he returned to his
rustic labours. In the course of the ensuing year (1769)
he was articled to a young attorney, who died before the
completion of his clerkship. The remainder of it was
passed in the office of Peter Ellames, who was eminent in
his profession, and who was much satisfied with his pupil’s
talents and industry. During this period he still con¬
tinued to reside with his father, but he had previously the
misfortune to lose his mother. Although very punctual in
his attention to business, he always found some precious
intervals of leisure for the cultivation of his literary talents ;
and his early love of poetry had its usual effect in purifying
and refining the taste. His chief favourite was Shenstone,
with whose elegant simplicity he appears to have been
greatly captivated. He cultivated an intimate friendship
with other ingenuous youths who cherished the same love
of literature. In conjunction with two of these, William
Clarke and Richard Lowndes, he applied himself to the
study of the ancient languages ; and with these individuals,
to the close of their lives, he continued in habits of the
strictest intimacy. They had another associate, who was
capable of directing as well as participating in their studies.
This was Francis Holden, a young man of uncommon
talents, who was an assistant in his uncle’s school, where
it was his business to teach, not only mathematics, but
likewise the Greek, Latin, Italian, and French languages.
They were accustomed to meet early in the morning, and
to pursue their classical studies till the hours of business
called them to less genial avocations. It was the example
of Holden that prompted Roscoe to begin the study of the
Italian language, in which he at length attained to so great
proficiency. He thus continued to improve his taste and
to enlarge his fund of knowledge. From a fervent admi¬
ration of poetry there is generally an easy transition to the
composition of poems. He wrote many verses in his early
youth, and at the age of twenty he printed an Ode on the
Foundation of a Society for the Encouragement of the
Arts of Painting and Design, in the town of Liverpool.
About the same period he wrote a descriptive poem, en¬
titled Mount Pleasant, which was not, however, published
till the year 1777. His ode was then reprinted. These
poems were favourably received; and they obtained the
approbation of two very competent judges, Mr Mason and
Sir Joshua Reynolds.
Having completed his clerkship, he was in 1774 admitted
an attorney of the Court of King’s Bench. During the
same year he entered into partnership with a Mr Bannis¬
ter, but their connection was of very short duration. He
afterwards formed a more permanent engagement with Mr
Samuel Aspinall, who had long been known as a respect¬
able practitioner. He was assiduous in his attention to the
business of his profession; but he did not find himself con-
R O S
Roscoe. strained to abandon his literary studies, and he thus con-
—tinued the gradual improvement of his excellent talents.
At an early period of his life he became intimately ac¬
quainted with the family of a respectable tradesman named
Griffies. Jane, the second of three daughters, “soon at¬
tracted his admiration, and won his affection, by her gentle
yet lively manners, by the sweetness of her disposition, and
by the many admirable qualities of her truly feminine mind.
Although the state of his circumstances at this time gave
little promise of an immediate union with the object of his
attachment, it was not the wish, and perhaps it was scarcely
in the power, of one possessing the frank and ardent cha¬
racter of Roscoe to conceal from her the feelings she had
inspired. From that moment to the close of his long and
eventful life, he never found reason to regret for one in¬
stant the judgment of his youth.” A considerable interval
elapsed before they could prudently fulfil their engage¬
ment ; but his professional emoluments gradually became
more ample, and they were married on the 22d of Febru¬
ary 1781. Their union was attended with more than com¬
mon felicity.
The African slave-trade was now in its fullest vigour;
and as it formed a very material part of the commerce of
Liverpool, the great body of the inhabitants were inter¬
ested, either directly or indirectly, in the continuance of
this detestable traffic. For any individual to raise a warn¬
ing voice against it in such a community required no small
portion of moral courage. The generous feelings and
manly character of Roscoe urged him to take a very pro¬
minent share in those proceedings which finally led to its
suppression ; a measure which reflected so much honour on
that administration which included Fox, Grey, Holland,
and Erskine. He composed, in blank verse, a poem en¬
titled The Wrongs of Africa ; of which the first part was
published in 1787, and the second in 1788. It was trans¬
lated into German by a clergyman named Kuhn. In 1787
he likewise published A General View of the African
Slave Trade, demonstrating its Injustice and Impolicy,
with Hints towards a Bill for its Abolition. This season¬
able tract was followed in 1788 by A Scriptural Refuta¬
tion of a Pamphlet lately published by the Rev. Raymond
Harris, entitled “ Scriptural Researches on the Licitness
of the Slave Trade,” in four Letters from the Author to a
Friend. Harris was a clergyman of the Established
Church, but had been educated for the Popish priesthood.
Such talents as he possessed were employed in an attempt
to prove that slavery, as a system, has obtained the Divine
approval ; that God has sanctioned the principle of one
portion of mankind treating another like beasts of burden.
F'or his satisfactory refutation of this reverend apologist of
such enormities Roscoe received the thanks of the London
Abolition Committee. They likewise printed a new edi¬
tion of his pamphlet, which was extensively circulated, and
highly approved. In 1792 he published An Inquiry into
the Causes of the Insurrection of the Negroes in the Island
of St Domingo. Of this insurrection the advocates of
slavery had endeavoured to avail themselves, as a most
powerful argument against the abolition ; and he therefore
performed another important service by exposing the falla¬
cies of their reasonings and inferences.
In other public transactions of that eventful period he
likewise felt a deep interest. On all subjects his senti¬
ments were humane and liberal. With some of the most en¬
lightened men of the kingdom, he contemplated the French
Revolution as a glorious event; and his feelings of exulta¬
tion were expressed in more than one poetical effusion. In
the year 1796 Roscoe published Strictures on Mr Burke’s
Two Letters, addressed to a Member of the present Parlia¬
ment. At an earlier period (1791), Roscoe had printed a
merry ballad concerning The Life, Death, and Wonderful
Achievements of Edmund Burke ; and had adorned it with
VOL. XIX.
COE. 417
a frontispiece etched by himself, and representing Burke Roscoe.
equipped like a knight-errant, and assaulting Fox in the
House of Commons. About this period his mind was
vigorously devoted to an undertaking of a more important
nature. The plan of preparing a biographical account of
Lorenzo de’ Medici had occurred to him at a very early
stage of his literary career. He long continued to collect
books and to amass materials; and at the close of the year
1789 he communicated his design to his intimate friend
Mr Clarke, wdio was then residing in Italy for the benefit
of a milder climate. This gentleman had been engaged in
commercial pursuits, but is said to have been skilled in
ancient as well as modern literature. With great alacrity
he undertook the task of exploring the archives and libra¬
ries of Florence, in quest of materials for the projected
work; and the author acknowledged himself deeply indebted
to the assistance which he had thus received. The sale of
the Crevenna and Pinelli libraries enabled him to procure
many rare books, for which he might otherwise have made
a hopeless search. The Life of Lorenzo de' Medici, called
the Magnificent, was at length published in the year 1796,
in two volumes quarto. It wa£ elegantly printed by John
Maccreery, who, at the author’s suggestion, had recently
established a press in Liverpool. The success of this pub¬
lication exceeded the most sanguine expectations which the
author could have ventured to cherish. From the perio¬
dical critics he obtained ample praise. He received letters
of warm commendation from men of rank and men of let¬
ters, with several of whom he had no previous acquaintance
or correspondence. One of these was the eccentric Earl
of Bristol and Bishop of Derry, who was then residing in
Rome. He first applied to Mr Cadell, the bookseller, in
order to ascertain the author’s profession, resources in life,
and what present of books, pictures, or statues might be
most acceptable to him. Dr Parr’s fervent zeal in the
cause of literature likewise prompted him to seek the cor¬
respondence of the elegant biographer, which ultimately
led to an intimate friendship. The first edition of this
work was printed at the expense of the author; but soon
after its appearance Cadell and Davies offered him no less
a sum than L.1200 for the copyright. Of this liberal offer
he did not hesitate to accept; and little doubt can be en¬
tertained that the booksellers found it a very advantageous
transaction. The fourth edition, in three volumes octavo,
was printed in 1800. In other countries the success of
this book was equally brilliant. Three editions were
speedily circulated in America. The work, translated into
German by Sprengel, was published at Berlin in 1797. In
1799 a French translation, by Francois Thurot, was pub¬
lished at Paris. During the same year an Italian version,
by the Cavaliero Gaetano Mechirini, made its appearance
at Pisa, in four volumes octavo. It was undertaken at the
suggestion of the elegant Fabroni, who had himself pub¬
lished a Latin Life of Lorenzo, which he intended to trans¬
late into his native language; but he was so much delighted
with Roscoe’s work that he abandoned his design, and re¬
commended the other task to Mechirini. In the course of
the ensuing year he addressed a very gratifying letter to
the author. Similar letters were addressed to him by Ban-
dini, the learned keeper of the Laurentian Library in Flo¬
rence, and by the Abate Andres, a Spanish Jesuit, resi¬
dent in Italy, and deeply skilled in Italian literature.
For the avocation of an attorney Mr Roscoe never had
any hearty relish, and he finally relinquished it in the year
1796. With his last partner, Mr Lace, he made an arrange¬
ment which secured him some interest in the business;
and during the following year he entered himself at Gray’s
Inn, with the view of being called to the bar. He kept
Hilary term, but made no further progress in this new
career, although, according to the opinion of his son, he
possessed qualities which must in all probability have ren-
3 Gr
418
R O S C O E.
Koscoe dered his success certain. In conjunction with Mr Ihomas
'/ Wakefield, he had in 1793 obtained a lease of an extensive
tract of peat-moss in the vicinity of Manchestei ; apd fiom
the draining and improvement of this land he anticipated
an ample return. In 1 < 99 he purchased one-half of the
Allerton estate, a valuable property situated about 6 miles
from Liverpool. The family of his intimate friend Mr
Clarke which had long been connected with an extensive
banking-house at Liverpool, was at the close of the year
1799 placed in circumstances of considerable difficulty,
when by great and unremitting exertions Roscoe brought
the affairs of the house into a better train of management;
and towards the close of the year 1800 he could again
command some portion of leisure for his favourite pursuits.
He had previously published The Nurse, a Poem translated
from the Italian of Luigi Tansillo. This elegant version
was favourably received, and it reached a third edition in
1804. But he had for some time contemplated a more
magnificent undertaking, a Life of Leo X. ; and on re¬
ceiving, through the kindness of Lord Holland, some im¬
portant and unpublished materials from Florence, he re¬
verted to it with new ardour. The History of the Life and
Pontificate of Leo X. was published in four volumes quarto
in the year 1805. It had been in the press upwards of
two years. For one-half of the copyright Cadell and
Davies paid the sum of L.2000. This work, notwithstand¬
ing its great and varied merit, experienced a less favour¬
able reception than its precursor. The Life of Leo, with
the omission of the documents contained in the appendix,
was speedily reprinted at Philadelphia*; but the sale was
not there so rapid as that of his former work. A German
translation, by Professor Glaser, was published at Leipsic
in three volumes octavo, which successively appeared in
1806, 1807, and 1808. A preface, notes, and disquisitions
were contributed by Henke. In 1808 a French transla¬
tion, by P. F. Henry, was published at Paris, and a cor¬
rected edition appeared in 1813. An Italian version was
subsequently undertaken by Count Luigi Bossi, who began
by translating from the French. This work extended to
twelve volumes octavo, published at Milan in 1816 and
1817. He added a variety of notes and documents illus¬
trative of the text, together with numerous engravings of
portraits and medals. The sovereign pontiff Leo XII.
inserted this translation in the catalogue of prohibited
books; but in spite of his denunciation 2800 copies of it
have been dispersed in Italy, where the name of the
elegant author continues to be held in no common
estimation.
Soon after the appearance of his great work he was sud¬
denly induced to place himself in a new sphere of action.
On the eve of the general election in 1806 he received a
requisition from a number of the most respectable bur¬
gesses of Liverpool, requesting him to come forward as a
candidate for the representation of his native town. 1 his
requisition he received on the 30th ot October; he issued
his address to the electors on the following day; and the
election commenced on the first of November. His two
opponents were General Gascoigne and General Tarleton ;
of whom the former had represented the borough for ten,
and the latter for sixteen years. They were both Tories,
but with this difference, that Tarleton was a deserter from
the Whigs. They were both supported by the corporation ;
but after a very strenuous contest of seven days, the elec¬
tion terminated in favour of Roscoe, who had nearly two
hundred votes over Tarleton, and thirteen over Gascoigne.
Of the House of Commons he was not a silent member.
He took a respectable share in various debates ; and he had
the high satisfaction of raising his voice in favour of the
abolition of the slave-trade.
On the dissolution of Parliament in 1807 Roscoe re¬
turned to Liverpool in the month of May, and resolved to
decline again entering Parliament. In 1808 he published
Considerations on the Causes, Objects, and Consequences
of the Present War, and on the Expediency or the Hanger
of Peace with France. This was an able as well as a season¬
able publication ; but we cannot add that it produced any
extensive or speedy effects. It was soon followed by
Remarks on the Proposals made to Great Britain for
Opening Negotiations for Peace, in the year 1807. The
several tracts which he had published on such topics w^ere
in 1810 collected into a volume, bearing the title of Occa¬
sional Tracts Relative to the War. This collection, which
includes several tracts that have not been enumerated, re¬
mains a monument of his wisdom in the midst of the ge¬
neral frenzy which then prevailed. In 1812 he published
A Review of the Speeches of the Right Hon. George Can¬
ning on the late Election for Liverpool, so far as they relate
to the Questions of Peace and Reform. Roscoe was an
able and enlightened advocate of parliamentary reform, as
of all other attempts to improve the general welfare. The
commercial pressure, caused partly by the cessation of the
war, and also by the enormous increase of the national debt,
told unfavourably on the banking-house with which Ros¬
coe was connected. After struggling for a few days in the
vain hope of supporting their credit, the directors were, on
the 25th of January 1816, reduced to the necessity of sus¬
pending their payments. A committee appointed by the
creditors reported that, after the liquidation ol the debts,
there would remain a surplus of L.61,144. The bank was
never shut; and the house was allowed six years for dis¬
charging all the debts, with interest. Roscoe undertook the
management of its affairs, and exerted himself with surpris¬
ing energy. One of the greatest trials which he sustained
was the necessity of parting with his library, pictures, and
other works of art, the valuable and cherished accumulation
of nearly half a century. The auction of his library, which
was sold by Winstanley of Liverpool, extended to fourteen
days, commencing with the 19th of August 1816. It in¬
cluded rare and precious works in several departments, but
was particularly rich in Italian literature. The sale of the
books was immediately followed by that of the prints,
which occupied eleven days, and, being divided into 1352
lots, produced the sum of L.1915, Is. The drawings, con¬
sisting of 610 lots, and the paintings, of 156, were sold for
L.2825, 19s.
In the midst of these vicissitudes and trials, which he
endured with exemplary fortitude, he still retained his love
of literature. In the establishment of the Royal Institution
of Liverpool he lent his effective aid. A plan for such an
institution had in 1813 been written by Dr Traill, now
(1859) professor of Medical Jurisprudence in the university
of Edinburgh. The scheme was at length brought towards
maturity; and, after an interval of four years, Roscoe, as
chairman of a committee, prepared an explanatory report.
He was induced, though not without considerable difficulty,
to compose and to deliver the inaugural address at the
opening of the institution. The attendance was very nu¬
merous, and he received the most gratifying applause. On
the ensuing day he was requested by the committee to pub¬
lish his discourse, and it accordingly appeared under the
subsequent title : On the Origin and Vicissitudes of Lite¬
rature, Science, and Art, and their Influence on the present
State of Society, a Discourse delivered on the Opening of
the Liverpool Royal Institution, 25th November 1817. In
1819 he published his Observations on Penal Jurispru¬
dence and the Reformation of Offenders. In 1822 ap¬
peared his Additional Observations on the same subject;
and a third part followed in 1825. He afterwards pub¬
lished two tracts on the penitentiary discipline of the
United States. In all his literary undertakings he aimed
at improving the morals and increasing the happiness of
mankind.
Roscoe.
*
419
R O S EOS
Koscoe. Roscoe having now withdrawn from business, he seems
to have placed his chief reliance on the remuneration of his
literary labours. Some of his friends privately raised the
sum of L.2500, and vested it in trustees for the benefit of
himself and his family. “ The office of communicating to
him this kind and liberal act on the part of his friends was
confided to Dr Traill, who, by his judicious representations
and affectionate remonstrances, succeeded in removing from
the mind of Mr Roscoe the objections which he felt to in¬
cur obligations of so serious a nature.” About this period
he found a pleasing employment in arranging and improv¬
ing the library of Mr Coke, afterwards Earl of Leicester,
and in preparing a catalogue of the numerous manuscripts.
His visits to Holkham were rendered peculiarly pleasant;
and this gentleman, as we are informed, “ conferred upon
him obligations of no ordinary nature.” His literary ardour
was still unabated ; and in 1822 he published an octavo vo¬
lume, under the title of Illustrations, Historical and Cri¬
tical, of the Life of Lorenzo dd Medici, called the Magni¬
ficent, with an Appendix of original and other Documents.
An Italian version, exclusive of the appendix, was published
at Florence by Pecchioli in the course of the following
year. In 1822 he likewise published a. Memoir of Richard
Roberts Jones of Aberdaron, in the county of Carnarvon,
in North Wales, exhibiting a remarkable instance of a par¬
tial power and cultivation of intellect. This extraordinary
character, who was originally a fisher-lad, “continues to
display a love of learning and an extent of erudition seldom
exhibited within the walls of schools or universities, united
with a want of common-sense amounting almost to idiocy,
and a squalor and -wretchedness of appearance of which a
common mendicant would be ashamed.” At Allerton, Jones
had a conversation with Dr Parr on languages, oriental and
occidental; and on being afterwards asked his opinion of the
learned stranger, he replied, “He is less ignorant than most
men.”
During this year he quitted his residence in Liverpool,
and took a house in Lodge Lane, Toxteth Park, about a
mile from the town. Two years afterwards he had the se¬
vere misfortune to lose the excellent and cherished partner
of all his joys and sorrows. She died on the 24th of Sep¬
tember 1824. In the early part of the year he had been
elected an honorary associate of the Royal Society of Lite¬
rature ; and after an interval of a few months he was ap¬
pointed an associate of the first class. In 1827 the great
gold medal of the society was awarded to him for his merits
as a historian. From other learned associations he ob¬
tained various honours ; nor must we omit to state that,
during the same year, he was elected a corresponding
member of the Academia della Crusca.
In the spring of 1821 he had been engaged by the Lon¬
don booksellers to undertake a new edition of the works of
Pope. It appeared in 1824, in ten volumes octavo. He
contributed a copious and elegant Life of the author, and to
a selection of the notes of former editors added a few of his
own. Of the character of Pope, both as a man and as a
poet, he formed a more favourable estimate than either Dr
Warton or Mr Bowles. Those who deny, or reluctantly
concede, to Pope the name of a poet, seem to judge accord¬
ing to a very arbitrary standard. A few months after the
appearance of this edition Bowles published A Final Ap¬
peal to the Literary Public relative to Pope, in Reply to
certain Observations of Mr Roscoe in his Edition of that
Poet’s Works; to which are added, some Remarks on Lord
Byron’s Conversations, so far as they relate to the same
subject and the Author; in Letters to a Literary Friend. To
this publication Roscoe speedily replied in A Letter to the
Rev. W. Lisle Bowles, Prebendary of Sarum, &c. His
edition, as well as his Letter, obtained a favourable notice
in the Quarterly Review for October 1825; and Bowles
was induced to publish Lessons in Criticism to William
Roscoe, F.R.S., &c. These lessons in criticism were not Roscora
very satisfactory to the public, and Roscoe wisely desisted m0n.
from any further controversy. ^ ,
In 1827 he published an edition of the Life of Lorenzo
in two, and of the History of Leo in four, volumes octavo.
He had now reached an advanced period of life, and had
begun to feel the pressure of age. Towards the close of
this year he was suddenly attacked with paralysis, which
affected one side of his face, and deprived him of the use of
one hand; but medical aid was promptly procured, and he
recovered the use of his hand, as well as of his speech.
Botany had been among the number of his favourite pur¬
suits. He had been a contributor to the Transactions of
the Linncean Society, and was regarded as no mean profi¬
cient in this science. After his recovery from the para¬
lytic attack, he published the fifteenth and concluding
number of a splendid volume on Monandrian Plants.
Towards the end of June 1831 he experienced a severe
attack of influenza; and, after he seemed to be recovering,
he was on the 27th of that month seized with a violent fit
of shivering, accompanied with almost total prostration of
strength. The near approach of death he contemplated
with calm resignation to the will of God. On the 30th he
closed his mortal career, after having completed the seventy-
eighth year of his age. The proximate cause of his death
was an effusion into the chest. His remains were interred
in the burying-ground of the Unitarian chapel in Renshaw
Street.
Dr Traill, the friend and physician of this eminent man,
Speaks of him in the following terms:—“ In person, Mr
Roscoe was tall and rather slender. In early life he pos¬
sessed much bodily activity. His hair was light auburn,
almost inclining to red; his full grey eye was clear and
mild; his face expressive and cheerful. As he advanced
in life the benevolent expression of his countenance re¬
mained, but the vivacity of the features was tempered into
a noble dignity, which it was impossible to see without re¬
spect and admiration; while the mouth bespoke taste and
feeling, and the clustering hoary hair round his temples
gave a venerable air to his manly features.... Of the quali¬
ties of his heart, as a private individual, it is impossible to
speak too highly. In the relations of husband, father, and
friend, his conduct was most exemplary ; and it would be
difficult to point out a man who possessed the fascination
of manner which attracts and rivets attention in a higher
degree than William Roscoe.” (Edin. New Phil. Journ.,
vol. xiii.)
Three of Roscoe’s sons have secured a respectable place
in literature. Henry, author of the Life of William
Roscoe, London, 2 vols. 8vo, 1833, was a barrister, and
author of several legal works, besides having written the
Lives of Eminent Lawyers for Lardner’s Cyclopcedia.
He died at the early age of 37, on the 2oth March 1836.
Robert, who was likewise a member of the legal profes¬
sion, wrote some pleasing poems. He died in December
1850, aged 60. Thomas, who still (May 1859) survives,
has likewise written very extensively. Besides poems,
tales, tours, and translations, he has published an excel¬
lent English version of Sismondi’s Historical View of the
History of the South of Europe, and of Lanzi’s History of
Painting.
ROSCOMMON, an inland county in the province of
Connaught, situated on the western bank of the great river
Shannon, and nearly in the centre of Ireland. It is bounded
on the N. by the county of Sligo j on the E. by Leitrim,
Longford, and Westmeath; on the S.E. by the King’s
County ; on the S.W. by Galway; and on the W. by the
same county and by Mayo. About two-thirds of the
boundaries of the county are defined by water, the eastern
side being entirely formed by the Shannon and its exten¬
sive lakes ; and although the extreme length of the county
£20 R 0 S C 0
Roscom- from north to south does not exceed 60 statute miles, yet
rnon. double that extent may be assigned to the frontier-line, it
* ^ ^ windings of the river, and all the sinuosities of the
shores of the lake, are taken into account. It extends over
a surface of 607,691 acres; of which 440,522 are arable,
130,299 uncultivated, mountain, or bog, 6732 in plantations,
768 occupied by towns or villages, and 29,370 under water.
Of the uncultivated land, it is probable that 40,000 acres
mio-ht be advantageously improved and cultivated, 80,000
acres roio'ht be drained tor pasture, and 10,000 acres must
remain unimprovable. According to Ptolemy, it was in¬
habited by the Auteri; afterwards the tribes or septs of the
O’Conors, O’Kellys, M‘Dermotts, OTlanegans, O’Flyns,
and O’Hanlys, were the chief possessors of it. Shortly
after the arrival of the English in the reign of Henry II. it
was seized upon by the new settlers, and their maintenance
of it secured by the erection of several fortresses. For a
long period afterwards the whole province was considered
as consisting but of two counties, that of Roscommon being
one, and all the remainder, with the county of Clare in¬
cluded, the other, under the name of the county of Con¬
naught. This arrangement continued until the beginning
of the reign of Elizabeth, when the whole province under¬
went a new classification, and the county of Roscommon
was divided into the baronies of Athlone, Ballintober,
Boyle, Moycarnon, and Roscommon. At the close of the
war of 1641 nearly all the former proprietors were dispos¬
sessed for having espoused the royal cause, and their pos¬
sessions transferred to the republican adventurers and sol¬
diers ; since which period that branch of the O’Conor family,
once sovereigns of all Ireland, now known by the name of
the O’Conor Don, is the only one of the former proprietors
who holds any part of ancestral possessions in the country.
The county is now divided into nine baronies,—Athlone,
Ballintober (North and South), Ballymoe, Boyle, Castlerea,
Frenchpark, Moycarn, and Roscommon; and subdivided
into fifty-three parishes, and four parts of parishes, the re¬
maining parts of which are in some of the adjoining coun¬
ties. According to the ecclesiastical arrangements of the
country, Roscommon contains fifty-seven parishes, of which
fifty-one are in the diocese of Elphin, the remainder being
in Tuam, Clonfert, and Ardagh. The bishopric of Elphin
was suppressed, and the revenues vested in the Board of
Ecclesiastical Commissioners by the Church Temporalities
Act. The spiritual jurisdiction is exercised by the Bishop
of Kilmore, Elphin, and Ardagh.
Roscommon is in shape long and narrow, extending sixty
miles in a northern and southern direction, whilst its breadth
from east to west, where greatest, is but thirty-two miles ;
and it decreases gradually until it terminates in a point in
its southern extremity. The greatest part of the county is
level, forming the western portion of the central flcetz
limestone field of Ireland; varied, however, by frequent in¬
considerable elevations, and by long low ridges or escars
formed of limestone gravel. In the north the country rises
into rugged mountains, with abrupt, precipitous sides and
flattened summits, the highest of which, Bracklieve and
Slieve Corkagh, are upwards of 1000 feet above the level
of the sea. The equally w ild though less elevated range of
the Curlew Mountains also forms part of the northern
boundary. The great sandstone ridge of Slieve Bavvn
range along the middle part of the eastern boundary. Slieve
Aluyn, in the west, rises to nearly 500 feet in height. No
large river passes through the county, but both its eastern
and western limits are watered by navigable streams.
Along the whole length of the eastern side the Shannon
rolls its immense volume of waters; and on the west the
Suck, which is navigable for barges to Ballinasloe, unites
with the Shannon at the extreme south point. The rivers
in the interior, which are small and insignificant, are all
tributaries to one or other of these main channels, chiefly
M M 0 N.
to the former, discharging themselves into their streams, Roscom-
either directly or through the medium of some of the nu- mon.
merous lakes dispersed throughout various parts. Of these
smaller rivers, the Arigna, the Fiorish, and the Gara or
Boyle river, are tributaries to the Shannon; the Bresgue
and the Lung, the latter of which flows through a subter¬
ranean channel during part of its course, discharge their
contents into Lough Gara. The most remarkable of the
lakes, both for size and beauty, is Lough Kea, in the north¬
ern part, near the town of Boyle, from which place it also
takes a name, as likewise that of Rockingham Lake, from
the seat of Lord Lorton upon its shore. It is about 3
miles in length by 2 in breadth, and studded with several
picturesque islands, amongst which Trinity Island tis noted
for its monastic ruins, and Castle Island for an ancient
fortress of the M‘Dermotts, now modernized into an elegant
villa. The lake derives its supply from the neighbouring
boundary lake of Lough Gara, upon the borders of Sligo,
which, though larger, and still more irregular in its outline,
is less attractive in appearance than that on which it be¬
stows its redundant waters. To the north of Lough Kea
the twm smaller lakes, Lough Skeen and Lough Meelagh,
are connected by a short channel with the Shannon. The
lakes of Bodarrig, Boffin, and Reagh, on its eastern side,
which are, strictly speaking, expansions of the Shannon,
may also be considered as partially belonging to the county.
The principal of the smaller lakes are Loughs Errit, Glynn,
Funcheon, and Aluyn. There are several extensive fur¬
loughs or winter lakes, which, being generally dry in sum¬
mer, afford rich pasturage for sheep. Between Frenchpark
and Elphin, that of Mantua covers 700 acres; another, near
Lough Glynn, in the extreme west of the county, is half a
mile in length.
The limestone, which forms the base of all the level dis¬
tricts, is of various kinds; some gray, containing numerous
fossil remains, chiefly madrepores; some of the formation
called calp, which is often found blended with layers of
Lydian stone ; and some black, being susceptible of a high
polish, as is a light gray marble found in the southern parts.
Sandstone shows itself in the eminences that protrude
through the limestone. Slieve Bawn is mostly composed
of it; and in the neighbourhood of Frenchpark it is raised
in laminae so thin as to be use for the covering of roofs.
The northern district is of the coal formation, which ex¬
tends also into the adjoining county of Leitrim; but the
principal stores of this most valuable mineral, and of iron¬
stone, are to be found on the Roscommon side. The en¬
tire area, which is divided into tw'o parts by the Arigna,
extends over 6500 acres, of which 2000 are to the north,
and 4500 to the south of that river. The strata of coal
rise into the mountains of Bracklieve and Slieve Corkagh,
where the outcrop may be distinctly seen in several places
in the precipitous sides of the declivities. The coal is of
the blazing or bituminous character, less inflammable than
that of Scotland, but more so than that of the north of
England. The principal beds are the Rover, the Gubber-
other, and Aughabehy collieries, in the latter of which the
chief seam, and the only one deemed sufficiently rich to
defray the expense of working, is from one foot to two
and a half feet thick, but subject to interruptions, or what
the workmen call faults, occasioned by the strata of one
part of a hill having slipped down to a depth ot from twenty
to fifty yards, and settled on a lower level. 1 he principal
beds of iron ore are also on the south side of the Arigna
river, whence the workings derived their name. I hey
exhibit decisive indications of having been in operation at
an early period; but, most probably in consequence of the
exhaustion of timber for fuel, they were latterly inopera¬
tive until 1788, when the pit-coal found in the neighbour¬
hood led to a new speculation in them by three brothers of
the name of O’Reilly, who, either for want of sufficient
421
ROSCOMMON.
Roscom- capital, or in consequence of the real unproductiveness of
mon. the concern, mortgaged the works and premises, which
were then sold to Mr Peter Latouche, the banker, who,
after a total expenditure of L.80,000, abandoned the specu¬
lation in 1808 as profitless and hopeless. The workings of
the collieries were resumed in 1825 by three joint-stock
companies—the Arigna Coal and Iron Company, the Irish
Mining Company, and the Hibernian Mining Company;
but only one of them, the Arigna company persevered in
the experiment, and worked the mines of both coal and
iron. The affairs of the company became the subject of
parliamentary inquiry, and in the session 1826-27 a volu¬
minous report was issued, containing an exposition of one
of the most extraordinary instances of jobbing and fraud
which even that period could produce. The iron-works
have long been suspended, but the coal-pits are still worked
occasionally. Potters’ clay is found in several places, and
is manufactured into the coarser kinds of wares ; and along
the shores of Lough Ree, and also more inland at Killy-
mount, are several deposits of very pure clay, which has
given rise to a local manufacture of tobacco-pipes, for
which the material is well adapted. Fire-bricks were made
at Arigna, of fire-clay, which forms some of the mineral
strata there.
The soil varies nearly according to the nature of its sub¬
stratum, that on the limestone being much the most pro¬
ductive ; except in the hilly district between the Shannon
and the Suck, in which the stone rises so near the surface
that the superincumbent vegetable mould is scarcely of
depth sufficient to admit the use of the plough. The bor¬
ders of the rivers which flow through the level parts, and
are therefore liable to overflow their banks during winter,
become, on the return of dry weather, pastures and mea¬
dows of the richest quality. Bogs of every size, from an
extent of a thousand acres to patches merely adequate for
the domestic demands of the immediate neighbourhood in
which they lie, are to be found in many parts. The most
remarkable and extensive of these are in the neighbour¬
hood of Athlone and Lanesborough. The mountains are
mostly covered with bog and marsh, interspersed with dry
patches on which heath grows most luxuriantly. In the
southern part, large tracts of a very light sandy soil, lying
on the low hill between the Suck and the Shannon, afford
excellent pasturage for sheep. The borders of Lough
Aiuyn are in some parts formed of sand, apparently carried
from the lake by the wind. Large deposits of gravel and
different kinds of loam are often found between the surface-
soil and the rock which forms the substratum.
The population, according to calculations made at dif¬
ferent periods, was as follows:—
Year. Authority. Population.
1760 De Burgo  41,172
1792 Beaufort   86,000
1812 Parliamentary Return  158,111
1821  Ditto  208,729
1831  Ditto  249,613
1841  Ditto  253,591
1851  Ditto  173,417
The number of inhabitants to the square mile in 1841
was 267; in 1851 only 183, being a diminution in density
of 84 persons in each square mile. In 1851 about 45,000
of the inhabitants could speak the Irish language, and 1300
of that number could speak Irish only. Fully nine-tenths
of the population are supposed to be Roman Catholics.
This population was represented in the Irish Parliament
by eight members—two for the county at large, and two
for each of the boroughs of Boyle, Roscommon, and Tulsk.
The number was reduced to two at the Union, all the
boroughs being deprived of the right of election. 1 he
number of registered electors for the county is about 2500.
The state of education, according to the parliamentary
returns made in 1821 and 1824-26, was as follows:—
Year. Boys. Girls.
1821 6981 3306
1824-26  8937 4998
Sex not
ascertained.
711
Total.
10,287
14,646
Of the numbers stated in the latter of these returns, 1041
were Episcopalian Protestants, and 13,262 Roman Catho¬
lics; the religious persuasion of the remaining 343 was not
specified. The total number of schools in the county was
309 ; of which 17, containing 545 pupils, were maintained
by grants of public money; 38, containing 1954 pupils, by
the voluntary contributions of societies or individuals ; and
the remaining 254 schools, which afforded the means of
instruction to 12,147 pupils, were maintained wholly by the
pupils’ fees. The number of schools, and of pupils attend¬
ing them during the week ended 12th April 1851, was
ascertained by the Census Commissioners to be as fol¬
lows :—
Schools.
National  
Church Education
Diocesan 
Endowed  
Boarding 
Private 
Parochial 
Free  
Industrial 
Mission  
Military 
Workhouse  
Gaol 
Total
No. of
Schools.
70
31
1
2
1
116
4
5
6
6
1
9
1
253
No. of Children.
Males.
2302
374
13
55
10
2098
124
63
12
62
7
975
36
6131
2006
760
19
21
1310
110
216
233
141
9
1175
6000
Total.
4,308
1,134
13
74
31
3,408
234
279
245
203
16
2,150
36
12,131
The habits and occupations of the population are so
thoroughly rural that there are but three towns with a
population exceeding 2000 souls. There are several fine
mansions and demesnes in the hands of resident noblemen
and gentlemen, and numerous villas and country-seats be¬
longing to independent landed proprietors ; but the appear¬
ance of the dwellings and homesteads of the small farmers
and cottiers in many cases are far from showing those indi¬
cations of internal comfort that might be expected in a dis¬
trict so highly favoured by nature. Agriculture is carried
on with much spirit amongst the higher classes, by whom
the latest improvements in tillage and the best constructed
vehicles and implements have been introduced; but the
greater portion of the county might be much improved
by the judicious application of capital and labour to the
cultivation of the land. The extent of land under each
description of crop in 1855 and 1858 was—
1855.
Acres.
Wheat  4,159
Oats 59,257
Barley, here, rye, heans, and pease... 488
Potatoes 36,793
Turnips   4,735
Other green crops  1,732
Flax  386
Meadow and clover 30,214
Total 137,764
1858.
Acres.
4,832
56,909
685
42,468
4,697
2,393
265
36,893
149,142
In the mountainous districts the spade is frequently used
instead of the plough. In these, also, the neighbouring
landholders generally club their labour together, particu¬
larly in planting and raising potatoes, all uniting to com¬
plete the work of one farm, and then proceeding succes¬
sively in a body to execute that of the other partners in the
amicable joint-stock concern. The pastures are amongst
the best in Ireland; and as their proprietors are almost
fastidiously particular in the selection of live stock ol every
422
EOS
EOS
Roscom¬
mon.
description, the best-fed beasts are to be met with here.
This is peculiarly the case with respect to bullocks; the
sheep also are of first-rate quality, both as to fleece and
flavour of carcase. In prime grazing land an acre feeds a
bullock and a sheep. Notwithstanding the superior capa¬
bilities of the soil for pasturage, there are not many large
dairies. The annual fair of Baliinasloe, in October, is the
principal mart at which cattle and sheep are disposed of.
The quantity of live stock in the county in 1857 and 1858
was—
1857. 1858.
Horses   10,939 10,754:
Cattle  93,973 96,620
Sheep 145,969 152,466
Pigs  32,826 32,395
Fences in general are made of stone walls, raised to a con¬
siderable height, as they are considered to afford better
shelter for cattle than those of timber. That the county
was once well wooded appears not only from the evidence
of history, but from the fact, that, wherever the impedi¬
ments to its growth are removed, the soil spontaneously
throws up shoots of those species of forest-trees with which
the whole face of the country was once covered. The ex¬
cessive clearing of the woods, without precautionary mea¬
sures to secure a new growth, has left the surface very
bare; but this defect, equally unsightly to the eye of taste
and injurious to the progress of improvement, is annually
diminishing, through the exertions of the landed gentry,
many of whose mansions are surrounded with noble planta¬
tions. Manufactures, with the exception of those already
noticed, and of coarse woollens and linens for domestic
consumption, do not exist. The articles of export are con¬
fined to agricultural produce and live stock, for which the
Shannon affords great facilities. The navigation of this
fine river, which, as has already been said, skirts the county
along the whole of its eastern verge, was formerly so much
obstructed by several rapids as to render it useless as a
channel of enlarged inland traffic. These impediments
have been obviated by means of short canals along the side
of the river in those parts where the rapids occur. The
connection by water with the eastern counties to Dublin
is maintained by the Royal and Grand canals, which com¬
municate with the Shannon at Tarmonbarry and Shannon
harbour. As all the great lines of land conveyance to
Connaught from Leinster and Ulster (including the Mid¬
land Great Western Railway, from Dublin to Galway)
pass through the county, the roads are numerous, and gene¬
rally well kept up.
The monastic antiquities are very numerous. The ruins
of the abbey of Boyle, founded in 1148, still exhibit a large
part of its highly-ornamented church, with its tower rising
from the middle of the building, and resting on four columns
of colossal dimensions, enriched with a variety of sculp¬
tures ; and the Dominican friary at Roscommon contains
a monument of an ancient member of the O’Connor family,
exhibiting an effigy of an armed warrior in a lying posture,
with four other armed figures on the base. Derham Ab¬
bey, in the neighbourhood of Roscommon, is little more
than a heap of stones. The others of which some relics
still exist, are Trinity Abbey, on an island in Lough Kea,
Tulsk, Clonshanvill, and Clontuskert, in which there are
several monuments and inscriptions relating to the O’Kellys
and other ancient families. In the parish of Oran, a few
miles from Roscommon, are the remains of an ancient
pillar-tower about 10 feet high; and in every part there
are raths so numerous that nearly five hundred are still
visible. 1 he county contained a great number of small
fortresses, evidently built when it was one of the marches
or border districts, to repress the incursions of the Con-
naught Irish, besides which there were a few of great ex¬
tent and strength, as is testified by that of Roscommon,
forming a quadrangle of 220 by 180 feet, with towers at
the angles and at the gateway, and containing the remains
of a large building, supposed to be the residence of the
governor. 1 he most remarkable of the other castles are
those of Athlone, Ballinasloe, Ballynafad, and Lough
Glynn.
Roscommon, the county town, is built on the southern
slope of a gently-rising hill, near the centre of the county.
It consists but of one main street, with several minor
avenues branching out into five main roads, in various
directions. It was incorporated at a very early period,
and was considered to be one of the chief places in these
parts. Writs for the better defence of the town and castle
are frequent among the earlier records. It returned two
members to the Irish Parliament till the Union. Here are
the buildings connected with the local administration of
justice; the county court-house, the prison-house, the
county infirmary, and fever hospital. The modern eccle¬
siastical buildings are not remarkable for architectural
elegance. The parish church is a neat structure. The
town is a place of very limited trade, except in that of
grain, large quantities of which are sent to Lanesborough,
to be exported thence by means of the Royal Canal or
the Shannon. The population in 1851 was 3364. No
other town wholly within the county has a population ex¬
ceeding 2000, except Boyle, a neat and commercial town,
with a population of 2767 souls. Part of the town of
Athlone, on the Shannon, in which are the fortified maga¬
zines intended for the defence of the pass of the Shannon,
is on the Roscommon side of the river. A small portion of
the town of Ballinasloe, celebrated for its great annual fair
for sheep and horned cattle, is also in this county, (h. s—R.)
ROSCOMMON, Wentworth Dillon, Earl of, a cele¬
brated poet of the seventeenth century, was the son of James
Dillon, Earl of Roscommon, and was born in Ireland about
1634, under the administration of the Earl of Strafford,
who was his uncle, and from whom he received the name
of Wentworth. He passed his infancy in Ireland; after
which the Earl of Strafford sent for him to England, and
placed him at his own seat in Yorkshire, under the tuition
of Dr Hall, who instructed him in Latin, without teaching
him the common rules of grammar, which he could never
retain in his memory, though he learned to write in that
language with classical elegance and propriety. On the
Earl of Strafford’s being impeached, he went to complete
his education at Caen in Normandy ; and after some years
he travelled to Rome, where he became well skilled in
medals and in the Italian language. He returned to Eng¬
land soon after the Restoration, and was made captain of
the band of pensioners; but a dispute with the lord privy-
seal about a part of his estate obliged him to resign his post
and revisit his native country, where the Duke of Ormond
appointed him captain of the guards. He was unhappily
very fond of gaming; and as he was returning to his
lodgings from a gaming-table in Dublin, he was attacked in
the dark by three ruffians who were employed to assassi¬
nate him. The earl defended himself with such resolution
that he had despatched one of the aggressors, when a gentle¬
man came up and disarmed another, on which the third took
to flight. This generous assistant was rewarded for his
bravery by Roscommon resigning to him his post of cap¬
tain of the guards. His lordship at length returned to
London, when he was made master of the horse to the
Duchess of York, and married the Lady Frances, the eldest
daughter of Richard, Earl of Burlington, and the widow of
Colonel Courtney. Here he distinguished himself by his
writings; and, in imitation of those learned and polite
assemblies with which he had been acquainted abroad, he
began to form a society for refining and fixing the standard
of the English language, in which his great friend' Dryden
was a principal assistant. In 1683 he was seized with the
Roscom¬
mon.
R O S
Roscrea gout, which, by improper medical treatment, led to his
II death, which happened in the month of January 1684. He
Roselhm. was buriecl with great pomp in Westminster Abbey.
His poems, which are not numerous, are in the body of
English poetry collected by Dr Johnson. His Essay on
Translated Verse (1684), and his translation of Horace’s
Art of Poetry (1680), have been much commended. Upon
the latter, Waller addressed a poem to his lordship when
he was seventy-five years of age. “ In the writings of this
nobleman we view,” says Fenton, “ the image of a mind
naturally serious and solid ; richly furnished and adorned
with all the ornaments of art and science; and these orna¬
ments unaffectedly disposed in the most regular and elegant
order. His imagination might probably have been more
fruitful and sprightly, if his judgment had been less severe ;
but that severity (delivered in a masculine, clear, succinct
style) contributed to make him so eminent in the didactical
manner, that no man with justice can affirm he was equalled
by any of our nation, without confessing at the same time
that he is inferior to none. In some other kinds of writing
his genius seems to have wanted fire to attain the point of
perfection ; but who can attain it ? He was a man of an
amiable disposition, as well as a good poet; as Pope, in his
Essay on Criticism, has testified in the following lines:—
“ Roscommon, not more learned than good,
With manners generous as his noble blood;
To him the wit of Greece and Rome was known,
And every author’s merit but his own.”
Roscommon enjoys the distinction of being the only
correct writer in verse before the time of Addison ; and
if there are not so many or so great beauties in his
composition as in those of some contemporaries, there are
at least fewer faults. “ Of Roscommon’s works,” says
Johnson (Lives of the Poets'), “ the judgment of the public
seems to be right. He is elegant, but not great; he never
labours after exquisite beauties, and he seldom falls into
gross faults. His versification is smooth, but rarely vigor¬
ous ; and his rhymes are remarkably exact. He improved
taste if he did not enlarge knowledge, and may be num¬
bered among the benefactors to English literature.”
ROSCREA, a market-town of Ireland, in the county
of Tipperary, on an affluent of the Brosna, in a fertile
country at the foot of the Slievebloom Mountains, 65 miles
W.S.W. of Dublin. It is an old place, irregularly and not
very well built; but has some broad streets and good
houses. The most conspicuous object here is the ancient
round tower, 80 feet high, which is one of the largest in
the country; and, unlike most of the rest, built entirely of
square stones. The parish church has a curious Gothic
front at its west end, and the belfry of the Roman Catholic
church consists of the steeple of an old Franciscan priory.
The ancient castle of the Ormonde family is now used as a
military storehouse. The other chief buildings in Roscrea
are the court-house, market-house, jail, national school,
hospitals, and workhouse. Coarse woollen cloth is manu¬
factured here to some extent, and there is a considerable
trade in grain. The town is of great antiquity, for it owes
its origin to a monastery which was founded in 620. Pop.
(1851) 3496.
ROSE. See Botany, § Eosacece.
ROSEAU, or Charlotte Town, the capital of the
island of Dominica, West Indies, on a tongue of land on
the S.W. coast; N. Eat. 13. 19., Long. 61. 28. It is re¬
gularly laid out and well built, and has a fort and a safe
roadstead. Pop. 5000.
ROSELLINI, Ippolito, Cavaliere, a celebrated scholar,
was born at Pisa in 1800. His taste for archaeological studies
was awakened under the tuition of a Servitan monk. He
pursued them during his university career in his native
city and in Bologna. The appointment in 1824 to the
R O S 423
chair of oriental languages at Pisa increased his enthu- Rosen
siasm for his favourite subject. Taking up the particular II
branch of Egyptian hieroglyphics, he became a devoted R°setta-
disciple of Champollion. He accompanied that famous
French orientalist in his exploration of Italy, and in his
subsequent researches at Paris. He then, in 1828, went
with him on a tour of discovery through Egypt and Nubia.
He was also about to assist him in publishing the results of
their common journey of investigation when Champollion
died in 1832. Rosellini accordingly was left to conduct
the great undertaking alone. The first volume of the work
appeared in 1832, under the title of I Monumenti dell'
Eyitto e della Nubia. He had just published the eighth
volume when he died in 1843. The two remaining volumes
were conducted through the press by his friends in 1844.
ROSEN, Frederick Augustus, a profound orientalist,
was born at Hanover in 1805. His taste for the eastern
languages began to be cultivated at the universities of
Leipsic and Berlin. The Sanscrit, in particular, captivated
his attention. He first studied the elements of that tongue
under his father. He then acquired further instruction
from Professor Bopp. At length, in 1827, he arranged and
developed his knowledge in a work entitled Radices
Sanscritce. So great progress, in fact, did he make, that at
the age of twenty-two he was appointed professor of the
oriental languages in the university of London. The young
scholar now entered upon a career of great eminence. His
wonderful erudition in languages soon won the general
admiration. At the same time, the gentleness and honesty
of his disposition disarmed all envious detraction. Honours
from several quarters continued to be conferred upon him.
University College translated him to their chair of Sanscrit.
The Royal Asiatic Society made him their foreign secre¬
tary. The Oriental Translation Committee appointed him
to a similar office. The learned men of the Continent, too,
cultivated his acquaintance; and there was scarcely an
oriental work undertaken in Europe for which his aid was
not sought and given. Encouraged by this patronage, Dr
Rosen devoted the latter part of his life to a thorough in¬
vestigation of the character of the Indian language and
literature. For this purpose, he commenced to eluci¬
date the Vedas. His Rig Vedce Specimen, published in
1830, was the first result of his labours. Another collec¬
tion of the same kind, containing the Sanscrit text, a Latin
translation, and explanatory notes, was in the press when
he was prematurely cut off at the age of thirty-two. It
was published under the title of Rigveda-Sanhita Liber
Primus, London, 1844.
ROSENAU (Hung. Rozsno banya), a town of Hun¬
gary, in the county and 15 miles N.E. of Gomor, on the
Sajo. It contains a large cathedral, episcopal palace,
churches, convents, episcopal seminary, Roman Catholic
and Protestant grammar schools. The scenery in the vici¬
nity is very fine ; and there are near the town mines of
iron, copper, lead, and antimony. Rosenau has potteries,
bleach-fields, tanneries, breweries, and manufactories of
wax-candles. Some trade is carried on in honey, wax, and
pease. Pop. 7000.
Rosenau (Magyar Rostiyo), another town of the Aus¬
trian empire, Transylvania, in the circle and 7 miles S.W.
of Kronstadt. It has a strong castle, where is a well 456
feet deep, hewn out of the rock. Flax, tobacco, and honey
are produced here. Pop. 4000.
ROSES, Attar of. See Oils.
ROSETTA (Arab. Rasheed), a seaport of Egypt, on
the left bank of the most westerly mouth of the Nile, hence
called the Rosetta Mouth, 40 miles N.E. of Alexandria.
Along the bank of the river stretches a broad open space,
forming a public walk; beyond this is the town, consisting
of parallel streets running from N. to S., crossed by other
shorter ones. As in most eastern towns, the streets are
424 • HOS
liosheim. extremely narrow, sometimes not more than two yards
II across, while the upper storeys of the houses frequently
Kog8- y meet. The buildings are for the most part of dull, red
bricjC) tw0 or three storeys high. The groves of palms,
bananas, and orange trees about Rosetta, contrasting with
the surrounding expanse of barren and dreary sand, give a
beautiful appearance to the town ; and the salubrity of the
climate attracts many visitors. The public buildings com¬
prise several mosques, a Greek and a Roman Catholic
church, khans, and bazaars. The town is inclosed by
loop-holed walls. There are still some manufactures at
Rosetta, especially weaving pf cotton and linen fabrics;
and the trade which was formerly carried on with Europe
and the Levant, though now for the most part transferred
to Alexandria, has not altogether deserted the place. It
was here that the celebrated Rosetta stone was found, now
in the British Museum, containing the trilingual inscription
that furnished the key to the Egyptian hieroglyphics. Pop.
probably about 15,000. (See Egypt.)
ROSHEIM, a fortified town of France, in the depart¬
ment of Bas-Rhin, among the Vosges Mountains, 14 miles
S.W. of Strasburg. It contains two handsome churches, a
town-hall, and an hospital. Manufactures of cotton cloth are
carried on. In the vicinity are mineral springs. Pop. 3971.
ROSICRUCIANS. See Mysticism.
ROSLIN, a village of Scotland, in the county and 7
miles S. of Edinburgh, on the Esk, among scenery which
for beauty is inferior to few places in the country. It is
chiefly remarkable for the ancient chapel and castle which
stand here. The former is an exceedingly beautiful speci¬
men of florid Gothic architecture ; it was founded in 1446,
and the plan was to have been in the form of a cross; but
only the choir and east wall of the transept were completed
when the building was stopped in 1484. The carving is
very elaborate, especially on what is called the ’Prentice’s
Pillar. Of the castle which stood on the edge of a cliff
overhanging the river, the triple row of vaults, the massive
wall, and many scattered fragments, still remain. At
Roslin is a paper manufactory, bleach-field, and gunpowder
manufactory, the largest in Scotland. In this neighbour¬
hood the Scots gained three victories over the English on
the same day in 1302.
ROSS, a market-town of England, in the county of
Hereford, on the left bank of the Wye, 14 miles S.S.E. of
Hereford, and 120 W.S.W. of London. It is a pleasant-
looking place, in a fine situation overlooking the river;
but the streets are steep and narrow, though generally well
paved. Near the centre stands an old and interesting
town-hall; the parish church also is an ancient building in
the perpendicular style, conspicuous for its lofty spire,
which has repeatedly been struck by lightning. In the
church are several ancient monuments, including one of
Kyrle, the “ man of Ross,” eulogised by Pope. The other
places of worship belong to Wesleyans, Baptists, Inde¬
pendents, and Quakers. The town contains national and
other schools, a mechanics’ institution, dispensary, savings-
bank, &c. Once there was here a considerable trade in
iron, but cider is now the chief article of commerce.
Markets are held weekly, and fairs six times a year. Pop.
(1851) 2674.
Ross, or JRoscarbery, a market-town of Ireland, in the
county of Cork, on a rocky hill at the head of Ross Bay,
39 miles S.W. of Cork, and 197 S.W. of Dublin. It has
an old cathedral, which has been several times altered, and
is now surmounted by a modern spire. A Roman Catho¬
lic church, court-house, market-house, jail, and dispensary
are also in the town. A weekly market and two annual
fairs are held here. Pop. (1851) 1044.
Ross, New, a parliamentary and municipal borough of
Ireland, in the county of Wexford, on the left bank of the
Barrow, here crossed by a wooden bridge leading to the
R 0 S
suburb Rosbercon, 13 miles N.N.E. of Waterford. It con- Ross,
sists chiefly of a long street extending along the summit
of the high river-bank, with shorter ones rising steeply to
it on either side; but there is a more modern portion built
along the water’s edge. The town was formerly inclosed
by walls, but these were demolished by Cromwell in 1649.
The parish church is a neat building on the site of an
ancient abbey, of which there are still some remains. Ros¬
bercon has also a parish church, this, too, partially consist¬
ing of an older building; and there are places of worship for
Roman Catholics, Methodists, Presbyterians, Independents,
and Quakers. Among the other buildings of the town are
a market-house, court-house, bridewell, cavalry barracks,
several hospitals, workhouse, and dispensary; and in addi¬
tion to these, New Ross has a grammar school, news-room,
and circulating library. The principal manufactures of the
town are tanning and brewing; and the trade is very con¬
siderable,—grain, flour, wool, butter, &c., being exported.
There are extensive quays, where vessels of 200 tons can
lie at all tides, and those as large as 800 at spring-tides.
The river is navigable for barges as far up as Athy, and
from thence there is communication by canal with Dublin.
The number of ships registered at the port 31st December
1857 was 14 sailing-vessels, tonnage 4219. In the year
ending on that day there entered the harbour 297 sailing-
vessels, tonnage 25,151; and there cleared 58, tonnage
5659; while the number of steam-vessels that entered and
cleared was 324 each, tonnage 27,216. A great number
of the inhabitants are employed in salmon-fishery on the
river, both above and below the town. Markets are held
here twice a week, and fairs monthly. During the rebel¬
lion in 1798 New Ross was attacked by the insurgents,
but after ten hours’ fighting, they were repulsed with great
loss. The borough formerly sent two members to the
Irish Parliament, and now one to that of the United King¬
dom. Pop. (1851) 7941.
ROSS, Sir John, the famous Arctic navigator, was a
son of a minister of the Church of Scotland, and was born
at Balsarroch in Wigtonshire in 1777. His nature was
early inured to toil and hardship. He was no more than
nine when he entered the navy. His services as a midship¬
man were immediately employed in the Mediterranean.
So soon afterwards as 1806, he was engaged as a lieuten¬
ant in the French war, and received no less than thirteen
wounds. It was in 1818 that Ross undertook to settle the
disputed question about the North-West Passage. Setting
sail in the Isabella, and attended by Lieutenant Parry in
command of the Alexander, he left the Thames on the
25th of April. On reaching the American coast, his ships
pressed on through Davis Straits and Baffin’s Bay, and
turned their prows into Lancaster Sound. He had not
proceeded much farther before he imagined that he espied
a line of high land sweeping across the breadth of the bay,
and closing up the passage. Fancying that the object of
his enterprise was accomplished, he immediately tacked
about, and in spite of the remonstrance of Parry, sailed
away homewards. His ships arrived in the Thames on
the 14th December 1818, and in the following month he
was rewarded with the rank of post-captain. The next
expedition of Captain Ross to the same regions was under¬
taken in May 1829. His vessels were the steamer Vic¬
tory, equipped at the expense of Felix Booth, sheriff of
London, and the Krusenstern, furnished by the govern¬
ment. His design was to penetrate if possible through
Prince Regent Inlet, recently discovered by Parry, into
Barrow’s Straits. Accordingly', on the 12th of August he
entered into the former of these seas. He had not sailed
far before he got blocked up in the ice, which de¬
tained him for many months. Year after year his course
was intercepted. Towards the end of the fourth year
it was found necessary to abandon the vessel and to
R 0 S
Ross and press northward with the boats. At length, on the 26th
Cromarty, of August 1833, he and his crew were picked up in Lan-
caster Sound by his old ship the Isabella. The remainder
of Ross’s life was spent in the enjoyment of knighthood and
other honours which his exertions had merited. His only
other expedition was an unavailing attempt, which he made
at his own expense in 1850, to discover and save Sir John
Franklin. He died on the 30th August 1856. Ross pub¬
lished accounts of his first two voyages. He is also the
author of Letters to Young Sea-Officers; Memoirs of Ad¬
miral Lord de Saumarez; A Treatise on Navigation by
Steam; and other works.
ROSS and CROMARTY, two shires of Scotland, so
curiously mixed up in geographical position, and so closely
united politically, as to render their description under one
head a matter not merely of convenience, but even of neces¬
sity. They are bounded on the N. by Sutherlandshire,
E. by the German Ocean, S. by Inverness-shire, and W.
by the Atlantic ; and lie between N. Lat. 57. 8. and 58. 6.,
W. Long. 3. 45. and 5. 50. Besides this portion of the
mainland, the northern portion of the island of Lewis in
the Hebrides is included in Ross-shire. The whole area is
3151 square miles, or 2,016,375 statute acres: length, from
E. to W., 67 miles ; average breadth, 58. Ross-shire, com¬
prising the districts of Easter and Wester Ross, Ardmeanach,
or the Black Isle, and the island of Lewis, is the third in size
among the counties in Scotland. The county of Cromarty,
on the other hand, is comparatively small. It is divided
into eleven portions, which are whimsically inserted into
various parts of the larger county of Ross, like fragments of
a more ancient rock in some newer geological formation.
One of these parts is the original county of Cromarty, an¬
ciently called Crumbachty,—that is, “ Crooked Bay,” from
the windings of its shores, consisting of that portion which
lies in the peninsula to the S. of the Cromarty Firth, and
which surrounds the county town. This part rises like a
huge lump to a height of 470 feet above the level of the
sea, which washes the base of its cliffs, and it is this space
—containing a parish and a half1—which still preserves for
the county a separate lord-lieutenancy and commission of
supply. As a county, it was originally very inconsiderable
both in extent and in value; but by the straggling addi¬
tions which were made to it towards the end of the
seventeenth century, it was increased to fifteen times its
former extent. Of these additions, one is a small dis¬
trict surrounding Tarbat House, on the northern shore
of Cromarty Bay; and a second runs from the S. side
of the Tain Firth to Moray Firth, cutting off that por¬
tion of the county of Ross which terminates in Tarbat
Ness, the extremity of which also belongs to Cromarty.
Two more fragments are found lying on the south of the
River Carron, which has its embouchure near Bonar
Bridge; a sixth is that which runs northward from the
burgh of Dingwall, taking in Castle Leod and part of Ben
Wyvis ; the seventh lies to the N. of Loch Fannich, at some
distance to the N. W. of which a triangular morsel is found
to the N. of Loch Nid; the ninth is that which stretches
along the southern shore of Little Loch Broom ; and the
tenth is the large district of Coygach, lying between the
northern shore of Loch Broom and Sutherlandshire; to
which may be added the Summer Islands, at the mouth of
Loch Broom, which are about 60 miles distant from the
town of Cromarty. This strange arrangement of territory
was produced by the influence of that great and powerful
proprietor, George, Viscount Tarbat, afterwards Earl of
Cromarty, who, wishing to have all his various lands in¬
cluded in one shire, got them annexed to his own county
in 1685 and 1698. But these were not all, nor the most
extraordinary, annexations which he accomplished. For,
as a part of the county of Cromarty, we are compelled to
notice Royston, or Caroline Park, locally situated within
VOL. XIX.
R O S 425
the county of Edinburgh, and but a couple of miles from r0ss and
the Scottish capital. But such arrangements were by no Cromarty,
means singular. The district of Ferintosh, belonging lo- '
cally to Ross-shire, is in fact a part of Nairnshire; and
from similar causes many of the houses in the Canon-
gate of Edinburgh belong to different counties in Scotland,
from their having been the town residences of Scottish
noblemen whose estates lay in those different shires. By
the addition of all those portions which we have enumerated,
the extent of Cromarty is calculated to be equal to an area
of 345 square miles, or about 220,800 imperial acres.
The united county extends* as has already been stated,
across the island from the German Ocean to the Atlantic.
On the eastern coast, Cromarty Firth shoots inland from
that of Moray through the narrow strait produced by those
grand and picturesque headlands called the Sutors of Cro¬
marty, and expands into a still and land-locked basin, ca¬
pable of holding the whole navy of Great Britain. The
headlands themselves are so lofty and precipitous that it is
not uncommon during gales of wind from the north-east¬
ward, to see waves breaking upon them to the height of
100 feet, whilst all within is smooth. The firth is rather
more than 5 miles broad at the widest part, and its length
is about 18. The depth averages from 9 to 12 fathoms, but
in the entrance it in some places exceeds 30; a depth which
nearly doubles that of Moray Firth, into which it opens.
The western coast is indented by many bays and sea-lochs,
which afford numerous havens of shelter from the storms
of the Atlantic. From S. to N., these are Loch Alsh,
with its two branches Loch Duich and Loch Ling; Loch
Carron, with its branch Loch Keeshorn ; Loch Torridon,
Gairloch, Loch Ewe, Loch Greinord, Little Loch Broom,
Loch Broom, and Loch Enard. All these exhibit magni¬
ficent scenery. That of Loch Torridon, for example, is
of the grandest and wildest character; as is likewise that
of Loch Duich, rendered peculiarly interesting by the re¬
mains of the castle of Eilan Donan, the ancient stronghold
of the Mackenzies, the lords of Kintail. The outer head¬
lands of the western coast of Ross-shire, N. of Loch Car¬
ron, are composed of sandstone, exhibiting the usual smooth
and regular outline characteristic of that formation ; and
hence the promontories are tame, and of an unvaried red¬
dish aspect, and the shores of the bays are for the most
part covered over with brown heath. It is therefore more
in the inner recesses of these inlets, and perhaps somewhat
inland, that the most romantic scenery is to be found.
The general surface of Ross and Cromarty is wild and
mountainous, the mountain chains and groups being inter¬
spersed with valleys, glens, lakes, and rivers, exhibiting na¬
ture in every variety of form and character.
Amongst the numerous fresh-water lakes and rivers to
be found in Ross and Cromarty we may particularize the
following:—The River Oikel, which divides Ross-shire from
Sutherland, rises near the eastern side of the island, and
after a course of 20 miles, finds it way into the upper end
of the Tain or Dornoch Firth, a few miles above the fine
iron-arched bridge of Bonar. Then, as we move south¬
wards, we have the River Carron and the Water of Fearn,
discharging themselves into the same firth. Cromarty Firth
receives the large and important stream of the Conon, and
its affluent the Raney or Blackwater. On the W. coast we
have the rivers Sheil and Ling, the one tributary to Loch
Duich, and the other to Loch Ling; the River Carron dis¬
charging into Loch Carron the waters of Lochs Doule and
Scaven. The River Ewe, which is only 1 mile in length,
discharges into Loch Ewe the waters of the grand Loch
Maree, which is by far the largest and finest lake in Ross-
shire. It is 12 miles long and about 2\ broad, and the
greater part of it is full 60 fathoms deep; so that it has
never been known to freeze even in the most intense frosts.
It contains no less than twenty-four islands, its mountains
3 H
426
UOSS-SHIRE.
Ross and are magnificent, and it is now quite accessible. The on^y
Cromarty, other fresh-water lakes of any size or impoitance are Loch
v—^ Fannich, Loch Luichart, and Loch Glas, all near the centre
of the county, d he whole area occupied by water is esti¬
mated at 90 square miles.
The scenery on the River Conon and some of its tribu¬
taries is beautiful and interesting. The falls of Rogie are
by many considered as inferior only to those of Foyers and
Moness. We may indeed affirm that most of the valleys or
river-courses in the united counties are more or less worth
visiting, for the wild, the romantic, or the retired pastoral
scenes which they contain. The waterfall of Glomach, in
the parish of Kintail, is one of the highest and finest in the
kingdom. The road from Keeshorn over the mountain to
Applecross is like a Swiss pass, and is probably the only
drive from which ptarmigan might be shot from a vehicle.
The mountain groups of Ross and Cromarty are very
lofty. They rise gradually from the east coast, and more
suddenly and boldly from the western sea, to which the
summit-level of the country is more generally approxi¬
mated. Granite and mica slate occupy the centre of the
county 5 while for 10 or lo miles inland from the coasts
the substratum is generally old red sandstone. There are
also argillaceous formations abounding in animal remains,
with plates resembling those of the tortoise, pieces of rough
skin like that of the shark, the scales and bones of fish ; and
in a ridge of bituminous shale near the Cromarty rocks
we find ammonites, belemnites, scallops (plain and striated),
pieces of wood, and a thick fleshy-looking leaf resembling
that of the aloe. The mineralogical catalogue is large.^
Limestone and primitive limestone of the character of
marble are very commonly to be met with. Ironstone is
disseminated in great abundance. On the farm of Scorraig,
on the Dundonnell estate, there is a prodigious quantity of
bog-iron ore, which gives a strong and harsh chalybeate
taste to all the springs in the neighbourhood. There are
various mineral springs in the united shires of Ross and
Cromarty, but those which have attained the greatest cele¬
brity are the two wells of Strathpeffer, which have now for
many years attracted numerous visitors to their neigh¬
bourhood in search of health and recreation. Both of these
springs have the smell of sulphuretted hydrogen gas, but
the upper spring is stronger than the lower.
Many of the mountains of Ross and Cromarty are among
the highest in Britain. Ben Wyvis or Ben Uaish,—that
is, the Mountain of Storm,—is one of the most remarkable
mountains, not only in Ross and Cromarty, but in Scot¬
land. Its height is 3422 feet; but it is most wonderful for
its immense bulk, by which it stands prominently distin¬
guished from the other hills around it, so as to be peculiarly
striking from great distances. Ben Dearg, on Loch Broom,
is 3551 feet in height. The chief other heights are Kea
Cloch, near Loch Broom, 3600 feet; Ben Lair, near Loch
Maree, 3000 feet; and Ben Attow, on the border of In¬
verness-shire, 4000.
The soil of Ross-shire varies in its character in different
parts of the county. In the E. there are two peninsulas,—
the Black Isle, between the Firths of Beauly and Cromarty;
and Easter Ross between those of Cromarty and Dornoch,
•—which, along with some of the adjacent country, contain
arable land of much fertility; but the great mass of the
country, including the central and western portions, is rug¬
ged, mountainous, and unfit for the plough. The moun¬
tains, and particularly those towards the W., are covered
with excellent pasture for sheep. Some of the sheep-farms
are extensive, and possessed by farmers of capital, who
have introduced the Cheviot breed of sheep, or a cross of
that breed. The valleys and glens are also depastured for
the most part by sheep. Although agriculture is found in
patches in the valleys and on the shores of the W. coast,
the great agricultural districts of Ross and Cromarty are
those extending from Dingwall along the northern shore Ross and
of Cromarty Firth, and so onwards in a north-eastern di- Cromarty.
rection along the Moray Firth and that of Dornoch, and the
district of the Black Isle. All the grains and other agri¬
cultural produce of Britain are raised in perfection; and
the farming is as well carried on here as in any part of
Scotland. The roads made in Ross-shire by the parlia¬
mentary commissioners anc| the proprietors are extensive
and excellent, and they are kept in the highest state of
repair. Many of the wildest and most unapproachable dis¬
tricts have thus been opened; and though there are still
many left hermetically sealed against all but the adventur¬
ous horseman or the unwearied pedestrian, there has been
much done very recently.
The total number of acres under crops in 1857 was
72,851 ; and of these, 9715 were occupied with wheat,
6435 with barley, 16,256 with oats, 212 with rye, 289
with here, 437 with beans, 360 with pease, 911 with vetches,
12,228 with turnips, 4471 with potatoes, 550 fallow, and
20,869 with grass and hay. The number of horses in the
same year was 4759 ; of cattle, 17,610; of sheep, 304,444;
of swine, 1761 ; in all, 331,381 head of live stock.
The natural woods in Ross and Cromarty, though much
diminished, are still numerous, and widely scattered through
the glens and over the mountain-sides. The trees are
chiefly firs, oaks, ash, birch, and alder. The whole lace of
the wilder country bears evidence of its having been once
covered with extensive forests, fragments of which only
now remain in certain places. The climate is exceedingly
variable, differing much on the two sea-boards, and in
general rainy, though there are often long periods of dry
weather, and sometimes the same day appears as it it be¬
longed in succession to all the seasons. 1 he annual mean
temperature is 46°. In the arable districts the climate has
been sensibly improved of late years by drainage and other
improvements in agriculture and planting.
From the great extent and immense variety of eleva¬
tion and of surface of Ross and Cromarty, it naturally
contains by much the greater part, if not nearly all, the
plants to be found in the Flora Scotica; and in the same
way, speaking generally, almost all the animals to be found
in the zoology of Scotland have been discovered to belong
to it. The larger wild quadrupeds are red and roe deer,.
hares, alpine hares, foxes, badgers, wild cats, &c. Grouse,
ptarmigan, black game, and partridges abound; and in some
places pheasants have been introduced, and have amazingly
increased. The golden eagle and the ospray are both
common, as well as all the other birds of prey. Water-
fowls of all kinds abound on the coasts; and the Fifth of
Cromarty is especially remarkable for the number and
variety of sea-fowl which may be obtained by the skilful
sportsmen. In severe winters it frequently happens that
many wild swans are shot there. All the lochs and streams
abound with fish, and salmon are particularly abundant in all
the rivers, especially in the Oikel and in the Ewe. Short
as is the course of this last-mentioned stream, it so swarms
with salmon that twenty fish are no uncommon number for
an expert angler to take in one day. The trouts of Loch
Luichart and many other lakes are far-famed. The peail-
mussel is found in the stream of the River Conon, and
frequently affords pearls of remarkable beauty.
The number of proprietors in the county is 117, and the
valuation of rent for 1858-9 is L. 175,355.
The introduction of steam navigation has done much to
improve Ross and Cromarty, not only by making them
more easily accessible, but by the opening which it has
created for the export of cattle and sheep to the southern
markets. The change in this respect may be readily con¬
ceived when we consider the immense land-journey which
the animals had to undergo before they could be brought
to the Edinburgh market. They were driven off in a lean
r
R 0 S
R 0 S 427
Ross and
Cromarty
state, and were fed in the south country, before they could
be sold for food. Now, a Ross-shire farmer frequently im¬
ports lean cattle from the south, and returns them so fed
as to be in a condition for immediate slaughter. On the
east coast, the principal shipping port for cattle, sheep, and
all kinds of farm produce by steam-vessels is Invergorden,
a very thriving village on the Ross-shire side of the Cro¬
marty Firth, midway between Tain and Dingwall. It has
an excellent harbour and new piers, from which it is in¬
tended to have a steam ferry to some point of junction with
the railway on the Morayshire coast. The western coast
is also connected with Glasgow by an admirable steam ser¬
vice. The effect of these facilities in raising the value of
property in the northern counties may easily be imagined.
There are no important manufactures of any kind in the
county, but a large proportion of the inhabitants are em¬
ployed in fishing. The following table exhibits the number
and tonnage of the boats, and the number of persons, em¬
ployed in connection with the fishery in the several dis¬
tricts of the county in the year 1856:—
Districts.
No. Tono acre.
Crews.
Other persons
employed,
Loch Carron ..
Xioch Shildag.
Loch Broom ..
Stornoway 
Cromartv 
826
310
564
568
279
3001
1490
2763
5816
2167
3022
1088
2215
2357
817
Total
2547
15,237
9499
2272
527
3511
4353
2158
12,821
In the same year the number of barrels of herring caught,
cured, and exported in the several districts, was:—
Caught, but
not cured.
Loch Carron 8500
Loch Shildag 1670
Loch Broom  390
Stornoway 2046
Cromarty  550
Cured.
5517
2476
296
28,709
10,203
Exported.
1235
15,451
9524
Total 13,156 47,201 26,200
The number of barrels of cod, ling, and hake caught,
cured, and exported in the same year is exhibited in the
following table:—
Caught, but
not cured.
Loch Carron 3500
Loch Shildag 1410
Loch Broom  690
Stornoway 5322
Cromarty 1400
Cured.
5370
1363
710
17,970
34
Exported.
800
Total 12,323
25,447
800
In the above tables it must be observed that the column
of persons employed comprehends the coopers, labourers,
gutters, packers, and those engaged in cleaning and drying
the fish. It is also to be noticed that the Loch Carron
fishery district includes the Isle of Skye in Inverness-shire.
Every kind of fish that frequents the northern seas may be
taken on the coasts of Ross and Cromarty, particularly on
those of the island of Lewis. The Broad Bay flounder of
Stornoway is the finest in the world. The saithe is much
more delicate than the whiting. The haddock is remark-
ably good on the east coast, and is a great branch of trade
in its cured or smoked state. Turbot, lobsters, and even
wilks, are now also exported to London.
The burghs of Cromarty, Dingwall, and Tain, along with
Dornoch, Wick, and Kirkwall, return a member to Parlia¬
ment. Fortrose and Rosemarkie, two small adjacent, towns
included in one burgh, return a member along with Inver¬
ness, Nairn, and Forres. Besides these burghs, the united
county has several villages or small towns in it, such as
Invergordon, Alness, Evantown, Portmahomack, Conon, Rossano.
Shildaig, Dornie, Plocktown, Jeantown, and Ullapool. ^ —*
Ross-shire is divided into 33 parishes, of which 29 are on
the mainland and 4 in the island of Lewis. The whole
number of places of worship, according to the census of
1851, was 75, with 44,644 sittings. Of the former, 27 be¬
longed to the Established Church, 40 to the Free Church,
3 to the Episcopalians, 2 to the United Presbyterians, and
one each to the Independents, Baptists, and Roman Catho¬
lics. At the same period the county contained 148 public
and 19 private schools, the former attended by 9379 and
the latter by 600 scholars; 70 Sunday-schools, with 5243
scholars, and one evening school with 22.
In Ross and Cromarty there are many ancient and curi¬
ous remains. In the parish of Nigg, the site of the castle
of Dunskeath, built by William the Lion in the year 1179,
is still to be distinguished. At Shandwick is the Clach-a-
Charridh, or the “ Stone of the Burial-place,” an obelisk
covered on all sides with curious Runic sculptures. There
is a similar though smaller stone in the church-yard of
Nigg. It originally stood near the gate, but it was thrown
down by the fall of a belfry in 1725, and it is now fixed to
the eastern gable. These obelisks or crosses are supposed
to be of Scandinavian origin. Craigchenichan, or the
Rock of Lamentation, in the parish of Kincardine, marks
the place where the Marquis of Montrose was defeated
by Colonel Strachan, after which he swam across the
Kyle, and lay concealed in Assint until apprehended and
sent prisoner to Inverness. The abbey and castle of Lochslin,
in the parish of Fearn, are remarkable. Of the former, the
chancel nave and two side chapels still remain, though
greatly dilapidated. The castle of Lochslin is supposed to
be more than five centuries old. It stands on an eminence
about 4 miles to the eastward of Tain, but it is now very
much gone. The castle of Cadboll, of which little remains,
is supposed to be yet more ancient than that of Lochslin.
Balone castle, in the parish of Tarbat, is also a very fine
ruin. Near Ob-Inag, in the parish of Glenshiel, is to be
found a fine specimen of what has been called the Pictish
Tower. At Dingwall are the remains of the ancient castle
of the earls of Ross. The hill of Knockfarril, in the parish
of Fodderty, is crowned with one of those curious and
puzzling morsels of antiquity usually known by the name
of vitrified forts. There are many ancient single stones,
and circles of stones, and cairns, in different parts of Ross
and Cromarty, and many interesting antiquities have been
discovered at various places in the county.
The principal seats of noblemen and gentlemen in
Ross-shire are Brahan Castle, belonging to Mrs Stewart
Mackenzie of Seaforth ; Belmaduthy House, to Sir Evan
Mackenzie of Kilcoy ; Flowerdale and Conon, to Sir Ken-
neth-Smith Mackenzie of Gairloch ; Coul, to Sir William
Mackenzie ; Rosehaugh, to Sir J. J. Randoll Mackenzie
of Scatwell; Foulis Castle, to Sir Charles Munro of Fou-
lis ; Balnagowan, to Sir Charles Ross ; Redcastle, to Henry
James Baillie, Esq.; Stornoway Castle, to Sir James Ma-
theson of Lewis and Achany ; Ardross Castle, to Alexander
Matheson, Esq.; Geanies House, to W. H. Murray, Esq.;
besides Tarbat House, in Cromarty, belonging to the Mar¬
quis of Stafford. The two counties of Ross and Cromarty
form one sheriffdom, and return one member to Parliament.
Pop. (1801) 56,318; (1811) 60,853; (1821) 68,762;
(1831) 74,820; (1841) 78,685 ; (1851) 82,707.
ROSSANO, a town of Naples, in the province of Ca¬
labria Citra, on a rocky eminence near the Gulf of Taranto,
29 miles N.E. of Cosenza. It is encircled by walls, and
protected by a castle ; and there are in the town a cathedral
and numerous other churches, several convents, a diocesan
seminary, and an hospital. In the vicinity are quarries of
marble and alabaster. Capons and saffron are raised here,
and there is a considerable trade in oil. Pop. 8500.
428 R O S
Rossi ROSSI, Pellegrino, Count, an able diplomatist, was
|| born at Carrara in 1787, and was educated for the bar. A
Rojtock. ghrewd and sagacious disposition fitted him to take a high
^ place in the active business of life. Wherever he went his
talents asserted his claim to influence and precedence. At
Bologna he was one of the leaders of the patriotic party.
At Geneva he became a professor of law, a member of the
council, and a representative of the canton in the Diet.
Nor did his ability fail to command preferment after he had
settled in Paris in 1833. In no long time he was natura¬
lized, and was made a peer of France. It was, however, at
Rome, in 1848 that Count Rossi played his most important
part. All his diplomacy was then employed to bring his
country safe out of the complicated dangers of a revolution.
As a member of the Roman cabinet, he strenuously endea¬
voured to effect reform in a constitutional way. So promi¬
nent, in fact, was his zeal in that line of policy, that he be¬
came the object of the deadly hatred of the republican
party; and on the 15th November 1848 he fell by the
dagger of an assassin.
ROSSIENY, a town of European Russia, capital of a
circle in the government of Kovno, stands on the Kubisza,
100 miles W.N.W. of Vilna. It has two churches, a Pia-
rist college, two schools, and two benevolent institutions.
It was formerly the capital of the principality of Samogitia,
which up to 1408 belonged to the Teutonic order, but was
then joined to Lithuania. Pop. 6300.
ROSSWEIN, a town of the kingdom of Saxony, on the
right bank of the Freiberg-Mulde, in the circle and 41 miles
E S.E. of Leipsie. It contains factories for weaving and
wool-spinning, and has an important market for corn. Pop.
6067.
ROSTOCK, the largest and most important town in the
grand duchy of Mecklenburg-Schwerin, on the left bank of
the Warnow, about 9 miles above its mouth in the Baltic,
131 miles W. by N. of Hamburg ; N. Lat. 54. 5., E. Long.
12. 20. It stands on a hill, and is surrounded by ancient
walls and ditches, which form a very agreeable public walk.
Besides the suburbs outside the walls, Rostock is divided
into an old, a middle, and a new town, and has in general
an antique and picturesque appearance, somewhat like that
of Liibeck. The old town is the most irregular, and the
middle town the handsomest portion. The principal square
bears the name of Bliicher, and contains a statue in brass
of that hero, who was a native of the town. The church ot
St Mary, a Gothic building, contains a monument to the
celebrated Grotius, who died here in 1645 ; and another in
memory of the Mecklenburg soldiers, who fell in the cam¬
paign of 1812 against Russia. The church of St Peter has
a tower 420 feet high, which is visible to navigators about
20 miles off the coast. Another notable edifice is the sin¬
gular-looking town-hall, with its seven pinnacles. The uni¬
versity of Rostock, founded in 1419, is the national one ol
the duchy, and had in 1856, 32 professors and teachers, and
97 students, some of the former men of much celebrity.
Attached to the university are a library of 80,000 volumes,
a museum, an observatory, and various preparatory semi¬
naries. Rostock has also a ducal palace, theatre, nunnery,
&c. The manufactures of the town are many and various,
as there are cotton factories, a paper-mill, a sugar-house,
ship-building yards, &c.; and the trade and navigation are
of the greatest importance. Warnemunde, on the Baltic, is
the harbour of the town, and it admits vessels drawing 8
feet of water. Communication is kept up by steamers:
and the place, though but a small village, is much fre¬
quented in summer for the sake of the sea-bathing. The
number of vessels belonging to the port was, in 1857, 324.
The number of ships that entered in 1855 was 501, and
those that cleared 572. The total quantity, in cwt., of the
exports and imports by sea, at Rostock, in 1852, is exhi¬
bited in the following table :—
ROT
Imported.
Articles of consumption.....cwt. 10,678
Raw materials  „ 235,850
Half-manufactured goods.... „ 22,204.
Manufactured goods  „ 395
Works of art and industry.. „ 12,806
Total.
381,933
Exported.
730,068
36,036
71
1
452
766,628
Rostopchin
Rota.
The transit trade of the town amounted in the same
year to 31,379 cwt. in all. The most part of the goods ex¬
ported from Rostock go to England, Sweden, and Holland ;
and the imports come from these countries, and from Den¬
mark. Rostock is a place of much antiquity. It was raised
to the rank of a city in 1030, and at a later period became
a member of the Hanseatic League, but left that con¬
federacy in 1492. It still retains the right of coining
money, along with several other privileges ; and is the seat
of an exchange and a bank for the duchy. Pop (1855)
24,228.
ROSTOPCHIN, or Rastopchin, Fedor, Count, who
was born in 1765 is celebrated from his having been the
commander-in-chief of Moscow in 1812, when that city was
burned. His connection with the conflagration has been
the subject of much controversy. The point of dispute
is, whether he was or was not the incendiary. In support
of the former supposition there is the presumption that the
flames were far too opportune in their outbreak, summary
in their devastations, and successful in their results, to be
the effect of anything else than one designing and over¬
ruling mind. In support of the latter there is the fact,
that the governor himself, in 1823, while residing in Paris,
published a pamphlet disclaiming the honour of being the
author of such a pregnant event in the world’s history, and
attributing the fire to the patriotism of a few isolated Rus¬
sians. Rostopchin died at Moscow in 1826. He left be¬
hind him, among other works, an autobiography, entitled
Memoirs written in Ten Minutes.
ROSTOV, a town of European Russia, capital of a
circle in the government and 40 miles S.S.W. of Jaroslav,
on a lake of the same name. It is an ancient and exten¬
sive town, and consists of the city, encircled by a wall and
moat, along with suburbs on the outside. There is an old
citadel, a cathedral with many costly ornaments, 23 other
churches, 5 convents, 6 poor-houses, and 2 schools. Ihe
Archbishop of Jaroslav resides here in a large palace, with a
seminary attached to it. Various important manufactures
are carried on, especially of linen cloth and candles. A
much-frequented market is held annually for three weeks
in February and March. Pop. 9598.
Rostov, a fortified town of European Russia, in the go¬
vernment and 223 miles E.S.E. of Jekaterinoslav, on the
Don, about 22 miles above its mouth, in the Sea of Azov.
It contains the fortress of St Demetrius, five churches, two
schools, and two benevolent institutions. Several manu¬
factures are carried on here, as well as ship-building and
fishery. Two annual and much-frequented fairs are held
here, and there is an extensive trade. Pop. 12,587.
ROSTRA. See Forum.
ROTA, a seaport-town of Spain, Andalucia, in the
province and 8 miles N.W. of Cadiz, at the N.W. ex¬
tremity of the Bay of Cadiz. It has a castle, a town-
hall, a fine church in the Gothic style, several schools,
hermitages, and a cemetery. There is also a good an¬
chorage, and an excellent pier, 145 feet long. The people
are chiefly employed in farming: wine is exported; coals
and oil imported. Pop. 7997.
ROTA, the name of an ecclesiastical court of Rome
which takes cognisance of all suits in the territory of the
church, is composed of twelve prelates, of whom there must
be a German, a Frenchman, two Spaniards, eight Italians,
(three of whom must be Roman, a Bolognese, a Ferraran,
a Milanese, a Venetian, and a Tuscan).
429
ROTA
Rotation. Rotation, in mechanical philosophy, denotes the mo-
tion of the different parts of a solid body about an axis, in
contradistinction to the progressive motion of the body in
a straight line, or in an orbit about a distant centre, of
which the rotation is absolutely independent, although both
motions may take place simultaneously. Thus the planets
have a progressive motion, or a motion of translation, in the
orbits which they describe about the sun, while at the same
time each revolves about an axis which passes through its
centre of gravity.
In consequence of this double motion of the planetary
bodies, the two great problems in physical astronomy are,
first, to determine the orbit described in space by each body
under the influence of the sun’s attraction, but disturbed
by the attraction of every other body in the system ; and,
secondly, to determine the circumstances of the rotation
of each body under the influence of the same disturbing
forces. This last problem is not of less importance or dif¬
ficulty than the first. In the case of the earth it includes
the determination of the precession of the equinoxes and
the nutation of the axis under the disturbing action of the
sun and moon ; and its analysis has led to the discovery of
two important facts connected with the physical constitu¬
tion of the universe, namely, the invariability of the length
of the day, and the permanence of the poles of rotation on
the earth’s surface.
But the problem of determining the rotation of a solid
body is not merely interesting in consequence of its form¬
ing a principal part of physical astronomy; it is also one of
the highest importance in practical mechanics; for the prin¬
ciples to which we are led in considering the general the¬
ory of rotatory motion, enable us to determine the effect
or performance of machines, and the proper relations and
most advantageous disposition of their several parts, in order
to accomplish the object in view with the smallest waste of
force, and the least strain or injury to the machine itself.
In treating the subject, we shall first endeavour to de¬
monstrate the fundamental propositions of rotatory motion
in as elementary a manner as possible; secondly, we shall
show the methods of computing the inertia of bodies of dif¬
ferent forms, and the properties of principal axes ; thirdly,
we shall consider the motion of a body which revolves about
a fixed axis, and the properties of the centres of gyration,
percussion, and oscillation ; and, lastly, we shall give the
general equations which determine the rotation of a body
acted upon by any number of forces, and which is at liberty
to move in any direction.
General 1. When a solid body, or system of material particles,
principles, so connected that their mutual distances remain invariable,
turns round an axis, every particle describes a circle having
its centre in the axis, and its plane perpendicular to the
axis; and at every instant of the motion the particle is in the
direction of a tangent to the circle, or in a straight line per¬
pendicular to its radius vector. In order, therefore, to as¬
certain the direction of the motion of any particle of the
system, we have only to draw a straight line from the par¬
ticle perpendicular to the axis of rotation. This line will
lie in the plane of the circle, and be its radius vector ; and
the perpendicular to the radius vector at its extremity gives
the direction of the motion of the particle.
2. Since the system is supposed to be invariable in form,
every particle describes the circumference of a circle in
precisely the same instant of time ; and as this is also true
of any given portion of the circumference, it follows that
the absolute velocities of the different particles are propor¬
tional to their distances from the axis of rotation. Hence,
T I O N.
if w denote the velocity of the particle whose radius vector Rotation,
or distance from the axis = 1, then rxv is the velocity of ^
the particle whose distance from the axis =: r. The velo¬
city denoted by w is called the angular velocity of the body;
and the rotations of different bodies are compared in re¬
spect of velocity by comparing their angular velocities.
3. The nature of the forces which connect the different
particles or atoms of a solid body, and render it impossible
for any single particle to change its position without a cor¬
responding change in the positions of all the other particles,
is very obscurely known ; but whatever their nature may be,
there is one general fact or law, established by unexcept¬
ed experience, which affords a sufficient foundation for a dy¬
namical theory, namely, that the forces by which the particles
of a body act reciprocally on each other are equal. An im¬
mediate consequence of this law is, that when a solid body
is in equilibrium between two external forces A and B,
these forces are equal and opposite ; for the force A being
in immediate equilibrium with the opposite forces exerted
by that particle of the solid body to which it is applied,
must therefore be equal and opposite to the force resulting
from the combination of all the forces which connect that
particle with the series of particles immediately adjoining.
In like manner, the compound force by which this first se¬
ries of particles acts on that to which the external force A
is applied, is equal and opposite to the compound force
which connects this first series with the next series, and so
on until we come to the particle to which the external force
B is immediately applied. And this particle being in equi¬
librium, the external force applied to it must be equal and
opposite to the compound force exerted on it by the series
of contiguous particles on that side; therefore the two forces
A and B are equal and opposite.
Hence it follows, that when any number of external
forces are applied to a solid body, and it is in equilibrium
between them, the forces are such as would be in equilibrium
if they were all applied at one point.
4. If a body is maintained in equilibrium by the action
of three forces, these forces lie in the same plane, and
are either parallel, or meet in the same point. This fol¬
lows immediately from the composition of forces; for the
forces being in equilibrium, any one of the three must be equal
and opposite to the equivalent, or resultant, as it is termed,
of the other two; and this resultant is the diagonal of a pa¬
rallelogram of which the other two component forces are
the sides. But the diagonal and sides of a parallelogram
are in the same plane, therefore the third force is in the
plane of the other two; and, further, since it is equal and
opposite to the resultant of the other two, it must be in the
same straight line, and consequently pass through their
point of concourse. These simple propositions are the
foundation of the theory of statics.
5. In applying these propositions to explain the motion
of rotation, we must recollect a fundamental theorem in
dynamics, that the force which produces any motion is equal
and opposite to the force which would prevent it, if applied
at the same point, and in the same straight line, or which
would extinguish the motion in the same time in which we
suppose it to be produced. The force therefore which,
acting on any particle, causes the body to revolve about an
axis with a given angular velocity, is equal to the force
which, if applied at the same point in the opposite direc¬
tion, would reduce the body to a state of rest in the same
time as was necessary to produce the given velocity.
6. The only distinct notion we can form of the inten¬
sity of any moving force, is the Quantity of motion which
430
ROTATION.
Rotation, it can produce by acting uniformly during a given time.
This will be ascertained when we know the velocity im¬
pressed upon a body containing a given quantity of matter.
Thus we know that terrestrial gravity acting on a body for
a second, will cause it to fall sixteen feet with an uniformly
accelerated motion, and will leave it in a state such that it
would move on for ever at the rate of thirty-two feet per
second. The force of gravity is therefore such as to com¬
municate a velocity of thirty-two feet per second; and in
this case the mass of the body is not considered, for gravity
acts equally on every particle of which it is composed. In
the same manner, the best way of acquiring a distinct con¬
ception of the rotatory effect of a moving force, is to deter¬
mine the quantity of rotatory motion which it can generate
by acting uniformly during some known time.
7. If a solid body, or rigid system of invariable form, ad¬
mit of a rotatory motion about an axis, and if at any point
of the body a force P be applied, which acts in a plane per¬
pendicular to the axis of rotation, and tends to turn the body
in one direction ; and to any other point in the same plane
a force Q, be applied, tending to turn the body in the op¬
posite direction ; then, if the two forces be to each other in¬
versely as the distances of the lines of their directions re¬
spectively from the axis, the body will remain at rest, or the
two forces will be in equilibrium.
For let O (fig. 1) be the axis of rotation, and suppose the
force P to be applied at the point P in the direction PA, and
tending to turn the solid body about
the axis O perpendicular to the plane Fig. 1.
of the paper, and let the force Q act p
in the direction Q.B, and consequent¬
ly tend to turn the body in the oppo¬
site direction, and draw OA perpen¬
dicular to PA, and OB perpendicu¬
lar to Q,B. Then, in order that there Q
may be equilibrium, we must have,
by the principle of the lever, P : Q,:: OB : OA, whence
P • OA zr Q • OB.
8. It is obviously indifferent at what point of the plane
the force is applied, provided its distance from the axis re¬
mains the same. Let BO therefore be produced, and take
OC equal to OA, and draw CR perpendicular to BC, or
parallel to BQ. We may now suppose the force P to be
replaced by an equal force R, acting in the direction RC;
then, since R • OC = P • OA, we have R • OR — Q • OB,
and, consequently, the axis being supposed fixed, the body
will remain in equilibrium between the two forces Qand R.
These forces are therefore equivalent to a single force ap¬
plied at O, equal to their sum, and acting in a parallel di¬
rection. Hence the resultant of two parallel forces applied
to a straight line is a force parallel to the component forces,
equal to their sum, and whose line of direction divides the
straight line into parts reciprocally proportional to the forces
themselves.
9. If two forces, which are inversely as the distances of
their respective directions from the axis of rotation, be ap¬
plied to a body, the equilibrium will still be
maintained, although the two forces are not Fig. 2.
in the same plane. Let OO' be two points j
in the axis of rotation, through which let
there be drawn two planes A« and B6 at
right angles to the axis. Suppose also these
planes to be intersected by another plane
(here supposed to be the plane of the figure)
passing through the axis, and let OA, O'B  
be the intersections, and let the straight line A ° "
which joins A and B intersect the axis in C. Let P and Q
be two forces applied respectively at A and B in the planes
AOa and BO b, and at right angles to OA and OrB, or per¬
pendicular to the plane of the paper, then these two forces
are parallel; and because by hypothesis P : Q :: O'B : OA,
Rotation
of a solid
body about
an axis.
we have P : Q.:: CB : CA; therefore (8) the two forces Rotation.
P and Q. are equivalent to a single parallel force passing
through C. But a force passing through the axis has no
tendency to turn the body round the axis; consequently
the body remains at rest.
10. Let m, m', m", &c. (fig. 3) be a system of bodies im¬
moveable in respect of each other, and suppose them to re¬
volve about an axis passing through O ;
also let m, m\ m", &c. denote the quanti- Fig. 3.
ties of matter in the bodies respectively,
and let r, r’, r", &c. denote their dis¬
tances from the axis of rotation. Let the
angular velocity of the system be iv ; then
(2) the absolute velocities of the bodies
are respectively wr, wr\ wr", &c. Now
let us suppose the system to be put in
motion by an external force F applied at the point P, in
the direction PA, which is contained in a plane perpendi¬
cular to the axis of rotation ; then the relation between the
force F and the velocity w may be found as follows. Consi¬
dering, first, the body m ; since its velocity — wr, and its
quantity of matter = m, its quantity of motion = wrm. But
it is a principle in dynamics, that the quantity of motion of
a moving body is proportional to the impressed force, and
may be taken as a measure of that force ; whence wrm is
the measure of a force which, if applied at m, in a direction
perpendicular to 0/«, would cause m to begin to move with
the actual velocity wr. Let /be the force which, if applied
at P in the direction PA, would make equilibrium with the
force wrm at m ; draw OA perpendicular to PA, and make
OA = h. We have then (7)
f: wrm :: Qm : OA :: r : h,
w’hence fh = wrzm. In like manner, the quantities of mo¬
tion in the bodies m', m”, &c. are wr'm', wr'hrt', &c.; and if
we denote by/',/", &c. the forces which, if applied at P in
the direction PA, would respectively make equilibrium with
the forces wr'm', wr"m", &c. we shall have j'h — wrnrh',j' k
— wr"2m”, . therefore, if we assume
F=/+/+/"+,&c.
we shall have the equation
F • h = w (r‘zm + r'2m' -j- r',2m" 4-, &c.).
If we suppose m = m'= m" =, &c. and take r to denote
the distance of any particle from the axis of rotation, the
equation becomes F • /t — {r2m) ; the summation denot¬
ed by 2 extending to every particle in the system.
11. When the direction of the external force F is not in
a plane parallel to the circles of rotation, it must be resolved
into two forces, one of which lies in that plane, and the
other is parallel to the axis. It is only the first of these
forces which in the present case is regarded as the moving
force; the second merely tends to push the body in the
direction of the axis, and does not influence the rotation.
When we come to consider the rotation of a body perfect¬
ly free, it will be necessary to attend particularly to this
circumstance.
12. A solid body may be regarded as composed of mole¬
cules of a very small but finite magnitude, connected so as to
form an invariable system ; and although a solid, according
to his view of the constitution of body, is formed of discrete
elements, the sums relative to the molecules may be changed
into definite integrals without sensible error ; that is to say,
for the sums 2r!m we may substitute the definite integrals
fr^dm, where dm is the element of the mass, and the inte¬
grals extend to the whole mass. We have then F’4
= wfrzdm.
13. The energy of a force applied to a lever, or its power j\,]oment;
of producing motion round the fulcrum, is expressed by theof a forco
product of the force into the perpendicular drawn from the and °f in~
fulcrum upon the line of its direction. This product (de-er^a'
noted above by F*/<) is called the moment, or momentum,
or rotatory effort, of the force F. And because fr'-dm is
ROTATION.
431
Rotation, the sum of the moments of all the particles of the body in
actual motion, this integral expresses the energy or effort
of all the resistances made to the rotation by the inertia of
the particles, and is therefore called the moment of inertia
of the moving body with respect to the axis from which the
distances r are reckoned. We have therefore these defi¬
nitions :
The moment of a force in respect of a given axis, is the
product of the force into the perpendicular from the axis
upon the line of its direction.
The moment of inertia of a body in respect of any axis
is the sum of the products obtained by multiplying each
particle of the body into the square of its distance from the
axis.
14. From the equation F • A = wffidm (12), we have the
following expression for the angular velocity, namely,
_ V'h .
W fr^dm ’
that is to say, the angular velocity about any axis is equal to
the moment of the external or applied force divided by the
moment of inertia. This fraction expresses a number; for
the force F may be represented by the product of a mass
M into a certain velocity = v, so that F = M>,* and there¬
fore, since v represents a line, the numerator and denomi¬
nator have both the same dimension. The fraction also ex¬
presses the part of the radius which is equal to the arc mea¬
suring the angle ; and since the radius is equal to the arc
of 57°-2958, if we make the radius = 1, we have only to
multiply the fraction by 57*2958 in order to obtain the va¬
lue of w in degrees.
15. Since the relation between the angular velocity and
the external impelling force is expressed in terms of the
moment of inertia, it is evident that this moment is an im¬
portant element in the theory of rotation. We shall there¬
fore now proceed to consider the subject under a more gene¬
ral view, and point out the method hy which it is computed
for bodies of any form revolving about given axes.
Let the different points of a solid body be referred to
three rectangular co-ordinates x, y, z, and let dm be the
differential element of the mass ; then the distance of any
particle from the axis x is + z2), and, by the defini¬
tion, the moment of inertia relative to the axis x, is
/(y2 + z2) dm, the integral extending to the whole mass of
the body. In like manner, the moments of inertia relative
to the axes y and z are respectively f (x2 + z2) dm and
f(y + *2> dm. It is thus evident that the determination
of the moments of inertia, with respect to any body what¬
ever, consists in forming the analytical expression of the
product of the differential element of the body into the
square of its distance from the axis, and integrating for the
whole extent of the body. The integration may always be
effected by the method of quadratures.
16. Since the same body may be referred to an infinite
number of different axes, in respect of all of wdiich the mo¬
ments of inertia will have different values, it follows that
the moment cannot be absolutely defined unless it be re¬
ferred to a determinate axis. But when it is required to
investigate the moments of inertia of a body in respect of
several axes successively, it is not always necessary to com¬
pute the formula f r2dm for each case. For example, when
the moment of inertia has been determined in respect of
any one axis, we may find its value in respect of any other
parallel axis without further calculation, if we know the mass
of the body and the distances of both axes from the centre
of gravity.
17. The moment of inertia of any body in respect of an
axis AO (fig. 4) being given, to find the moment of inertia
in respect of another axis oa parallel to OA.
Let the origin of the rectangular co-ordinates be at O,
and let x be taken on the axis OA, and y in the plane of
OA and oa. Also let Z be the place of an element dm. Rotation,
and Y the projection of Z on the
plane xy ; and from Y draw YX per¬
pendicular to OA, meeting OA in
X and oa in x ; then OX zz x, XY
— y, YZ zz z. The moment of in¬
ertia in respect of the axis OA is
f r^dm zzf (if + zl)dm. But by by- o_
pothesis this is given; suppose it
zz M/i2 (M being the mass of the
body), and we have f (y2 + z^dm — M//2. In like man¬
ner, if we assume the distance of oa from OA to be k,
we have ox = x, xY = k-\-y, YZ zz z, and the moment of
inertia in respect of oa is f {(£ -f- yf «2} dm — h? fdm
-f- 2k f ydm f (y2 + zz)dm. But f Id dm — MA2, and / (?/2
-j- zlfdm — M/i2; therefore the moment in respect of the
new axis is M/i2 + M/i2 + 2kfydm. Suppose the centre
of gravity of the body to be at G; let GF be perpendi¬
cular to the plane xy, and draw* FE perpendicular to the
axes, meeting OA in E and oa in e. From the nature of
the centre of gravityzz M • EF; therefore the moment
in respect of oa becomes M/i2 + M/i2 + 2A-M-EF. But k
zzeE, and 2M-A-EF zz 2M*eE*EF zz M(eF2 — k? — EF2) ;
whence we have finally for the moment of inertia in respect
of the new axis oa,
M42 + M • eF2—M * EF2.
Corollary 1. If the original axis OA passes through the
centre of gravity G, then EF vanishes, and the moment in
respect of the new axis oa becomes M/i2 -j- M*eF2, or M/i2
-f- MA2. And if oa passes through the centre of gravity,
then eF vanishes, and the moment in respect of oa becomes
M/i2 — M-EF2. Hence we infer that the moment of in¬
ertia in respect of the axis which passes through the centre
ot gravity is less than the moment in respect of any other
parallel axis.
Corol. 2. The moment of inertia is the same in respect
of every axis parallel to that which passes through the centre
of gravity, and is at the same distance from it; or the same
in respect of every straight line which lies in the surface of
a cylinder having the centre of gravity in its axis.
18. We shall now give a few examples of the applica- Examples
tion of the preceding formulae. of the com-
I. Let it be proposed to find the moment of inertia of a putation of
very slender rod (the breadth and thickness of which may be |110(nents
neglected), in respect of an axis passing through its extre
mity and perpendicular to its length.
Let a — the length of the rod, and x zz the distance of
any point from the axis, then the element of the body is
dx, and the moment of inertia — fx^dx, the limits of the
integral being x — 0 and x — a. For those limits we have
fxldx zz ±a3, which therefore is the moment of inertia.
II. To find the moment of inertia of a very thin rect¬
angle, the thickness of which may be neglected, in respect
of an axis coinciding with one of its sides.
Let the side which coincides with the axis zz a, and the
other side rz b, and let x be taken in the axis. The co-ordi¬
nates of any point in the rectangle being x, y, the element of
the body is dxdy, and the distance from the axis zz y, there¬
fore the moment of inertia is //y^dxdy. The integral of
this in respect of a; is/xy^dy, which from a; zz 0 to a; zz a
gives afi/dy. A second integration gives ±aif, which from
y zz 0 to 3/ zz Z», becomes ^ab3; therefore, since M zz ab,
ffifdxdy — ±ab3 = ^M * bz.
III. To find the moment of inertia of a circle in respect
of one of its diameters.
Let a be the radius of the given circle, r zz the radius
of a concentric circle passing through a point P whose co¬
ordinates are x and y, x being taken on the axis of rotation,
and r dr the radius of a second concentric circle, very
near the other. If we now assume dz zz */(dx? + dy2), then
dz * dr is the area of the elementary surface included between
of inertia.
432
ROTATION.
Rotation, thg circumferences of the two circles whose radii are re-
xiu» y ' gpgctively t and t and two straight lines drawn from
the centre to the extremities of a very small arc at P; that is
to say, we have dm, = dzdr. But the distance or this ele¬
ment from the axis is y; therefore the moment of inertia is
ff if dzdr. Now, by the nature of the circle, dz:dx::r: y,
whence ydz = rdx, and the double integral becomes f ydx
X f rdr. Now, on the supposition that r is constant, the in¬
tegral fydx — irr1 — area of the circle whose radius is r ;
therefore the integration in respect of dx gives vfr3dr ;
and on integrating this from r = 0 to r — a, we get ulti-
timately £ tfa4 for the moment of the circle whose radius
is a.
Since in this case the mass M = wa2 =: the area, we have
i<ra4 = |Ma2, which is another expression for the moment
of inertia of a circle in respect of one of its diameters.
IV. To find the moment of inertia of a circle in respect
of an axis perpendicular to its plane, and passing through
its centre.
Supposing, as in the last proposition, the surface to be
composed of elementary rings, we have dm = dzdr, whence
JYldm — fr2dr x fdz = 2cr fr'dr (since/ok = 2<rr), the in¬
tegral of which, from r = 0 to r z= n, gives fi^dm = iira4
— ^Ma2.
V. To find the moment of inertia of a solid body generat¬
ed by the revolution of a curve line in respect ot the axis
of rotation.
Let AB (fig. 5) be a section perpendicular to the axis
of rotation OX, and meeting it in C, and
make OC = a*. Suppose the solid to be
divided into thin slices by planes paral¬
lel to AB, and let ab be the section next
to AB, so that Cc — dx. Let P be a
point in the plane AB, and make CP = r,
Cp = r + dr. The length of the circumfer¬
ence described byP in one revolution is 'Zxr,
therefore the mass of the ring comprised
between AB and ab, and traced by the re¬
volution of the points P and/;, is 2<irrdrdx;
and its distance from the axis is r, therefore the moment of
inertia of the ring is 2<i:r3drdx. Integrating this in respect
of r from r =: 0 to r — CA r= y, we get \ity*dx for the
moment of the slice comprised between the two sections of
the solid, whose distances from O are x and x-\-dx. Hence
the moment of inertia of all the slices, or of the solid body,
is ^<rf)fdx.
pends on the position of the axis of rotation. Hence, for Rotation,
every point of a mass there must exist at least one axis in v
respect of which the inertia is less, or greater, than in re¬
spect of any other axis passing through that point. The
axes for which the moments of inertia are the greatest or
least possible are called principal axes ; and they possess
some very remarkable properties of great importance in the
theory of rotation. We now proceed to investigate the po¬
sition and properties of the principal axes.
20. The moments of inertia of a mass M being given in
respect of three rectangular axes OX, OY, OZ (fig. 6)
passing through O, to find the moment in respect of ano¬
ther axis OG given in position, and also passing through
the origin O.
Let P be the position of a particle dm; through P
Fig. 5.
Fig. 6.
Applying this formula to a sphere whose radius = a, we
get from the equation y2 = 2ax — x2, y* = 4a2o:2 — kax3
x\ on substituting which, and integrating, we have
lirfi/dx = fwaV — | vax* + fjvx5, which from x = 0
to x = a gives fy^dx = ■feva5 for the hemisphere, and
consequently the moment of inertia of the whole sphere
= jj^a.5 =: §- M * a2, since M = ^wa3.
The moment of inertia of a spheroid revolving about its
shorter axis is M (a2 -j- b2). See the calculation of fx-dm
and fy2dm in this case in the article Precession, vol.
xviii. p. 508.
In all the preceding examples, the density of the body
has been supposed uniform, and — 1. For bodies of dif¬
ferent densities the formulae must be multiplied in each
case by the density. Thus, in the last example, the mo¬
ment of inertia of a sphere whose radius a, and density
zr g, the moment of inertia in respect of one of the dia¬
meters is -fjtga,5.
19. The examples which have now been given will suffice
to illustrate the method of computing the moments of inertia
of bodies of any form in respect of particular axes; and
they render it obvious that the computation will in general
be greatly facilitated wrhen the mass is symmetrically disposed
about the axis for which the inertia is to be computed. It
is likewise evident that the amount of rotatory inertia de¬
draw PQ parallel to the axis OZ,
meeting the plane XOY in Q, and
draw QR parallel to OY, meeting
OXin R; then OR = x, RQ = y,
QP — z. Also suppose the plane
which passes through OG, and is
perpendicular to XOY, to meet the
plane XOY in OF, and let the
angle XOF p, and the angle FOG = sj;. The axis OG
is entirely determined by these two angles, and consequent¬
ly, when OG is given in position, <p and -4/ are also given.
In order to compute the moment of inertia in respect of the
axis OG, it is convenient to refer the different points of the
mass, as P, to a new system of rectangular axes, of which one
is OG. To effect this, in the first place let OY be drawn
perpendicular to OF in the plane XOY, and let P be re¬
ferred to the axes OF, OY', OZ, and draw QR' perpendicu¬
lar to OF. We have then OR' = x', R'Q — y', QP = z,
and the new co-ordinates expressed in terms of the former,
and the angles <p and -4/ are
x' zz x cos. <p + y sin. cp, f — y cos. <p — x sin. <p, z' = z.
In the second place, we may pass in like manner from
these to a third system of co-ordinates xl', y", z", of w hich
x" is in the line OG, y" remains parallel to OY', and z" is
perpendicular to OG in the plane FOG. We have, then,
similarly,
ad' — x' cos. + P sin. 4/, y" = y', z” — z' cos. 4> — x sin. 4/.
Substituting in these last equations the values of x', if,
and z', given by the three former, we have
x!' — x cos. <p cos. 4^ + .V sin- P cos- ^ + z sin-
y” z= y cos. <p — x sin. <p,
z" — z cos. 4, — x cos. <p sin. ^ — y sin. 9 sin. 4'*
If we now assume the distance of P from the axis OG
to be r, we shall have r2 = y'n + z'n ; whence, on forming
from the two last equations the expression for frldm
— f (y"2 + z"2) dm, and, for the sake of abridging, putting
fx2dm — A, Jfdm — B, fz2dm = C,
fxydm=Y),fxzdm = E,fyzdm = F,
the expression for the moment of inertia in respect of the
axis OG becomes
fr2dm = A (sin.2 <p 4- cos.2 <p sin.2 4/)
4- B (cos.2 <p 4- sin.2 <p sin.2 4>) + C cos.2 4^
— 2 D cos. f sin. © cos.24/—2 E cos. <p cos. 4^ s*0, ’4'
— 2 F sin. <p cos. 4, sin. 4'*
This expression for the moment of inertia in respect of
the axis OG is given by Euler (Theorio, Motus Corporum
Sohdorum, p. 169).
21. The values of the angles <p and 4^, which give the
position of the axis for which the moment/Wm is a maxi¬
mum or minimum, may be deduced from the above equation
in the usual manner, that is to say, by differentiating succes¬
sively for each of the variab!es/ and making the differential
co-efficient = 0. The differentiation in respect of <f> (sup¬
posing 4/ constant) gives the equation
_ (A — B) sin. <p cos, ft 4- D (cos.2 p — sin.2 <p),
tan 4/
E sin. <p — F cos. <p
ROTATION.
433
Rotation, and the differentiation in respect of (supposing p con-
'"-"■■■v—slant) gives
2 tan.
1 — tan.2 4/
tan.2 -4
2 E cos. p + 2 F sin. p
A cos.2 p + B sin.2 p — C -f- 2D cos. p sin. ©’
On eliminating 4/ from these two equations, there results
an equation of the following form, in which u — tan. p, and
e,f, g, h, are co-efficients depending upon the quantities
A, B, C, D, E, F, viz.
0 = e -\-fu -j- gu2 + huz.
This being a cubic equation, must have at least one real
root. But it is easy to see, from the nature of the thing,
that all the roots are real; for if there be one axis for which
the moment of inertia is a maximum, there must evidently
be a second, in respect of which it is a minimum, and vice
versa. Hence the equation must have two real roots, and
therefore, by the theory of cubic equations, all the roots are
real. We are therefore led to this very important conclu¬
sion, that through any point of every solid body, however
irregular in its form, there may be drawn a system of three
axes, such that the differential co-efficient of the. moment
of inertia in respect of each of them is nothing. In respect
of one of these, the moment is a maximum, in respect of
another, it is a minimum, and though, in respect of the
third it is neither a maximum nor a minimum, it is still such
that its value is not altered by a small change in the po¬
sition of the axis. According to the definition in (19),
these are the principal axes of the body.
Properties 22. It would be difficult, in general, to determine the
of principal position of the principal axes from the cubic equation found
above; but they possess certain properties, by means of
which they may be readily found in almost every case of
practical application. On comparing the two equations
for tan. 4' and tan. 24/ (21), with the expressions for x", y",
z!' (20), it will be seen that the first is identical with
2 cos. 4/ fri'y"dm, and the second with —• 2fxt'zt’dm ;
whence JWy,,dm = 0, and fx''z"dm — 0; and it follows, that
if x be taken in one of the principal axes, we have, in re¬
spect of that axis, fxydm — 0,fxzdrn — 0, or the quantities
denoted by D and E respectively vanish.
23. From this it follows, that if all the matter in a
body of uniform density be symmetrically disposed about
any line, that line is one of the principal axes of rotation
(for if x be taken in the axis of symmetry, then to every
element wh^tie co-ordinates are x, y, there corresponds an¬
other element whose co-ordinates are x, — y, whence fxydm
== 0); therefore, in the case of symmetrical figures, the po¬
sition of one of the principal axes is known, and the posi¬
tions of the other two are thence readily determined by
means of the two equations (21). On making D z= 0, E = 0,
the first of these equations gives
(A — B) sin. <p cos. <p — F cos. p tan. 4' = 0,
whence cos. <p — 0, and sin. ^ = 1 ; or p — 90°. Substi¬
tuting this value of <f> in the second of the equations (21),
and making at the same time D = 0, E — 0, we get tan.
24/ = 2F -f- (B — C); or 24 is the angle which has 2F
-f- (B — C) for its tangent. Hence the angle 4 has a
double value, one corresponding to FOG, and the other to
FOG + 90°.
24. Hence also it appears, that when one principal axis
OX is determined, two others may be found having the
same property of maximum or minimum, and, by reason
of p = 90°, these axes are both in a plane perpendicular to
OX. As this conclusion holds good with respect to each
of the three axes, it follows that the three principal axes
are at right angles to each other, and also, since fxydm —
0, and fxzdm = 0, that fyzdm = 0. We have therefore, in
respect of the principal axes, the three equations
D = fxydm = 0, E = fxzdm = 0, F = fyzdm = 0.
VOL. XIX.
If the origin of the co-ordinates is placed at the centre Rotation,
of gravity, w e have likewise
fxdm — 0,fydm — Q,fzdm — 0,
by the well-known property of the centre of gravity.
25. By means of these equations, the proposition in (20)
is considerably simplified when the three axes for which
the momenta are respectively given are principal axes. Let
OX, OY, OZ (fig. 6) be the three principal axes passing
through O, then D zr 0, E = 0, F n: 0, and the equation
(20) for the moment, in respect of the axis OG, becomes
fr2dm — A (sin.2 -f- cos.2 <f> sin.24)
+ B (cos.2 p + sin.2 <p sin.2 4) + C cos.2 4'
Suppose the given moments in respect of the principal
axes to be respectively M-a2, M*2>2, M-c2; then, from the
values of A, B, C (20) we have M-a2 = B -{- C, M'62 = A
+ C, M-c2 z= A + B, whence
A zz ^ M (52 + c2 — a2), B z=|M(a2 + &2 —c2),
C = M«2 + c2 — b2),
on substituting which in the above equation, we get
fr2dm zz M(o2 cos.2pcos.24 + 62 sin.2 <p cos.2 4 -f c2 sin.2 4)*
If we now refer the new axis OG to the co-ordinates OX,
OY, OZ, and make the angle XOG zz a, YOG zz /3, ZOG
zz 7, and observe that because the two planes XOF and
FOG are at right angles, cos. a zz cos. <p cos. 4> cos> —
sin. <p cos. 4, cos. y zz sin. 4> the equation becomes
fr2dm zz M (a2 cos.2 a -j- 62 cos.2 /3 -j- c2 cos.2 y).
It is to be remarked, that as the co-ordinates are rect¬
angular, cos.2 a cos.2 /3 -j- cos.2 y zz 1, so that the posi¬
tion of OG is determined by any two of these angles. If
we therefore suppose the moments in respect of two of the
principal axes to be equal, for example, if a~ zz &2, the for¬
mula for the moment in respect of OG becomes
fr^dm zz M-a2 (1 — cos.2 y) -|~ M-c2 cos.2 y.
Now when y zz 90°, that is, when OG lies in the plane
XOY, then fr^dm zz M-a2. Hence, if the moments in re¬
spect of the axes OX and OY be equal, the moment will
be the same for every axis passing through O, contained in
the plane XOY.
When the moments in respect of the three principal axes
are equal, that is, when dl — IP — c2, then
fr2dm zz M*a2 (cos.2 a + cos.2 /3 + cos.2 y) zz M-a2,
so that the moment is the same in respect of any axis what¬
ever which passes through O. Thus it appears, that for
every point of a solid body there are either three princi¬
pal axes of rotation only, or else an infinite number.
26. These conclusions are obviously true in the case of
some simple figures. Thus, in the spheroid of revolution, the
moments are equal in respect of every diameter which lies
in the plane of the equator; and in the sphere they are the
same in respect of any diameter whatever, the bodies being
always supposed homogeneous. The existence of three
principal axes in every body was first noticed by Segner in
1755, but demonstrated for the first time by Albert Euler,
in a memoir which received the prize of the Academy of
Sciences of Paris in 1760.
27. Having established these general propositions re-Rotation
specting the moments of inertia and principal axes of bo- about a
dies endowed with a rotatory motion, we now proceed to^d a*iS'
consider more particularly the rotation of a solid body about
a fixed axis.
When a force is impressed on a body which can only
move round a fixed axis, the difference between the motion
which actually takes place, and that which would take place
if the body were free, is evidently owing to the connexion
which its parts have with the axis, and to the action of the
points of support upon the axis. This action must be view¬
ed in the light of another external force, such that, if
combined with the force impressed on the body, it would
produce in the body unconnected with any fixed points the
motion which actually takes place.
3 1
434
ROTATION.
flotation.
Fig. 7.
28. In order to determine the strain on the axis, let OY
(fig. 7) be the axis of rotation, retained
in a fixed position by the two pivots
S, T, and suppose a force = F applied
to the body at P, in the direction PQ,,
which is supposed to lie in a plane
perpendicular to OZ. In the plane
perpendicular to the axis, and con¬
taining PQ, let the rectangular axes
OX, OY be drawn, and let x, y, z be
the co-ordinates of a particle dm, the
projection of which on the plane XY is
at A, and let r denote its distance from the axis of rotation, so
that r zr OA = V{x2 + y2) ; also let cp =. the angle which
OA makes with OX. If we now suppose w to be the an¬
gular velocity communicated to the body, then rw is the
velocity with which the point A revolves, and the direction
of this velocity is in the perpendicular to OA, and from
OX towards OY, whence the velocity of A in the direc¬
tion OX is — wr sin. <p, and wr cos. <p in the direction OY.
But r sin. p = y, and r cos. p — x ; therefore the velocity
of A in the direction OX is — wy, and in the direction O Y
it is -p wx. The quantities of motion in these directions
are therefore respectively — wydm and -f- wxdm ; and the
integrals of those expressions extended to the whole mass
of the moving body give the whole quantities of motion in
those directions, namely, — wfydm, and + wfxdm. On de¬
noting the mass by M, and the co-ordinates of its centre of
gravity by xx and yx, we have (from the well-known ex¬
pressions for these co-ordinates) fydm — M//1, and Jxdm
— Majj, therefore — wfydm — — wM.yx, and + wfxdm
— + wMxx.
29. Now, since the body is supposed to be put in motion
by a force F acting in a plane parallel to XOY, let a and
/3 be the angles which its direction makes with parallels to
OX and OY respectively; then the components of F in
those directions are F cos. a and F cos. 0. But these two
forces are evidently equal respectively to the two former,
together with the pressures on the pivots estimated in the
same directions; therefore, calling p and q the pressures
sustained by the point S in the directions OX and O Y, and
p\ f the pressures sustained by T in the same directions,
we shall have
p -p />' — F cos. a + wM.yx, q q' — Y cos. /3 — wblxx.
In order to determine p, pf, q, f, it is still necessary to
find two other equations. These will be obtained by con¬
sidering, that in respect of the plane XOY, the moments
of the forces acting on the two pivots, resolved in the di¬
rections x and y, must be equal to the moments of the re¬
sultants of all the forces or quantities of motion due to the
rotation estimated in the same directions. Let & = OS,
and k' — OT, the moments of the resolved forces which
act on the pivots in the directions parallel to OX and OY
are pk + prk and qk -p q'k'; and the resultants of the quan¬
tities of motion in the same two directions being — wfydm
and -p wfxdm, their moments in respect of the plane OXY
are respectively — wfyzdm and -p ufxzdm ; therefore
pk + p'h! — — wfyzdm, qk + q'k’ — + wfxzdm.
Combining these with the preceding two equations, p, p,
q, f are obtained in terms of known quantities.
30. If the axis of rotation OZ be one of the principal
axes of the system which intersect at O, then, by (24),
fyzdm — 0 and fxzdm — 0, whence pk + p'M — 0, and
qk + q'k! — 0, and consequently k and k' both vanish, and
the percussions sustained by the axis pass through the ori¬
gin O. Let R represent the single force or shock which
the axis supports in this case, and (f> the angle which its di¬
rection makes with the axis OX ; then, by (29),
R cos. z= F cos. a + wNlyx, R sin. p = F cos.,S — wMx^
from which two equations R and ,<p are both determined.
31. It would be a desirable thing in machines which
derive their efficacy from a rotatory motion, to apply the Rotation,
pressures arising from the power and from the resistance A f
opposed by the work in such a manner as to annihilate ortion tlTmo-
diminish this pressure on the supports of the axis of motion. chines.
Attention to this theorem will point out what may be done ;
and it is at all times proper, nay necessary, to know what
are the pressures in the points of support. If we are igno¬
rant of this, we shall run the risk of our machine failing in
those parts; and our anxiety to prevent this will make us
load it with needless and ill-disposed strength. In the or¬
dinary theories of machines, deduced entirely from the
principles of equilibrium, the pressure on the points of sup¬
port (exclusive of what proceeds from the weight of the
machine itself) is stated to be the same as if the moving and
resisting forces were applied immediately to these points in
their own directions. But this is in all cases erroneous;
and, in cases of swift motions, it is greatly so. We may be
convinced of this by a very simple instance. Suppose a
line laid over a pulley, and a pound weight at one end of
it, and ten pounds at the other ; the pressure of the axis on
its support is eleven pounds, according to the usual rule;
whereas we shall find it only 3^. For the direction of the
pressure R being in this case parallel to the axis y, and the
force F also acting in the same direction, we have cos. <p
= 0 cos. a — 0, sin. p — 1, cos. f3 z= l, y1 =z 0, and the
twro equations of (30) give the single equation
R — F — wdVLrj.
If we now call the radius of the pulley 1, the moment of
the moving force is 10x1 —Axl = 9; and the moment
of inertia (13) is 10 X l2 + 1 X l2 zz 11 ; therefore (14)
the angular velocity w = -fa. But the distance of the cen¬
tre of gravity from the axis of motion is also fa, because the
two weights may be supposed in contact with the circum¬
ference of the pulley; therefore, since M = 11, wblxx — -9
X Y X -Jf SI. Now F = 10 + 1 = 11, therefore
R = 11— = 42. = 3fa pounds, which is the pressure
sustained by the axis.
32. If we suppose R = 0, the two equations (30) will ex¬
press the conditions that must be fulfilled in order that the
axis may receive no shock from the action of the impressed
force F. This supposition gives the equations
F cos. a = — wMyi, F cos. /3 = wMxlt
from which, since cos. /3 = sin. a, we deduce
— yt sin. a =: x1 cos. a, or — yx tan. a = a^.
Now, if a plane be conceived to pass through the axis OZ
and the centre of gravity of the body, and if we denote by
the angle which it makes with the plane XOZ, we shall
havea’j = yt tan. and therefore, sincea’j = — t/j tan.a,
tan. = —tan. a. From this equation it follows that the
direction PQ of the impressed force is perpendicular to the
plane which passes through the axis and the centre of gra¬
vity. It now remains only to find the distance of the point
of impulse P from the axis. Let k — this distance, and
= distance of centre of gravity from the axis; the above
equations give F2cos.2a = w^M-yf, F2 sin.2 a = w^W'xf,
whence F2 = + yf^zzw^M^r-f, and F = wM/’1.
But (14) w = F7i -f- frldm ; therefore, by substitution.
F = F'AMrj -z-fr^dm, and consequently h — J
33. Hence it appears that the conditions which must be
fulfilled in order that the axis may receive no shock when
the body is struck, are, that the direction of the force
be in the plane of the two axes which make with the axis
of rotation a system of principal axes; 27, that its direc¬
tion be perpendicular to the plane which passes through
the axis and the centre of gravity ; and, 37, that the dis¬
tance of the point of its application from the axis be fi3dm
—• Mt^.
34. The point determined by these conditions is called Centre of
the centre of percussion of the system. The centre of per- percussion.
ROTATION.
435
Rotation, cussion is therefore the point at which, if an obstacle
^ were opposed sufficient to resist the rotation of the system,
no motion would be communicated to the axis; or, which is
the same thing, if the axis were not fixed, the system would
acquire from the shock no tendency to turn, the effect be¬
ing the same as if the whole rotatory effort had been accu¬
mulated at that point.
Let HKL (fig. 8) be a section of the body perpendicular
to the axis, and containing the centre of
gravity G. Let O be the axis, and in the
line OG take OP rz h = fr9dm M*OG,
then P is the centre of percussion, and a
force applied at P, in the plane HKL, and
in the direction perpendicular to OP, will
produce the same initial velocity of the
centre of gravity G as if the body were
free ; for as the force exerts no pressure
on the axis or points of support, the initial
velocity will be the same as if they w'ere not there.
35. The distance of the centre of percussion from the
axis is always greater than the distance of the centre of
gravity from the axis ; for the moment of inertia in respect
of the axis passing through O being /r2c?w, by (17) the mo¬
ment of inertia in respect of the parallel axis passing through
G is/r9dm — M‘OGz; therefore, since the moment of iner¬
tia is necessarily positive, fr^dm ^ M*OG2. But by the
definition fr9dm = M-OG'OP, therefore M-OG*GP
M-OG2, or OP ^ OG.
36. The property of the centre of percussion, that a force
applied there produces no strain on the axis, may be ren¬
dered sensible by a simple experiment. If a straight line,
or rod of uniform thickness, be suspended from one extre¬
mity, the centre of percussion is at the distance of two thirds
of its length from the axis ; for the centre of gravity being
at the middle of the line, OG = so that if we call its mass
M = 1, the formula OP fr^dm -q- M’OG becomes OP
= 2fxldx, which, on taking the integral from a: — 0 to j: /,
gives GP = §7. Now if the rod be held in the hand, and we
give it a motion round the joint of the wrist only, and strike
smartly against an obstacle with a point considerably nearer
or more remote than two thirds of its length, we feel a pain¬
ful shock or wrench in the hand; but if we strike with that
point which is exactly at two thirds of its length, we feel no
such disagreeable strain.
37. It is sometimes said that the point P, considered as
the centre of percussion, is that with which the most violent
blow is struck. But this is by no means true. P is that
point of a body turning round O which gives a blow pre¬
cisely equal to the progressive motion of the body, and in
the same direction. As we have already said, it is the point
where we may suppose the whole rotatory momentum of
the body accumulated. Every particle of the body is mov¬
ing in a particular direction, with a velocity proportional to
its distance from the axis of rotation ; and if the body were
stopped in any point, each particle tending to continue its
motion endeavours to drag the rest along with it. What¬
ever point we call the centre of percussion should have this
property, that when it is stopped by a sufficient force, the
whole motion and tendency to motion of every kind should
be stopped; so that if at that instant the supports of the
axis were annihilated, the body would remain in absolute
rest.
38. The expressions in (29) for the stress on the axis
have reference only to the initial movement of the body,
and the forces which they represent are soon destroyed by
the resistance of the axis. But when a body is in perma¬
nent rotation about a fixed axis, there is a strain exerted on
the axis which depends only upon the centrifugal force of
rotation, and which therefore continues as long as the ro¬
tation continues. This constant pressure is determined as
follows: Since w is the angular velocity, and r the distance
Fig. 8.
of a particle dm from the axis, the velocity of the particle Rotation.
= rw ; and, by mechanics, the centrifugal force of a body '
moving in a circle is proportional to the square of the ve¬
locity divided by the radius ; therefore the centrifugal force
of the particle dm, in the direction of the radius r, is xtf-rdm.
The resolved parts of this force in the directions OX and
OY (fig. 7) are vPxdm and u?ydm ; therefore, denoting the
pressures in those directions on the pivot S byjo and q,
and those on the pivot T by p and q\ we shall have, as in
(29), the following equations (in which x1 and yl are the
co-ordinates of the centre of gravity, and k, h! the distances
of the pivots S and T respectively from O) to determine
p, p, q, q', viz.
p + p — vPfxdm — w9M.xv q -\- (/ ~ w’fydm —
pk + vPfxzdm, qk + q'k! = uPfyzdm.
If we suppose OZ to be one of the three principal axes
passing through O, then (22) fxzdrn = 0 and fyzdm = 0 ;
whence pk + pk' = 0, qk -f- q'k' — 0. If, therefore, we
further suppose A 0, or that the origin of the co-ordinates
is placed at S, we shall also have p' = 0, / = 0, whence
the pivot T sustains no pressure, the whole being exerted
on S.
If OZ, besides being a principal axis, also passes through
the centre of gravity, then ajj = 0, y1 ■=: Q, whence
p -|- p zz. 0, q q' ■=. 0 •, and since p and q' vanish when
OZ is a principal axis, therefore /> = 0, ^ 0, so that no
pressure is exerted on either of the pivots; and if they w^ere
removed, the body would still continue to revolve about the
same axis.
The forces thus determined are in some sort the inverse
of those arising from the percussions found in (29), the
values o?p p being in this case expressed in terms of x,
and in the former in terms of y ; and the value of y + q\
which in the case of the percussions was expressed in terms
of x, is here given in terms of y.
39. In computing the effect of machines, it is often con- Centre of
venient to determine the situation of a point in which the&yrati°u*
whole mass of the machine might be concentrated without
altering the rotatory effort. In the straight line OG (fig. 8)
suppose a point Q.to be taken, such that OQ,2 rr fr^dm — mo¬
ment of inertia in respect of the axis O ; then, if the whole
matter in the body wrere collected at Q, a force applied at
any point P in the line OG, would produce exactly the same
angular velocity as if applied to the same point of the body
having its natural form. For if the whole mass M were
concentrated at Q, the moment of inertia would become
M-OQ2 (13), and the moment of the force F applied at P
is F’OP; therefore the angular velocity (14) would be
F-OP
But the angular velocity produced by the force
M-OQ2'
F-OP
F applied at P, the body having its natural form, is^p^— ,
therefore, since M-OQ’1 =r fiPdm, the two expressions are
equal, and the angular velocity is not altered by supposing
the whole mass concentrated at Q.
40. The point Q is called the centre of gyration of the
revolving mass; and since OQ = VfPdm -- M, its distance
from the axis O is found by extracting the square root of
the quotient which is obtained by dividing the moment of
inertia by the mass of the body. It is also connected with
the centres of gravity and percussion by a simple relation.
Suppose P to be the centre of percussion, then (34) OP
— frldm -f- M • OG, therefore OG • OP — fr'dm -j- M —
OQ2; whence the distance of the centre of gyration from
the axis of rotation is a mean proportional between the dis¬
tances of the centre of gravity and percussion from the axis.
In a straight line or slender rod, as a working beam, or
the spoke of a wheel in a machine, OQ is of its length ;
for in this case fr9dm — Jr1 dr = ^ r2; and r being the
whole length, M — r; therefore Vfr9dm — M — r p
436 ROTA
Rotation. In a circle or cylinder turning about its axis, OQ
' v 'the radius; for by (18) we have in this case fr2dm
= i Mr2; therefore VfPdm M = r V But if the
circle turns round, one of its diameters^ then OQ, — 'g,
dius; for in this casefr^dm = i M r2; therefore Vfr2dm -r- M
  1 J*'
In the periphery of a circle, or rim of a wheel, turning
about a diameter perpendicular to its plane, OQ = radius;
for fr^dm = r2 X 2<?rr = 2-jrr3, and M = 2flrr ; therefore
= r.
A solid sphere turning round a diameter has OQ = rvf
for (18) the moment of inertia of the sphere is -fj vr5 ; and
the mass M = f err3; therefore OQ = Vt6j r2 = r V§.
Formulae 41. In what precedes, we have supposed that the force
for accele- applied to a rigid system produces its effect by instanta-
rating neous impact, and then ceases to act, so that the motion
forces. communicated to the system is uniform. But if the action
of the external force continues after the first impact, like
the force of gravity on a falling body, the motion of the
system will be accelerated. In the case of uniform veloci¬
ty, it has been shown (14) that the angular velocity is equal
to the moment of the applied force divided by the moment
of inertia ; that is, assuming F to denote the force, and P
the perpendicular from the axis on the line of its direction,
w = p'F —fr^dm. Suppose now the body to be subjected
to the action of an accelerating force, and let dw be the
increment of the angular velocity in the very small time
dt. The increment of the actual velocity of the particle
dm, the distance of which from the axis is r, is then rdw,
and its accelerating force (the ratio of the increment of the
„ , . v . dw _
velocity to the increment of the time) ^ ^ • Its moving
force is consequently — • rdm ; and since the direction of
dw
this force is perpendicular to r, its moment — —'rdm.
But the sum of all these moments, in respect of every parti¬
cle dm, must be equal to the moment of the impressed
force, continuing to act during the same instant of time,
, „ dw r , dw _ p'F
therefore ^fr'dm — p'F, whence
42. In the case of a heavy body oscillating about an axis
by the force of gravity, let HKL
be a section of the body passing Fig. 9.
through the centre of gravity G,
and let the axis of suspension be
at O, and perpendicular to the plane
HKL. Also, let OX be horizontal,
and OY vertical. Then the acce¬
lerating force being denoted by g
(g = 32 feet in a second of time),
the moving force in respect of a
particle dm at A is gdm ; and the
direction of this force being parallel
to OY, the distance of its direction from the axis is x ;
therefore its moment = gxdm. The sum of all these
moments is the moment of the whole gravitating force of
the body, that is, gfxdm = p'F, and we have consequently,
sincefxdm — Ma^,
dw ~ j dw g'Mz,
•^frsdm=g^Hxv whence
When the centre of gravity is in the straight line OY,
or in the vertical passing through the axis, then x1 = 0,
and the angular velocity is uniform, and the body, if it rest
in that position, would have no tendency to turn. But sup¬
pose the centre of gravity to be drawn aside from the ver¬
tical, and let OG A, and the angle GOY = 0, then x1
=; k sin. 6, and we have
T I O N.
dw gM.k sin. 6
dt Jr2dm. ’
whence the acceleration of the angular velocity is propor¬
tional to the sine of the angle which the line OG makes with
the vertical.
43. Suppose the whole mass of the body to be concen¬
trated at a point S in the straight line OG ; we shall then
have r — OS, frzdm — M’OS2, and the formula will be-
Rotation.
dw
come-,- =
dt
g sin. 6
■“os-*
Now, if the point S be chosen such that
OS = fr^dm -f- M*A, then the two formulae will be identi¬
cal, and the solid body will oscillate exactly in the same
time as if all its matter were united at the point S, and
connected with the axis by an inflexible rod without weight,
that is, in the same time as a simple pendulum, of which
the length is OS.
Since r2 = a;2 + y2, and M' k ■= fxdm, this expression
for OS may be put under the following form, in which it is
usually exhibited, namely,
Oo /(*2 + Vz) dm
“ fxdm
44. The point S is called the centre of oscillation. On Centre °f
comparing the expression for OS with that for OP in (34), 0SC1 a lon
it will be seen that it is at the same distance from the axis
as the centre of percussion. But the centre of oscillation
is not, strictly speaking, limited to a single point; for it
through S a line be drawn perpendicular to the plane
HKL, or parallel to the axis of rotation, every point in this
line will move with the same angular velocity as if it were
entirely unconnected with the other points of the oscillating
body, and the line itself is denominated the axis of oscillation.
It is usual, however, to understand by the term centre of oscil¬
lation, the point S which is situated in the straight line,
perpendicular to the axis, which contains the centre of gra-
vity.
45. If we denote the moment of inertia of the body in
respect of the axis which passes through G the centre of
gravity, perpendicular to the plane HKL, by M • Id, then k
is a given line; and if we also make OG =: A, then (17)
the moment of inertia in respect of the axis passing through
O is M (A2 + W). Hence we find OS = ^ ^ \ ^ '
— -j- -7-; and consequently GS = -r-. This formula
A ft
gives the distance of the centre of oscillation below the
centre of gravity.
46. The point S possesses several very remarkable proper¬
ties, one of which is, that as S is the centre of oscillation of
the body turning about O, so O is the centre of oscillation of
the body turning about the parallel axis passing through S ;
in other words, the centres of oscillation and suspension are
id
convertible. For it has been shown (45) that GS
= 7-^ ; therefore OG that is t0 saY> the bo(ly
oscillates about the axis passing through S, then O is the
centre of oscillation. This curious property, which was
first demonstrated by Huygens in his Horologium Oscilla-
torium, was ingeniously applied by Captain Kater as a
practical means of determining the length of the seconds
pendulum. Two axes being assumed in a bar or rod of
metal, the bar is adjusted by filing away one of its ends
until the oscillations about each axis are performed exactly
in the same time; and when this equality has been esta¬
blished, the distance between the axes is the length of the
synchronous simple pendulum. See Pendulum.
47. We shall now determine the centre of oscillation in
a few particular cases.
ROTATION.
Rotation.
If the body is a heavy straight line suspended by one
extremity, the OS = § of its length ; for making a — the
length of the rod, we have (18) f^dm = ^ a3, and in this
case the mass M — a, and the centre of gravity is at the
437
Computa¬
tion of cen
tres of os- . ,
cillation. middle of the line, or A rr ^
a, whence — la2, and OS
a2 = §i
fa.
Rotation
on inclined
planes.
z=. jr2dm -r- z= a_ . _ 3„.
This is nearly the case of a slender rod of a cylindrical
or prismatic shape, and it would be accurately so if all the
points of a transverse section were equally distant from the
axis of suspension.
If the oscillating body is an isosceles triangle suspended
by its apex, and vibrating perpendicularly to its plane, O
= f of its height. For let a — the height, na — the base,
r — a section parallel to the base, then y z= nx, r ■=. x,
and dm — ydx ; whence Jr1 dm ~ nfx3dx — ^a4 (when x
— a). But in this case M = area =z % a X na = ± na2;
and the distance of the centre of gravity from the vertex
being two thirds of the height, we have k = §a, whence
M/d — na3, and consequently OS = fr^dm M/d
= ia’
48. The problem to find the centre of oscillation of a
sphere suspended by a thread or an inflexible rod, is im¬
portant on account of its application to the measurement
of the seconds pendulum. Let us first suppose that the
weight of the thread is insensible in comparison of that of
the ball. Let r = radius of ball, l — length of thread from
the point of suspension to the ball, and a = l + r = dis¬
tance from the point of suspension to the centre of the ball.
The moment of inertia of the sphere in respect of an axis
passing through its centre (18) is fMr2 ; therefore (17) the
moment in respect of a parallel axis at the distance a is
M (a* + f-?’2); and on dividing this by M& (= Ma), we
get the distance from the point of suspension to the centre
2r2
of oscillation = a + -—, or the centre of oscillation is be-
oa
low the centre of gravity by the distance ^r2-^-a.
49. Let us now suppose the weight of the thread or rod
to be taken into account. Let C (fig. 10) be the centre of
the ball, G the centre of gravity of the ball and
rod OA, S the centre of oscillation; also let
b — weight of ball, and = weight of rod. The
moment of the sphere, oscillating about O, sup¬
posing the weight of the rod insensible, is found
above = M (a2 + fr2) ; and (18) the moment
of the rod alone is A3 = i/s = iMV2 (putting
M' = mass of the rod) ; therefore, substituting
the weights for the masses, that is, making M =: Z>,
and M/— //, the moment of the compound body
is b (a~ -j- |r2) ^ b'l2. Now, to find the
position of G the centre of gravity, we have this theorem
in statics, that the product of the whole mass multiplied
into the distance of its centre of gravity from the axis, is
equal to the sum of the products of the masses of the se¬
veral parts into the respective distances of their centres of
gravity; that is, putting OG = £, we have (M + M')£
— ba \b'l, and consequently (45),
ba + \m
50. Hitherto we have supposed the axes of rotation to
be absolutely fixed; but the rotation may be performed
about axes which are themselves in motion, as in the case
of a ball or cylinder rolling down an inclined plane. When
a ball rolls down an inclined plane, the point of the ball
which rests on the plane is hindered from sliding down by
friction; and therefore the ball tumbles, as it were, over
this point of contact, and is instantly caught by another
point of contact, over which it tumbles in the same man¬
ner. A cylinder rolls down in the very same way ; and its
motion is nearly the same as if a fine thread had been lap¬
ped round it, and one end of it made fast at the head of the
Fig. 10.
Fig. 11.
inclined plane. The cylinder rolls down by unwinding this Rotation,
thread.
The mechanism of all such motions (and some of them
are important) may be understood by considering them as
follows : Let a body of any shape be connected with a cy¬
linder HO K (fig. 11), whose axis passes through G, the
centre of gravity of the body. Suppose the body sus¬
pended from a fixed point A by a thread wound round the
cylinder. The body will descend by the action of gravity,
and it will also turn round, unwinding the thread. Draw
the horizontal line SGO ; this will pass through the point
of contact O of the thread and cylinder, and O is the point
round which the cylinder begins to turn in descending. Let
S be its centre of oscillation correspond¬
ing to the momentary centre of rotation O.
The body will begin to descend in the same
manner as if all its matter were collected in
S; for it may be considered, in this instant,
as a pendulum suspended at O. But in this
case S will descend in the same manner
as if the body were falling freely. There¬
fore the velocity of G (that is, the velocity
of descent) will be to the velocity with
which a heavy body would fall as OG to
OS. Now since the points O, G, S, are always in a hori¬
zontal line, and the radius OG is given, as also OS (43),
the velocity of a body falling freely, and of the body un¬
winding from this thread, will always be in the same pro¬
portion of OS to OG, and so will the spaces described in
any given time. And thus we can compare their motions
in every case when we know the place of the centre of oscil¬
lation.
It follows from this that the weight of the descending
body will be to the tension of the thread as OS to GS; for
the tension of the thread is the difference between the mo¬
ment of the rolling body and that of the body falling freely.
It is to be remarked, that this proportion between the weight
of the body and the tension of the thread will be always the
same; for it has been demonstrated (46), that if O be in
the circumference of a circle whose centre is G, S will be
in the circumference of another circle round the same cen¬
tre, and therefore the ratio of OG to OS is constant.
If a circular body HOK roll down an inclined plane by
unfolding a thread, or by friction which prevents all slid-
ing, the space described will be to that which the body
would describe freely as OG to OS; for the tendency
down the inclined plane is a determined proportion of the
weight of the body. The motion of rotation in these cases,
both progressive and whirling, is uniformly accelerated.
51. In order to give an example of the application of the Inertia of
preceding formulae for the rotation of bodies about fixed machines,
axes to the theory of machines actually performing work,
we shall suppose the machine to be the wheel and axle,
and that a weight W, attached to a chain passing over the
cylinder, is to be raised by means of a power acting on
another chain which passes over the wheel. Let the ra¬
dius of the wheel = a, the radius of the cylinder = b, and
suppose the moving power to be another weight P, or a mass
of matter descending by the accelerating force of gravity.
Since the machine is in this case impelled by an accele¬
rating force, the angular velocity w is obtained from the
equation (41), namely,
dw moment of impelling force
dt moment of inertia
Now, because the weight P acts in a straight line whose
distance from the axis = a, the moment of its force is Pa ;
and in like manner the moment of the force exerted by W
is W6. But this last moment retards the motion, and must
be taken as negative ; therefore the moment of the impel¬
ling force is Pa — W6. Again, the moment of inertia is
made up of three parts : first, the moment of inertia of the
438
ROTATION.
flotation, machine, which depends on the quantity of dead matter
w“,v-w contained in the wheel and cylinder, and which we may
denote by K; second, the moment of inertia of the weight P,
which may be considered as attached to the extremity of
the radius of the wheel; third, the moment of inertia of the
weight W, which may be considered as attached to the ex¬
tremity of the radius of the cylinder. Let M and M' be
the masses of the bodies whose weights are P and W, then
the moments of inertia are respectively Ma2 and Wb2. Let
also g = the acceleration of gravity, then the weight of a
body being the product of its mass into the force of gravity,
we have P = ^M, W = ^M', whence the whole moment of
inertia is
^ . P«2 , W62
K + — H ,
9 9
and we have consequently
dw _ g (Pa — W&)
dt ~ ^K'+W+W
For the sake of abridging, let us assume
pa 
U = —^ p^2 -yyp? and the angular velocity will be
given by the equation w = gfXJdt. Also let v — the ve¬
locity of the impelled point of the machine, or the velocity
with which P descends, and u — the velocity of the working
point, or velocity with which W is raised; then v — aw, and
u — bw, at the end of the time t; and if we denote the re¬
spective accelerating forces by <p and we shall have
dv du . TT
f = li=agV^ = Ti=bg\3.
52. To find the proportion of the velocities of the im¬
pelled and working points which give the greatest perform¬
ance when the weight and power are both given, we may
treat the formula which expresses the work, that is, the
accelerating force, or W, as a fluxionary quantity, and find
its maximum. Thus, to find the radius of the wheel by
which the weight will be raised with the greatest velocity,
we have to differentiate the quantity denoted by U, on the
supposition that a is variable, and make the result equal to
zero. This will give an equation from which a will be ob¬
tained in terms of P, W, and b ; and it will be observed,
that as K varies with a, the value of K in terms of a must
be substituted in the value of U before the differentiation.
53. The friction may be taken account of by considering
it as a quantity to be added to the weight W. Let/r= the
co-efficient of friction, and c z=. radius of the pivots sup¬
porting the machine, then the friction will be expressed
by fc (P + W), and we have only to substitute W7> +
/? (P + W) for W6 in the above expression for U.
54. In the case of the fixed pulley, the velocities of P and
W are equal, and we have also a — b. If we denote the
weight of the pulley by Q, then its mass will be Q. -f- and
(18) its moment of inertia = ^ Q,a2 g ; therefore the for¬
mula for the accelerating force with which P descends or W
rises will be
P —W
9“^Aq+P +w
Motion of a 55. We now proceed to consider the motion of a solid
solid body body which is entirely free.
entirely When a solid body or rigid system is impressed at a single
point by a force of which the direction does not pass through
the centre of gravity, the body, if free to move in every di¬
rection, acquires two motions, one progressive, and equal to
that which would have resulted if the direction of the force
had passed through the centre of gravity, and the other ro¬
tatory, and equal to that which would have resulted if the
body had been only at liberty to move round a fixed axis
passing through the centre of gravity, and perpendicular to
the plane which contains that centre, and the line of the di¬
rection of the impelling force.
56. In order to demonstrate this proposition, let HKL (fig. notation.
12) be a section of the body passing through G the centre
gravity, and containing the line in
which the force is directed; let P
be the point at which the given
force F is applied, and PA its direc¬
tion ; through G draw GA perpen¬
dicular to PA, and let PA repre¬
sent the intensity of the force F.
Bisect AP in B, produce AG un¬
til GC — AG, and through C draw
CD, CE perpendicular to AC, and make each equal to AB.
If we now conceive a force represented by DC to be applied
at D in the direction DC, and another force represented by
EC to be applied at E in the direction EC, these two forces
being equal, and acting in opposite directions, will destroy
each other, or produce no movement in the body, and the
motion which actually takes place in consequence of the ap¬
plication of the force PA at P, will be the same as would
result from the application of the four forces PB, BA, DC,
EC. Now it is evident, that if the two forces BA and DC
acted alone, they would produce no rotatory motion about
the axis passing through G, for their moments BA • AG
and DC • CG are equal, and they tend to turn the body in
opposite directions. But the same two forces both tend to
give the body a progressive motion; and as the resultant of
two equal and parallel forces is a force equal to their sum,
and acting at the point which bisects the distance between
their directions, the initial progressive motion of the body
in consequence of the forces BA and DC will be the same
as if the force PA = F were applied at the point G in the
direction parallel to PA. We have now to consider the
two remaining forces PB and EC. As these two forces act
on the line AC in opposite directions, their resultant is no¬
thing, or their separate tendencies to produce a progressive
motion in the centre of gravity of the body, are counter¬
acted by their joint effort. But they conspire in tending
to produce a rotatory motion in the same direction about
the axis passing through G; and the moment of the first in
respect of that axis being PB • AG, and that of the second
EC • CG, the sum of their moments is (PB + EC) AG or
PA • AG. The whole effect of these two forces is therefore
to produce the same initial angular velocity about the axis
through G, perpendicular to HKL, as would be produced
by the single force PA applied at the point A; and it has
been shown, that the whole effect of the forces BA and
DC is to produce the same progressive movement of the
centre of gravity as if the single force PA were applied
at that point, consequently the proposition is demonstrated,
and it appears that the two motions produced by the appli¬
cation of a force which is not directed towards the cen¬
tre of gravity may be considered independently of each
other.
57. Let V = the progressive velocity of the centre of
gravity in the direction parallel to PA; then the mass of the
body being M, we have the force F = MY, and consequent¬
ly V = F -f- M. Again, if we make AG = l, the angular
velocity produced by the force F applied at A is «? = F * /
-T- fr~dm (14), therefore V : w :: frldm : MY. Now, since
ffidm and M are both known from the nature of the body,
it follows, that when the distance l is given, the ratio of the
progressive motion of the centre of gravity to the velocity
of angular rotation can be found ; and, conversely, when the
ratio of the two velocities is given, the distance l can be
found. For example, let s be the space described by the
centre of gravity while the body makes one revolution about
its axis, then 2cr is the space described, in consequence of
the rotatory motion, by a point of the body whose dis¬
tance from the axis = 1, and the above proportion gives
_ 2flr fi^dm
~ T' ~M~'
ROTATION.
439
Rotation. 58. As it is not necessary that the progressive motion of
v—the centre of gravity be in a straight line, this formula en¬
ables us to determine the distances from the centre at which
the planets may have received the single impulses which
gave them at the same time their motions of revolution in
their orbits, and of rotation round their axes. Thus, taking
the case of the earth, and making R = the radius of its or¬
bit, the circumference of the orbit is 2<rR, and the part of
this which is described by the centre of gravity, while the
2<tR
earth revolves once about its axis, is —= s; and by (18)
obo
365 X 2/’2
fr*dm -7- M f r2 ; therefore l =  —^ If we assume
r =: 4*000 miles, and R = 95,000,000 miles, this formula
gives l — 24^ miles nearly.
Centre of 59. The direction of the force being PA (fig. 12), if a point
spontane- taken in the line AG between A and G, the motion of the
tionr°^a* point arising from the rotation of the body about the axis is
in the first instant of time parallel to the direction of the pro¬
gressive motion, and if r be its distance from G, the velocity
due to both motions will be V + rw. But if the point be
taken on the other side of G, the direction of the rotatory
motion will be opposite to that of the progressive motion,
and the velocity of the point will be V — rw. If therefore
the point T be taken such that making GT = r, we have
the equation Y — rw; then, for a single instant, every point
in the straight line passing through T perpendicular to
HKL is at rest, or is carried as far back by the rotatory
motion in the first instant of time, as it is carried forward
by the progressive motion; and, for a single instant, the
double motion of the body may be regarded as a simple ro¬
tatory motion about that straight line. This point T is
called the centre of spontaneous rotation, and the straight
line passing through T, perpendicular to the plane HKL,
is called the axis of spontaneous rotation'
Progres- 60. The preceding formulae enable us to determine com-
sive mo- pletely the two motions of translation and rotation when a
^®no^cen'force is applied to a single point of the free body; we have
vity. ^ra" now t0 determine what the effect will be when any num¬
ber of forces given in magnitude and direction are applied
to different points of the body ; and as it appears from what
precedes, that during the first instant the two motions take
place independently of each other, we shall first give the
equations which fix the position of the centre of gravity of
the moving body, and then those which define the rotatory
motion, or determine the position of any point of the body
with reference to its centre of gravity.
Let G be the centre of gravity of the body, M its mass,
and let the motion be referred to three rectangular axes
OX, OY, OZ. Let us now suppose forces given in magni¬
tude and direction to be applied at the points A, A', A", &c.
of the body, and that each of them is resolved into three
others respectively parallel to the directions of the axis, and
let p, q, r, be the resolved forces applied at A; p', cf, r1,
the resolved forces applied at A', and so on; also let P =/>
+ p' +/>"+> &c., O — ^ + q' -\-q" +, &c., R = /• + /
+ r" +, &c.; then, since the moving force is equal to the
product of the mass into the velocity, and since by (56) the
progressive motion resulting from the force applied at A is
the same as if it had been applied to the centre of gravity,
the velocity of the centre of gravity from the joint action
of all the forces, in the directions OX, OY, OZ, will be re¬
spectively ^ • But the resulting velocity is the
diagonal of the parallelopiped of which these component
velocities are the sides ; therefore, denoting it by V, we have
the angles which its direction makes with the axis x, y, z; Rotation.
then, since the forces P, Q, R meet in a point (the centre —'
of gravity), we have
v=1Jfy(p« + Q! + R--)-
cos. a =
MV
Q
y cos. p ^
R^
MV*
These equations give the direction of the velocity; hence,
since V has already been found, the initial velocity of the
centre of gravity and its direction are both completely de¬
termined.
61. When the forces applied to the body are simply per¬
cussions, which cease to act after the first impact, and there
is no resistance, no change will take place in the velocity
or its direction during the second and succeeding instants,
and the centre of gravity will describe a straight line with
a uniform motion; but if the forces continue to act after
the motion has commenced, we must have recourse to the
formulae given by the principles of dynamics, which express
the varied motion of a body subjected to the action of ac¬
celerating forces. At the end of the time t, reckoned from
the commencement of the motion, let x, y, z be the co-or¬
dinates of the element of the body dm, referred to the
rectangular axes OX, OY, OZ; then the velocity at that
instant being expressed by the differential of the space de¬
scribed divided by the element of the time, the components
dx dy dz T
of the velocity at the same instant will be —, — —. JNow
the forces acting on the body, whatever be their nature,
may always be decomposed into others parallel to the three
axes; suppose therefore P, Q, R to be the components of
the accelerating forces in those directions acting on the
point dm, then the increment of velocity being equal to
the force into the element of the time, if the particle dm
were entirely free, the velocities ^ would acquire
the increments Vdt, Qdt, lldt in the instant dt. But the
increments of velocity actually acquired in the instant dt
dz
ne
and therefore the velocities lost in consequence of the mu¬
tual connection of the particles are respectively
dz
dt
dx dv
are the differentials of the velocities, or d' d' -jj-, d'
Vdt.
, dx ~ .
■ d'—, Gtdt-
at
■ d'^-, Jidt-
dt
■ d'
Multiplying each of these expressions by dm, we get the
quantities of motion due to the respective velocities. Now,
according to a well-known principle of dynamics, the dis¬
covery of which is due to D’Alembert, the infinitely small
quantities of motion lost in every instant by all the particles
in consequence of their mutual connection must make equi¬
librium ; the integrals of the preceding expressions multi¬
plied by dm must therefore be severally equal to zero, and
we have accordingly (on effecting the operations indicated,
and dividing by dt) the three equations
fVdm — l'C^dm,fQLdm=J'd^dm,fRdm zzj'^dm.
62. In order to find the place of the centre of gravity at
the end of the time t, let its co-ordinates at that instant be
xn 2/v zi> t^en from t^ie Property of the centre of gravity
we have
Mar1 = fxdm, Myx — fydm, Mzx = fzdm.
Regarding the variables as functions of the time t, differ¬
entiating twice, and dividing each time by dt, we obtain
M
To determine the direction of this velocity, let a, jS, y, be
cPz. pc, „ .
M ~df S7^ dm'
*d?z
440
ROTATION.
Rotation. Comparing these with the above equations, we have
=/?<*», M^|i=/QA», M^.=/Mm.
dt~
Composi¬
tion of ro¬
tatory mo¬
tion.
Now, the first members of these equations denote respec¬
tively the quantities of motion in the direction of the axes
x, y, z, of a material point whose mass zz M, and the in¬
tegrals fYdm, f Qbdm, f~R.dm denote the quantities of mo-'
tion of the body or rigid system under consideration, sub¬
jected to the accelerating forces P, Q, R; it follows, there¬
fore, that during the whole continuance of the motion the
centre of gravity moves as if the whole of the matter of the
body were concentrated there, and the forces which act on
the body were all applied at that point.
63. Having thus given the equations which enable us to
determine the motion of the centre of gravity of a free sys¬
tem under the action of given forces, we now proceed to
consider the rotatory movement of the system, and to in¬
vestigate the position of any point of it with respect to the
centre of gravity at the end of any given interval pf time.
The investigation of this problem is greatly facilitated by
means of the following elegant theorem respecting the com¬
position of rotatory motion, discovered by Frisi.
Proposition. If a solid body revolve round an axis OA
(fig. 13) passing through its centre of gravity with an angu¬
lar velocity = w, and if a force be impressed upon it which
alone would cause it to revolve about an axis OB also pass¬
ing through its centre of gravity with an angular velocity
z= id, then the body will not revolve about either OA or
OB, but about a third axis OC lying in the plane of the
other two, and inclined to each of the former axes in angles
whose sines are inversely as the angular velocities round
those axes, or so that sin. AOC : sin. BOC :: id : w; and
the angular velocity u round the new axis is to that round
one of the primitive axes as the sine of inclination of the
two primitive axes is to the sine of the inclination of the
new axis to the other primitive axis, that is, m : w :: sin.
AOB : sin. COB, ov u : id :x sin. AOB : sin. AOC.
64. In order to prove this proposition, it is necessary to
show, 1st, that any point in the line OC is at rest while
the two motions are taking place; 2d, that every particle of
the body not situated in AC revolves about the axis AC ;
and 3d, to assign the velocity of rotation.
(1.) Let the angular motion about the axis OA be sup¬
posed to be in the direction by
which every point in the angle
AOB would be raised above the
plane of the paper, and that about
OB to be in the direction by which
every point within the same angle
would be depressed below the plane
of the paper, and take any point
E in OC, and draw EH and EK
respectively perpendicular to O A
and OB. The absolute velocity with which the point E
moves in consequence of the rotation about OA is HE • w,
and the absolute velocity with which it moves about OB is
KE • id. But HF= OE sin. AOC,and KE = OE sin. BOC;
and by hypothesis : w :: sin. AOC : sin. BOC, whence
id sin. BOC = w sin. AOC, therefore the two velocities
HE ‘w and KE- w/are equal; and they are in opposite
directions, consequently the point E remains at rest. In
the same manner, it is shown that every other point in OC
remains at rest.
(2.) Let P be the place of any particle of the body, and
conceive the surface of a sphere to pass through P, inter¬
secting the axes in A and B, and join PA and PB by arcs
of great circles. Draw PM perpendicular to AP, and make
PM = iv • sin. AP z= absolute velocity of the particle P
- axis OA in I" of time ; also draw PN perpendi-
Fig. 13.
about the
cular to BP, and make PN = w'
perpendi
sin. BP zr absolute velo¬
city of P about OB in 1" (the radius being unity), and com- Rotation,
plete the parallelogram PMRN. -v—
Since thq particle dm, in virtue of the rotation about OA,
has a motion which would cause it to describe the line PM
in a second, and in virtue of the rotation about OB has also
a motion which would cause it to describe PN in a second,
the particle will describe PR the diagonal of the parallelo¬
gram PMRN. Through P let an arc of & great circle be
described perpendicular to PR, and produced to meet the
plane AOB in the point C, which at present we suppose
indeterminate, and join OC; then OC is the straight line
in which a plane passing through P, perpendicular to PR.
intersects the plane AOB.
Because APM and CPR are equal, being right angles,
take from each the common angle APR, and there remains
RPM zz APC; and because BPN and CPR are right
angles, add to each NPC, and we have RPN z= BPC. Now
PM zz w sin. AP, and PN zz RM z= id • sin. BP, therefore
PM : RM :: w sin. AP : id sin. BP ;
but PM : RM :: sin. MRP (zz sin. RPN) : sin. RPM,
or PM : RM :: sin. BPC : sin. APC;
therefore sin. BPC : sin. APC :: w sin. AP : w' sin. BP,
whence w' sin. BP • sin. BPC zz w sin. AP * sin. APC.
Now in the spherical triangles BPC and APC we have
sin BP • sin. BPC zz: sin. CB • sin. PCB, and sin. AP • sin.
APC zz sin. AC • sin. ACP ; therefore
id sin. CB • PCB zz iv sin. AC • sin. ACP.
But sin. PCB zz sin. ACP (the one angle being the sup¬
plement of the other) ; also sin. CB zz sin. BOC, sin. AC
zz sin. AOC, therefore id sin. BOC zz w sin. AOC, and
consequently
w : w':: sin. BOC : sin. AOC.
From this it follows that OC divides the angle AOB into
parts having a given ratio, and is therefore given in posi¬
tion ; and as it may be shown in like manner that the plane
passing through every other particle of the body perpendi¬
cular to the direction of the motion of that point intersects
the plane AOB in OC, OC is therefore the axis of rota¬
tion.
(3.) To find n, the angular velocity about OC. In the
triangle RPM we have RP : PM :: sin. RMP : sin. MRP;
but sin. RMP zz sin. MPN zz sin. APB, and sin. MRP
zr sin. RPN zz sin. CPB, therefore RP : PM :: sin. APB :
sin. CPD. Now RP zz u sin. CP zz absolute velocity about
OC in 1", and PM z= w sin. AP zz absolute velocity about
OA in 1". Substituting these expressions therefore in the
last proportion, and multiplying extremes and means, we get
u sin. CP • sin. CPB zz w sin. AP * sin. APB.
But the spherical triangles CPB and APB give sin. CP
sin. CPB zz sin. CB sin. CBP, and sin. AP sin. APB z:
sin. AB sin. ABP. Therefore, substituting, and leaving out
the common term, we have u sin. CB zz w sin. AB, or u
sin. COB zz w sin. AOB, that is,
u : w :: sin. AOB : sin. COB.
In like manner, it may be shown that
u : id :: sin. AOB : sin. AOC,
whence the proposition is demonstrated.
65. When the two primitive axes OA and OB are. at
right angles, sin. AOB zz 1, sin. COB zz cos. AOC,
and the above two proportions give u:w:: 1 : cos. AOC,
u ; id : : 1 ; sin. AOC, whence u cos. AOC zz w, and
u sin. AOC zz id, and consequently w2 zz m>2 -}- «/2, or
u = V(id* -|- id*').
66. Suppose a third axis OD at right angles to OA and
OB, and that a force is impressed on the body, which alone
would cause it to revolve about OD with an angular velo¬
city zz w" ; then, as the body is revolving about OC with
the velocity u, the effect of this new force will be to cause
it to revolve about an axis in the plane DOC; and if we
make zz the angle which this new axis makes with the
line OC, and W zz the velocity about the new axis, we
ROTATION.
441
Rotation, shall have from the preceding formulae W cos. ^ = u, and
\y sin> ^ _ w>'^ whence W— V/ (u2 ic"2), or, substituting for
a its value found above, W = V(w2 Jrw'2 w"-). The posi¬
tion of the new axis is, however, more conveniently defined
by the angles which it makes with the three primitive axes.
Let a, (3, y be the angles which it makes respectively with
the primitive axes OA, OB, OD, then the three spherical
triangles which it forms with the three axes give cos. a
— cos. AOC cos. -4/, cos. (3 = cos. BOC cos. cos. y =
sin. 4a Now, from the preceding equations (65), we have
cos. AOC = -, cos. BOC r= sin. AOC = —, cos. -vL ~,
u a T W
U’n
sin- = w
value V(w2 -f w'2 + w//2), we obtain
V(iv1 w'2 + w"2)'
(3 =
u/
\/(w -f- wn-\-w,ny
cos. 7
V{w-{- w'2 -j- w"2)’
Hence it follows that the change of position of any point in
consequence of the rotation Wrft, in the element of time dt,
is equivalent to the change that would be effected by three
simultaneous and independent rotations 'SSfdt cos. a, Wdt
cos. (3, Wdt cos. y, about three rectangular axes, with which
the axis corresponding to the velocity W makes respective¬
ly the angles a, f), y.
67. In determining the rotation of a body about a fixed
centre, it is most fonvenient to refer every point of the
body to a system of three principal axes passing through
the centre of gravity; there are therefore two distinct
steps in the investigation, the first being to find the situa¬
tion of the principal a/es in respect of absolute space at
the end of any given tijne, and the second to find the po¬
sition of any point of the body referred to these axes, whose
positions have been determined. To accomplish the first of
these, the following proposition is required.
68. If at the end of any time t the position of the axis
about which the body is revolving be known in respect of
the three principal axes supposed to be fixed in the system,
together with the angular velocity of rotation; to deter¬
mine the change of situation of the principal axes in re¬
spect of absolute space, in the element of time dt.
Imagine a sphere, whose radius = I, to be described
about O the centre of gravity of
the body; let KTL (fig. 14) be
a great circle, and in KTL as¬
sume a point T as that to which
the position of the principal axes
is to be referred. At the end of
the time t, let X, Y, Z be the
points in which the three princi¬
pal axes passing through O meet
the surface of the sphere; then,
on joining these points by arcs of
great circles, the three arcs XY,
YZ, ZX will be quadrantal arcs, since the principal axes
are at right angles to each other. Join also X, Y, Z with
T by arcs of great circles, and assume
TX = /, TY = on, TZ = n,
KTX = X, KTY = ^ KTZ = v.
Let U be the point in which the axis about which the body
is revolving at the end of the time t meets the surface of the
sphere, and let U be joined by arcs of great circles with X,
Y, Z. Put W = angular velocity of rotation about OU
(which we suppose to be in the direction XYZ), and let
a, (3, y be the angles which OU makes with the principal
axes, namely, a = UX, /3 — UY, y — UZ.
To investigate the motion of the point X, let Xe be the
small arc described by X in the instant dt i them this arc
VOL. XIX.
Fig. 14.
being perpendicular to UX, we have the angle YXe — UXZ, Rotation,
and sin. YXe = cos. YXU; also, since YXZ is a right'
angle,' sin. TXY rr cos. TXZ. Hence the formulae of sphe¬
rical trigonometry give the following equations,
cos. (3 vv _ cos. y
sin. YXe
cos. TXY
cos. YXe =
sin. I
sin. TXY =
  COS. 01
sin. I
Therefore, substituting and writing for W its
from which, since TXe — YXe — TXY, we deduce
. cos. (3 cos. on 4- cos. y cos. n
sin. i Xe —    7  
sin. a sin. 1
cos. 7 cos. on — cos. (3 cos. n
cos. I Xe — -—-4_—7 7— .
sin. a sm. t
Drawe/”perpendicular to TX; then, because Xe — Wdt
sin. a, we have Xf = Wdt sin. a cos. TXe, ef z= Wdt
sin. a sin. TXe. But Xf = — dl,ef — — sin. Id X; therefore,
by reasqn of the above values of sin. TXe and cos. TXe,
and because W cos. /3 — «/, W cos. y — w", we have
sin. Idl — dt(wr cos. n — w" cos. on),
sin.* IdX = ■— dt (id cos. m -(- ov" cos. n).
It is evident that the consideration of the motion of each
of the other two points Y and Z will lead to expressions
entirely similar, and which may be concluded from analogy :
we have therefore the following six equations to determine
l, on, n, X, /£, v, namely,
sin. Idl — dt (id cos. n — td' cos. on),
sin. mdm — dt (w" cos. I— w cos. n),
sin. ndn — dt (w cos. on — ud cos. 1),
sin.2 ld\ — — dt (id cos. on -f- ov" cos. n),
sin.2 md/jj — — dt (w" cos. n -\-w cos. 1),
sin.* ndv z= — dt(w cos. I w' cos. in).
Because cos.2 I -f- cos.2 on -j- cos.2 n — 1, it is only neces¬
sary to solve two of the first three equations, in order to
find the arcs l, on, n ; and when the values of l, m, n have
been obtained, it is only necessary to compute one of the
three angles X, /jj, v, in order to have the other two; for
when one is known, the others are obtained from the
equations cos. (/u> — 1-) = — cot. I cot. on, cos. (v — /«•) =
.— cot. m cot. n, given by the triangles TYX and TYZ, of
which the sides XY and YZ are arcs of 90°.
69. By means of the preceding propositions, we are en- Rotation
abled to determine the motion of a body which is at liberty about a fix.
only to turn about a fixed point. The statical principle e(l Point*
on which the determination must be made is, that a body
so circumstanced will be in a state of equilibrium, when
the sums of the moments of the forces with reference to
three rectangular axes drawn through the fixed point are
nothing relatively to each of the three axes. It is there¬
fore necessary in the first place to find expressions for these
moments.
70. Suppose a material point whose co-ordinates are x
and i/ to be urged by two forces, namely, a force = X, in
the direction OX (fig. 15), and an¬
other force = Y in the direction O Y,
perpendicular to OX; then the effi¬
cacy of the two forces to turn the par¬
ticle about the axis OZ perpendicular
to the plane XOY, in the direction
from X towards Y, is equal to Yx—Xoj.
For let M be the situation of the par¬
ticle, and take MN to represent the
intensity and direction of the single
force into which X and Y may be compounded; through
M and N draw MA, NB perpendicular to OX and MC,
ND perpendicular to OY; let E be the point in which
MC and NB intersect; join OM, ON, OE, and complete
the parallelogram OF. Now the force represented by MN
is compounded of the two forces represented by ME and
EN; we have therefore, by construction,
3 K
Fig. 15.
442
ROTATION.
Rotation. ME = — X = force in direction — OX,
EN — -j- Y ~ force in direction OY.
But the moment of the force MN in respect of the axis
OZ is equal to MN multiplied into the line drawn from O
perpendicular to MN, that is, equal to twice the triangle
OMN, or to twice the sum of the triangles MOE, EON,
MEN, or to the parallelosrams MB, NC, EF, or to MB and
CF. Now MB = AM* ME = — Xy, and CF r= CD • CM
= Yx ; therefore, the moment of the force MN, or of the
two forces X and Y, is expressed by Yx — Xy.
71. If we put Z — a. force acting in the direction OZ
perpendicular to the plane XOY, we shall evidently obtain
similar expressions for the moments in respect of the other
axes OX and OY; so that if we suppose the motion about
OX to be in the direction from Z towards Y, and that about
OY to be from X towards Z, and that about OZ to be
from Y towards X, we shall have the three expressions,
moment about OX = Yz — Zy,
about OY = Z# — Xz,
about OZ rr Xy •— Yx.
72. If we now suppose P, Q, R to be the accelerating
forces acting on a particle dm, in the directions of the three
axes respectively, then (61) the quantities of motion lost
by the particle at each instant, in consequence of the con¬
nexion of the parts of the system, or the differences between
the impressed and effective forces, are
dm^dt-^dm (0*-^), dm (e*_^).
Substituting these differences for X, Y, Z respectively in
the above expressions (71) for the moments of rotation, and
forming the integrals in respect of dm, we shall get the sums
of the moments in respect of all the particles about each of
the three axes. But by the principle of D’Alembert (61),
these sums must be severally = 0; therefore, if for brevity
we put
F = f(Q.z — Ry) dm, G =f (Rx — Yz) dm,
II — f (Yy — Qa;) dm,
there will result the three equations
Ydtz= fydm ~
dt -■rzdmd-%
Gdt = fzdm ~ — fxdm ~
lldt — fxdm
dt
ddy
dt
-fydm
dt ’
ddx
dt *
73. We have now to express these formulae in terms of
the angular velocities about the axes. Referring to fig. 14,
let x — cos. I, y — cos. m, z — cos. n, then x, y, z will be
the co-ordinates of the point T referred to the rectangular
axes OX, O Y, OZ ; and we shall have dx— — sin. Idl, dy
— — sin. mdm, dz— — sin. ndn. Substituting these va¬
lues of x, y, z, and their differentials, in the three first of
the system of equations in (68), and supposing the direction
of the motion to be changed (namely, the rotation about
OX to be in the direction from Z towards Y, and so with
the other as in (71)), those three equations will become
dx — dt (w'z — w"y),
dy — dt (w"x— wz), (A)
dz — dt (wy — w’x).
If we now observe that OX, OY, OZ are principal axes, and
consequently that fxydm = 0, fxzdm — 0, fyzdm — 0, we
shall find, on forming the expressions for ddz, ddy, and sub¬
stituting always for dx, dy. dz their values as given by these
equations,
r , ddz
fydm — fy2dm • dw -f- w'vf Cy^dm ’ dt.
r ddy
Jzdm — fz9dm • dw -f- w*tJ yz‘dm • dt,
and consequently
Ydt =f(y2 + Z2) dm • dw 4- w'vf f(y* — z2) dm • dt.
Similar expressions are obtained in the same manner for Rotation.
Gdt and Gdt. Now it is to be observed that fijf-Yz1) dm
is the moment of inertia with respect to the axis OX ; if
therefore we assume A, B, C to denote the moments of
inertia in respect of the three axes respectively, that is, if
we put
A—/{y2 + z~)dm, B= f (x2-Yz2)dm, C= f(x2Jry2)dm,
the three equations of the last number will be transformed
into the following:
Ydt — Adw + (C — B) w'w"dt,
Gdt - V>dw' + (A — C) ww"dt, (B)
Yidt— Cduf + (B — A) widdt.
74. These three equations enable us to determine the
angular velocities of rotation about each of the principal
axes when the forces F, G, H are known, and consequent¬
ly suffice, when joined to the equations of (68) and the equa¬
tions (A), for the determination of any point of the revolv¬
ing body at any given instant of time reckoned from the
commencement of the motion ; for the values of w, w', vf
being supposed to be found in terms of t, and substituted
in the two sets of equations of (68), the integrals of these
equations will give the situation of the three principal axes
at that instant, and the situation of the instantaneous axis of
rotation, in respect of the principal axes, will be found by
integrating the equations (A) after substituting in them the
same values of w, w', w".
75. When the body is subject to no accelerating forces,
or the origin of the co-ordinates is placed at the centre of
gravity, the integrations indicated in the last paragraph are
obtained without difficulty; for in this case the quantities
denoted by F, G, H, respectively vanish, and the equations
(B) become
0 = Adw + (C — B) ufwrdt,
0 = Y>dw’ + (A — C) ww"dt, (cl)
0 = Ydvf + (B — A) wiv'dt.
Now if we multiply the first of these by tv, the second
by wf, and the third by id', and add the products, we shall
have
0 = Awdw + Y>w'did Cw''dw",
the integral of which is
K = Aw2 + Btf?'2 + Cw’n, (b)
K being an arbitrary constant, and always positive. Again,
let the same equations (a) be multiplied respectively by Aw,
V>trf, Cvf, and the products added and integrated; we shall
then have, in like manner,
L2 = A2w2 -j- B2w'2 4" C~w"2, (c)
L2 being another arbitrary constant, and always positive.
From these two last equations we deduce
^^CK-V + AjA-Qw*
L2-
B (C — B)
BK — A (A-
B) w2
C(C —B)
and on substituting the values of w' and tv" thus found in
the first of the equations (a), and resolving the equations
in respect of dt, we get
^  zYz */(Y>C)’ Adw
V{ CK—L24-A( A—CK } • { L2—BK—A( A—B>2}’
an equation of which the integral will be obtained in a finite
form when any two of the three quantities A, B, C are equal
(as in the case of a solid of revolution), or when L2 is equal
to any one of the three quantities AK, BK, CK. In any
case, the relation between t and w is expressed by a single
differential equation of the first order, the integral of which
gives the value of w in terms of ivnenci, the values of n/
and w" are also given by the preceding formulae.
76. From the two equations (b) and (c) of last para-Mechanical
graph, a conclusion is deduced of considerable interest in properties
the physical theory of the universe respecting the stabi- °f t^ie pr^n*
my of the rotation about the axes of greatest and least 0f r0tati0a.
ROTATION.
Rotation, moment. Let the first of those equations he multiplied by
C, and subtracted from the second; we shall have, on mak¬
ing L2 — CK = D,
D = A (A — C) tc2 + B (B — C) w'2.
Now, if we suppose the axis of instantaneous rotation to
be situated at the commencement of the motion, very near
the axis OZ, the angular velocity about which = w", then
the angle y which it makes with that axis being very small,
and since (66) sin. y — -, ^ it follows that
V ' V (tv2 + id1 + w"2)
the angular velocities w and w' will be very small in compa¬
rison of w'', and consequently D must be a very small quan¬
tity. Now D is constant; and therefore if the two differ¬
ences A — C and B — C have the same sign, which will
be the case when the value of B is intermediate between
A and C, the two velocities w and «/ must always be very
small; and hence (64) the instantaneous axis will never de¬
viate much from OZ when this is the axis of greatest or of
least moment. But if A — C and B — C have opposite
signs, as will be the case when the value of C lies between
the values of A and B, then D may be a very small quan¬
tity, and the equation still be satisfied, although the va¬
lues of w and to' be large; and hence, although the axis
of instantaneous rotation may have been very near the axis
C at the commencement of the motion, it may deviate to
any extent from that axis during the motion. Hence we
infer that the rotation about the axes, both of greatest and
least moment, is permanent, but that the rotation about the
intermediate axis is not permanent.
77. The same conclusions may also be obtained by the
direct integration of the equations (a) of (75), if we ne¬
glect, as insensible, the squares and products of the small
velocities to and to'. Restricting the calculus to this ap¬
proximation, the third equation (a) becomes dvf — 0,
whence trf' — It, k being an assured arbitrary constant. Sub¬
stituting this value of to” in the first two equations (a) we get
0 — Adio + (C — B) kio’dt, , A
0 = Bdid + (A — C) kwdt. W
In order to integrate these, assume
w = (3 sin. (qt -}- *)> to' = y cos. (qt -j- i), (e)
the quantities [3, y, q, i being indeterminate constants. We
have then
dio = q/3 cos. (qt + i), dw' =. — qy sin. (qt -f- i).
On substituting these values of w, to’, dw, dw', and reject¬
ing the common factors, the equations (d.) become
0 — Aql3 — (B — C) by,
0 = Bqy — (A — C) kfi,
from which we deduce q = kV(A — C) (B — C) -r v'AB ;
and also, on assuming another indeterminate constant a,
13 = a VB (B —^~C), 7 - a VA (A — C). Put X
— V(A — C) (B — C) -f- VAB, then q = Xk ; and the
substitution of these values of q, 3, y in the equations (e)
gives
w — a. VB (B — C) sin. (Xkt -f. i),
to' = a V A (A — C) cos. (Xkt -f- i),
which are the complete integrals of the equations (d).
If in these expressions the quantity denoted by X is real,
which will be the case when C is the least or the greatest
of the three moments, the values of w and w' must always
continue small, because they are proportional to the sines
and cosines of a real angle; but if C be intermediate be¬
tween A and B, the X will be an impossible quantity, and
the sine and cosine of the arc Xkt i will be changed in¬
to exponentials which increase continually with the time t,
whence the velocities w and w' will also increase indefi¬
nitely; and consequently, byFrisi’s theorem, the deviation
of the instantaneous axis of rotation from the original axis
will increase indefinitely.
If we suppose that at the commencement of the motion
443
the axis of instantaneous rotation coincided accurately with Rotation,
the principal axis OZ, we should have w = 0, w' = 0, when
£ = 0; and as in this case we have also u = 0, w and tv1
will always be zero, or the body will continue for ever to
revolve uniformly about OZ. We have therefore, from
what precedes, these mechanical properties relative to the
rotation of solid bodies: 1. If a body begins to revolve
about any one of the three principal axes, and is affected
by no external force, it will continue always to revolve
about that axis; 2. If it begins to revolve about an axis
which is very near the axis of the greatest or least moment,
then, although the motion is disturbed a little by the action
of an extraneous force, the instantaneous axis of rotation
w ill continue very near the original axis; 3. If the rotation
commences about the axis of the mean moment of inertia,
then, if the smallest disturbance takes place, the effect will
increase indefinitely with the time, and the poles of rota¬
tion will entirely change their position on the surface of
the body. These properties establish an essential difference
between the three principal axes.
78. Our limits will not permit us to enter further into Conclusioiv
the discussion of this subject, nor is it within the scope of
the present article to apply the formulae to the rotation of
the planets, an example of which application has already
been given in the article Precession of the Equinoxes.
It has now been shown that every circumstance relative to
the motion of a solid body, acted upon by any number of
forces, is expressed by means of two systems of equations
(each containing three differential equations of the first or¬
der), the first system (62) defining the motion in space of
the centre of gravity, and the second (73) the rotation
about that centre. At the commencement of the motion
these two systems are independent of each other; but it is
important to remark, that this independence does not ne¬
cessarily continue during the motion. If we suppose the
moving forces to act upon different points of the body, and
to be functions of the co-ordinates of those points, that is,
to vary with their distance from the origin, then the co¬
ordinates enter at the same time into both systems of equa¬
tions, which therefore cannot be integrated separately, the
two motions affecting each other. The integrals can then
only be obtained by approximation. There are, however,
two important cases in which the two motions continue to
be permanently independent of each other. The first is
that of a projectile w7hich, during its motion, is acted upon
by no other force than gravity; for in this case the equa¬
tions (62) will be those of an isolated material point, and
the weight of the body, acting as a single force applied to
the centre of gravity, will have no influence on the rota¬
tion, which will be the same as if the centre of gravity wTere
fixed. The second is the case of a sphere, either homo¬
geneous or composed of concentric strata of different densi¬
ties, the density of each stratum being constant; for in this
case the resultant of all the attractive forces, as w^as shown
by Newton, passes through the centre of gravity, which
will therefore move as an isolated point, and the motion of
rotation will be the same as if the centre of gravity were
fixed.
The theory of the rotation of solid bodies forming an
important branch of mechanics, is treated more or less in
every systematic work on that science. As the more im¬
portant works in which it is especially considered, we may
refer the reader to Euler’s Theoria Motus Corporum Soli-
dorum, 1765; D’Alembert, Oj0MscM/a,tom. v.and vii.; Vince
On the Principles of Progressive and Rotatory Motion, Phil.
Trans. 1780 ; Frisii Opera, tom. ii. 1783; Atwood’s Trea¬
tise on the Rectilinear Motion and Rotation of Bodies, 1784;
Landen’s Mathematical Memoirs, vol. ii. 1789; Laplace, Me-
canique Celeste, tom. i.; Lagrange, Mecanique Analytique;
Poisson, Traite de Mecanique; Venturoli’s Mechanics, trans¬
lated by Cresswell; and the article Mechanics, (t. g.)
444
ROT
ROT
Eothen-
burg
Rothesay.
ROTHENBURG, a town of Bavaria, in the circle of
Middle Franconia, in a beautiful situation on the ridge of
a hill on the Tauber, 29 miles S.S.E. of Wurzburg. It is
encircled with a turreted wall and a moat, and contains in
the market-place a fine old town-hall in various architectural
styles. The principal church of St James is an old and
fine specimen of pure pointed Gothic, containing some in¬
teresting works of art. The town is supplied with water
by a forcing-pump, which raises it from the river to the
summit of a tower. Weaving is carried on here, and there
are many vineyards in the vicinity. Rothenburg is a place
of great antiquity, and it was one of the head-quarters of
the insurgents in the Peasants’ War of 1525. Pop. 5650.
ROTHERHAM, a market-town of England, in the
West Riding of Yorkshire, on a rising ground on the right
bank of the Don, 48 miles S. by W. of York, and 159
N.N.W. of London. Many of the streets are steep and
irregular, lined with houses of a mean appearance, although
the recently-built portion of the town exhibits quite an
opposite aspect. The parish church was built by Arch¬
bishop Rotherham in the fifteenth century, and is considered
to be one of the finest buildings of its class in the north
of England. It is cruciform, in the perpendicular style,
and has a richly-carved tower and spire rising from the
centre. Wesleyan and Primitive Methodists, Indepen¬
dents, Baptists, Roman Catholics, and Unitarians have also
places of worship in the town. The educational establish¬
ments include an Independent theological college, contain¬
ing thirteen students in 1854 ; a grammar school, with forty
pupils ; national schools, &c. There are a library and news¬
room, a literary institution, and a dispensary. In the
vicinity great quantities of coal and iron-ore are obtained,
and thus facilitate the conducting of manufacturing opera¬
tions. There is a large factory for cast-iron, a brass
foundry, and manufactories of starch, soap, naphtha, glass,
and other articles. There are ship-building yards on the
Don, where vessels as large as 50 tons burden are con¬
structed. The most of the manufactures are carried on at
Masborough, a suburb on the other side of the river, con¬
nected with Rotherham by a bridge of five arches. Mar¬
kets are held here twice a week, and fairs for horses and
cattle three times a year. Rotherham is a place of
considerable antiquity. The Roman station Ad Fines
probably stood about a mile off; and the town seems to
have been founded by the Saxons. Even before the Nor¬
man conquest it had attained some importance, possessing
a corn-mill and being the seat of a market and fair. A
college was founded here in 1482 by Archbishop Rother¬
ham, but suppressed in the reign of Edward VI. Pop.
(1851) 6325.
ROTHESAY, a royal burgh of Scotland, capital of the
county of Bute, stands at the head of a deep bay in the
island of Bute, near the entrance of the strait called the
Kyles of Bute, between that island and Argyleshire, 52
miles W. of Glasgow. A range of elegant villas stretches
along the shore for some distance from E. to W., and in
the centre the town extends somewhat farther to the south,
and has several transverse streets. Near the centre of
the town stands the ruins of the old royal castle of
Rothesay, burned by a brother of the Duke of Argyle
in the year 1685. One of the chief edifices in Rothe¬
say is that which contains the town-hall and county build-
ings, a castellated structure with a handsome tower. Be¬
sides this, the only buildings deserving notice are the
churches, of which there are two, one a chapel of ease,
belonging to the Established Church; three, two of which
have elegant spires, to the Free Church ; one each to
the United Presbyterians, Reformed Presbyterians, Bap¬
tists, and Episcopalians. Abundant means of education
are supplied by several schools; and there are a news¬
room and more than one library. The town contains
cotton factories, power-loom factories, boat-building yards, Rothschild
and cooperages. But the principal occupation of the in- ||
habitants is fishing, especially for herring, but also in R°tteck.
a less degree for salmon, haddocks, whitings, and soles. v'—
The harbour has a good stone pier, which is used by
the steamers that ply from Glasgow to Inverary and the
West Highlands. The burgh is governed by a provost
and seventeen councillors; it formerly joined with some
others in electing a member of Parliament, but was dis¬
franchised by the Reform Act of 1832. Rothesay and the
neighbouring village of Port Bannatyne are much fre¬
quented during the summer as watering-places. The
climate is very mild, as the bay is almost land-locked.
Rothesay Castle is supposed to have been founded about
the end of the eleventh century. It was besieged in 1263
by Heulbec, King of the Isles, taken by the English in the
reign of Baliol, and by the Scotch under Bruce in 1311.
Robert II. built a palace here ; and Robert III. granted a
charter to the burgh in 1400. The former monarch created
his eldest son Duke of Rothesay, a title still borne by the
Prince of Wales. Pop. (1851) 7014. (See Buteshire.)
ROTHSCHILD, the name of the greatest commer¬
cial house either in ancient or in modern times. The
founder of the firm, Mayer Anselm Rothschild, was
born at Frankfort-on-the-Maine in 1743. The destiny of
his early days was anything but propitious. His parents
were poor, and of the despised Jewish race. They died
when he was no older than eleven. After receiving a
scanty education, he was set adrift in the world. The best
position that he could for some time attain was a menial
office in the employment of an Israelitish trader. But the
commercial genius of Rothschild soon worked its own way.
His mind took to the congenial study of the coins of
different nations. He grew thoroughly versed in the re¬
lative value of the various monies. A banker of Hanover
became impressed with his aptitude for business, and gave
him a place in his office. There he succeeded so well that
in 1780 he set up a bank in his native city. Rothschild
now began to rise in his profession. His shrewdness,
punctuality, and uprightness soon came to be remarked.
Many matters of importance were entrusted to his care.
In particular, William, Landgrave (afterwards Elector) of
Hesse, made him his banker. In that office he won general
esteem by the able way in which he saved his patron’s
funds during the invasion of the French. Thus he laid
the foundations of a great firm ; and at his death in 1812
left to his sons a large fortune and a European fame. Of
Rothschild’s five sons, Anselm settled at Frankfort, Salomon
at Vienna, Nathan Mayer at London, Charles at Naples,
and James at Paris.
Nathan Mayer Rothschild, who was born in 1777, was
the great continuer of the family reputation. About the time
of his father’s death he was fast extending the influence of
the firm. The several branches of the house throughout
Europe gave him a broad and secure basis for his opera¬
tions. On this foundation his shrewd tact and prompt
management erected a stupendous business. The whole
Continent became pervaded with his financial transac¬
tions. Among other enterprises, he supplied with loans
that great coalition of powers which overthrew Bonaparte.
For such services Nathan Rothschild might have been
rewarded with several honours and dignities ; but he was
modest, and till his death, in 1836, he remained content
with the untitled name and honourable position of a mer¬
chant prince. His eldest son, Lionel Nathan, Baron de
Rothschild, is at present one of the representatives for the
city of London.
ilOTTECK, Karl Wenceslaus Rodecker von, a
historian and politician, was born at Freiburg in 1775, and
was educated for the law. At first he was known only as
a young and eloquent professor in the university of his
K O T
ROT
445
Rotten-
burg
II
Rotterdam.
native town. But it was not very long before Rotteck
appeared as a liberal politician. In that capacity he soon
became prominent. Many of the periodicals of his party
were established and maintained by his aid. Many of the
abuses of the constitution were attacked by his pen.
Among others, his pamphlets against standing armies,
against the .proposal to abolish the university of Freiburg,
and on representative bodies, won for him the gratitude of
his faction. He received the honour in 1819 of being the
representative of his university in the first chamber of the
states of Baden. Nor when the government began to
persecute him did his popularity decline. His expulsion
from the representativeship of the university was retrieved
by his being made in 1831 the member for the city of
Freiburg. His loss of his professorship was more than
compensated by the presents and addresses that came to
him from the most distant provinces of Germany. He
even gained the respect of his opponents ; and just befoie
his death in 1840 he was restored to his chair. Ihe work
on which the fame of Rotteck now rests is his Allgemeine
Weltgeschichte (German Universal History), originally pub¬
lished in 9 vols. in 1813-27. Its popularity has been very
great. Almost every German family possesses a copy.
There are few European languages into which it has not
been translated. So long ago as 1841 the fifteenth edition
was called for ; and it was published, with a continuation by
K. H. Hermes, in 11 vols. 8vo, 1841-45.
ROTTENBURG, a town of WUrtemberg, in the circle
of Schwarzwald, stands in a picturesque situation on the
left bank of the Neckar, 7 miles W. of Tubingen. It is
walled, and entered by eight gates; while the suburb
Elungen, on the other side of the river, is joined to the
town proper by a bridge. Among the handsome houses
which line its broad thoroughfares rise many ancient and
interesting buildings ; as the old castle of the counts of
Hohenberg (now used as a prison), several former con¬
vents, a Jesuit college (now the episcopal palace), the
cathedral of St Martin, and several other churches of much
beauty. The manufactures of the place comprise musical
instruments, glass, leather, paper, and other articles. Pop.
6610.
ROTUNDA, or Rotundo, a term applied to a building
which is circular in its plan, both externally and internally.
The technical application of the word is restricted to cir¬
cular buildings whose height does not greatly exceed their
diameter. The most celebrated rotunda of the ancients is
the Pantheon at Rome, of which the external diameter is
188 feet; internal, 142 ; internal height, 142. I he Radcliffe
Library at Oxford is a polygon of sixteen sides and 104
feet in diameter; exterior height, 140 feet; interior diameter,
88 feet; interior height, 90 feet.
ROTTERDAM, a city of Holland, in size and com¬
mercial importance the second in the kingdom, capital of
the province of South Holland, on the right bank of the
Meuse, where it receives the Rotte, about 20 miles above
its mouth, and 36 S.W. of Amsterdam. In form it is tri¬
angular, one side being formed by the river, which is lined
fo”the distance of a mile and a quarter by the fine quay
called the Booynpjes (“ little trees”), shaded with a row of fine
elms, planted in 1615, and now no longer “little.” Along
this quay stands a range of some of the best houses in the
town, four or five storeys high, and built of daik biick.
The High Street (Hoogstraat) of Rotterdam extends along
the great dyke or dam erected for the protection of the
adjacent country against the overflowing of the Meuse.
The ground between this dam and the Boompjes has been
gained from the river since the building of the dam, and
is now occupied by the most modern part of the town.
Except the Fligh Street, all the other thoroughfares of the
place are traversed by canals in the centre, which intersect
one another, and communicate with the river and with the
moat that surrounds the city. These canals are crossed by Rotterdam
numerous draw-bridges, and at the wider parts by ferry-
boats. The ebb and flow of the tide, which rises 10 or 12
feet, keeps the water in the canals always fresh, and pre¬
vents it from stagnating. To a stranger the appearance
of Rotterdam is very quaint and striking, presenting, as it
does, a confused mixture of lofty gables, trees, and masts
of the shipping in the middle of the city. Jhe houses,
which have in general their gables turned towards the
street, and project in the upper storeys some distance
beyond their base, are in many cases large, lofty, and
handsome. Those which belong to merchants generally
comprise in one building both the place of business and the
private residence of the owner ; the former surrounding an
inner court on the ground floor, and the latter approached
in many of the houses by a marble staircase. The prin¬
cipal market-place of Rotterdam consists of a broad bridge
across one of the canals, and contains a bronze statue of
Erasmus, the most illustrious native of the town. The
house where he was born, now a gin-shop, is pointed out,
in the vicinity of the Great Church. I his church, dedicated
to St Lawrence, and completed in 1472, is built of brick,
and though much defaced, is yet very beautiful in its archi¬
tectural ornaments. Its tower commands an extensive view
over the flat country, intersected with canals and avenues
of trees, and dotted with farms, spires, and windmills. In
the church are monuments to Admirals de Witt and Cor-
tenaer, and Vice-Admiral van Brakel. The organ of this
church is said by some to be superior even to the famous
one at Haarlem; it is 90 feet high, has 90 stops, and 6500
pipes, the largest of which is 36 feet long, and 17 inches
in diameter. The numerous other churches in the town
are not very remarkable. The exchange is a very fine
building, with a library and collection of philosophical in¬
struments. The town-hall, however, is not nearly so fine
as that of Armterdam ; and the dockyard, too, is inferior to
that in the capital. In the vicinity is a botanic garden and
several places of public resort and entertainment. The
manufactures of Rotterdam are extensive and of much im¬
portance. Ship-building is one of the chief branches of in¬
dustry ; the total number of vessels built in 1856 being
227, tonnage 58,768. There are also sugar-houses, salt
refineries, and manufactories of needles, pins, tobacco, and
chemical substances. The trade of the port is very great.
The following table exhibits the number and tonnage of
the vessels that entered and cleared with cargoes for six
years:—
Year.
No.
Tonnage.
1850.
1851.
1852.
1853.
1854.
1855.
1818
1981
2039
1751
1962
2112
379,543
420,835
476,485
408,609
454,187
488,912
Cleared.
No.
1818
1655
1759
1687
1714
1602
Tonnage.
366,950
369,992
406,628
367,231
399,167
392,153
The number of merchant ships and steamers belonging
to the port in 1856 was 2372, tonnage 588,620. The
commerce of Rotterdam is carried on by three channels :
by sea, by land, and by the Rhine. The first of these is
the most important; and indeed the prosperity of Rotter¬
dam is owing in a great measure to its foreign trade. Ant¬
werp formerly rivalled it in this respect; but since the sepa¬
ration of Holland and Belgium in 1830, the Dutch city has
completely outstripped its competitor. Goods are imported
from the Dutch possessions in the East and West Indies,
from America, and from various countries in the north
of Europe. The Netherlands Trading Company carries
on an extensive commerce, especially with India, and
until the end of 1859 enjoys many privileges. Ihe
446
R O U
R O U
Roubaix value of their importations for 1855 and 1856 was
follows:—
Rouen.
Articles. 1855. 1856.
Coffee L.3,561,675 L.3,539,000
Sugar  1,348,810 2,171,500
Spices  90,990 83,075
Pepper...  11,740 24,125
Indigo  252,500 184,750
Cochineal  18,330 30,220
Banca tin  538,625 624,900
Cinnamon  8,450 4,889
Tea  77,560 105,740
Hides  ... 10,520
Rattans  18,520 19,980
Total L.5,927,200 L.6,798,699
as
Wheat, rye, wines, pottery, &c., are imported by the
Rhine from Germany, and grain and timber from the
Baltic. Rotterdam is connected by railway with Amster¬
dam and the other chief cities of Holland. Steamers ply
from this port to London, Hull, Bristol, Liverpool, New¬
castle, Leith, Glasgow, Hamburg, Dunkirk, Havre, Bor¬
deaux, Marseilles, Leghorn, Cronstadt, and Stettin. Pop.
(1855) 96,000.
ROUBAIX, a town of France, in the department of
Nord, 6 miles N.E. of Lille. It is well and regularly built,
though it has no striking public buildings. Its chief im¬
portance is derived from the manufactures that are carried
on here, especially those of cotton goods, for which it is
second only to Lille among the towns in the department.
Besides these, woollen articles, table-linen, furniture, leather,
See., are made, and dyeing is also carried on. The trade of
the place is very considerable, not only in these manufac¬
tured articles, but in corn, wine, and colonial produce.
Roubaix is the seat of a court of commerce and a council
of prud’hommes. Pop. 31,038.
ROUBILIAC, Louis Francois, an eminent sculptor,
was born at Lyons in France about 1695, and after study¬
ing under Balthazar of Dresden, came to London in 1720
to practise his profession. It was not long before the
bustling little Frenchman began to exhibit in his calling
all his national vivacity of temperament. His artistic en¬
thusiasm knew no bounds. At dinner he would drop his
knife and fork, and stare in wrapt attention at some new
conception that had risen before the eye of his imagination.
In company he would suddenly seize a lady’s hand, and im¬
plore her to allow him to model it. Nor did his ardour
cool when he took up the chisel. His figures were fashioned
in the most excited attitudes. An intensity of expression,
amounting even to grimace, was putdnto their faces. The
very robes seemed instinct with tremor and agitation.
These striking characteristics soon ensured to Roubiliac a
very wide success. On the recommendation of Sir Edward
Walpole, he was employed to erect a monument to John,
Duke of Argyle and Greenwich, in Westminster Abbey.
1 he ability with which he finished this undertaking gave
publicity to his name. Other tombs in the same place
were entrusted to his execution. Several of the aristocracy
gave him commissions for busts. He was also honoured to
execute the likenesses of some men of genius. So high,
indeed, was his standing, that at his death in 1762 he left
many works which must always be objects of national in¬
terest. 1 here are his monuments in Westminster Abbey,
including, besides the one already mentioned, “ Joseph
Gascoigne Nightingale and his Lady,” “ Sir Gilbert Lort,”
“ Admiral Sir Peter Warren,” “ Field-Marshal Wade,”
‘ General Fleming,” and “ General Hargrave.” Ther e are
also his busts of Milton, Dryden, Pope, and Sir Robert
Walpole; and his statues of Shakespeare and Newton,—
the former in the British Museum, and the latter in Tri¬
nity College, Cambridge. (See Cunningham’s British
Painters, See.)
ROUEN (anc. Rotomagus), one of the principal towns
of France, anciently the capital of Normandy, and now of Rouen,
the department of Seine-Infereure, on the Seine, 44 miles
in a direct line, but twice as much by the river, above its
mouth, and 70 N.N.W. of Paris. It stands on the right
bank of the river, but has a suburb, St Sever, on the oppo¬
site side, connected with the main town by a suspension-
bridge and by two others of stone, which meet in the
middle on the island de la Croix, just above the town.
Towards the land Rouen is encircled with hills ; and viewed
from these, it has an appearance such as few other cities can
boast of. Over the roofs of the houses rise several vast
Gothic ecclesiastical edifices; the cathedral in the midst
sending up a spire that towers as high above the others in
the town as they do over the house-tops. And with all
this mediaeval and romantic splendour there are not want¬
ing the factory chimneys and masts of vessels in the Seine,
which tell of the modern prosperity of the place. The same
combination of different epochs is apparent on a nearer
view of the town ; the streets are narrow, crooked, and
dirty, lined with houses built mostly of wood, and present¬
ing generally their gables to the street. But these streets
swarm with busy crowds, and a range of fine new buildings
stretches along the quays on the bank of the Seine. The
line of the old fortifications is occupied by a boulevard
stretching in a semicircle round the town, and inclosing
within it all the historical and architectural monuments of
Rouen; while without are suburbs occupied chiefly by the
working-classes. The cathedral of Notre Dame is one of
the most conspicuous objects in the town, and is calculated
at the first sight to excite the wonder and admiration of the
spectator ; but its decorations, though rich and profuse, are
not always in good taste. The vast western front is flanked
by two elegant and stately towers, and the centre sur¬
mounted by a spire, not in harmony with the rest of the
building, 436 feet high. The interior, 435 feet in length
and 89^- in height, is in the early pointed style, and has
three beautiful rose windows in the nave and transepts.
The principal monuments in the church are an ancient
statue of Richard Cceur de Lion, whose heart was buried
here; the tomb of Cardinal George d’Amboise, who was
Archbishop of Rouen ; and that of the Due de Brege, hus¬
band of Diana of Poitiers. The church of St Ouen,
though inferior to the cathedral in the number of its monu¬
ments and historical associations, is larger and more elegant,
being one of the finest Gothic buildings in the world, and
executed almost entirely on a single plan, though its erec¬
tion extended over nearly two centuries from its foundation
in 1318. It is cruciform, and has in the centre a very
beautiful octagonal tower 260 feet high. The interior,
which is 443 feet long and 1061 high, is chiefly remarkable
ibr its light and graceful character, which is enhanced by
the great size of the windows, which are all filled with
painted glass. Another fine church is that of St Maclou,
chiefly remarkable for its triple porch in the florid style of
the fifteenth century. Many of the other churches possess
much interest: those of St Godard, St Patrice, and St Vin¬
cent contain greatly-admired specimens of stained glass;
and that of St Gervais, in one of the suburbs, is one of the
oldest Christian churches in France. The town-hall, stand¬
ing close to the church of St Ouen, is a fine building in
the Italian style, containing, besides the public offices, a
library of 33,000 volumes and 1200 MSS., and a museum
of paintings, of which some are good and a great many bad.
The museum of antiquities, which occupies a suppressed
convent, is exceedingly interesting, especially for its rich
collection of mediaeval remains. A fine specimen of the
Gothic architecture of the end of the fifteenth century is
furnished by the Palais de Justice, which contains the hall
of the ancient Parliament of Normandy. There are several
public squares in Rouen, the most memorable of which is
that called the Place de la Pucelle, containing an indifferent
R O U
Roulers statue of Joan of Arc, on the spot where her wonderful and
II eventful career was brought to an end. The site of the old
Roundelay. cast]e 0f Ronen js occupied by a building called the Halles,
or covered markets, consisting of a series of large halls for
the sale of various kinds of merchandise, forming three
sides of a square. As a manufacturing town, Rouen ranks
next to Lyons, and is the chief seat of the cotton manufac¬
ture in France. The factories are driven either by water
or by steam-power. Dyeing, bleaching, and printing of
woollen and cotton fabrics are also carried on. Besides
these, there are manufactures of muslin, lace, hosiery, hand¬
kerchiefs, ropes, blankets, paper, sugar, soap, and many other
articles ; as well as tanneries, breweries, ship-building
yards, copper and iron foundries. The town is very fa¬
vourably situated for commercial purposes, as it is con¬
nected both by railway and by the river with Paris on the
one hand, and Havre on the other. Vessels of 250 or 300
tons come up to the stone bridge, above which there are
large boats to convey the cargoes to the capital. The
number of vessels belonging to the port is more than 100.
The number that entered with cargoes in 1854 was 681,
tonnage 68,274 ; in 1855 the number was 1060, tonnage
108,852. Those that cleared with cargoes in the former
year were 341, tonnage 34,288; in the latter 380, ton¬
nage 38,288. The chief articles of trade are corn, flour,
wine, brandy, cider, oil, salt provisions, colonial produce,
and manufactured articles. Rouen is the seat of an arch¬
bishop, of a high court of justice, and other tribunals, and
contains a mint, custom-house, two clerical seminaries, a
school of medicine, college, and other schools, four hos¬
pitals, two theatres, and several banks. The town is of
great antiquity, having been under the Romans the capital
of the province of Lugdunensis Secimda. About the
middle of the ninth century it was taken by the Normans,
and from that time till their conquest of England was the
capital and residence of their dukes. In 1204 Philip II. of
France wrested the duchy with its capital from the feeble
hands of King John, and annexed it to the French crown.
But in 1419 Henry V. besieged and took the town, which
remained in English hands till 1449. In 1562 the Hugue¬
nots took possession of Rouen, but the Duke of Guise re¬
covered it in the same year; and in 1593 it was taken by
Henri IV. The most celebrated native of Rouen was
Pierre Corneille; Fontenelle and other men of note were
also born here. Pop. (1856) 94,645.
ROULERS (Flem. Rousselaer), a town of Belgium, in
the province of West Flanders, in the midst of beautiful
meadows, on a small affluent of the Lys, 17 miles S. of
Bruges. The streets are broad and regular, lined with
good houses; and in the centre is a market-place, where
stand the long ancient town-hall, with its tower and ele¬
gant spire, and the small plain church of St Michael. The
college of the town is a fine edifice, and the other schools
are numerous. The people are mostly employed in making
and bleaching linen ; and there are also tanneries, breweries,
distilleries, soap-works, &c. There is an active trade in
flax, linen, and cattle. Pop. 10,770.
ROUNDELAY, Rondeau, or Rondo, a sort of old
poem, deriving its name, according to Menage, from its
form, and because it still turns back again to the first verse,
and thus goes round. The common roundelay consists of
thirteen verses, eight of which are in one rhyme and five
in another. It is divided into couplets, at the end of the
second and third of which the beginning of the roundelay
is repeated, and that, if possible, in an equivocal or a pun¬
ning sense. The roundelay is a popular poem in France,
but is little known amongst us. Marrot and Voiture have
succeeded the best in it. Rapin remarks, that if the
roundelay be not very exquisite, it is intolerably bad. In
all the ancient ones, observes Menage, the verse preceding
has a less complete sense, and yet joins agreeably with
R 0 U A47
that of the close, without depending necessarily thereon. Rousseau.
This rule, well observed, makes the roundelay more inge-
nious, and is one of the artifices of the poem. Some of the
older writers speak of the roundelay or roundel as a kind of
air appropriated to dancing.
ROUSSEAU, Jacques, an eminent French painter, was
born at Paris in the year 1630. He studied first under
Swanevelt, who had married one of his relations; after
which he improved himself by travelling into Italy, prac¬
tising perspective, architecture, and landscape. On his
return home, he was employed at Marly. He distinguished
himself very much in painting buildings. Louis XIV.
employed him to decorate his hall of devices at St Ger-
maine-en-Laie, where he represented the operas of Lulli;
but being a Protestant, he quitted France on the persecu¬
tion of his brethren, and retired to Switzerland. Louis
invited him back. He refused, but sent his designs, and
recommended a proper person to execute them. After a
short stay in Switzerland, he went to Holland, whence he
was invited to England by Ralph, Duke of Montague, to
adorn his new house in Bloomsbury. Here he painted a
great deal. Some of his pictures, both in landscape and
architecture, are over doors at Hampton Court; and he
etched several of his own designs. His perspectives having
been most commonly applied to decorate courts or gardens,
have suffered much from the weather. Such of them as
remain are monuments of an excellent genius. The
colours are bright and durable, and the choice of them most
judicious. He died in Soho Square in 1693 or 1694, at the
age of sixty-four.
Rousseau, Jean Baptiste, a French lyric poet, of very
great merit, was born at Paris in April 1670. His father,
who was a shoemaker in good circumstances, made him
study in the best colleges of Paris, where he distinguished
himself by his abilities. He at length applied entirely to
poetry, and soon made himself known by several short
pieces that were filled with lively and agreeable images,
which made him sought for by persons of the first rank
and men of the brightest genius. He was admitted as a
pupil to the Academy of Inscriptions and Belles Lettres in
1701, and almost all the rest of his life he attached himself
to some great men. He attended Marshal Tallard into
England in the capacity of secretary, and there contracted
a friendship with St Evremond. On his return to Paris, he
was admitted into the politest company, lived amongst the
courtiers, and seemed perfectly satisfied with his situation ;
when, in 1708, he was prosecuted for being the author of
some couplets in which the characters of several persons
of wit and merit were blackened by the most atrocious
calumnies. This prosecution made much noise ; and
Rousseau was in 1712, by a decree of the Parliament of
Paris, banished out of the kingdom, to which he was never
more to return. However, he always steadily denied, even
on his death-bed, his being the author of these couplets.
From the date of this sentence he lived in foreign countries,
where he found illustrious protectors. The Count de Luc,
ambassador of France in Switzerland, took him into his
family, and studied to render his life agreeable. At the
treaty of Baden in 1714, he was one of the plenipoten¬
tiaries, and was presented to Prince Eugene, who, entertain¬
ing a particular esteem for him, took him to Vienna, and
introduced him to the emperor’s court. Rousseau lived
about three years with Prince Eugene ; but having lost his
favour by satirizing one of his mistresses, he retired to
Brussels, where he afterwards usually resided. It was there
that he commenced his disputes with Voltaire, with whom
he had become acquainted at the college of Louis the
Great, and who then much admired his turn for poetry.
Rousseau, from the period of their dispute, always repre¬
sented Voltaire as a buffoon, and as a writer possessing
neither taste nor judgment, who owed all his success to a
448
Rousseau.
ROUSSEAU.
particular mode which he pursued. As a poet Rousseau
considered him as inferior to Lucan, and little superior to
Pradon. Voltaire treated him still worse. Rousseau, ac¬
cording to him, was nothing better than a plagiarist, who
had nothing but the talent of arranging words. He came
over in 1721 to London, where he printed his CLuvres
Diverses, in two volumes 12mo. This edition, published
in 1723 brought him near ten thousand crowns, the whole
of which he placed in the hands of the Ostend Company.
The affairs of this company, however, soon getting into
confusion, those who had any money in their hands lost the
whole of it; by which unfortunate event Rousseau, when
arrived at that age when he stood most in need of the com¬
forts of fortune, had nothing to depend upon but the gene¬
rosity of his friends. He died at Brussels in February
1740. A very beautiful edition of his works was published
in 1743 at Paris, in three volumes 4to, and in four volumes
12mo, containing nothing but what was acknowledged by
the author as his own. His works, which contained odes,
epistles, cantatas, allegories, epigrams, and comedies have
been published at Paris by Amar, preceded by an essay on
his life and writings, entitled (Euvres Completes, 5 vols.,
1820. His poetical works have likewise been published in
the Collection des Classiques Francois.
Rousseau, Jean-Jacques, one ot the most distinguished
writers of the eighteenth century, was born at Geneva on
the 28th of June 1712. His father was by profession a
clock and watch maker. At his birth, which, he says, was
the first of his misfortunes, he endangered the life of his
mother ; and he himself was for a long time afterwards in
a very weak and languishing state of health. But as his
bodily strength increased, his mental powers gradually
opened, and afforded the happiest presages of future dis¬
tinction. His father, a citizen of Geneva, was a well-in¬
formed tradesman ; and in the place where he wrought he
kept a Plutarch and a Tacitus, authors which, of course,
soon became familiar to his son. Some acts of youthful
misconduct compelled him to leave his native city. Find¬
ing himself a fugitive in a strange country, and without
money or friends, he changed his religion in order to pro¬
cure a subsistence.” Bornex, Bishop ot Anneci, from whom
he sought an asylum, committed the care of his education
to Madame Warens, whose history and life vvere from this
time identified with his, and whose benevolence Rousseau
requited basely in his revelations of criminal conduct for
which he was himself greatly if not chiefly to blame.
He possessed more than ordinary talents for music ; and
the Abbe Blanchard, to whom his education had been
entrusted, flattered his hopes of a place in the royal chapel,
which he, however, failed in obtaining for him. He was
therefore under the necessity of teaching music at Cham-
beri. In this place he remained till 1741, in which year
he went to Paris, where he wras long in very destitute cir¬
cumstances. But he at length began to emerge from that
obscurity in which he had hitherto been buried; and his
friends placed him with M. de Montaigne, French am¬
bassador at Venice. According to his own confession, a
proud misanthropy, and a peculiar contempt for the riches
and pleasures of this w orld, constituted the chief traits in
his character; and a misunderstanding soon took place
between him and his employer. The place of depute,
under M. Dupin, a wealthy farmer-general, gave him some
temporary relief, and enabled him to show some kindness
to Madame de Warens, his former benefactress. The year
1750 witnessed the commencement of his literary career.
The academy of Dijon had proposed the following ques¬
tion : “ Whether the revival of the arts and sciences has
contributed to the refinement of manners ?” Rousseau at
first inclined to support the affirmative. “ Take the ne¬
gative side of the question,” said Diderot, who was at
that time his friend, “ and I’ll promise you the greatest
success.” His discourse against the sciences having been Rousseau,
found to be the best written, and replete with brilliant rea-
soning, was publicly crowned with the approbation of that
learned body. Never was a paradox supported with greater
eloquence. It was not, however, a new one; but he
enriched it with all the advantages which either knowledge
or genius could confer upon it. Immediately after its ap¬
pearance he met with several opponents of his tenets,
which he defended; and, from one dispute to another, he
found himself involved in a formidable train of correspond¬
ence, without having ever almost dreamed of such opposi¬
tion. From that period he decreased in happiness as he
increased in celebrity. His Discourse on the Causes of
Inequality amongst Mankind, and on the Origin of Social
Compacts, was written with a view to prove that mankind
are equal; that they were born to live apart from each
other ; and that they have perverted the order of nature in
forming societies. He bestows the highest praise on the
State of Nature, and deprecates the idea of every social
compact. By presenting this performance to the magis¬
trates of Geneva he was received again into his native
country, and re-instated in all the privileges and rights of a
citizen, after having with much difficulty prevailed on him¬
self to abjure the Catholic religion. He soon returned to
France, however, and lived for some time in Paris. He
afterwards gave himself up to retirement, partly to escape
the shafts of criticism, and partly to follow the regimen
rendered necessary by the painful disease under which he
laboured. This is an important epoch in the history of his
life, as it was owing to this circumstance, perhaps, that we
have the most eloquent works that have proceeded from
his pen. His Letter to M. D’Alembert on the design of
erecting a theatre at Geneva, written in his retirement,
and published in the year 1757, contains, along with some
paradoxes, some very important and well-handled truths.
Although so great an enemy to theatrical representations,
he caused a comedy to be printed; and in 1752 he gave to
the theatre a pastoral, called Le Devin du Village, of
which he composed the poetry and the music, both ot them
abounding with sentiment and elegance, and full of inno¬
cent rural simplicity. His Dictionary of Music contains
some good but many more indifferent articles. Soon after
the rapid success of his Village Conjurer, he published a
Letter on French Music, or rather against French Music,
written with equal freedom and liveliness. The exasperated
partisans of French comedy treated him with as much fury
as if he had conspired against the state ; and a crowd ot
enthusiasts spent their strength in loud and open menaces
against him. # .
That interesting and tender style which is so conspicuous
throughout the Devin du \illage marks many of the letteis
in the Nouvelle Heloise, which was published in 1761. T his
epistolary romance, of which the plot is ill managed, and the
arrangement bad, has great beauties as well as great faults.
Some of the letters are indeed admirable, from their force
and warmth of expression as well as their intensity of pas¬
sion, from an effervescence of sentiment, and from the iire-
gularity of ideas which always characterises a passion
carried to its height. In the Heldise Rousseau s unlucky
talent of rendering everything problematical appears very
conspicuous. This is the case in his arguments in favom
of and against duelling, which afford an apology for suicide,
and a just condemnation of it; his facility in palliating the
crime of adultery, and his strong reasons to make it ab¬
horred ; his declamations against social happiness, and
transports in favour of humanity; his violent rhapsodies
against philosophers, and his rage for adopting theii opi¬
nions ; the existence of God attacked by sophistry, and
atheists confuted by the most irrefragable arguments ; the
Christian religion combated by the most specious objections,
and celebrated by the most sublime eulogies.
i
11 0 U S S E A U.
449
Rousseau. His next work, Emile, made more noise than its prede-
v-v > cessor. This moral romance, which was published in the
year 1762, treats chiefly of education. Rousseau wished
to follow nature in everything; and though much of his
system was quite impracticable, yet many of his hints and
suggestions have been followed out, and with good effect,
by practical teachers. His precepts are expressed with the
force and dignity of a mind full of the leading truths of
morality. If he has not always been virtuous, nobody at
least has felt virtue more, or made it appear to greater ad¬
vantage. What is most to be lamented is, that in wishing to
educate a young man as a Christian, he has filled a volume
with objections against Christianity. On the other hand, it
must be confessed that he has given a very sublime eulo-
gium on the gospel, and an affecting portrait of its divine
Author ; but the miracles and the prophecies which serve
to establish his mission he attacks without reserve. Ad¬
mitting only natural religion, he weighs everything in the
balance of reason ; and this reason being false, leads him
into dilemmas which are very unfavourable to his own re¬
pose and happiness. The French Parliament condemned
this book in 1762, and by instituting a criminal prosecution
against the author forced him to make a precipitate retreat
- from France. He directed his steps towards his native
town, but it shut its gates upon him. Proscribed in the
place where he had first drawn breath, he sought an asy¬
lum in Switzerland, and found one in the principality of
Neufchatel. But the protection of the King of Prussia, to
whom the principality belonged, was not sufficient to rescue
him from that obloquy which the minister of Moutiers-
Travers, the village to which he had retired, had excited
against him. He preached against Rousseau, and his ser¬
mons produced an uproar amongst the people. One night
some fanatics, inspired by wine and the declamations of
their minister, threw stones at the windows of the Genevese
philosopher, who, fearing new insults, sought an asylum in
the canton of Berne. As this canton was connected with
the republic of Geneva, the authorities did not think proper
to allow him to remain in their city. Neither his broken
health nor the approach of winter could soften their hearts.
To relieve them from all anxiety about the spread of his
opinions, he besought them to shut him up in prison till the
spring. But even this favour was denied him. Obliged to
set out on a journey in the beginning of a most inclement
season, he reached Strasbourg in a very destitute condition.
From Strasbourg he proceeded in the autumn of 1765 to
Paris, where the protection of the Prince de Conti, and his
own eccentricities of life and opinions, made him once more
the lion of the hour. Among the notable men whose ac¬
quaintance he formed in the course of this winter was the
philosopher David Hume, on whose invitation he visited
England in the spring of 1766. Heme’s conduct to his
guest was marked by a delicacy and good sense beyond all
praise. The new friends settled .ac Wootton in Derby¬
shire, where, however, they had ndt resided three months
when the morbid vanity and diseased imagination of the
Frenchman discovered in some very innocent acts of
“ ce bon David” a deep-laid scheme for ruining his peace
and hopes of literary glory. A letter of Horace Walpole,
written under the name of the King of Prussia, and in
which Rousseau’s mania of believing himself persecuted by
the whole world was held up to ridicule, led to an irrepa¬
rable breach between the two philosophers. In his cele¬
brated Letter to a Member of the National Assembly Burke
alludes to this period of Rousseau’s life in the following
terms :—“ We have had the great professor and founder
of the philosophy of vanity in England. As I had good
opportunity of knowing his proceedings almost from day to
day, he left no doubt on my mind that he entertained no
principle either to influence his heart or to guide his
understanding but vanity, f With this vice he was pos-
VOL. XIX.
sessed to a degree little short of madness.” Rousseau ac- Rousseau,
cordingly returned to France, spited with the world, and
particularly offended with the English philosopher. In
July 1770 he appeared for the first time at the Cafe de la
Regence dressed in ordinary attire, having laid aside the
Armenian dress in which he is generally represented in the
best portraits of him that now exist. He was loaded with
praises by the surrounding multitude. “ It was somewhat
singular,” says M. Sennebier, “ to see a man so haughty as
he returning to the very place from whence he had been
banished so often. Nor is it one of the smallest incon¬
sistencies of this extraordinary character, that he preferred
a retreat in that place of which he had spoken so much ill.”
It is as singular that a person under sentence of imprison¬
ment should wish to live in so public a manner in the very
place where his sentence was in force against him. His *
friends, however, procured for him the liberty of staying,
on condition that he should write neither on religion nor
on politics ; and he kept his word, for he ceased to write
altogether. He was contented with living in quiet seclu¬
sion in the society of a few tried friends, shunning the com¬
pany of the great, and giving up all his old eccentricities.
He died of apoplexy at Ermenonville, about ten leagues
from Paris, July 2, 1778, at the age of sixty-six years.
Much of the unhappiness of Rousseau’s life is to be
attributed to the marriage which he contracted while, liv¬
ing in the neighbourhood of Lyons with a woman named
Therese Levasseur, who, though poor, ugly, and ill-tem¬
pered, exercised over her husband the empire of a nurse
over a child. Her conduct and influence had the effect of
driving away from his house the few friends whose society
was either useful or agreeable to him, and of confirming
him in those vices and eccentricities to which he was natu¬
rally prone. He sent his children into orphan hospitals as
soon as they were born, rather than take upon himself the
charge of their maintenance and education. It is to this
part of Jiis conduct Burke alludes in the Letter already
quoted :—“ He melts with tenderness for those only who
touch him by the remotest relation, and then without one
natural pang casts away, as a sort of offal and excrement,
the spawn of his disgustful amours, and sends his children
to the hospital of foundlings. The bear loves, licks, and
forms her young ; but bears are not philosophers. Vanity,
however, finds its account in reversing the train of our natu¬
ral feelings.* Thousands admire the sentimental writer ;
the affectionate father is hardly known in his parish.”
The unsocial habits of Rousseau, and his strange ways,
both of living and thinking, which can only be explained
and may be partly, at least, excused by the plea of in¬
sanity, made him an object of curiosity, and helped to
procure him a name. Like Diogenes of old, he united
simplicity of manners with pride of genius ; and a very
large stock of indolence, with an extreme sensibility, served
to render his character still more uncommon. “ An indo¬
lent mind,” says he, “ terrified at every application, a wqrm,
bilious, and irritable temperament, sensible also in a high
degree to every thing that can affect it, appear not possible
to be united in the same person ; and yet these two con¬
trarieties compose the chief of mine. An active life has no
charms for me. I would an hundred times rather consent
to be idle than to do anything against my will; and I have
an hundred times thought that I would not live amiss in
the Bastile, provided I had nothing to do but just continue
there. In my younger days I made several attempts to
get in there; but as they were only with the view of pro¬
curing a refuge and rest in my old age, and, like the exer¬
tions of an indolent person, only by fits and starts, they
were never attended with the smallest success. When
misfortunes came, they afforded me a pretext for giving
myself up to my ruling passion.”
His ideas on politics were as eccentric as his paradoxes
3 L
r
450 R O U
Roussillon about religion. Some reckon his Social Compact, which
j| Voltaire calls the Unsocial Compact, the greatest efFort of
Rovigno. hig genius; whilst others find it full of contradictions,
errors, and cynical passages, obscure, ill arranged, and by
no means worthy of his pen. There were found in his
portfolio his Confessions, in twelve books ; the first six of
which were published. “ His Confessions,” says Senne-
bier, in his Literary History of Geneva, “ appear to me
to be a very dangerous book, and paint Rousseau in such
colours as we would never have ventured to apply to him.
The excellent analysis which we meet with of some senti¬
ments, and the delicate anatomy which he makes of some
actions, are not sufficient to counterbalance the detestable
matter which is found in them, and the unceasing obloquies
everywhere to be met with.” Amongst his other posthu¬
mous pieces are the following:—The Reveries of a Soli¬
tary Wanderer, being a journal of the latter part of his
life; Considerations upon the Government of Poland;
The Adventures of Lord Edward, a novel, being a kind of
supplement to the New Heloise; various memoirs and fugi¬
tive pieces, with a great number of letters, containing some
eloquent passages and deep thoughts ; Emilia and Sophia;
The Levite of Ephraim, a poem in prose, in four cantos,
written in a style of ancient simplicity; Letters to Sara ;
an Opera and a Comedy ; translations of the first book of
Tacitus’s History, of the episode of Olinda and Sophronia,
from Tasso, &c. Like all the other writings of Rousseau,
we find in these posthumous pieces many admirable and
some useful things.; but they also abound with contradic¬
tions, paradoxes, and ideas very unfavourable to religion.
In his letters, especially; we see a man chagrined at mis¬
fortunes which he never attributes to himself; suspicious
of everybody about him, calling and believing himself a
lamb in the midst of wolves. Viewing him solely as a
writer, his character is perhaps described with truth and
accuracy in the following words of Hume:—Though I
see some tincture of extravagance in all his writings, I also
think I see so much eloquence and force of imagination,
such an energy of expression, and such a boldness of con¬
ception, as entitle him to a place amongst the first writeir
of his age.” A complete edition of his works was pub¬
lished in 1788 and the following years, extending to thirty-
seven volumes octavo. The best edition, however, is that
published by Musset-Pathay, his biographer, Paris, 1823-
25, 20 vols. 8vo. M. Villemain has given an analysis and
criticism of the works of Rousseau in his recent Cours de
Litterature Eranqaise au \Hth siecle.
ROUSSILLON, an ancient province of France,
bounded on the N. by that of Languedoc, W. by that of
Foix, S. by Spain, and E. by the Mediterranean. It is
now wholly comprised in the department of Pyrenees
Orientales.
ROVEREDO, (Germ. Rovereith), a town of the Aus¬
trian empire, in the Tyrol, on the left bank of the Adige,
34 miles N. of Verona. It is handsomely built, many of
the houses being of marble. The most conspicuous build¬
ing in the place is the old castle, on the summit of a rock,
towering above the public square. The principal church is
a building of the fifteenth century ; and another, now used
as a warehouse, is said to be of greater antiquity. Rove-
redo is the chief seat of the silk manufacture in the Tyrol;
and there are more than 50 mills in the town and vicinity.
Upwards of 120,000 lb. of silk are exported annually.
Leather and pottery are also made, and there are dye-
works. Abundance of fruit and excellent wine is obtained
in the vicinity. Pop. (1854) 11,115.
ROVIGNO, or Treyigno, a town of the Austrian
empire, in the circle of Istria, on a rocky promontory on
the Adriatic shore, 40 miles S. of Trieste. It has a cathe¬
dral, after the model oi St Mark’s at Venice, numerous
other churches, courts of law, schools, and hospitals. There
ROW
are two harbours, one of which is pretty safe. The inha- Rovigo
bitants are chiefly employed in seafaring pursuits, and in II
fishing, especially for sardines, which produce a profit of R°we-
about L.15,000 annually. Ship-building is carried on here;
cables, sail-cloth, &c., are manufactured ; and there is a con¬
siderable coasting trade. Pop. 10,920.
ROVIGO, a province of Austrian Italy, in the crown-
land of Venice, forming a sort of peninsula between the
Adige, the Po, and the Adriatic; bounded on the N. by
the provinces of Padua and Vicenza, W. by those of
Verona and Mantua, S. by the Papal States, and E. by the
Adriatic: length, from E. to W., 35 miles; breadth, about
15 ; area, 428 square miles. It is flat and fertile, traversed
by several canals, and covered with vineyards and fields of
wheat, maize, rice, hay, &c. Cattle are raised in large
numbers. The province is divided into eight districts.
Pop. (1853) 176,814. The capital is Rovigo, a town on
both sides of the Adigetto, an arm of the Adige, 36 miles
S.W. of Venice. It has a castle, and is fortified after the
old fashion, with walls, towers, and a moat. Among the
chief buildings are a fine cathedral, and the palace of the
Bishop of Adria, who generally resides here on account of
the unhealthy climate of Adria. There are also a gymna¬
sium, episcopal seminary, theatre, picture gallery, govern¬
ment-house, and courts of law. Tanneries and saltpetre
works are the chief manufactories; and corn is the prin¬
cipal article of trade. The wine of Rovigo was anciently
celebrated, but is not now above mediocrity. Pop. 12,600.
ROWANDIZ, or Rawandiz, a town of Asiatic Tur¬
key, in the pashalic and 230 miles N. of Bagdad, among
the mountains which separate the plains of Assyria from
those of Media, on an affluent of the Great Zab. Its posi¬
tion is extremely striking and picturesque. Amid lofty and
steep limestone cliffs, it occupies a sloping tongue of rock,
with a ravine on the east, and another on the north, through
which the river flows. The houses rise in tiers one above
another, and have generally flat roofs, without walls round
them. The river is only about 10 yards wide and 1 deep,
but very rapid and impetuous ; and the ravine is crossed at
the height of 20 feet above the water by a bridge of trees,
which may be removed to secure the place against an
attack from the north. Rowandiz has only from 1000 to
2000 houses, but each of them contains two or three fami¬
lies, and the population is very dense. The inhabitants
belong chiefly to the tribe of Rewendis, and are under a
chieftain, who maintains some degree of independence,
aided by the mountain fastnesses and numerous castles in
the neighbourhood.
ROWE, Nicholas, a poet and dramatist of some dis¬
tinction, was descended from an ancient family in Devon¬
shire, and was born at Little Barford in Bedfordshire
about 1673. He acquired a strong taste for the classical
authors under Dr Busby in Westminster school ; but
poetry was his early and darling study. His father, who
was a lawyer, entered him a student in the Middle Temple,
and he made remarkable advances in the study of the law;
but the love of the belles lettres, and of poetry, interfered
with his legal career. His first tragedy, the Ambitious
Stepmother, meeting with considerable applause, he laid
aside all thoughts of rising by the law, and afterwards com¬
posed several tragedies ; but that which he valued himself
most upon was his Tamerlane. The others were the Fair
Penitent, almost wholly borrowed from the Fatal Howry
of Massinger, Ulysses, the Royal Convert, Jane Shore,
and Lady Jane Grey. He also wrote a farce called the
Biter, which Congreve in his correspondence says “ was
damned.” Fie likewise wrote several poems upon dif¬
ferent subjects, which have bqen published under the title
of Miscellaneous Works, in one volume, as his dramatic
works have been in two.
Meanwhile the love of poetry and books did not make
ROW R O X 451
Rowley, him unfit for business; for nobody applied closer to it
-m.' when occasion required. The Duke of Queensberry, when
secretary of state, made him secretary for public affairs.
But after the duke’s death all avenues to his preferment
were stopped: and during the remainder of Queen Anne’s
reign he passed his time with the Muses and his books.
On the accession of George I., however, he was made poet-
laureate on the 1st August 1715, and one of the land-sur¬
veyors of the customs in the port of London. The Prince
of Wales conferred on him the clerkship of his council;
and the Lord Chancellor Parker made him his secretary
for the presentations. But he did not enjoy these promo¬
tions long. He died on the 6th of December 1718, in his
forty-fifth year.
Rowe was twice married, had a son by his first wife, and
a daughter by his second. He was a very handsome man;
and his mind was as amiable as his person. He was buried
in Westminster Abbey, opposite to Chaucer, where his
widow erected an elegant monument to him, containing a
bust by Rysbrack, and an epitaph by Pope.
Rowe is chiefly to be considered in the light of a tragic
writer and a translator. In his attempt at comedy, he failed
so ignominiously that his Biter is not inserted in his works ;
and his occasional poems and short compositions are rarely
worthy either of praise or censure, for they seem to be the
casual sports of a mind seeking rather to amuse its leisure
than to exercise its powers. In the construction of his
dramas there is not much art; and he is not a nice observer
of the unities. “ I know not,” says Dr Johnson, “ that there
can be found in his plays any deep search into nature, any
accurate discrimination of kindred qualities, or nice display
of passion in its progress. All is general and undefined.
Nor does he much interest or affect the auditor, except in
Jane Shore, who is always seen and heard with pity. Alicia
is a character of empty noise, with no resemblance to real
sorrow or to natural madness. Whence then has Rowe
acquired his reputation ? From the reasonableness and
propriety of some of his scenes, from the elegance of his
diction, and from the suavity of his verse. He seldom moves
either pity or terror, but he often elevates the sentiment;
he seldom pierces the breast, but he always delights the
ear, and often improves the understanding.” Being a great
admirer of Shakspeare, he gave the public an edition of his
plays, to which he prefixed an account of his life. He
even professed to have imitated the dramatist in his Royal
Convert; and Pope ridiculed this profession in his Marti-
nus Scriblerus, by stating that the resemblance was con¬
fined to one single line, “ And so good morrow t’ye good
Master Lieutenant.” But the most considerable of Rowe’s
performances was an excellent translation of Lucan’s .PAar-
salia, which he just lived to finish, but not to publish ; it did
not appear in print till 1728, ten years after his death.
ROWLEY, William, an English dramatic writer of
very considerable ability, and of whom hardly anything is
known, seems to have flourished during the early part of
the seventeeth century. He witnessed during his life
three sovereigns on the throne, Elizabeth, James L, and
Charles I. He was educated at Cambridge, for Wood
has recorded of him that he was “ the ornament for wit
and ingenuity of Pembroke Hall in Cambridge;” and it is
of him most probably Meres, in the second part of his Wits
Commonwealth, 1598, speaks, when he says, “ Maister
Rowley, once a rare scholar of Pembroke Hall in Cam¬
bridge.” He belonged to the royal company of players,
and as an actor excelled most in comedy. He was on
terms of close intimacy with all the reigning poets and wits
of his time, and is known to have aided many of them in
the composition of works for the stage, as well as having
himself written a number of able comedies and tragedies,
which were acted with “great applause” during his own
time. In Charles Lamb’s Specimens of English Dramatic
Poets, there are extracts given from the following works: Rowno
A Fair Quarrel, by T. Middleton and W. Rowley ; All's ll
Lost by Lust, a tragedy, by W. Rowley; A New Wonder, 1
A Woman Never Vext, a comedy, by W. Rowley; The y, ^
Witch of Edmonton, a tragi-comedy, by Rowley, Decker,
and Ford; The Old Laio, a comedy, by Massinger, Mid¬
dleton, and Rowley ; Fortune by Land and Sea, by Hey-
wood and Rowley. Speaking of The Old Laic, Lamb
remarks, “ There is an exquisiteness of moral sensibility
making one to gush out tears of delight, and a poetical
strangeness in all the improbable circumstances of this wild
play, which are unlike anything in the dramas which Mas¬
singer wrote alone. The pathos is of a subtler edge;
Middleton and Rowley, who assisted in this play, had both
of them finer geniuses than their associate.” Several others
of Rowley’s plays will be found in Dodsley’s Collection,
and in Watt’s Bibliotheca Britannica. Shakspeare is said
to have assisted Rowley in the composition of his Birth
of Merlin, 1662.
ROWNO, a town of European Russia, capital of a
circle in the government of Wolhynia, on the Ustja, 116
miles N.N.W. of Jitomir. It has four churches, a gymna¬
sium, two benevolent institutions, and some manufactures.
Pop. 4875.
ROXANA, the daughter of Oxyartes, a Bactrian prince,
became the queen of Alexander the Great about 327 b.c.
She had not long enjoyed her high dignity before misfor¬
tunes began to gather round her. Her husband died before
her child was born. The fear lest her progeny should be
deprived of its paternal rights changed her nature into
that of a tigress. She could not rest until she had decoyed
her rival Barsine to Babylon and murdered her. Even
when her son had been acknowledged heir to his father’s
kingdom, there was no peace for her. In the struggles
which ensued between the several potentates in the Alex¬
andrian empire, she and her boy were tossed about from
the custody of one to that of another. At length they be¬
came involved in the fortunes of the ambitiqus Olympias,
and their fate was sealed. Cassander captured them in
Pydna in 316 b.c. They were degraded from their royal
dignity, and consigned to the citadel of Amphipolis. After
languishing there for five years, they were secretly mur¬
dered by their keeper Glaucias in 311 B.C.
ROXBURGHSHIRE, one of the south-eastern coun¬
ties of Scotland, is bounded on the E. and S. by North¬
umberland and Cumberland; on the S.W. by Dumfriesshire;
on the W. by Selkirk and Mid-Lothian; and on the N.
and N.E. by Berwickshire. It is strictly a border county,
its southern limit occupying nearly the whole of the border
line, except a limited space at the eastern and western
extremities. Its outline is very unequal, but. the principal
mass may be regarded as forming an irregular rhomboid,
throwing out a projecting angle to the N., where it touches
on Mid-Lothian, and another to the S., composing the
basin of the Liddle, where it declines towards the English
border. Its greatest length, from the north-eastern to
the sputh-western extremity, is 43 miles, and its great¬
est breadth about 30; its superficial extent, according to
the latest authorities, being 696 square miles, or 446,440
acres.
The Teviot being the only considerable river wholly in¬
cluded within the limits of the county, its basin comprehends
by far the largest portion of its area, and from this circum¬
stance the entire district was formerly called Teviotdale.
It includes also Liddesdale, an outlying fragment, as it
were, of the county, and belonging to a river system ex¬
traneous to it, which finds its outlet in the Solway. The
valley of the Tweed occupies the northern portion, running
in a transverse direction, and uniting with that of the Teviot
near Kelso. These great natural features, taken in con¬
nection with the mountain ranges, in which the rivers
452
Roxburgh¬
shire.
ROXBURGHSHIRE.
originate, and to which they owe their direction, will enable
us to form a pretty accurate conception of the physical
aspect of the district. On the S. and S.E. the county
may be said to be set in a frame of mountains, foi ming a
pretty continuous ridge, and throwing off lateral offshoots,
which gradually decline in height till they sink into the
low lands bordering on the rivers. On the N.E. side they
expand into the somewhat extensive group of the Cheviots,
and in the S.W. they form a strictly mountainous country,
often rising to a considerable elevation, presenting elon¬
gated ridges and insulated hills, sometimes rugged and
rocky, but more frequently with rounded outlines, and
densely clothed with grass to the very summits. The
whole of this district is pre-eminently of a pastoral charac¬
ter, and the dense, fine herbage which everywhere covers
the surface rears vast numbers of the finest sheep the
county produces. This part of the county is almost
destitute of wood, a few patches of dark pines in the val¬
leys alone diversifying the view, or, rarer still, a scat¬
tered group of aged birch trees, the relicts of primeval and
natural woods, hanging on the slopes of the hills. Culti¬
vation is scarcely practicable here, save on the low valleys
by the side of the streams, where patches of corn and tur¬
nips are occasionally reared ; and this state of things con¬
tinues along the course of the Teviot nearly to the vicinity
of Hawick, the country gradually becoming more level,
and undergoing a great improvement in soil and climate,
which admits of extended cultivation, and the rearing of
almost any kind of crop cultivated in the country. Be¬
low this, further amelioration of climate, both in regard to
temperature and dryness, is perceptible; woods not only
skirt the banks of the river, but are scattered over the
upland localities, and a wide district on either side pre¬
sents all the features of a highly-cultivated and flourishing
country. Frequent hills and abrupt eminences, arising from
the obtrusion of igneous rocks, diversify the surface, which
is everywhere varied, undulating, and beautiful. Still
further down, the valley of the Teviot becomes more and
more expansive, till it ultimately becomes blended with
that of the Tweed, and both open up into a wide expanse
of champaign country, which for richness of soil, extent of
woodland, and general beauty of scenery, is well know to
be surpassed by few places in the kingdom. The trans¬
verse valleys formed by the various affluents of the Teviot
from the N. and S.E. also present features of great in¬
terest, and exhibit a peculiarity in their scenery owing to
the nature of the geological formation through which they
flow. That formation consists of the old red sandstone,
and being for the most part of a soft and crumbling con¬
sistency, it has gradually given way to the action of the
currents, and they have scooped out for themselves a deep
channel in the rock. “ They form deep and narrow defiles,
often finely wooded, in wdiich scaur, and wood, and water,
and green mound-like banks, are blended into scenes of
sequestered and varied beauty, such as the general aspect
of the country scarcely promises. The high scaurs are
generally in one place, confined to one of the banks, and
the horizontal lines, in this nearly perpendicular wall, are
sufficiently broken by the windings of the stream and over¬
hanging wood, to prevent them becoming monotonous;
while their deep tints present a mass of colour so agreeably
contrasting with the fringing foliage as to add materially
to the general effect. Though destitute, therefore, of the
most characteristic features of rock scenery, properly so
called, they are possessed of others which form a good
substitute, and which cannot fail to recommend them to the
eye of taste. The most interesting examples of this style
of landscape are to be found in the lower course of the
Jed ; and though not on a large scale, they have long en¬
joyed a well-merited reputation. Others of a similar kind Roxburgh-
occur on the Ale near Ancrum, on the Rule near Wells, shire,
on the Kale, and in the Dean above Denholm. As an
instance of the same thing lying in the region of the con¬
glomerate, may be mentioned the wooded dell at Hassen-
dean Burn above Lurden. The precipitous banks in this
spot are of a remarkably sombre hue; there are no lines of
stratification, and the projections are blunt or rounded
masses, with no appearance of the numerous small angles
naturally formed by the breakage of stone having a minutely
granular structure.”1
The Teviot, pre-eminently the county river, takes its
rise at a place called Teviotstone, on the E. side of the
mountain range which divides the county from Dumfries¬
shire. It pursues a very direct course in a N.E. direction,
almost bisecting the county, and after a run of about 40
miles, in which it passes many a spot famous in border
story, falls into the Tweed a little above Kelso. I he ge¬
neral direction and undeviating nature of its course, at
least in its upper half, is owing to the disposition of the
Silurian strata through which it flows, the vertical masses
of the rock being almost invariably arranged from N.E. to
S.W., while their slaty structure and rather soft consistency
give full effect to the abrading power of the current. This
river was once famous as a trouting stream, and has been
celebrated in poetry for the limpid clearness of its “ silver
tide;” but in both these respects there has of late years
been a great change to the worse, partly from causes which
are probably of very general operation in such cases, and
partly from others of a more local nature. Owing to ex¬
tensive drainage and other agricultural improvements, all
superfluous rain-water falling on the fields is speedily con¬
veyed to the river and its tributaries; sudden floods are
the consequence ; and as the water is rapidly carried oft, the
floods subside almost as rapidly as they rise, h rom the same
causes, in seasons of drought the river is often reduced to
a very low ebb. This tendency to extremes, and these
sudden and violent changes, are unfavourable to the finny
tribes, and seriously disturb both their breeding and feed¬
ing places. But a much greater evil arises from the great
quantity of soap-suds and dye-stuffs discharged into the
river from the manufactories of Hawick. These deleterious
substances taint and discolour the water for many miles
below that town, until they at length become diluted by
the afflux of fresh streams, when their effects become less
felt, or at least less apparent. Besides being directly in¬
jurious to the fish, these matters we know to be poisonous
to the aquatic flies when in their larva state, on which
they chiefly feed, and these are accordingly becoming much
scarcer. No longer, then, can we exclaim with its native
poet Leyden,—
“ Untainted yet thy stream, fair Teviot, flows.”
This contamination, which must have other injurious ef¬
fects besides those alluded to, and which is becoming too
common in other localities similarly situated, is the more to
be deprecated, from the consideration that, by a little care
and expense, it might be altogether avoided. The principal
tributaries of the Teviot on the north-west side are the
Borthwick and the Ale, both rising in Selkirkshire, the
former flowing through a pastoral country similar to that
surrounding the upper reaches of the I eviot, and joining
the main stream nearly opposite Goudilands, a little above
Hawick ; the latter having its influx at Ancrum, among
magnificent woods and romantic scenery, the last of which
it principally contributes to create, by cutting deeply into
the stratified rocks and producing lofty mural precipices of
deep red sandstone. The affluent streams from the south
are numerous, the principal being the Allan, the Slitrig,
1 “Geology of Roxburghshire,” by the Rev. James Duncan, in Jeffrey’s History of the county, vol i., p. 130.
R O X B U K G H SHIR E. 453
Roxburgh-tlie Rule, the Jed, the Oxnam, and tlie Kale. They all
shire. originate in the high grounds that skirt the county towards
'v—the English border, flow nearly due north, and join the
main stream at an angle more or less acute. The only
exception to this is the Kale, which has a more western
course, and it doubtless owes its deviation from the pre¬
vailing arrangement to the disturbing influence of the
Cheviot porphyries, whose operation is still further shown
in this quarter by an irregularity in the course of the Teviot
itself. Each of these tributary streams presents peculiar
features both in natural scenery and in other properties.
Such of them as flow through the Silurian district are often
very impetuous in their course when under flood, carrying
along with them large boulders of greenstone, and over¬
flowing the low-lying lands on their banks. Hawick has
frequently suffered in this way from the inundations of the
Slitrig. The Jed, one of the most considerable of these
tributaries, from the length of its course, is likewise the
most celebrated both for its scenery and historical associa¬
tions. It rises near Needlaw, not far from the southern
border, flows at first due north, then suddenly bends to the
east, after which it resumes the normal direction, and con¬
tinues by Old Jedburgh, Ferniherst, and Jedburgh, to the
Teviot. The peculiar and highly interesting physiognomy
it gives to the landscape, arising from its action on the
rocks which prevail throughout the greater part of its
course, has been already alluded to. In the vicinity of the
town to which the river gives its name the valley opens
to some width, the banks are richly clothed both with na¬
tural wood and timber trees, and from the road, which
follows more or less the windings of the stream, frequent
views of the high and deeply-tinted scaurs are obtained, as
well as occasional glimpses of the lofty tower and length¬
ened roof of the abbey; the whole presenting a scene of
great interest and picturesque beauty. The other smaller
rivers, such as the Gala, Leader, Eden, and Beaumont,
belong only partially to the county ; and though this is
likewise the case with the Liddel and Tweed, these two
rivers occupy a prominent place in the history of the dis¬
trict. The latter enters the county near the point where
it is joined by the Ettrick, and after a very winding course
of about 30 miles in an eastern direction, leaves it at the
influx of the Carham-burn. The Roxburghshire section
of this noble river passes through scenes of rich and varied
beauty, which have also been the theatre of events of the
highest national interest and importance. The Liddel
rises near the sources of the Jed, and follows an exactly
opposite direction; and after receiving the waters of the
Hermitage, proceeds southwards by Castleton and Manger-
ton, leaving the boundaries of the county at Liddelbank.
The lochs form so insignificant a feature in the physical
aspect of the county that they scarcely seem to merit
special notice in a cursory view of its hydrography. They
are both few in number and of inconsiderable dimensions,
and some of them are gradually diminishing, while others
have entirely disappeared under the influence of drainage
and agricultural improvements. We have not yet learned
in this country to turn our permanent reservoirs of water
to useful account in the production of human food, although
they are susceptible of being rendered even more profitable
in this respect than an equal extent of land. Yetholm or
Primside Loch, which is the largest, is about a mile and a
half in circumference; Hoselaw, in Linton parish, three-
quarters of a mile. Several small sheets of water exist in
Ashkirk parish, and a few others in Roberton. They occur
amid very wild and sequestered scenes, are the favourite
haunts of a considerable number of aquatic birds, and in
some of them the black-headed gull finds a suitable breed- Roxburgh-
ing-place. shire.
The geology of the county is of considerable interest,
owing to the variety of formations met with, consisting of
the older rocks, and also for the organic remains which
have lately been discovered. The Silurian rocks, which are
so extensively developed in the southern division of Scot¬
land, and which occupy almost the entire area of the
adjoining counties of Selkirk and Peebles, also prevail in
this county, extending over the whole western side, also on
the south, and more or less on the south-east. The rock
is very distinctly stratified, the strata standing on their
edge, or nearly vertical, and the direction east and west, with
slight deviations. It is of a fine texture, often running
into clay-slate, of a bluish-grey colour, glimmering with
minute scales of mica, and frequently traversed by veins of
calcareous spar. This is succeeded to the eastward by an
extensive deposit of the old red sandstone, forming an irre¬
gular quadrangular area towards the centre of the county,
emitting two angular projections from its southern extre¬
mity, and interrupted in the middle of its north side by an
intrusion of trap-rocks. It consists of three well-marked
modifications : the conglomerate, which is the lowest of the
series; the dark brownish-red somewhat earthy-looking
mass, traversed by whitish or grey-coloured beds of marly
matter, composing the scaurs formerly alluded to ; and the
compact red and white sandstones in the higher parts of the
county used as building-stone. To the east of this there
is a considerable portion of the county composed chiefly of
dark greenstone ; and around Kelso, and thence down the
valley of the Tweed, the under-division of the coal forma¬
tion prevails. This formation is also developed in Lid-
desdale.
According to Professor Nicol, the real axis of the old
unfossiliferous greywacke ranges by Teviotdale, and cor¬
responds to certain Silurian strata in Wales. It is certainly
the fact that fossils are very rare in the Roxburghshire
greywacke strata, but they have by no means been exa¬
mined with sufficient care to justify us in asserting their
non-existence. Until very lately the same thing was af¬
firmed of the red sandstone, and it was accordingly difficult
to determine its geological position ; it has been described
as the new red sandstone. Recently a new light has been
thrown on the subject by the investigations ot Mr Duncan
of Denholm, who has discovered numerous fossils of the
old red sandstone era, and has thus determined its real
character. Fossil fishes, of the genus Pterichthys and
Holoptychius, the scales of the latter occurring in some
places in such quantities as actually to form beds, have been
detected. Plants have been found in still greater number
and variety, the fucoids being very plentiful in certain strata
uncovered at Denholm Hill quarry, and in impressions re¬
markably distinct and characteristic. Vegetables of higher
organization have likewise occurred,—what appears to be a
species of fern (Cyelopterus hibernicus) and distinct pe¬
trifactions of calamites. These were previously unknown
in the upper beds of the old red, and their occurrence is
therefore regarded as a matter of considerable geological
interest.1
The diversified nature of the county, and the beautiful
and romantic scenery so frequently met with, is chiefly
owing to the eruption of igneous rocks, frequently in the
form of insulated hills. These consist for the most part of
a dark augitic greenstone, somewhat resembling clinkstone
in texture, and not unlike basalt in colour. Such are
Penielheugh, Dunian, Ruberslaw, Minto Craigs, South-
dean Hill, Windburgh, &c. The form, position, and colour
1 For a detailed account of these fossils, see the woik referred to in the previous note, and Hugh Miller’s remarks on them in the Tes¬
timony of the Hocks, p. 452.
454
ROXBURGHSHIRE.
Roxburgh-of the beautiful group of the Eildon Hills indicate at once a
shire, different composition and structure ; they consist of fels-
V. - ^ - 1 pathic porphyry) and form the nucleus of a circulai area of
that substance ot no great dimensions. A similar forma¬
tion is extensively developed in the Cheviot Hills, which,
however, vary much in lithological stiucture, and in other
respects,' although all referable to the same class of rocks.
The highest hills in the county—such as Chillhill, one of
the Cheviots, Millenwood Fell, and Tudhope Hill—do not
exceed 2000 feet: those in the interior are usually much
lower,—liuberslaw, 11 <4; Dunian, 1031 ; Eildons, 1634.
Even in the briefest outline of its geology it would be
improper to omit mention of the remarkable greenstone
dyke, from 12 to 20 or 30 feet in width, which runs across
the county from east to west, nearly dividing it into two
equal halves. It is a very remarkable geological pheno¬
menon, from its great length as well as from its composition
and other circumstances.
Both the greywacke and greenstone are occasionally
employed as building-stones, for which neither of them is
well adapted, especially the former, as, owing to its lines of
cleavage, it is apt to open in rents after being placed in
position, and admit moisture. Both these rocks make
excellent road metal. The sandstones of the coal forma¬
tion, and also the upper beds of the old red, afford admir¬
able building materials, and are in general use throughout
the county, although they have often to be conveyed for
considerable distances.
One of the greatest inconveniences felt in the interior
parts of the county is the distance from coal. It was for¬
merly carted chiefly from Dumfriesshire and Northumber¬
land ; and the western parts of the county are still supplied
in this way from the first-mentioned of these places. The
greatest boon that was expected from the introduction of
railway conveyance was the facilities it should afford for the
transport of coal and lime. These advantages have been
by no means hitherto realized to the extent anticipated,
and good coal for domestic purposes is nearly as expensive
as it was formerly. Limestone is plentiful in many places,
but coal is often found too expensive for burning it. It
used to be carted from various places near the English
border, and still is to some extent; but the chief supplies
both for agricultural and building purposes are now ob¬
tained from the Lothians by railway.
The climate cannot be said to present any very marked
peculiarities. The mean annual temperature approximates
to that of the kingdom at large, being, as determined by
observations at Makerstoun on the Tweed, 46°‘l. The mean
annual quantity of rain, as registered at the same place, is
found to be 24T8 inches. Were we in possession of a
continuous series of hygrometrical observations, the results
would no doubt present striking disparities in different
places. The air is for a great part of the year extremely
humid in the high grounds to the west, the evaporation
from extensive grass lands, with a marshy bottom, being at
all times considerable. In the low and arable portions of
the county, on the contrary, the air is in general very dry,
entire winters sometimes passing over with comparatively
little rain. In former times corn crops in the uplands were
frequently overtaken by the storms of winter before they
could be housed ; drainage, special manures, and, above all,
the extensive use of lime, have produced a most beneficial
change in this respect; and the crops come to maturity
almost simultaneously in the upland districts and the haugh
lands of the interior.
The agriculture of Roxburghshire has always borne a
high character, and it may be safely affirmed that it has
kept pace with the progress which every branch of hus¬
bandry has made of late years. Many of the better class
of farmers are men of education and enlightened views,
capable of appreciating modern improvements, and pos¬
sessed of sufficient capital to carry them into full operation. Roxtmrgh-
The greater part of the arable lands have been adequately shire,
drained; the old implements have been supplanted by
others of the most improved construction ; special manures
are in extensive use ; and every means employed to bring
the land into the highest state of cultivation. In most of
the exposed situations belts of plantation have been reared,
and additional shelter thus obtained for both cattle and
crops. Subsoil-ploughing is frequently resorted to, and the
grubber seems to be often substituted for the plough, as an
easier and more efficient method of preparing the land,
especially for turnip crops. The area of cultivated land has
been greatly extended in many quarters; and while cer¬
tain species of crop, such as flax, which once occupied a
corner on almost every farm, have disappeared, others have
been introduced, and are not unlike to come into more
general favour. This seems to be the case more especially
with mangold-wurzel; for the notion, that it is ufisuited to
our soil and climate, may now be regarded as erroneous,
for certain early varieties have been cultivated with great
advantage.
It is now rather more than a century since the drill
culture of turnips was introduced into this county from
Norfolk, and this description of crop is now reared to a
vast extent. Indeed, no county in Scotland has such a
breadth of land under turnips in proportion to its cultivated
area ; and in the amount of its gross produce it is exceeded
only by three other counties. Guano, bone-dust, and most
of the modern manures, are in general use for this crop ;
and it must be admitted that although it is indispensable in
the economy of the farm, according to the present system
of management, it is reared at a great and early-increasing
expense. In this district the crop has always been par¬
ticularly subject to the finger-and-toe disease, and of late
years it seems to be rather on the increase. Now that the
cause of this disease is known, it is understood why lime
has so far a remedial effect; it is far, however, from being
a complete preventive, and it is to be hoped that some more
effectual one will be discovered.
The number of occupiers of land, according to the agri¬
cultural statistics of 1856, is 992, whose rents are at and
above L.10. The total acreage under tillage is 126,113^,
which is considerably less than one-third of the entire area.
The kinds of crops, and the proportional extent of their
cultivation, as well as the kinds and amount of stock, are
as follows, omitting fractions :—
Acres.
Wheat 10,148
Barley 10,398
Oats 28,190
Rye  113
Bere  16
Beans  1,070
Pease  565
Vetches or tares  620
Turnips 24,016
Potatoes  1,772
Acres.
Mangold 
Carrots 
Cabbage 
Rape 
Turnip seed 
Other crops 
Bare or summer fallow...
Grass and hay under ro¬
tation 
39
11
7
148
37
20
515
48,422
Horses for agricultural purposes above three years
old   
Do. Do. under three years
All other horses 
Total horses 
Milk cows.
Other cattle 
Calves 
Total cattle.
Sheep of all ages for breeding ...
Do. for feeding 
Lambs 
Swine
Total sheep
3,661
695
1,094
 5,450
4,401
8,974
3,721
  17,096
230,623
40,117
177,955
 448,695
3,917
Total stock  475,158
A considerable number of farms of mixed pasture land
ROXBURGHSHIRE.
Roxburgh- and tillage are of great extent, amounting in some instances
shire. t0 3000 acres; while farms of 1000 acres are not very
rare. The average size of arable farms, however, may be
stated at between 250 and 500 acres, and the rental varies
of course with the qualities of the soil, distance from mar¬
kets, and other circumstances. A great advance in rents
has taken place of late years ; few farms have been recently
in the market which have not risen between 25 and 40 per
cent. The Duke of Buccleuch’s farms, which, from being
usually given to tenants for political services, were very
unequally rented and sometimes very low, have now been
greatly raised ; in some instances, it is believed, to double
the original amount. Leases are generally of fifteen or
nineteen years’ duration ; in regard to sheep farms, how¬
ever, where expensive improvements yielding slow returns
are less practicable, shorter periods are adopted: frequently
it is nine years. The farm-steadings have been much im¬
proved of late, and some of those recently erected are not
surpassed by any in the kingdom ; the dwelling-houses are
often handsome and commodious. These accommodations
are of course provided by the landlord ; but to this there is
a partial exception in the case of the Buccleuch property,
the management of which is in so many respects anoma¬
lous, the tenant being obliged to cart all the building
materials, implying a considerable outlay in the present
state of labour, and also to pay a percentage of L.3 on the
money expended on the buildings. Rents are usually paid
by a fixed sum, but in some instances grain rents are still
partially in use.
The condition of farm-labourers is nearly on the same
footing as in Berwickshire, to which article reference may
accordingly be made for details. Hinds, however, are now
better paid, receiving in all what is nearly equivalent to
L.35 in money, with a free house and garden. The hind
is under obligation to keep a bondager, or female worker
for the farm, for whom he receives from the farmer Is.
a day for nine months, and lOd. a day for the three other
months of the year; and both the hind and bondager re¬
ceive a month’s victuals during harvest. Wages for all
kinds of servants and work-people have risen very high of
late years. A man’s wages for reaping is from 18s. a week
to L.l ; those of a female two or three shillings less. The
smooth-edged hook, or sickle, is now very generally used,
and it is thought that with this implement four good reapers
will cut as much corn as six with the toothed hook; the
latter, however, has the great advantage of arranging the
corn more regularly in the sheaf. Scythes for cutting the
grain crops are now pretty generally employed; and owing
to the high price of manual labour, a strong desire is mani¬
fested to introduce reaping-machines. A few of these have
been already in operation in the county ; and that they are
not more general is, we believe, owing chiefly to the fact
that farmers are waiting in the expectation that the machine
will soon undergo further improvements.
The towns are Kelso, Jedburgh, Hawick, and Melrose ;
and to the articles treating of these respectively reference
must be made for an account of the different abbeys which
give such an interest to most of them, of the ecclesiastical
state, &c., and also of the manufactories which are concen¬
trated in these places. Weekly markets are held in all the
' towns, as well as periodical fairs. That of Melrose has
lately risen into great importance, and is now the principal
market for lambs; Castleton in Liddesdale has also be¬
come important for its sheep markets; St Boswell’s fair,
which once possessed something of a national character,
has now fallen off considerably ; and from being a market
tor almost everything in ordinary use, is now chiefly con¬
fined to the sale of horses, cattle, sheep, and wool.
The county has now enjoyed for a considerable time the
advantage of railway communication with the metropolis.
The Hawick branch of the North British Railway enters
the county at Galashiels, and continues by Melrose, New¬
town, Belses, and Hassendean, to the terminus at Wilton,
which may now be said to form part of the town of Hawick.
A branch leaves Newtown and joins the Berwick line at
Kelso, thus opening up communication with the south ;
another branch connects the town of Jedburgh with this
system. The want of a railway over the southern border,
which might at once serve as a through line, and bring the
coal and lime of England and Dumfriesshire into the inte¬
rior of the county, has long been felt, and great exertions
have recently been made to supply it. Two separate lines
have been proposed for this purpose : one along the upper
valley of the Teviot, by Langholm and Canonbie ; the other
running up the valley of the Slitrig, and continued by Ric-
carton, Newcastleton, and Longtown to the great southern
line at Carlisle. After a struggle which has been scarcely
equalled in the annals of railway partisanship, the last
of these has been at length adopted ; and the Border
Union Railway has received the final sanction of the le¬
gislature while these pages are passing through the press.
The chief proprietors are the Dukes of Roxburgh and
Buccleuch, Marquis of Lothian, Earl of Minto, Douglas of
Cavers, Sir William Elliot, and various families of the
name of Elliot, Ker, and Scott. Most of them have resi¬
dences in the county. Of these, the most imposing is
Fleurs, the residence of the Duke of Roxburgh, a palatial
mansion standing on a beautiful terrace which overlooks
the confluence of the Tweed and Teviot, and in the midst
of a scene where most of the elements of a fine landscape
are blended in rich profusion. Minto House is a very large
modern mansion, without many architectural pretensions,
surrounded with fine woods, and in the vicinity of the ro¬
mantic Craigs, which are again crowned with their square
tower, even more conspicuous than of old, adding an inter¬
esting feature to the landscape. The Lord Chancellor
Campbell has built a considerable mansion at Hartrigg,
which overlooks Jedburgh, and is the only residence of any
note in that neighbourhood. But the whole valleys of the
Tweed and Teviot are studded with handsome mansions ;
and the county can claim Abbotsford, although standing
near its verge, which has long been an object of such ge¬
neral interest.
The county is divided into 34 parishes. The progress
of the population will be seen from a comparison of the
census returns at the four following decennial periods:—
1821,40,892; 1831,43,663; 1841,46,025; 1851,51,642.
There were in 1851 in all 67 places of worship, with
28,259 sittings, in the county. Of the former, 22 belonged
to the Established Church, 14 to the Free Church, 15 to
the United Presbyterians, 7 to the Independents, 3 each
to the Episcopalians and Baptists, 2 to the Original Se-
ceders, and 1 to the Roman Catholics. In the same year
it contained 74 public and 32 private schools, attended by
7704 scholars. The valued rent in 1674 was L.314,663 ;
and the annual value of real property, as assessed in 1843,
L.264,321. The parliamentary constituency in 1854 was
1896, and there has been a decrease since.
There is scarcely any county in Scotland possessed of a
more national interest than Roxburghshire. Lying on the
verge of the two kingdoms, it has been the theatre of many
a hard-fought field, and of many a scene of rapine and
plunder during the endless wars that so long distracted the
two kingdoms. The events that have transpired in it con¬
stitute a large share of border history, and that is so closely
connected with the history of Scotland that we cannot
here enter into any details. No part of the country presents
so rich a field in the remains of feudal power and the means
of national defence; even the seats of royalty are not
wanting. It may be considered unrivalled in the relics of
monastic magnificence, institutions which, however much
we may despise them in the periods of their decay, were
455
Roxburgh¬
shire.
456 • R O X
Koxbury once the seats of learning, the fountains of knowledge, and
| the most powerful agents in the civilization of a barbarous
Royal, people. The district teems with traditional stories and
'■—■V—*'' legends, many of which have been embodied in poetry,
which has become a valuable part of our national litera¬
ture. This county, therefore, has in former times always
exercised great influence on the national character,
whether considered in a political, religious, literary, or
social point of view ; and the number of celebrated men
that have sprung from it in modern times, may be taken
as a proof that it has not declined from its former cha¬
racter. (J 8 15 N-)
ROXBURY, a town of the United States of North
America, Norfolk county, Massachusetts, forming a suburb
of Boston, from which it is distant 3 miles to the S.W.,
and reached by four broad streets. The ground on which
it stands is very varied in its nature, and some parts are so
elevated as to command a fine view of the city. Most ot
the houses are well built, and surrounded by extensive gar¬
dens or shrubberies. Roxbury is the favourite residence of
many Boston merchants. It has, however, branches of trade
and manufactures proper to itself; the latter including steam
and fire engines, iron castings, carpets, leather, &c. There
are also here banks, insurance offices, and newspaper offices.
The Forest Hill cemetery in this town is a large and well
laid-out piece of ground. Roxbury was incorporated in
1630, the same year as Boston, but not chartered as a city
till 1846. Pop. (1850) 18,273 ; (1853) about 22,000.
ROY, Major-General William, a famous geode¬
sist, was employed in some of the great national trigo¬
nometrical measurements which were made during last
century. In 1746 and 1747, w'hile colonel of artillery,
he surveyed and mapped out the whole mainland of
Scotland. In 1784 he measured a base on Hounslow
Heath, designed to be the germ of all subsequent scientific
surveys of the United Kingdom. His aid was also em¬
ployed in 1787 and 1788 in ascertaining, by observations
from the above-mentioned base, the relative positions of the
French and English royal observatories. He had com¬
pleted this undertaking, and was just finishing an account
of it for the Philosophical Transactions when he died in
1 790. Besides several papers on his own operations in the
Philosophical Transactions, General Roy is the author of
a book entitled The Military Antiquities of the Romans in
North Britain, &c., London, 1793.
ROYAL (Fr. royal, Lat. reyalis), belonging to a king.
Thus we say royal family, royal assent, royal exchange, royal
academy, &c.
Royal Family.—The first and most considerable branch
of the king’s royal family, regarded by the laws of England,
is the queen.
1. The Queen of England is either queen-regent, queen-
consort, or queen-dowager. The queen-regent, regnant, or
sovereign, is she who holds the crown in her own right;
as Queen Elizabeth, Queen Anne, and our present sove¬
reign Queen Victoria. The queen consort is the wife of
the reigning king; and she by virtue of her marriage is
participant of divers prerogatives above other women. The
husband of a queen regnant, as Prince George of Denmark
was to Queen Anne, is her subject, and may be guilty of
high treason against her; but in the instance of conjugal
fidelity he is not subjected to the same penal restrictions.
Hence, if a queen-consort is unfaithful to the royal bed,
this may debase or bastardize the heirs to the crown; but
no such danger can be consequent on the infidelity of
the husband to a queen-regnant. A queen-dowager is the
widow of the king, and as such enjoys most of the privi¬
leges belonging to her as queen-consort. But it is not high
treason to conspire her death, or to violate her chastity ;
because the succession to the crown is not thereby en¬
dangered. Yet still, pro dignitate regali, no man can marry
ROY
a queen-dowager, without special license from the king, on Royal Oak
pain of forfeiting his lands and goods. II
2. The Prince of Wales, or heir-apparent to the crown,
and also his royal consort, and the princess-royal or eldest v J ‘t
daughter of the king, are likewise peculiarly regarded by " v-"-
the laws. For, bystat. 25 Edward III., to compass or con¬
spire the death of the former, or to violate the chastity of
either of the latter, is as much high treason as to conspire
the death of the king or violate the chastity of the queen ;
and this upon the same reason as was before given, because
the Prince of Wales is next in succession to the crown, and
to violate his wife might taint the blood-royal with bastardy.
And the eldest daughter of the king is also alone inheritable
to the crown on failure of issue-male, and therefore more
respected by the laws than any of her younger sisters ; in¬
somuch that, upon this, united with other principles, whilst
our military tenures were in force the king might levy an
aid for marrying his eldest daughter, and her only. The
heir-apparent to the crown is usually made Prince of Wales
and Earl of Chester, by special creation and investiture;
but, being the king’s eldest son, he is by inheritance Duke
of Cornwall without any new creation.
3. The rest of the royal family may be considered in two
different lights, according to the different senses in which
the term royal family is used. The larger sense includes
all those who are by any possibility inheritable to the crown.
Such, before the Revolution, were all the descendants of
William the Conqueror, who had branched into an amazing
extent by intermarriages with the ancient nobility. Since
the Revolution and Act of Settlement it means the Pro¬
testant issue of the Princess Sophia, now comparatively few
in number, but which in process of time may possibly be as
largely diffused. The more confined sense includes only
those who are in a certain degree of propinquity to the
reigning prince, and to whom therefore the law pays an
extraordinary regard and respect; but after that degree is
past, they fall into the rank of ordinary subjects, and are
seldom considered any further unless called to the succes¬
sion upon failure of the nearer lines. For though collateral
consanguinity is regarded indefinitely with respect to inhe¬
ritance or succession, yet it is, and can only be, regarded
within some certain limits in any other respect, by the na¬
tural constitution of things and the dictates of positive law.
By statute 12 Geo. III., c. 11, no descendant of the body
of George II. other than the issue of princesses married
into foreign families, is capable of contracting matrimony
without the previous consent of the king signified under the
great seal; and any marriage contracted without such a
consent is void. It is provided, however, that such of the
said descendants as are not above twenty-five, may, after a
twelvemonth’s notice given to the king’s Privy Council, con¬
tract and solemnize marriage without the consent of the
crown, unless both houses of Parliament shall, before the
expiration of the said year, expressly declare their disappro¬
bation of such intended marriage; and all persons solem¬
nizing, assisting, or being present at any such prohibited
marriage, shall incur the penalties of the statute of prae¬
munire.
Royal Oak, a fair spreading tree at Boscobel, in the
parish of Donnington in Staffordshire, the boughs of which
were once covered with ivy, in the thick of which King
Charles II. sat in the day-time with Colonel Careless, and
in the night lodged in Boscobel Flouse. They are mis¬
taken who speak of it as an old hollow oak, it being then a
gay flourishing tree, surrounded with many more. Its poor
remains were fenced in with a handsome wall, with this in¬
scription in gold letters: Felicissimam arhorem quam in
asylum potentissimi regis Caroli 11. Deus op. max. per
quern reges regnant, hie crescere voluit.
ROYER-COLLARD, Pierre Paul, a philosopher and
statesman of France, who, by his noble character even
ROY
Royer- more than by his writings, merited the esteem of his con-
Collard. temporaries, over whom he exercised a great influence,
was born on the 22d of June 1763, at Somepuis, near
Yitry-le-Franpais. Having received his elementary educa¬
tion at a school of which his maternal uncle was the supe¬
rior, he, at the age of twenty, became a member of the bar
in Paris. On the breaking out of the Revolution he em¬
braced the reform doctrines, and attached himself, with all
the ardour of his nature, to the principles of that strange
time. On the taking of the Bastille he was chosen a
member of the first organized municipality, and he remained
secretary to that body to the 10th of August 1792. Royer-
Collard, with the quick sagacity of his nature, saw that no
bounds were to be set to the rage of the predominant re¬
volutionists, and he resolved, while there was yet time, to re¬
trace his steps. He accordingly separated himself for ever
from the fierce and fiery revolutionists, and joined the mo¬
derate monarchical party. In 1797, perceiving the absolute
impossibility of establishing in France a republican form of
government, he put himself in communication with the
members of the royalist committee established in Paris.
When Napoleon was elevated to the empire, the royalist
agents disappeared, and Royer-Collard, renouncing politics,
devoted himself entirely to the study of literature and phi¬
losophy. He meditated deeply on Pascal, Corneille, Bos-
suet, and Racine; he read and re-read La Bruyere, and he
studied Milton without ceasing. Thucydides was the book
of his old age, and Plato the book of his entire life. The
philosophes of the eighteenth century, with their eternal cry
about Sensationalism, and its competency to explain all
human knowledge, he profoundly disbelieved; but as yet
he saw no genuine guidance from that dreary desolation in
which these savans would have immersed him. There
chanced to meet his eye one day, on a bookseller’s stall, a
volume which he felt a strong desire to read. He bought
the book, and went straight home to peruse the Inquiry
into the Human Mind on the Principles of Common Sense
of Dr Thomas Reid. Charmed with the sagacity of the
Scottish philosopher, he procured his Intellectual Powers.;
and these, as well as his Active Powers, afforded him the
food he was in search of. From that day Reid became a
household word among the philosophers of France, and
before many years Jouffroy presented the CEuvres de Reid
to the French public. Kant, Descartes, Plato, and Schel-
ling, the other philosophers to whom modern French eclec-
% tiqsm owes its origin, had not been as yet expounded to
the French students by M. Cousin. Royer-Collard em¬
braced, accordingly, the spiritualism of Reid, and with no
very profound philosophical reading commenced in 1810 to
expound him. “ That distinguished philosopher [Royer-
Collard],” says Sir William Hamilton, “ has, however, placed
too great a reliance upon the accuracy of Reid.” (Reid’s
Works, p. 262.) He had been appointed professor of his¬
tory and of philosophy at the normal school; and in 1813
he delivered a remarkable discourse upon philosophical
studies, which was destined to be his last. The events of
1814 came to carry off this earnest philosopher from his
admiring pupils of the normal school. The following year
he was chosen deputy of the Marne, was made a councillor
of state, director of the library, and president of the com¬
mission of public instruction. In these various depart¬
ments he reformed abuses, introduced important changes
and ameliorations; and so popular had he become, that in
1827 no fewer than seven colleges chose him at once as
their deputy. The same year he was admitted a member
of the French Academy in the room of the great geometer
Laplace. He led the discussion on the constitution in the
Chamber of Peers in 1831 ; and after the triumph of the
coalition in 1839 he finally retired from public life. Royer-
Collard, after spending an honourable career both as a
philosopher and as a statesman, died at Chateauvieux, near
VOL. XIX.
It O Y 457
Saint-Aignan, on the 2d September 1845, in his eighty- Royle
second year. His philosophical papers will be found pub- I)
lished in his Fragments. Rubens.
ROYLE, John Forbes, a distinguished botanist, was Vs,^v'^/
born in the year 1799, and was educated for the medi¬
cal profession at London under Dr Anthony Todd Thom¬
son. Entering the service of the East India Company,
he applied himself to the study of the botany of Hindus¬
tan. For this object the superintendentship of the bo¬
tanic gardens at Saharunpore afforded him many facilities.
The greatest diligence was employed in making a collec¬
tion of plants. Their medicinal properties especially were
investigated. Other natural products were likewise exa¬
mined by his all-observant eye. The result of all these
labours were published on his return to England in a work
entitled Illustrations of the Botany and other Branches of
the Natural History of the Himalaya Mountains. The
rest of Dr Royle’s life after his settlement in London was
characterised by great and multifarious activity. He dis¬
charged till 1856 the professorship of materia medica in
King’s College. A Manual of Materia Medica and other
separate works were published by him. Several papers
from his pen were contributed to the Penny Cyclopaedia
and to Kitto’s Dictionary of the Bible. Above all, it was
his great aim to bring the natural history of Hindustan be¬
fore the public. He published a work On the Productive
Resources of India in 1840, and another On the Fibrous
Plants of India in 1855. He read before the British
Association papers On the Cultivation of Cotton, On the
Cultivation of Tea in the East Indies, and on other kindred
subjects. He also took an active part in arranging the
Indian department in the Great Exhibition of 1851. Dr
Royle, at the time of his death, on January 2, 1858, was a
fellow of the Royal Linnaean and Geological societies.
ROYSTON, a market-town of England, on the borders
of Cambridgeshire and Hertfordshire, in a bleak country, in
the midst of downs, 13 miles S.S.W. of Cambridge. It has
a fine modern market-house, a church that once belonged
to a priory of St Augustine, places of worship for Inde¬
pendents and Unitarians, several schools of various kinds,
and a mechanics’ institute, provided with a library. Be¬
neath the market-house was discovered in 1742 a curious
old cavern, cut out in the chalk of the district, in the shape
of a bell, and curiously carved. Malting, brewing, &c., form
the occupations of the inhabitants ; and there is some trade
in corn. Pop. (1851) 2061.
ROYTON, a village of England, Lancashire, in a deep
valley, 2 miles N. of Oldham. The streets are regular and
the houses well built, so as to have given the place of late
years much of the aspect of a town. It has a chapel be¬
longing to the Established Church, places of worship for
Independents, Methodists, and Quakers; as well as a na¬
tional school. Cotton and flannel are made here; and the
coal-pits and quarries in the vicinity employ many of the
inhabitants. Pop. 6974.
RSHEV-WLADIMIROV, a town of European Rus¬
sia, capital of a circle in the government of Twer, on the
Volga, 74 miles W.S.W. of Twer. It is well built, and
contains many churches, schools, and benevolent institu¬
tions. Gardening, ship-building, and harness-making are
carried on here; and there is an active trade in the produce
of the surrounding country. Pop. (1855) 16,139.
RUBBER, India. See Caoutchouc.
RUBENS, Sir Peter Paul, the most distinguished
painter of the Flemish school, was the fourth son and sixth
child of John Rubens, a lawyer of some celebrity, and
Maria Pypelincx, and was born at Siegen on the 29th of
June 1577. As this was the festival of St Peter and St
Paul, the parents agreed that their infant son should bear
the name of those illustrious saints. The family re-settled
at Cologne the next year after the birth of Peter Paul,
3 M
458
Rubens.
RUBENS.
where they afterwards resided until the death of his father,
which occurred on the 18th of March 1587. On the fol¬
lowing year his mother, after an exile of twenty years from
her hereditary abode, resolved to return to Antwerp, which
had in 1585, after a twelvemonth’s siege, surrendered to
the dominion of Spain. The future painter who was now
ten years of age, probably left Cologne with some boyish
regrets ; for in speaking of it afterwards in a letter dated
15th July 1637, he says,—“ I have a great affection for the
city of Cologne, where I was brought up until I was ten
years of age/’ Rubens commenced his studies with ardour
on reaching Antwerp, and seems to have prosecuted them
with very marked success. His mother placed him with
the Countess of Lalaing as page ; but this was much too
frivolous an occupation for Peter Paul, and, retuining to
his mother very shortly after, beseeched her to allow him
to become a painter. As the boy had displayed great
quickness in the acquisition of knowledge, and particularly
in the department of languages, his mother and guardians
had destined him to follow the profession of his father.
He had certainly displayed quite an uncommon talent for
drawing, however ; and this peculiar gift, combined with his
earnest5solicitations, and also with the melancholy fact, that
the family fortune had been very much reduced by the late
wars, induced his mother, although it must have been some¬
what galling to the maternal pride, to place young Rubens,
then in his thirteenth year, with Tobias Verhaeght, or more
correctly Van Hseght, a skilful landscape-paintei, where he
might acquire the rudiments of his art. He icmained but
a short time with his first master, and subsequently joined
the historical painter Adam Van Noort, or Oort, as notori*
ous for his dissolute life as he was distinguished for his
exquisite colouring. Rubens suffered his vulgar habits
and churlish disposition for a considerable time ; but human
patience gave wav at last, and he was compelled to leave
him. He now, in his nineteenth year, had recourse to
Otto Van Veen, usually known as Otto Venius, “the
Flemish Raphael,” then court painter to the Infanta
Isabella and her husband the Archduke Albert. Here
Rubens, for the first time, found all that he most desired.
His master was a man of gentle and polished manners,
very willing, and thoroughly capable of giving instructions
both in the scientific knowledge and in the minor details of
the painter’s art. The progress of Rubens during this period
was quite unexampled ; and in 1600, when he had hardly
completed his twenty-third year, Venius advised him to
proceed to Italy, and generously presented him to the
Archduke Albert and the Infanta, who furnished him with
letters of recommendation to smooth his way to that land
of art. He had already executed (Descamps, Les Vies des
Paintres, i., p. 323) several pictures of considerable value;
among others, the “ Adoration of the Three Kings,” a
“Holy Trinity,” and a “Dead Christ.”
On the 9th of May 1600 Rubens set out for Italy, and
made Venice his first halting-place. Here he studied and
copied the works of Titian, Paul Veronese, and other
eminent masters who were likely to assist him in the culti¬
vation of his decided faculty for colour. While busily
occupied with these engagements, he became known to
Vincenzio II. de Gonzaga, Duke of Mantua, a distinguished
patron of literature and the fine arts, who, upon his pre¬
senting his letters of recommendation from the archduke,
appointed him gentleman of the chamber and court painter.
This distinction was precisely what Rubens needed, for it
afforded him leisure to study the immense collection of art
treasures in Mantua, where the spirited and beautiful com¬
positions of Giulio Romano, and the severe dignity of
Andrea Mantegna, seem particularly to have delighted him.
Returning from Rome, whither he had gone upon a short
visit, he was employed by the Duke of Mantua in 1605
upon a political mission to Philip III. of Spain. It is
obvious that Rubens, besides possessing splendid talents as
a painter, must have likewise displayed no ordinary degree
of culture, combined with wonderful politeness of manners
and refinement of address, ere he could have gained the
entire confidence and good-will of the Duke Vincenzio.
But Rubens was a man of genius, and, as Sir Dudley
Carlton styled him in 1618, he was “the prince of painters
and of gentlemen.” Very handsome and dignified in his
person, with a fine complexion, glossy brown hair, eyes of
“a golden embrownment,” that beamed with a softened
fire, a captivating manner, and an agreeable voice ; with a
sound and clear intellect, with a splendid imagination that
much study had enriched and controlled, with a fine turn
for humour, and with the most complete self-command,—is
it to be wondered at that he almost enchanted those with
Rubens.
whom he came in contact? and is it strange that the Duke
Vincenzio was among the number ? Nor did his mission
to Madrid belie the duke’s sagacity. He was received
with all the grace accorded to an ambassador, and with all
the interest attendant on a splendid artist. He painted
portraits of the king, many of the Spanish nobles, besides
numerous historical pieces. His mission fulfilled, he re¬
turned again to Mantua, and persuaded the duke to allow
him again to visit Rome. While in the Eternal City he
copied the principal paintings of the great masters, and
executed three pictures for his former patron the Archduke
Albert, designed to adorn the church of Santa Croce della
Gerusalemme. In the beginning of the year 1607 he left
Rome, and proceeded first to Milan and afterwards to
Genoa, where his fame having preceded him, he was re¬
ceived in the most princely manner by the nobles and first
men of the city. The beauty of the place, the mildness
of the climate, and the great courtesy of the inhabitants,
induced him to prolong his stay. Here he painted two of
his best works for the church of the Jesuits, besides mak¬
ing numerous drawings and plans of the pompous palaces
and fantastic buildings of the city, a collection which he
subsequently engraved at Antwerp, and published under
the title of Palazzi antichi di Genova, raccolti e designati
da Pietro Paolo Rubens, 1622, 2 vols. large folio, with
139 copperplates.
Rubens was interrupted in his interesting studies in the
month of November 1608 by the alarming intelligence
of his mother’s serious illness. He hastened to Antwerp,
but before he arrived she was dead. Overwhelmed with
grief, he withdrew to the abbey of St Michael, and there
he remained for four months in the deepest seclusion,
pouring out his woes upon his canvas, with nothing to con¬
sole him but his pencil and a few choice books. Strange
that this man, who had just captivated courts by the
splendour of his presence, and won their admiration by
the dazzling qualities of his genius, should here, on the
death of a woman of seventy, immure bimself within the
walls of an abbey, and spend four weary months in quite
unavailing tears. We must recollect that this aged per¬
son was his own mother, dearer to him then than all else^
the world knew, and that Rubens carried the qualities of
genius in his heart as well as in his head. 1 hat genius is
always saturated with the moral nature of a man is no less
true than that the moral nature of Rubens was superlatively
fine. After raising a tomb to the memory of his mother,
he resolved to set out for Mantua ; but the Archduke
Albert would not hear of his leaving Flanders. He was
sent for to attend upon the court at Brussels, received a
pension, and was made court painter. He was accordingly
persuaded to remain in his native land ; and to avoid the
distractions of a court in the prosecution of his high de¬
signs, he asked permission to choose Antwerp as his place
of residence, a request that was readily granted him. He
accordingly settled down in that ancient city; and on the
13th of October 1609 he was married, in the abbey church
RUB
Rubens, of St Michael, to Isabella Brant, daughter of a magistrate
■—of Antwerp. By this wife Rubens had two children:
Albert and Nicolas, to the former of whom the Archduke
stood sponsor, and gave him his own name. As a still further
promotion of his comfort and happiness, he, in 1610, built a
princely house after the Italian style, from designs of his
own, and adorned its walls with those priceless works of the
great masters which he had collected in Italy. Rubens,
who was exceedingly regular and temperate in his habits,
had great powers of application. As he prosecuted his art
he had always a person employed to read to him from some
favourite classical author. The writers which delighted
him most were Livy, Plutarch, Cicero, and Seneca. His
excellent acquaintance with the Latin, besides other modern
languages, must have been of singular advantage to him.
All the towns of the Netherlands, all the cities of Italy,
rivalled each other in their eagerness to possess pictures
from the pencil of this rising Flemish master. Envy, that
invariable shadow of greatness, projected its sombre out¬
line occasionally over the figure of Rubens ; but, turning
on it with his gay humour and merry laugh, it swiftly slunk
off to the halls of Orcus and old Night. It was about this
time that, solicited by an English alchemyst, named Brendel,
for money to aid him in his pursuit of the philosopher’s
stone,—“ You are come,” said Rubens, taking him into his
study, “ twenty years too late; for it was then with this
palette and these brushes that I found the philosopher’s
stone.” It would have been well for Vandyck if he had
listened to this advice, who allowed himself to be robbed
of a great part of his fortune by these silly projects of the
gold-seeker.
One of the first compositions of Rubens on his settling
at Antwerp was an altar-piece for the private chapel of
the archduke, representing “ A Holy Family and art-
critics are agreed that of all his pictures of this class,
this “ Holy Family” bears away the palm. It was so
much admired that the members of the fraternity of St
Ildefonso had an altar-piece painted by Rubens for the
chapel of the order of St James on the Caudenberg, near
Brussels, which was one of the most admirable paintings
that ever came from his hands. As a fine specimen of the
strongly-marked outlines, glowing colouring, and careful
execution with which he handled portraits at this period,
there is the celebrated picture in the Munich gallery re¬
presenting himself and his wife. The free, brilliant, and
fantastic style of his later years is hardly at all perceptible
in this admirable picture. Such works as “ The Descent
from the Cross,” executed for the Antwerp Arquebussiers
as an indemnification for a threatened lawsuit, raised the
painter’s reputation to the very highest pitch ; and Marie
de Medicis, the widowed queen of France, wishing to adorn
the Luxemburg palace, chose Rubens, in preference to all
other artists of his day, to perform this great undertaking.
He executed twenty-one compositions for this Luxemburg
gallery, besides a series of portraits in his own studio at
Antwerp. In this great enterprise he received material
aid from his pupils and assistants, many of whom subse¬
quently rose to eminence in their profession. The most
celebrated among Ins pupils were Vandyck, David Teniers,
and Jacob Jordaens; and the most distinguished of his
assistants, who usually painted backgrounds, animals, and
other accessories, were Snyders, Wildens, and Van Uden.
This work completed, probably with too great haste (for
the taste of some of the representations is very questionable,
and disagreeably Flemish), the queen and her court at
Paris testified their high approbation. Rubens, having
made the acquaintance of the Duke of Buckingham at
Paris, that nobleman bought from him the whole of his
collection of works of art tor the sum of 100,000 florins,
or L. 10,000. On the 29th of September 1626 Rubens
lost his wife ; and to divert his mind from this heavy
E N S. 459
domestic affliction he undertook a journey to Holland, and Rubens,
visited all the painters of note under the guidance of young
Joachim Sandrart.
In 1627 Rubens laid aside his brush and palette for a
time, and engaged in a delicate political mission to the court
of Spain in behalf of his country. His stay at Madrid
being somewhat protracted, he found leisure to execute
several excellent pictures. It was on occasion of this visit
to the Spanish capital that Rubens made the acquaintance
of the youthful Velasquez, with whom he had previously cor¬
responded. It was this “ Spanish Vandyck” who escorted
Rubens through the art treasuries of the Escorial, and with
whom, during his stay in Spain, the great Fleming spent
many happy hours. Philip IV. of Spain made him
secretary to the Privy Council, an office which in 1630 was
granted in reversion to his son Albert by letters-patent,
and he returned to Brussels with entire success. He had
not long been in the Netherlands when occasion was found
in 1629 for another diplomatic mission to the English court.
Rubens set out as the herald of peace from the courts of
Spain and Flanders, and on his arrival in London received
a most gracious reception from Charles I. His splendid
artistic genius, his cultivated intellect, his refined manners,
all contributed to win the regard and admiration of the
king. Meanwhile, he painted an allegory of the blessings
of peace and war, a “ St George and the Dragon,” and
an “Assumption of the Virgin” wdiich he presented to
the king. He was likewise commissioned to paint the
allegorical history of James I. for the banqueting-hall,
Whitehall, an engagement which he executed on his return
to Antwerp, completed them in 1634, and sent them to Eng
land in 1635. (Sainsbury’s Rubens, p. 184.) He likewise
received the honorary distinction of M.A. from the univer¬
sity of Cambridge in the month of September 1629. The
tedious negotiations with Cottington being brought to a
close, the ambassador prepared for taking leave. Before
doing so, however, the king, to mark the distinguished
opinion which he entertained of the great artist, had him
knighted in Whitehall, presented him with the royal sword,
and attaching the regal portrait to a rich gold chain, sus¬
pended it round the neck of Sir Peter Paul Rubens.
Thus loaded with honours, the ambassador sailed away,
and returning probably by way of Madrid (see Sainsbury’s
Original Papers relating to Rubens, London, 1859), where
he had renewed favours heaped upon him, he presented
himself to the Infanta Isabella at Brussels, who gave him
a most gracious reception. On the 6th of December
1630, Rubens, then in his fifty-fourth year, married Helena
Forman or Fourment, his niece, a girl of sixteen, and pos¬
sessed, according to all accounts, of remarkable beauty.
Her portrait, which served him frequently as a model, is
found in many of his historical pieces. Returning to
Antwerp in 1631, Rubens again resumed his favourite
occupation with renewed vigour. He was made director
of the School of Art there, and on his installation pre¬
sented the academy with a beautiful picture of the “ Virgin
with the infant Jesus and Joseph.” The studio of Rubens
now presented a most animated scene. The most con¬
siderable princes of Europe vied with each other in obtain¬
ing works from the hand of the great Fleming; and in
order to gratify these crowned heads, he contented himsell
with merely superintending the execution of his pictures,
and by putting the finishing touches to the whole. This
circumstance must materially detract from the individuality
of those paintings, however it may have astonished the
recipients of them at the time. His artistic occupations
were again interrupted in 1633 by another diplomatic
embassy to Holland. The treaty of peace was suddenly
cut short by the death of his patron, the Infanta Isabella,
in 1633, who had survived her husband upwards of ten
years. In 1635 the busy hand of the painter, that for long
460
RUB
Rubinsk years had seldom been stayed, was now destined to receive
|| a severe check, reminding him in the most emphatic man-
Ruddiman. flgi* that he must take in his canvas and prepare for the
coming storm. He was attacked by fits of the gout, which
frequently assailing his hands, rendered him quite incapable
of lifting his brush. He now confined himself to small
landscapes, many of which he finished at his country resi¬
dence at Stein, near Mechlin. He lingered on for the
next five years, the fits of his disorder becoming more fre¬
quent and violent, till, in the beginning of 1640, he fell a
victim to this torturing malady in the sixty-third year of
his age. Thus was lost to the world, not at a very mature
age, one of the very greatest men whom it had known.
“ Rubens,” says Smith in his Catalogue Raisonne of the
Works of Eminent Painters, “ possessed a more universal
genius, a more extensive knowledge of all the principles
of the art, and a greater power in the practice of them,
than any other painter who has hitherto existed.” (For a
critical estimate of the paintings of Rubens, the reader is
referred to the articles. Arts, Fine; and Painting. See
also Original Papers relating to Rubens, by Sainsbury,
London 1859; Waagen’s Zifo of Rubens, 1840; Michel,
Histoire de la Vie de P. P. Rubens, 1854 ; Michiels,
Rubens et VEcole d’Anvers, 1854.) (j. d—s.)
RUBINSK, or Rybinsk, a town of European Russia,
capital of a circle of the same name, in the government
and 52 miles W.N.W. of Jaroslav, at the confluence of the
Rubinska with the Volga. It is one of the chief river-
ports in the empire, and the great central point of the
inland trade of Russia: the great canals which unite
the waters of the Baltic, the White, and the Caspian
seas join in its vicinity. It has two cathedrals, besides
five other churches, several schools and benevolent institu¬
tions, a good stone quay, and seven bridges. There is a
large market-place, where an annual market is held for a
fortnight in June and July. There are linen factories,
spinning- mills, tanneries, and other establishments. Grain
is here the staple of commerce. Goods are transferred at
Rubinsk from the larger to the smaller vessels that navi¬
gate the Volga, or vice versa. Pop. (1855) 8751.
RUBRIC (Lat. ruber, red), in the canon law, signifies a
title or article in certain ancient law-books, and which was
so called because written, as the rules and regulations in the
ancient liturgies are, in red letters.
RUBY. See Mineralogy.
RUDDER. See Ship-Building.
RUDDIMAN, Thomas, one of the most eminent gram¬
marians which Scotland has produced, was the son of a
farmer, and was born in October 1674 at Raggel, in the
parish of Boyndie and county of Banff. Ruddiman was in¬
structed in the principles of Latin grammar at the parish
school of Boyndie, where he made astonishing progress.
The first book which charmed the opening mind of Ruddi¬
man was Ovid’s Metamorphoses ; nor did he cease to relish
the beauties of this author when his judgment was mature,
for during the rest of his life Ovid was his favourite poet.
At the age of sixteen he became anxious to pursue his
studies at the university ; but his father, thinking him too
young, opposed his inclination. Hearing of the competi¬
tion trial which was annually held at King’s College, Aber¬
deen, for a certain number of bursaries on the foundation
of that university, Ruddiman’s ambition was kindled. With¬
out the knowledge of his father, and with only a single
guinea in his pocket, which his sister had privately given
him, he set out for that place. On the road he was met by
a company of gipsies, who robbed him of his coat, his shoes,
his stockings, and his guinea. But this misfortune did not
damp his enterprising spirit. He continued his journey to
Aberdeen, presented himself before the professors as a can¬
didate, and, though he had neither clothes to give him a
decent appearance nor friends to recommend him, he gained
R U D
the first prize. After attending the university for four years, Ruddiman,
he obtained the degree of Master of Arts, an honour of which
he was always proud.
Ruddiman was soon after engaged as a tutor to the son
of Mr Robert Young of Auldbar, the great-grandson of Sir
Peter Young, who under the direction of Buchanan had
been preceptor of James VI. His income here must have
been very small, or his situation unpleasant, for within a
year he accepted the office of schoolmaster in the parish of
Laurencekirk. When Ruddiman had spent three years and
a half in this employment, the celebrated Dr Pitcairne
happening to pass through Laurencekirk, was detained in
that village by a violent storm. Pitcairne wanting amuse¬
ment, inquired at the hostess if she could procure any
agreeable companion to bear him company at dinner. She
replied that the schoolmaster, though young, was said to be
learned, and, though modest, she was sure he could talk.
Pitcairne was delighted with the conversation and learning
of his new companion, invited him to Edinburgh, and pro¬
mised him his patronage.
When Ruddiman arrived in Edinburgh he was appointed
assistant-keeper of the Advocate’s Library under Mr Spot-
tiswoode, the principal librarian. His salary for executing
this laborious office was L.8, 6s. 8d. He managed to eke
out this small allowance by giving private lessons in Latin,
and by preparing the Introductio of Sir Robert Sibbald,
and Sir Robert Spottiswoode’s Practiques, for the press.
In 1707 he commenced auctioneer, an employment not
very suitable to the dignified character of a man of letters.
But to this occupation he was probably impelled by neces¬
sity. Ruddiman had a family, and seems to have been a
stranger to that foolish pride which has seduced some lite¬
rary men into the opinion, that it is more honourable to
starve than have recourse to an occupation which men of
rank and opulence are accustomed to despise. The same
year he published an edition of Voluseni de Animi Tran-
quillitate Dialogus, to which hq, prefixed the life of Volu-
senus. Volusenus or Wilson was a learned Scotchman,
and had the honour to be patronized by Cardinal Wolsey.
In 1709 he published Johnstoni Cantici Solomonis Para¬
phrasis Poetica, and Johnstoni Cantica with notes, which
he dedicated in verse to his friend and patron Dr Pitcairne.
The philological talents of Ruddiman were next directed
to a more important object, in which they became more
conspicuous and useful. Freebairne the bookseller pro¬
posed to publish a new edition of the Scottish translation
of Virgil’s AEneid by Gawin Douglas, Bishop of Dunkeld.
Of the contributions which some eminent characters of the
age presented, the most valuable were supplied by Ruddi¬
man. He corrected the work and wrote the glossary ; and
there is strong reason to believe that he was the author ot
the forty-two general rides for assisting the reader to un¬
derstand the language of Douglas. To those who wish to
be acquainted with the ancient language of this island the
glossary will be a treasure, as it forms a compendious dic¬
tionary of the Anglo-Saxon. The reputation ot Ruddiman
had now extended to a distance. He was invited by the
magistrates of Dundee to be rector of the grammar-school
of that town ; but the faculty of advocates, anxious to re¬
tain him, augmented his salary to L.30, 6s. 8d. sterling, and
he declined the offer. In 1711 he assisted Bishop Sage in
publishing Drummond of Hawthornden’s works, and per¬
formed the same favour to Dr Abercrombie, who was then
preparing for the press his Martial Achievements. In 1713
he was deprived of his friend Dr Pitcairne. On this occa¬
sion he testified all the respect which friendship could inspire
to the memory of his deceased patron and his surviving
family. He composed Pitcairne’s epitaph, and conducted
the sale of his library, which was disposed of to Peter the
Great of Russia.
In 1714 the Rudiments of the Latin Tongue were pub-
R U D
Huddiman. lished. Eighteen or nineteen Latin grammars, composed
^ by Scotchmen, had appeared before this period ; yet such
is the intrinsic value of this little treatise that it soon super¬
seded all other books on the subject. It has also been
translated into various other languages. He was next called
upon to publish the works of Buchanan. The value of
these he enhanced by an elaborate preface, his Tabula Re¬
gum Scotice Chrojiologica, and Proprium Nominum Inter-
pretatio. Ruddiman also added a learned dissertation, en¬
titled De Metris Ruchananceis Libellus, and subjoined an¬
notations, critical and political, on the history of Scotland.
As he espoused the cause of Queen Mary, he raised against
himself a host of enemies. He had now been so long ac¬
customed to superintend the press that he was led to form
the plan of erecting a printing-office himself. Accordingly,
in the year 1715 he commenced printer, in partnership with
his brother Walter, who had been regularly bred to the
business; and some years afterwards he was appointed
printer to the university, along with James Davidson, book¬
seller. The first literary society formed in Scotland was
instituted in the year 1718. Ruddiman and the masters of
the High School had the honour to be the founders of it.
They were afterwards joined by Lord Kames.
In 1725 was published the first part of his Grammaticce
Latince Institutiones, which treated of etymology. The
second part, which explained the nature and principles
of syntax, appeared in 1731. Of this work he published
an abridgment, to which he subjoined an extract on prosody.
Ruddiman next engaged in the management of a news¬
paper, an employment for which his genius and industry
seemed to render him well qualified. But those who should
expect either much information or amusement from this
publication would perhaps be greatly disappointed. The
newspaper which he conducted was the Caledonian Mer¬
cury, and was established in 1720 by William Rolland, a
lawyer. This paper continued in the family of Ruddiman
till the year 1772, when it was sold by the trustees of his
grandchildren. After the death of Spottiswoode, Ruddi¬
man was appointed keeper of the Advocate’s Library, though
without any increase of salary. On the 1st of October
1735 it appeared, from an exact statement of his affairs,
that he was worth L.1882, 5s. 2d. sterling ; and on the 20th
of May the ensuing year his wealth had increased to
L.1985, 6s. 3d. sterling. In 1710 he had valued his effects
at L.24, 14s. 9d. sterling. In 1739 he published Selectus
Diplomatum et Numismatum Scotice Thesaurus. This
work was projected and begun by Anderson, and hence
called Anderson’s Diplomata, but was finished by Ruddi¬
man. The preface, which is an excellent commentary on
Anderson’s performance, was written by Ruddiman, and
displays a greater extent of knowledge than any of his other
productions. He retired to the country during the summer
of 1745 ; and whilst his fellow-citizens were spilling each
other’s blood, he was more happily engaged in writing
Critical Observations on Burmanrts Commentaries on
Lucan's Pharsalia.
During the last seventeen years of his life Ruddiman
was almost incessantly engaged in controversy. To this
he was in some measure compelled by the violent attacks
which some critics of the times had successively made upon
his works. He died at Edinburgh on the 19th of January
1757, in the eighty-third year of his age, and was buried
in the Greyfriars churchyard, without any monument to
distinguish his grave. He was three times married, but left
behind him only one daughter, Alison, who was married in
1747 to Mr James Stewart. He is supposed to have died
worth L.3000 sterling.
He was of the middle size, of a thin and straight make,
and had eyes remarkably piercing. Of his talents and learn¬
ing his works afford the most satisfactory proofs. His
memory was tenacious and exact; and he was so great a
RUE 461
master in the Latin language that he has been equalled by Ruding
none since the days of Buchanan. Ruddiman has left a cha¬
racter unstained by vice, and distinguished by many virtues. Rue.
RUDING, Rogers, a great authority on the national /
coinage, was born in Leicestershire in 1751, and was
educated for the church at Merton College, Oxford. After
settling down in 1793 as vicar of Maldon and Chessington
in Surrey, he became engrossed with antiquarian researches.
In the course of these studies his attention was particularly
directed to the subject of the coinage. He saw its imper¬
fections and its evils, and he resolved to try if he could
bring about a remedy. His first attempt was a work pub¬
lished in 1798, and entitled A Proposal for restoring the
Ancient Constitution of the Mint so far as relates to the ex¬
pense of Coinage ; together with a Plan for the Improve¬
ment of Money, and for increasing the difficulty of Coun¬
terfeiting. This was followed up by the commencement of
a more thorough effort. All his antiquarian lore and power
of investigation were employed to lay bare the abuse, from
its origin to its latest development. In an accurate and
minute survey, he showed how the imperfections of the
coinage arose and were continued, how it became easy to
counterfeit, how vain were the severest penalties enacted
against forgery, and how that crime might be prevented
by counteracting and weakening the temptation. The book
was completed and published in 1817, in 4 volumes, 4to,
under the name of Annals of the Coinage of Britain and
its Dependencies, from the earliest period of authentic his¬
tory to the end of the fiftieth year of his present Majesty
King George III. A second edition was soon afterwards
issued, comprising a continuation of the history down to the
year 1818. Ruding, at his death in 1820, was a fellow of
the Society of Antiquaries. He had also been a contributor
on the subject of coins to the Gentleman's Magazine.
RUDOLSTADT, the capital of the principality of
Schwartzburg-Rudolstadt, in a valley on the left bank of
the Saale, 16 miles S. of Weimar. The castle of Heideks-
burg, where the prince resides, occupies the summit of a
hill, about 200 feet above the river, and contains some good
paintings and plaster casts. In the town are a theatre,
a museum of natural history, and several benevolent and
other establishments. Pop. 4000.
RUE, Charles de la, a French orator and poet, was
born at Paris in the year 1643. He was educated at the
college of the Jesuits, where he afterwards became profes¬
sor of humanity and rhetoric. At an early age his talent
for poetry disclosed itself. In 1667, when he was only
twenty-four years old, he composed a Latin poem on the
conquests of Louis XIV.; which was so much esteemed by
Corneille that he translated it into French, presented it to
the king, and at the same time passed so high encomiums
on the superior merit of the original that the author was
received into the favour of that monarch, and ever after
treated by him with singular respect. De la Rue, anxious
to preach the gospel to the Canadians, requested leave of
absence from his superiors ; but having destined him for the
pulpit, they refused to comply with his request. Accord¬
ingly he commenced preacher, and became one of the most
eminent orators of his age. In his discourses he would
probably have been too lavish of his wit if he had not been
cautioned against it by a judicious courtier. “ Continue,”
said the courtier, “ to preach as you do. We will hear you
with pleasure as long as you reason with us; but avoid wit.
We value the wit contained in two verses of a song more
than all that is contained in most of the sermons in Lent.”
De la Rue died at Paris on the 27th of May 1725, at the
advanced age of eighty-two. He was one of those who pub¬
lished editions of the classics for the use of the Dauphin.
Virgil, which fell to his share, was published, with notes and
a Life of the poet, in 1675, 4to, and is a valuable and useful
edition.
462 RUE
Rueil RUEIL, or Ruel, a town of France, in the department
II of Seine-et-Oise, on the Seine, at the foot of a vine-covered
Rufinus. hil]j cal]ed Mont Valerien, 4 miles N.E. of Versailles. It
' v ^ v ]ias a flne church, adorned with a portico and belfry, and
containing the remains of Hortense, once queen of Holland,
beside those of her mother, the Empress Josephine, whose
favourite residence, Malmaison, stands near Rueil. Pop.
4581.
RUFFO, Fabrizio, a famous soldier-cardinal, was born
of a noble family at Naples in 1744, and was educated for
the church. He gained a reputation at Rome as treasurer
of the pontifical chamber, and as a cardinal. He was also
well known in his native country as a courtier in 1798
when King Ferdinand I. fled to Sicily from before his re¬
publican subjects and the French. But his greatest fame
was achieved in the following year, when he undertook to
win back the kingdom of Naples to his sovereign. Landing
at Bagnara, a fief of his family, he raised the royal standard.
His hereditary influence in the district excited a favourable
feeling towards him. The dignity he held in the church,
and the large rewards he promised, completed the effect.
As he advanced through Calabria, he received recruits from
every village and town. “The army of the Holy Faith”
(as he called it) swelled until it became resistless in its
march. Some cities were driven to yield through very
terror. Others were taken by storm and pitilessly given
over to rapine and slaughter. His enterprise, thus victori¬
ously commenced, was soon facilitated by several favourable
circumstances. Bands of English, Turks, and Russians,
continued to augment his troops. The republicans were
kept engaged by other royalist leaders. The French
forces also were called to the north of Italy by pressing
emergencies. Accordingly, he was enabled to march to
the very walls of Naples without opposition. Nor did his
good fortune forsake him there. An insurrection in favour
of him arose within the town ; the republican party sur¬
rendered to him ; and on the 30th of June 1799 King Fer¬
dinand I. arrived in the bay on board of one of Nelson’s
ships. Cardinal Ruffo died at Naples in 1827.
RUFINUS, commonly called Toranus, was born about
the middle of the fourth century, probably at Concordia, a
town near the head of the Adriatic. At first he applied
himself to the belles lettres, and particularly to the study of
eloquence. To accomplish himself in this elegant art, he
removed to Aquileia, a town at that time so celebrated that
it was called a second Rome. Having made himself ac¬
quainted with the polite literature of the age, he withdrew
into a monastery, where he devoted himself to the study of
theology. Whilst thus occupied, Jerome happened to pass
through Aquileia. Rufinus formed an intimate friendship
with him; but, to his inexpressible grief, he was soon de¬
prived of the company of his newr friend, who continued his
travels through France and Germany, and then set out for
the East. Accordingly, he embarked for Egypt in the train
of Melania, a devout Roman matron ; and having visited
the hermits who inhabit the deserts of that country, he re¬
paired to Alexandria to hear the renowned Didymus. The
sanctity of his manners soon obtained the confidence of
Melania, which continued without interruption during their
residence in the East, a period of nearly thirty years.
The Arians, who swayed the ecclesiastical sceptre in the
reign of Valens, persecuted Rufinus with great cruelty.
They threw him into a dungeon, loaded him with fetters,
and, after almost starving him to death, banished him to
the deserts of Palestine. But from this exile he was re¬
lieved by the pecuniary aid of Melania, who employed her
wealth in ransoming those confessors who had been con¬
demned to prison or banishment. Jerome, supposing that
Rufinus would immediately proceed to Jerusalem, wrote
to one of his friends there congratulating him on the pro¬
spect of so illustrious a visitor. To Jerusalem he accord-
R U G
ingly proceeded, and having built a monastery on the Rugby.
Mount of Olives, he there assembled a great number ol
hermits, whom he animated to virtue by his exhortations.
He converted many to the Christian faith, and persuaded
more than four hundred hermits who had taken part in
the schism of Antioch to return to the church. He also
prevailed on many Macedonians and Arians to renounce
their errors.
His attachment to the opinions of Origen set him at va¬
riance with Jerome, who, being of a temper peculiarly
irritable, not only retracted all the praises which he had
lavished upon him, but loaded him with severe reproaches.
Their disputes, which were carried to a very indecent
height, tended to injure Christianity in the eyes of the
weak. Theophilus, their mutual friend, settled their differ¬
ences ; but the reconciliation was of short continuance.
Rufinus having embarked for Italy along with Melania, and
having published a translation of the principles of Origen
at Rome, was summoned to appear before Pope Anastasius.
He made a specious apology for not appearing, and sent a
vindication of his work, in which he attempted to prove that
certain errors of which Origen had been accused were
perfectly consistent with the opinions of the orthodox.
Jerome attacked Rufinus’s translation. Rufinus composed
an eloquent reply, in which he declared that he was only
the translator of Origen, and did not consider himself bound
to sanction all his errors. He subsequently retired to Aqui¬
leia ; but in 408 a.d. he again returned to Pinetum in Italy.
Most ecclesiastical historians say that Rufinus was excom¬
municated by Pope Anastasius; but for this no good evi¬
dence has been adduced. From Pinetum, being threatened
bv Alaric, he retired to Sicily, where he died in 410 A.D.
Rufinus has left seven original compositions and ten trans¬
lations from the Greek, while a number of his writings have
been lost. (For further information respecting Rufinus, the
reader may consult the elaborate work of Fontanini, Rome,
1742; and the more recent dissertation of Marzuttini,
Patav. 1835.)
RUGBY, a market-town of England, in the county of
Warwick, stands on a hill on the left bank of the Avon,
16 miles N.E. of Warwick and 83 N.W. of London.
Part of the town is old, and part recently erected; the
former somewhat irregular, and the latter consisting of
straight streets lined with good brick houses. The parish
church is an old building with a massive square tower.
There was at one time a castle in the vicinity, but only a
few traces of it are now to be seen. The chief importance
of the place is derived from its being the seat of one of the
great English public schools. This institution was founded
in 1567 by Lawrence Sherilf, a London tradesman and
native of Rugby. Its reputation as a place of education
dates from the act of Parliament regulating it, passed in
1777, and was raised to a still higher degree under Dr
Arnold, who, while head-master (1827-1842), effected
great improvements in Rugby school, which were subse¬
quently adopted in most of the other schools of England.
The amount of the endowment is estimated at L.5000 a
year, and the number of pupils averages 400. Ihere
are thirteen assistants under the head-master, and twenty-
one exhibitions to the universities, each of L.60 for seven
years. The buildings are of brick, in the Elizabethan
style, and form a quadrangle 90 feet by 75. In the chapel
are monuments to Dr Arnold and other celebrated masters
of the school. The town contains, besides the parish
church, two other Established churches ; also places of wor¬
ship belonging to Wesleyans, Baptists, and Roman Catho¬
lics ; parish and infant schools, various benevolent institu¬
tions, &c. Many of the inhabitants are employed in an iron
foundry, the only manufactory of any importance. The
trade is considerable, and several fairs are held for corn
and cattle. Rugby is the place of junction of several
Tt U G
Rugeley lines of railway, and thus occupies an important position in
|| the system of internal communication of the country.
Ruhnken. T[ie London and North-Western connects it on the one
v'—hand with the metropolis, and on the other with Liverpool,
Manchester, and the north ; while other lines diverge from
this point in different directions. A county court is held
in the town. Pop. 6317.
RUGELEY, or Rudgeley, a market-town of England,
in the county of Stafford, on the Trent, 7 miles N.W. of
Lichfield and 123 N.W. of London. It is irregularly laid
out; but the streets are clean, and the houses generally
neat and well built. The parish church still retains a
tower and chancel of considerable antiquity, but was al¬
most entirely re-built in 1822. The chancel is now used
as a school-room. The other churches in the town belong
to Independents and Roman Catholics. For education
there are here a grammar school, endowed, national, infant,
and other schools. The manufactures comprise hardware,
ropes, hats, agricultural implements, &c. Coal-pits are
worked in the neighbourhood; and several fairs are held in
the town. Pop. 3054.
RUGEN, the largest island of Germany, lies in the
Baltic and forms part of the Prussian monarchy, being in¬
cluded in the province of Pomerania. It is separated from
the mainland by a narrow channel varying from half a mile
to 2 miles in breadth, and has an area of 388 square miles.
Its outline is very irregular ; and as it is penetrated on all
sides with arms of the sea, it has the appearance of several
peninsulas joined together. Unlike the low coasts of the
neighbouring mainland, those of this island are, except in
the west, formed by steep chalk cliffs, and the whole bears
a considerable resemblance to the Isle of Wight. The
surface is varied with hill and dale, luxuriant woods and
wild ravines, and the scenery is very beautiful and romantic.
Many visitors resort hither in summer on account of the
beauty of the island and its advantages for sea-bathing.
The soil is fertile and well cultivated ; cattle are reared in
great numbers ; and the fisheries are very productive. In
the peninsula of Jasmund, on the eastern side of the
island, stands a large beech forest called the Stubbenitz,
which contains an oval lake, supposed to have been sacred
in heathen times to Hertha, the goddess of the earth and
patron deity of Riigen. There are also many sepulchral
mounds of large size in the island. Riigen was originally
independent of all the surrounding countries, under princes
of its own ; but in 1169 it was conquered by the Danish
king Waldemar L, who made these princes his vassals, and
on the extinction of their line gave lliigen as a fief to the
dukes of Pomerania. By the peace of Westphalia it was
ceded to Sweden, but in 1815 it was transferred to Prussia.
Pop. (1852) 43,525.
RUGENWALDE, a town of Prussia, province of
Pomerania, in the circle and 20 miles N.N.E. of Goslin, on
the right bank of the Wepper, not far above its mouth.
It is pretty well built, and has a castle, several churches,
public offices, and courts of law. rl he principal manufac¬
tures are sail-cloth, damask, linen and woollen fabrics;
bleaching and ship-building are also carried on. Riigen-
walde is resorted to as a watering-place, and is noted for
its smoked salmon and eels, in which a considerable trade
is carried on. Pop. 5067.
RUHNKEN, David, a classical critic of great eminence,
was born at Stolpe, in Prussian Pomerania, in the year
1723. Of the early part of his studies little is known, but
it appears that he was some time at Schlaff, from which he
removed to Konigsberg, where he met with the celebrated
philosopher Kant. He afterwards repaired to Gottingen,
to attend the lectures of Gesner, and to enlarge his know¬
ledge of the Greek language. Some time after this period
he formed an acquaintance with Ritter and Berger, whilst
he resided at Wittenberg, where he continued about two
R U H 463
years. His earliest production was a disputation De Galla Ruhnken.
Placidia Augusta (1743), daughter of Theodosius, and
the sister of Arcadius and Honorius. Under Berger he
studied Roman antiquities and eloquence ; under Ritter,
jurisprudence and history. He relinquished the study of
divinity, for which he was at first designed, and prevailed
with his parents to allow him to transfer his residence to
Leyden, where he arrived with recommendations to many
of the learned. He pursued his studies with avidity and
zeal, and accompanied Alberti in his visit to the Spa in
the year 1750. Hemsterhuis wishing to attach him to Hol¬
land, urged him to persevere in the study of the law, as
affording an additional chance of employment. I his advice,
he thought proper to follow, and published a translation of
some works of Theodorus, Stephanus, and other Greek
civilians. In the year 1755 he went to Paris, where Cap-
peronier, who was at that time keeper of the king’s library,
received him kindly. He now formed an acquaintance
with Dr Musgrave and Mr Tyrwhitt, who were there for
the purpose of examining the manuscripts of Euripides.
He had also formed the resolution of going to Spain ; but
Hemsterhuis recalled him, as he needed his assistance as
lecturer in the Greek tongue. In 1755 Ruhnken took
possession of his office, and read an excellent discourse Zte
Gracia Artium et Doctriniarum Inventrice. He was like¬
wise useful to Ernesti in his edition of Callimachus; and
in 1761 he succeeded Oudendorp as professor of history
and of eloquence, delivering an inaugural oration De Doc-
tore Umbratico. About a year after this event Ruhnken
was offered the chair of Gesner in the university of Got¬
tingen. This offer he, however, declined ; but, on his
recommendation, the office was very worthily bestowed
upon Heyne. In 1764 he married a beautiful Italian lady,
who about six years afterwards lost both her speech and
sight by a stroke of apoplexy. She had two daughters, one
of whom was afterwards blind. Ihe desire of Ruhnken to
do Ernesti a favour made him turn his attention to the
Memorabilia of Xenophon ; and he was led to examine
with particular attention the treatise of Longinus on the
Sublime. Hemsterhuis died in 1767, and Ruhnken, then
rector of the university, delivered a noble eulogium on his
friend and patron. It was subsequently published under
the title of Elogium Tiberii Hemsterhusii, 1768. In 1772
he prosecuted his new edition of Velleius Paterculus, and
prepared a second edition of his Epistola Critica, and a
collection of scholia on Plato. In the year 1768, he pub¬
lished a valuable tract De Vita et Scriptis Longini, in the
form of an academical dissertation, to which he prefixed the
name of one of his pupils. His Villeins Paterculus appeared
in 1779, and in 1780 Homer’s reputed hymn to Ceres.
In 1786 he published the first part of Apuleius, which had
been prepared by Oudendorp, and a new edition of his own
Timceus in 1789; and at the same time he collected and
published the works of Muretus, in 5 vols. 8vo. Both the
body and mind of Ruhnken were much weakened by do¬
mestic affliction; but he was in some measure relieved by
the satisfaction he felt at the dedication of Homer by Wolf,
although he was not of that writer’s opinion, that the works
of Homer were written by different authors. He sunk into
a kind of stupor on the 14th of May 1798, which in two
days put a period to his existence.
His knowledge and learning were immense, and he
was unquestionably one of the very greatest scholars of
the eighteenth century. He was lively, cheerful, and
gay, even to an extreme. Many posthumous honours
were conferred upon him, and a pension settled on his
unfortunate widow. When Wyttenbach took possession
of Ruhnken’s chair, he delivered a discourse on the early
age of Ruhnken, which he proposed as an example to
the Batavian youth who made the belles lettres their
study; and he afterwards wrote a Life of his master, Leyden,
464
R U L
RUN
Riilsk 1799. Ruhnken published an edition of his Discourses and
II. . Essays, in 2 vols., in 1797, which were subsequently edited
Rumili. jjy i3ergmann in 1823. His EpistolcB to Valckenaer and
others have been published at various periods.
RtJLSK, or Rylsk, a town of European Russia, in the
government of Kursk, on the Sem, 65 miles W. of Kursk.
It has five churches, several schools, a charitable institu¬
tion, some manufactures, and a considerable trade in vege¬
tables and fruit, which are raised in the vicinity. Pop.
(1855) 7070.
RUM. See Distillation.
RUM, an island of Scotland, one of the inner Hebrides,
belonging to the county of Inverness, and lying to the
S.W. of Mull; N. Eat. (of the western extremity) 57. 2.,
W. Long. 6. 25. Its form is somewhat irregular: greatest
length, 8 miles; breadth, 7^; circumference, about 20. The
surface is more rugged and mountainous than that of any
other of the Hebrides, there are hardly any valleys, and
few patches of verdure among the hills. In the centre are
a few fresh-water lakes, abounding in trout. A very small
part of its surface is cultivated. Pop. (1851) 162.
RUMFORD, Count. See Sixth Dissertation.
RUMILI, or Rumelia, a name that has been applied
at different periods, in a varying and sometimes vague man¬
ner, to various portions of the Turkish empire. The term,
which signifies the land of the Romans, seems to have been
originally applied by the Ottomans to the territories which
they conquered from the Eastern Empire. For this reason,
Asia Minor is generally known in the east under the name
of Rum. But the term Rumili has always been used to
designate some portion more or less extensive of European
Turkey. In its widest application it denotes the whole
country from the Danube and Save on the N., to the
Aegean Sea and Greek frontiers on the S., and from the
Black Sea on the E., to the Adriatic on the W., thus in¬
cluding the countries generally known as Bulgaria, Thrace,
Macedonia, Thessaly, Albania, Bosnia, and Servia. It is,
however, frequently used in a more limited sense, for the
southern portion only of this vast region corresponding
very nearly to the ancient Thrace, Macedonia, and Thessaly.
But in neither of these senses is Rumili a political division,
as the Turkish empire is now divided into eyalets totally
irrespective of the ancient divisions of the country, or of
those commonly used by European geographers. The pre¬
sent eyalet of Rumili is composed of the northern portion
of Albania, and the western of Macedonia. It is bounded
on the N. by Montenegro and the eyalet of Bosnia, E. by
those of Uskiub and Saloniki, S. by that of Janina, and W.
by the Adriatic. Its extent and limits, however, like those
of all the Turkish divisions, are by no means fixed, but
liable to frequent changes. The area of Rumili, along
with the adjacent eyalet of Uskiub, is 18,883 square miles,
and the population in 1844 was 2,700,000. It is sub¬
divided into four livas, and the capital is Monastir. This
is the Turkish eyalet of Rumili; but in speaking of the
Ottoman empire, Europeans generally follow the larger and
more historical divisions of the country ; and of these Ru¬
melia is one of the most important. It comprises, as has
been already mentioned, the ancient countries of Thrace,
Macedonia, and Thessaly. It is bounded on the N. by Bul¬
garia, from which it is separated by the Balkan Mountains;
on the E. by the Black Sea ; S. by the Sea of Marmora, the
Aegean, and Greece; and W. by Albania. It is traversed
by several offshoots of the Balkan range, between which
there are valleys and plains of much beauty and fertility.
I he principal rivers are the Maritza, ancient Hebrus ; the
Struma, ancient Strymon; the Wardar, ancient Axius;
and the Vistritza, ancient Haliacmon, all flowing into the
Aegean, the former two from the Balkan range, and the
latter from that of Pindus, which separates Rumelia from
Albania. I he climate is mild and healthy ; and the prin¬
cipal products are wine, oil, tobacco, and cotton. There Runciman
are many sheep raised here, which have excellent wool. ||
The cotton is generally woven, and dyed of a red colour. Rungpoor.
1 his region forms the Turkish eyalets of Edirne, or Adrian-
ople and Saloniki, with parts of Rumili and Janina.
RUNCIMAN, Alexander, a Scottish painter, was
the son of an architect, and was born in Edinburgh in
1736. The enthusiasm of his artistic genius was very
great. While a mere child, he went into the fields to sketch
rocks and trees. At the age of fourteen he sat down to
devote himself entirely to study under John Norry, an
artist of local celebrity. In his nineteenth year, he ap¬
peared before the world as a landscape-painter by profession.
Nor after the public had persisted during five years in ne¬
glecting his pieces did his self-confidence fail him. It
then appeared to him that his proper province was in the
higher field of historical painting. A trial of six years only
tended to confirm this notion. Nothing was wanting to
perfect him in high art, he thought, but a residence in
Italy. He therefore spent five years in Rome, and came
back in 1771 with a spasmodic style, and with a courage
equal to the loftiest subjects. The remaining part of Run-
ciman’s career was as energetic as the former. Appointed
professor in the trustees’ academy immediately after his
return, he applied himself to the task with a superabundant
display of zeal. His attention was also constantly engrossed
with the most ambitious designs. Among other efforts,
he undertook to embellish the hall of his patron, Sir James
Clerk of Pennycuick, with twelve paintings from Ossian.
With visions before him of making a miniature Sistine
chapel, and of rivalling Michael Angelo, he set himself to
work. His application grew so intense and so constant that
his health was irretrievably injured. Accordingly, after
the completion of the hall he became gradually weak, and
on the 21st of October 1785 dropped down dead at the
door of his lodgings. (Cunningham’s Lives of British
Painters, &c.)
RUNCORN, a market-town of England, Cheshire, on
the left bank of the Mersey, near its confluence with the
Weaver, 17 miles N.N.E. of Chester, and 182 N.W. of
London. It is an ancient town ; but until the formation of
the Duke of Bridgewater’s canal, which terminates here, it
was of very little importance. The public buildings include
the new town-hall, a handsome edifice, containing also a
news-room ; the jail; the parish church, also of modern date ;
and Trinity church, a red sandstone building, with a square
tower. There are also places of worship for Independents,
Baptists, Methodists, and Roman Catholics; and several
schools of various kinds. The manufactures of the place
are pretty numerous, including iron, ropes, sails, soap, &c.;
and there are also ship-building yards, slate and stone
quarries, and establishments for distilling turpentine. The
trade of the place, too, is great and rapidly increasing; the
town is a free port, and contains a custom-house, and ample
accommodation for goods in warehouses and yards. The
principal exports are stone and salt. Runcorn is much re¬
sorted to in summer for the sake of sea-bathing. Markets
are held weekly, and fairs twice a year. Pop. (1851) 8049.
RUNES. See Alphabet.
RUNGPOOR, a district of British India, in the pre¬
sidency of Bengal, lying between N. Lat. 25.16. and 26
21., E. Long. 88. 26. and 89. 50.; bounded on the N. by
Cooch Behar, E. by the districts of Goalpara and Mymen-
sing, S. by that of Bograh, and W. by that of Dinajepore:
length, from S.E. to N.W., 106 miles; breadth, 60; area,
4030 square miles. The most part of the surface is low,
sloping gradually from N.W. to S.E. to the bank of the
Brahmapootra, which flows along the eastern frontier of
the district. Many other rivers and watercourses of smaller
size intersect the country; and in the rainy season a great
part of it is laid under water. There are no considerable
R IT N
Runjeet l:1^es 5 hut many small sheets of stagnant water called
Singh jhils. The climate differs in some respects from that of
II those parts of India which lie farther S. and W. The hot
Rupert, wincjg of spring are unknown in many parts of the district,
and of short duration in the rest; the earlier part of the
summer is tempered by cool breezes from the E., and it
is not till June that extreme heat begins to set in. In the
winter hoar-frosts occur at some places. The soil produces
rice, wheat, barley, pulse, &c., as well as indigo and tobacco.
Cotton has not been successfully raised here. The prin¬
cipal branch of industry is the preparation of indigo, for
which there are 50 large factories, conducted upon Euro¬
pean methods, besides about 350 of inferior size. The
commerce is not very active. Indigo is the chief article
of export; besides this, silk, tobacco, sugar, carpets, &c.,
are exported ; and the imports include cotton, woollen, and
silk fabrics, salt, metals, &c. The country which now forms
the district of Rungpoor seems to have belonged originally
to the ancient Hindu states of Camroop, which at the
close of the fifteenth century was conquered by the king¬
dom of Bengal, and this in its turn fell under the sway of
the emperors of Delhi. It came into the possession of Great
Britain in 1765, by a grant from the Emperor Shah Alum.
The capital is an insignificant town of the same name, con¬
sisting of a large mosque surrounded by a crowd of wretched
huts. Pop. of the district, 2,559,000.
RUNJEET SINGH, the founder of the Sikh empire,
was the son of Maha Singh, the chief of a Sikh tribe,
and was born about 1780. The early part of his career
was not propitious. His father died when he was only in
his twelfth year. His worthless mother, bent upon retaining
the government of the clan in her own hands, tried to
make him an imbecile. Accordingly the means of educa¬
tion were denied him, and every indulgence that could
enervate and debase his mind was forced upon his accep¬
tance. But the boy grew up possessed of very dangerous
accomplishments. No sooner had he reached his seven¬
teenth year, than he removed his mother by assassination,
and took the power into his own hands. He then com¬
menced a long-continued and successful system of aggres¬
sion. Every influence—war, stratagem, negotiation, and
deceit—was brought into play. The countenance of the
English East India Company was gained. No means were
spared to inveigle or force the other Sikh chiefs into a
confession of his supremacy. His power was especially
directed against the inert Affghans. Adopting European
arms and discipline, he invaded them with an irresistible
host. The province of Cashmere was taken in 1819.
Other conquests followed; and at length, in 1826, he re¬
duced the province of Peshawur. Runjeet Singh having
thus founded an empire, died in 1839. His political Life
has been written by H. T. Pringle.
RUPEE, a silver coin current in many parts of Asia,
and of values ranging from one shilling and sixpence to
nearly two shillings.
RUPERT, Prince Robert, of Bavaria, was born in
1619. His father, Frederic V., elector palatine, had ren¬
dered himself an exile by an unsuccessful attempt to seize
upon the crown of Bohemia, which entailed upon his son
the reverses of his own evil fortune. His mother was
Elizabeth, eldest daughter of James I. of England, and by
his connection with the British throne the youth resolved
to win his way to fame, and perhaps to fortune. Of a rest¬
less, active disposition, that had little known the restraints
of any regular system of educational discipline, he already
had his eye fixed upon the civil wars that were then deso¬
lating England, and with a thirst for the fortunes of the
soldier, he sought and obtained the command of a regiment
of cavalry from his uncle Charles I. of England. He took
Flereford, Lichfield, and Cirencester, and shared in the
battles of Worcester, Edgehill, and Chalgrove Field. In
YOL. XIX.
I? U P 465
these engagements he had given proof of much rash courage Ruppin.
and of daring impetuosity, but he was found to be desti- ^ ^ v -m.>
tute of the prudence of the soldier, and was entirely want¬
ing in military sagacity. The king, pleased probably with
his rashness, which he trusted to time to bring into sub¬
jection to his will, created him a Knight of the Garter and
made him Duke of Cumberland. He took Bristol, scat¬
tered the parliamentary forces at Newark; but at Long
Marston Moor, Oliver Cromwell and his Ironsides com¬
pelled him ignominiously to flee. Prince Rupert did not
lose confidence by this defeat, nor did the king’s reliance
on him diminish. He was made general of all the king’s
troops: he took Leicester: he swept down upon the Iron¬
sides at Naseby ; but his rashness, as usual, proved his ruin.
He hastened to Bristol to prepare that city to resist an at¬
tack, but betrayed such an entire want of strategical skill,
and gave such proofs of pusillanimity, that not only was
the place taken by the triumphant enemy, but Charles L,
having lost all patience with his favourite, stripped him
of his command and deprived him of his countenance. But
Prince Rupert being a needy man, of great versatility and
very adventurous, resolved to try his fortune upon the
sea, seeing she had deserted him by land. He accordingly
obtained command of the fleet in 1648, but had Blake out
upon him before many months, who pursued him to Kinsale,
to Lisbon, to Carthagena, until, Rupert having sunk and
captured some English merchantmen at Malaga, the little
admiral burnt and destroyed almost his whole fleet, and
compelled him to take refuge with two or three ships in
the West Indies, where he for some time supported him¬
self by piracy. Returning across the Atlantic, he took
refuge in a French port, sold his ships to the French go¬
vernment, and went for a time at large throughout France.
On the restoration of Charles II. he again sought the Eng¬
lish court, and having now blustered out his youthful
impetuosity, he was again appointed to a command under
the Duke of York. In 1673 he was entrusted with the
command of the fleet, but found it so ill equipped and so
weakly manned that he chose to return home rather than
face the enemy in such a condition. Prince Rupert had
now completed the active part of his life. As governor of
Windsor, he occupied his leisure, according to the fashion
of the times, with painting and engraving, with mechanical
and chemical experiments. He attained to some distinc¬
tion in the engraver’s art, and is generally supposed to
have been the inventor of mezzotinto. This is, however,
a mistake, as the invention belongs to a German named
Siegen, who, having fallen upon the art in the year 1642,
showed it to Prince Rupert, whom he met at Brussels in
1655 or 1656. (Laborde’s Histoire de la Gravure en
Maniere Noire.') He died at Spring Gardens on the 29th
of November 1682, and was interred with great magnifi¬
cence in Henry VII.’s chapel, Westminster.
Prince Rupert is believed to be the inventor of pinch¬
beck or prince’s metal, and of those curious glass bubbles
known as “ Rupert’s drops” (see Annealing), which, as
Lord Macaulay remarks, “ have long amused children and
puzzled philosophers.”
RUPPIN, New, a town of Prussia, in the province of
Brandenburg, on the W. shore of a lake of the same name,
37 miles N.W. of Berlin. It is surrounded by walls, and
well built, with regular streets and several public squares;
and it contains a column with a statue of Frederick the
Great. The principal establishments in the town are a
church, school, lunatic asylum, and two hospitals. Linen
and cotton cloth are the most important articles manu¬
factured. The trade is considerable, and is facilitated
by a canal, which forms part of the line of communication
between the Elbe and the Oder. Ruppin was for some
time the residence of Frederick the Great, when crown
prince. Pop. 9780.
3 N
466 HUS
Rush. RUSH, Benjamin, a celebrated American physician,
born on the 5th January 1745, near Bristol in Pennsyl¬
vania, was descended from a family who were originally
Quakers, and who had accompanied Penn in 1683 to his
infant colony. He lost his father at an early age, and
having been first placed by his mother at a school kept
by the Rev. S. Finley, he proceeded to finish his clas¬
sical education at the college of Princeton, and there took
the degree of Bachelor of Arts before he was sixteen. He
then determined to make the profession of physic the
pursuit of his life, and went to study it, first under the
care of Dr Redman of Philadelphia, and then at Edin¬
burgh, where he was created a doctor of physic in 1768.
At the time of his return from Europe, a new school of
medicine was about to be founded in Philadelphia, and he
became professor of chemistry immediately upon his arrival.
In 1776 Dr Rush began to take an active part, with the
rest of his countrymen, in the political struggle of the day,
and he was chosen a member of Congress for the state of
Pennsylvania ; in 1777 he was appointed surgeon-general
to the army, and not long afterwards became physician-
general. He also contributed his best efforts to the im¬
provement of the internal government of the state which
he represented. But he soon withdrew his attention from
political affairs, in order to devote it exclusively to medical
and literary subjects; and he continued to be actively
engaged in the practice of physic for the remainder of his
life. In 1776 he married Miss Julia Stockton of New
Jersey. He had by her thirteen children, nine of whom
survived him in respectability and prosperity. In 1791,
when the two medical colleges of Philadelphia were incor¬
porated into a single university, he was appointed professor
of the institutes of medicine, and of clinical practice. In
1793 he greatly distinguished himself by the new and
apparently successful modes of practice that he introduced
in the epidemic yellow fever, which was then causing
great mortality throughout the United States, and which,
shortly before his death, he was induced to believe not
contagious, but derived from some general causes inde¬
pendently of the previous existence of the disease. He
died on the 13th of April 1813, after an illness of five
days, of a typhus fever, with some pulmonary symptoms.
He had for a considerable part of his life been threatened
with consumption, but had combated its attacks with un¬
usual success. The number of his writings is consider¬
able in proportion to their bulk; the times and the state
of society in which he lived being such as to produce
rather hasty and spirited than highly-finished compositions.
His inaugural dissertation was entitled Be Concoctione ciborum
in ventriculo, and contained an explanation of the opinions relat¬
ing to digestion, which he had learned from Dr Cullen, Edin¬
burgh, 1768; Account of the Effects of the Stramonium, American
Phil. Trans, i. 1770 ; On the Utility of Wort in ill-conditioned Ulcers,
Med. Obs. Inq. iv. 1770, addressed to Dr Huck ; Inquiry into the
Natural History of Medicine amongst the Indians of North America,
an anniversary oration delivered in 1774; Remarks on Bilious
Fevers, addressed to Dr Huck, Med. Obs. Inq. v.; Account of the In¬
fluence of the Revolution on the Human Body, with Observations on
the Diseases of Military Hospitals ; Inquiry into the Cause of the In¬
crease of Bilious and Intermitting Fevers in Pennsylvania, American
Trans, ii.; Observations on Tetanus; Inquiry into the Influence of Phy¬
sical Causes upon the Moral Faculty ; Remarks on the Effects of Ardent
Spirits upon the Body and Mind ,- Inquiry into the Causes and Cure
of Pulmonary Consumption, in his Medical Inquiries and Observa¬
tions, i., Phil. 1788. His grand object in the cure of consumption is
to recommend exercise, and everything which will enable the
patient to take exercise; anticipating a practice which has become
somewhat fashionable in England of late years, from its frequent
success as a temporary palliative. The subject is continued in the
second volume of the 7«g,wmes, published in 1793; and bleeding
is very strongly recommended in the earlier and only curable
stages. Consumption, he observes, is common in America, though
scrofula scarcely ever occurs ; and it has sometimes been known to
be clearly communicated by infection to the Negroes belonging to
a family, who had, of course, no consanguinity that could account
R U S
for a similarity of constitution. Five volumes, in the whole of Rush.
this collection, appeared from 1788 to 1798 ; a second edition was i  
published in 1804, in four volumes 8vo; a third in 1805, revised
and enlarged, with a continuation of the Histories of the Yellow
Fever from 1793 to 1809 ; A Defence of Blood-letting as a Remedy
for Certain Diseases ; A View of the State of Medicine in Philadel¬
phia ; An Inquiry into the Sources of the Usual Forms of Summer
and Autumnal Diseases in the United States ; and the recantation
of his opinion of the contagious nature of the yellow fever, already
mentioned; Information to Europeans disposed to Emigrate to the
United States, in a Letter to a Friend ; Observations on the Popula¬
tion of PennsylvaniaObservations on Tobacco ; A new Mode of
Inoculating Small-Pox, a Lecture, reprinted, Phil. 1792, 8vo;
Essay on the Study of the Latin and Greek Languages, American
Museum ; condemning it as a waste of time, oppressive to the poor
dunces who are tortured into their parts of speech, to the great
scandal of a humane and republican country, and subversive of
a proper respect for the rights of boys, and, consequently, for the
rights of man. Essays, Literary, Moral, and Philosophical, 1798,
8vo ; containing a republication of the last article, together with
the author’s eulogiums on Dr Cullen and on Professor Rittenhouse,
delivered in 1790 and 1796, and with some other miscellaneous
papers of less moment, 1806 ; Lectures on the Cause of Animal
Life, 1791 ; Account of the Sugar-Maple Tree, American Trans.
iii. 1791; Observations on the Black Colour of the Negro, Ame¬
rican Trans, iv., 1792, attributing the blackness to leprosy ; His¬
tory of the Yellow Fever, 1794. This celebrated work has been
translated into French and Spanish. At the time of its publica¬
tion an almost superstitious dread was entertained by medical men
of the use of the lancet in idiopathic fever; and few books have
ever had so powerful and extensive an effect in altering the gene¬
ral treatment of a disease as this history had produced in every
part of the world. Probably, indeed, it may have carried a num¬
ber of the younger and bolder practitioners into an opposite ex¬
treme ; but, with respect to the author’s claims to merit on the oc¬
casion, it must be allowed that the innovation showed an uncom¬
mon combination of courage with talent and good sense ; and the
accurate description of the disease that he has given us fully
establishes his claim to the character of an accurate nosologist.
On the Symptoms and Cure of Dropsy, and especially of Water in
the Head, 1793; An Account of the Influenza of Philadelphia in
1789, 1790, 1791 ; Observations on the State of the Body and Mind
in Old Age, 1794; Observations on the Nature and Cure of Gout
and Hydrophobia, 1797 ; Inquiry into the Cause and Cure of the
Cholera Infantum, 1797 ; Observations on Cynanche Trachealis,
1797; Introductory Lectures, 1801, Ed. ii. 1811; with ten new
introductory lectures, and two lectures on the Pleasures of the
Senses and of the Mind. In 1809 he published the works of Syden¬
ham and of Cleghorn, with Notes, and in 1810 those of Pringle and
Hilary. On Diseases of the Mind, 8vo, 1812—an elaborate work
which had long been impatiently expected ; A Letter on Hydro¬
phobia, 1813, addressed to Dr Hosack, and containing additional
reasons for believing the seat of the disease to be chiefly in the
blood-vessels; an opinion which in all probability has at least
tended to shorten the sufferings of several individuals on whom
the experiment of profuse depletion has been tried. Dr Rush’s
numerous publications obtained him many marks of respect from
his contemporaries, and procured him admission, as an honorary
member, into the most distinguished literary and philosophical
societies of Europe. His name was familiar to the medical world
as the Sydenham of America. His accurate observations and cor¬
rect discrimination of epidemic diseases well entitled him to this
distinction ; while in the original energy of his reasoning, he far
excelled his prototype. His literary and professional character,
indeed, appears to have been greatly influenced by the moral and
political sentiments which were prevalent in his day. A love of
innovation led him to that proud defiance of established authority
which is just as likely to be pernicious as to be salutary. The
study of the learned languages he depreciated, in one of his early
essays, as unfit for a republican education; and this was the first
step to the true Jacobin doctrine, that it was unrepublican and
aristocratical to have received any education whatever. In physic,
his rejection of the prejudices of antiquity was somewhat more
consistent with moderation, and the reform that he attempted was
occasionally more successful than his literary speculations ; nor can
it be denied that there are a multitude of original suggestions in
his works which may very probably be found capable of affording
valuable hints to the lovers of medical experiments.
(Hosack and Francis in the American Med. Philos. Register;
Chalmers’s Biographical Diet., xxv., London, 1816, 8vo.) (T-Y.)
RUSH, a seaport and market town of Ireland, on ahead-
land stretching into the Irish Sea, in the county and 14
miles N.E. of Dublin. The chief buildings are the Ro-
K U S
Kushworth. man Catholic chapel, and a martello tower which defends
the harbour. Kenure Park, a fine mansion near the town,
was once the seat of the Duke of Ormond. Rush harbour
has recently been improved, and is capable of receiving ves¬
sels of 50 tons burden. Some trade and fishery is carried
on here. Pop. 1496.
RUSHWOllTH, John, the compiler of some very use¬
ful historical collections, was born in Northumberland about
the year 1607, being descended of honourable ancestors.
After attending the university of Oxford for some time,
he removed to Lincoln’s Inn ; but the study of the law not
suiting his genius, he soon deserted it, in order to seek a
situation where he might more easily gratify his love for
political information. He frequently attended the meetings
of Parliament, and wrote down the speeches both of the
king and members. During the space of eleven years from
1630 to 1640, when no Parliament was held, he was an at¬
tentive observer of the great transactions of state in the
Star Chamber, the court of honour, and exchequer cham¬
ber, when all the judges of England assembled there on
cases of great emergency. Nor did he neglect to observe
with a watchful eye those events which happened at a dis¬
tance from the capital. He visited the camp at Berwick,
and was present at the battle of Newburn, at the treaty of
Ripon, and at the great council of York. In 1640 he was
appointed assistant to Henry Elsynge, clerk to the House
of Commons, and thus had the best opportunities of being
acquainted with their debates and proceedings. The Com¬
mons considered him as a person worthy of confidence;
and, in particular, they trusted him with carrying their
messages to the king whilst he remained at York. When
the Parliament created Sir Thomas Fairfax their general,
Rushworth was appointed his secretary, and discharged the
office much to the advantage of his master. When Fair¬
fax resigned his commission, his secretary returned to Lin¬
coln’s Inn, and was soon afterwards (in 1651-52) chosen
one of the committee that was appointed to deliberate con¬
cerning the propriety and means of altering or new-model¬
ling the common law. He was elected one of the repre¬
sentatives for Berwick-upon-Tweed to the Parliament
which Richard Cromwell assembled in 1658, and was re¬
elected by the same town to the Parliament which restored
Charles II. to the crown. After the Restoration, he de¬
livered to the king several books of the Privy Council,
which he had preserved in his own possession during the
commotions which then agitated the country. Sir Orlando
Bridgeman, keeper of the great seal, chose him his secre¬
tary in the year 1677, an office which he enjoyed as long as
Sir Orlando kept the seals. In 1678 he was a third time
chosen member for Berwick, and a fourth time in the
ensuing Parliament in 1679. He was also a member of
the Parliament which was convened at Oxford. The dif¬
ferent offices he had held afforded him favourable oppor¬
tunities of acquiring a fortune, or at least an independence ;
yet, whether from negligence or prodigality, he was never
possessed of wealth. Having run himself into debt, he was
arrested and committed to the King’s Bench prison, South¬
wark, where he lingered for the last six years of his life in
the most deplorable condition. His memory and judgment
were much impaired, partly by age and partly by the too
frequent use of spiritous liquors. He died on the 12th of
May 1690.
His Historical Collections of Private Passages in State,
Weighty Matters in Law, and remarkable Proceedings in
Parliament, were published in (olio at different times.
The first part, comprehending the years between 1618 and
1629, appeared in 1659. The copy had been entrusted
by Oliver Cromwell to Whitelock, with instructions to
peruse and examine it. Upon perusing it, he thought it
necessary to make some alterations and additions. The
second part was published in 1680; the third in 1692;
R U S 467
the fourth and last, which comes down to the year 1648, Russell,
was published in 1701 ; and altogether they made seven v.,
volumes. These underwent a second edition in 1721 ; and
the trial of the Earl of Strafford was added, which made
the eighth. This work has been much applauded by those
who condemn the conduct of Charles L, and accused of par¬
tiality by those who favour the cause of that unhappy mon¬
arch. Rushworth’s principles indeed led him to show the
king and his adherents in an unfavourable light, and to vin¬
dicate the proceedings of Parliament; yet it cannot justly be
affirmed that he has misrepresented or falsified any of the
speeches or facts which he has admitted into his collection.
RUSSELL, William, Lord, a distinguished English
patriot, was descended from a family which had held land
m Dorsetshire from a very early period, was the third son
of William, Earl of Bedford, and was born on the 29th of
September 1639. He entered Cambridge about 1654,
afterwards resided with his elder brother at Augsburg, and
spent the winter of 1658 at Paris. On his return to Eng¬
land, he was chosen member of Parliament for Tavistock.
The court, which was at that time the abode of gaiety and
licentiousness, seems at first to have attracted his attention,
and, according to Bishop Burnet, “drew him into some
irregularities.” An earnest and truthful nature like Rus¬
sell' s soon shook itself rid of the entanglements of court life;
and in 1669 he married Rachel Wriothesly, second daughter
of the Earl of Southampton, and widow of Lord Vaughan,
lo the influence of this most excellent woman, who seems
to have been endowed with all the charms which captivate
and all the virtues which elevate man’s nature, we must
attribute not a few of the noble qualities which adorn the
memory of her husband. Had the government of the
country been conducted with security and honour, Lord
William Russell would have continued to enjoy the happi¬
ness of private life in the company of this admirable woman ;
but, roused by the hypocrisy and scandalized by the open
and shameless venality of Charles II. and his brother the
Duke of York to restore the Roman Catholic religion, no
Englishman who had any regard for the independence,
the freedom, and the religion of his country, could any
longer keep aloof. He accordingly, with no very remark¬
able talents, ranged himself at once on the side of the Pro¬
testants, and became the declared opponent of the king.
“ I never knew,” says Burnet, “ any man have so entire
credit with the nation as he had;” and again, the bishop
continues, “ his understanding was not defective ; but his
virtues were so eminent that they would have more than
balanced real defects, if any had been found in the other.”
Lord Russell joined Lord Cavendish, Sir W. Coventry,
Colonel Birch, Mr Powle, and Mr Littleton, in their endea¬
vours to thwart the scandalous proceedings of the king, and
advancing as they did, and as they required to do, at first
with moderation, gained so great an influence in the coun¬
try, that the king found it necessary to prorogue the Parlia¬
ment. This step broke off the alliance with France. Fresh
intrigues, however, were speedily renewed; and against
these Lord Russell resolutely opposed himself. Barillon
was busy with his French gold. Russell, as well as Sidney,
are accused of having received bribes to serve French in¬
terests. Lord John Russell, who has written the Life of his
noble ancestor, does not hesitate to impeach the honesty of
Barillon, rather than have men suppose that such a charge
is true. And no one can have observed Lord William
Russell’s strong sense of justice, his scrupulous integrity,
his zeal and energy in every noble and generous undertak¬
ing, who would for a moment listen to such a charge. His
character is wholly at variance with such an act. However,
the testimony of Barillon will be differently estimated by
different men ; and the reader may consult on the matter
the views taken by Macaulay {History of England, vol. i.),
and Hallam {Constitutional History, vol. ii.)
468 R U S
Russell. In no long time the principal Whigs were accused of
i ^ having conspired to take the king s life as he returned fiom
the Newmarket races, ihis is known as the Rye-house
Plot,” from the name of a farm near Newmarket, where the
conspirators agreed to meet. 1 he king having, it is said,
returned earlier from N^ewmarket than was anticipated, the
court ascribed to this lucky accident the shielding of his
majesty’s life. Russell, Essex, Sidney, and a number of
others, were at once committed to the Tower. Russell
was, on the 13th of July 1683, brought before the Old
Bailey on a charge of high treason. He was indicted “ for
conspiring the death of the king, and consulting and agree-
ino- to stir up insurrection, and to that end to seize the
guards for the preservation of the king’s person.” The
evidence against him was contradictory ; no one charge in
his indictment was proved; yet the sheriffs, who were the
tools of the court, secured his conviction. He was ac¬
cordingly found guilty, and was sentenced to death. During
his imprisonment he manifested great calmness and pious
resignation. Lady Russell, who had greatly assisted him
during his trial, was now near, like an angel of comfort,
administering to his wants with the most singular tenderness
and resolution. Bishop Burnet and Dean Tillotson attended
him ; and the former has left a written account of his last
days. He was beheaded in Lincoln’s Inn Fields on the 21st
of July 1683.
Charles James Fox, in alluding to the death of Lord
William Russell (History of James II.), says, “It is im¬
possible not to assent to the opinion of those who have ever
stigmatized the condemnation and execution of Russell as
a most flagrant violation of law and justice.” The act for
annulling Russell’s attainder, passed in the first year of
William and Mary, says, he “ was by undue and illegal
return of jurors, for want of freehold, and by partial and
unjust constructions of law, wrongfully convicted, attainted,
and executed for high treason.” (See the Life of William,
Lord Hussell. by Lord John Russell, London, 1819.)
Russell, William, a popular historian, the eldest son of
Alexander Russell and Christian Ballantine, was born in
the year 1741 at Windydoors, a farm-house in the parish of
Stowe and county of Selkirk, At an early age he was sent
to school in the neighbouring village of Inverleithen, where
he acquired an elementary knowledge of the Greek and
Latin languages; and private study afterwards enabled him
to supply many of the deficiencies of his early education.
In 1756 he was removed to Edinburgh, in order to be in¬
structed in writing and arithmetic; and after having
attended to these branches for about ten months, he was
bound an apprentice to the bookselling and printing busi¬
ness for the term of five years. While engaged in this
occupation he discovered the utmost ardour in literary pur¬
suits ; nor was his situation unfavourable to the acquisition
of useful and elegant knowledge. After the completion of
his apprenticeship he published a select collection of modern
poems, which was favourably received.
About the year 1763 he made an unsuccessful attempt
to adapt Crebillon’s Rhadamisthe et Zenobie to the English
stage. In 1764 he retired to the country, and spent the
succeeding autumn with Lord Elibank. He had relin¬
quished his original employment, and he now prosecuted
with zeal his historical and literary studies.
Having resided with his father till the month of May
1767, he proceeded to London in quest of honour and
emolument. But his high hopes were speedily blasted.
After having in vain waited for advancement, he engaged
himself as a corrector of the press in the great office of
William Strahan, afterwards printer to his majesty. In the
year 1769 he quitted the employment of Strahan, and was
engaged as overseer of the printing-office of Brown and
R U S
Adlard. During the same year he published an Ode to Russell.
Fortitude. His Sentimental Tales appeared in 17/0 ; and
from this time he contributed to the periodical publications
many essays in prose as well as verse. In 1772 he pub¬
lished a collection of Fables, Moral and Sentimental; and
An Essay on the Character, Manners, and Genius of
Women, from the French of M. Thomas. In 1774 he
produced an octavo volume under the title of Julia, a
Poetical Romance. Of this work, which is founded on the
Nouvelle Heloise cf Rousseau, neither the plan nor the exe¬
cution can be commended. Russell is the author of the
verses on the death of Hume and on the death of Dr Arm¬
strong, subscribed “ W. R.,” and dated from Gray’s Inn,
Sept. 10, 1779, which are commonly printed with the poems
of that classical writer. His History of America, published
in numbers, was completed in the course of the same year.
This work was received with some degree of favour; but
the splendid merit of Dr Robertson’s History precluded all
competition. During the same year (1779) he likewise
published, in octavo, the first two volumes of The History
of Modern Europe, with an Account of the Decline and
Fall of the Roman Empire, and a View of the Progress of
Society from the Fifth to the Eighteenth Century, in a
Series of Letters from a Nobleman to his Son. Their re¬
ception was so favourable as to exceed his most sanguine
expectations. In the year 1783 he published The Tragic
Muse, a poem addressed to Mrs Siddons. The three vo¬
lumes which completed the History of Modern Europe
made their appearance in 1784. His narrative is always
free from languor, and his reflections are conveyed in a
lively and elegant style. It is, however, to be regretted that
he should have adopted the commercial expedient of exhi¬
biting his work as a series of letters from a nobleman to his
son: every reader is sufficiently aware that Dr Russell did
not belong to the order of nobility; and the frequent re¬
currence of “my dear Philip” is too apt to remind one of
Lord Chesterfield. This work has very often been re¬
printed, and has still some degree of popularity. Russell
closes his History with the peace of Paris in 1763. A con¬
tinuation, extending to two volumes, was added by the late
Dr Coote ; and another writer has continued the narrative
still farther down.
In the year 1787 he married Isabella Scott, a lady of
Eskdale, to whom he had long been attached, and in whom
he found a pleasant and intelligent companion. He now
entered upon the occupation of a comfortable farm at
Knottyholm, in the parish of Canonby and county of Dum¬
fries, where he spent the remainder of his days.
He had now acquired the reputation of a very popular
historian ; and in 1792 the university of St Andrews con¬
ferred upon him the degree of LL.D. During the follow¬
ing year he published at London, in two volumes octavo,
The History of Ancient Europe, with a View of the Re¬
volutions in Asia and Africa, in a Series of Letters to a
Young Nobleman. This production partakes of the peculiar
merits of his modern history ; but as the author did not live
to complete his design, it never attained to the same popu¬
larity. Of these two volumes, the greater proportion relates
to the history of Greece. Dr Coote was afterwards induced
to supply what he had left deficient.
Dr Russell did not long survive the publication of his
last work. A stroke of palsy suddenly terminated his life,
on the 25th of December 1793, after he had completed the
fifty-second year of his age.
He had engaged in various projects which he did not
live to execute. Among these was his History of England
from the Beginning of the Reign of George 111. to the
Conclusion of the American War, a work on which he was
engaged at the close of his life.
469
I
E U S S I A.
History. The history of Russia commences shortly after the middle
^ of the ninth century, when a Scandinavian race, known as
the Varages or Varangians, established their dominion over
several of the less warlike Slavonic and Finnish tribes who
inhabited the eastern shores ot the Baltic. I hese seem to
have made some progress in the arts ot peace, and even at
this early period to have carried on a considerable com¬
merce. Harassed by more warlike neighbours, they had
called in the assistance of the Varangians; but these un¬
scrupulous allies no sooner rid them of their enemies than
Ruric, a.d. they established themselves in their country. Ruric, the
862. leader of the Varangians, built a town near the Volkhof,
where Old Ladoga now stands, and made it the seat of his
government. This is said to have been about a.d. 862.
His two brothers Sinaf and Truvor, who had accompanied
'him, established themselves,—the former at Bielo Ozero,
and the latter at Isborsk, near Pleskof. The rightful owners
of the soil, however, were not inclined peacefully to submit
to this species of usurpation, and accordingly they took up
arms under the leadership of Vadim, a chief who had
greatly distinguished himself for his military talents. A
fierce engagement took place, in which the Varangians
were victorious, Vadim and several of the other chiefs hav-
in«- lost their lives. This success emboldened Ruric to
extend his territories, and to change the seat of his govern¬
ment from Ladoga to Novgorod, the capital of the Slavi,
which was even then a large and opulent city. His brothers
Sinaf and Truvor died soon after, and Ruric became sole
monarch of the conquered territory, over which he reigned
without further molestation for fifteen years. At his death
his son Igor was only four years of age, and the govern-
Regpncy of ment devolved upon his kinsman Oleg. The new ruler
Oleg. did not long remain idle, and one of his first expeditions
was against Kief, where two Varangian chiefs, Oskhold
and Dfi, seem to have established their dominion over the
Slavi of that part. To effect his purpose, Oleg had re¬
course to strategem; and, taking with him Igor, he descended
the Dnieper with a few boats, in which he had concealed a
number of armed men. On approaching Kief, he sent a
message to the two chiefs, stating that some Varangian
merchants, on their way to Greece by order of the Prince
of Novgorod, desired to see them as friends and kinsmen.
Oskhold and Dir accepted the invitation, and, suspecting no
harm, went unarmed and unattended. They no sooner
reached the place of meeting than they w'ere surrounded by
armed men, and Oleg taking Igor in his arms, cried, ‘ You
are neither princes nor of the race of princes; but I am a
prince, and this is the son of Ruric.” No sooner were
these words uttered than the soldiers fell upon the two
chiefs and slew them. Fhe inhabitants ot Kief, thrown
into consternation by this bold and treacherous act, made
no resistance, but opened the gates of their city to the in¬
vader. But his ambitious designs did not end here. He
now meditated an attack upon Constantinople, and for that
purpose he removed the seat of his government to Kief.
At length he embarked on the Dnieper with 80,000 war¬
riors, on board of no fewer than 2000 vessels. After en¬
countering numerous obstacles, and having several times
to disembark and carry their vessels for some distance
overland, the Russians at length reached the Black Sea,
and, coasting along its shores, they soon arrived at the
Strait of Constantinople. To prevent their approach to the
city, the inhabitants had thrown a chain across the har¬
bour ; but the invaders, not deterred by this, are said to
have drawn their vessels ashore, and fitting them upon
wheels, by means of sails, converted them into cairiages,
and thus arrived under the walls of the city. The weak History.^
Leo, who was then upon the throne, did not offer any re-
sistance, but was content to purchase an ignominious peace,
and Oleg returned to Kief laden with wealth. Soon after
this Oleg sent deputies to Constantinople with articles of a
treaty to be signed by the Greek emperor. From this
treaty we learn many important particulars respecting the
internal policy of the Russians at the beginning of the
tenth century. It shows that they laid great stress upon
oaths; that murder was punished by death, and not by
fine ; that a thief taken in the fact might be killed by the
proprietor with impunity, or, if bound and brought before
the judge, he was obliged to restore the stolen goods, to¬
gether with three times their value; that wives had a part
of the estates of their husbands ; that punishment did not
extend to the entire confiscation of goods, and hence the
widow and orphan did not suffer for a crime of which they
were innocent ; that citizens might dispose of their effects
in favour of friends, without fear of the sovereign seizing on
their heritage. Oleg died in 913, after having conducted Accession
the government for thirty-three years, leaving Igor in full^S01'’
possession of the throne, who, up to this time, does not seem
to have had any share in the administration. On the ac¬
cession of the new sovereign, several of the nations that had
been subjugated by Oleg attempted to regain their inde¬
pendence. The Drevlians were the first to revolt; but
they were soon quelled, and punished by the imposition of
an increased tribute. The Uglitches, who dwelt on the
southern side of the Dnieper, contended longer for their
liberty, and one of their principal towns withstood a siege
for three years; but at length they too were subdued and
made tributary. Igor had next to contend with a more
formidable enemy in the Petchenegans, a nation hitherto
unknown, who, quitting their settlements on the Ooral and
Volga, established themselves on the Don and the Dnieper.
Igor finding himself unable to cope with his new enemies,
concluded a treaty of alliance with them. About five years
afterwards disputes seem to have arisen between them, and
both parties had recourse to arms. It appears that the
Russians were finally victorious, and the Petchenegans
were for some time disabled from giving farther molestation.
We next hear of Igor in 941 setting out on an expedi-His cxpe-
tion against the Greeks with, il we may credit the Russian 6ition
accounts, 10,000 barks, each carrying forty men. The
government of the empire, however, was now in different
hands from those that had held it during the former inva¬
sion. The Greeks were commanded by two able generals,
Theophanes and Phocas, the former ot whom was over
the fleet, the latter over the army. Theophanes attacked
them in their ships, and throwing among them the terrible
Greek fire, with the effects of which they were totally un¬
acquainted, caused such consternation that many cast them¬
selves into the sea to avoid the flames. Their vessels were
dispersed, shattered, or burned, and great numbers of their
crews perished. Those that reached the land were imme¬
diately attacked by Phocas, so that Igor carried back with
him scarcely one-third of his immense army. Though dis¬
couraged by this ill success, it did not deter him from
making a second attempt, and accordingly, three years
afterwards, he set out with a new army, which included
many of the Petchenegans whom he had taken into pay.
Before he had advanced beyond the Taurican Chersonesus,
however, he was met by deputies from the emperor, offer¬
ing to pay to him the same tribute that his predecessor had
received ; and Igor, doubtful of the* issue of a contest, com¬
plied with this offer, and retired with his army. Igor was
470
E U S S I A.
Regency
of Olga.
History, now far advanced in years, but the insatiable rapacity of
his officers impelled him to turn his army against the Drev-
hans, for the purpose of obtaining from them an increase of
their yearly tribute. In this he was at first successful, and
was returning home loaded with booty ; but, not yet satis¬
fied, he sent home the greater part of his troops with the
spoil, and with the remainder marched again into the
enemy’s country. The Drevlians, now driven to despe¬
ration, fell upon him and his followers near the town of
Iskorosch, and massacred the whole of them.
Igor’s son, Sviatoslaf, was very young at the death of his
father, and the regency devolved upon Olga the queen-
mother. Her first act was to revenge the murder of her
husband. The Drevlians were anxious to renew friend¬
ship with the Russians, and their chief made offer of
his hand to Olga. Pretending to listen to their overtures,
the queen received the messengers kindly, but immediately
caused them to be put to death. In the meantime, she re¬
quested a larger deputation to be sent to her, consisting of
the chief men of the state ; and these, on their arrival, she
treated in the same inhuman manner, taking care, in each
case, that no tidings should reach the Drevlians. She
then set out, as if on a friendly visit, to conclude the new
alliance, and having invited to a great entertainment some
hundreds of the principal inhabitants, she caused them all
to be assassinated. Not yet satisfied, she now laid waste
the country with fire and sword. The town near which
Igor had lost his life long withstood her utmost efforts, the
inhabitants dreading the horrible fate that awaited them.
At length she had recourse to stratagem, and promised
them mercy on condition of receiving all the pigeons in the
town. To the tails of these she attached lighted matches,
and then set them all at liberty. T. hey of course made for
their usual haunts, and the houses being all of wood, the
town was speedily in a blaze. The wretched inhabitant
History.
Her con¬
version.
endeavouring to escape the flames, were immediately
butchered by the Russians.
1 he only other remarkable event during Olga’s regency
was her conversion to Christianity. Though Christianity
seems to have been introduced into Russia before this time,
and full liberty' allowed to its professors in their worship,
yet it had hitherto made little progress. The people were
still pagans, practising the most absurd and cruel supersti¬
tions. Olga, however, resolved to embrace the Greek re-
ligion, and for that purpose undertook a journey to Con¬
stantinople about a.d. 955. Constantine Porphy'rogeneta,
who was then upon the throne, received the royal convert
with the greatest respect,—himself conducting her to the
baptismal font, where, in the character of sponsor, he gave
hei the name of Helen. Her example, however, had little
effect upon the Russians, and even her son disregarded all
her solicitations to become a Christian. She died about
Sviatoslaf. the year 969. It is not known at what time Sviatoslaf ob¬
tained the reins of government, but it is generally supposed
to lave been about the time of his mother’s departure for
onstantinople. His first care was to improve the charac-
ter and disdphne of his army, and to this he devoted him-
se wm the greatest zeal, living in the camp, and sharing
VI.1 ,e c’lties and dangers of the meanest of his followers,
oo was of the simplest and coarsest description ; and
e a ^ no tent, but, wrapt in a bear’s skin, usually slept on
te are ground. Nor was he less distinguished for his
contempt of danger than for his disregard of the luxuries
and conveniences of life. His soldiers emulated l,is ex¬
ample, and were proud to follow a leader who shared in all
heir toils and hardships. His army thus became formi-
able, not so much from its numbers as from the courage
and discipline of the soldiers; and having little baggage, thSy
could rapidly move from place to place. His' first great
expedition was against the Kozares, a people that had come
Irom the shores ot the Caspian and the sides of the Cau¬
casus, and had established themselves along the eastern
side of the Black Sea. He totally vanquished them, and
took their capital by storm. He is even said to have an¬
nihilated the nation, at least we find no mention of it after
that time. I he Greek emperor Nicephoros Phocas, ha¬
rassed by the Hungarians, assisted by his treacherous allies
the Bulgarians, applied for assistance to Sviatoslaf, who
hastened southward with a large army. He quickly made
himself master of all the Bulgarian towns along the Danube,
and was so elated with his success, that he resolved to re¬
move the seat of his government from Kief to Pereiasla-
vatz, now Yamboly, on the banks of that river. He was
however, obliged to defer his intentions and hasten home’
having received intelligence that the Petchenegans, taking
advantage of his absence, were ravaging his territory, and
had laid siege to his capital. Before his arrival, however,
the Petchenegans had, by an artifice of the Russian general’
been induced to raise the siege. After reducing them to
subjection, Sviatoslaf resumed his- design of establishing-
himself on the Danube. By this time the Bulgarians had
recovered most of their towns, and were prepared to resist
his encroachments. At length he succeeded in establish¬
ing himself in Bulgaria, but by this time the Emperor Ni-
cephorus had been assassinated, and his murderer, John
Zimisces, had ascended the throne. The new emperor
saw clearly that the Russians would be a more dangerous
neighbour than the Bulgarians, and sent ambassadors”to the
Russian monarch, desiring him to evacuate Bulgaria, in
teims of his tieaty. I his bviatoslaf refused to do, and pre¬
pared to maintain his ground by force. He raised his
aimy by the addition of Bulgarians, Petchenegans, and
Hungarians, to the number of 300,000 men. He first
made an incursion into Thrace, burning and ravaging in
all diiections, and laid siege to Adrianople, but was de¬
feated by stratagem by the commandant of that town.
I his was succeeded by a series of other losses, and his
army was further weakened by desertions among the allied
tioops, until a great part of them were shut up in the city
of Pereiaslavatz. The city was taken by assault, but 8000
of the Russians threw themselves into the citadel, which
was considered impregnable. I he enemy, however, suc¬
ceeded in setting it on fire; many threw themselves from
the summit of the rock, others perished in the flames, and
the rest were taken captive. Sviatoslaf, who had not been
shut up in Pereiaslavatz, now took refuge in Durostole, the
strongest of the few towns that now remained to him on
the Danube. It was immediately besieged by the enemy;
and the Russians, reduced to extremity, made a sally from
the town. A desperate battle ensued, in which the
Russians were defeated ; and Sviatoslaf made for Russia
with the shattered remains of his army. Contrary to the
advice of his most experienced officers, he attempted the
navigation of the Dnieper, and w'as intercepted near the
cataracts of that river by his old enemies the Petchenegans.
After remaining on the defensive all winter, exposed to
famine and disease, he attempted to force his wav through
the enemy, but was defeated, and himself slain. He was
succeeded by his three sons—Yaropolk in Kiev, Vladimir Yaronolk
m Novgorod, and Oleg in the country of the Drevlians. Vladimir
A war soon took place between Yaropolk and Oleg, in and Oleg,
w hich the latter was defeated and slain ; and Vladimir,
dreading a similar fate, abandoned his dominions, which
were quietly seized on by the Kievian prince. He did
not, how-ever, long enjoy his success ; for Vladimir, who had
taken refuge among the Varangians, returned with succours
which enabled him not only to secure his possessions, but
to make war on the Kievian territory. Yaropolk’s chief
adviser, Blude, was in the interest of his brother, and led
him on to his ruin. He was thus prevailed upon to leave
his capital, which immediately opened its gates to the
enemy ; and was afterwards induced to throw himself on
RUSSIA.
471
History.
Vladimir.
Embraces
Christi¬
anity.
the mercy of his brother, by whom lie was ordered to be
put to death. The commencement of Vladimir’s reign was
but a continuation of those atrocities by which he had ob¬
tained the throne. The traitor Blude was one of the first
to suffer. For three days he was treated with the highest
distinction, at the end of which time the king said :—“ I
have now fulfilled my promise ; as executor of justice, I con¬
demn you to death and caused him to be immediately
executed. He displayed like perfidiousness towards the
Varangians, who had assisted in placing him upon the
throne. They were beginning to feel the effects of his in¬
gratitude, and so they asked permission to go and seek their
fortune in Greece. Fie granted their request, but also
privately advised the emperor of their approach ; so that
they were arrested and secured. He engaged in numerous
wars with the neighbouring states,—the Poles, Bulgarians,
Petchenegans, and others ; and being generally successful,
he added very considerably to his territory. He was very
devout in his religious duties, and usually sacrificed a num¬
ber of his prisoners at the shrine of his gods. On one oc¬
casion, to show his devotion, he resolved to sacrifice one of
his own subjects, and his choice fell upon a young Varan¬
gian, whose father had adopted the Christian faith. The
unhappy father refused the victim, and the people, enraged
at what they considered an insult to their gods, assaulted
the house, and slew both father and son, folded in mutual
embrace. Yet this furious pagan and bloody warrior be¬
came afterwards equally zealous in the cause of Christian¬
ity. The fame of Vladimir’s military exploits had ren¬
dered him so formidable to the neighbouring nations that
each courted his alliance, and strove to unite him by the
ties of the same religion with themselves. Determined to
act with judgment, Vladimir despatched deputies to inspect
the religious tenets and ceremonies of the several nations,
and to report. The accounts of the imposing splendour of
the Greek worship, and the gorgeous decorations of the
priests and churches, attracted his attention, and he re¬
solved to join that church. Being too proud to seek from
the Greek emperor a priest to instruct him in the Christian
religion and administer baptism, he resolved to obtain one
by arms. Assembling his army, he marched to Taurida, and
laid siege to Theodosia. Af ter a lengthened siege, he ob¬
tained possession of the town, and soon after of the whole
of the Crimea. He might now have obtained baptism, but
he was also desirous of an alliance with the Greek mon¬
arch, and therefore demanded in marriage Anna, sister of
Basilius and Constantine, who were then upon the throne.
After some deliberation, his request was complied with,
on condition that he and his people should become Chris¬
tians. These conditions being accepted, the Russian
monarch was baptized, and took the name of Basilius, re¬
ceiving the Grecian princess, and carrying with him
several popes and archimandrites, together with sacred
vessels and church books, images of saints, and consecrated
relics. The change effected in his conduct by his conver¬
sion to the Christian faith was, if we may credit the Russian
accounts, most marked. Formerly’delighting in human
blood, he could now scarcely be prevailed upon to sanction
the death of the greatest criminal ; instead of destroying
cities and laying waste territories, he now built churches
and endowed seminaries of education ; and though he is
said to have had six wives and 800 concubines, he now be¬
came faithful to the imperial princess. He destroyed the
idols that he had formerly worshipped, and used every ex¬
ertion to persuade his subjects to adopt the Christian reli¬
gion. His last days were embittered by domestic vexa- History,
tions. His wife and one of his favourite sons died long be- ^ .
fore him ; while another of his sons, Yaroslaf, on whom he
had bestowed the government of Novgorod, refused to
acknowledge him as his liege lord, and applied to the Va¬
rangians for assistance against his father. The aged Vladi¬
mir, compelled to march against a rebellious son, died of
grief upon the road, after a long and glorious reign of thirty-
five years. The improvements introduced by this prince
were great and permanent. With the Christian religion
he imported from Greece the arts which then flourished
in that empire ; and almost entirely new-modelled the lan¬
guage of his country, by engrafting on it the more refined
dialect of the Greeks and adopting in a great measure the
letters of their alphabet. He extended the boundaries of
Russia westward along the shores of the Baltic into Lithu¬
ania and Poland ; southward along the shores of the Euxine,
so as to include the Crimea and great part of the Bulgarian
territories ; and eastward to the Oka, the Don, and the Volga.
Vladimir had before his death divided his territories His suc-
among his twelve sons, reserving to himself and his imme- cessors.
diate heir the principality of Kief. This was the occasion
of almost perpetual warfare among the brothers. Sviato-
polk, who had obtained possession of Kief after the death
of his father, attempted by stratagem and force to possess
himself of some of the neighbouring principalities. Yaros¬
laf, Prince of Novgorod, took up arms to stop his encroach¬
ments, and forced him to flee for refuge and succour to his
father-in-law, Boleslaus of Poland. The latter accompa¬
nied him back to Russia with an army, and forced Yaros¬
laf to retreat with precipitation. Sviatopolk now plotted
the destruction of his allies, and a massacre ensued in which
many of the Poles lost their lives ; whereat Boleslaus was
so enraged that he plundered Kief and several other towns,
and then left his perfidious son-in-law to shift for himself.
He next applied for assistance to the Petchenegans, and
with an army of these auxiliaries offered battle to Yaroslaf.
The contest was long and bloody, but at length terminated
in favour of Yaroslaf. Sviatopolk died soon afterwards.
By this victory Yaroslaf became possessed of the greater
part of his father’s dominions. He advanced the Christian
religion by causing the Bible to be translated into the Rus¬
sian language, and circulated. He also established a me¬
tropolitan at Kiev, and devoted himself generally to the
advancement of his people. He drew up a code of laws
for Novgorod, which is still known as the municipal law of
Novgorod. He is supposed to have died about 1054, after
a reign of thirty-five years. Like his father, he divided
his territories among his sons, but exhorted them on his
deathbed to live in peace and harmony among themselves.
From his death to the beginning of the thirteenth century,
the history of Russia comprises little else than a continued
series of intestine commotions and petty wars with the
neighbouring states. The same system of dismemberment
was continued by the succeeding princes, and was attended
with the same result. There were during this period not
fewer than seventeen independent principalities, though
these were at length reduced to seven, viz., those of Kief,
Novgorod, Smolensk, Vladimir, Tver, Halitch, and Moskva
or Moscow. Of these, Kief and Novgorod long continued
to be the most powerful, though they could not always
maintain their superiority over the others ; and towards the
latter end of the period which we have mentioned, the dis¬
trict of Vladimir erected itself into a grand principality, and
became at least as powerful as Kief and Novgorod.1
1 In the supremacy of these three great principalities \ve may trace the division of European Russia into Great, Little, and White
Russia, a distinction which long maintained its ground, and in later times gave to the sovereign of this empire the title of monarch or
emperor of all the Russias. Great Russia comprehended the principality of Novgorod, and extended northward to the White Sea,
eastward to the River Dvina and the entrance of the Petchora into the Ural Mountains, whilst to the south it bordered on the district
of Vladimir as far as the Volga and the mouth of the Medveditza, and to the west on Lithuania and Prussia, including the tributary
472
RUSSIA.
History. Such a state of anarchy and confusion held out a strong
'v'—'v''**-' temptation to powerful states in the vicinity. In the
Tartar neighbourhood of the Sea of Aral, not far from the confines
eruptions, of Vladimir and Kief, the wandering hordes of Mongols, or
Mongol Tartars, took up their residence, about the year
1223, under the conduct of Tuschi, son of the famous
Tschinghis Khan, chief of the Mogul empire. From the
Aral, Tuschi conducted his horde along the shores of the
Caspian Sea, and gradually approached the Dnieper. In
his course he attacked and overcame the Tscherkasses, or
Circassians, who on his approach had joined with the Po-
lovtzes t'o resist the terrible enemy. The defeated Po-
lovtzes gave notice to their neighbours the Russians of the
approaching storm, and the two united their armies to
oppose the common enemy. A furious engagement took
place near the small river Kalka, which flows into the Sea
of Azoff, and ended in the complete overthrow of the Rus¬
sians and their allies.
About thirteen years after this defeat another horde of
Tartars, headed by Baaty Khan, the grandson of Tschinghis
Khan, penetrated into Russia, after having attacked and
defeated their neighbours the Bulgarians. The invaders
soon spread far and wide the terror of their name. Where-
ever they came, the whole face of nature was laid waste;
towns and villages were destroyed by fire; all the men
capable of bearing arms were put to the sword, and the
children, women, and old men, carried into captivity.
They advanced unimpeded to the capital of Vladimir,
which, left to its fate by the Grand Prince Yury, who, with
unpardonable negligence, was celebrating a marriage feast
when he ought to have been employed in collecting the
means of defence against the enemy. The city, which
contained the princess and two of her sons, was left to the
protection of a chieftain totally unqualified for its defence,
and fell an easy prey into the hands of the Tartars; who,
like wild beasts, glutted their appetite for blood amongst
the wretched inhabitants. The grand princess, and other
ladies of distinction, had taken refuge in the choir of a
church ; but it was set on fire by the barbarians, and they
perished in the flames. Yury, incensed almost to despera¬
tion, assembled all his forces, and marched against the
enemy. Though his army was greatly inferior in number,
he attacked them with the most determined valour; but
victory was with the Tartars, and the body of Yury was
found amongst the slain. This appears to have been
the only vigorous stand made by the Russian princes.
The Tartars pushed forward with rapidity, and succes¬
sively overpowered the principalities of Novgorod and
Kief.
They had now established themselves in the Russian
territories, and their khan or chief, though he did not him¬
self assume the nominal sovereignty, reigned as paramount
lord, and placed on the throne any of the native princes
whom he found most obsequious to his will, or who had in¬
gratiated themselves by the magnificence of their presents.
I ill the middle of the fourteenth century the miseries of a
foreign yoke were aggravated by all the calamities of intes¬
tine discord and war; whilst the knights of Livonia on
one side, and the Poles on the other, lost no opportunity
of attacking Russia, took several of its towns, and even some
Dimitri considerable countries.
Ivanovitch, About the year 1362 Dimitri Ivanovitch received the
an. 1362. sovereignty from the Tartar chief, and established the seat
of his government at Moscow. This prince possessed con- History.
siderable ambition, and contrived to inspire the other Rus- v - ^ . j
sian princes with so much respect for his person and
government that they consented to hold their principalities
as fiefs under him. This excited the jealousy of Mam¬
mal, the I artar khan, who determined to take measures for
maintaining his superiority. He began by demanding an
increase of tribute; but when Dimitri demurred to this,
the khan not only insisted on his demand, but required the
grand prince to appear before him in person. This requi¬
sition Dimitri thought proper to refuse, and prepared to
support his refusal by force of arms. A combination of
favourable circumstances operated strongly in favour of
Dimitri. The terror with which the Russians had at first
viewed the Tartars had now in a great measure subsided ;
while the haughty bearing of the latter, with their barbarism
and paganism, served to keep alive the hatred with which
they had ever been viewed. The clergy, too, did all in
their power to foster the spirit of revolt, and promised
crowns of glory to all who should fall in battle. Thus the
grand duke soon found himself at the head of an army of
200,000 men, with which he marched towards the Don, on
the southern bank of which the Tartars were encamped in
numbers greatly exceeding his own forces. This, however,
did not deter him from crossing the river, and the fight
commenced with the greatest fury on both sides. The issue
was long doubtful; but victory at length declared for the
Russians. The Tartars appear to have been so much
humbled by this defeat that for a time they left the Russians
to enjoy in peace their recovered liberty. This forbearance,
however, was not of long duration. Before the death of
Dimitri, returning with increased numbers, they laid siege
to Moscow, which, after an obstinate defence, was at length
induced to surrender, and Russia once more submitted to
her old masters.
Dimitri died in the year 1389, and was succeeded by his
son Vasilii Dimitrievitch. In the reign of this prince a new
incursion of the Tartars took place, under the great Timur or
1 amerlane, who, having subdued all the neighbouring Tar¬
tar hordes, extended his conquests to the Russian territories,
took Moscow by assault, and carried off immense plunder.
The grand principality of Vladimir, or, as it may now be
called, of Moscow, had at the end of the fourteenth century
attained its greatest height, whilst that of Kief had propor¬
tionally declined. This latter principality was, at the time
of which we are now writing, under the dominion of the
Poles, having been seized on in 1320 by Gedemin, Duke of
Lithuania.
The later part of the fifteenth century forms a splendid Ivan Vasili-
epoch in the history of Russia. At this time,—viz., from 1462 vitch.
to 1505,—reigned Ivan Vasilivitch, or, as he is commonly
called, John Basilovitz. This able prince, by his invincible
spirit and refined policy, became both the conqueror and
deliverer of his country, and laid the first foundation of its
future grandeur. Observing with indignation the narrow
limits of his power at his accession to the throne, he began
immediately to resolve within himself upon the means of
enlarging his dominions. He demanded and obtained in
marriage Maria, sister of Michael, Duke of Twer, whom he
soon afterwards deposed, on pretence of revenging the in¬
juries done to his father, and added this duchy to his own
territories of Moscow. Maria, by whom he had a son, who
died before him, did not live long; and upon her death he
jf1 ^.S ,? 1C’ ar^s Memel. Its capital was Novgorod. Little Russia extended on the north along the River Ager to White
a ^ e ®onetz an(l the Oka to the Polovtzes and the Petchienegans, whilst to the south it stretched as far as the
■ f ,, o00t °r 6 rimea’ an(1 t0 the west along the banks of the River Goryn. This was the principality of Kief, and in that
tt f , , g°verninent. The principality of Vladimir received the name of White Russia. It extended northward along the
• ® . ' ,ern °'ln JYy Great Russia ; to the east it bordered on the possessions of the Ugres and the territory of the Mord-
8 d°wn the V(dSa to the mouth of the Oka; and to the south it extended along the Oka to the principality of Riazan
&n. -f, ?igllriTJrl1 0^V 8 nietroP°lis of this division w7as at first Shuja, and afterwards in succession Rostof, Susdal, and Vladi¬
mir, till at length the seat of government was transferred to Moscow.
R U S
History, married Sophia, daughter of Thomas Palaeologus, who had
v>—' been driven from Constantinople, and forced to seek shelter
at Rome, where the Pope portioned this princess, in hopes
of thus procuring great advantage to the Catholic religion ;
but his expectations were frustrated, Sophia being obliged
to conform to the Greek Church after her arrival in Russia.
I his princess, shocked at the servile manner in which her
husband was treated by the proud Tartars, stirred him up
to resistance. He gradually increased his forces, and at
length openly disclaimed all subjection to the Tartars,
attacked their territories, and made himself master of Kazan.
Here he was solemnly crowned, about the year 1470, with
a diadem which is said' to be the same that is still used in
the coronation of the Russian sovereigns. He afterwards
carried his arms against the neighbouring states. Asiatic
Bulgaria and great part of Lapland soon submitted to
him; and the great Novgorod, a city then so famous that
the Russians were accustomed to intimate their idea of its
importance by the proverbial expression, “ Who can resist
God and the great Novgorod ? ” w^as reduced by his generals
after a seven years’ siege, and yielded immense treasure.
After he quitted the city, which had been awed by his pre¬
sence, the discontents, excited at his violent measures, broke
out into acts of mutiny, upon which he, in 1485, carried off
fifty of the principal families, and distributed them through
several of the Russian towns. He afterwards removed
some thousands of the most considerable inhabitants, and
substituted for them more loyal subjects from other places.
By these proceedings the flourishing commerce of this city
received a considerable shock, and it suffered still more by
the imprisonment of all the German merchants, and the
confiscation of their effects, with the abolition of the old
municipal franchises. Indeed from this period Novgorod
never recovered its former splendour.
After his reduction of this city, Ivan invaded the terri¬
tories of Livonia and Esthonia, in consequence, as we are
told, of an affront offered to him by the inhabitants of
Revel. Here, however, he met with a stout resistance, and
does not seem to have made much progress. Towards the
conclusion of his reign the Kazanian Tartars, who, though
humbled, had continued to inhabit that district, made a hard
struggle to shake off the Russian yoke that had been im¬
posed on them ; but Ivan had established his authority too
firmly for them to accomplish their purpose during his life.
He died in 1505, and was succeeded by his son Vasilii
Ivanovitch, commonly called Basilius III.
About fourteen years after the death of Ivan, the Tartars
of Kazan rebelled against the Russian yoke, and united
themselves with their brethren of the Crimea. With their
assistance, they assembled a mighty force, entered the Rus¬
sian dominions, and carried their arms even to the gates of
Moscow. The grand prince Vasilii finding himself at that
time unable to resist the barbarians, purchased an exemp¬
tion from general pillage by great presents and a promise
of renewed allegiance. The Tartars retired, but carried
off immense booty, and nearly 300,000 prisoners, the greater
part of whom they sent to Theodosia in the Crimea, and sold
to the Turks. Vasilii, however, was soon enabled to make
head against the Tartars, and to recover possession of the
city Kazan, and of Pscove, a city which had been built by
the Princess Olga, and was the great rival of Novgorod in
wealth and commercial importance. Under this prince all
the principalities of Russia were once more united, and
they have remained ever since under the dominion of one
sovereign. He died in 1533, having reigned 28 years.
Ivan IV. It was under the son and successor of Vasilii, Ivan IV.,
or, as he is styled by the Russian historians, Ivan Vasilii-
vitch II., that Russia completely emancipated herself from
her subjection to the Tartars, and acquired a vast acces¬
sion of territory, which extended her empire into the N.E.
of Asia, and rendered her for the first time superior in ex-
VOL. XIX.
S I A. 473
tent to any state that had appeared since the Roman em- History,
pire. He was only three years old when his father died ; and y—
during his minority the state became a prey to anarchy and
confusion. But when he attained his seventeenth year he
was able to assume the reins of government; and he dis¬
played so much prudence and manly fortitude as soon raised
him very high in the estimation of his subjects. His first
aim was to still the contending factions which surrounded
him ; and he then resolved to attempt liberating his country
from the dominion of the Tartars. In 1551 he marched
an army in the depth of winter into the district of Kazan,
and laid siege to the capital, which he made himself master
of in 1552, by the new, and, to the Tartars, unheard-of
method of springing a mine below the walls. By this import¬
ant conquest the dominion of the Tartars, who had oppressed
the Russians for more than three centuries, was completely
and permanently overthrown. About two years later Ivan
extended his conquests eastward to the shores of the Caspian,
and took possession of the territory that lay on the right
bank of the Volga, round the city of Astracan, and which
was also inhabited by the Tartar hordes. In 1570 the in¬
habitants of Novgorod being suspected of forming a plot
for delivering that city and the surrounding territory into
the hands of the King of Poland, felt still more severely the
effects of his vengeance. All who had been in any degree
implicated in the conspiracy, to the number of 25,000,
suffered by the hands of the executioner. The city of
Pscove was threatened with a similar proscription ; but Ivan,
on their voluntary submission, contented himself with the
execution of a few monks, and the confiscation of the pro¬
perty of the most opulent inhabitants.
In 1547 Ivan sent a splendid embassy to the Emperor
Charles V., requesting a number of German artists, me¬
chanics, and literary men to be sent into Russia. Several
hundred volunteers were thus collected; but they were in¬
tercepted in their journey through Livonia, and obliged
to return home, though some of them escaped and suc¬
ceeded in reaching Moscow. Ivan endeavoured to re¬
venge himself on the Livonians by invading their country,
which was strenuously defended by the Teutonic Knights;
and these champions, finding at last that they were un¬
able to maintain their ground, put the territory under
the protection of Poland. The Swedes also received
a share of the Livonian territories ; and this circum¬
stance gave rise to a war between them and the Russians.
Ivan invaded Finland; but that country was bravely de¬
fended by William of Furstenberg, grand-master of the
Livonian Knights, with the assistance of the troops of Gus-
tavus Vasa; and it does not appear that Ivan gained much
in this expedition, though we are told that the Livonian
grand-master ended his life in a Russian prison. In 1553
some Englishmen, who were at that time on a voyage of
discovery, landed on the shores of the White Sea,' where
soon after was built the port of Arkhangel. They were
hospitably received by the natives; and intimation of the
circumstance being conveyed to Ivan, he sent for the
strangers, and was so much pleased with their abilities and
deportment that he resolved to give every encouragement
to the English commerce. It was in consequence of this
accidental communication between the Russians and the
English that England first engaged in a trade to Russia,
and promoted this new commerce by the establishment of
a company of Russian merchants in London.
About twenty years after Astracan had been annexed to Ivan an-
the Russian empire, a new acquisition of territory accrued nexes Sibe-
to it from the conquests of a private adventurer, in the un- ria to the
known regions of Siberia. A merchant named Stroganof, Russian
who was proprietor of some salt-works on the confines 0femI)ire-
Siberia, perceiving among the persons who came to him on
affairs of trade men who belonged to no nation with which
he was acquainted, he questioned them concerning the
3 o
474 HUS
History, place whence they came, and once sent a few of his people
v ^ with them back to their country. Ihese brought with
them, at their return, a great quantity of valuable furs, and
thus opened to their master a new road to wealth. The
attention of the government wa& thus dtiected to this
country, but the conquest of it was reserved for an adven¬
turer or robber named Timoseyef Yermak. This Yermak,
at the head of a gang of Don Kozzacks of not fewer than
6000 men, in fleeing from a band of Ifussian tioops, came
accidentally to the dwelling of Stroganof, where, hearing
much about Siberia, they resolved to seek there at once
their safety and their fortune. After numerous struggles
and conflicts with the natives, which greatly reduced their
numbers, they at length conquered the capital, and shortly
after the whole country. Yermak now presented the fruit
of his toilsome and perilous victories to his czar, and there¬
by obtained a pardon of his former depredations. The less
and the greater Kabardey were also added to Russia in
the reign of Ivan. This czar, however, not only enlarged
the circumference of his empire, but he also attempted
to reform his people, to render them more polished, more
skilful, and more industrious ; but this he found to be a
most arduous enterprise. The insuperable impediments
which threw themselves in the way of the execution of
this grand work were the principal incitements to those
frequent acts of cruelty and despotism which have covered
his memory with so deep a stain.
His vie- Towards the close of Ivan’s reign a prodigious army of
tories over Tartars entered Russia, with a design to subdue the whole
the Tar- country. But Zerebrinoff, the czar’s general, having at-
tar3, tacked them in a defile, put them to flight with consider¬
able slaughter. They then retired towards the mouth of
the Volga, where they expected a considerable re-inforce-
ment; but being closely pursued by the Russians and the
Tartars in alliance with them, they were again defeated,
and forced to fly towards Azof, where their army was al-
Destruc- most annihilated. In 1571, instigated by the Poles, the
tion of Grim Tartars again invaded the country with an army of
Moscow by 70,000 men, which totally defeated the Russians in a battle
theTartars. f0Ugi,t within 18 miles of the city of Moscow. The czar
retired with his most valuable effects to a well-fortified
cloister; upon which the Tartars entered the city, plun¬
dered it, and set fire to several churches. A violent storm
which happened at the same time soon spread the flames
all over the city, which was entirely reduced to ashes in
six hours. The fire likewise communicated itself to a
powder magazine, by which upwards of fifty rods of the
city wall, with all the buildings near it, were destroyed;
and, according to the historians, upwards of 120,000 citizens
were burned or buried in the ruins. The castle, however,
which was strongly fortified, could not be taken ; and the
Tartars, hearing that a formidable army was coming against
them under the command of Magnus, Duke of Holstein,
whom Ivan had made king of Livonia, thought proper to
retire. The Livonians, the Poles, and the Swedes, having
united in a league against the Russians, gained great ad¬
vantages over them ; and in 1579 Stephen Batory, who
was then raised to the throne of Poland, levied an army
expressly with a design of invading Russia, and of regain¬
ing all that Poland had formerly claimed, which, indeed,
was little less than the whole empire. Ivan found his un¬
disciplined multitudes unable to cope with the regular
forces of his enemies ; and it is possible that the number
of enemies which now attacked Russia might have over¬
come the empire entirely, had not the allies grown jealous
of each other. The consequence of this was, that in 1582
a peace was concluded; shortly after which the czar, hav-
ing been worsted in an engagement with the Tartars, died
Heiffn of* ^ie ^ear e^est son Feodor (or, as he is com-
F*iodor moniy called, Theodore) Ivanovitch was by no means fitted
Ivaaovitch. for the government of an empire so extensive, and a people
S I A.
so rude and turbulent; and to obviate the effects of this inca- History,
pacify, Ivan had appointed three of his principal nobles as
administrators of the empire, whilst to a fourth he com¬
mitted the charge of his younger son Dmitri or Demetrius.
This expedient, however, failed of success, partly from the
mutual jealousy of the administrators, and partly from the
envy which their exaltation had excited in the other nobles.
The weak Feodor had married a sister of Boris Gudonof,
a man of great ambition, immense riches, and tolerable
abilities. He had long directed his wishes towards the im¬
perial dignity, and began to prepare the way for its attain¬
ment by removing Dmitri. This young prince suddenly
disappeared ; and there is every reason to believe that he
was assassinated by the order of Boris. Feodor did not
long survive his brother, but died in 1598, not without
suspicion of having been poisoned by his brother-in-law.
With Feodor ended the family of Ruric, a dynasty which Accession
had enjoyed the supreme power in Russia for more than of Bons>
700 years. On the death of Feodor, as there was n0 nation™1*
hereditary successor to the vacant throne, the nobles tlie ^ynas.
assembled to elect a new czar; and Boris having, ty of liurie
through the interest of the patriarch, procured a majority
in his favour, was declared sovereign. Notwithstanding the
means that he had used to obtain imperial power, Boris
seems to have employed it in advancing the interest of
the nation, and in improving the circumstances of his people.
He was extremely active in his endeavours to extend the
commerce and improve the arts and manufactures of the
Russian empire; and for this purpose he invited many
foreigners into his dominions. Soon after the commence¬
ment of his reign the city of Moscow was desolated by
one of the most dreadful famines recorded in history.
Parents are said to have eaten their children, and children
their parents; and we are told by one writer of the time
that he saw a woman bite several pieces out of her child’s
arm as she was carrying it along. This dreadful calamity
lasted three years, notwithstanding all the exertions of
Boris to mitigate its severity. During these distresses
the power of Boris was threatened by an adventurer
who pretended to be the young prince Dmitri, whom
he had caused to be assassinated. This adventurer was
a monk named Otrepief. He retired from Russia into Po¬
land, where he had the dexterity to ingratiate himself with
some of the principal nobles, and at length even the King of
Poland was brought over to his party. The Kozzacks of the
Don also, who were oppressed by Boris, eagerly embraced
the opportunity of declaring in his favour; and although
Boris did all in his power to destroy the illusion, by prohi¬
biting all intercourse between his subjects and the Poles,
the cause of the pretender rapidly gained ground in Russia.
He soon made his appearance on the frontiers with a regi¬
ment of Polish troops and a body of Kozzacks, and signally
defeated an army sent by Boris to oppose him. He greatly
strengthened his cause by treating his prisoners with the
utmost humanity, and strictly enjoining his troops not to
molest the inhabitants in passing through the country.
This gentle behaviour, when contrasted with the horrible
excesses committed by the soldiers of Boris, gained Dmitri
more adherents than even the persuasion that he was the
lawful sovereign of the country. At length, Boris, unable
to resist the torrent of public opinion in favour of his rival,
is said to have taken poison, and thus hastened that fate
which he foresaw awaited him if he should fall into the
hands of his enemies.
The death of Boris took place in the year 1605 ; and
though the principal nobility at Moscow placed his son
Feodor on the throne, the party of Dmitri was now so strong
that Feodor was dethroned and sent to prison with his
mother and sister, within six weeks after his accession.
The successful monk now made his entry into Moscow
with the utmost magnificence. One of his first acts was
RUSSIA.
475
History.
to remove the son of Boris, whom he caused to be strangled,
together with one of his sisters. Though possessed of con¬
siderable abilities, he was deficient in prudence ; and the
partiality that he showed towards the Poles, and the con¬
tempt with which he treated the Russian nobility, so ex¬
asperated the Russians that discontents and insurrections
arose in every quarter of the empire. The people were
still further incensed by the clergy, who declaimed against
Dmitri as a heretic, and by Schuiskoy, a nobleman who
had been condemned to death by the czar, but had after¬
wards been pardoned. This nobleman put himself at the
head of the enraged mob, and led them to attack the palace.
They entered it by assault, put to the sword all the Poles
whom they found within its walls, and afterwards extended
their massacre to such as were discovered in other parts of
the city. Dmitri himself, in attempting to escape, was
overtaken by his pursuers and thrust through with a spear;
and his dead body, being brought back into the city, lay for
three days before the palace, exposed to every outrage that
malice could invent or rage inflict.
Schuiskoy was now raised to the vacant throne, but his
reign was short and uninteresting; and indeed, from this
time till the accession of the House of Romanof in 1613,
the affairs of Russia have little to gratify our curiosity.
The Russians, dissatisfied with the reigning prince, treated
with several of the neighbouring potentates for the dis¬
posal of the imperial crown. They offered it to Vladislaf
or Uladislas, son of Sigismund, King of Poland, on condi¬
tion that he should adopt the Greek persuasion ; but as he
rejected this preliminary, they turned their eyes first on a
son of Charles IX. of Sweden, and then on a young native
Russian, Mikhail Feodorovitch, of the House of Romanof, a
family which w?as distantly related to their ancient czars,
and of which the head was then metropolitan of Rostof, and
as such held in great estimation. The influence of the
clergy, who exerted themselves for Mikhail, both by per¬
sonal intrigues and by the dissemination of pretended re¬
velations from heaven, silenced the supporters of the other
claimants; and, after a long series of confusion and dis¬
aster, there ascended the Russian throne a family whose
descendants have raised the empire to a state of grandeur
and importance unequalled in any former period.
State of the At this period the government of Russia may be consi-
empire at dered as a pure aristocracy, since the supreme power rested
in the hands of the nobles and the superior clergy. In
particular, the boyars, or chief officers of the army, who
were also the privy counsellors of the prince, possessed a
very considerable share of authority. The election ot the
late princes Boris, Dmitri, and Schuiskoy had been con¬
ducted principally by them, in concert with the inhabitants
of Moscow, where was then held the seat of government.
The common people, especially those of the inferior towns,
though nominally free, had no share in the government or
in the election of the chief ruler. The boors, or those
peasants who dwelt on the noblemen’s estates, wrere almost
completely slaves, and transferable with the land on which
they dwelt. An attempt to annul this barbarous vassalage
had been made both by Boris and by Schuiskoy, but from
the opposition of the nobles it was abandoned.
The law's then in force consisted partly of the municipal
laws drawn up for the state of Novgorod by Yaroslaf, and
partly of an amended code, called Sudebnik, promulgated
by Ivan Vasiliivitch II. By this Sudebnik the admi¬
nistration of the laws w^as made uniform throughout the
empire, and particular magistrates were appointed in the
several towns and districts, all subject to the czar as their
chief. The Sudebnik consisted ot ninety-seven articles,
all containing civil laws ; as the penal statutes are only
briefly mentioned in some articles, so as to appear either
connected with the civil, or as serving to illustrate them.
The criminal laws were contained in a separate code, called
the begin
ning of the
17 th cen¬
tury.
Gubnaia Gramota, which is now lost, but is referred to in History,
the civil code. In neither of these codes is there any men- v>—
tion of ecclesiastical affairs ; but these were regulated by a
set of canons drawn up in 1542, under the inspection of
Ivan Vasiliivitch, in a grand council held at Moscow. In
the civil statutes of the Sudebnik theft was punished in
the first instance by restitution ; or, if the thief were unable
to restore the property stolen, he became the slave of the
injured party till by his labour he had made sufficient com¬
pensation. Of murder nothing is said, except where the
person slain was a lord or master, when the murderer w'as
to be punished with death. There is no mention of tor¬
ture, except in cases of theft. Notwithstanding that at¬
tempts had been made by Ivan I., Ivan Vasiliivitch II., and
Boris, to cultivate their manners and to improve the state
of their arts and manufactures, the Russians were still de¬
plorably behind the rest of Europe in civilization.
At the accession of Mikhail, who was crowned in June An. 1613.
1613, the Swedes and Poles were in possession of several Accession
parts of the empire ; and to dislodge these intruders was the of Mikhail,
first object of the new czar. He began by negotiating a
treaty of peace with Sweden, agreeing to give up Ingria
and Karelia, and to evacuate Esthonia and Livonia. A
numerous body of Poles next entered Russia, to support
the claims of their king’s son Vladislaf. Mikhail, however,
instead of opposing them in the open field, entrapped them
by ambuscades, or allured them into districts already deso¬
lated, where they suffered so much from cold and hunger
that in 1619 they agreed to a cessation of hostilities for
fourteen years and a half, on condition that the Russians
should cede to Poland the government of Smolensk.
Mikhail now applied himself to arranging the internal
economy of his empire, and formed treaties of alliance with
the principal commercial states of Europe. He also com¬
menced those improvements of the laws which were more
fully executed by his son and successor; but the tide of
party ran so high that he could effect only a very imper¬
fect reformation. He died in 1645, and was succeeded by An. 1645.
his son Alexei, who being then only fifteen years of age, Accession
a nobleman named Morosof was appointed his governor and of Alexei
regent of the empire. This man possessed all the ambition Maldm1!0-
of Boris, without his prudence and address ; and in attempt- V1 c
ing to raise himself and his adherents to the highest posts
in the state, he incurred the hatred of all ranks of the
people. Though, by properly organizing the army, he pro¬
vided for the defence of the empire against external ene¬
mies, he shamefully neglected internal policy, and connived
at the most flagrant enormities in the administration of jus¬
tice. The populace at length rebelled against these abuses,
and were only pacified by the execution of one of the most
nefarious of the judges, Morosof’s life being spared at the
earnest entreaty of the czar.
Similar disturbances had broken out at Novgorod and
Pscov; but they were happily terminated, chiefly through
the exertions of the metropolitan Nicon, a man who, though
of low birth, by his reputation for extraordinary piety and
holiness, had raised himself to the patriarchal dignity, and
was high in favour with Alexei. The pacific conduct of
the neighbouring states did not long continue, though, in¬
deed, we may attribute the renewal of hostilities to the am¬
bition of the czar.
The war with Poland was occasioned by Alexei’s sup- \yar with
porting the Kozzacks, a military horde, who, after the sub- Sweden and
jugation of the Tartars, had put themselves under the Poland,
guardianship of Poland. As the Polish clergy, however,
attempted to impose on them the Catholic faith, they threw
off their allegiance, and claimed the patronage of Russia.
Alexei gladly received them as his subjects, hoping by their
assistance to recover the territories which had been ceded
to Poland by his father. The Russians, assisted by the
Kozzacks, were so successful in this contest that the King of
476
RUSSIA.
History. Sweden became jealous of Alexei’s good fortune, and de-
termined to take a very active part in the war, especially
as the Lithuanians, who were extremely averse to the Rus¬
sian dominion, had sought his protection. The war with
Sweden commenced in 1656, and lasted for two years,
without any important advantage being gained by either
party. A truce was concluded in 1658 for three years,
and at the termination of this period a solid peace was
established. In the meantime, the war with Poland con¬
tinued, but was at length terminated by an armistice, which
was prolonged from time to time during the remainder of
Alexei’s life.
The authority which Alexei had obtained over the Don
Kozzacks excited the jealousy of the Sublime Porte, and after
a successful attempt on the frontiers of Poland, a Turkish
army entered the Ukraine. Alexei endeavoured to form
a confederacy against the infidels among the Christian po¬
tentates of Europe; but the age of crusading chivalry was
over, and the czar was obliged to make head against the
Turks with no assistance but that of the King of Poland.
The Turkish arms were for some years victorious, espe¬
cially on the side of Poland; but at length a check was
given to their successes by the Polish general Sobieski, who
afterwards ascended the throne of that kingdom. Hosti¬
lities between the Turks and Russians were not, however,
terminated during the reign of Alexei, and the czar left to
his successor the prosecution of the war.
The reign of Alexei is most remarkable for the improve¬
ments introduced by him into the Russian laws. Before
his time the Emmanoy Ukases, or personal orders of the
sovereign, were almost the only laws of the country. These
edicts were as various as the opinions, prejudices, and
passions of men ; and before the days of Alexei they pro¬
duced endless contentions. To remedy this evil, he made
a selection, from all the edicts of his predecessors, of such
as had been current for a hundred years, presuming that
these either w'ere founded in natural justice, or during so
long a currency had formed the minds of the people to
consider them as just. This digest, which he declared to
be the common law of Russia, and which is prefaced by a
sort of institute, is known by the title of the Uloshenie or
“ Selection.” It was long the standard law-book, all edicts
prior thereto being declared to be obsolete.
Alexei died in 1676, leaving three sons and six daughters.
Two of the sons, Feodor and Ivan, were by a first marriage ;
the third, Peter, by a second. The two former, particularly
Ivan, were of a delicate constitution, and some attempts
were made by the relations of Peter to set them aside.
These attempts, however, proved unsuccessful; and Feodor
became the successor of Alexei.
The reign of this prince was short, and distinguished
rather for the happiness which the nation then expe¬
rienced than for the importance of the transactions which
took place. One important service he rendered to his
country places his energy and talent in a very favourable
light, and that was his causing the destruction of the
family registers of the nobility, and thus removing an end¬
less source of contention in the kingdom. The Russian
noble placed the highest value upon his ancestry; and to
such an extent was this carried that no one would take an
office under one with a shorter or less distinguished pedi¬
gree than himself. All these registers Feodor ordered to
be brought to Moscow, under the pretence of adjusting
certain errors that had crept into them, and then caused
thern to be burned. He continued the war with the Turks
for lour years after his father’s death, and at length brought
it tojm honourable conclusion by a truce for twenty years,
the Turks acknowledging the Russian right of sovereignty
over the Kozzacks. Feodor died in 1682, having nominated
his half-brother Peter his successor.
The succession of Peter, though appointed by their fa-
An. 1676.
Reign of
Feodor.
vourite czar Feodor, was by no means pleasing to the ma- History,
jority of the Russian nobles, and it was particularly op-
posed by Galitzin, the prime minister of the late czar. This •1)68)2,
able man had espoused the interest of Sophia, the sister ofoftj1°: pr;n_
Feodor and Ivan, a young woman of eminent abilities andcessgopiRa,
the most insinuating address. Sophia, upon pretence of
asserting the claims of her brother Ivan, who, though of a
feeble body and weak intellect, was considered as the law¬
ful heir of the crown, had really formed a design of secur¬
ing the succession to herself; and with that view, had not
only insinuated herself into the confidence and good graces
of Galitzin, but had brought over to her interests the Stre-
litzes, who were the body-guard of the czars, and at this time
were about fourteen thousand in number. These licentious
soldiers assembled for the purpose, as was pretended, of pla¬
cing on the throne Prince Ivan, whom they proclaimed czar
by acclamation. During three days they roved about the
city of Moscow, committing the greatest excesses, and put¬
ting to death several of the chief officers of state who were
suspected of being hostile to the designs of Sophia. Their
employer did not, however, entirely gain her point; for as
the new czar entertained a sincere affection for his half-
brother Peter, he insisted that this prince should share
with him the imperial dignity. This was at length agreed
to ; and on the 6th of May 1682, Ivan and Peter were so¬
lemnly crowned joint emperors of all the Russias, while the
Princess Sophia was nominated their copartner in the go¬
vernment.
From the imbecility of Ivan and the youth of Peter, who Joint reign
was now only ten years of age, the whole power of the go- of Ivan and
vernment rested with Sophia and her minister Galitzin, *>eter **
although till the year 1687 the names of Ivan and Peter
only were annexed to the imperial decrees. Scarcely had
Sophia established her authority when she was threatened
with deposition, from an alarming insurrection of the Stre-
litzes. This was excited by their commander Prince Ko-
vanskoi, who had demanded of Sophia that she should mar¬
ry one of her sisters to his son, but had met with a morti¬
fying refusal. In consequence of this insurrection, which
threw the whole city of Moscow into terror and consterna¬
tion, Sophia and the two young czars took refuge in a mo¬
nastery about twelve leagues from the capital; and before
the Strelitzes could follow them thither, a considerable
body of soldiers, principally foreigners, was assembled in
their defence. Kovanskoi was taken prisoner, and instant¬
ly beheaded; and though his followers at first threatened
dreadful vengeance on his executioners, they soon found
themselves obliged to submit. From every regiment was
selected the tenth man, who was to suffer as an atonement
for the rest; but this cruel punishment was remitted, and
only the most guilty among the ringleaders suffered death.
The quelling of these disturbances gave leisure to the An. 1687.
friends of Peter to pursue the plans which they had formed The party
for subverting the authority of Sophia; and about this time°l.Peter
a favourable opportunity offered, in consequence of a rup- £ains ,
ture with Turkey. The Porte was now engaged in a warfe
with Poland and the German empire, and both these latter
powers had solicited the assistance of Russia against the
common enemy. Sophia and her party were averse to the
alliance; but as there were in the council many secret
friends of Peter, these had sufficient influence to persuade
the majority that a Turkish war would be of advantage to
the state. They even prevailed on Galitzin to put himself
at the head of the army, and thus removed their principal
opponent. It is difficult to conceive how a man, so able in
the cabinet as Galitzin, could have suffered his vanity so
far to get the better of his good sense, as to accept a mili¬
tary command, for which he certainly had no talents. As¬
sembling an army of nearly three hundred thousand men,
he marched towards the confines of Turkey, and there con¬
sumed two campaigns in marches and countermarches, and
RUSSIA.
477
History.
An. 1689.
Peter ob¬
tains the
undivided
sovereign¬
ty.
He esta¬
blishes a
military
and naval
force.
Hissucces-
ses against
the Turks.
lost nearly forty thousand men, partly in unsuccessful skir¬
mishes with the enemy, but chiefly from disease.
While Galitzin was thus trifling away his time in the
south, Peter, who already began to give proofs of those
great talents which afterwards enabled him to act so con¬
spicuous a part in the theatre of the north, was strengthen¬
ing his party among the Russian nobles. His ordinary re¬
sidence was at a village not far from Moscow, and here he
had assembled round him a considerable number of young
men of rank and influence, whom he called his play-mates.
Among these were two foreigners, Lefort a Genevese, and
Gordon a Scotchman, who afterwards signalized themselves
in his service. These young men had formed a sort of mi¬
litary company, of which Lefort was captain ; and the young
czar, beginning with the situation of drummer, gradually
rose through every subordinate office. Under this appear¬
ance of a military game, Peter was secretly establishing
himselt in the affections of his young companions, and ef¬
fectually lulled the suspicions of Sophia, till it was too late
for her to oppose his machinations.
About the middle of the year 1689, Peter, who had now
attained his seventeenth year, determined to make an effort
to deprive Sophia of all share in the government, and to
secure to himself the undivided sovereignty. On occasion
of a solemn religious meeting that was held, Sophia had
claimed the principal place, as regent of the empire; but
this claim was strenuously opposed by Peter, who, rather
than fill a subordinate situation, quitted the place of assem¬
bly, and, with his friends and adherents, withdrew to the
monastery of the Holy Trinity, which had formerly sheltered
him and his copartners from the fury of the Strelitzes. This
was the signal for an open rupture. Sophia, finding that
she could not openly oppose the party of the czar, attempt¬
ed to procure his assassination; but as her design was dis¬
covered, she thought proper to solicit an accommodation.
This was agreed to, on condition that she should give up
all claim to the regency, and retire to a nunnery. The
commander of the Strelitzes, her agent in the assassina¬
tion of Peter, was beheaded, and the minister Galitzin sent
into banishment to Archangel.
Peter now saw himself in undisputed possession of the
imperial throne ; for though Ivan was still nominally czar,
he had voluntarily resigned all share in the administration
of affairs, and retired to a life of obscurity. The first ob¬
ject to which the czar directed his attention was the es¬
tablishment of a regular and well-disciplined military force.
He had learned by experience how little dependence was
to be placed on the Strelitzes; and these regiments he de¬
termined to disband. He commissioned Lefort and Gor¬
don to levy new regiments, which, in their whole constitu¬
tion, dress, and military exercises, should be formed on the
model of other European troops. He next resolved to car¬
ry into execution the design which had been formed by his
father, of constructing a navy. For this purpose he first
took a journey to Archangel, where he employed himself
in examining the operations of the shipwrights, and occa¬
sionally taking a part in their labours; but as he learned
that the art of ship-building was practised in greater per¬
fection in Holland, and some other maritime countries of
Europe, he sent thither several young Russians to be ini¬
tiated into the best methods of constructing ships of war.
The war with Turkey still languished, but Peter was re¬
solved to prosecute it with vigour, hoping to get possession
of the town of Azof, and thus open a passage to the Black
Sea. He placed Gordon, Lefort, and two of his nobles, at
the head of the forces destined for this expedition, and him¬
self attended the army as a private volunteer. The suc¬
cess of the first campaign was but trifling; and Peter learn¬
ed that his deficiency of artillery and his want of transports
prevented him from making an effectual attack on Azof.
These difficulties, however, were soon surmounted. He
procured a supply of artillery and engineers from the em- History,
peror and the Dutch, and found means to provide a num-
ber of transports. With these auxiliaries he opened the
second campaign, defeated the Turks on the Sea of Azof,
and made himself master of the town. Peter was so elated
with these successes, that on his return from the seat of war
he marched his troops into Moscow in a triumphal proces¬
sion, in which Lefort as admiral of the transports, and
Schein as commander of the land forces, bore the most con¬
spicuous parts, while Peter himself was lost without dis¬
tinction in the crowd of subaltern officers.
He now resolved to form a fleet in the Black Sea ; but
as his own revenues were insufficient for this purpose, he
issued a ukase, commanding the patriarch and other digni¬
fied clergy, the nobility, and the merchants, to contribute a
part of their income towards fitting out a certain number
of ships. This proclamation was extremely unpopular, and,
together with the numerous innovations which Peter was
every day introducing, especially his sending the young
nobles to visit foreign countries, and his own avowed inten¬
tion of making the tour of Europe, contributed to raise
against him a formidable party. The vigilance and pru¬
dence of the czar, however, extricated him from the dan¬
gers with which he was threatened, and enabled him to
carry into execution his proposed journey.
In returning to his own dominions, Peter passed through An. 1700.
Rawa, where Augustus king of Poland then was. The czar Peter en-
had determined, in conjunction with Augustus and the kingS^f® a
of Denmark, to take advantage of the youth and inexperi-1
ence of Charles XII. who had just succeeded to the Swedish xil. of
throne; and in this interview with Augustus, he made the Sweden,
final arrangements for the part which each was to take in
the war. Augustus was to receive Livonia as his part of
the spoil, while Frederick king of Denmark had his eye on
Holstein, and Peter had formed designs on Ingria, formerly
a province of the Russian empire.
In the middle of the year 1700, Charles had left his ca-Defeated
pital to oppose these united enemies. He soon compelled by the
the king of Denmark to give up his designs on Holstein, Swedes,
and sign a treaty of peace; and being thus at liberty to
turn his arms against the other members of the confederacy,
he resolved first to lead his army against the king of Poland;
but on his way he received intelligence that the czar had
laid siege to Narva with an army which some authorities
calculate at a hundred thousand men. On this he imme¬
diately embarked at Carlscrona, though it was then the
depth of winter, and the Baltic was scarcely navigable; and
soon landed at Pernaw in Livonia with part of his forces,
having ordered the rest to Revel. His army did not ex¬
ceed twenty thousand men, but it was composed of the
best soldiers in Europe, while that of the Russians was
little better than an undisciplined multitude. Every pos¬
sible obstruction, however, had been thrown in the way of
the Swedes. Thirty thousand Russians were posted in a
defile on the road, and this corps was sustained by another
body of twenty thousand drawn up some leagues nearer
Narva. Peter himself had set out to hasten the march
of a reinforcement of forty thousand men, with whom he
intended to attack the Swedes in flank and rear; but the
celerity and valour of Charles baffled every attempt to op¬
pose him. He set out with four thousand foot and an
equal number of cavalry, leaving the rest of the army to
follow at their leisure. With this small body he attacked
and defeated the Russian armies successively, and pushed
his way to Peter’s camp, for the attack of which he gave
immediate orders. This camp was fortified by lines of cir-
cumvallation and contravallation, by redoubts, and by a
line of a hundred and fifty brass cannons placed in front;
and it was defended by an army of eighty thousand men;
yet so violent was the attack of the Swedes, that in three
hours the intrenchments were carried, and Charles, with
478
RUSSIA.
History. oniy four thousand men, that composed the wing which ho
s—v—commanded, pursued the flying enemy, amounting to fifty
thousand, to the river Narva. Here the bridge broke
down with the weight of the fugitives, and the river was
filled with their bodies. Great numbers returned in de¬
spair to their camp, where they defended themselves for a
short time, but were at last obliged to surrender. In this
battle, thirty thousand were killed in the intrenchments
and the pursuit, or drowned in the river; twenty thousand
surrendered at discretion, and were dismissed unarmed,
while the rest were totally dispersed. A hundred and
fifty pieces of cannon, twenty-eight mortars, a hundred
and fifty-one pairs of colours, twenty standards, and all
the Russian baggage, fell into the hands of the Swedes;
and the Duke de Croy, the Prince of Georgia, and seven
other generals, were made prisoners. Charles behaved with
the greatest generosity to the conquered. Being inform¬
ed that the tradesmen of Narva had refused credit to the
officers whom he detained prisoners, he sent a thousand
ducats to the Duke de Croy, and to every other officer a
proportional sum.
Peter was advancing with forty thousand men to surround
the Swedes, when he received intelligence of the dreadful
defeat at Narva. He was greatly chagrined; but comforting
himself with the hopes that the Swedes would in time teach
the Russians to beat them, he returned to his own domi¬
nions, where he applied himself with the utmost diligence
to the raising of another army. He evacuated all the pro¬
vinces which he had invaded, and for a time abandoned all
his great projects, thus leaving Charles at liberty to prose¬
cute the war against Poland.
As Augustus had expected an attack, he endeavoured to
draw the czar into a close alliance with him. The two mo-
narchs had an interview at Birzen, where it was agreed that
Augustus should lend the czar fifty thousand German sol¬
diers, to be paid by Russia; that the czar should send an
equal number of his troops to be trained up to the art of
war in Poland ; and that he should pay the king three mil¬
lions of rix-dollars in the space of two years. Of this
treaty Charles had notice, and, by means of his minister
Count Piper, entirely frustrated the scheme.
After the battle of Narva, Charles became confident and
negligent, while the activity of Peter increased with his
losses. He supplied his want of artillery by melting down
the bells of the churches, and constructed numerous small
vessels on the lake of Ladoga to oppose the entrance of the
Swedes into his dominions. He took every advantage of
Charles’s negligence, and engaged in frequent skirmishes,
in which, though often beaten, he was sometimes victorious.
He contrived to make himself master of the river Neva,
and captured Nyenschantz, a fortress at the mouth of that
river. Here he laid the foundation of that city which he
had long projected, and which was to become the metro ¬
polis of his empire. At length, in 1704, he became master
of Ingria, and appointed his favourite Prince Menzikoff to
be viceroy of that province, with strict orders to make the
building of the new city his principal business. Here edi¬
fices were already rising in every quarter, and navigation
and commerce were increasing in vigour and extent.
In the mean time Augustus king of Poland, though treat-
tbe Swedes, ing with Charles for the surrender of his dominions, was
obliged to keep up the appearance of war, which he had
neither ability nor inclination to conduct. He had been
lately joined by Prince Menzikoff with 30,000 Russians;
and this obliged him, contrary to his inclination, tc hazard
an engagement with Meyerfeldt, who commanded 10,000
men, one half of whom were Swedes. As at this time no
disparity of numbers whatever was reckoned an equivalent
to the valour of the Swedes, Meyerfeldt did not decline the
combat, though the army of the enemy was four times as nu¬
merous as his own. Menzikoff, with his own countrymen,
Renewed
exertions
of Peter.
Defeat of
defeated the enemy’s first line, and was on the point of defeat- History,
ing the second, when Stanislas, with the Poles and Lithua-v”—'
nians, gave way. Meyerfeldt then perceived that the battle
was lost; but he fought desperately, that he might avoid
the disgrace of a defeat. At last, however, he was oppressed
by numbers, and forced to surrender ; suffering the Swedes
for the first time to be conquered by their enemies. The
whole army were taken prisoners excepting Major-general
Krassau, who having repeatedly rallied a body of horse
formed into a brigade, at last broke through the enemy, and
escaped to Posnania. Augustus had scarcely sung Te Deum
for this victory, when his plenipotentiary returned from
Saxony with the articles of the treaty, by which he was to
renounce all claim to the crown of Poland in favour of his
rival Stanislas. The king hesitated and scrupled, but at
last signed them; after which he set out for Saxony, glad
at any expense to be freed from such an enemy as the king
of Sweden, and from such allies as the Russians.
The czar Peter was no sooner informed of this extraor-Peter de¬
dinary treaty, than he learned also the cruel fate of *°
plenipotentiary Patkul, a Livonian emigrant, whom Charles^ war<
claiming as a subject, seized and executed. Peter imme¬
diately sent letters to every court in Christendom, com¬
plaining of this breach of the law of nations. He entreated
the emperor, the queen of Britain, and the states-general,
to revenge this insult on humanity. He stigmatized the
compliance of Augustus with the opprobrious name of pu¬
sillanimity ; and exhorted them not to guarantee a treaty so
unjust, but to despise the menaces of the Swedish bully. So
well, however, was the prowess of the king of Sweden known,
that none of the allies thought proper to irritate him, by re¬
fusing to guarantee suy treaty which he thought proper to
accept. At first, Pf ter thought of revenging Patkul’s death
by massacring the Swedish prisoners at Moscow; but from
this he was deterred, by remembering that Charles had many
more Russian prisoners than he himself had of Swedes. In
the year 1707, however, he entered Poland at the head of
sixty thousand men, and, assembling a diet, solemnly de¬
posed Stanislas, with the same ceremonies which had been
used with regard to Augustus. The appearance of a Swe¬
dish army under King Stanislas and General Lewenhaupt
put a stop to this invasion, and the czar retired into Lithua¬
nia, giving out as the cause of his retreat, that the country
could not supply him with the provisions and forage neces¬
sary for so great an army.
During these transactions Charles had taken up his resi- Charles
dence in Saxony, where he gave laws to the court of Vienna, v,sits Au"
and in a manner intimidated all Europe. At last, satiated ^ustu8‘
with the glory of having dethroned one king, set up another,
and struck all Europe with terror and admiration, he began
to evacuate Saxony in pursuit of his great plan, the dethron¬
ing the czar Peter, and conquering the vast empire of Russia.
While the army was on full march in the neighbourhood of
Dresden, he took the extraordinary resolution of visiting
King Augustus with no more than five attendants. Although
he had no reason to imagine that Augustus either did or
could entertain any friendship for him, he was not uneasy
at the consequences of thus putting himself entirely in his
power. He reached the palace door of Augustus before it
was known that he was in the city; and he entered the
elector’s chamber in his boots before the latter had time to
recover from his surprise. He breakfasted with him in a
friendly manner, and then expressed a, desire of viewing
the fortifications. While he was walking round them, a Li¬
vonian, who had formerly been condemned in Sweden, and
served in the troops ot Saxony, thought he could never have
a more favourable opportunity of obtaining pardon. He
therefore begged of King Augustus to intercede for him,
being fully assured that his majesty could not refuse so
small a favour to a prince in whose power he then was.
Augustus accordingly made the request, but Charles refused
RUSSIA.
479
History.
He marches
against the
Russians.
The Rus¬
sians again
defeated.
Peter at¬
tempts to
make
peace, hut
is unsuc¬
cessful.
An. 1708.
Charles
advances
towards
Moscow.
it in such a manner that he did not think proper to ask it
a second time. Having passed some hours in this extraor¬
dinary visit, he returned to his army, after having embraced
and taken leave of the king he had dethroned.
The armies of Sweden, in Saxony, Poland, and Finland,
now exceeded seventy thousand men ; while the available
force of Russia amounted to about a hundred thousand.
Peter, who had his army dispersed in small parties, in¬
stantly assembled it on receiving notice of the king of
Sweden’s march, was making all possible preparations for a
vigorous resistance, and was on the point of attacking Sta¬
nislas, when the approach of Charles struck his whole army
with terror. In the month of January 1708, Charles passed
the Niemen, and entered the south gate of Grodno just
as Peter was quitting the place by the north gate. Charles
at this time had advanced some distance before the army,
at the head of six hundred horse.
The czar having received intelligence of his situation,
sent back a detacliment of two thousand men to attack
him; but these were entirely defeated, and thus Charles
became possessed of the whole province of Lithuania. The
king pursued his flying enemies in the midst of ice and
snow, over mountains, rivers, and morasses, and through
obstacles which appeared to be insurmountable. These
difficulties, however, he had foreseen, and had prepared to
meet them. As he knew that the country could not fur¬
nish provisions sufficient for the subsistence of his army, he
had provided a large quantity of biscuit, and on this his
troops chiefly subsisted, till they came to the banks of the
Beresina, in view of Borisow. Here the czar was posted,
and Charles intended to give him battle, after which he
could the more easily penetrate into Russia. Peter, how¬
ever, did not think proper to come to an action, but re¬
treated towards the Dnieper, whither he was pursued by
Charles, as soon as he had refreshed his army. The Rus¬
sians had destroyed the roads and desolated the country,
yet the Swedish army advanced with great celerity, and
in their march defeated twenty thousand Russians, though
intrenched to the very teeth. This victory, from the cir¬
cumstances in which it was gained, was one of the most
glorious that ever Charles had achieved. The memory of
it was preserved by a medal struck in Sweden with this in¬
scription ; Sylvce, paludes, aggeres, hastes, vied.
When the Russians had repassed the Dnieper, the czar,
finding himself pursued by an enemy with whom he could
not cope, resolved to make proposals for an accommodation.
Charles made only this arrogant reply, “ I w/ill treat with
the czar at Moscow a taunt which was received by Peter
with the coolness of a hero. “ My brother Charles, said
he, “ affects to play the Alexander, but he shall not find in
me a Darius.” He still, however, continued his retreat,
and Charles pursued so closely that daily skirmishes took
place between his advanced guard and the rear of the Rus¬
sians. In these actions the Swedes had generally the ad¬
vantage, though their petty victories cost them dear, by con¬
tributing to weaken their force in a country where it could
not be recruited. The two armies came so close to each
other at Smolensk, that an engagement took place between
a body of Russians composed of ten thousand cavalry and
six thousand Kalmuks, and the Swedish vanguard, compos¬
ed of only six regiments, but commanded by the king in
person. Here the Russians were again defeated; but
Charles, having been separated from the main body of his
detachment, was exposed to great danger. With one regi¬
ment only he fought with such fury as to drive the enemy
before him, when they thought themselves sure of making
him prisoner.
By the 3d of October 1708, Charles had approached with¬
in a hundred leagues of Moscow ; but Peter had rendered
the roads completely impassable, and had destroyed the
villages on every side, so as to cut off every possibility of
subsistence to the enemy, while the season was far advan- History,
ced, and the severity of winter was approaching. In theseY^*“
circumstances, the king, at length sensible that he had com¬
mitted a perilous mistake, endeavoured to retrieve it by a
step which proved yet more calamitous. He resolved, be¬
fore attacking the Russian capital, to achieve the conquest
of the Ukraine, where Mazeppa, a Polish gentleman, was
general and chief of the Kozaks. Mazeppa having been
affronted by the czar, readily entered into a treaty with
Charles, whom he promised to assist with thirty thousand
men, great quantities of provisions and ammunition, and
with all his treasures, which were falsely stated to be im¬
mense. The Swedish army advanced towards the river
Disna, where they had to encounter the greatest difficul¬
ties ; a forest above forty leagues in extent, filled with
rocks, mountains, and morasses. To complete their mis¬
fortunes, they were led thirty leagues out of the right way ;
all the artillery was sunk in bogs and marshes ; the provi¬
sion of the soldiers, which consisted of biscuit, was exhaust¬
ed ; and the whole army were spent and emaciated when
they arrived at the Disna. Here they expected to have
met Mazeppa with his reinforcement; but instead of that,
they perceived the opposite banks of the river covered with
a hostile army, and the passage itself rendered almost im¬
practicable. Charles, however, was still undaunted; he
let his soldiers by ropes down the steep banks; they cross¬
ed the river either by swimming, or on rafts hastily put to¬
gether, drove the Russians from their post, and continued
their march. Mazeppa soon after appeared, having with
him about six thousand men, the broken remains of the
army he had promised. The Russians had got intelli¬
gence of his designs, defeated and dispersed his adherents,
laid his town in ashes, and taken all the stores collected
for the Swedish army. However, he still hoped to be use¬
ful by his intelligence in an unknown country; and the
Kozaks, out of revenge, crowded daily to the camp with pro¬
visions.
Greater misfortunes still awaited the Swedes. When
Charles entered the Ukraine, he had sent orders to Gene¬
ral Lewenhaupt to meet him with fifteen thousand men,
six thousand of whom were Swedes, and a large convoy
of provisions. Against this detachment Peter now bent
his whole force, and marched against him with an army
of sixty-five thousand men. Lewenhaupt had received in¬
telligence that the Russian army consisted of only twenty-
four thousand, a force to which he thought six thousand
Swedes superior, and therefore disdained to intrench him¬
self. A furious contest ensued, in which the Russians were
defeated with the loss of fifteen thousand men. Now, how¬
ever, affairs began to take another turn. The Swedes,
elated with victory, prosecuted their march into the inte¬
rior ; but, from the ignorance or treachery of their guides,
they were led into a marshy country, where the roads were
made impassable by felled trees and deep ditches. Here
they were attacked by the czar with his whole army. Le¬
wenhaupt had sent a detachment to dispute the passage of
a body of Russians over a morass ; but finding his detach¬
ment likely to be overpowered, he marched to support them
w'ith all his infantry. Another desperate battle ensued.
The Russians were once more thrown into disorder, and
were just on the point of being totally defeated, when Pe¬
ter gave orders to the Kozaks and Kalmuks to fire upon
all that fled ; “ Even kill me,” said he, “ if I should be so
cowardly as to turn my back.” The battle was now re¬
newed with great vigour; but notwithstanding the czar’s
positive orders, and his own example, the day would have
been lost, had not General Bauer arrived with a strong
reinforcement of fresh Russian troops. The engagement
was once more renewed, and continued without intermis¬
sion till night. The Swedes then took possession of an ad¬
vantageous post, but were next morning attacked by the
480 RUSSIA.
History. Russians. Lewenhaupt had formed a sort of rampart with
his waggons, but was obliged to set fire to them to prevent
their falling into the hands of the Russians, while he re¬
treated under cover of the smoke. The czar’s troops, how¬
ever, arrived in time to save five hundred of these waggons,
filled with provisions destined for the distressed Swedes. A
strong detachment was sent to pursue Lewenhaupt; but
«o terrible did he now appear, that the Russian general of¬
fered him an honourable capitulation. This was rejected
with disdain, and a fresh, engagement took place in which
die Swedes, now reduced to four thousand, again defeated
their enemies, and killed five thousand on the spot. After
this Lewenhaupt was allowed to pursue his retreat without
molestation, though deprived of all his cannon and provisions.
Prince Menzikotf was indeed detached with a body of forces
to harass him on his march ; but the Swedes were now so
formidable, even in their extremity, that Menzikoff dared not
to attack them, so that Lewenhaupt with his four thousand
men arrived safe in the camp of Charles, after having de¬
stroyed nearly thirty thousand of the Russians.
This may be said to have been the last successful effort
of Swedish valour against the troops of Peter. The diffi¬
culties which Charles’s army had now to undergo exceeded
what human nature could support; yet still they hoped by
constancy and courage to subdue them. In the severest
winter known for a long time, even in Russia, they made
long marches, clothed like savages in the skins of wild
beasts. All the draught-horses perished ; thousands of sol¬
diers dropt down dead through cold and hunger; and by
the month of February 1709 the whole army was reduced
to eighteen thousand. Amidst numberless difficulties these
penetrated to Pultava, a town on the eastern frontier of the
Ukraine, where the czar had laid up magazines, of which
Charles resolved to obtain possession. Mazeppa advised the
king to invest the place, in consequence of his having cor¬
respondence with some of the inhabitants, by whose means
he hoped it would be surrendered. He was, however, de¬
ceived. The besieged made an obstinate defence; the Swedes
were repulsed in every assault, and eight thousand of them
were defeated, and almost entirely cut off, in an engagement
with a party of Russians. To complete his misfortunes,
Charles received a shot in his heel from a carabine, which
shattered the bone. For six hours afterwards, he continued
calmly on horseback, giving orders, till he fainted with the
loss of blood; after which he was carried into his tent.
Battle of For some days the czar, with an army of seventy thousand
1 uitava. men, had lain at a small distance, harassing the Swedish
camp, and cutting off the convoys of provision ; but now in¬
telligence was received that he was advancing as if with a
design of attacking the lines. In this situation, Charles,
wounded, distressed, and almost surrounded by enemies, is
said to have, for the first time, assembled a grand council of
war, the result of which was, that it was determined to march
out and attack the Russians. Voltaire, however, asserts
that the king did not relax one iota of his wonted obstinacy
and arbitrary temper ; but that, on the 7th of July, he sent
for General Renschild, and told him, without any emotion,
to prepare for attacking the enemy next morning.
I he 8th of July 1709 is remarkable for the battle which
decided the fate of Sweden. Charles, having left eight thou¬
sand men in the camp to defend the works and repel the sal¬
lies of the besieged, began by break of day to march against
his enemies with the rest of the army, consisting of twenty-
six thousand men, of whom eighteen thousand were Kozaks.
le Russians were drawn up in two lines behind their in-
tienchments, the horse in front, and the foot in the rear,
with chasms to suffer the horse to fall back in case of ne¬
cessity. General Slippenbach was despatched to attack the
cavalry, which he did with such impetuosity that they were
broken in an instant. Ihey, however, rallied behind the
infantry, and leturned to the charge with so much vigour,
that the Swedes were disordered in their turn, and Slippen- History,
bach was made prisoner. Charles was now carried in his
litter to the scene of confusion. His troops, re-animated by
the presence of their leader, returned to the charge, and the
battle became doubtful, when a blunder of General Creuk,
who had been despatched by Charles to take the enemy in
flank, and a successful manoeuvre of Prince Menzikoff,
decided the fortune of the day in favour of the Russians.
Creuk s detachment was defeated, and Menzikoff, who had
been sent by Peter with a strong body to post himself be¬
tween the Swedes and Pultava, so as to cut off the commu¬
nication of the enemy with their camp, and fall upon their
i ear, executed his orders with so much success as to inter¬
cept a corps de reserve of three thousand men. Charles had
ranged his remaining troops in two lines, with the infantry
in the centre, and the horse on the two wings. They had
already twice rallied, and were now again attacked on all
sides with the utmost fury. Charles in his litter, with a
drawn sword in one hand, and a pistol in the other, seemed
to be everywhere present; but new misfortunes awaited him.
A cannon-ball killed both horses in the litter; and scarcely
were these replaced by a fresh pair, when a second ball
struck the litter in pieces, and overturned the king. The
Swedish soldiers, believing him killed, fell back in conster¬
nation. The first line was completely broken, and the se¬
cond fled. Charles, though disabled, did every thing in his
power to restore order; but the Russians, emboldened by
success, pressed so hard on the flying foe, that it was im¬
possible to rally them. Renschild and several other general
officers were taken prisoners, and Charles himself would have
shared the same fate, had not Count Poniatowski, father of
the future favourite of Catherine 11., with five hundred horse,
sui rounded the royal person, and with desperate fury cut
his way through ten regiments of the Russians. With this
small guard the king arrived on the banks of the Dnieper,
and was followed by Lewenhaupt with four thousand foot
and all the remaining cavalry. The Russians took posses¬
sion of the Swedish camp, where they found a prodigious
sum in specie; while Prince Menzikoff pursued the flying
Swedes, and, as they were in want of boats to cross the
Dnieper, obliged them to surrender at discretion. Charles
escaped with the utmost difficulty, but at length reached
Otchakof, on the frontiers of Turkey.
By this decisive victory, Peter remained in quiet posses¬
sion of his new acquisitions on the Baltic, and was enabled
to carry on, without molestation, the improvements which
he had projected at the mouth of the Neva. His haughty
lival, so long and so justly dreaded, was now completely
humbled, and his ally the king of Poland was again esta¬
blished on his throne. During the eight years that had
elapsed from the battle of Narva to that of Pultava, the
Russian troops had acquired the discipline and steadiness of
veterans, and had at length learned to beat their former
conquerors. If Peter had decreed triumphal processions for
his trifling successes at Azof, it is not surprising that he
should commemorate by similar pageants a victory so glo¬
rious and so important as that of Pultava. He made his tri¬
umphal entry into Moscow for the third time, and the pub¬
lic rejoicings on this occasion far exceeded all that had be
fore been witnessed in the Russian empire.
The vanquished Charles had, in the mean time, found a ad. 1711.
valuable friend in the monarch in whose territories he had Dangerous
taken refuge. Achmet II. who then filled the Ottoman s'tuabon of
throne, had beheld with admiration the warlike achieve-Ket6pat,,
ments of the Swedish hero; and, alarmed at the late sue- 16 mt ‘
cesses of his rival, determined to afford Charles the most
effectual aid. In 1711, the Turkish emperor assembled an
immense army, and was preparing to invade the Russian
territories, when the czar, having intimation of his design,
and expecting powerful support from Cantemir, hospodar of
Moldavia, a vassal of the Porte, resolved to anticipate the
RUSSIA.
481
An. 1721.
Advantage
ous peace
with Swe¬
den.
History. Turks, and to make an inroad into Moldavia. Forgetting
 his usual prudence and circumspection, Peter crossed the
Dnieper, and advanced by rapid marches as far as Yassy or
Jassy, the capital of that province, which is situated on
the river Pruth ; but his temerity had nearly cost him his
liberty, if not his life. From this dangerous situation he
wras extricated by the tact of his consort the Czarina Cathe¬
rine, who by a liberal bribe succeeded in gaining over the
grand vizier to her interests, and thus brought about the
treaty of the Pruth.
By this treaty, in which the interests of Charles had been
almost abandoned, Peter saw himself delivered from a dan¬
gerous enemy, and returned to his capital to prosecute
those plans for the internal improvement of his empire
which justly entitled him to the appellation of Great. Be¬
fore we enumerate these improvements, however, we must
bring the Swedish war to a conclusion. The death of
Charles, in 1718, had left the Swedish government deplo¬
rably weakened, by the continual drains of men and money
occasioned by his mad enterprises, and little able to carry
on a war with a monarch so powerful as Peter. At length,
therefore, in 1721, this ruinous contest, which had con¬
tinued ever since the commencement of the century, was
brought to a conclusion by the treaty of Nystadt, by which
the Swedes were obliged to cede to Russia, Livonia, Es-
thonia, Ingria, a part of Karelia, the territory of Vyborg, the
isle of Oesel, and all the other islands in the Baltic, from
Courland to Vyborg; for which concessions they received
back Finland, that had been conquered by Peter, together
with two millions of dollars, and the liberty of exporting duty
free, from Riga, Revel, and Arensberg, corn to the annual
amount of fifty thousand roubles. In consequence of this
great accession to the Russian empire, Peter received from
his senate the title of Emperor and Autocrat of all the Rus-
sias, and the ancient title of czar fell into disuse.
The improvements introduced by Peter into the internal
policy of the empire must be acknowledged to have bqen
numerous and important. He organized anew the legisla¬
tive assembly of the state;.he greatly ameliorated the ad¬
ministration of justice ; he new-modelled the national army ;
he entirely created the Russian navy ; he rendered the eccle¬
siastical government milder and less intolerant; he zealously
patronized the arts and sciences ; he erected an observatory
at St Petersburg, and by publicly proclaiming the approach
of an eclipse, and the precise time at which it was to take
place, taught his subjects no longer to consider such a phe¬
nomenon as an omen of disaster, or an awful menace of di¬
vine judgment. He enlarged the commerce of his empire,
and gave every encouragement to trade and manufactures.
He formed canals, repaired the roads, instituted regular
posts, and laid down regulations for a uniformity of weights
and measures. Lastly, he in some measure civilized his
subjects, though it is evident that he could not civilize him¬
self.
Character Various have been the estimates formed of the character
of Peter, of Peter by those who have detailed the events of his reign.
It is certain that to him the Russian empire is greatly in¬
debted for the position which she now occupies among the
nations of Europe. As a monarch, therefore, he is entitled
to our admiration; but as a private individual we must con¬
sider him as an object of detestation and abhorrence. His
tyranny and his cruelty admit of no excuse ; and if we were
to suppose, that in sacrificing the heir of his crown he emu¬
lated the patriotism of the elder Brutus, we must remember
that the same hand which signed the death-warrant of his
son, could with pleasure execute the sentence of the law,
or rather of his own caprice, and, in the moments of dissi¬
pation and revelry, could make the axe of justice an instru¬
ment of diabolical vengeance or of cool brutality.
Peter was succeeded by his consort Catherine, in whose
favour he had, some years before his death, altered the or-
VOL. XIX.
Peter’s na
tional im¬
prove¬
ments.
der of succession. As the character of this princess, and the History,
transactions of her short reign, have been already detailed
under her life, we shall here only notice in the most cur- 1725.
sory manner the events that took place. From the com-Reign of
mencement of her reign, Catherine conducted herself with Catherinel.
the greatest benignity and gentleness, and thus secured the
love and veneration of her subjects, which she had acquired
during the life of the emperor. She reduced the annual
capitation tax; ordered the numerous gibbets which Peter
had erected in various parts of the country to be cut down ;
and caused the bodies of those who had fallen victims to
his tyranny to be decently interred. She recalled the greater
part of those whom Peter had exiled to Siberia; paid the
troops their arrears; and restored to the Kozaks those pri¬
vileges and immunities of which they had been deprived
during the late reign, while she continued in office most of
the servants of Peter, both civil and military. In her reign
the boundaries of the empire were extended by the submis¬
sion of a Georgian prince, and the voluntary homage of the
Kubinskian Tartars. She died on the 17th of May 1727,
having reigned about two years. She had settled the crown
on Peter the son of the Czarovitch Alexei, who succeeded
by the title of Peter II.
Peter was only twelve years of age when he ascended An. 1727*
the imperial throne, and his reign was short and uninte- Reign of
resting. He was guided chiefly by Prince Menzikoff, whose ^eter
daughter Catherine had decreed him to marry. This am¬
bitious man, who, from the mean condition of a pye-boy,
had risen to the first offices of the state, and had, during
the late reign, principally conducted the administration of
the government, was now, however, drawing towards the
end of his career. The number of his enemies had greatly
increased, and their attempts to work his downfall at last
succeeded. A young nobleman of the family of the Dol-
goruki, who was one of Peter’s chief companions, was ex¬
cited by his relations, and the other enemies of Menzikoff,
to instil into the mind of the young prince feelings hostile
to that minister. In this commission he succeeded so well,
that Menzikoff and his whole family, not excepting the young
empress, were banished to Siberia, and the Dolgorukis took
into their hands the management of affairs. These artful
counsellors, instead of cultivating the naturally good abilities
of Peter, encouraged him to waste his time and exhaust his
strength in hunting and other athletic exercises, for which
his tender years were by no means calculated. It is sup¬
posed that the debility consequent on such fatigue increased
the natural danger of the small-pox, with which he was at¬
tacked in January 1730, and from which he never recovered.
Notwithstanding the absolute power with which Peter ijLn> ^730.
I. and the Empress Catherine had settled by will the title Anne
to the throne, the Russian senate and nobility, upon the duchess of
death of Peter II. ventured to set aside the order of sue-Courland
cession which those sovereigns had established. The male to
issue of Peter was now extinct; and the Duke of Holstein,
son to Peter’s eldest daughter, was by the destination of
the late empress entitled to the crown; but the Russians,
for political reasons, filled the throne with Anne duchess
of Courland, second daughter to Ivan, the eldest brother of
Peter, though her eldest sister, the Duchess of Mecklen¬
burg, was still alive. Anne’s reign was extremely prospe¬
rous ; and though she accepted the crown under limita¬
tions which some thought derogatory to her dignity, yet
she broke them all, asserted the prerogative of her ances¬
tors, and punished the aspiring Dolgoruki family, who had
imposed those restrictions, with a view, as it is said, that
they themselves might govern. She raised her favourite
Biren to the duchy of Courland; and was obliged to give
way to many severe executions on his account. Few trans¬
actions of any importance took place during the reign of
Anne. She followed the example of her great predecessor
Peter, by interposing in the affairs of Poland, where she
3 p
482 R U S
History, had sufficient interest to establish on the throne Augustus
■' HI. She entered into a treaty with the shah of Persia, by
which she agreed to give up all title to the territories that
had been seized by Peter I. on the shores of the Caspian,
in consideration of certain privileges to be granted to the
Russian merchants.
In 1735, a rupture took place between Russia and Tur¬
key, occasioned partly by the mutual jealousies that had
subsisted between these powers ever since the treaty on
the Pruth, and partly by the depredations of the Tartars
of the Crimea, then under the dominion of the Porte. A
Russian army entered the Crimea, ravaged part of the
country, and killed a considerable number of Tartars ; but
having ventured too far, without a sufficient supply of pro¬
visions, it was obliged to retreat, after sustaining a loss of
nearly ten thousand men. This ill success did not discou¬
rage the court of St Petersburg; and in the following
year another armament was sent into the Ukraine, under
the command of Marshal Munnich, while another army un¬
der Lascy proceeded against Azof. Both these generals
met with considerable success; the Tartars were defeat¬
ed, and the fort of Azof once more submitted to the Rus¬
sian arms. A third campaign took place in 1737, and the
Russians were now assisted by a body of Austrian troops.
Munnich laid siege to Otchakof, which soon surrendered,
while Lascy desolated the Crimea.
No material advantages were, however, gained upon either
side ; and disputes arose between the Austrian and Russian
generals. At length, in 1739, Marshal Munnich, having
crossed the Bog at the head of a considerable army, de¬
feated the Turks in a pitched battle near Stavutshan ; made
himself master of Yassy, the capital of Moldavia; and be¬
fore the end of the campaign reduced the whole of that
province under his subjection. These successes of the
Russian arms induced the Porte to propose terms of ac¬
commodation ; and in the end of 1739 a treaty was con¬
cluded, by which Russia again gave up Azof and Molda¬
via, and, to compensate the loss of above a hundred thou¬
sand men, and vast sums of money, gained nothing but per¬
mission to build a fortress on the Don.
An. 1740. Upon the death of Anne, which took place in 1740, Ivan,
Accession the son of her niece the Princess of Mecklenburg, was, by
and impri- her- will, entitled to the succession ; but as he was no more
Ivan VI ^lan two years °W, Biren was appointed to be administra¬
tor of the empire during his minority. This nomination
was disagreeable to the emperor’s father and mother, and
unpopular among the Russians. Count Munnich was em¬
ployed by the princess to arrest Biren, who was tried and
condemned to die, but was sent into exile to Siberia.
The administration of the Princess Anne of Mecklenburg
and her husband was upon many accounts disagreeable, not
only to the Russians, but to other powers of Europe; and
the Princess Elizabeth, daughter of Peter the Great by
Catherine, formed such a party, that in one night’s time she
was proclaimed empress of the Russias, and the Princess of
Mecklenburg, her husband, and son, were made prisoners.
1 he fate of this unhappy family was peculiarly severe. All
but Ivan were sent into banishment, to an island at the
mouth of the Dvina, in the White Sea, where the Princess
Anne died in childbed in the year 1747. Ivan’s father sur¬
vived till 1 tlo, and at last ended his miserable career in pri¬
son. I he young emperor Ivan was for some time shut up
in a monastery at Oranienburg, when, on attempting to es¬
cape, he was removed to the castle of Schlusselburg, where
he was cruelly put to death.
An. 1741. ’ll16 chief instrument in rousing the ambition of Eliza-
Accession beth, and procuring her elevation to the throne, was her
lza" physician and favourite Lestocq, who, partly by his insi¬
nuating address, and partly by the assistance of French
gold, brought over to Elizabeth’s interest most of the royal
guaids. During the short regency of Anne of Mecklenburg,
S I A.
a new war had commenced between Russia and Sweden; and History,
this war was carried on with considerable acrimony and some
success by Elizabeth. The Russian forces took possession
of Abo, and made themselves masters of nearly all Finland.
But at length, in 1743, in consequence of the negotiations
that were carrying on regarding the succession to the Swe¬
dish crown, a peace was concluded between the two powers,
on the condition that Elizabeth should restore the greater
part of Finland.
Soon after her accession, Elizabeth determined to no- An. 1742.
minate her successor to the imperial throne, and had fixed Peter duke
her eyes on Charles Peter Ulric, son of the Duke of Hol-of .Ho,“
stein-Gottorp, by Anne, daughter of Peter the Great. This^™-^^
prince was accordingly invited into Russia, persuaded to Grand'3 ^
become a member of the Greek church, and proclaimed Duke of
Grand Duke of Russia, and heir of the empire. The cere-Russia,
mony of his baptism was performed on the 18th of November
1742, when he received the name of Peter Feodorovitch.
He was at this time only fourteen years of age; but before
he had attained his sixteenth year, his aunt had destined
him a consort in the person of Sophia Augusta Frederica,
daughter of Christian Augustus prince of Anhalt-Zerbst-
Dornburg. This princess, on entering the Greek church,
took the name of Catherine which she afterwards bore on
the throne.
Having thus settled the order of succession, Elizabeth Elizabeth
began to take an active part in the politics of Europe. Theen£a.?es in
death of Charles VI. emperor of Germany, had left ^i® Years’War
daughter, Maria Theresa queen of Hungary, at the mercy La a '
of the enterprising king of Prussia, till a formidable party
was organized in her behalf. To this confederacy the em¬
press of Russia acceded, and in 1747 sent a considerable
body of troops into Germany, to the assistance of the em¬
press-queen. The events of this long and bloody contest
have been fully detailed in the article Prussia. The
more private transactions of the court of St Petersburg,
as far as they are connected with the intrigues of her niece
Catherine and the follies of the Grand Duke Peter, have
also been related in our life of Catherine II., or they will
be found at greater length in the recently (1859) published
Memoirs of Catherine II., said with every appearance of
truth to have been written by herself, and extending from
her birth in 1729 to 1759. Elizabeth died on the 5th of
January 1762, the victim of disease brought on by in¬
temperance.
The grand duke ascended the throne by the name of An. 170?.
Peter III. He entered on the government possessed of an ^.cc®^°ri
enthusiastic admiration of the virtues of the King of Prussia,
with whom he immediately made peace. He is said to
have aimed at reforms which Peter the Great durst not at¬
tempt ; and to have even ventured to cut off the beards of
his clergy. He was certainly a weak man, who had no
opinions of his own, but childishly adopted the sentiments of
any person who took the trouble to teach him. His chief
amusement was buffoonery ; and he would sit for hours look¬
ing with pleasure at a merry-andrew singing drunken and
vulgar songs. He was a stranger to the country, its inhabi¬
tants, and their manners ; and suffered himself to be per¬
suaded by those about him that the Russians were fools
and beasts unworthy of his attention, except to make them,
by means of the Prussian discipline, good fighting machines.
Becoming attached to a lady of the noble family of Vo- nis impru-
rontzoff, he disgusted his wife, who was then a beautiful dences.
woman in the prime of life, of great natural talents and
great acquired accomplishments ; whilst the lady whom he
preferred to her was but one degree above an idiot. The
Princess Dashkoff, the favourite’s sister, who was married
to a man whose genius was not superior to that of the em¬
peror, being dame d'honneur and lady of the bed-chamber,
had of course much of the empress’s company. Similarity
of situations knit these two illustrious personages in the
RUSSIA.
^History, closest friendship. The princess, being a zealous admirer
' v ^ of the French Ecoyiomistss, could make her conversation
both amusing and instructive. She retailed all her statis¬
tical knowledge ; and finding the empress a willing hearer,
she spoke of her in every company as a prodigy of know¬
ledge, judgment, and philanthropy. Whilst the emperor,
by his buffoonery and attachment to foreign manners, was
daily incurring more and more the hatred of his subjects,
the popularity of his wife was rapidly increasing; and some
persons about the court expressed their regret that so much
knowledge of government, such love of humanity, and such
ardent wishes for the prosperity of Russia, should only fur¬
nish conversations with Catharina Romanovna (the Princess
Dashkoff). The empress and her favourite did not let these
expressions pass unobserved, but continued their studies in
concert; and whilst the former was employed on her famous
code of laws for a great empire, the latter always reported
progress, till the middling circles of Moscow and St Peters¬
burg began to speak familiarly of the blessings which they
might enjoy if these speculations could be realized.
Meanwhile Peter III. was giving fresh cause of discon¬
tent. He had recalled from Siberia Count Munnich, who
was indeed a sensible, brave, and worthy man; but Munnich,
as he was smarting under the effects of Russian despotism,
and had grounds of resentment against most of the great
families, did not much discourage the emperor’s unpopular
conduct, trying only to moderate it and give it a system.
Peter, however, w'as impatient. He publicly ridiculed the
exercise and evolutions of the Russian troops ; and hastily
adopting the Prussian discipline, without digesting and fit¬
ting it for the constitution of his own forces, he completely
ruined himself by disgusting the army.
Catherine In the midst of these imprudences, indeed, Peter was
tin^wr^"sometimes disturbed by the advice of virtuous counsellors.
favour^1 these remonstrances produced only a temporary gleam
of reformation, and he soon relapsed into his accustom¬
ed sensuality. What he lost in popularity was gained by
the emissaries of Catherine. Four regiments of guards,
amounting to eight thousand men, were speedily brought
over by the three brothers Orlof, who had contrived to in¬
gratiate themselves with their officers. The people at large
were in a state of indifference, out of which they were parti¬
ally roused by the following means. A little manuscript was
handed about, containing principles of legislation for Russia,
founded on natural rights, and on the claims of the different
classes of people, which, insensibly formed, became so fa¬
miliar as to appear natural. In that performance was pro¬
posed a convention of deputies from all the classes, and
from every part of the empire, to converse, but without au¬
thority, on the subjects of which it treated, and to inform
the senate of the result of their deliberations. It passed
for the work of her majesty, and was much admired.
While Catherine was thus high in the public esteem and
affection, the emperor took the alarm at her popularity, and
in a few days came to the resolution of confining her for
life, and then of marrying his favourite. The servants of
that lady betrayed her to her sister, who imparted the in¬
telligence to the empress. Catherine saw her danger, and
instantly formed her resolution. She must either tamely
submit to perpetual imprisonment, and perhaps a cruel and
ignominious death, or contrive to hurl her husband from
his throne. No other alternative was left her, and the con¬
sequence was what was undoubtedly expected. The pro¬
per steps were taken. Folly fell before abilities and address,
and. in three days the revolution was accomplished.
Peter de- When the emperor saw that all was lost, he attempted
throned t0 enter Cronstadt from Oranienbaum, a town on the Gulf
death1* Finland, thirty versts, or nearly twenty-six miles, from
St Petersburg. The sentinels at the harbour presented
their muskets at the barge; and though they were not
loaded, and the men had no cartridges, he drew back.
483
Munnich received him again, and exhorted him to mount History,
his horse and head his guards, swearing to live and die «-'■
with him. He said, “ No, I see it cannot be done without
shedding much of the blood of my brave Holsteiners. I
am not worthy of the sacrifice.”
Six days had already elapsed since the revolution, and
that great event had been apparently terminated without
any violence that might leave odious impressions upon the
mind of the public. Peter had been removed from Peter-
hof to a pleasant retreat called Ropscha, about thirty miles
from St Petersburg; and here he supposed he should be
detained but a short time previous to his being sent into
Germany. He therefore transmitted a message to Catherine,
desiring permission to have for his attendant a favourite ne¬
gro, and that she would send him a dog, of which he was
very fond, together with his violin, a bible, and a few ro¬
mances ; telling her that, disgusted wdth the wickedness of
mankind, he was resolved henceforth to devote himself to
a philosophical life. However reasonable these requests,
not one of them was granted, and his plans of wisdom were
turned into ridicule.
In the mean time the soldiers were amazed at what they
had done. They could not conceive by what fascination
they had been hurried so far as to dethrone the grandson
of Peter the Great, in order to give his crown to a German
woman. The majority, without plan or consciousness of
what they were doing, had been mechanically led on by the
movements of others; and each individual now reflecting
on his baseness, after the pleasure of disposing of a crown
had vanished, was filled only with remorse. The sailors,
who had never been engaged in the insurrection, openly
reproached the guards in the tippling-houses with having
sold their emperor for beer. One night a band of soldiers
attached to the empress took the alarm, from an idle fear,
and exclaimed that their mother was in danger, and that
she must be awaked, that they might see her. During the
next night there was a fresh commotion more serious than
the former. So long as the life of the emperor left a pre¬
text for inquietude, it was thought that no tranquillity was
to be expected.
On the sixth day of the emperor’s imprisonment at Rop¬
scha, Alexei Orlof, accompanied by an officer named Tep-
loff, came to him with the news of his speedy deliverance,
and asked permission to dine with him. According to the
custom of that country, wine glasses and brandy were
brought previous to dinner; and while the officer amused
the czar with some trifling discourse, his chief filled the
glasses, and poured a poisonous mixture into that which he
intended for the prince. The czar, without any distrust,
swallowed the potion, on which he immediately experienced
the most severe pains; and on his being offered a second
glass, on pretence of its giving him relief, he refused it, with
i-eproaches against him that offered it. He called aloud for
milk, but the two monsters offered him poison again, and
pressed him to take it. A French valet-de-chambre, greatly
attached to him, now ran in. Peter threw himself into his
arms, saying in a faint tone of voice, “ It was not enough,
then, to prevent me from reigning in Sweden, and to de¬
prive me of the crown of Russia. I must also be put to
death.”
The valet-de-chambre presumed to intercede for his
master; but the two miscreants forced this dangerous wit¬
ness out of the room, and continued their ill treatment of
the czar. In the midst of this tumult the younger of the
Princes Baratinsky came in, and joined the two former.
Orlof, who had already thrown down the emperor, was
pressing upon his breast with both his knees, and firmly
griping his throat with his hand. The unhappy monarch
now struggling with that strength which arises from de¬
spair, the two other assassins threw a napkin round his neck,
and put an end to his life by suffocation.
484 HUS
History. It is rot known with certainty what share the empress
' v ' had in this event; but it is affirmed that on the very day
on which it happened, while the empress was beginning her
dinner with much gaiety, an officer, supposed to be one of
the assassins, precipitately entered the apartment with his
hair dishevelled, his face covered with sweat and dust, his
clothes torn, and his countenance agitated with horror and
dismay. On entering, his eyes, sparkling and confused, met
those "of the empress. She arose in silence, and went into
a closet, whither he followed her. A few moments after¬
wards she sent for Count Panin, the former governor of
Peter, who was already appointed her minister, and, in¬
forming him that the emperor was dead, consulted him on
the manner of announcing his death to the public. Panin
advised her to let one night pass over, and to spread the
news next day, as if they had received it during the night.
This counsel being approved, the empress returned with
the same countenance, and continued her dinner with the
same gaiety. On the day following, when it was published
that Peter had died of an haemorrhoidal colic, she appeared
bathed in tears, and proclaimed her grief by an edict.
The corpse was brought to St Petersburg, there to be
exposed. The face was black, and the neck excoriated.
Notwithstanding these horrible marks, in order to assuage
the commotions, which began to excite apprehension, and
to prevent impostors from hereafter disturbing the empire,
it was left three days exposed to all the people, with only
the ornaments of a Holstein officer. The soldiers, disband¬
ed and disarmed, mingled with the crowd, and as they be¬
held their sovereign, their countenances indicated a mix¬
ture of compassion, contempt, and shame. They wrere
soon afterwards embarked for their country; but, as the
sequel of their cruel destiny, almost all of these unfortu¬
nate men perished in a storm. Some of them had saved
themselves on the rocks adjacent to the coast; but they
again fell a prey to the waves, wdiile the commandant of
Cronstadt despatched a messenger to St Petersburg to
know whether he might be permitted to assist them. Thus
fell the unhappy Peter III. in 1762, in the thirty-fourth year
of his age, after having enjoyed the imperial dignity only six
months.
Catherine On her accession, Catherine behaved with great magna-
the tm^e anc^ forbearance towards those who had opposed her
ria^ throne elevation, or wrere the declared friends of the deceased em¬
peror. She gave to Prince George, in exchange for his
title of Duke of Courland, conferred on him by Peter, the
government of Holstein. She reinstated Biren in his duke¬
dom of Courland, received into favour Marshal Munnich,
who had readily transferred his fidelity from the dead to
the living, and even pardoned her rival the Countess Vo-
rontzoff, and permitted her to retain the tokens of her
lover’s munificence. She permitted Gudovitch, who was
high in the confidence of Peter, and had incurred her par¬
ticular displeasure, to retire to his native country. Per¬
haps the most unexpected part of her conduct towards the
friends of Peter, was her adhering to the treaty of peace
which that monarch had concluded with the king of Prus¬
sia six months before. The death of his inveterate enemy
Elizabeth had relieved Frederick from a load of solicitude,
and had extricated him from his dangerous situation. He
now, as he thought, saw himself again involved in a war
with the same formidable power ; but, to his great joy, he
found that Catherine, from motives of policy, declined en¬
tering on a war at the commencement of her reign.
An. 1764. In one particular the empress showed her jealousy and
s.-assma- her fears. She increased the vigilance with which the
dethroned y0ung prinCe Ivan was confined in the castle of Schlussel-
ezar. burg, from which Peter III. had expressed a resolution to
release him. Not long after her accession, this unfortu¬
nate prince was assassinated, though whether this event
was to be imputed to the empress or her counsellors, cannot
S I A.
be positively determined. But a manifesto published by the History,
court of St Petersburg, and supposed to have been written ^
by the empress herself, admitted that the prince was put
to death by the officers of his guard, alleging that this was
necessary, in consequence of an attempt to carry him off.
Were we to offer a detailed account of the principal Chronolo-
transactions that took place during the long reign of Ca-gicalsketch
therine, we should far exceed the limits within which this
article must be confined, and should at the same time re_ sta'durine-3"
peat much of what has already been given under other tiie rejgn
heads. As the events that distinguished the life of Cathe- of Cathe¬
rine, however, are too important to be wholly omitted, we rine II.
shall present our readers with the following chronological
sketch of them, referring for a more particular account to
Tooke’s Life of Catherine II., and to the articles Cathe¬
rine II., Britain, France, Poland, Prussia, Sweden,
and Turkey, in this work.
The year 1766 presented at St Petersburg the grand-An. 1766.
est spectacle that perhaps was ever seen in Europe. At
an entertainment, which the empress chose to name a ca¬
rousal, the principal nobility appeared in the most sump¬
tuous dresses, sparkling with diamonds, and mounted on
horses richly caparisoned, in a magnificent theatre erected
for that purpose. Here all that has been read of the an¬
cient jousts and tournaments was realized and exceeded in
the presence of thousands of spectators, who seemed to vie
with each other in the brilliancy of their appearance.
In 1768, the empress composed instructions for a new An. 1768.
code of laws for her dominions; and the same year she Establish-
submitted to the danger of inoculation, in order that herment ofa
subjects, to whom the practice was unknown, might be be-jawg
nefited by her example.
In the same year a war broke out with the Ottoman War with
Porte. The various events of this long and important con-the Turks,
flict, which continued for seven years, must here be only
briefly enumerated, as they will hereafter be more particu¬
larly noticed under the article Turkey. In this war our
countryman Greig, then an admiral in the Russian service,
highly distinguished himself by his conduct in a naval en¬
gagement with the Turks, in the harbour of Tschesme, in
the Archipelago, in which the Turkish fleet was entirely
defeated, and their magazines destroyed. This took place
on the 4th of November 1772.
In the beginning of the year 1769, the khan of the Cri-An. 1769.
mea made an attack on the territory of Bachmut, on the Progress
river Bog, where he was several times bravely repulsed, a"(*
with his army of Tartars and Turks, by Major-General Ro- e
manius and Prince Prosorofskoi. At the same time were Turkey,
fought the battles of Zekanofca and Soroca on the Dnie¬
per, when the large magazines of the enemy were burned.
In February the Polish Kozaks in the voyvodeship of Brac-
lau put themselves under the Russian sceptre. In the same
month the Nisovian Saparogian Kozaks gained a battle in
the deserts of Krim. In March the Polish rebels were sub¬
dued, and their town taken, by Major-General Ismailof.
On the 2d of April the fort of Taganrog, on the Sea of
Azof, was taken. On the 15th the Russian army, under
the general-in-chief Prince Galitzin, crossed the Dniester.
On the 19th a victory was gained by Prince Galitzin near
Chotzim. On the 21st the Turks were defeated not far
from Chotzim by Lieutenant-General Count Soltikof. The
29th, an action was fought between the Russian Kalmucks
and the Kuban Tartars, to the disadvantage of the latter.
June the 8th, the Turks were defeated at the mouth of the
Dnieper, near Otchakof. An action took place on the
Dniester on the 19th, when the troops of Prince Proso¬
rofskoi forced the Turks to repass the river in great dis¬
order. Chotzim was taken on the 19th of September.
Yassy, in Moldavia, was taken on the 27th of September.
Bukarescht, in Wallachia, was taken, and the hospodar
made prisoner, in November 1770. A victory was gained
f
RUSSIA.
485
History, by the Russians under Generals Podhorilshany and Potem-
kin, near Fokshany. The town of Shursha was taken by
Lieutenant-General Yon Stoffeln, February 4. A Russian
fleet appeared in the port of Maina, in the Morea, on the
17th February. Mistra, the Lacedaemon of the ancients, and
several other towns of the Morea, were taken in February.
Arcadim in Greece surrendered, and a multitude of Turks
were made prisoners, in the same month. The Turks and
Tartars were driven from their intrenchments near the
Pruth, by Count Romantzof, Prince Repnin, and General
Bauer, llth-16th June. Prince Prosorofskoi gained seve¬
ral advantages near Otchakof, June 18. The Russian fleet,
under Count Alexei Orlof, gained a complete victory over
the Turks near Tschesme, 24th June ; the consequence of
this victory was the destruction of the whole Turkish fleet,
near Tschesme, where it was burned by Admiral Greig on
the 26th of June. A battle was fought on the Kagul, in
which Count Romantzof defeated the Turkish army, con¬
sisting of a hundred and fifty thousand men, and took their
camp, and all the artillery, July 21. The fortress Bender
was taken July 22. The town of Ismail was taken by
Prince Repnin, July 26 ; Kilia by Prince Repnin, August
21 ; and Akjerman in October. Brailof was taken on the
10th of November 1771; the town of Kaffa, June 29 ; and
numberless other victories were obtained by sea and land,
till peace was concluded on the 13th January 1775. By
this the Crimea was declared independent of the Porte, and
all the vast tract of country between the Bog and Dnieper
was ceded to Russia, besides the Kuban and the isle of
Taman, with free navigation in all the Turkish seas, in¬
cluding the passage of the Dardanelles, privileges granted
to the most favoured nations, and stipulations in behalf of
the inhabitants of Moldavia and Wallachia.
An. 1779. Jn 1779, the empress intending to divide the empire in-
Division of to viceroyalties, began in January with the viceroyalty of
the empire Orlof. March 21st, a new treaty was signed at Constanti¬
nople between Russia and the Porte. May 13th, the treaty
of peace between the belligerent powers in Germany and
the French king was signed under the mediation of her
majesty. In October, a ship built at Taganrog, named
the Prince Constantine, sailed to Smyrna with Russian
commodities. December 3d, the viceroyalty of Voronetsk
was instituted; and the 27th, Count Romantzof Zadunaiski
opened the viceroyalty of Kursk with great solemnity.
An 1780-1. In 1780, February 28th, appeared the memorable decla-
Establish- ration of her imperial majesty, relating to the safety of na-
ment of pu-vigation and commerce of the neutral powers. In 1781,
blic schools ]\iarcb 1st, the empress became mediatrix between England
in St Pe- and Holland . Aprii 5th, instituted the first public school in
tersburg. gt petersburg>
In 1782, by a command of her majesty, dated January
the 18th, a Roman Catholic archbishop was installed in
the city of Mohilef, with authority over all the Catholic
churches and convents in the Russian empire. August
7th, the famous equestrian statue of Peter the Great, being
finished, was uncovered to the public in presence of the
empress, on which occasion she published a proclamation
containing pardons for several criminals. November 22d,
the order of St Vladimir was instituted. The 27th, the
empress published a new tariff".
Aii xiou. In 1783, May 7th, the empress instituted a seminary for
Various ac-the education of young persons of quality at Kursk. June
cessions to 21st, a treaty of commerce was concluded with the Otto-
the Russian man porte> the institution of the other viceroyalties
of the empire followed in succession. On July 21st, the
empress published a manifesto by her commander-in-chief
Prince Potemkin, in the Krim, in regard to the taking pos¬
session of that peifhisula, the Kuban, and the island ot Ta¬
man. The 24th, a treaty was concluded with Heraclius
II. czar of Kartalinia and Kachetti, by which he submitted
himself, his heirs and successors for ever, with his territo-
into vice
royalties
An. 1782.
Statue of
Peter the
Great fi¬
nished.
An. 1783.
empire.
ries and dominions, to the sceptre of her majesty, her heirs History
and successors. On the 29th, accounts were received" v  
from the camp of Prince Potemkin, at Karas-Basar, that the
clergy, the beys, and other persons of distinction, with the
towns of Karas-Basar, Bachtshiserai, Achmetchet, Kaffa,
Kosloff, with the districts of Turkanskoikut and Neubasar,
and that of Perekop, in the peninsula of the Krim, together
with the hordes of Edissank and Dshambolusk, the sultan
Alim Giray, and his vassals, with all the Budshaks and
Bashkirs there, and all the tribes dwelling beyond the river
Kuban, the sultan Boatur Giray and his vassals, took the
oath of allegiance to her imperial majesty, and with willing
hearts submitted for ever to her glorious sway. On the
30th the hospodar of Wallachia was deposed, and Draco
Sutzo set up in his place. September 22d, her majesty rais¬
ed Gabriel, archbishop of Novgorod and St Petersburg,
to the dignity of metropolitan. October 21st, in the great
hall of the Academy of Sciences, the new institution ot the
Imperial Russian Academy was opened, after a most solemn
consecration by the metropolitan Gabriel, and others of the
clergy, under the presidency of the Princess Dashkoff.
November 7th, the empress became mediatrix for accom¬
modating the differences between the king of Prussia and
the city of Dantzig. The school for surgery was opened
at St Petersburg on the 18th. December 13th, a school
commission was instituted for superintending all the public
schools. On the 28th, an act was concluded with the Otto¬
man Porte, by which the possession and sovereignty of the
Krim, the Kuban, and Taman, were solemnly made over to
the empress.
1784. January 1st, the senate, in a speech by Field-Mar- An. 1784,
shal Count Razomofskoi, performed the ceremony, repeated Georgia
annually, of most humbly thanking her majesty for the be* annexed to
nefactions which she had graciously bestowed on the whole
empire in the preceding year. October 14th, the Lesgiers,
having crossed the river Alasan, and invaded the domi¬
nions of Georgia, were repulsed with great loss by a detach¬
ment of Russian troops. December 29th, Katolikos Mak¬
sim, the serdar and court-marshal Prince Zeretelli, and the
chief justice Kuinichese, ambassadors from David, czar of
Imeretia, were admitted to a public audience of her majesty,
at which they submitted, in the name of the czar, him and
his subjects to the will and powerful protection ot her im¬
perial majesty, as the rightful head ot all the sons of the
orthodox eastern church, and sovereign ruler and defender
of the Georgian nations.
1785. The 12th of January, Maurocordato, hospodar of An. 1785.
Wallachia, was deposed, and Alexander Maurocordato, Several
his uncle, restored to that dignity. The 21st, the empress provincial
visited the principal national school, and passed along t™6^bs};’ed<S
in examining the classes, and the proficiency of the youth
in that seminary; on which occasion a marble tablet was
fixed in the wall of the fourth class, with this inscription,
in gold letters: Thou visitest the vineyard which
thine own hand hath planted. April 21st, the privi¬
leges of the nobility were confirmed, and on the same day
the burghers of towns constituted into bodies corporate, by
a particular manifesto. The public school in Yoronetsk was
opened. July 14th, a manifesto was issued, granting full
liberty of religion and commerce to all foreigners settling
in the regions of Mount Caucasus, under the Russian go¬
vernment. September 15th, the public school at Nishnei
Novgorod wTas opened. October 12th, the Jesuits in White
Russia, in a general assembly, elected a vicar-general of
their order. November 1st, a treaty of commerce was con¬
cluded with the emperor of Germany. The 24th, the Rus¬
sian consul in Alexandria made his public entry on horse¬
back, an honour never before granted to any power ; erect¬
ed the imperial standard on his house, with discharge of
cannon, &c. December 28th, a Russian mercantile frigate,
fully freighted, arrived at Leghorn from Constantinople.
486
History.
RUSSIA.
1786. The 29th of January, the empress confirmed the
'atThsT" ^an a nav‘eat^on school. February 12th, by a decree,
The roads t^ie usna^ slav'ish subscriptions to petitions were to be dis-
repaired at continued; and, instead of them, only the words humble or
the expense faithful subject, and in certain cases only subject, were or-
of govern- dained to be used. March 2d, the empress granted the
ment. A university of Moscow a hundred and twenty-five thousand
established. roubles> and a11 the materials of the palace Kremlin, for in-
‘ creasing its buildings. The 25th, a decree was passed for
making and repairing the roads throughout the whole em¬
pire at the sole expense of the crown, and four millions of
roubles were immediately allotted for the road between St
Petersburg and Moscow. April 10th, a new war establish¬
ment for the army was signed; ,23d, the hospodar of Wal-
lachia was deposed, and Mavroyeni set up in his place.
June 28th, the empress instituted a loan bank at St Pe¬
tersburg, to the fund whereof she allotted twenty-two mil¬
lions to be advanced to the nobility, and eleven millions
to the burghers of the town, on very advantageous terms.
August 5th, there were published rules to be observed in
the public schools. October 4th, a large Russian ship, with
Russian productions, from St Petersburg, arrived at Cadiz.
November 24th, the empress erected public schools at Tam¬
bov. December 14th, Prince Ypsilanti was appointed hos¬
podar of Moldavia, in the room of the deposed Maurocor-
dato. December 31st, a treaty of commerce and navigation
was concluded between Russia and France.
An. 1787* 1787. March, public schools were endowed and opened
Kenewalofat Rostof, Uglitsh, Molaga, and Romanof, in the viceroyalty
hostilities of Yaroslavl; also at Ustiug and Arasovitz, in the viceroyalty
with I'm of \ ologda. April 21st, a manifesto was issued for promot-
J mg peace and concord among the burghers of the empire.
The 25th, took place the concerted interview between the
empress and the king of Poland, near the Polish town of
Konief. The treaty of commerce with England being ex¬
pired, the British factory were informed that they must
henceforward pay the duties on imports in silver money,
like the other nations who had no commercial treaty. May
7th, the empress hearing that the emperor of Germany was
at Cherson, proceeded thither, and met him there on the
12th. June 28th, the twenty-fifth anniversary of her reign,
she displayed various marks of her bounty. The debtors to
the crown were forgiven, prisoners released, imposts taken
off, soldiers rewarded, &c. The 12th July, the new-built
school at Riga, called a Lyceum, was solemnly dedicated.
August 5th, Bulgakoff, the Russian ambassador at the Ot¬
toman Porte, was imprisoned in the Seven Towers, con¬
trary to the law of nations, which the empress regarded as
a public declaration of war. 21st, The Turkish fleet at
Otchakof attacked the Russian frigate Skorui and the sloop
Bitingi, but was repulsed and put to flight by the bravery
of the latter. Many signal advantages were gained over
the lurks ; several public schools founded in various parts
of the empire between this and August following, during
which time the war broke out with Sweden.
An. 1788. 1788. August 12th, in the expedition bevond the Kuban,
War with the Russian troops entirely routed a company of four thou-
we en. santi Arutayans and Alcasinians ; eight hundred of the ene¬
my were slain, and five villages destroyed. 15th, The sur-
render of the Turkish fortress of Dubitsha took place. 18th,
1 he lurks made a violent sortie from Otchakof, but were
repulsed by the Russian yagers, and, after a battle of four
-r’.T6 1 uVei? bacb w*tb tbe l°ss of five hundred men.
i < he''ce.battl? was fought between the Russian troops
and Sacubamans, in which the latter lost a thousand men.
The Russian fleet kept the Swedish blocked up in Sveaborg
ever since the battle of July 6th. The Swedish army left
the Russian territory in Finland. September 18th, The
town and fortress of Chotzim surrendered to the Russians,
with the garrison of two thousand men, a hundred and
fifty-thiee cannon fourteen mortars, and much ammunition.
19th-29th, A small Russian squadron from the fleet at Sevas- History,
topol, cruising along the coast of Anatolia, destroyed many v^~
tbe ,enemy’s vessels, prevented the transporting of the
1 urkish troops, and returned with great booty. 20th, Us-
semer Shamanachin, chief of the Bsheduchovians, was, on
his petition, admitted a subject of Russia. 26th, A nume¬
rous host of Kubamans and Turks were beaten on the river
Ubin, wuth the loss of fifteen hundred men. November 7th,
1 rinee Potemkin, at the head of his Kozaks, took the island
Beresan, with many prisoners and much ammunition. De¬
cember 6th, the town and fortress of Otchakof were taken
by Prince 1 otemkin Tavntsheskoi; nine thousand five hun¬
dred and ten of the enemy were killed, four thousand taken
prisoners, a hundred and eighty standards, three hundred and
ten cannons and mortars. All the inhabitants were taken pri¬
soners, amounting to twenty-five thousand; the Russians lost
nine hundred and fifty-six killed and eighteen hundred and
twenty-four wounded. December 19th, General Kamenskoy
gai"eodnCOnfderable advantages over the Turks near Gangur.
‘ APrd rJbtb> Colonel Rimskoy Korsakoff was sur-An. 1789.
rounded by the 1 urks, who were beaten, with great slaugh- N inner oua
ter, by Lieutenant-General Yon Derfelden. 17th-28th v'ctories
Some Russian cruisers from Sevastopol effected a landing on ?rver,the ,
Cape Karakarman, burnt six mosques, and carried off great Swedes
booty. 20th, General Derfelden drove the Turks from Ga-
latch, gained a complete victory, killed two thousand, took
fifteen hundred prisoners, with the seraskier Ibrahim Pasha,
and the whole camp. Several skirmishes took place between
the Russnms and Swedes in Finland, always to the advantage
of the former. May 31st, another victory was gained over the
Swedes. June 5th, Sulkof was taken from the Swedes, and
Tort St Michael on the 8th. July 15th, Admiral Tchitcha-
gofi engaged the Swedish fleet under the command of the
Duke of Sudermama; but no ship was lost on either side.
21st, A battle was fought at Fokshany, to the great loss of
the lurks, and Fokshany was taken. August 13th, the
Russian galley fleet fought the Swedish under Count Eh-
renschwerdt, the former took a frigate and five other ships,
and two thousand prisoners. August 21st, another sea-
fight took place, and Prince Nassau Siegen made good his
landing of the Russian troops in sight of the king of Swe¬
den at the head of his army. September 7th, Prince Rep-
nin attacked the seraskier Hassan Pasha near the river Selt-
ska, and took his whole camp. 11th, Count Suwaroff and
prince of Saxe-Cobourg engaged near the river Kymnik
the grand I urkish army of nearly a hundred thousand men,
and gained a complete victory ; from which Count Suwaroff
received the surname Kymnikskoi. 14th, The Russian
troops under General Ribas took the Turkish citadel Chod-
shabey, in the sight of the whole of the enemy’s fleet. 30th,
1 he fortress Palanka being taken, the town of Belgorod or
Akjerman surrendered to Prince Potemkin Tavritsheskoi.
November 4th, the town and castle of Bender submitted
at discretion to the same commander.
^Pld General Numsen gained a victory over An. 1790.
ie uec es neai Memel. . May 2, a sea-fight took place off Peace with
Kevel, in which the Russians captured the Prince Charles ^’veden.
of sixty-four guns from the Swedes; and in this engage¬
ment those two gallant English officers Captains Treven-
man and Dennison were killed. 23d, The fleet under Vice-
Admiral Kruse engaged the Swedish fleet near the island
Siskar in the- Gulf of Finland, without any advantage being
^aiaed on either side, though they fought the whole day.
~4th, An action was fought at Savataipala, when the Swedes
u ere forced to fly. June 6th, the Swedes were defeated
by Major Buxhovden, on the island Uransari. June 22
the whole Swedish fleet, commanded by the Duke of Suder-
mania, was entirely defeated by Admiral Tchitchagoff and
the Prince of Nassau Siegen; on this occasion five thousand
prisoners were taken, amongst whom were the centre admiral
and two hundred officers. 28th, General Denisoff defeated
RUSSIA.
487
Ilisinry. the Swedes near Davidoff. July 9th, Admiral Ushukoff ob-
' tained a \ictory over the Turkish fleet commanded by the
capudan pasha, at the mouth of the Straits of Yenikali. Au¬
gust 3d, peace was concluded with Sweden, without the me¬
diation of any other power. August 28th, 29th, an engage¬
ment took place on the Euxine, not far from Chodshabey,
between the Russian admiral Ushakoff and the capudan
pasha, when the principal Turkish ship, of eighty guns, was
burnt, one of seventy guns and three others taken, the admi¬
ral Said Bey being made prisoner, and another ship sunk; the
rest made off. September 30th, a great victory was obtained
over the Turks by General Germann, with much slaughter,
and the seraskier Batal Bey, and the wdiole camp, were taken.
October 18th, Kilia surrendered to Major Ribas. November
6th, 7th, the fortress Cultsha and the Turkish flotilla were
taken. December 11th, the important fortress of Ismail,
after a storming for seven hours without intermission, sur¬
rendered to Count Suwaroff, with the garrison of forty-two
thousand men ; thirty thousand eight hundred and sixteen
were slain on the spot, two thousand died of their w'ounds,
nine thousand were taken prisoners, with two hundred and
sixty-five pieces of cannon, an incredible store of ammu¬
nition, &x. The Russians lost only eighteen hundred and
fifteen killed, and two thousand four hundred and fifty
wounded.
An. 1791. 1791. March 25th-31st, the campaign opened by the
The Turks troops under 1’rince Potemkin, not far from Brailof, wdien
cffeated^ Turks were defeated in several battles, in which they
■ind oh'iged^ost uPwarc^s f°ur thousand men. June 5th, the troops
to make under General Golenitshef Kutusoff, near Tultsha, drove
peace. the Turks beyond the Danube, and at Babada entirely
routed a body of fifteen thousand men, of whom fifteen
hundred were left dead upon the field. 22d, The fortress
Anapuas was taken by storm, when the whole garrison, con¬
sisting of twenty-five thousand men, were put to the sword,
excepting one thousand who were taken prisoners. 28th, The
troops under Prince Repnin attacked the Turkish army, con¬
sisting of nearly eighty thousand men, commanded by the
grand vizir Yussuf Pasha, eight pashas, two Tartar sultans,
and two beys of Anatolia; and after a bloody battle of six
hours, entirely routed them: five thousand Turks were killed
in their flight. June 28th, Sudskuk Kale was taken. July
31st, Admiral Ushakoff beat the Turkish fleet on the coasts
of Rumelia. Prince Repnin and Yussuf Pasha signed the
preliminaries of peace between the Russian empire and
the Ottoman Porte, by which the Dniester was made the
boundary of the two empires, with the cession of the coun¬
tries lying between the Bog and Dniester to Russia. Au¬
gust 15th, 16th, at Pilnitz, near Dresden, a congress was
held by the emperor of Germany, the king of Prussia, the
elector of Saxony, the Count d’Artois, &c. &c. One of the
most important events in this year was the death of Prince
Potemkin, at Yassy in Moldavia, on the 15th October.
An. 1792. 1792. Early in this year Bulgakoff, the Russian minister
Fresh inva-at Warsaw, declared war against Poland ; and the Polish
sion of Po- patriots raised an army in which Thaddeus Kosciuszko soon
land. bore a conspicuous part.
In 1788, the diet of Poland had abrogated the constitu¬
tion which the empress of Russia had, in 1775, compelled
that nation to adopt, and had formed an alliance with the
king of Prussia, by way of defence against the further en¬
croachments of the Russian despot. 'Three years after, viz.
on the 3d of May 1791, the new constitution, which was in¬
tended further to destroy the ambitious hopes of Catherine,
was decreed at Warsaw. (See Poland.) These were af¬
fronts which the Russian empress could not forgive, and in
one of the conciliabula, in which the ministers of state, and
the favourite for the time being, sat to regulate the affairs
of the north of Europe, and to determine the fate of the
surrounding nations, the annihilation of the Polish mo¬
narchy was resolved on.
The declaration of war above mentioned was denounced History,
by Bulgakoff at an assembly of the diet. That body re-
ceived the declaration with a majestic calmness, and re¬
solved to take measures for the defence of the nation. The
generous enthusiasm of liberty soon spread throughout the
state, and even the king pretended to share in the ge¬
neral indignation. An army was hastily collected, and the
command of it bestowed on Prince Joseph Poniatowsky,
a general whose inexperience and frivolous pursuits w'ere
but ill adapted to so important a charge.
In the mean time several Russian armies were preparing
to overwhelm the small and disunited forces of the Poles.
A body of eighty thousand Russians extended itself along
the Bog, another of ten thousand was collected in the en¬
virons of Kief, and a third of thirty thousand penetrated in¬
to Lithuania. While these armies were carrying murder and
desolation throughout the Polish territories, Catherine was
employing all her arts to induce the neighbouring powers to
join in the partition of Poland; and in this she was but too
successful. A treaty was accordingly concluded between
the empress and the king of Prussia, by which each ap¬
propriated to itself a share of the reifiains of Poland. Sta¬
nislas Augustus, the powerless head of that state, was pre¬
vailed on to make a public declaration that there was a ne¬
cessity for yielding to the superiority of the Russian arms.
1793. On the 9th of April the Polish confederation of An. 1793.
the partisans of Russia assembled at Grodno; and on this
occasion the Russian general placed himself under the ca¬
nopy of that throne which he was about to declare for
ever vacant, and the Russian minister Sievers produced a
manifesto, declaring the intention of his mistress to incor¬
porate with her domains all the Polish territory which her
arms had conquered.
The Russian soldiers dispersed throughout the provinces
committed depredations and ravages of which history fur¬
nishes but few examples. Warsaw became especially the
theatre of their excesses. Their general, Igelstrom, who
governed in that city, connived at the disorders of the sol¬
diers, and made the wretched inhabitants feel the whole
weight of his arrogance and barbarity. The patriots of
Poland had been obliged to disperse, their property was
confiscated, and their families reduced to servitude. Goad¬
ed by so many calamities, they once more took the resolu¬
tion to free their country from the oppression of the Rus¬
sians, or perish in the attempt. Some of them assembled,
and sent an invitation to Kosciuszko, to come and lead them
on against the invaders of their freedom.
Kosciuszko had retired to Leipsig, w ith a few other Poles,
all eminent for patriotism and military ardour. These he¬
sitated not a moment in giving their approbation to the re¬
solution adopted by their indignant countrymen ; but they
were sensible that, in order to succeed, they must begin by
emancipating the peasants from the state of servitude under
which they then groaned. Kosciuszko and Zagonchek re¬
paired with all expedition to the frontiers of Poland, and the
latter proceeded to Warsaw, where he held conierences with
the chief of the conspirators, and particularly w ith several
officers, who declared their detestation of the Russian yoke.
All appeared ripe for a general insurrection ; and the Rus¬
sian commanders, whose suspicions had been excited by
the appearance of Kosciuszko on the frontiers, obliged that
leader and his confederates to postpone lor a time the exe¬
cution of their plan. In order to deceive the Russians, Kos¬
ciuszko retired into Italy, and Zagonchek repaired to Dres¬
den, whither Ignatius Potoski and Kolontay had gone be¬
fore him. On a sudden, however, Zagonchek appeared again
at Warsaw, but was impeached by the king to General
Igelstrom, and, in a conference with the general, was or¬
dered to quit the Polish territory. He must now have
abandoned his enterprise altogether, or immediately pro¬
ceed to open insurrection. He chose the latter.
488
History.
RUSSIA.
the en¬
croach
ments of
Russia.
1794. Kosciuszko was recalled from Italy, and arrived
at Cracow, where the Poles received him as their deliverer.
Attempts of ^ere was j°^ne^ some other officers, and took the
the patriots command of his little army, consisting of about three thou-
to oppose sand infantry and twelve hundred cavalry. On the 24th
of March was published the manifesto of the patriots, in
which they declared the motives for their insurrection, and
called on their countrymen to unite in the glorious attempt
to free the republic from a foreign yoke. Kosciuszko was
soon joined by three hundred peasants armed with scythes,
and some other small reinforcements gradually came in. A
body of seven thousand Russians had collected to oppose
the movements of this little army, and a battle took place, in
which the patriots wTere successful.
While the insurrection had thus auspiciously commenced
on the frontiers, the confederates of the capital were near¬
ly crushed by the exertions of the Russian general. Hear¬
ing at Warsaw of the success of Kosciuszko, Igelstrom
caused all those whom he suspected of having any concern
in the insurrection to be arrested; but these measures
served only to irritate the conspirators. On the 18th of
April they openly avowed their confederacy with the pa¬
triots of the frontiers, and proceeded in great numbers to
attack the Russian garrison. Two thousand Russians were
put to the sword, and the general, being besieged in his
house, proposed a capitulation ; but, profiting by the delay
that had been granted him, he escaped to the Prussian
camp, which lay at a little distance from Warsaw.
\\ilna, the capital of Lithuania, followed the example of
Warsaw; but the triumph of the insurgents was there less
terrible, as Colonel Yasinsky, who headed the patriots, con¬
ducted himself with so much skill, that he made all the Rus¬
sians prisoners without bloodshed. The inhabitants of the
cantons of Chelm and Lublin also declared themselves in a
state of insurrection, and three Polish regiments who were
employed in the service of Russia espoused the cause of
their country. Some of the principal partisans of Russia
were arrested, and sentenced to be hanged.
Kosciuszko exerted himself to the utmost to augment
his army. He procured recruits among the peasants, and
to inspire them with the more emulation, he adopted their
dress, ate with them, and distributed rewards among such
as appeared most to merit encouragement. All his at¬
tempts to inspire the lower orders of the Poles with the
ardour of patriotism were, however, unavailing. A mu¬
tual distrust prevailed between the nobles and the peasants,
and this was fomented by the arts of Stanislas and the
other partisans of Russia.
The empress had sent into Poland two of her best ge¬
nerals, Suwaroff and Fersen. For some time Kosciuszko
succeeded in preventing the junction of these commanders,
and several engagements took place between the Russians
and patriots, in which the former were generally success¬
ful. At length, on the 4th of October, the fate of Poland
was decided by a sanguinary conflict between Kosciuszko
and Fersen, at Macieyovitch, a small town of Little Po¬
land, about sixty miles from Warsaw. The talents ’^ur,
and desperation of Kosciuszko could not prevent tiic - oies
lom yielding to superior numbers. Almost the whole of
is army was either cut in pieces or compelled to surrender
a ihcretion, and the hero himself, covered with wounds,
e rJjense on field of battle, and was made prisoner.
i ie small number that escaped fled to Warsaw, and shut
themselves up in the suburb of Praga. Hither they were
pursue y uwaroff, who immediately laid siege to the
suburb, and prepared to carry it by storm. On the 2d of
ovem er ie gave the assault, and having made himself
master of the place, put to the sword both the soldiers and
the peaceable inhabitants, without distinction of age or sex.
It is computed that twenty thousand persons fell victims to
the savage ferocity of the Russian general; and, covered
Final dis¬
member¬
ment of
Poland.
with the blood of the slaughtered inhabitants, the barbarian History,
entered Warsaw in triumph. ' " y—
.Thus terminated the feeble resistance of the Polish pa¬
triots. The partition of the remaining provinces was soon
effected, and Stanislas Augustus, who had long enjoyed
meiely the appearance of royalty, and had degraded himself
by becoming the instrument of Russian usurpation, retired
to Grodno, there to pass the remainder of his davs, on a
pension granted him by the empress.
1795. On the 18th of February, a treaty of defensive An. 1795.
alliance between the empress of Russia and his Britannic
majesty was signed at St Petersburg. The ostensible ob¬
ject of this treaty was to maintain the general tranquillity
of Europe, and more especially of the north; and by it
Russia agreed to furnish Great Britain with ten thousand
infantry and two thousand horse in case of invasion; while
Great Britain was, under similar circumstances, to send her
imperial majesty a squadron consisting of two ships of se¬
venty-four guns, six of sixty, and four of fifty, with a com¬
plement of four thousand five hundred and sixty men. On
the 18th of March was signed the act by which the duchy
of Courland, together with the circle of Pilten, all of which
had lately belonged to the Duke of Courland, but had long
retained only the shadow of independence, submitted them¬
selves to the Russian dominion.
In this year there took place between the courts of St Dispute
Petersburg and Stockholm a dispute which threatened to with Swe-
terminate in a war. Gustavus III. had been assassinated
by Ankerstroem at a masquerade, on the 15th of March
1791 ; and the young king Gustavus Adolphus being still a
minor, the Duke of Sudermania, his uncle, had been ap¬
pointed regent of the kingdom. The regent had deter¬
mined to effect a marriage between his nephew and a prin¬
cess of the house of Mecklenburg ; but Catherine publicly
declared that the late king had betrothed his son to one of
her grand-daughtei's. The misunderstanding hence origi¬
nating was increased by the rude and indecorous behaviour
of the Baron von Budberg, the Russian minister at Stock¬
holm; and matters seemed tending to an open rupture, when,
in the year 1796, a French emigrant named Christin effect¬
ed a reconciliation, and General Budberg, the baron’s uncle,
was sent as ambassador to Stockholm from the Russian
court. In consequence of this reconciliation, the young
king, attended by the regent, and a numerous ti'ain of Swe¬
dish courtiers, set out on a visit to St Petersburg, where they
arrived on the 24th of August, and an interview took place
between the empress and her royal visiters, for the purpose
of finally adjusting the projected matrimonial alliance. Gus¬
tavus Adolphus was much pleased with the appearance of
the Grand Duchess Alexandra, but informed the empress,
that by the fundamental laws of Sweden he could not sign
the marriage-contract before the princess had abjured the
Greek religion ; and as neither the solicitations nor the flat¬
teries of Catherine could prevail on the young monarch to
depart from the received custom of his country, the nego¬
tiation ended, and the next day Gustavus and his retinue
quitted St Petersburg.
The last transaction of importance in the reign of Cathe¬
rine was her invasion of the Persian tei'ritories, undertaken
for the purpose of acquiring certain possessions on the shores
of the Caspian. A Russian army entered Daghestan, and
made itseli master of Derbent, but was afterwards defeated
by the Persians under Aga Mahmoud. The death of the
empress took place, as we have elsewhere stated, on the 9th
of November of this year; and the Grand Duke Paul Pe-
trovitch ascended the thi’one under the title of Paul I.
Paul Petrovitch had attained his forty-second year before An i7q6
the death of his mother placed him on the imperial throne; Reign of*
but for many years before her death he had lived in a state Paid,
of comparative obscui’ity and retirement, and had apparent¬
ly been considered by the empress as incapable of taking
RUSSIA.
489
History, any active part in the administration of affairs. It is well
known that Catherine never admitted him to any partici¬
pation of power, and kept him in a state of the most abject
and mortifying separation from court, and in almost total
ignorance of the affairs of the empire. Although by his
birth he was generalissimo of the armies, president of the
admiralty, and grand admiral of the Baltic, he was never
permitted to head even a regiment, and was interdicted
from visiting the fleet at Cronstadt. From these circum¬
stances, it is evident that the empress either had conceived
some jealousy of her son, or saw in him some mental im¬
becility, which appeared to her to disqualify him for the ar¬
duous concerns of government. There is little doubt, from
the circumstances which distinguished his short reign, that
Catherine had been chiefly influenced in her treatment of
the grand duke by the latter consideration. There were
certainly times at which Paul displayed evident marks of
insanity, though he occasionally gave proofs of a generous
and tender disposition, and even of intellectual vigour.
It is generally believed that, a short time before her
death, Catherine committed to Plato Zuboff, her last fa¬
vourite, a declaration of her will, addressed to the senate,
desiring that Paul should be passed over in the succession,
and that on her death the Grand Duke Alexander should
ascend the vacant throne. As soon as Zuboff was made
acquainted with the sudden death of the empress, he flew
to Pavlovsk, about twenty-three miles from St Petersburg,
where Paul occasionally resided ; but meeting the grand
duke on the road, he, after a short explanation, delivered
up the important document. Paul, charmed with his zeal
and loyalty, rewarded the favourite, by permitting him to
retain the wealth and honours which had been heaped on
him by his mistress, while a general and rapid dispersion
soon took place among the other adherents of the late sove¬
reign. On the day following the death of his mother, Paul
made his public entry into St Petersburg, amidst the accla¬
mations of all ranks of people.
One of the first measures adopted by the new emperor
excited considerable surprise, and divided the opinions of
the public with respect to the motives by which it had been
suggested ; some attributing it to his respect for the me¬
mory of his late father, and others to a culpable reflection
on that of his mother. He ordered the corpse of Peter III.
to be removed from the sepulchre in which it-had been
deposited in the church of St Alexander Nefsky, solemnly
crowned it, and caused it to lie in state for three weeks, while
it was watched day and night by the only two remaining
conspirators who had assisted at his assassination. After this
dreadful mark of his justice on the murderers of his father,
surely more terrible to the guilty mind than death itself, he
consigned the ashes to the sepulchre of Catherine II. in the
cathedral of St Peter and St Paul, obliging the assassins to
walk in the procession as chief mourners.
Few political events of any importance marked the reign
of Paul previously to the year 1798, when, in consequence
of a treaty between him and the emperor of Germany, a
Russian army of forty-five thousand men, under Field-Mar¬
shal Suwaroff, joined the imperialists in the Austrian terri¬
tories in Italy. The progress of Suwaroff, his successes over
Moreau, and his final recall by his master, have already been
related in the article France.
In 1799, Paul entered into a treaty of offensive and de¬
fensive alliance with his Britannic majesty. This treaty
was signed at St Petersburg on the 22d of June, having
Singular
funeral of
Peter III.
An. 1799.
Treaty of
alliance be'
tween RuS'
sia and Bri
tain.
been preceded by a provisional treaty between the same History,
powers at the end of the year 1798. By the latter, which
was fortified by a relative treaty with Austria, it had been
stipulated that Paul should assist the king of Prussia, if the
latter could be persuaded to join his arms to the allied
powers against France, with forty-five thousand men, and
that the king of Great Britain should pay to Russia a sub¬
sidy of L.75,000 sterling per month ; and in case the king
of Prussia should refuse to join the coalition, the same num¬
ber of troops, in consideration of the same subsidy, should
be employed, as occasion might require, to assist the com¬
mon cause. By the new treaty, the emperor of Russia, in¬
stead of the forty-five thousand troops, engaged to furnish
seventeen thousand five hundred and ninety-three, with the
necessary artillery, to be employed in an expedition against
Holland ; and six ships, five frigates, and two transports,
for the purpose of transporting part of the invading army
from Britain to the continent. In consideration of these
succours, the court of London engaged to advance to Rus¬
sia a subsidy of L.44,000 sterling per month ; to pay the
sum of L.58,929. 10s. sterling for the expenses of equipping
the fleet; and after the period of three months had elapsed
from such equipment, to pay a further subsidy of L. 19,642.
10s. sterling per month, as long as the fleet should remain
under the command of his Britannic majesty.
In consequence of this treaty, a Russian fleet joined that
of Britain in Yarmouth Roads, and took part in the unfor¬
tunate expedition to the coast of Holland, which was under¬
taken in the summer of 1799. The military fame of Russia
was more augmented by the share which its army under Su-
waroff took in the campaign of Italy during the same year,
although the victories which won for the veteran his name
of Italinski were far more than overbalanced by the mis¬
fortunes which ensued in Switzerland under the emperor’s
favourite Korsakoff. But in December 1800, Paul, after
having laid an embargo on the British shipping which lay
in his ports, openly abandoned his relations with our coun¬
try, and proclaimed, in confederacy with Sweden and Den¬
mark, to whom Prussia afterwards added herself, the great
Northern Coalition with France against Great Britain.
In the beginning of the year 1801, all Europe was as-An. 1801.
tonished or amused by a paragraph which appeared in theP®11!*0!1^*
Hamburg Gazette of the 16th of January. It was dated from
Petersburg, the 30th December 1800, and is as follows. of Europe.
“ We learn from Petersburg, that the emperor of Rus¬
sia, finding that the powers of Europe cannot agree among
themselves, and being desirous to put an end to a war which
has desolated it for eleven years past, intends to point out
a spot to which he will invite all the other sovereigns, to
repair and fight in single combat; bringing with them, as
seconds and squires, their most enlightened ministers and
their most able generals, such as Messrs Thugot, Pitt,
and Bernstorff; and that the emperor himself proposes be¬
ing attended by Generals Count de Pahlen and Khutosof.
We know not if this report be worthy of credit; however,
the thing appears not destitute of some foundation, and
bears strong marks of what he has been often taxed with.”
This paragraph was immediately copied or translated into
all the public papers, and it was strongly affirmed by many
that it was the composition of Paul himself. This has since
been confirmed by the poet Kotzebue, who was employed
by the emperor of Russia to translate the original into Ger¬
man, for the express purpose of its being inserted in the
Hamburg Gazette.1
onze ans, vouloit proposer un lieu ou il inviteroit tous les autres Souverains, de se rendre et y combattre en champ clos, ayant avec
eux pour dcuyers juges de camp et heros des armes leurs ministres les plus eclaires et les ge'ndraux les plus habiles, tels que MM.
Thugot, Pitt, Bernstorff; lui-meme se proposant de prendre avec lui les gendraux C. de Pahlen et Khutosof. On ne sejait si on
doit y ajouter foi; toutefois, la chose ne paroit pas destituee de fondement, en portant I’empreinte de ce dont il a souvent ete' taxd.”
VOL. XIX. 3 Q
490
RUSSIA.
Other
marks of
the empe¬
ror’s de¬
rangement
History. This was not the only mark of mental derangement dis¬
played by the unhappy monarch. The army, which form¬
ed his favourite employment, was tormented by incessant
caprices affecting its discipline ; and the press, the na¬
tive Russians, and the resident foreigners, suffered tyran¬
nical and unaccountable restrictions. His favours and his
displeasure were alternately experienced by some of his
most distinguished courtiers and adherents. Stanislas, the
deposed king of Poland, partook by turns of his beneficence
and his severity; and at length, on the death of that
monarch, Paul assisted at his funeral, commanded in per¬
son the guards that attended on the ceremony, and un¬
covering himself with the utmost emotion, saluted the cof¬
fin as it passed. To the memory of the aged Suwaroff,
who is said to have fallen a broken-hearted victim to the
distraction of his imperial master, he raised a colossal statue
of bronze; and on the days when he reviewed his troops
in the square where the figure had been erected, he used to
command them to march by in open order, and face the mo¬
nument. Notwithstanding the important service that had
been rendered him by Zuboff, the emperor soon became
disgusted with him ; spoke of him to his friends with great
asperity; at length denounced him as a defaulter to the
imperial treasury of half a million of roubles; and, convinced
of the justice of the allegation, proceeded to sequestrate the
vast estates which belonged to him and his two brothers.
Driven to desperation by such conduct, the second bro¬
ther of the favourite one day walked up boldly to the em¬
peror upon the parade, and with manly eloquence repre¬
sented the injustice of his measures. Paul received him
without anger, heard him without interruption, and restored
the property ; but soon afterwards he ordered Plato Zuboff
to reside on his estate, though he again restored him to fa-
Conspiracy
formed
against the
emperor.
It is not surprising that these instances of folly and ca¬
price should alarm and disgust many of the nobles. In
particular, Count Pahlen, the governor of St Petersburg,
with some other men of rank, entered into a confederacy
with Zuboff and his brothers for removing the emperor.
In their conferences, which were managed with great pru¬
dence and discretion, it was resolved that Paul should die,
and that the day of the festival called Maslaintza, the 11th
of March O. S. 1801, should be the day for executing the
awful deed. At the time of this plot, the emperor and his
family resided in the new palace of St Michael, an enor¬
mous quadrangular pile standing at the bottom of the sum¬
mer gardens. Paul being anxious to inhabit this palace
soon after he was crowned, the masons, carpenters, and
various artificers, toiled with incredible labour, by day and
by torch-light, under the sultry sun of the summer, and in
all the severity of a polar winter ; and in three years this
enormous and magnificent fabric was completed. The
whole is moated round ; and when the stranger surveys its
bastions of granite, and numerous draw-bridges, he is na¬
turally led to conclude that it Avas intended for the last
asylum of a prince at war with his subjects. Those who
have seen its massive walls, and the capaciousness and va¬
riety of its chambers, will easily admit that an act of vio¬
lence might be committed in one room, and not be heard
by those who occupy the adjoining one; and that a mas¬
sacre might be perpetrated at one end, and not known at
the other. Paul took possession of this palace as a place of
strength, and beheld it with rapture, because his imperial
mother had never even seen it. While his family were
here, by every act of tenderness endeavouring to soothe
the terrible perturbation of his mind, there were not want¬
ing those who exerted every stratagem to inflame and in¬
crease it. These people were constantly insinuating that
every hand was armed against him. With this impression,
which added fuel to his burning brain, he ordered a secret
staircase to be constructed, which, leading from his own
chamber, passed under a false stove in the anti-room, and History,
led by a small door to the terrace.
It was the custom of the emperor to sleep in an apart-His assassi.
ment next to the empress’s, upon a sofa, in his regimen-liation.
tals and boots, whilst the grand duke and duchess, and the
rest of the imperial family, were lodged at various distan¬
ces, in apartments below the story which he occupied. On
the 10th March, the day preceding the fatal night, whether
Paul’s apprehension, or anonymous information, suggested
the idea, is not known; but conceiving that a storm was
ready to burst upon him, he sent for Count Pahlen : “ I am
informed,” said the emperor, “ that there is a conspiracy cn
foot against me ; do you think it necessary to take any pre¬
caution ?” The count, without betraying the least emotion,
replied, “ Sire, do not suffer such apprehensions to haunt
your mind ; if there were any combinations forming against
your majesty’s person, I am sure I should be acquainted
with it.” 5£ Then I am satisfied,” said the emperor ; and the
governor withdrew. Before Paul retired to rest, he, be¬
yond his usual custom, expressed the most tender solici¬
tude for the empress and his children, kissed them with all
the warmth of farewell fondness, and remained with them
for a considerable time. He afterwards visited the senti¬
nels at their different posts, and then retired to his ebamber.
Soon after the emperor had retired, the guard that was
always placed at his chamber door was,. on some pretext,
changed by the officers who had the command for the
night, and who were engaged in the conspiracy. One man
only remained. This was a hussar whom the emperor had
honoured with particular marks of attention, and who al¬
ways slept at night in the antechamber, at his sovereign’s
bed-room door. This faithful soldier it was found impos¬
sible to remove, except by force, which at that time the
conspirators did not think proper to employ. Silence now
reigned throughout the palace, disturbed only by the pa¬
cing of the sentinels, or by the distant murmurs of the Ne¬
va ; and only a few straggling lights were to be seen, irre¬
gularly gleaming through the windows of the palace. In
the dead of the night, Zuboff and his friends, amounting to
eight or nine persons, passed the draw-bridge, ascended the
staircase that led to the emperor’s apartments, and met with
no opposition till they reached the antechamber, where the
faithful hussar, awakened by the noise, challenged them,
and presented his fusee. Though they must have admired
the brave fidelity of the guard, neither time nor circum¬
stances would admit of an act of generosity which might
have endangered their whole plan of operations. Zuboff
therefore drew his sabre, and cut the poor fellow down.
In the mean time, Paul, roused by the unusual bustle,
sprang from his couch. At this moment the whole party
rushed into his chamber. The unhappy sovereign, antici¬
pating their design, at first endeavoured to intrench him¬
self behind the chairs and tables; but soon recovering some
share of his natural courage, he assumed a high tone, told
them they were his prisoners, and required them to surren¬
der. Finding that they fixed their eyes steadily and fiercely
upon him, and continued to advance, he implored them to
spare his life, declared his willingness instantly to relinquish
the sceptre, and to accept of any terms which they might
dictate. He even offered to make them princes, and to
confer on them orders and estates. Regardless alike of his
threats and promises, they nowr began to press on him, when
he made a convulsive effort to reach the w indow, but failed
in the attempt; and, indeed, had he succeeded in his endea¬
vour to escape that way, the height from the window7 to the
ground w7as so great, that the expedient would probably
have only put a more speedy period to his existence. As
the conspirators drew him back, he grasped a chair, with
which he knocked down one of the assailants, and a des¬
perate conflict now took place. So great was the noise,
that notwithstanding the massive walls and double folding
RUSSIA.
4191
History.
Accession
of Alexan¬
der Paulo-
vitch.
Amicable
disposition
of Alexan
der towards
Britain.
Treaty of
amity and
commerce
with Swe¬
den.
doors that divided Paul’s apartments from those of the em¬
press, she was disturbed, and began to call for help, when
a voice whispered in her ear, commanding her to remain
quiet, and threatening that if she uttered another word she
should instantly be put to death.
Paul was now making his last struggle, when one of the
party struck him on the temple with his fist, and laid him
prostrate on the floor. Recovering from the blow, the un¬
happy monarch again implored his life. At this moment
the heart of one of the conspirators relented, and he was
observed to hesitate and tremble, when a young Hanove¬
rian who was present exclaimed, we have passed the Ru¬
bicon ; if we spare his life, we shall, before the setting of
to-morrow’s sun, become his victims; on saying which he
took off his sash, turned it twice round the naked neck of
the emperor, and giving one end to ZubofF, he himself drew
the other, till the object of their attack expired.
The Emperor Alexander, Paul’s eldest son, was in his
twenty-fourth year when he ascended the throne, and from
his amiable disposition had acquired the love and respect
of all his subjects. The first measure which he adopted,
his proclamation, and his first imperial orders, all tended
to encourage and confirm the confidence with which the
people beheld him ascend the throne of his forefathers.
He solemnly promised to tread in the steps of Catherine
II.; he allowed every one to dress according to his own
fancy; he exonerated the inhabitants of the capital from
the trouble and duty of alighting from their carriages on
the approach of the imperial family; he dismissed the court
advocate, who was universally and justly detested; he sup¬
pressed the secret inquisition, that had become the scourge
of the country; he restored to the senate its former autho¬
rity, set at liberty the state prisoners, and recalled from Si¬
beria several of the exiles. He even extended his mercy
to the assassins of the late emperor. ZubofF was ordered
not to approach the imperial residence, and the governor
of the city was transferred to Riga.
It is not easy to explain the motives that induced Alex¬
ander to forego that vengeance which justice seemed to
demand on the heads of his father’s assassins. It has been
attributed by one of his panegyrists to a forlorn and me¬
lancholy conviction that the murderers had been prompted
to commit the bloody deed solely by a regard for the sal¬
vation of the empire. This conviction might have induced
the young monarch to diminish the weight of the punish¬
ment which piety and justice called on him to inflict, but
can scarcely account for his total forbearance.
Alexander, on his accession to the throne, appeared de¬
sirous to cultivate the friendship of the neighbouring states,
• and especially that of Great Britain. His late father, among
-other projects, had procured himself to be elected grand¬
master of the knights of Malta, and had laid claim to the
sovereignty of that island. This claim, which had nearly pro¬
duced a rupture between the courts of London and St Peters¬
burg, Alexander consented to abandon, though he expressed
a wish to be elected grand-master of the order, by the free
suffrages of the knights. A confederacy, as we have seen, had
been formed among the northern powers of Europe, with a
view to oppose the British claim to the sovereignty of the
seas; but by the spirited interference of the British court,
especially with the cabinet of St Petersburg, the good un¬
derstanding between Britain and the northern states was re¬
established, and the embargo which had been laid on British
vessels in the Russian ports was taken off. Alexander, how¬
ever, earnestly desired to maintain peaceful relations with
France; and expressed this w ish, both in public manifestos,
and in private communications addressed to the First Consul.
Early in the same year there was signed at St Peters¬
burg a treaty of amity, commerce, and navigation, be¬
tween Russia and Sweden, to continue for twelve years, by
which Sweden was allowed to import into Russia, alum,
salt herrings, and salt, on the payment of one half of the History,
duties then exacted, and into Russian Finland the produce
of Swedish Finland duty free; while the importation of
Russia into Sweden, of hemp, linen, and tallow, was allow¬
ed at one half of the existing duties, and of linseed at
two thirds. The most remarkable part of this treaty was
the recognition, by the court of St Petersburg, of the
northern confederacy, wdiich the amicable adjustment with
Britain appeared to have done away. The commerce of
Russia had now recovered its former splendour. The ex¬
ports from the city of Riga alone, for the year ending July
1801, amounted to L.1,043,806, and of these exports Eng¬
land alone imported to the value of L.386,935.
On the 25th of March 1802 was signed at Amiens the An. 1802.
definitive treaty of peace between the belligerent powers of Russia gua-
Europe, by one material article of which the islands of Malta, rantees the
Gozo, and Comino, were to be restored to the knights Ma^ta
St John of Jerusalem, under the protection and guaranteeing
of France, Great Britain, Austria, Spain, Russia, and Prus-knights of
sia; and his Sicilian majesty was invited to furnish two thou- St John of
sand men, natives of his states, to serve in garrisons at the ^erusa^em’
different fortresses of the said islands, for one year after their
restitution to the knights, or until they should be replaced
by a force deemed sufficient by the guaranteeing powers.
Some time after the conclusion of this treaty, disputes arose
among the contracting powers relative to the sovereignty
of Malta, which the emperor of Russia insisted should be
yielded to Naples, otherwise he would not undertake to
guarantee the order, and would separate from it the prio¬
ries of Russia. The result of these disputes is well known,
as they afforded a reason for renewing the bloody contest
which so long desolated Europe.
During the short interval of peace, the emperor of Rus- Prudent
sia made several prudent regulations in the internal adminis-regulations
tration of his empire. On the 12th of September 1801,
manifesto had been published, proclaiming the union ofj^j^. ex*
Georgia, or Russian Grusinia, with the empire ; and on the
1st of April 1802, Alexander sent a deputation to establish
the new government at Teflis, the capital of the province.
On the 28th of May the emperor wrote a letter to the cham¬
berlain Wittostoff, president of the commission for ameliorat¬
ing the condition of the poor of St Petersburg, in which he
recommended to the commission to follow the example of a
similar establishment at Hamburg, in selecting proper objects
for their charitable bequests, preferring the humble and in¬
dustrious pauper to the idle and sturdy beggar. He also of¬
fered considerable premiums to persons who should introduce
any new or advantageous mode of agriculture, or who should
bring to perfection any old invention, open any new branch
of commerce, establish any new manufacture, or contrive
any machine or process that might be useful in the arts.
Early in the year 1803, the emperor fitted out, at his own An. 1803.
expense, two vessels for a voyage of discovery round the^Apyag6
world, under the command of Captain Krusenstern. These
ships were provided with every necessary for accomplishing f00t
the object of the voyage ; and several men of eminence for
science and literature, among whom was Churchman the
American astronomer, volunteered their services on this
occasion.
In the beginning of 1804 the emperor established a uni-An. 1804.
versity at Kharkof, in Lithuania, for the cultivation and dif- Establish-
fusion of the arts and sciences in that part of the Russian me.nt °f an
empire; and Mr Fletcher Campbell, a Scotch gentleman,
was employed to procure masters for this new institution. anja>
Some time after, the emperor ordered that meteorological
observations should be regularly made at all the universities
and public schools, and the results published. It appears
that at the end of this year the sums allotted by the Rus¬
sian government for defraying the expenses of these insti¬
tutions amounted to L.331,337, besides a gift of nearly
L.9250 towards erecting the new university.
RUSSIA.
492
History. About this time an imperial ukase was published, grant-
ing to the Jews a complete emancipation from the shackles
Emancipa- unc[er which that devoted people had long groaned, and
Je\vs°inthe allowinR tIiem the privileges of educating their children in
Russia" any of the schools and universities of the empire, or esta¬
blishing schools at their own expense.
Dispute For some time the genius of discord, which had again
with actuated the minds of the European sovereigns, failed to
France. extend her baleful influence over the Russian empire ; but
it was scarcely possible that the emperor should long re¬
main an impartial spectator of the renewed disputes be¬
tween his more powerful neighbours. An important change
had, in the latter end of 1802, taken place in the ministry
of the empire; and Count Worontzoff, brother of the late
ambassador at London, had been appointed great chan-
cellor-in-chief of the department of foreign affairs, with
Prince Adam Czartoryski for his assistant. How far this
change in the councils of the empire influenced the politi¬
cal measures of the court of St Petersburg, it is not easy
to determine; but in the latter end of 1803, Alexander
appeared to view with a jealous eye the presumption and
violence exercised by France among the German states,
and the encroachments which she appeared desirous of
making on the freedom of the Baltic. Alexander had of¬
fered his mediation between Great Britain and France, but
without effect; and both these parties strove to bring over
the Russian emperor to their alliance. France seems to
have held out to the ambition of Alexander the bait of a
partition of the Turkish territories, the dismemberment of
which had long been a favourite object with his predeces¬
sors. At length, however, the court of London prevailed,
and the Russian ambassador, by his master’s orders, took
leave of the First Consul of the French republic, though
without demonstrating any intentions of immediate hostili¬
ty. A new levy of a hundred thousand men was imme¬
diately ordered, to recruit the Russian army; and, to prevent
any jealousy on the side of Turkey, assurances were given
to the Sublime Porte of the amicable intentions of Russia
towards that power.
An. 1805. On the 11th of April 1805 a treaty of concert was con-
Treaty of eluded between Great Britain and Russia, in which the two
tweent^e* governrnents agreed to adopt the most efficacious means
Great Bri- ^or form'ng a general league of the states of Europe, to be
tain and directed against the power of France. From the terms of
Russia. the treaty, its objects appear to have been, first, the eva¬
cuation of the country of Hanover and the north of Ger¬
many ; secondly, the establishment of the independence of
the republics of Holland and Switzerland ; thirdly, the re¬
establishment of the king of Sardinia in Piedmont; fourthly,
the future security of the kingdom of Naples, and the com¬
plete evacuation of Italy, the island of Elba included, by
the French forces ; fifthly, the establishment of an order of
things in Europe, which might effectually guarantee the se¬
curity and independence of the different states, and present
a solid barrier against future usurpation.
For the prosecution of the great objects of this treaty, it
was proposed by the first article that an army of five hun¬
dred thousand men should be levied ; but in a subsequent
separate article, the contracting parties, after observing that
it was more desirable than easy to assemble so large a
force, agreed that the treaty should be carried into execu¬
tion as soon as it should be possible to oppose to France
an active force of four hundred thousand men. It was un¬
derstood and stipulated that these troops should be provided
by the powers of the continent who should become parties
to the league, and subsidies should be granted by Great
Britain in the proportion of L.1,250,000 sterling for every
hundred thousand men, besides a considerable additional
sum for the necessary expense occasioned in bringing them
into the field. ° b
About this time the occupation of Genoa by the French,
on the pretence that that republic was too feeble to sup- History,
port itself against the attacks of Great Britain, w'as com-
municated to the different courts of Europe, and excited in ^P611 r.ap*
every quarter the highest indignation. The Emperor Alex-
ander, in particular, wras incensed at this new outrage. Such
an open violation of those principles which were justly re¬
garded as essential to the general safety, committed not
only during the peace of the continent, but when passports
had been delivered to his ambassador, in order that a ne¬
gotiation might be commenced for the purpose of provid¬
ing for the permanent security and repose of Europe, he
considered as an indecent insult to his person and crowm.
He issued immediate orders for the recall of M. Novosilt-
zoff‘; and the messenger despatched upon this occasion was
commanded to repair with the utmost diligence to Berlin.
M. Novosiltzoff had not yet left that city ; he immediately
therefore returned his passports to the Prussian minister of
state, Baron de Hardenberg, and at the same time deliver¬
ed, by order of his court, a spirited memorial explanatory
of the object of his mission, and of the circumstances which
had led to its termination.
The recall of the Russian envoy appeared to be the sig¬
nal of hostilities on the part of Russia and Austria against
France. These hostilities may be said to have commenced
and terminated in the autumn of this year. The military
operations that distinguished this short but bloody conflict,
the rapid successes of the French, the capitulation of Ulm
on the 17th of October, the occupation of Vienna by the
French on the I2th of the same month, and the sanguinary
battle of Austerlitz on the 27th of November, have been
already noticed under the head of France. The conse¬
quences of these disastrous events were, first a cessation of
hostilities, and at length a treaty of firm alliance between
France and Russia. (See France.)
But before Alexander finally stooped to the imperial ea- An. 1806.
gles of Napoleon, he was determined to make one more ef¬
fort to preserve his independence. The Russian envoy at
Paris, D’Oubril, had hastily concluded a preliminary treaty
of peace between his master and the emperor of the French,
which he signed at Paris on the 8th of July 1806, and in¬
stantly set out for St Petersburg to procure the ratification
of his master. When the terms of this convention were
laid before the privy council by Alexander, they appeared
so derogatory to the interests of Russia, that the emperor
refused them his sanction, and declared that the counsellor
of state, D’Oubril, when he signed the convention, had not
only departed from the instructions he had received, but
had acted directly contrary to the sense and intention of
the commission with which he had been intrusted. His
imperial majesty, however, signified his willingness to renew
the negotiations for peace, but only on such terms as were
consistent with the dignity of-jjhis crown and the interests
of his empire.
In the mean time the king of Prussia began, when it was Alliance
too late, to see the folly and imprudence of the neutrality with Pru*
which he had so long maintained, and he at length prepar- ®’a again8^
ed to oppose his now feeble efforts to the growing power of11-*11106*
France. He brought together in the summer of this year an
army of at least two hundred thousand men, near Weimar
and Jena, while the French myriads assembled in Franconia
and on the frontiers of Saxony. Previously to the com¬
mencement of hostilities, his Prussian majesty issued a spi¬
rited manifesto, in which he explained his motives for aban¬
doning his plan of neutrality, and appealed to Europe for the
justice of his cause. He entered into an alliance with the
Emperor Alexander, and with the king of Sweden ; and it
was expected that these united forces wTould at length hurl
the tyrant of Europe from his throne, or at least compel him
to listen to equitable terms of pacification. These expecta¬
tions were, however, miserably disappointed. The same
extraordinary success was still to attend the arms of F’rance,
RUSSIA.
493
An. 1807.
Battle of
Eylau.
History, and the north of Europe was again condemned to submit in
silence to her yoke.
On the 13th of October 1806, the Prussians received a
dreadful check at the battle of Jena; and on the 27th of
the same month Napoleon entered Berlin. While the
French were thus successful, the troops of the Emperor
Alexander occupied Prussian Poland, and took up their re¬
sidence at Warsaw ; but they wrere soon attacked by the
French under Murat, who on the 28th entered Warsaw
with his cavalry, on which the Russians retreated across
the Vistula, burning the bridge over which they had passed.
On the 26th of December, a dreadful engagement took
place between the Russians commanded by General Ren-
ningsen, and the French under Generals Murat, Davoust,
and Lannes. The scene of action was at Ostralenka, about
sixty miles from Warsaw, and the fighting continued for
three days. The loss was immense on both sides, though
the advantage appears to have been on the side of the
French. According to French accounts, the Russian army
lost twelve thousand men in killed and wounded, together
with eighty pieces of cannon, and all its ammunition wag¬
gons ; while the Russian account states the loss of the French
at five thousand men.
In the beginning of February 1807, the Russians ob¬
tained a partial advantage in the battle of Eylau. Accord¬
ing to the account of this battle, given by General de Bnd-
berg in a despatch to the Marquis of Douglas, the British
ambassador at St Petersburg, the Russian general Ben-
ningsen, after having fallen back for the purpose of choos¬
ing a position which he judged well adapted for manoeuvring
the troops under his command, drew up his army at Preus-
sisch Eylau. During four days successively his rear-guard
had to withstand several vigorous assaults; and on the 7th
of February, at three o’clock in the afternoon, the battle
became general throughout the whole line of the main army.
The contest was destructive, and night came on before it
could be decided. Early on the following morning the
French renewed the attack, and the action was contested
with obstinacy on both sides; but towards the evening of
that day the assailants were repulsed, and the Russian ge¬
neral remained master of the field. In this action Napo¬
leon commanded in person, having under him Augereau,
Davoust, Soult, Ney, and Bessieres at the head of the im¬
perial guards. The loss of the Russians in that engage¬
ment was by themselves stated at above six thousand men,
while they estimated that of the French, probably untruly,
at nearly double that number.
This was the last important stand made by the Russian
army. In May, Dantzig, defended by eighteen thousand
Russians and Prussians, surrendered to the French. Seve¬
ral actions succeeded at Spanden, at Lamitten, at Guttotadt,
and at Heilsberg, in all of which the French had the advan¬
tage, till at length, on the 14th of June, the Russians ap¬
peared in considerable force upon the bridge of Friedland,
whither the French army under Napoleon was advancing.
At three in the morning the report of cannon was first heard,
and at this time Marshals Lannes and Mortier were engaged
with the Russians. After various manoeuvres, the Russian
troops received a check, and filed off towards Konigsberg.
In the afternoon the French army drew up in order of battle,
having Marshal Ney on the right, Lannes in the centre, and
Mortier on the left, while Victor commanded a corps de re¬
serve, consisting of the guards. At half-past five the at¬
tack began on the side of Marshal Ney; and notwithstand-
in°" the different movements of the Russians to effect a di¬
version, the French soon carried all before them. The loss
of the Russians, according to the usual exaggerations of the
French bulletins, was estimated at from ten thousand to
fifteen thousand men, and twenty-five of their generals were
said to have been killed, wounded, or taken. In conse¬
quence of this victory the French became masters of all the
Battle of
Friedland.
country round Konigsberg, and Marshal Soult entered that History. ^
city in triumph. Thus concluded the campaign in Ger-S
many, in which the Russians sustained a loss of at least
thirty thousand of their choicest troops.
While these military operations were going forward onWar de-
the continent of Europe, the emissaries of France were!'l(rJ;|j<jlst
busily employed at Constantinople in exciting the divan to j|usgia by
declare against their ancient enemies. They at length sue- Turkey,
ceeded ; for on the 30th of December 1806 war with Rus¬
sia was proclaimed, and twenty-eight regiments of janissa¬
ries assembled under the command of the grand vizir. But
the disturbances which broke out in the latter end of May
1807 prevented any operations of importance from taking
place; and the pacification which was soon concluded be¬
tween Russia and France, though it did not entirely put a
stop to the war between the former power and Turkey, in
some measure diminished their hostile preparations.
The defeats which the allied armies had sustained in Treaty of
Prussia and Poland rendered peace, on almost any terms, fdslt*
a desirable object; and Alexander found himself constrain¬
ed to meet, at least with the appearance of friendship, the
conqueror of his armies. Propositions for an armistice had
been made by the Prussian general to Murat near Tilsit,
and after the battle of Friedland the Russian prince Laba-
noff had a conference, on similar views, with the prince of
Neufchatel, soon after which an armistice was concluded
between the French and Russians. On the 25th ot June
an amicable meeting took place on the river Niemen, be¬
tween the emperors of France and Russia, and adjoining
apartments were fitted up for the reception of both courts
in the town of Tilsit. This politic friendship was soon after
cemented by the treaty of Tilsit, concluded between the
emperor of the French on the one part, and the emperor
of Russia and the king of Prussia (whom it despoiled of a
fourth of his dominions) on the other, on the 7th and 12th
of July in this year. Thenceforth, until Napoleon’s star
began to wane, Alexander was his firm partisan ; and his
faithlessness towards his former allies gave them no temp¬
tation to repose further confidence in him.
The conclusion of the treaty of Tilsit was notified to the Rupture
court of London on the 1st of August; and at the same witli Bri-
time a proposal was made from his imperial majesty for me-tain-
dialing a peace between France and Britain. This me¬
diation, however, was declined on the part of Great Bri¬
tain, until his Britannic majesty should be made acquainted
with the stipulations of the treaty of Tilsit, and should find
them such as might afford him a just hope of the attain¬
ment of a secure and honourable peace. This declining of
the mediation of Russia was no doubt expected by the court
of St Petersburg; but it served as a pretext for binding
more closely the alliance between that power and France,
by breaking off her connection with Great Britain. Ac¬
cordingly, in October, Lord Granville Leveson Gower, who
had succeeded the Marquis of Douglas as British envoy, re¬
ceived a note from the government, intimating that, as a
British ambassador, he could no longer be received at the
court of St Petersburg, which he therefore soon after quit¬
ted. An embargo was laid on all British vessels in the
ports of Russia, and it was peremptorily required by Na¬
poleon and Alexander that Sweden should abandon her
alliance with Great Britain.
An additional ground of complaint against the British
court was furnished by the attack on Copenhagen, and the
seizure of the Danish fleet, in the beginning of September ;
and though Lord Gower had attempted to justify these
measures on the plea of anticipating the French in the
same transaction, the emperor of Russia expressed, in the
warmest terms, his indignation at what he called an unjust
attack on a neutral power. A considerable Russian fleet
joined the French ; but the combined squadrons were com¬
pelled to seek for shelter in the Tagus, where they remain-
494
RUSSIA.
History, ed blocked up by the British, till they were surrendered by
■—the convention of Cintra; and another fleet of fifteen sail
of the line that proceeded up the Mediterranean, and ad¬
vanced as far as Trieste, shared a similar fate.
On the 26th of October the emperor of Russia published
a declaration, notifying to the powers of Europe that he
had broken off all communication between his empire and
Great Britain, until the conclusion of a peace between this
power and Fi'ance. In a counter-declaration, published at
London on the 10th of December, his Britannic majesty
repels the accusations of Russia, while he regrets the in¬
terruption of the friendly intercourse between that power
and Britain. His majesty justifies his own conduct, and
declares, that when the opportunity for peace between
Great Britain and Russia shall arrive, he will embrace it
with eagerness; satisfied if Russia shall manifest a disposi¬
tion to return to her ancient feeling of friendship towards
Great Britain, to a just consideration of her own true inte-
An. 1808.
Renewed
negotia¬
tions with
Britain.
War with
Sweden.
rests, and to a sense of her own dignity as an independent
nation.
In October 1808, a meeting took place at Erfurt be¬
tween the emperors of France and Russia, and a letter w^as
drawn up under their signature, addressed to his Britannic
majesty. The object of this letter was, to induce the king
of Great Britain to enter into negotiations for a general
peace, and with that view it was despatched by Count Ro-
manzoff, the Russian minister at Erfurt, to Mr Canning,
the British secretary of state for foreign affairs. It was
answered by an official note, requiring the emperors, as an
indispensable condition of any treaty with Britain, to re¬
ceive Sweden as a party, to protect the interests of Portu¬
gal and of the ex-king of Naples, and to extend the bene¬
fits of the projected arrangements to Ferdinand VII. of
Spain. These requisitions were evidently quite inconsistent
with Napoleon’s views ; the emperors refused to accede to
them ; and all hope of accommodation was in the mean time
at an end.
The demand of concurrence in the views of France and
Russia made on Sweden was formally repeated in a decla¬
ration of the Emperor Alexander, published at St Peters¬
burg on the 10th of February in this year. In this declara¬
tion his imperial majesty intimated to the king of Sweden
that he was making preparations to invade his territories ;
but that he was ready to change the measures he was about
to take, to measures of precaution only, if Sweden would,
without delay, join Russia and Denmark in shutting the
Baltic against Great Britain, until the conclusion of a ma¬
ritime peace. He professed that nothing could be more
painful to him, than to see a rupture take place between
Sweden and Russia; but that his Swedish majesty had it
still in his power to avoid this event, by resolving without
delay to adopt that course which could alone preserve strict
union and perfect harmony between the two states.
Ihe king of Sweden, however, determined to abide by
the measures which he had for some time pursued, and to
adhere to the terms of the convention which had just been
concluded between him and the king of Great Britain. In
consequence of this determination, a Russian army entered
r inland in the beginning of March, under the command
of General Buxhovden, and advanced against Helsingfors,
which was occupied by a single battalion of a Swedish re¬
giment. This small force retired into the fortress of Swea-
i erf they m^'ntained themselves with great bravery
till the 17th of April, when they were obliged to capitulate.
Ihe loss ot this fortress, though inconsiderable in itself, so
high y enragea the king of Sweden, that he dismissed the
naval and military commanders who had been concerned
in the capitulation.
Gn the 27th of April some slight advantage was gained
over the Russians near Rivolax, by the Swedish army under
General Count Klmspor; but this was only a partial gleam
of success. The Russians soon overran almost all Finland, History,
took possession of Wasa, Old and New Carleby, and reduced y-~*~
under subjection the whole province of which Wasa is the
capital. Ihe army of Field-Marshal Klinspor, which ori¬
ginally consisted of sixteen thousand regulars, and many
boors, was, by the end of the campaign, reduced to little
more than nine thousand men.
I he king of Sweden sent some reinforcements to his army
in I1 inland; but the forces which should have supported
Klinspor were foolishly employed in a fruitless attempt to
conquer Norway ; and in 1809 the Swedes were compelled
to cede Finland to Russia.
Russia continued to appear in the unworthy character of
Napoleon’s ally ; and when Austria made an effort in 1809
to recover her losses, a Russian army advanced to co-ope¬
rate with the French. The diversion which this produced
was one cause of the final success of Napoleon, whose situ¬
ation after the battle of Aspern was extremely critical.
When Austria was at last compelled to accept of peace on
humiliating terms, Russia received as the reward of her
services the district of Tarnopol in Galicia, with a popula¬
tion of four hundred thousand souls. This district was re¬
stored to Austria in 1815.
In 1811, hostilities commenced between Russia and the
Porte. It is of little consequence to inquire into the causes
of this rupture; a powerful and ambitious government in
the neighbourhood of a weak one never wants pretexts for
war. The result might have been serious, if not fatal to
the Porte, had not the prospect of a more arduous struggle
induced Russia to suspend her efforts in that quarter, and
conclude a peace on condition of receiving a part of Molda¬
via and Bessarabia.
The great contest was now approaching which was to try
the resources of Russia, and ultimately to raise her to un¬
exampled greatness. The seizure by France of the terri¬
tories of the Prince of Oldenburg, who was the emperor of
Russias brother-in-law, on the one hand, and the admis¬
sion of British produce into the Russian harbours on the
other, furnished the ostensible grounds of the quarrel. After
some fruitless negotiations, Napoleon dismissed the Rus¬
sian ambassador, and left Paris to join the army on the 9th
of May 1812. The events of this disastrous expedition into
Russia have been minutely related in the article France;
and the reader does not require to be reminded of those
lamentable sufferings of the French army, which were its
principal result. The spirited resistance of Russia now
roused Prussia and Austria ; and early in 1813 a league was
formed between these powers, to which Bavaria and other
small states acceded. Ihe battle of Leipsic, fought on the
18th of October, led to the final overthrow of the French
domination. In all the transactions which followed, Russia
bore a leading part. At the congress of Vienna in 1814,
the duchy of Warsaw, consisting of part of the original con¬
quests of Austria and Prussia in Poland, was assigned to
Russia, which thus ultimately obtained about four fifths of
the territory and three fourths of the population of that
ancient kingdom.
In passing to the new system of foreign policy which has Russian ac-
prevailed in Russia, as well as in the rest of Europe, since cessions of
the year 1815, we must pause for a moment to remark the territory
accessions of territory which the empire had made during the *01
half century which preceded that epoch. The reign of Ca-^J^gj*
therine II. had, as we have seen, been by far the most fertile re
in foreign acquisitions. Her conquests included the Crimea,
which was an incorporated portion of Russia since 1783;
Georgia, gained in 1785, though, as we have observed, not
formally annexed till 1801; Bessarabia, with a part of Mol¬
davia, and other Turkish possessions, finally secured to,Rus¬
sia by the treaty of Bukareschtin 1812; Courland, acquired
in 1795; and the extensive spoils of Poland in 1793 and
1794. Paul’s reign made no permanent addition of import-
RUSSIA.
495
History, ance, except some districts within the Persian frontier.
"V—'' Alexander’s gave to Russia in the first years of the present
century several of the tribes of the Caucasus; Finland in
1809; Daghestan and other large territories ceded by Persia
in 1813 ; and in 1814, Napoleon’s grand duchy of Warsaw,
which was erected into a kingdom of Poland. The total
population of these new Russian provinces cannot at the
very least be estimated under fifteen millions, and probably
exceeds that number.
Alexan- During the ten years of Alexander’s reign which suc-
rier’s fo- ceeded the peace, and ended with his death in 1825, he ac-
Xl815yquired no new territory as a substantive addition to his do¬
minions, but occupied himself assiduously in that indirect
augmentation of Russian influence on the states around the
frontier, which had before his time formed, and has since
continued to form, the first step in all the schemes of con¬
quest projected by his ambitious nation. The objects of
Alexander’s foreign policy after 1815 were chiefly three;
the suppression of constitutional, or, as they were called by
preference, revolutionary movements, in the central and
southern states of Europe ; the weakening of Turkey, and
the gradual reduction of that power into a state of depend¬
ence on the cabinet of St Petersburg, so as to pave the way
for the Russians towards the sovereignty of the Levant; and
the extension of the Russian influence in Persia and those
adjacent states, which must form the stepping-stones by
which the Muscovites will strive to pass, if they shall ever
make the attempt, to the throne of British India. For the
attainment of the first of these great ends, there was formed,
under the guidance and by the suggestion of Alexander,
that league of princes which has been named the Holy Al¬
liance ; a confederacy whose bitter fruits have been tasted
in full measure by Italy and Spain, but whose conception
is in one view an encouraging tribute to the growing en¬
lightenment of the world, since it is the earliest instance in
which despots, conspiring against truth and freedom, have
condescended to speak the language of Christianity and
peace. In reference to Turkey, the policy of Alexander
aimed at gradually detaching the Porte from its friendly re¬
lations with Great Britain and other European powers, and
insidiously advancing towards a position in which the sul¬
tan should find himself powerless against his neighbours and
his own subjects, until Russia should stretch forth her pro¬
tecting hand; but a check was administered to this train of
diplomacy, and a peculiar relation introduced between the
courts of Constantinople and St Petersburg, by the insur¬
rection of Greece in 1821. To the founder and head of the
Holy Alliance the Greeks must have appeared to be mere
rebels, whom it was his duty as a neighbouring sovereign to
assist in punishing; while to the watchful power which de¬
sired by every available means to weaken and circumscribe
the power of Turkey, such an opportunity as the Greek revo¬
lution was unusually tempting, and indeed the sultan’s minis¬
ters openly alleged that the disturbances had been fomented
by Russian agents. The result of the rising in Greece has
been related in our article on that country ; and the other
misunderstandings between Russia and Turkey, the princi¬
pal of which related to the appointment of the hospodars in
Wallachia and Moldavia, were not sufficient to disturb the
diplomatic system which was resumed after the Greek ques¬
tion had been settled by the interposition of the other great
European powers. The designs of the emperor on the side
of India chiefly exhibited themselves in intrigues among
the northern neighbours of our possessions in that country ;
and the system scarcely came to light till after Alexander’s
death.
Alexan- In the internal government of the empire, Alexander in-
der’s inter- troduced many salutary changes, especially in the early part
nal govern- 0f his reign ; but here, not less than in his foreign policy,
the last ten years of his life exhibited a marked contrast
to its earlier portion. The transition in his mind from a
ment.
love of liberal institutions to a distrust of every thing that History,
seemed to threaten the stability of thrones, began almost
with his alliance with Napoleon, but reached full maturity
after that extraordinary man’s fall. In the first year of his
reign he abolished the literary censorship, and afterwards
restored it with less absurd but not less severe rules than
those of his father. He at one time patronized both the edu¬
cation of the young and the general dissemination of reli¬
gious knowledge ; but after the peace the missionary so¬
cieties were suppressed, and very harsh measures adopted
against the universities. In several particulars a better
spirit prevailed. That tolerant disposition towards the va¬
rious sects of Christianity, of which we have remarked more
than one instance in passing, had already become systema¬
tic, and w’as never departed from. The emancipation of the
peasants from their state of serfdom was long a favourite
object with the emperor, who was able to attain it in Cour-
land, Livonia, and one or two other provinces, and used
openly to lament that private interests and prejudices had
baffled his good intentions elsewhere. Another plan of his,
which was connected with the scheme just mentioned, was
that of the military colonies, of which Dr Lyall has pub¬
lished an interesting account. The advantages which this
system promised to confer were these: the diminution of
the expenses of the army in times of peace, and the easy
training of a large agricultural population to the trade of
war. For these purposes villages were built on the crowm-
estates along the western frontier of the empire, and in
these, soon after the peace, formidable detachments of sol¬
diers were settled with their families, and mixed among the
boors who, belonging to the crown, had previously been the
sole or the principal inhabitants of the districts. The whole
male population of these new settlements was to occupy it¬
self alternately in rural labour and military exercises ; and
while the troops who had already seen service were always
in a position to take the field again, the boors were gradu¬
ally to qualify themselves for acting as a corps de reserve,
and for filling up vacancies. The plan excited consider¬
able opposition; and although the obstacles were finally to
appearance vanquished, and the colonies speedily mustered
four hundred thousand fighting men, yet new difficulties
arose after his death, and his successor at length aban¬
doned the idea of extending the principle, or of making it
permanent.
During the last few years of Alexander’s life he appears Alexan-
to have been completely miserable. To family misfor-der’s death,
tunes, religious despondency, and disappointment in political
schemes, was added the continual terror of conspiracies in
the heart of the empire, which were said to have ramifica¬
tions everywhere, and to aim at nothing less than a total
revolution, and the assassination of the whole royal family.
Those constant travels through the several Russian pro¬
vinces in which Alexander was engaged for two or three
years before his death, have been mainly attributed by
some writers to his dread of poison or the dagger. In the
course of one of these journeys he died at Taganrog, on the
Sea of Azof, on the 1st day of December 1825.
Alexander’s brother, the Grand Duke Constantine, whose Resigna-
conduct as governor of Poland has been described in our tion of the
article on the history of that country, was immediately pro- Grand
claimed emperor at St Petersburg ; and whatever may have
been the feelings of the Russians themselves, foreignerssl:a
who were acquainted wdth the new sovereign by his gene¬
ral reputation, looked on his accession with pity for his sub¬
jects and alarm for the peace of Europe. But the danger
had been foreseen and averted by Alexander and the rest
of the family. Constantine had been induced to resign his
claims to the crown by a formal deed executed in 1822.
The senate, on opening the will of Alexander, found it to
contain a nomination of his second brother, the Grand Duke
Nicholas, as his successor in the empire. The act of resig-
496
RUSSIA.
History.
Nicholas I.
War with
Turkey,
1828-9.
nation was at the same time discovered, and in a few days
there arrived from Warsaw a communication from Constan¬
tine, in which he acknowledged the existence and validity
of the deed, and anew waived his right of succession.
Accordingly Nicholas I. ascended the throne, announc¬
ing the event by a proclamation of the 23d of December
1825. The disturbance of the natural order of succession
was seized by the discontented as a favourable pretext for
insurrection ; and the reign of the new emperor was opened
by a military mutiny in St Petersburg, which, after having
been suppressed with bloodshed, was followed by several
executions, and many imprisonments and banishments to
Siberia. Nicholas and his spouse, the princess-royal of
Prussia, were crowned at Moscow in 1826, and at Warsaw
in 1829. Scarcely had Nicholas ascended the throne when
war was declared against Persia. It originated in a dis¬
pute respecting the boundaries between the two countries,
and was continued till 1828, when the Persians were ob¬
liged to sue for peace. This was only granted them on
condition of their yielding up the provinces of Erivan and
Nakshivan, and paying aboutL.3,000,OOOsterlingtoaccount
of the war. The peace of Turkmanchai was concluded in
February 1828, and in May of the same year the war with
Turkey broke out. In that month a Russian force of
about 150,000 men, under the command of General Witt¬
genstein, crossed the Pruth at three different points, took
possession of Jassy, Bucharest, and Galatz, and in a few
weeks occupied the whole of the left bank of the Da¬
nube. It was resolved to cross the river at Braila; and in
order to accomplish this, the army was formed into two
divisions, one of which invested the town, while the other
successfully crossed the river and continued its march
southward. In the meantime, the siege of Braila continued,
and after a series of sanguinary assaults the garrison capi¬
tulated. The besieging force then crossed the Danube,
and in a short time all the Dobroudscha was in the pos¬
session of the Russians. An attempt upon Shumla failed,
though in the first instance directed by the czar in person.
They were more successful, however, with Varna, which
surrendered on 10th October, after a vigorous defence of
more than two months. The utmost efforts were now made
to reduce Silistria ; but from the advanced state of the
season, and the difficulties of the attempt, nothing of im¬
portance could be effected ; and the Russians retired beyond
the Danube to winter in Wallachia. Notwithstanding the
success of this campaign, it had been attended with a great
loss of life to the Russians. A number had fallen by the
hand of the Turks, but many more fell by disease; so that
of the number that crossed the Danube not more that one-
half remained.
Meanwhile, in Asia operations had been carried on with
equal vigour, and with even a greater measure of success,
under General Paskievitch. His force consisted of about
21,000 infantry and 5500 cavalry. In the brief space of a
week he invested and took Kars, one of the strongest and
most formidable fortresses in Asia, obtaining thereby a large
store of ammunition, a number of cannon, and 7000 pri¬
soners. This was on the 15th of July; and Poti, a for¬
tress on the east coast of the Black Sea, surrendered on the
26th. The general now resolved to attack the town and
fortress of Akhalzik, a place strongly fortified both by na¬
ture and art, and defended by a garrison of 10,000 men.
A battle was fought under the walls of the town on 4th
September, when the Turkish army, though greatly inferior
in numbers, fought with great bravery, but was defeated
with much slaughter. Ihe Russians now prosecuted the
siege with vigour, and a breach was at length effected in
the walls. I he assault was made on the 7th of September,
but such was the desperate valour of the Turks, that not
till the . city was reduced to a heap of ashes, and a great
number of its defenders destroyed, could the survivors be
brought to capitulate. The surrender of Akhalzik was History,
followed by that of other important fortresses in Asia be-
fore the close of the campaign of 1828.
Both sides now made vigorous exertions for the renewal
of hostilities in the following spring. Troops were sum¬
moned from various parts of the Turkish empire, and the
garrison of Shumla was augmented from 10,000 to 40,000.
The Russian force was strengthened by an addition of
70,000, and the command entrusted to Count Diebitsch,
an officer of high military attainments, General Wittgen¬
stein having retired from active service. On the 10th of
May 1829 the Russians again crossed the Danube, and
immediately besieged Silistria, while General Kouprianoff
was stationed with a force at Pravadi, a fortress on the east
of Shumla, and important as lying in the line of communi¬
cation between Silistria and Varna. Redschid Pasha, who
had been appointed commander-in-chief, perceiving the
position of the invading army, formed the design of attack¬
ing Pravadi and Varna, which would also have the effect
of drawing off' the troops from Silistria. He accordingly
set out from Shumla at the head of 36,000 men, leaving
only a small garrison behind him under Ibrahim Pasha,
and advanced rapidly on Pravadi. General Diebitsch,
however, on being informed of his design, instead of ad¬
vancing to meet him at Pravadi resolved to cut off his com¬
munication with Shumla; and accordingly, leaving one of
his generals to continue the siege, he hastened southward
at the head of 20,000 men to put his design in execution,
and sent word to General Roth at Varna to co-operate
with him. He took up a favourable position near Koulev-
scha, a village between Pravadi and Shumla, scarcely 3
miles from the latter. His army was posted on the hills
on each side of the road through which the Turkish army
had to pass on their return to Shumla, and so concealed
that only a very small portion of them were visible. Red¬
schid, not knowing that Diebitsch had quitted Silistria, and
believing that his opponents were only a portion of the
army at Varna, did not hesitate to force his passage, send¬
ing a body of cavalry to disperse the enemy. He soon
found out his mistake, for the Russian army rushing down
upon them in a body, instantly put them to flight. Every
attempt to bring them to a stand proved abortive, and
Redschid himself escaped with difficulty. The artillery
and baggage fell into the hands of the enemy; but the
loss of men to the Turks was by no means so great as
might have been expected, the killed, wounded, and pri¬
soners amounting only to about 6500. Had Count Diebitsch
immediately on this victory attacked Shumla, he would
in all probability have taken it; but instead of this, he
contented himself with some minor operations, till the grand
vizier, with the scattered remains of his army, had thrown
himself into the town. After the battle of Koulevscha,
the siege of Silistria was carried on with redoubled vigour;
and on the 30th of June the fortress surrendered, when the
whole garrison, amounting to about 8000 men, were made
prisoners of war. The fall of Silistria now determined the
Russian general to cross the Balkan. Leaving, therefore,
a body of troops before Shumla, he set out for Aidos on
the 17th of July. The town of Sizeboli, on the other side
of the Balkans, having one of the best and safest harbours
on the western shores of the Black Sea, had been already
seized by a naval coup de main to form a depot where the
troops might refresh themselves for a short time after their
arduous undertaking. The Russians crossed the Balkans
without opposition, the Turks everywhere fleeing before
them. Towards the end of July, when General Rudiger,
with his division, was advancing on Aidos, a body of 10,000
or 12,000 men were sent out to attack him, but as soon as
their skirmishers were beaten back, the Turks fled in pre¬
cipitation, passing through the town, which they left to the
enemy without firing a shot. Here the Russians obtained
R U S
History, an immense booty of ammunition and military stores.
^ After this it is not to be wondered at that the Russians soon
found themselves within sight of Adrianople. During
their progress they had scarcely met with an appearance of
opposition, whereas had only a feeble stand been made at
some of the Balkan passes, or even afterwards, it would
have been impossible for the Russians to have advanced.
Yea, even had they been harassed by small parties of
the enemy during their march, they could not have ven¬
tured to Adrianople. As it was, they were now unable
to attempt any active operations. Their force, originally
small, was now weakened by sickness and fatigue, while
hundreds of them were dying daily. Diebitsch, however,
carefully concealed his real condition from the Turks, and
by acting on their fear and ignorance he was able to ob¬
tain terms of peace as a conqueror.
In the meantime, General Paskievitch was following up
his brilliant successes in the Asiatic portion of the sultan’s
dominions. One of the first operations of the Turkish
army was an attempt to recover the fortress of Akhalzik,
which, notwithstanding the valour displayed by the sultan’s
forces, was in vain. General Paskievitch anticipated every
movement, and defeated every attack. On the 1st of July,
anticipating the junction of the seraskier of Erzeroom with
Hagki Pasha in the valley of Zevine, he marched first
against the former, whom he put to flight, and on the next
day defeated the latter, whom he made prisoner. In these
two actions the Russians took about 1500 prisoners, with
a large quantity of artillery, ammunition, and provisions.
Paskievitch now pushed on with all possible rapidity to
Erzeroom ; and on the 5th of July took the strong fort¬
ress of Hassan Kale, the key of that capital. After a
feeble resistance, Erzeroom surrendered on the 9th of July,
and in it was found 150 cannon, and large magazines of
ammunition and provisions. The seraskier himself and
four of his pashas were made prisoners. The Russian
commander next directed his movements towards Trebi-
zond, and on the 19th of July took Baibout, a fortified
town on the road to Trebizond. The pasha of Trebizond
having collected a body of troops, set out to attack the
Russians; and General Bursow, who commanded in Baibout,
marched out to meet him, and attacked him on the 30th
July near the village of Chart. The Russians being greatly
inferior in numbers, were repulsed with the loss of their
commander. On learning of this reverse, Count Paskie¬
vitch brought up the main body of his army and attacked
the Turkish camp on the 8th of August. A series of
severe engagements took place on that and the following
day, which terminated in the Russians carrying the en¬
trenched camp of the enemy, who fell back in confusion
upon Trebizond. It was at this stage of his victorious
course that Paskievitch received intelligence that the war
was at an end.
Treaty of The celebrated treaty of Ardianople, which concluded
Adrianople the war of 1828-9, was signed 14th September 1829, and
contained sixteen distinct articles, the substance of which
was as follows:—The principalities of Wallachia and Mol¬
davia, and all the conquered places in Bulgaria and Rou-
melia were to be restored to the Porte, with the exception
of the islands at the mouth of the Danube, which were to
remain in possession of Russia, the Pruth continuing to
form the boundary of the two empires, from the point where
that river touches the territory of Moldavia to its mouth
in the Danube, and thence the boundary-line was to be the
Danube and its southernmost mouth, St George. In Asia
the boundary between the two countries was to be the line
which, following the present boundary of the province of
Gouriel from the Black Sea, ascends to that of Imeritia,
and thence in the most direct line to the point where the
1 rentiers of the pashalics of Akhalzik and of Kars unite
with those of Georgia, Russia thus acquiring that portion
VOL. XIX.
SI A. 497
of the coast of the Black Sea lying between the mouth of History,
the Kouban and the port of St Nicholas inclusively, com-
prising a considerable extent of country, and the forts of
Anapa, Akhalzik, and others. The principalities of Mol¬
davia and Wallachia were to enjoy the free exercise of
their worship, perfect security, an independent national
government, and full liberty of commerce; and the condi¬
tions of previous treaties were to be implemented regarding
Servia. Russian subjects should enjoy throughout Turkey,
as well by land as by sea, the full and entire freedom of
trade guaranteed to them by previous treaties ; and were
to be under the exclusive jurisdiction of the Russian minis¬
ters and consuls. Russian ships were not to be subjected
to any search by the Turks either at sea or in port. The
trade and navigation of the Black Sea were to be impeded
in no manner, and the passage of the Strait of Constan¬
tinople and of the Dardanelles was declared to be entirely
free and open to all Russian vessels, and to all vessels
trading with Russia belonging to powers at peace with the*
Porte. An indemnity of L.750,000 was to be paid to the
Russian government for losses incured at various times by
Russian merchants and others. The Russian government
was also to receive a sum of money, the amount of which
was to be afterwards fixed, as indemnification for the ex¬
penses of the wrar. Russia was not to evacuate the terri¬
tories of which she had taken possession till the articles
relative to the European and Asiatic boundaries, and the
privileges of Wallachia, Moldavia, and Servia, “ could be
considered as fulfilled,” and until the complete evacuation,
of the territories occupied by the Russian troops; the ad¬
ministration and the order of things established under the
influence of the court of Russia w^as to be maintained, and
the Porte was bound not to interfere with them in any
manner. To this treaty two separate acts were annexed,
explanatory of some of its most important conditions, which
bore much harder upon Turkey, and betrayed a much more
grasping and insidious disposition on the part of Russia
than the treaty itself. One of these related to the amount
of the indemnification to be paid to Russia, and which was
now fixed at the exorbitant sum of L.5,000,000 sterling,
to be paid in ten equal annual instalments of half-a-million
each. The smaller sum of L.750,000 was to be paid in
lour separate instalments : the sum of L.50,000 upon the
ratification of the treaty, L.200,000 within six months,
L.250,000 in the six months following, and the last in¬
stalment of L.250,000 in the next six months. Within
the space of one month after payment of the first instal¬
ment the Russians were to evacuate Adrianople ; within
a month after the second payment they were to retreat
across the Balkan; on the third payment they were to cross
the Danube, but they were to retain possession of Mol¬
davia, Wallachia, and Silistria, till the balance of this as
well as the whole of the other sum of L.5,000,000 were
paid. Thus the possession of the Principalities was secured
to her for at least ten years, and the treaty had already
provided that while she remained in possession the order
of things established by her could not be interfered with.
By the other supplementary article alterations of great
importance, and permanent in their nature, were introduced
into the administration of the Principalities themselves.
The hospodars were to be elected for life instead of for
seven years as previously. They were to govern within
their respective principalities as they and their divans might
think proper, without being interfered with in any manner
by the Porte or any of its officers. The Turkish govern¬
ment relinquished all claim to those contributions in kind
which it had hitherto received from the Principalities ; and
as an indemnification for this sacrifice, it was to be allowed
an annual sum of money, the amount of which was to be
afterwards determined, but which, as well as the regular
tribute, was not to commence until two years after the
3 u
RUSSIA.
498
History, total evacuation of the Principalities by the Russian troops.
Further, the Porte was to surrender everything on the left
bank of the Danube to the Principalities,—cities, fortresses,
and lands ; not a single Mussulman being allowed to re¬
side there, and such as already possessed soil there were
required to dispose of it within the space of eighteen months.
The manifest object of these articles was to weaken the
power of the Porte over these principalities, and to pave
the vvay for their annexation to Russia.
Polish in- Nicholas was crowned at Warsaw on the 24th of May
surrection. 1829; and on the 29th of November 1830 the Polish in¬
surrection broke out, an account of which has already been
given. (See Poland.) The Poles stood unaided and alone,
and displayed bravery worthy of any age or country.
General Diebitsch perished in the struggle, the victim of
disease, chagrin, and fatigue, and was succeeded in the
command by Paskievitch. The war was brought to an
end by the celebrated battle of Warsaw, fought on the 5th,
'6th, and 7th of September 1831. The Poles submitted;
and fearful was the vengeance taken by Nicholas upon his
prostrate foe. Every species of punishment was inflicted
upon the vanquished, and neither property nor the ties of
family were respected. Siberia, the Caucasus, and the
army were the lot of multitudes of these unhappy beings,
and every attempt was made to destroy every sentiment
or vestige of nationality. The Russian division of govern¬
ments was substituted for the Polish division of palatinates,
the Russian weights and measures for those of Poland, and
the old Julian calendar for the modern one. It was further
attempted to banish the Polish language out of the country
by commanding the use of the Russian language in the
schools, and forbidding the youth to speak in their own
native longue, suppressing its use in the different adminis¬
trations, and dismissing those functionaries who were un-
acq; lain ted with Russian.
Caucasian The territory ceded to Russia by the treaty of Adrian-
strugglc. ople included the Caucasus, a mountainous region inha¬
bited by several independent races who owed no allegiance
to the sultan, and who therefore refused to acknowledge
the supremacy of Russia. Nicholas at first endeavoured
to gain over the chiefs of the various tribes by means of
military appointments, decorations, and pensions, but these
being ineffectual, he at length had recourse to arms. The
two tribes who have come most prominently forward in
this struggle are the Lesghians and the Circassians; and
though the contest has been going on with little intermission
for nearly thirty years, at an enormous expense of men and
money, the Russians have yet been able to effect little of
permanent advantage. (See Caucasus, and Circassia.)
Farther The revolt of the Pasha of Egypt, and the series of suc-
treaties. cesses that attended the advance of his son Ibrahim Pasha,
rendered it necessary for the sultan to apply for aid to his
old enemy the czar. This was readily granted; and on
peace being established, the treaty of Unkiar-Skelessi was
entered into between the sultan and the Emperor of Russia.
I his treaty, which was signed at Constantinople on the 8th
of July 1833, purported to be a defensive alliance between
the two contracting powers ; but its real import was ex¬
pressed in a separate and secret article, which provided that,
as the Emperor of Russia was willing to spare his ally the
expense and inconvenience of affording him military aid,
U t^ie Sublime Ottoman Porte, in place of the aid which it
is bound to furnish in case of need, according to the prin¬
ciple of reciprocity of the patent treaty, shall confine its
action in favour of the imperial court of Russia to closing
the Stiait of the Dardanelles ; that is to say, to not allowing
any foreign vessels of war to enter therein under any pre¬
text whatsoever. In 1834 another treaty was entered into
between these two powers, by which the sultan ceded to
the czai an extensive district in Asia, in consideration of
which the czar relinquished his right to three-fourths of
what remained to be paid of the indemnities fixed by the History,
treaty of Adrianople, and agreed to leave the Principalities
as soon as hospodars shall be chosen, the Sublime Porte
formally recognising the regulations made, while the Rus¬
sian troops occupied these provinces, by the principal inha¬
bitants for their internal administration. In addition to
these stipulations, the free passage of the Dardanelles was
permitted to Russian ships. Silistria, however, still re¬
mained in the hands of Russia; and it was not till 1836,
when it was agreed that it should be given up upon payment
of one-half of the balance still remaining due to the czar,
that the Turks obtained possession of this important for¬
tress.
The peace between the Sultan and the Pasha of Egypt
was not of long duration, and the war broke out afresh in
1839. (See Turkey.) At length England and France in¬
terfered in behalf of the Sultan ; and on the 27th of July
1839 a note was signed, by which the Ottoman empire was
placed under the common safeguard of the five great Euro¬
pean powers,—England, France, Prussia, Russia, and
Austria, instead of exclusively under the protectorate of
Russia. This was followed by a convention, signed at
London on the 15th of July 1840, for “maintaining the
integrity and independence of the Ottoman empire, as a
security for the peace of Europe.” The allies bound them¬
selves to unite their efforts in order to bring about peace ;
and the Sultan, on his part, declared it to be his firm reso¬
lution to adhere to the ancient rule of the Ottoman empire,
which prohibited ships of war of foreign powers from enter¬
ing the Straits of the Dardanelles and the Bosphorus,—thus
virtually setting aside the treaty of Unkiar-Skelessi.
In 1840 an expedition was fitted out against Khiva; but 1840-50.
after encountering numerous obstacles and suffering many
disasters, it was obliged to return without being able to get
beyond the Russian frontier. In the beginning of June
1844 the emperor spent eight days in England. In February
1846 an insurrection broke out in Cracow, which had been
established as an independent state under the protection of
Russia, Prussia, and Austria by the treaty of Vienna in
1815. The town was immediately seized upon by the allied
troops, and by agreement between the three powers it was
annexed to Austria; and thus this last remnant of indepen¬
dent Poland was abolished. Soon after, the Russian portion
of Poland was entirely incorporated with the empire, and
made a Russian province. During the time of the revolu¬
tion in Germany in 1848 Russia stood quite aloof, and the
emperor contented himself with strengthening his army at
all points, and watching, without taking part in the events
that filled all Europe with astonishment. In 1849, however,
she readily responded to the call of Austria for aid against
the Hungarians, and sent a powerful army into the country.
This turned the scale in favour of Austria, whose forces had
previously been several times beaten and driven out of the
country. (See Hungary.) After the fall of Hungary a
number of the civil and military leaders, and others, took
refuge in Turkey. Russia and Austria demanded the ex¬
pulsion of the refugees, but this was peremptorily refused
by the sultan. The Emperor of Russia attempted to
threaten him into compliance, and even suspended all
diplomatic intercourse between the two countries; but the
appearance of a British fleet in the Dardanelles induced him
to lower his tone, and he contented himself with requiring
that they should be removed to a distant part of the empire.
Before entering upon the last important event in the Policy of
reign of Nicholas, it may be necessary to glance shortly at Nicholas,
the general character of his policy. In this respect he has
followed the course pursued by his brother since the peace
of 1815, but with an additional degree of torce and boldness,
which may be attributable partly to the natural progress of
the political tactics which were common to both, and partly
to the more energetic will, and greater attachment to mili-
R U S
History, tary principles and forms, which distinguished the younger
brother. Nicholas was in moral endowments far behind his
predecessor. In his political principles he was strictly de¬
spotic, and when necessary carried these out with unmiti¬
gated cruelty. His favourite pursuits were those connected
with the military sciences and military operations; but he
had also a taste for the fine arts and for music. He was
upwards of six feet in height, muscular, and well-propor¬
tioned, and was admitted to be one of the handsomest men
in his empire. His features, however, were stern and
severe; and his manner was cold, inanimate, and without
grace. In his personal habits he was simple, abstemious,
and of indefatigable industry. In foreign policy his great
object was the extension of the Russian emp-ire by unscru¬
pulous diplomacy, and when that failed, by war. If we look
at the three questions which were described above as forming
the main business of Alexander in his foreign policy, we find
the position of Russia regarding them to have remained,
with slight alterations, the same. The anti-constitutional
views of the Holy Alliance were necessarily modified, but
not abandoned. Turkey had been reduced to a state of
servile and helpless dependence till the other powers of
Europe stepped in for its defence. In the direction of
Persia, and undoubtedly not without an eye towards India,
Russia was likewise rapidly extending her dominion. The
domestic government of Nicholas had little to distinguish
it from that of his brother. Education was to some extent
more favoured than it had recently been by Alexander; the
Catholic and Lutheran churches continued to receive the
support of the government, which also lent its aid to missions
to the Calmucks and other nomadic hordes ; trade and manu¬
factures had been furthered by regulations devised with
much liberality; and the laws since 1826 had received a
tolerably complete revision and concentration.
History of Russia had been looking for an occasion of quarrel with
the late Turkey long before the outbreak of the late war, and there
Turke'^b can lltt^ d011^ a c^ief °kject his imperial ma-
Ur ej' jesty’s visit to England in 1844 was to come to some
arrangement with the British government as to the Turkish
empire. On that occasion he had several conversations
with the Duke of Wellington and the Earl of Aberdeen,
who was then foreign secretary, relative to the state of
Turkey ; and on his return to Russia his views on that sub¬
ject were embodied in a memorandum, drawn up by his
chancellor Count Nesselrode, and forwarded to the British
government. This document, read in the light which sub¬
sequent events have thrown upon it, shows clearly that even
at that time the czar had been looking forward to a war
with Turkey at no distant period, and was endeavouring to
obtain the countenance, or at least to lull the suspicions, of
England in such a case. It states that it was for the interest
of both that they should unite in maintaining the integrity
of the Turkish empire; but that the Porte had a constant
tendency to free itself from the engagements imposed upon
it by treaties concluded with other powers, and that it reck¬
oned upon the mutual jealousies of the cabinets to enable
it to do so with impunity. It was essential not to confirm
the Porte in this delusion, but to exhort it to act rightly
towards the cabinet demanding its just rights; and the
Porte, on perceiving that it was not supported by the other
cabinets, would give way, and consent to an amicable
arrangement of the differences. Another difficulty existed
in reconciling the respect due to the sovereign authority of
the sultan, founded on the Mussulman law, with the for¬
bearance required by the interests of the Christian popula¬
tion of the empire; and it was necessary ever to impress
upon the Porte that it could only reckon upon the support
of the great powers while it treated its Christian subjects
with mildness and toleration. It was by all the great
powers pursuing this line of policy that they would be most
likely to preserve the existence of Turkey; but at the same
S I A. 499
time that empire contains within itself so many elements of History,
dissolution, that unforeseen circumstances may hasten its
fall without it being in the power of friendly cabinets to
prevent it, and the danger which may result from such a
catastrophe will be much diminished if, in the event of its
occurring, Russia and England shall have come to an under¬
standing as to the course to be taken by them in common.
That understanding would also have the full assent of
Austria, as between her and Russia there exists already an
entire conformity of principles in regard to the affairs of
Turkey. It concludes as follows:—“ The object for which
Russia and England will have to come to an understanding
may be expressed in the following manner: (1.) To seek
to maintain the existence of the Ottoman empire in its pre¬
sent state so long as that political combination shall be
possible. (2.) If we foresee that it must crumble to pieces,
to enter into previous concert as to everything relating to
the establishment of a new order of things intended to re¬
place that which now exists, and in conjunction with each
other to see that the change which may have occurred in
the internal situation of that empire shall not injuriously
affect either the security of their own state, and the rights
which the treaties assure to them respectively, or the main¬
tenance of the balance of power in Europe. For the pur¬
pose thus stated the policy of Russia and Austria, as w^e
have already said, is closely united by the principle of per¬
fect identity. If England, as the principal maritime power,
acts in concert with them, it is to be supposed that France
will find herself obliged to act in conformity with the course
agreed upon between St Petersburg, London, and Vienna.
Conflict between the great powers being thus obviated, it
is to be hoped that the peace of Europe will be maintained
even in the midst of such serious circumstances. It is to
secure this object of common interest, if the case occurs,
that, as the emperor agreed with her Britannic Majesty’s
ministers during his residence in England, the previous
understanding which Russia and England shall establish
between themselves must be directed.” In the early part
of 1853 his imperial majesty had several interviews with the
British ambassador at his court, which plainly show his
intentions with regard to Turkey, and that he thought the
time of her dissolution had arrived. “ Turkey,” he said,
“ has by degrees fallen into such a state of decrepitude,
that, as I told you the other night, eager as we all are for
the prolonged existence of the man (and that I am as de¬
sirous as you can be for the continuance of his life I beg you
to believe), he may suddenly die upon our hands; we can¬
not resuscitate what is dead: if the Turkish empire falls, it
falls to rise no more. And I put it to you, therefore,
whether it is not better to be provided beforehand for a
contingency than to incur the chaos, confusion, and the
certainty of a European war, all of which must attend the
catastrophe, if it should occur unexpectedly, and before
some ulterior system has been sketched? This is the point
to which I am desirous that you should call the attention of
your government.” “ If your government has been led to
believe that Turkey retains any elements of existence, your
government must have received incorrect information. I
repeat to you that the sick man is dying, and we can never
allow such an event to take us by surprise.” “ I am not so
eager about what shall be done when the sick man dies as
I am to determine with England what shall not be done
upon that event taking place.” When requested to explain
his own ideas upon this negative policy, he for some time
declined doing so; but at length said, “ Well, there are
several things which I never will tolerate: I will begin by
ourselves. I will not tolerate the permanent occupation of
Constantinople by the Russians. Having said this, I will
say that it never shall be held by the English or French, or
any other great nation. Again, I never will permit an
attempt at the re-construction of a Byzantine empire, or
500
RUSSIA.
History.
The Greek
question.
such an extension of Greece as would render her a power¬
ful state; still less will I permit the breaking up of Turkey
into little republics, asylums for the Kossuths. andMazzinis,
and other revolutionists of Europe. Rather than submit to
any of these arrangements I would go to war; and as long
as "l have a man and a musket left, would carry it on.” The
emperor went on to say that, in the event of a dissolution
of the Ottoman empire, he thought it might be less difficult
to arrive at a satisfactory territorial arrangement than was
commonly believed. “ The Principalities are,” he said, “ in
fact an independent state under my protection ; this might
so continue. Servia might receive the same form of go¬
vernment. So again with Bulgaria. There seems to be
no reason why this province should not form an independent
state. As to Egypt, I quite understand the importance to
England of that territory. I can then only say that if, in
the event of a distribution of the Ottoman succession upon
the fall of the empire, you should take possession of Egypt,
I shall have no objection to offer. I would say the same
thing of Candia; that island might suit you, and I do not
know why it should not become an English possession.”
At this time a dispute was going on between the Greek
and Latin churches relative to the guardianship of the holy
places in Palestine, and Russia warmly espoused the cause
of the former. At length, however, this question was
brought to an apparent settlement, chiefly through the un¬
remitting efforts of Lord Stratford de Redcliffe, her British
Majesty’s ambassador at Constantinople. But while the
Russian government was holding out that the mission of
Menschikoff to Constantinople was exclusively for the pur¬
pose of effecting a settlement of the dispute regarding the
holy places, that minister was pressing upon the Porte other
demands of a far more serious and important character,
which, if complied with, would have had the effect of virtually
admitting the sovereignty of the emperor over the Greek
Church in Turkey. This the sultan refused to do; and Prince
Menschikoff quitted Constantinople on the 21stof May 1853,
declaring that the refusal of his demands would impose upon
his government the necessity of seeking a guarantee by its
own power. On the 28th of the same month an official
note was transmitted by the Turkish government to the
different embassies of the foreign powers, in which it said:
“ The Porte announces that the question of the holy places
has terminated in a manner satisfactory to all parties;
nevertheless the Prince Menschikoff, not satisfied with that,
has demanded of the Porte a treaty to guarantee the rights
and privileges of all kinds accorded by the sultan to his
Greek subjects. However great may be the desire of the
Porte to cherish and pi-eserve more and more the most
amicable relations with Russia, she can never engage her-
selt by such a guarantee towards a foreign government,
either concluding with it a treaty, or signing a simple offi¬
cial note, without compromising gravely her independence,
and the most fundamental rights of the sultan over his own
subjects.”1
Ihe emperor based his claim to interpose himself as
protector ot the Greek Church in Turkey on the treaty of
Kainardji, concluded in 1774; but the only parts of that
treaty bearing upon the Christian religion are contained in
the 7th and 14th articles, and they do not afford thesmall-
est countenance to the claim of the emperor to interfere in
behalf of the religious privileges of the Christians through-
™l<j the Ottoman empire. In the 7th article of the treaty
tie Sublime Porte promises to protect constantly the
Christian leligion and its churches; and also it allows the
ministers ot the imperial court of Russia to make on all
occasions representations as well in favour of the new History,
church at Constantinople, of which mention will be made i i
in the 14th article, as in favour of those who officiate there¬
in.” And by article 14th “it is permitted to the high court
ot Russia, in addition to the chapel built in the house of
the minister, to construct in the Galata quarter, in the street
called Bey Ogla, a public church of the Greek rite, which
shall be always under the protection of the minister of that
empire, and shielded from all obstruction and all damage.”
It will be observed that here the Porte does not promise to
allow Russia to interfere tor the protection of the Christian
religion and its churches, but to afford that protection it¬
self; and the only right of protection accorded to Russia is
limited to a chapel and a church at Constantinople. In a
note of 31st May Count Nesselrode intimated to Rescind
Pasha that in a few weeks the Russian forces would receive
orders to cross the frontier and occupy the Principalities,
not to wage war, but until the Ottoman government should
give to Russia the moral securities she had in vain de¬
manded. No time was lost in putting this threat into
execution ; and on the 2d and 3d of July two divisions of
Russian troops, amounting to 80,000 men, under the com¬
mand of Prince Gortschakoff, crossed the Pruth, one at
Skoaliani and the other at Leovd. The news of this pro¬
ceeding caused great excitement at Constantinople ; and a
formal protest against the invasion of the Moldo-Wallachian
provinces was drawn up by the Ottoman Porte, and issued
on the 14th of July. Its tone was conciliatory, but at the
same time firm; and it stated that the Sublime Porte “ is
still disposed, if an arrangement of a nature to satisfy Russia
can be arrived at without prejudice to the sacred rights of
the sultan, to send an ambassador extraordinary to St
Petersburg to seek in concert with the Russian cabinet
the means of arriving at that end.” On the 1st of June a
despatch was forwarded by her Majesty’s government to
Lord Stratford de Redcliffe, authorizing him in certain
specific contingencies to send for the fleet; and instructions
were also sent to Admiral Dundas to proceed to the neigh¬
bourhood of the Dardanelles, and there to place himself in
communication with her Majesty’s ambassador. Similar
orders were about the same time issued by the French
government to their fleet, and they both anchored in Be-
sika Bay about the middle of June. Soon after, a confer¬
ence of the representatives of the four great powers was
held at Vienna, and by the end of July a Note, originally
drawn up by the French government, and sanctioned, with
some modifications, by those of Britain and Austria, was
finally adopted by the conference, and submitted for ac¬
ceptance to Russia and Turkey. It was immediately ac¬
ceded to by the former, but the latter declined doing so until
some alterations were made in the wording of the Note,
which might be misconstrued. At first the conduct of the
Porte was disapproved by the four powers, but they after¬
wards admitted that the objections were well-founded. The
czar, however, refused to receive the Note as altered, anti
would only accept of it in its original form. That the
objections of the Porte were valid, was evinced by the
fact, that the interpretation which in subsequent communi¬
cations Russia insisted on putting upon it was just that
which was not intended.
On the 5th of October the Porte issued a formal declara¬
tion of war, and on receiving intimation thereof, Omar ^ecla£a_
Pasha, the Turkish general, who was then at Shumla, des-tlcn 0 v'ar'
patched a letter to Prince Gortschakoff’, the Russian com¬
mander-in-chief in the Principalities, offering him fifteen days
to evacuate that territory before commencing hostilities. To
wiupp l0Oilnnnnnno taken ln ]?44’ 1he total population of European Turkey was 15,500,000, of which only 4,550,000 were Mus-
ti ‘ . ’ f Vfre Irien’ljers tile Greek Church, 640,000 Homan Catholics, and 70,000 Jews. InAsiaMinorthepropor-
were M^ssulman^S OOtfoo'o Greek t,,tal population there in that year subject to the Porte was 16,050,000, of whom 12,650,000
vere Mussulmans, 0,000,000 Greek Church, and 260,600 Roman Catholics.
History,
Destruc¬
tion of
Turkisli
fleet at
Sinope.
1854.
RUSSIA.
501
this the Russian general replied, that he “ had no orders to
commence hostilities, nor to conclude peace, nor to eva¬
cuate the Principalities.” On the 14th of October the
combined fleets of England and France, which had been for
some time lying at Besika Bay, entered the Straits of the
Dardanelles at the request of the sultan ; and on the 1st
of November tbe czar issued his manifesto of war.
In the beginning of November the Turks crossed the
Danube at four places. The first passage was effected at
Widdin, a place far up near the frontier of Servia, from which
they pushed on to Kalafat, and occupied it with a force of
12,000 men. Lower down the river at Rustchuk a body of
2000 or 3000 men crossed, and entrenched themselves at
Giurgevo. At Turtukai, still lower down, a large Turkish
force crossed over to Oltenitza, where they established
themselves, although they were vigorously attacked by the
Russians. On the 2d and 3d of November the attacks of
the Russians wrere repulsed with loss. On the 4th they
mustered to the amount of 30,000 strong, and attacked the
Tin ks, who numbered only about 1 8,000. A desperate en¬
gagement ensued, in which the Russians were defeated with,
a loss of about 1000 killed and twice that number wounded.
Several spirited engagements subsequently took place at
Kalafat and its neighbourhood, and notwithstanding all the
efforts of the Russians, the Turks effectually made good their
position there. Towards the end of November Omar
Pasha, not deeming it prudent to expose his troops to at¬
tack during the winter, withdrew across the Danube, only
retaining possession of the works at Kalafat, on the left bank
of the river.
An event now happened that filled Europe with horror,
and gave a new character to the war. This was the unpro¬
voked attack on, and the total destruction of, the Turkish
fleet in the harbour of Sinope. On the 30th November the
Turkish fleet, consisting of 7 frigates, 3 corvettes, and 2
smaller vessels, were lying at anchor in that harbour, when
a Russian squadron, composed of 6 sail of the line, 3 of
which were three-deckers, 2 sailing frigates, and 3 steamers,
entered the bay, the frigates and steamers remaining outside
the heavy ships. The action immediately commenced,
and though the Turks fought with the courage of despera¬
tion, in the short space of two or three hours the whole of
their vessels were burned or sunk, except one small steamer
which got out and made for sea during the heat of the
conflict. About 5000 of the Turks were killed, and only
a very few escaped by swimming to land. The czar having,
as we have seen, announced his determination to act only
on the defensive, and to repel the advance of the I urks
into the Principalities, this blow was totally unexpected on
the part of the allies, whose representatives at Vienna were
still exerting themselves to bring about a peace, and had just
prepared a protocol, which the Ottoman Porte had agreed
to receive as a basis of negotiation, when the news of this
disaster reached them. The English and French fleets, too,
instead of taking possession of the Black Sea for the pro¬
tection of the Turks, were lying in the Bosphorus, while
the Russians were actively using that sea for the convey¬
ance of troops, arms, and ammunition to their various mili¬
tary posts. When the news reached St Petersburg the
czar ordered a solemn “ Te Deum” in the churches, and
published an exulting manifesto. The English and French,
who may be said to have hitherto acted only as spectators
of the war, now saw that it was necessary to have recourse
to more active measures. The combined fleet was imme¬
diately ordered into the Black Sea, and though negotiations
were carried on for some time after, it could not be with
any sanguine hope of a peaceful termination to the war.
On the 4th of February 1854 Baron Brunow, the Russian
representative at St James’s, formally announced the sus¬
pension of diplomatic relations between the two countries,
and in a few days afterwards he closed his embassy, and
quitted London. On the 7th Lord Clarendon wrote to History.
Sir G. Seymour at St Petersburg, directing him to with-
draw from that capital with every member of the embassy;
and about the same time similar instructions were forwarded
by the French government to their charge d’affaires there,
M. de Castelbajac. On the 12th of March a treaty or
convention between England, France, and the Porte w'as
signed, regulating the terms on which the two former were
to assist the latter. Previous to this, howrever, on the
28th February, the first detachment of troops left for the
East, and landed at Malta, where they remained till the
31st of March. On the 27th and 28th March the French
and English respectively declared war. A portion of the
French army sailed from Marseilles on the 19th of March,
and on the 30th arrived at Gallipoli, a seaport of European
Turkey, near the place where the Dardanelles expand into
the Sea of Marmora; and on the 5th of April they were
joined by the English detachment from Malta. Powerful
works were constructed here, extending from the Gulf of
Saro to the Sea of Marmora, so that, in case of necessity,
the allied armies might have a safe place of retreat. After¬
wards the allied forces were removed to the neighbourhood
of Constantinople, the English occupying Scutari. Lord
Raglan, who was appointed commander-in-chief of the
English troops, arrived at Constantinople on the 29th of
April, and Marshal St Arnaud, the French commander-in¬
chief, on the 8th of May.
The campaign on the Danube opened on 6th January Operations
with a vigorous engagement between the Turks and llus- on the
sians in the neighbourhood of Citate, a village where the Danube.
Russians had established themselves. The Turks were
victorious, and completely dislodged the enemy from the
village. Attempts were made the next day, and for several
succeeding days, with fresh troops, to re-take the place, but
without success. A Russian report states that, in January
1854, 35,000 Russian soldiers had already perished in the
Principalities. Besides those slain in battle, many had died
from disease, want, and fatigue. For about a month after
the battle of Citate both armies on the Danube were chiefly
occupied in making preparations for fighting. About the
13th of February the Russians collected in considerable
force against Giurgevo, and attacked it, so far successfully
that the Turks, after an obstinate resistance of two or three
days, evacuated the place, and retreated in perfect order
across the Danube to Rustchuk. On the 23d of March
the Russians, having been considerably re-infbrced, crossed
the Danube at three points, Ismael, Galatz, and Matchin,
and entered the Dobrudscha with artillery and a siege-
train, for the purpose of storming Silistria and attacking
Omar Pasha at Shumla before the allied armies could
come to his assistance. Silistria was invested on the 17th
of May, and gallantly resisted for six weeks every effort of
the enemy to take it. Among the besieged were two
British officers, Captain Butler and Lieutenant Nasmyth,
who greatly contributed to the success of the defence.
The latter of these, in a letter to the Times, dated June 29,
says,—“ The Turkish army may well talk with pride. Their
opponents had an army on the right bank of the Danube,
which at one time amounted to 60,000 men. They had
sixty guns in position, and threw upwards of 50,000 shot
and shell, besides an incalculable quantity of small-arm
ammunition. They constructed more than 3 miles of ap¬
proaches and sprang six mines; yet during forty days not
one inch of ground was gained, and they abandoned the
siege, leaving the petty field-work against which their prin¬
cipal efforts had been directed a shapeless mass, from the
effects of their mines and batteries, but still in possession of
its original defenders.”
The bombardment of Odessa took place on the 22d of Black Sea.
April, that town having fired upon an English flag of truce.
The firing lasted for about ten hours, and did not cease till
502 RUS
History. ™ost of the batteries liad been destroyed or silenced. I he
W attack, however, was strictly confined to the forts, batteries,
and military store-houses. On the 12th of May the Tiger,
an English steam-frigate, ran aground near Odessa, and
being attacked by artillery from the town, she surrendered
after” a short fight, her guns having been thrown over¬
board to lighten her. The crew were made prisoners and
taken to Odessa, where they were well treated. About the
same time a squadron dislodged the Russians from their
stronghold of Redout Kaleh, on the coast of Circassia.
Bv the middle of May the French and English armies
were in sufficient force and organization to take the field ;
and on the 19th of that month a council of war was held at
Varna, at which Lord Raglan, Marshal St Arnaud, and
Omar Pasha were present. It was then decided to bring
up all the disposable forces to Varna; and accordingly, on
the 29th of May the greater portion of the French and
English troops disembarked at that place.
The raising of the siege of Silistria, and the retreat of
the Russians, were the signal for the general advance of the
Turkish army. They re-crossed the Danube in the be¬
ginning of July ; and on the 8th of that month an action
was fought at Giurgevo, very creditable to the Turkish
arms. At night the Russians abandoned their camp, leav¬
ing an immense quantity of stores, and retreated to Bu¬
charest. Thev soon afterwards quitted the latter city, and
retired beyond the Sereth. Towards the end of August
the Austrian troops took possession of the Principalities, in
terms of a convention concluded between the Emperor of
Austria and the Porte. During this time the fleet in the
Black Sea was doing good service by destroying the Russian
batteries at the Sulina mouth of the Danube.
Baltic Meanwhile the allied fleets were cruising about in the
fleets. Baltic. The English fleet, under the command of Sir
Charles Napier, had left Spithead on the 11th of March.
It at first comprised 8 screw line-of-battle ships, 4 screw
frigates, and 4 paddle-steamers, and was subsequently aug¬
mented by others, till it amounted to 42 vessels, with 2200
guns, 16,000 horse-power, and 22,000 sailors and marines.
About the middle of April a French squadron of 23 vessels
carrying in all 1250 guns, sailed from Brest under the com¬
mand of Vice-Admiral Parseval-Deschenes. A detachment
of the English fleet under Admiral Plumridge, cruising in the
Gulf of Bothnia during May and the early part of June,
took and destroyed 46 merchant vessels, with from 40,000
to 50.000 barrels of pitch and tar, and an immense quantity
of naval stores. The only proceeding that was attended
by loss of life was an attempt upon Gamle Karleby, a small
seaport-town of Finland. The vessels Odin and Vulture
were despatched to that place to take possession of any
vessels or naval stores that might be found there, but the
water off the port was so shallow that they were obliged to
anchor 5 miles from the town. Four boats were therefore
manned, and sent in to destroy the stores. Hoisting a flag
of truce, they first demanded the surrender of the place;
and this having been refused, the flag was hauled down, and
the Odin’s cutter was proceeding to reconnoitre when it
was fired upon from an ambuscade, and eleven of its men
killed and wounded. The firing was kept up with vigour
on both sides, and the Vulture’s paddle-box boat became
so unmanageable, and her crew were so much cut up, that
she drifted on shore, and became the prize of the enemy,
who made prisoners of all that remained alive. Our loss
amounted to fifty-four officers and men, killed, wounded, and
missing. In the month of May the Hecla and Arrogant
proceeded by night from Hango roads up 7 miles of a nar¬
row river to Eknaes, destroyed a powerful battery which
opened fire upon them, put to flight a large troop of horse
artillery and a large body of infantry, and cut out a large
merchantman laden with a valuable cargo, returning in
safety with the prize. A day or two alter this the large
S I A.
fort of Gustavus Varn in Hango Roads was shelled, and History,
great loss inflicted upon the Russians. About the end v—
of June the allied fleet, amounting to 51 sail, proceeded
to reconnoitre Cronstadt, anchoring about 8 miles from
that fortress, and sending forward six steam-vessels to take
soundings, and to make a closer inspection, with orders to
keep out of cannon range. The two main divisions of the
allied fleets subsequently proceeded to the Bay of Ledsund,
to the south of the Aland Islands, in the Gulf of Bothnia. ~
On the 15th of July 10,000 French troops were embarked
at Boulogne on board of English vessels for the Baltic.
These were disembarked in the morning of the 8th of
August in the vicinity of Bomarsund, a strong fortress on
one of the Aland Islands. The chief fortress was a struc¬
ture of granite about 40 feet in height, and mounting about
80 cannon. The land rose above this fort, and on the
crests of the low hills were two granite towers, each sur¬
rounded by a broad ditch. There was also an earthen
battery of 5 pieces of artillery. About 1200 marines of
both nations were also landed on the north of the island,
and commenced erecting a battery. On the 13th the
French commenced the bombardment of the western tower,
which was captured by them on the following morning.
On the 15th two batteries, manned by English seamen and
marines, began to play upon the eastern tower, and a com¬
plete breach having been made, and all the guns silenced,
a white flag was hoisted in the evening, and the place sur¬
rendered. On the same day the bombardment of the prin-
cipal fort commenced both on land and from the sea, five
vessels firing shot and shell at the front of the battery from
a long range. Next day the attack was renewed; but at
noon a white flag was hoisted from the walls, and the gar¬
rison surrendered unconditionally. There were taken 112
mounted and 79 unmounted guns, 3 mortars and 7 field-
pieces, and also 2235 prisoners. Our loss was 1 officer
and 1 private killed, and 7 wounded; the French loss was
somewhat greater. The fortifications were subsequently
reduced to a mass of ruins. After this the allied fleets
effected nothing of importance in the Baltic. The French
fleet returned early in the autumn, and the English fleet
returned by single vessels as the winter drew on, some re¬
maining in the Baltic till the ice began to form, and reach¬
ing England late in November. Of the French land forces
about 800 perished by cholera, besides those who had fallen
in action.
The months of July and August were very calamitous Varna,
for the allied armies at Varna and the neighbourhood, as
well as for the fleet at Baltchik Bay. The mortality was
fearful, and the men were reduced to great despondency ;
praying to be led against the enemy at whatever risk rather
than to die the inglorious death that was so fast decimating
their ranks. On the 26th of August a council of war was
held at Varna by all the English and French generals ;
and on the 3d of September the final order for the embark¬
ation of the British troops from Varna was issued. Their
destination was the Crimea, and they were to disembark at
some place not far from Sebastopol. The order of battle
was formed before the landing. The troops were to enter
the boats in the order in which they stood in the ranks.
The boats were to form in line abreast, and to pull into the
shore stoutly, steadily, and in perfect silence. On landing,
they were to form in continuous columns. Three days’
provisions were to be carried by each individual, both
officers and men. The troops were thus ready to encounter
the enemy had he met them on landing, and it is clear
that such an encounter was expected. On the afternoon
of the 13th of September the fleets anchored in Eupatoria
Bay, and the town was summoned to surrender, which it
at once did, being without the means of defence. They
left early next morning, and, keeping near the shore, an¬
chored about 12 miles below Eupatoria, where they com-
RUSSIA.
503
History, menced to disembark, and before night they had landed
without opposition 20,000 British troops, with 36 guns, and
a large number of horses, and about an equal number of
French. In the afternoon it rained, and a swell arose along
the coast, which continued to increase. At night the rain
came down in torrents, and the troops on the beach were
drenched, being houseless and tentless. The swell next
day impeded the landing of the guns and cavalry, and occa¬
sioned some loss in horses and boats; but during that and
the following day the disembarkation was completed. As
yet no enemy, except a few isolated bands of Kozzacks, had
been seen ; but the steamers sent to reconnoitre the coast
reported that the Russians had formed a strong camp on
the heights to the south of the River Alma. The troops
commenced their march in the morning of the 19th, and
halted for the night on the left bank of a small stream
called the Bulganac. On that day there was a skirmish
between our light cavalry and a party of Russian dragoons.
Rattle of At daybreak the following morning the Agamemnon, with
the Alma, the inshore squadrons, moved along the coast, and took up
a position off the Alma. A column of French infantry, pre¬
ceded by skirmishers, now descended from the heights
about the Bulganac, and boldly advanced by the seaside.
It was soon followed, more inland, by the main body of the
French army. When within a mile of the Alma the French
halted. They were then joined by the English, who formed
into line with their allies. Both armies then moved for¬
ward, and again they halted. Before them, on the lofty cliffs
and precipitous slopes on the other side of the Alma, were
the enemy. Their position was well chosen, and seemed
to defy attack. Running closely along the left bank of
the Alma for about 2 miles from the sea, is a bold and
almost precipitous range of heights of from 350 to 400 feet
in height. It then makes a long sweep, forming a great
amphitheatre about 2 miles in width at its mouth. Across
this great opening, running parallel to the river, and at dis¬
tances of from 600 to 800 yards from it, is a low ridge of
heights varying from 60 to 150 feet. Across a part of the
slope was a trench deep enough to protect the Russian
marksmen, and to impede the progress of the assailants.
On the right, and a little retired, was a powerful covered
battery armed with heavy guns, which flanked the whole of
the right of the position ; whilst artillery were stationed on
almost every eminence commanding the open ground over
which our troops must advance. On the slopes of these
hills, which formed a sort of table-land, were placed dense
masses of the enemy’s infantry, whilst on the heights above
was his great reserve; the whole amounting, it is supposed, to
between 45,000 and 50,000 men. The banks of the river
were extremely rugged, and for the most part steep, and
the willows along it were cut down to prevent them from
affording shelter to the attacking party. The attack w'as
commenced by the French division of troops under General
Bosquet, which was nearest the shore. He first detached
a regiment of Zouaves and a body of sharpshooters, who
crossed the river near its mouth without being perceived
by the enemy. Presently they were seen “ swarming like
ants,” with extraordinary agility, up the almost perpendi¬
cular face of the cliff, and they soon reached the summit.
On reaching the plateau they immediately formed into line
under a deadly fire of musketry and artillery. General
Bosquet now brought up the remainder of his division ; and
at the same time the main body of the French army, under
Prince Napoleon and General Canrobert, advanced through
the village of Alma-tomak, and, fording the river, gained a
pathway which led up to the plateau. It was only with
the greatest difficulty that the French artillery could be
dragged up these rough passes ; but at length one battery
gained the heights, and was rapidly carried to the assistance
of the Zouaves. The Zouaves and the few troops that had
joined them held their ground with admirable courage and
steadiness until other French corps came up. Some regi¬
ments of the line were foiled in an attempt to force the
Russian position to the left of the Zouaves; but the most
deadly contest took place near a tumulus on which stood
an unfinished tower. Here the main body of the enemy
was collected, and to dislodge them the Zouaves, with some
regiments of the line, charged with the bayonet. The Rus¬
sians made a most determined stand, but after sustaining
repeated and impetuous charges, they fell back apparently
in good order. Seeing his left about to be turned, Prince
Menschikoff now sent a considerable mass of infantry and
artillery to its support. Up to this time the English had
remained inactive, the arrangement being, that they were to
wait until the French should have gained the heights and
have turned the Russian left. But Marshal St Arnaud,
seeing that fresh columns of infantry and more batteries of
heavy artillery were being brought up against him, sent to
request Lord Raglan to advance without further delay. The
command was accordingly given to advance, and as they
approached the bank of the river the Russian batteries on
the slopes opened up a deadly fire. At the same time
sharpshooters behind walls or in the vineyards harassed our
troops, hut these were soon driven over the river by our
rifles. The Russians had set fire to the village of Burluik,
lying between our troops and the river, but as soon as the
artillery got beyond the smoke they began to play upon the
enemy, and inflicted considerable damage. Partly under
cover of this fire. Lord Raglan, at the head of his staff,
plunged into the ford, and, amidst a thick shower of shot
and shell, gained the opposite bank, close to the left of our
allies. In consequence of the burning of the village two
regiments of Brigadier-General Adams’s brigade, being part
of Sir De Lacy Evans’s division, had to pass the river at a
deep and difficult ford to the right, under a sharp fire ;
while his first brigade, under Major-General Pennefather,
and the remaining regiment of Brigadier Adams, crossed to
the left of the conflagration, opposed by the enemy’s artil¬
lery from the heights above. In the meantime, the light
division, under Sir George Brown, which was to be the
first to attack, effected the passage of the Alma in their
immediate front. The banks of the river, from their rugged
and broken nature, were serious obstacles to their advance;
while the vineyards through which they had to pass, and
the trees which had been felled, created additional impedi¬
ments, and rendered every attempt to form under a galling
fire almost an impossibility. Nevertheless, Sir George
nobly persevered. The first brigade, under Major-General
Codrington, composed of the 7th, 23d, and 33d regiments,
rushed up the slope in teeth of the heavy guns placed in
the earthwork, and with a courage that has never been sur¬
passed, in spite of ball and grape-shot, drove the enemy be¬
fore them even to the cannon’s mouth. Some of our men
even leaped into the redoubt, but these were soon driven out
by the awful fire of the Russian infantry. “ Sir George
Brown,” says an eyewitness (the Times' correspondent),
“ conspicuous on a grey horse, rode in front of his light di¬
vision, urging them with voice and gesture. Gallant fel¬
lows! they were worthy of such a gallant chief. The 7th,
diminished by one-halfi fell back to re-form their columns,
lost for the time ; the 23d, with eight officers dead and four
wounded, were still rushing to the front, aided by the 19th,
33d, 77th, and 88th. Down went Sir George in a cloud of
dust in front of the battery. ITe was soon up, and shouted
‘ 23d, I’m all right: be sure I’ll remember this day,’ and
led them on again ; but in the shock produced by the fall
of their chief the gallant regiment suffered terribly while
paralysed for a moment. Meanwhile, the Guards on the
right of the light division, and the brigade of Highlanders,
were storming the heights on the left. Their line was
almost as regular as though they were in Hyde Park. Sud¬
denly a tornado of round and grape rushed through from
History.
504
RUSSIA.
History, the terrible battery, and a roar of musketry from behind,
^^ thinned their front ranks by dozens. It was evident that
we were just able to contend against the Russians, favoured
as they were by a great position. At this very time an im¬
mense" mass of Russian infantry were seen moving down
towards the battery. They halted. It was the crisis of the
day. Sharp, angular, and solid, they looked as if they were
cut out of the solid rock. It was beyond all doubt that, if
our infantry, harassed and thinned as they were, got into
the battery, they would have to encounter again a for¬
midable fire, which they were but ill calculated to bear.
Lord Raglan saw the difficulties of the situation. He asked
if it would be possible to get a couple of guns to bear upon
these masses. The reply was ‘ Yes;’ and an artillery of¬
ficer, whose name I do not know, brought up two guns to
fire on the Russian squares. The first shot missed, but
the next, and the next, and the next cut through the ranks
so cleanly and so keenly, that a clear line could be seen
for a moment through the square. After a few rounds the
columns of the square became broken, wavered to and fro,
broke, and fled over the brow of the hill, leaving behind
them six or seven distinct lines of dead lying as close as
possible to each other, marking the passage of the fatal
messengers. This act relieved our infantry of a deadly
incubus, and they continued their magnificent and fearful
progress up the hill. The duke encouraged his men by
voice and example, and proved himself worthy of his proud
command and of the royal race from which he comes.
‘ Highlanders,’ said Sir C. Campbell, ere they came to the
charge, ‘ I am going to ask a favour of you ; it is that you
will act so as to justify me in asking permission of the
Queen for you to wear a bonnet! Don’t pull a trigger till
you’re within a yard of the Russians.’ They charged, and
well they obeyed their chieftain’s wish: Sir Colin had his
horse shot under him ; but his men took the battery at a
bound. The Russians rushed out, and left multitudes of
dead behind them. The Guards had stormed the right of
the battery ere the Highlanders got into the left, and it is
said the Scots Fusilier Guards were the first to enter. The
second and light division crowned the heights. The French
now turned the guns on the hill against the flying masses,
which the cavalry in vain tried to cover. A few faint
struggles from the scattered infantry, a few rounds of
cannon and musketry, and the enemy fled to the south-east
leaving 3 generals, drums, 3 guns, 700 prisoners, and 4000
wounded behind them. The battle of the Alma was won.
It was won with a loss of nearly 3000 killed and wounded
on our side. The Russians’ retreat was covered by their
cavalry ; but if we had had an adequate force we could have
captured many guns and multitudes of prisoners.” The
total loss of the allies was 619 killed and 2860 wounded, of
which the British counted 362 killed and 1640 wounded.
T he loss of the Russians is stated at somewhat less than
8000 men, besides nearly 900 prisoners. The allies had in
the field about 50,000 men, but of this number some 20,000
were not engaged. The entire force of the Russians
amounted to about 40,000 men.
For the next two days the allies were busy in burying
the dead and taking care of the wounded, and on the 23d
they commenced their march towards Sevastopol. Learn¬
ing that the enemy occupied a formidable position on the
left bank ot the Belbek, and that this river could not
readily be rendered a means of communication with the
fleet, and calculating that the chief preparations for defence
would be made on the north side of the town, the com¬
manders altered their original intention of making their
attack on that sine ; and after their first night’s bivouac they
made a flank movement, and striking across a woodv
country, through which they had to steer their way by the
compass, they reached an open road leading from Baktchi-
serai to Balaklava. At a place called Mackenzie’s Farm
our advanced guard encountered a part of the Russian History,
army, which fled in consternation at the unexpected meet-
ing. On the 26th we obtained possession of Balaklava
without opposition. The harbour is commodious and se¬
cure, but the entrance is narrow and somewhat difficult of
access. 4 he next day the allied armies took up their posi¬
tions in the valley to the north of Balaklava and on the
bleak heights above Sevastopol. The allies now suffered a
severe loss in the departure and death of Marshal St Ar-
naud. He had left b ranee in bad health, and finding him¬
self quite overcome by acute and severe illness, he resigned
his command to General Canrobert, and died on the 29th,
on his way down to Constantinople.
-The position taken up by the English before Sevastopol Sevastopol,
was to the right of the French, at a distance of 6 miles
from their ships ; while the French, on the left, rested on
Cape Chersonese, and were within 3 miles of their ships.
The ground in front of the French being soft, permitted
the usual process of sapping and trenching to be carried on
quickly, while the ground in front of the English was hard
and rocky, and moreover broken by so many chasms or
ravines that regular approaches were almost impracticable.
The attack both by sea and land was opened on the 17th
of October. Seven large Russian ships had been sunk at
the mouth of the harbour, so that our ships could only fire
at long range, and so produced very little effect. During
this time the Russians had been exerting every effort to
strengthen their position. A round stone tower at their
extreme left was rapidly surrounded by strong, thick earth¬
works, upon which none but our heaviest artillery could
make an impression ; while the tower itself, originally white,
was painted of the colour of the earth, so as to be a less
conspicuous object to our mark. This round tower was by
a line of earthworks connected with a formidable redoubt
on the right known as the “ Redan.” Between the Redan
and the arsenal at the head of Dockyard Creek were the
“ Barrack” batteries, and to the west of the Creek, facimr
the French line, was the Flagstaff Battery, united by a wa’l
and strong defences to the Quarantine Fort and the sea.
The average distance of the English batteries from the
Russian lines was about 1500 yards. The French works,
from the causes already mentioned, were considerably
nearer than the English, but they had not so many guns in
position. The attack opened early in the morning of the First bom.
17th, but the result proved that the French batteries vveie bardrnent-
not strong enough, neither were their magazines well
placed. About two hours after the commencement of ihe
bombardment a French powder magazine blew up, doing
considerable damage ; and at 1.30 p.m. a more destructive
explosion took place in their lines, rendering it necessary
for their artillery to suspend its fire during the rest of the
day. Between 2 and 3 p.m. a terrific explosion took place
in the Redan Battery, which it was thought would have
rendered this work untenable ; but the Russians, with un¬
flinching bravery, continued at their guns, and kept up the
fire until nightfall, when both sides ceased. The Round
Tower, being of stone, was soon knocked to pieces by our
heavy guns, and completely silenced, while the Redan,
which was of earth, was not materially injured. The loss
of the English was 44 killed and 266 wounded ; of the
French, 30 killed and 164 wounded; while the Russians
acknowledge to a loss of 500 in killed and wounded. The
siege was proceeding steadily, when, early in the morning of
the 25th, the Russians made an attack upon the position in
front of Balaklava. A low range of heights that runs
across the plain, at the bottom of which the town stands, Balaklava.
was protected by four small redoubts hastily constructed.
Three of these had guns in them ; and on a higher hill in
front of the village of Camera, in advance of our right
flank, was established a work of somewhat more import¬
ance. These redoubts were garrisoned by Turkish troops.
RUSSIA.
505
History. The 93d Highlanders was the only British regiment in the
plain, with the exception of a part of a battalion of detach¬
ments composed of weakly men, and a battery of artillery
belonging to the third division ; and on the heights behind
our right were placed the marines. At daybreak in the
morning of the 25th the enemy were seen in great force
advancing up the valley of the Tchernaya. This was in¬
deed a new army, under the command of General Liprandi,
which had just arrived from the Danubian Principalities,
Austria having taken upon herself the occupation of the
Principalities, and thus set free both the Russian and Turkish
armies. Redoubt No. 1 was carried after a feeble resist¬
ance by the Turks, and Nos. 2 and 3 were evacuated
without an attempt at defence. When the news reached
Balaklava, Sir Colin Campbell, who commanded there, sent
the 93d Highlanders, under Lieutenant-Colonel Ainslie, to
draw up in line in front of the road leading to the town.
Lord Raglan also, as soon as he was apprised of this move¬
ment of the enemy, withdrew from before Sevastopol the
1st and 4th divisions, and brought them down into the
plain. After the three redoubts had been carried, the Rus¬
sian cavalry at once advanced, supported by artillery and
dividing into two bodies, the smaller of which charged
down the slope upon the 93d, whose vigorous and steady
fire instantly carried death into their ranks and threw them
back in disorder. The other and larger mass turned to the
right to attack our heavy cavalry, advancing straight towards
the camp of the Scots Greys and the Enniskillen Dragoons,
whose united number did not amount to 400 men. Their
first line was at least double the length of ours, and it was
three times as deep; while behind them was a similar line
equally strong and compact. Though the ground was very
unfavourable, it presented no check to our men, who
charged into the Russian column with the utmost fury.
“As lightning flashes through a cloud, the Greys andEnnis-
killeners pierced through the dark masses of the Russians.
The shock was but for a moment. There was a clash of
steel and a light play of sword-blades in the air, and then
the Greys and the red coats disappear in the midst of the
shaken and quivering columns. In another moment we see
them emerging and dashing on with diminished numbers
and in broken order against the second line, which is ad¬
vancing against them as fast as it can to retrieve the fortune
of the charge. It was a terrible moment. . . . With
unabated fire the noble hearts dashed at their enemy. It
was a fight of heroes. The first line of the Russians which
had been smashed utterly by our charge, and had fled off
at one flank and towards the centre, were coming back to
swrallow up our handful of men. By sheer steel and sheer
courage Enniskilleners and Scot were winning their des¬
perate way right through the enemy’s squadrons, and
already grey horses and red coats had appeared right at the
rear of the second mass, when, with irresistible force, like
one bolt from a bow, the 1st royalists, the 4th dragoon
guards, and the 5th dragoon guards rushed at the rem¬
nants of the first line of the enemy, and went through it as
though it were made of pasteboard, and, dashing on the se¬
cond body of Russians, as they were still disordered by the
terrible assault of the Greys and their companions, put
them to utter rout.” (Times' correspondent.) As the
enemy withdrew from the ground which they had momen¬
tarily occupied, and seemed to be removing the captured
guns, the Earl of Lucan was desired to advance and try to
prevent them from effecting their object. From some mis¬
conception of the instructions, the lieutenant-general con¬
sidered that he was bound to attack at all hazards ; and he
accordingly ordered Major-General the Earl of Cardigan
to move forward with the light brigade. By this time the
Russians had re-formed their own ground, with artillery in
front and upon their flanks. According to the graphic
account of the Times' correspondent—“ They advanced in
VOL. XIX.
two lines, quickening their pace as they closed towards the History,
enemy. A more fearful spectacle was never witnessed K*~**sfm*^
than by those who, without the power of aid, beheld their
heroic countrymen rush to the arms of death. At the dis¬
tance of 1200 yards the whole line of the enemy belched
forth from thirty iron mouths a flood of smoke and flame,
through which hissed the deadly balls. Their flight wras
marked by instant gaps in our ranks, by dead men and
horses, by steeds flying wounded or riderless across the
plain. The first line is broken; it is joined by the second ;
they never halt or check their speed one instant; with
diminished ranks thinned by those thirty guns which the
Russians had laid with the most deadly accuracy, with a
halo of flashing steel above their heads, and with a cheer
which was many a noble fellow’s death-cry, they flew into
the smoke of the batteries, but ere they were lost from view
the plain was strewed with their bodies and with the car¬
cases of horses. They were exposed to an oblique fire
from the batteries on the hills on both sides, as well as to
a direct fire of musketry. Through the clouds of smoke we
could see their sabres flashing as they rode up to the guns,
and dashed between them, cutting down the gunners as
they stood. We saw them riding through the guns, as I
have said; to our delight we saw them returning, after
breaking through a column of Russian infantry, and scat¬
tering them like chaff, when the flank fire of the battery on
the hill swept them down, scattered and broken as they
were. Wounded men and dismounted troopers flying
towards us told the sad tale: demi-gods could not have
done what we had failed to do. At the very moment when
they were about to retreat an enormous mass of lancers
was hurled on their flank. Colonel Shewell of the 8th
hussars saw the danger, and rode his few men straight at
them, cutting his way through with fearful loss. The other
regiments turned and engaged in a desperate encounter.
With courage too great almost for credence, they were
breaking their way through the columns which enveloped
them, when there took place an act of atrocity without pa¬
rallel in the modern warfare of civilized nations. The
Russian gunners, when the storm of cavalry had passed,
returned to their guns. They saw their own cavalry mingled
with the troops who had just ridden over them, and to the
eternal disgrace of the Russian name, the miscreants poured
a murderous volley of grape and canister on the mass of
struggling men and horses, mingling friend and foe in one
common ruin. It was as much as our heavy cavalry bri¬
gade could do to cover the retreat of the miserable rem¬
nants of that band of heroes as they returned to the place
they had so lately quitted in all the pride of life.” The
brigade numbered only 607 men, and of these only 198 re¬
turned. The enemy made no further movement in advance ;
and at the close of the day the brigade of Guards of the
first division and the fourth division returned to their ori¬
ginal encampment.
The next morning several columns of infantry, accom¬
panied by artillery, were seen issuing out of Sevastopol, to
the number of 6000 or 7000, it was thought, on their way
to join Liprandi’s corps. Turning to the right, however,
they ascended the hills, and suddenly appeared on a crest
which commanded the second division under Sir De Lacy
Evans. These withstood the attack with great bravery,
and having at length received assistance, succeeded in pul¬
ing the enemy to flight with the loss of about 600 killed
and wounded, and 80 prisoners. Our loss was only about
80 killed and wounded. During all this time the siege was
steadily progressing, but large re-inforcements were joining
the Russian camp to the north of Sevastopol, while supplies
and other re-inforcements were poured into the town itself.
On the 5th of November the Russian army, augmented Battie of
by re-inforcements from the north, and animated by the pre- inkermann
sence of the Grand Dukes Michael and Nicholas, attacked
3 s
RUSSIA.
506
History, our position overlooking the ruins of Inkermann. Shortly
i j before daylight strong columns ol the llussians came upon
the advanced pickets covering the right of the English
position. These defended the ground foot by foot with the
utmost gallantry, until the 2d division, with its field guns,
was got into position. The morning was extremely dark
and drizzly ; but it soon became apparent that the enemy
had advanced numerous batteries of large calibre to the
high grounds to the left and front of the 2d division, while
powerful columns of infantry attacked with great vigour
the brigade of guards. Additional batteries of heavy ar¬
tillery were also placed on the slopes whence they could
best tell upon us, until the guns in the field actually amounted
to 90 pieces, independently of the ships’ guns and the guns
of Sevastopol, which were also playing upon our men. Pro¬
tected by a tremendous fire of shot, shell, and grape, the
Russian columns advanced in great force, requiring every
effort on our part to resist them. Two battalions of French
infantry now joined our right, and contributed materially to
our success. About the same time a determined assault was
made on our extreme left, and for a moment the Russians
possessed themselves of four of our guns, but these were
speedily re-captured. In the opposite direction the brigade
of Guards was engaged in a severe conflict. The enemy
advanced in two heavy bodies under cover of a thick brush¬
wood, and assaulted with great determination a small un¬
armed redoubt. The combat here was most arduous, and
the brigade, after displaying the utmost bravery and gal¬
lantry, was obliged to retire. Again and again they ad¬
vanced to the charge, and again and again were driven back.
At length a body of French troops came to their assistance,
and occupied the redoubt, while the Guards speedily re¬
formed in rear of the right flank of the 2d division. Sub¬
sequently to this the battle continued with unabated vigour,
and with no positive result, till towards the afternoon, when
symptoms of giving way first became apparent; and shortly
after, although the fire did not cease, the retreat became
general. Thus for more than six hours 8000 English and
6000 French sustained a hand-to-hand fight against 50,000
Russians. “ The battle of Inkermann,” says the Times’
correspondent, “ admits of no description. It was a series
of dreadful deeds of daring, of sanguinary hand-to-hand
fights, of despairing rallies, of desperate assaults,—in glens
and valleys, in bushwood glades and remote dells, hidden
from all human eyes, and from which the conquerors, Rus¬
sian or British, issued only to engage fresh foes, till our old
supremacy, so rudely assailed, was triumphantly asserted,
and the battalions of the czar gave way before our steady
courage and the chivalrous fire of France.” The loss of the
enemy is estimated at about 9000; our loss was 632 killed,
1878 wounded, and 63 missing, total 2573 ; and that of the
French was 1726 in killed and wounded.
On the 14th of November a terrible hurricane occurred
on the Black Sea, and did great damage both on sea and
shore. The tempest commenced at Balaklava about seven
o’clock in the morning, and in less than two hours eleven
transports had been wrecked, and six more dismantled and
rendered unfit for service. The steamship Prince, a mag¬
nificent vessel of 2700 tons, which had arrived only a few
days before, and had a valuable cargo of stores and neces¬
saries for the war, was driven on the rocks with such force
that hardly a piece of her was left. Of a crew of 150 men
only six were saved. The French vessels suffered equally
with ours. The pecuniary loss of the English alone was
estimated at about a million sterling, while that of the
French could not have been less. The total loss of men
was estimated at about 1000, besides about 400 or 500
more who were taken prisoners and carried into Sevastopol.
On land the tents of our soldiers were torn up and blown History,
about in all directions. Snow also fell in abundance ; and
before the tempest had ceased, which was not till the after¬
noon of the 16th, the inland hills and ridges were deeply
covered by it. After Inkermann the Russians did not for
a long time make any grand attack upon the allies. The
latter also contented themselves with remaining on the de¬
fensive till the arrival of re-inforcements should enable
them to take more active measures. They too were be¬
sieged as well as being besiegers, having on their flank a
force far superior to their own, and in front an irregular
fortress of great strength, and an arsenal with almost un¬
limited resources. Re-inforcements and supplies were also
constantly pouring into the place, which, from our limited
forces, it was impossible to check. The allies were now
suffering severely from disease and the want of necessaries,
which became more felt as the winter set in. These pressed
less heavily on the French than on us, their medical and
commissariat departments being much better managed than
ours. Indeed, the shameful neglect, carelessness, and ignor¬
ance that w’ere manifested in the commissariat department
of our army are scarcely credible. Thousands of our brave
countrymen fell victims to this deplorable state of things.
Many of them had to lie on the cold, damp earth under the
wide canopy of heaven, thus frequently contracting dis¬
eases which there were no medicines to cure or comforts to
allay; what food they obtained (and they were frequently
on short rations) had often to be consumed in an unprepared
state ; 1500 sick and wounded after the battle of Alma
were sent to Scutari, many of whom had not had their
wounds dressed, though five or six days had elapsed on
the passage.1 Not the least culpable part of the busi¬
ness was, that abundant supplies had been provided by the
government, most of which were lying at Balaklava, but
from a blind adherence to form could not be removed, or
were stowed away where they could not be reached or
could not be found. It is well known that articles sent out
for the army in the Crimea were brought back in the same
vessels, and articles intended for the sick at Scutari were
carried to Balaklava. The road, too, between the camp and
Balaklava soon became such a wilderness of mud as to be
almost impassable. According to the Report of the com¬
mittee of the House of Commons, “from the middle of
November this army was, during a period of many weeks,
reduced to a condition which it is melancholy to contem¬
plate, but which was endured both by officers and men with
a fortitude and heroism unsurpassed in the annals of war.
They were exposed under single canvas to all the sufferings
and inconveniences of cold, rain, mud, and snow, on high
ground and in the depth of winter. They suffered from
overwork, want of clothing, insufficient supplies for the
healthy, and imperfect accommodation for the sick.” When
the news of this state of matters reached England it natu¬
rally excited the greatest indignation and sympathy. In the
beginning of October the Times originated a subscription
for the sick and wounded, and in less than a fortnight
L.15,000 were collected, which a special commissioner was
sent out to administer. A few days later the “Patriotic
Fund” was set on foot, and before the end of the year the
subscriptions had reached half a million, and soon after¬
wards they amounted to about a million and a quarter.
The Society for the Propagation of the Gospel in foreign
Parts also sent out to the hospitals and the camp, with the
concurrence and partly at the expense of the government,
twenty-four additional chaplains. About the same time
Miss Florence Nightingale, a lady singularly adapted for the
work, set out with thirty-seven nurses to attend the sick in
the hospital.
1 At the beginning of February 1855 the grand total of our array in the East was 44,948, of whom 5773 were in the camp hospital,
and 12,344 in that of Scutari, making a total of 18,117 sick.
R U S
History. During the last three months of the year 1854, 9000
English re-inforcements were landed in the Crimea, but
these being chiefly raw recruits, many of them, by the hard¬
ships which they had to endure, were soon rendered unfit
for duty. Meanwhile the Russians, under the direction of
General Todleben, were incessantly employed in improving
their position, by strengthening their old fortifications and
by the addition of new works. They scarped the ground
in front of all their batteries ; constructed a strong abattis in
front of all their lines ; threw up earthworks and mounted
guns on every available point; and made sunken batteries
before their redoubts, the Redan and Malakoff, as well as
along the scarps of the slopes.
In the beginning of the year an insurrection broke out
among the Greek subjects of the sultan, at the instigation
of Russia, and aided and abetted by the Greek nation. A
series of early successes emboldened the insurgents, and
the movement was rapidly gaining ground. Ineffectual re¬
monstrances with King Otho led to an open rupture between
Turkey and Greece, and on the 28th of March the Greek
ambassador quitted Constantinople. Turkish troops were
now poured into the disaffected districts, and their arms
were generally successful; but still the rebels held out, en¬
couraged by the free Greeks, and confidently relying on
the speedy advance of the Russians to their assistance. On
the 18th May the allies declared the whole of Greece to be
in a state of blockade, and about the same time a body of
French and English troops were landed at the Piraeus.
These energetic measures speedily brought King Otho to
submit to the terms imposed upon him, and to engage to
maintain a strict neutrality towards Turkey. Many of the
insurgents now submitted, and one or two successes over
the remainder speedily put an end to the insurrection. Early
in summer a small squadron, consisting of the Miranda and
Brisk, screw steamers of 15 and 16 guns respectively, and
the Eurydice, a sailing-vessel of 26 guns, were despatched
to the White Sea to blockade Archangel. Leaving the
Eurydice at the mouth of the Dwina, the bar at which they
were unable to cross, to maintain the blockade, the other
vessels attacked and destroyed several places in that quarter.
Kola, the capital of Russian Lapland, they took and de¬
stroyed, as also the town of Novitska. They also landed and
destroyed all the public buildings and government stores at
Shay ley Island. An attack on the town of Solovetskoi,
however, was unsuccessful, and they retired after twelve
hours’ firing. The squadron thereafter returned to England.
In the Pacific a fleet of the allies suffered a severe check
before the towm of Petropaulowski. It consisted of 3
French and 3 English ships of war, carrying in all 194
guns ; and was on the outlook for two Russian war frigates
that had caused some alarm in these seas. This town is
the principal seaport of Kamschatka, and was strongly for¬
tified both by nature and art. The firing of the ships com¬
menced on the 28th of August, and was kept up for some
days, and a partial landing did some damage, but a subse¬
quent attempt to storm the town was unsuccessful. Our
loss was 30 men killed and 156 wounded, while the French
loss was about as great. The English admiral Price fell
by a pistol-shot from his own hand on the first day of the
attack, and survived only a few hours.
The war in Asia was maintained by Turkish troops, but
with them were a considerable number of European officers
to aid and counsel them. Chief among these was M.
Guyon, an English gentleman, who had been an officer in
the Austrian service, but having married a Hungarian lady
of noble birth and large fortune, he left the army, and
subsequently took part in the Hungarian war of 1848-49,
in which he greatly distinguished himself. On the termi¬
nation of that struggle he was of those that took refuge in
Turkey. He accepted the offer made by the Turkish
government to enter that service, and was sent to Damascus
S I A. 507
to organize and instruct the army. The ability and skill of History.
Guyon, however, was almost entirely neutralized by the
wrongheadedness and incompetency of the commander-in¬
chief, Zarif Pacha, who would rarely follow his counsel,
while his refusal to embrace the Mohammedan faith inca-
pacitated him from having any direct authority over the
soldiery. In July a body of 8000 Turks, under Selim
Patha, were totally defeated at Bayazid by a detachment
of General Bebutoff’s army. When news of this reached
the Turkish army, which was lying 40,000 strong in a posi¬
tion of considerable strength a few miles in advance of
Kars, Guyon advised an immediate attack on the main
body of Bebutoff’s army before it could be joined by the
other portion or receive further assistance. Instead of this,
however, several days were allowed to elapse before the
attack was made, and by that time the Russian army was
increased from 12,000 to 20,000 men, and was prepared to
receive them. The 6th of August was the day of attack,
but before the battle was well begun many of the Turks
were fleeing, and the others were speedily put to flight.
The loss of the Turks was 1200 killed, 1800 wounded,
and 2018 prisoners. Had the Russian general marched
directly upon Kars it is believed that he would have taken
it without striking a blow; as it was, the defeated Turks
got time to recover from their consternation and to gather
strength ; so that, as will be subsequently noticed, they
made a most heroic defence. On 20th August Schamyl
appeared suddenly before Tiflis, and did considerable da¬
mage, carrying off a large booty and a number of prisoners.
This compelled the Russian general Bebutoff to send a
portion of his troops to defend that place.
In the beginning of 1855 the allies received an acces- 1855.
sion of strength in the King of Sardinia. On the 26th of
January Victor Emmanuel II. acceded to the convention
concluded between Great Britain and France, and agreed
to furnish and keep up for the war a body of 15,000 men,
consisting of infantry, cavalry, and artillery ; France and
England guaranteeing the integrity of his dominions during
the period of the war. England also undertook to furnish
gratuitously the means of transport to the Sardinian troops,
and also to recommend to Parliament to advance in loan to
the King of Sardinia L. 1,000,000 sterling, the interest to
be at the rate of 4 per cent., of which 1 per cent, was to
form a sinking-fund.
At daybreak on the 17th of February a strong body of
the Russians made an attack upon Eupatoria, which was
defended by Omer Pacha at the head of a Turkish body ot
troops, and a French detachment. After a cannonade of
some duration, the Russians advanced to the assault. Three
times they attempted to carry the town, but were as often
beaten back, and were at length obliged to retire with con¬
siderable loss. Their great superiority in cavalry and artil¬
lery prevented the garrison from molesting them on their
retreat. The Turks behaved admirably on this occasion,
and made a most gallant defence.
On the afternoon of the 2d of March all Europe was
startled by the intelligence that the Emperor of Russia was
dead. He was attacked by influenza on the 14th of February,
but persisted in going out as usual, and on the 22d held a
review of a corps of infantry of the Guards. After this he be¬
came much worse, but continued working as usual in his ca¬
binet. On the 1st of March, however, soon after hearing of
the unsuccessful attack upon Eupatoria, he became slightly
delirious, and expired about noon of the 2d. He was suc¬
ceeded on the throne by his eldest son Alexander II.
On the 15th of March a conference of plenipotentiaries Conference
of the five states (England, France, Austria, Russia, and of Vienna.
Turkey) was opened at Vienna, with the view of coming to
some arrangement regarding the points in dispute, based
upon certain preliminaries that had been previously com- . >
municated by the allies to the Russian government and
508 R U S
History, accepted by it. These preliminaries consisted of four
articles, the substance of which was as follows:—1st. To
abolish the exclusive protectorate exercised by Russia over
Moldavia, Wallachia, and Servia, and henceforward to
place the privileges accorded by the sultan to these prin¬
cipalities under the collective guarantee of the five powers ;
2d, To give all the development possible to the free navi¬
gation of the Danube, for which purpose it would’be
necessary to place it under the control of a syndicate
authority, invested with powers necessary to destroy the
obstructions existing at the mouth of that river; and it
would also be desirable that the course of the Lower Dan¬
ube, from the point where it becomes common to the
two bordering states, should be withdrawn from territorial
jurisdiction; 3d, To revise the treaty of July 13, 1S41,
with the object of connecting the existence of the Ottoman
empire more completely with the European equilibrium,
and to put an end to the preponderance of Russia in the
Black Sea; 4th, Russia to renounce any official protecto¬
rate of the Christian subjects of the sultan, the allies
affording their mutual co-operation in obtaining from the
Ottoman government the confirmation and the observance
of the religious privileges of the different Christian com¬
munities, without distinction of sect. The conference, after
sitting for about six weeks, dissolved, having been unable
to come to any satisfactory arrangement on the third point.
Afterwards Count Buol-Schauenstein, the Austrian pleni¬
potentiary, summoned the members to meet again on the
4th of June to consider a proposition which it was believed
might lead to an amicable settlement of the point in dis¬
pute. This was, instead of a mere one-sided limitation of
the power of Russia in the Black Sea, to have an equality
of the naval forces which each of the two coast powers
should keep up in the Black Sea, and which should not
exceed the actual number of Russian ships in that sea.
This arrangement was to be entered into by the two powers
between themselves, but wras, nevertheless, to form an in¬
tegral part of the general treaty. The French and English
plenipotentiaries, M. Drouyn de Lhuys and Lord John
Russell, had both left Vienna, but they had expressed
themselves favourable to this arrangement. The proposal,
however, did not meet with the favourable consideration of
their governments, which saw no likelihood of a satisfactory
peace being arrived at in that way. M. Drouyn de Lhuys
accordingly resigned or w’as deprived of his office; and the
conduct of Lord John Russell having given rise to a vote
of censure being moved, that minister resigned his seat in
the cabinet on the 16th of July.
During this time the war continued to be actively prose¬
cuted. In front of the Malakoff, and between it and the
trenches of the allies, was a slight elevation, the possession
of which was of great importance to either party. This the
besieged succeeded in taking possession of on the night of
the 9th of March unknown to the allies, w;ho were next
morning disagreeably surprised to see it occupied by works
which were hourly gaining strength. This was afterwards
known to the allies as the Mamelon. On the second night
after its occupation a vigorous attempt was made by the
French to dislodge the enemy but without success. The
Russians lost no time in sinking a number of pits before
and on each side of their newr acquisition, to serve as cover
foi riflemen, wdio became a source of great annoyance to
the French. On the night of the 17th March the French
made another attempt to possess the Mamelon. They suc¬
ceeded in carrying the first and part of the second line of
pits, but the heavy fire ot the Russian musketry forced
them to retire. Ou the night of the 22d March,—a dark
and windy night,' a large body of the Russians issued
silently iiom the Mamelon, and reached the advanced pa-
lallel of the French unobserved. After a short but severe
struggle, the French were obliged to fall back upon their
S I A.
reserves. The Russians then marched rapidly along the History,
parallel to attack the English trenches. Here they were
met by detachments of the 97th and 77th regiments,
which gallantly stood their ground, and drove back the
Russians at the point of the bayonet. At the same time,
the French, having rallied, fell upon them, and pursued
them so far that they were enabled to level and destroy a
number of the rifle-pits along their front. It was on this
occasion that Captain Hedley Vicars, who led on the 97th,
lost his life. Our loss amounted to 182 killed and 373
W’ounded, besides 56 missing.
Early in April the railway between the camp and Bala-
klava was completed, and was of immense service to our
army ; and a month later London was in telegraphic com¬
munication with the seat of war. At daybreak on the Second
morning of the 9th of April the second bombardment of kombard-
Sevastopol commenced, and was continued for several days, ment<
but without any decisive result. In the beginning of May
the Sardinian troops began to arrive at Balaklava, and con¬
siderably strengthened the hands of the allies. About the
middle of this month a change took place in the com-
mandership of the French army, and General Canrobert
was succeeded by General Pelissier, an officer who had
greatly distinguished himself in the Algerine wars. General
Canrobert, with true soldier spirit, requested to be still per¬
mitted to take part in the war, and obtained the command
of a division. On the night of the 2d of May the French
had taken by storm the Russian counter-approaches in front
of the central bastion, and the enemy then, to impede their
progress and take their attacks in flank, began to construct
new lines of counter-approach on the Quarantine side, con¬
necting by a gabionnade their ambuscades at the extremity
of the bay with those at the cemetery, and forming a con¬
tinuous covered way between this work and the right
lunette of the central bastion. This would have enabled
them to make powerful sorties by assembling large bodies
of men behind these defences. The French general
therefore determined to carry these works ; and accordingly
an assault was arranged to take place on the night of the
22d of May. Two simultaneous attacks were organized,—
one on the ambuscades at the bottom of the bay, the other
on the ambuscades of the cemetery, by the south-east angle
of that inclosure. The Russians seemed quite prepared
for the attack, and were awaiting it in great force. It is
thus described by the correspondent of the Morning Chro¬
nicle :—“ From every point of the Russian batteries com¬
manding the trench a fire of artillery was poured upon them
with such density and effect that whole companies were
swept away before it. Still they held their ground, though
under the fire of the batteries they fell by scores. Strong
parties of the enemy occupied the covering trenches, and
from their position were enabled to enfilade the advanced
trench with a murderous fire of infantry. It was a mere
slaughter of the French. Twice driven to desperation by
the cross fire from the trenches, they sallied out and at¬
tempted to carry them at the point of the bayonet; but
these mere ebullitions of valour were of no avail against the
strong works and well-organized resistance of the enemy.
In both cases the French were driven back with loss, and
retired to the cross-trench, where they still continued to
melt away under the devastating fire of artillery and mus¬
ketry. It was close on dawn when a message was sent to
the French general informing him that nearly half the
column had fallen in the attempt to hold the place; that it
was a mere useless waste of life, as by daylight it would be
utterly untenable. The answer was returned that they
were to gather their dead and wounded, and retire. This
they accordingly did at about four in the morning, after
having maintained the sanguinary and unequal contest for
more than six hours.” Next night “ the plan was better
arranged under the immediate care of General Pelissier
EUSSIA.
509
History, himself, who informed the troops that if they failed then
v r ^^ they must attack again at daybreak, and continue to attack
until the trench was in their possession. Three columns—
each 3000 strong—were chosen for the assault, and started
just as dusk was commencing,—two slightly in advance, for
the capture of the covering trenches on each side and the
centre column for the trench itself. In spite of all the
vigilance of the enemy, the right and left columns closed
with the covering trenches before they were discovered, and
instantly attacked them. For a moment the Russians
seemed bent on an obstinate resistance, but the attack at
such an early hour of the evening (a little after eight) evi¬
dently took them by surprise, and after a short struggle, both
trenches were captured, the enemy flying in all directions.”
On the 22d of May an expedition, comprising 3800
English, under Sir George Brown, 7500 French, under
General d’Autemarre, and about 5000 Turks, was de¬
spatched for Kertch and the Straits of Yenikale, whence
large supplies were constantly pouring into Sevastopol. As
soon as they made their appearance before Kertch the
enemy fled, blowing up their fortifications and destroying
immense stores of provisions. Anapa was also abandoned ;
and large stores of provisions were destroyed at Genitchi,
Berdiansk, Arabat, and Taganrog on the Don. It is cal¬
culated that the stores destroyed at Kertch and in the Sea
of Azoff amounted to nearly four months rations for 100,000
men, the loss of which must have caused serious embar¬
rassment to the Russian army in the Crimea. The object
of the expedition being thus fully accomplished, the troops
were re-embarked about the 12th of June, with the excep¬
tion of those left in garrison at Yenikale and Pavlovskaia,
the latter commanding the entrance to the strait at a point
where it is narrowed by a sandbank to about 1^- miles
across.
Third bom- The third bombardment of Sevastopol commenced in
hardment. the afternoon of the 6th June, and next evening simulta-
Attackson neous attacks were made by the French upon the Mamelon
the Mame- and White Works {Ouvrages Blancs), and by the English
Ion and Gn the Quarries. These were in each case successful.
Quarries; The French had to traverse a considerable extent of open
space, exposed to a terrible fire of artillery and musketry,
but this did not for a moment check the impetuosity of
their attack. Within the redoubts a determined struggle
took place, and continued for an hour before the Russians
were driven out of the works. The French pursued them
as far as the MalakofF, and even made an attempt to storm
that work, but this not having been previously calculated
upon, their force was insufficient for that purpose, and they
had to retire under a terrific fire from the enemy. In this
affair they took 62 guns and 400 prisoners, of whom 14 were
officers. The English were equally successful in their
attack upon the Quarries, which they carried in the most
determined and gallant manner, and kept their ground in
spite of repeated attacks by the Russians to dispossess
them. The possession of these works materially strength¬
ened the position of the allies ; and it was resolved to follow
on the Ma- up the success by an attack on the Malakoff and Redan,
lakoff and Accordingly, during the whole of the 17th a vigorous fire
Kedan. was kept up by the allies upon the town, and it was ar¬
ranged to make the assault after a two hours’ fire the
following morning. At the suggestion of Pelissier, how¬
ever, this part of the arrangement was departed from, and
the attack was to commence at three o’clock in the morning
at a signal from the French general. Unfortunately,
General Mayran, who had the command of one of the divi¬
sions of the "French army, mistook a blazing fuse for the
rocket-signal that had been agreed upon as the notice for a
-general advance, and immediately gave the order for attack.
They w'ere immediately assailed by an overwhelming
shower of ball and grape, not only from the works, but also
from the enemy’s steamers in the harbour. Advance was
impossible but not one step did they retreat; while the History,
other divisions rushed forward to support this premature
movement. They reached and scaled with impetuous gal¬
lantry the entrenchment which connected the Karabelnaia
ravine with the Malakoff, and succeeded in penetrating
the enceinte itself. But in the meantime the English attack
on the Redan had failed, and the French, deprived of their
simultaneous support, and exposed to a crushing fire of
artillery from the Redan and other works, were compelled
to give way. The retreat commenced about half-past
eight o’clock, and was carried out with order and coolness,
without any attempt at pursuit on the part of the enemy.
In their attack upon the Redan, the English, as soon as
they showed themselves beyond the trenches, were assailed
by a most murderous fire of grape and musketry. “ Those
in advance,” says Lord Raglan in his despatch, “ were
either killed or wounded, and the remainder found it im¬
possible to proceed. I never before witnessed such a conti¬
nued and heavy fire of grape, combined with musketry, from
the enemy’s works, which appeared to be fully manned.”
Another part of the English attack, however, was crowned
with success, though fruitless. General Eyre was de¬
spatched, at the head of a body of 2000 men, for the pur¬
pose of making a demonstration at the head of Dockyard
Creek, and withdrawing the attention of the enemy from
the real object of assault. He found the enemy strongly
posted between a cemetery on their left and a mound or
hillock on their right, and protected by stone walls in front.
This position, however, was gallantly carried under a heavy
fire. Our troops held their ground until the evening, and
then retired unmolested. Our loss amounted to 165 killed,
1126 wounded, and 152 missing; and the French to 1598
killed or missing, and 1740 wounded. The Russians, ac¬
cording to their own account, lost during the two days 787
killed, and 4029 wounded. While the assault was going
on several of the vessels of the allies opened fire upon the
town and its sea defences, but with little effect. The
English army now sustained a severe loss in the death of its
commander, Lord Raglan, in the sixty-seventh year of his
age. His strength and energies had been taxed to the ut¬
most during the whole of the Crimean war, and the failure
of the attack on the 18th is believed to have preyed upon
his spirit, vexed as it no doubt must have been by the pre¬
vious unfavourable comments upon his conduct at home.
He had been unwell for some days, but before the evening
of the 28th no danger was apprehended by his medical
attendants. Alarming symptoms, however, then showed
themselves; he became unconscious, and sank rapidly until
he expired, in the course of a few hours. He was succeeded
in the command by General Simpson. On the 16th of Battle of
August the Russians made another desperate effort to raise the Tcher-
the siege. This was by the covering army under the com- naya-
mand of General Liprandi, which had remained inactive
since the battle of Inkermann, but had recently been largely
augmented by re-inforcements. For some days rumours of
a premeditated attack on the part of the Russians had been
current, and at daybreak on the morning of the 16th they
advanced against our lines on the Tchernaya, where the
French and Sardinians were posted, to whom belongs the
entire glory of the victory, though they received some as¬
sistance from an English battery. A paper found in the
pocket of one of the Russian generals, Read, who was
killed, showed the nature and magnitude of the attack.
“ Had they succeeded,” says General Simpson in his de¬
spatch, “ Balaklava was to have been attacked by one por¬
tion of their army, while the heights on which we now are
were to have been stormed by the other ; at the same time,
a vigorous sortie was to have been made from the town on
the French works on our extreme left, from the Quaran¬
tine, and another on the works on our extreme right on
Mount Sapoune. The action is most glorious to the arms
510
RUSSIA.
History.
Attack on
tht? Mala-
koff;
on the Re¬
dan.
of the French and Sardinian troops. To meet the force of
the Russians the former had but 12,000 infantry and 4 bat¬
teries of artillery engaged; the latter had 10,000 men in
position, 4500 actually engaged, and 24 pieces of cannon.
The Russian force consisted of from 50,000 to 60,000
men, with 160 pieces of artillery, and cavalry to the amount
of 6000. This disparity of numbers will readily explain
the difficulty that would have been experienced had an
attempt been made to follow up the advantage by a pur¬
suit. The Russian retreat, moreover, was protected by the
fire from the heavy guns in position on the Mackenzie
heights. The loss sustained by the Russians is estimated
at between 5000 and 6000 men, including 600 prisoners;
while on the part of the allies it does not amount to more
than 1000 men.”
The French lines of approach had now been advanced
so near the Malakoff, and the loss of life was daily increas¬
ing to such an extent, as to render it necessary either to
take the work or retire to a greater distance. Accordingly
on the 5th of September a terrific cannonade was opened
and kept up till noon of the 8th, the time of the attack.
“ This infernal fire,” says Prince Gortschakoff, “principally
directed against the embrasures, proved that the enemy was
endeavouring to dismount our guns, to demolish our ram¬
parts, and to prepare for taking the city by storm. It was
no longer possible to repair the damage done to our works,
and our efforts were limited to covering the powder maga¬
zines and the blindages with earth. The parapets crumbled
down and filled up the ravines; it was necessary to con¬
tinue clearing the embrasures, and the number of artillery¬
men killed was so great that it was with difficulty we could
bring up others to take their place. Our loss at this period
of the siege was extraordinary ; from the 5th to the 8th of
September there were placed hors de combat superior
officers 4, subalterns 47, and 3917 soldiers, without reckon¬
ing the artillerymen who perished at their guns.” At noon
precisely the French rushed upon the Malakoff, and by this
time almost all the Russian guns that bore upon the attack
had been silenced. They crossed the ditches with sur¬
prising agility, and climbing on the parapets attacked the
enemy to the cry of “ Vive 1’Empereur.” At the fort of
Malakoff, the slopes on the inside being very high, they
stopped for a moment in order to form, and then mounted
on the parapet and leaped into the work. The contest,
which had commenced by musket-shots, was continued with
the bayonet, with the butt-ends, and stones; and in a quar¬
ter of an hour the French flag was floating on the conquered
redoubt. This was the signal for our troops to attack the
Redan. The assaulting column consisted of only 1000 men,
preceded by a covering party of 200, and a ladder party of
320 men. They had 220 yards of ground to cross under a
very heavy fire of grape, and this space was soon covered
with slain. Nevertheless, this did not impede their progress;
and as they came nearer the salient the enemy’s fire
became less fatal. They crossed the abattis without diffi¬
culty, and made straight for the salient and projecting angle
of the Redan. The ditch here was about 15 feet deep, but
the men, led by their officers, leaped into it, and scrambled
up the other side, whence they scaled the parapet almost
without opposition. The few Russians who were in front
ran back and got behind their traverses and breastworks,
and opened fire upon them. On reaching the parapet, our
men unfortunately began loading and file-firing, instead of
following their officers and attacking the breastworks. The
Russians now flocked to the traverses, whence they kept up
a heavy fire on the men getting over the parapet or through
the embrasures ; and thus so many were killed and wounded
that no sufficient force was left of the first arrivals to make
a rush across the open space which lay between the salient
and the traverses, for nearly two hours did our troops
maintain this unequal contest before they abandoned the
Redan and gave up the attempt. French attacks had also History,
been directed against the Little Redan on the right and the
central bastion on the left, but these were also unsuccessful.
In both cases our allies succeeded in penetrating within the
works, but they found themselves exposed to such a mur¬
derous fire from all sides that they were obliged to give
way. The struggle for the possession of the Malakoff was
long and deadly, and again and again did the Russians
attempt to retake it during the day, but without success.
Our loss on that day amounted to 385 killed, 1886 wounded,
and 176 missing; the French loss to 1489 killed, 4259
wounded, and 1400 missing. The Russians, according to
their own account, lost 2684 killed, 7243 wounded, and
1763 missing. The possession of the Malakoff rendered
the south side of the town quite untenable; so that the
enemy, finding every effort to retake it unavailing, began
in the evening to evacuate the town. During the night
they exploded their magazines, blew up their fortifications,
and set fire to the town. The ships, frigates, and other
sailing-vessels were all sunk, with the exception of the
steamers. Next morning the allies found the town de¬
serted and in ruins. The walls of the houses attested the
force and effect of the terrible bombardment, hardly a
building remaining intact from shot or shell. The number
of cannon and the quantity of the materials of war obtained
was immense. The French took possession of the eastern
and the English of the western part of the town.
On the 29th September a body of French cavalry put
to flight a strong body of Russian horse at Koughell, 5
leagues N.E. of Eupatoria. The Russians lost about 50
killed and 169 prisoners, besides 6 pieces of cannon ; whereas
the loss of the French was only 6 killed and 28 wounded.
On the 17th of October Kinburn surrendered to the
allied fleet, after a short bombardment. This fortress is
situated on a low promontory at the entrance of a gulf into
which flow the Boug and the Dnieper. On the opposite
side of the gulfi and about 2|- miles distant, is Oczakoff,
which the Russians blew up and evacuated on our getting
possession of Kinburn. The possession of these forts was
of the utmost importance to the allies, as they thus com¬
manded the sea-approach to Kherson on the Dnieper, and
Nicolaieff the naval arsenal of the Black Sea, on the Boug.
The English troops soon after embarked for the Crimea,
leaving a French force to garrison the forts. Soon after, a
detachment of vessels from the allied fleet lying at Kertch
took and destroyed the Russian establishments at Taman
and Fanagoria.
On the 10th of November General Simpson resigned
the commaad of the English army, and was succeeded by
General Sir William Codrington. On the 15th of the same
month a terrible explosion of 100,000 lb. of powder took
place in the French siege-train, destroying an immense
quantity of stores, and killing 21 and wounding 116 of the
English and a still greater number of the French. On the
12th of this month the Emperor of Russia reviewed his
troops in the Crimea; and soon after an imperial ukase was
published, announcing a new Russian loan of 50 millions of
silver roubles.
This year the allied fleet in the Baltic was as barren pajtic
of great results as last year. Rear-Admiral Dundas
commanded the English fleet, and Rear-Admiral Penaud
had the command of the French. Eleven sail of the line
and five paddle-steamers left the Downs on the 9th of
April, and arrived at Kiel on the 19th. They were gra¬
dually re-inforced by others; and in the month of July there
were in the Baltic 85 English vessels of war, mounting
2098 guns, and 16 French vessels of war, with 408 guns.
In the combined fleet there were 23 line-of-battle ships,
with 1853 guns; 31 frigates and corvettes, with 554 guns;
29 smaller steamers and gunboats, with 78 guns; and ] 8
mortar-boats and other craft, with 21 guns. The utmost
RUSSIA. 511
History, indignation was excited in England by the news of a boat,
landing some prisoners under a flag of truce, having been
attacked, and its crew either killed or taken prisoners. The
facts were these :—On the 5th of June H.M.S. Cossack,
when off Hango Point, despatched a cutter with a flag of
truce to land some prisoners taken on board of some mer¬
chant vessels. After landing the prisoners, the officer in
command, with several of the boat’s crew, proceeded to
communicate with the officer of the station, carrying the
flag of truce along with them. They had not proceeded
more than 50 yards from the boat when they were suddenly
fired upon by Russian soldiers in ambush, and at the same
time those in the boat were also attacked. Of the crew of
eleven, six were killed and four badly wounded. The sur¬
vivors were carried to Eckness (except one of the wounded,
who made his escape in the boat), where they were treated
with great kindness; but no satisfaction was obtained for
this inhuman outrage.
The allied fleet- consisting of forty vessels, lay for more
than three weeks off the north side of Cronstadt without
attempting any hostile movement, and afterwards Admiral
Baynes was left in command of a strong squadron there.
One division of this squadron advanced along the north
side of the island of Cronstadt, until it cast anchor within
5 miles of the town and shipping, and in view of the spires
of St Petersburg. This part of the channel w'as found to
be thickly studded with “ infernal machines,” which were
taken up in large numbers by the boats. The only opera¬
tion of importance effected this year by the allied fleet in
the Baltic was the destruction of Sweaborg, which protects
the great naval station of Helsingfors. The allied fleet
arrived off Sweaborg on the 6th of August, and the two
following days were spent in making preparations for the
attack. The French had established a siege battery of four
mortars on the small island of Abraham, within 2500 yards
of the forts. They opened fire on the morning of the 9th,
and in less than three hours the shells were observed to
cause considerable damage in the fortress. Numerous
fires broke out on several points at the same time, and the
flames were soon seen to rise above the dome of the church
situated in the northern part of the island of Est-Swarto.
A monster explosion soon after took place, and was fol¬
lowed by three others in the course of half-an-hour. The
bombardment was kept up till the morning of the 11th,
and during that time Sweaborg presented the appearance
of a vast fiery furnace. Storehouses, magazines, barracks,
government establishments, and a great quantity of mili¬
tary stores were all destroyed. The loss on the side of the
allies was confined to one English sailor killed and a few
slightly wounded. Nothing further of any moment was
attempted by the allied fleet; and on the approach of winter
the main body returned home, leaving a flying squadron to
continue the blockade until the ice rendered the sea im¬
passable by vessels.
War in no'v turn f° the seat of war in Asia. We left the
Asia. Turkish army at Kars in the end of last year, and it was
not till the 16th of June that the Russians made their first
attack on that town. The Russian army was now nearly
40,000 strong, including 10,000 cavalry, and was under the
command of General Mouravieff. The cavalry drove in
the Bashi-Bazooks, who were posted in the plain to the
south-east of the city, but were checked and thrown into
disorder by a well-directed fire from the batteries of the
Koradagh and Hafiz Pasha. They subsequently brought up
their artillery and cannonaded the earthworks of those de¬
fences for some time without effect, and then retired. They,
however, invested the fortress and works so as to cut off
all supplies.
In the end of July Lieutenant-Colonel Williams was
sent out by the English government to act as her Ma¬
jesty’s commissioner at the head-quarters of the Turkish
army in Asia, and reached Kars about the middle of Sep- History,
tember. No attempt was made by the Russians to carry v ljr- .
the place by assault until the morning of the 29th of Sep- attack on
tember. At daybreak on that day they advanced in three Kars,
columns, supported by twenty-four guns, and attacked three
different parts of the defences. The garrison received them,
as soon as they came within i-ange, by a crushing fire of
artillery from all sides, but the Russians rushed up the hill
against the redoubts and breastworks in the face of a deadly
fire of musketry. After a long and desperate struggle, the
left division was completely broken, and fled in disorder
down the hill, leaving 850 meb dead on the field, besides
those carried off by their companions. The central column
attacked the redoubts of Tahmasb and Yukseh, and here a
sanguinary contest was maintained for several hours, the
enemy being repulsed in all his attempts to enter the closed
redoubts, which mutually flanked each other with their ar¬
tillery and musketry, and made terrible havoc among the
enemy. After a severe struggle, the right column turned
the left flank of the entrenched wing of the Tahmasb de¬
fences, and penetrated to the rear of the Turkish position.
They w7ere here met by several bodies of re-infbrcements
which immediately fired upon them, and then charged them
with the bayonet. At the same moment the Turkish
troops made a sortie from the Tahmasb redoubts and at¬
tacked the wavering column of the Russians, which broke
and fled down the heights, under a murderous fire of artil¬
lery. Meanwhile the Russians had captured, by over¬
whelming numbers, that portion of the defences called the
English tabias or redoubts ; but battalions of infantry were
sent up, which gallantly attacked and drove them out at the
point of the bayonet. The Russians now hastily retreated
along the whole line, and suffered severely from the bat¬
teries, which kept up an incessant fire upon their crowded
columns. General Williams, in his account of the battle
says,—“ During this combat, which lasted nearly seven
hours, the Turkish infantry, as well as artillery, fought with
the most determined courage ; and when it is recollected
that they had worked on their entrenchments, and guarded
them by night throughout a period extending to nearly
four months, I think your lordship will admit that they
have proved themselves worthy of the admiration of Europe,
and established an undoubted claim to be placed among the
most distinguished of its troops. With regard to the
enemy, as long as there was a chance of success, he perse¬
vered with undaunted courage, and the Russian officers
displayed the greatest gallantry. Their loss was immense ;
they left on the field more than 5C00 dead, which it took
the Turkish infantry four days to bury. Their wounded
and prisoners in our possession amount to 160, while those
who were carried off are said to be upwards of 7000.” rl he
Turkish army lost 362 dead and 631 wounded, and the
towns-people, who also fought with bravery, lost 101
men.
Notwithstanding this bloody repulse the Russians con¬
tinued their blockade of the town, and at length the gar¬
rison was reduced to the greatest distress. After the most
dire sufferings, and seeing no appearance of relief, they at
length agreed to surrender. The conditions agreed to
were highly honourable to the besieged, and the whole
conduct of General Mouravieff was honourable and cour¬
teous towards his unfortunate foes.
Before the close of the year 1855 Russia had given in- pf,ace
dications that she was desirous for peace ; and Austria,
doubtless feeling that she could not much longer remain, as
she had hitherto done, an almost passive spectator of the
war, strained every nerve to bring the opposing powers to
terms. Accordingly, in the month of December Count
Esterhazy was sent by the court of Vienna to St Peters¬
burg wdth certain proposals for peace which would be con¬
sented to by the allies. These proposals were acceded to
512 R U S
History, by Russia, and a meeting of representatives took place at
Vienna on the 1st of February. It was then agreed that
plenipotentiaries from each of the six states should as¬
semble at Paris on the 26th of February. Prussia was
also invited to send representatives to the conference.
The conference opened on that day, and their first busi¬
ness was to declare an armistice, which was to cease,
if not renewed, on the 31st of March next. The con¬
ference lasted until the 30th of March, on which day the
treaty of peace was definitely signed, but the ratifications
were not exchanged until the 27th of April following. The
substance of the treaty of peace was :—That the territories
conquered or occupied by the respective belligerent powers
be evacuated and restored; that prisoners of war be im¬
mediately delivered up on either side, and full and entire
amnesty granted to those subjects of either party that may
have been compromised by connection with the enemy.
Each and all of the other states engage to respect and main¬
tain the independence and territorial integrity of the Otto¬
man empire, and declare the Sublime Porte admitted to par¬
ticipate in the advantages of the public law and system of
Europe. In the event of a misunderstanding between the
Sublime Porte and one or more of the other contracting
powers, each engages to submit the cause of quarrel to the
others before having recourse to arms. The sultan records
his generous intentions towards the Christian population of
his empire; and intimates his having issued a firman with
the view to ameliorate the condition of his subjects, without
respect to sect or race,—it being, however, clearly under¬
stood that none of the other powers shall have right to
interfere in the relations of his majesty with his subjects,
nor in the internal administration of his empire. The con¬
vention of 1841, which maintained the right of the sultan
to close the Straits of the Dardanelles and the Bosphorus to
all foreign ships of war is confirmed, reserving always to
the sultan the right to grant firmans of passage for light
vessels under flag of war employed in the service of the
missions of foreign powers; or stationed, according to
treaty, at the mouths of the Danube (in number not ex¬
ceeding two for each power) to secure the execution of the
regulations relative to the liberty of that river. The waters
and ports of the Black Sea are thrown open to the mer¬
cantile marine of every nation, the two bordering powers
engaging not to establish or maintain any military-mari¬
time arsenal upon the coast. These two powers further
mutually engage each not to have in that sea more ships of
war than six steam-vessels of 50 metres (164 feet) in length
at the line of floatation, of a tonnage of 800 tons at the
maximum, and four light steam or sailing vessels of a ton¬
nage which shall not exceed 200 tons each. The naviga¬
tion of the Danube shall be free to the flags of all nations,
in accordance with the principles established by the act of
the congress of Vienna to regulate the navigation of rivers
which separate or traverse different states ; and to carry out
these views a commission shall be named composed of a
delegate for each of the seven contracting states, who shall
also cause to be executed the works necessary to clear the
mouths of the Danube, and put and maintain them in the
best possible state for navigation; to cover the expenses of
which fixed duties of a suitable rate shall be levied, but no
duty or charge shall be leviable founded solely upon the
fact of the navigation of the river. A permanent commis¬
sion, composed of a delegate for each of Austria, Bavaria,
Turkey, and Wurtemberg, and commissioners from the
three Danubian principalities, subject to the approval ot the
Porte, shall prepare regulations of navigation and river
police, remove all impediments to the navigation of the
river, and on the termination of the European commission
(within two years) shall assume their powers, and duties.
To insure the due execution of these regulations each of
the contracting powers shall have right to station at all
SI A.
times two light vessels at the mouths of the Danube. In History,
order the more fully to secure the Tree navigation of the
Danube, and in consideration of the possessions restored to
him, the Emperor of Russia consents to the rectification of
his frontier in Bessarabia; the new frontier-line to be from
the Black Sea, 1 kilometre east of the Lake Bourna Sola,
northward to the Akerman road, then along that road and
the Wall of Trajan, passing south of Bolgrad to the River
Yalpuck, extending along that river to the height of Sarat-
sika, and terminating at Katamori on the Pruth, above
which the old frontier should undergo no modification ;
the territory thus ceded to be annexed to the principality
of Moldavia, under the suzerainty of the Sublime Porte.
The principalities of Wallachia and Moldavia to continue
under the suzerainty of the Porte, which engages to pre¬
serve to them an independent and national administration,
as well as full liberty of worship, legislation, commerce, and
navigation. The laws and statutes at present in force to
be revised by a special commission, to meet at Bucharest
without delay; and the sultan to convoke immediately in
each of the two provinces a divan ad hoc, representing
most closely all classes of society, to express the wishes of
the people in regard to the organization of the Principali¬
ties. The report of the commission having regard to the
opinions expressed by the two divans, shall be submitted
to a convention to meet at Paris, and in conformity with
the stipulations of that convention, a hatti-sherif shall con¬
stitute definitively the organization of those provinces. No
exclusive protection shall, however, be exercised over them
by any of the other contracting powers, nor shall there be
any separate right of interference in their international
affairs. If the internal tranquillity of the Principalities
shall be menaced or compromised, the Sublime Porte shall
come to an understanding with the other contracting powers
regarding the steps to be taken to restore peace, and no
armed intervention shall take place without their sanction.
The principality of Servia to continue to hold of the Sub¬
lime Porte, in conformity with the imperial hattis, which fix
and determine its rights and immunities, under the collec¬
tive guarantee of the contracting powers. A commission,
consisting of two Russian, two Turkish, one French, and
one English commissioners, to be appointed to settle the
boundary between Russia and Turkey in Asia, as before
the war. The Emperor of Russia further engaged to
France and England that the Aland Islands should not be
fortified, or any military or naval establishment maintained
or created there.
Several disputes subsequently arose regarding the inter¬
pretation of certain parts of this treaty, all of which, how¬
ever, were at length satisfactorily arranged. One of these
was regarding the Isle of Serpents at the mouth of the
Danube ; another was regarding the possession of Bolgrad,
and the frontier of Russia towards the Danube. On the
maps before the conference, furnished b) the French go¬
vernment, the town of Bolgrad was placed at some dis¬
tance from the Lake of Yalpuck, and the Russians strongly
insisted on the possession of this town, in order to have
a capital for the Bulgarian colonies, that still remained in
their possession. It was subsequently found, however,
that Bolgrad stood at the northern extremity of the lake,
and to allow it to remain in the hands of Russia was directly
contrary to the spirit of that part of the treaty which was
to remove Russia from all direct communication with the
Danube and Lower Pruth. Accordingly, Bolgrad was
assigned to Moldavia; and to meet the desire of Russia to
have a capital for her Bulgarian colonies, the town of
Komrat, on the right bank of the Yalpuck, was given to her,
the boundary-line from the point where the Kirsaou falls
into the Yalpuck proceeding up the former stream instead
of up the latter. The Isle of Serpents, it was agreed, should
belong to Turkey, and it was also agreed that the islands
RUSSIA.
Statistics, included between the different branches of the Danube at
its mouth, and forming the delta of that river, should, in¬
stead of being annexed to Moldavia, be replaced under the
immediate sovereignty of the Sublime Porte, of which they
formerly held. A treaty in these terms was signed at
Paris on 19th June 1857 by representatives of the several
powers.
The final evacuation of the Crimea took place on the
12th of July, on which day Sevastopol and Balaklava were
formally given up to the Russians. The coronation of the
513
emperor took place at Moscow on the 7th of September, Statistics,
under circumstances of extraordinary splendour, and was
attended by special representatives from all the powers
with which Russia had been recently at war. The new
monarch has already done much to ameliorate the condi¬
tion of his subjects, by the adoption of many liberal and en¬
lightened measures favouring the spread of education, en¬
couraging commerce and manufactures, alleviating the bur¬
dens of taxation, &e., as will be found noticed in the dif¬
ferent sections of the subsequent portion of this article.
List of the Dukes, Czars, and Emperors of Russia, with the Date of their Accession.
I. Duxes oe Kief.
Ruric 
Tgor 
Sviatoslaf 
Yaropolk I 
Vladimir I., the Great 
Yaroslaf I 
Isiaslaf I 
Vsevolod I 
Sviatopolk 
Vladimir II   
Mstislaf or Michael I 
Yaropolk II 
Viatcheslaf (eight days)...
Vsevolod II 
Isiaslaf II 
Rostislaf 
Isiaslaf III 
Yury, Igor, or George
I 
A.D.
861
878
945
972
980
1015
1054
1078
1093
1114
1125
1132
1138
1146
1154
1155
II. Grand Dukes of Vladimir.
Andrew I   
Michael II 
Vsevolod III  
Yury, Igor, or George II.
Yaroslaf II 
Saint Alexander Keff-
sky   
Yaroslaf III 
Vasilii.or Basil I 
Dimitri I 
Daniel 
Yury, Igor, or George III.
Michael III 
Vasilii or Basil II 
George III., restored 
A.D.
1157
1177
1213
1238
1245
1263
1270
1277
1294
1302
1305
1320
1325
III. Grand Dukes of Moscow.
Ivan or John 1  1328
Simeon   1340
Ivan or John II  1353
Dimitri II  1359
Vasilii or Basil III  1389
Vasilii or Basil IV.  1425
Ivan or John III  1462
Vasilii or Basil V.    1506
IV. Czars of Muscovy.
Ivan or John IV  1534
Feodor or Theodore 1  1584
Boris Dodunof  1598
Feodor or Theodore II.
(six weeks)  1605
Dmitri (pretended son of
Ivan IV.)  1605
Schuiskoy or Basil VI  1606
Vladislaf (elected, but re¬
fused the crown)  1610
Mikhail or Michael (Ro-
manof)  1613
A.D.
Alexei  1645
Feodor or Theodore III.... 1676
Ivan V. and Peter I., to¬
gether   1682
V. Emperors of Russia.
Peter I., the Great, alone.. 1696
Catharine 1  1725
Peter II  1727
Anne    1730
Ivan VI  1740
Elizabeth   1741
Peter III  1762
Catharine II  1762
Paul  1796
Alexander 1  1801
Nicholas  1825
Alexander II., the present
emperor  1855
Geography and Statistics.
Geographi- Russia, the largest of all empires, ancient or modern, in
cal extent, the world, forms a connected territory extending west to
east from 17. 40. to 232. 30. E. Long, from Greenwich;
or in words, from the frontier post-station Pyzdry in Poland,
on the Prussian border, at the confluence of ithe Wartha
and Prosna, to Observatory Inlet, opposite the N.E. point
of Queen Charlotte’s Island in North America; and south
to north from 38. 25. to 78. 26. of N. Lat., or from the most
southerly inhabited point of the Russian empire, the mouth
of the Astarii River in the Caspian, to Cape Severo-Vos-
totchnoi in Siberia.1 Russia thus embraces nearly 215 de¬
grees of longitude, or two-thirds of the circumference of
the earth, and more than 40 degrees of latitude; one-sixth
of the habitable globe, and one twenty-third of its whole
superficies. Between its two farthest points, west by east,
the length in a straight line is about 9681, and the greatest
breadth about 2628 miles. The sea-board, which is little
available, stretches over 25,100, and the land frontier over
9200 miles. The superficial area is difficult of computation;
but, as nearly as possible, it may be estimated as follows:—
Eng. sq. miles.
The forty-nine European governments2   1,848,564
Poland   49,167
Finland     145,668
The Caucasus   167,832
Siberia  4,940,875
North American Possessions  370,905
7,523,011
Recent acquisitions in Daooria and the Amoor
region   1,059,730
Total  8,582,741
Where, however, extreme limits are not only far from pre¬
cisely defined, but are even, through their vastness, partly un¬
known to the Russian government itself, where extension of
frontier is almost yearly going on, and where the learned
themselves disagree, entire accuracy is of course unattainable.
The Russian government admits of no distinction between
European and Asiatic Russia, but views these divisions as
forming a compact whole ; some governments lying partly
in Europe and partly in Asia. The natural boundary,
however, betwixt European and Asiatic Russia is formed
by the River Kara, the Ooral chain of mountains, the River
Ooral to its mouth in the Caspian, and thence by the shores
of this sea to the eastern extremity of the Caucasus. The
natural division between Asiatic and North American Russia
is formed by Behring’s Straits. To the north Russia is
bounded by Norwegian Lapland and the Arctic Ocean ; to
the east by British North America; to the south by the Sea
of Okhotsk, the Gulf of Tartary, China, Free Tartary, the
Caspian Sea (which it now mostly includes), Persia, Turkish
Armenia, the Black Sea, and European Turkey ; to the
west by Moldavia, Galicia (including Cracow), Prussia, the
Baltic Sea, Sweden and Norway. By the treaty of 1858
with China, the whole left bank of the Amoor, from its
source down to the Oossoori, one of its chief affluents, be¬
longs to Russia, and the right to China; from the Oossoori,
downwards to the Gulf of Tartary, both banks now be¬
long to Russia. The new measurement of the boundary
with China will be laid down from an angle taken 60 versts
(40 miles) up the Oossoori, and extending, as said, down to
the Gulf of Tartary. Turning to another part of the ter¬
ritory, the impending absorption into Russia of the Caucasus
will lend interest to a more circumstantial account of this
region. The line drawn from the mouth of the Kooban,
1 Russia, like Germany and many other powers, draws her first meridian from the island of Ferro, 20° W. from Paris, 17° 39' 50-"6
W. of Greenwich, and 47° 59' 30-"6 \Vr. of Poolkova. Russia adopts this method for the sake of not having two longitudes, E. and W.
She has now her own observatory at Poolkova, but calculations are made from that spot only for astronomical and chronometrical pur¬
poses. Russian navigation charts are generally constructed from Greenwich. Cape Severo-Vostotchnoi means North-East Cape.
2 Those parts of the governments of Perm and Orenburg which are situated beyond the Ooral in Asia are included here.
YOL. XIX. 3 x
514
Statistics.
General
aspect.
RU S
which falls into the Black Sea, to the mouth of the Terek
in the Caspian, is called the northern boundary, or line ot
the Caucasus. The southern boundary extends from the
mouth of the Reon to that of the Koor. The whole length
of the Caucasian mountain range, from Fort Anapa on the
Black Sea, to Cape Apsheron on the Caspian, is calculated
at 691 miles. The whole superficial extent of the Cauca¬
sian isthmus, reckoning from within the limits indicated, is
167,733 English square miles; of which are subjected to
Russia 123,245, and are yet free 44,488. The whole po¬
pulation amounts to 4,058,064 souls ; and of this number are
already subjugated 3,391,064,—viz., Christians, 1,762,741 ;
Mohammedans, or of other religions, 2,295,323.
The languages of all the mountain tribes are totally dis¬
tinct, and show that these races were not originally a ho¬
mogeneous people, but a residue of the different nations
from various quarters, which were either driven to this spot
of earth by other nations pressing on them, or were the
subsidence both of them and of the aborigines. It is also
worthy of note, that war is more seriously carried on in
that region of the Caucasus which lies towards the Caspian,
and in" particular with the Lezgheen and Tchetchentsi
tribes; less so on the Black Sea region, with the Adeeghi,
Oobekhi, and Abkh^ztsi tribes. It is further remarkable,
that in the subjugated Caucasus only twenty-four souls go
to the English square mile, whereas there are forty-nine to
the English square mile in the unsubjugated portion : thus
showing how these races are being fast hemmed in prior to
their ultimate absorption into the Russian empire.
Generally, as regards the boundaries of Russia, the fol¬
lowing remarks may be noted as of vital importance to
England. The Asiatic border of Russia on China, and to¬
wards India, passes in the Keergheez region beyond the
Caspian, down from Fort Peroffski on the Sir Daria, in an
easterly direction, to Lake Teletski, and farther along the
River Tchoo round Lake Eesseek-kool, thence from Ees-
seek-kool to the north-east, where the regular Chinese
boundary commences. The Rock-Keergheez dwell about
this last-mentioned lake, in a cauldron-shaped hollow en¬
vironed by snow-capped mountains of immense height. A
little to the north of Lake Eesseek-kool, between it and
the River Eelee, is situated Fort Vernoyeh, which com¬
mands the whole of this Keergheez region. Higher up,
again, we come to the south-eastern boundary of Russia
towards India, and would beg to call special attention to
the following facts, as important to English policy. By the
embankment of the Volga mouths at the Caspian, and the
large establishments forming in that quarter, Russia is
brought 2000 English miles nearer to India; and were once
the Amoo Daria or Oxus reverted into its former course
ofdisemboguementin the Caspian, a navigable road is ready
made to within 500 miles of Herat. The skill of the natives
in this sort of work is quite astonishing. The consequences
may be appreciated when we reflect that all past history
shows how uniformly Central Asia has been the arena of
events controlling the ultimate destiny of the human race.
Any future struggle for mastery between Russia and Eng¬
land must eventually be fought out on this field. Let us
look to it!
European Russia, together with Poland, belongs to that
immense plain which begins in Holland, and extends over
the north of Germany and the whole east of Europe. From
the Carpathian to the Ooral range, a distance of 500
leagues, all is one undulating level, without a mountain to
break the monotonous lowness of the horizon, or oppose a
barrier to the winds. A great proportion of it, in the south
especially, Consists of those immense tracts called steppes,
which, like the pampas of South America, present to the
eye only a dead flat for many hundreds of miles. Occa¬
sionally, indeed, the surface is diversified by ancient tu¬
muli, supposed to be the burial-places of the Scythians, and
SI A.
here and there small table-lands occur; but the latter rise Statistics,
so gently as to be scarcely perceptible. Of these, the most '*—**sf**S
worthy of notice are the Valdai Hills, situated in the govern¬
ments of Moscow, Tver, and Toola, the loftiest summit of
which, lying between the villages of Toloshva and Mosti,
and the towns of OstashkofF and Valdai, is only 1000 feet
in height. No part of the Valdai Hills is very rugged ; on
the contrary, they form a gently-sloping plain ; but the
rivers and lakes are usually inclosed by steep banks. They
form the watershed between rivers flowing into the Baltic
and those flowing into the Black and Caspian seas; and
here, within a short distance of each other, are the sources
of the rivers Volga, Dvina, Dnieper, Lov&t, Pola. and
other smaller ones. To the north-east the land gradually
slopes to the shores of the Baltic Sea, themselves mostly
flat, and is for the greater part covered with immense fo¬
rests, marshes, and turf-moors. Between this ocean inlet
and the White Sea, on the N.N.W., lies an expanse of
country richer in water than any other in Europe. Here
a multitude of lakes, large and small, are united together
like a net-work of water, and between them extend those
rocky ridges which, on the north-west, rise into the inferior
Finnish chain of hills. These, however, sink again towards
the Lake Enara and the River Tana, without joining the
Scandinavian system of mountains. Proceeding south-west
from the interior hills of Valdai', the land also gradually
sinks and changes into the immense marshes lying between
Minsk and Volhynia, called Polessieh. Through these the
River Priepetz, the great feeder of the Dnieper, pursues
its course, constituting their drain or outlet. The northern
declivities of the Carpathian Mountains only in a few places
cross the borders of the Austrian territory and enter Rus¬
sia, but not as hills of any height. Near the sources of the
Oder they stretch on towards the Vistula, and along this
stream, in the form of a plateau 800 feet in height, rising
eastwards between Pilica and the above river into groups
of mountains, which extend in five parallel chains, having
for a distance of 90 a breadth of about 50 miles. In two
or three places they rise to the height of more than 1000
feet, and these are the loftiest points in Poland. Upon the
other side, in the east, the declivities of the Carpathian
range form a broad table-land, extending across the whole
of Southern Russia. It thus separates the low land of the
interior from the maritime country of the Black Sea. Un¬
like the table-land of Valdai, which bears on its broad sur¬
face lakes and fens, this southern plateau consists of large
steppes, watered by the rivers Dniester, Dnieper, and Don,
which here form cataracts. Between the last-named stream
and the Volga it rises as a continuation of the lower Volga
range, which, under the name of the Irgheni Hills, extends
southwards to the Caucasus. On the peninsula of the
Crimea a wholly insulated chain of mountains rises to a
considerable height, and runs from east to west nearly 120
miles, close to the coast of the Black Sea. In one part it
attains an elevation of 5185 feet. Along the eastern bound-
ary of European Russia the Ooral mountain chain extends
from the shores of the Frozen Ocean southwards towards
the Caspian Sea for a distance of nearly 1500 miles, uncon¬
nected with any other mountain system of Europe. The
northern portion of the Ooral chain, from the Straits of
Waygats to the sources of the Petchora, consists of rough
naked limestone rocks, and rises to a considerable height;
but this part of the country is comparatively little known.
The middle portion of the chain, as tar as the sources of the
Oofa, called the Verkhotoorie Oorals, forms a broad table¬
land of moderate elevation, overspread with morasses.
Farther to the south the Oorals rise again in height, and
become thickly wooded ; whilst in the government ot Oren¬
burg they expand into broad ramifications on both sides of
the River Ooral. The chain, with all its branches, sinks
towards the Caspian, without coming into contact on the
R U S
Statistics, east with the mountain systems of Asia. It is called, at
v'—different points, the Orenburg, Bashkir, and Keergheez
Oorals, and sends out an offshoot on the south-west between
the rivers Ooral and Samara,—the Obshtchei-Syrt, which
stretches to the banks of the Volga. The Sok Mountains
form a part of this spur of the Oorals. There are seven
defiles or passes through this great range, the most practi¬
cable of which are the roads from Perm and Orenburg into
Asia. Between the southern declivities of the Oorals and
the Caspian Sea and Lake Aral there is an opening of
about 280 miles in breadth, through which more than once
the hordes of Asia have poured like a flood over Europe.
Steppes Steppes and toondras are an important feature of the
drast0°n" geography of Russia. These steppes are treeless tracts of
country, mostly level, although not uniformly so; and often
bear heather or feather-grass, called/fovee// {Stipapennatd),
on a soil sometimes fertile, and sometimes arid, marshy, or
sandy. They are in their nature to the south and east
what the toondras are to the north of Russia, in the govern¬
ments of Olonetz and Arkhangel, mostly toward the shores
of the Arctic Ocean. The toondras are also treeless wastes,
bearing a poor vegetation of low shrubs on a moss or turf
surface. The steppe region extends from the River Pruth,
across the lower water-courses of the Dniester, Boog,
Dnieper, and Don, as far as the Volga and Caspian Sea.
There is but one acclivity in the western part of this re¬
gion, Bessarabia, where the Carpathians branch off; and in
the southern, where the Taurian mountains rise. It is only
in the western and middle parts that rich meadow-land is
met with ; the rest is poorly watered, thinly-populated, and,
notwithstanding the occasional fertility of the soil, but little
favourable to agriculture. The Taurian peninsula, although
belonging by its position to the middle part of this flat re¬
gion, has quite another character, and totally differs from it
in the variety of its vegetable kingdom; the mountains and
their declivities being covered with building and ship-
timber, and the slopes with fruitful vineyards. In the
valleys, particularly of the southern coast, the most delicate
fruits attain to maturity. The eastern part of this plain,
mostly sandy, is covered with bogs and salt-marshes; agri¬
culture is almost unknown, and there is little arable land,
excepting at the foot of the Caucasus. The land of the
Don Kozzacks, an oasis in this part of the huge level, has a
better soil, favourable to the pursuits of the husbandman.
According to Pallas, part of this immense level must, at
some remote period, have lain beneath the tide of the ocean.
Rivers. The soil of Russia is so slightly undulated that to con¬
sider the spaces traversed by its rivers as true basins would
be an abuse of terms, notwithstanding that it contains the
most important water-courses in Europe. Some emi¬
nent geographers have adopted the plan of classifying the
rivers according to the seas into which they discharge
themselves ; and as it has several advantages over the
usual method of describing the streams of a country in the
order of their size and importance, we shall follow it. In
the declivity which slopes to the Black Sea and the Sea of
Azoff there is (1.) the Pruth, an affluent of the Danube.
It descends from the mountains of Galicia or Austrian Po¬
land, and in the northern part separates Bessarabia in
Russia from Moldavia in Turkey. (2.) The Dniester, which
rises also in Galicia, and flows, winding serpent-like, towards
Russia. Below Chotzim it is broken by rapids, so that near
Bender boat navigation is interrupted; and without re¬
ceiving any tributaries of importance, it falls into the Black
Sea at the broad but shallow estuary or lake of Ovidovo.
(3.) The Dnieper, which has its source in the government
of Smolensk, on the southern slope of the Valdai' Hills, and
empties itself into the Black Sea below Kherson. This
noble stream receives many tributaries; amongst which, on
the right, flow into it the Berezina, the Priepetz, and the
Ingooletz; and on the left, the Soj, the Desna, Soola, Psiol,
S I A. 515
Vo r ski a, and others. This river is the ancient Borysthenes. Statistics.
(4.) The Don, which originates in the small lake of Ivan-
ovsko, in the government of Riazan. After intersecting
the Kozzack territory, to which it gives name, it discharges
itself below Tcherkask into the Sea of Azoff bv several
mouths. In summer it is shallow ; in spring it overflows its
low banks to a great extent, and forms unhealthy morasses.
Its principal affluents on the right are the Metcha, Nepri-
avda, and Donetz ; and on the left the Voronej (on which
stream Peter the Great built his ships for the Black Sea),
the Khoper, Medveditsa, Ilovlia, and Manitch. (5.) The
Kooban, which descends from the northern side of Elburz
in the Caucasus, flows first north and then west, upon the
boundary between Asia and Europe. It separates into two
main branches, the northern of which falls into the Sea of
Azoff, and the southern into the Black Sea.
On the Caspian declivity we have (1.) the Volga, the
largest river in Europe. It originates in a small lake in
the government of Tver, near the village of Volgo-Verk-
hovie, in the forest of Volkonski, in N. Lat. 57. It traverses
lakes Oselok, Piana, and Volga; and on receiving the
waters of the River Selizarovka from Lake Seligher, it be¬
comes navigable, and falls into the Caspian Sea at Astra¬
khan by eight principal arms, which have in all sixty-five
mouths, forming about seventy islands. It has thirty-eight
navigable and one hundred and fifty-seven unnavigable tri¬
butaries, the principal of which on the left is the Kama or
Little Volga, which has a course of about 1000 miles in
length. Before the Volga receives the Kama the rivers
Tvertsa, Mologa, Oonja, Vetlooga, and others, join it on the
left; and on the right the Oka, which descends from the
water-shed where the Don and Dnieper originate, and the
Soor^, which flows from the Volga hills. The Volga is
upwards of 2000 miles in length. Its breadth at Astrakhan,
where it embraces many islands, is 5 leagues. The depth
varies from 7 to 18 feet. In the winter it is covered with
ice throughout its whole extent, but there are always many
apertures in the south from which currents of air escape,
and hence they are termed the lungs of the Volga. During
summer the Volga is crowded with thousands of boats, con¬
structed in the well-wooded districts of Russia, and con¬
veying from the interior all sorts of commodities to St Peters¬
burg, where, being destined only for a single journey, they
are usually broken up and sold. This noble river is the chief
commercial road of the whole interior of the Russian empire.
It encircles the central table-land, receiving, as we have
seen, the Oka, the principal river of this fertile region. It
communicates in the upper part of its course, by the canal
of Vishni-Volotchock, with the Lakes Ladoga and Onega ;
and lastly, the Kama conveys to it all the waters of Eastern
Russia. (2.) The Ooral, formerly the Ya'ik, but so called
in conformity to a decree of Catherine II. in order to obli¬
terate the remembrance of PoogatchofF’s rebellion. It
descends from the eastern declivities of the mountains that
bear the same name, and, flowing in a smooth channel suffi¬
ciently deep for small vessels, traces out for a considerable
distance the eastern and southern frontiers of the govern¬
ment of Orenburg, and the eastern limits of Europe. On
the right it receives the Sakmara ; on the left the Ilek ; and
after a course of above 1000 miles, falls into the Caspian
near Gourieff. (3.) The Terek rises at the base of the
Kazbek; receives on the right the rivers Songa and Aksai;
on the left the Oorong, Tsherek, Bekhar, and Malka; and
enters the Caspian by three principal mouths.
On the declivity of the Frozen Ocean we have (1.) the
Petchora, which rises in the Ooral mountain range, and
traverses the most solitary deserts of Russia, the govern¬
ments of Arkhangel and Vologda. Its steep calcareous
banks are broken by caverns and ravines; and hence its
name Petchora, which in the Russian language signifies
caverns. After receiving, amongst other tributaries, the
516 E U S
Statistics. Oossa on the right, and the Tzma and Tsilma on the left,
if. f^ijg jnj.0 j-]ie Arctic Ocean in N. Lat. 6/. 10., its mouths
forming an immense estuary. The length of its couise is
about 670 miles. (2.) The Mezen, which originates in
some bogs in the government of Vologda, and after a^
course of 500 or 600 miles discharges itself into a bay of
the same name on the shores of the White Sea, almost
under the Polar Circle. (3.) The Dvina is the name which
the rivers Sookhona and Yoog receive after their junction
near Veliki-Dost-Yoog. The Sookhona flows from Lake
Koobinskoie, in the government of Vologda ; and the Yoog
rises in the same government, but is a much smaller stream.
The Dvina does not assume the dimensions of a large
river till after the junction of the Vytchegda, which falls
into it on the right. Near Kholmogory the Dvina divides
into several arms, and after a course of above 650 miles falls
into a gulf of the same name. Its mouth is greatly ob¬
structed by a bar of mud. (4.) The Onega, which is the
outlet of several lakes, but not that of Onega, although it
is situated in the neighbourhood.
The declivity of the Baltic Sea is furrowed by several
rivers : (1.) The Torneo, which originates in Swedish Lap-
land and after the confluence of its great tributary the
Muonio, forms to its mouth into the Baltic the boundary
between Russia and Sweden. The Muonio likewise traces
for some distance the limit of the empire on this side. The
Torneo has a course of about 280 miles. (2.) The Neva.
Its length from Schlusselburg, at the south-west angle of
the Ladoga Lake, to its mouth is 44 miles ; its direction that
of a straight line from east to west; its medium breadth
about 1500 feet, and its depth, in many places 70 or 80
feet, is generally in the channel about 50 feet. The water
of this river is remarkably pure. This noble stream is the
only outlet for the waters of four great basins, each of which
has an extensive natural reservoir of its own. These reser¬
voirs are the lakes Onega, Ilmen, Saima, and Ladoga, the
last receiving the drains of the other three. Ten different
streams flow into the Onega, whose length from north to
south is 120 miles, and its breadth from east to west 46 miles.
It discharges itself into the Lake Ladoga by the Sveer, a river
133 miles long, and of very unequal breadth. The Ilmen
is 36 miles long from north-east to south-west, and about
20 wide from north-west to south-east. It receives eleven
streams, and has its outlet into the Ladoga by the Volkhoff,
135 miles long, with a medium breadth of 400 feet. The
Sai'ma is a collection of lakes, gulfs, and bays, of all shapes
and sizes, communicating with each other, rather than a
single sheet of water, and is about 145 miles in length by
about 50 in extreme breadth. It communicates with the
Ladoga by means of the Voxa, a river about 119 miles in
length, but not navigable in consequence of its several rapids,
of which the most considerable, that of Imatra, has an in¬
clination of upwards of 32 feet, forming a grander fall than
that of Schaffhausen, and second only in Europe to the
Trollhatta in Sweden. Besides the Sveer, Volkoff, and
\ oxa, the Ladoga receives the water of thirteen other
streams. This, the largest lake of Europe, is about 130
miles long, 75 broad, of an oval form, and having an area
of 6360 square miles. The Onega has an estimated area of
5300, the Saima of 2660, and the Ilmen of 300 square miles.
(See Petersburg, St.) (3.) The Diina, or Southern Dvina,
originates in a fen on the western declivities of the forest of
Volkonski, in the government of Tver, not far from the
sources of the Volga. It soon becomes deep enough to be
navigable, but its course is broken by rapids and sandbanks;
it falls into the Bay of Riga without having received in its
course any affluents of importance. (4.) The Niemen, which
rises in the forests of Kopisloff, in the government of Minsk,
flows first in a northerly direction, and then, bending to the
west, enters Prussia under the name of the Memel. On
the right it receives the Vilia, a navigable stream ; and on
S I A.
the left one or two others, not important enough for notice. Statistics.
(5.) The Vistula rises in the principality of Teschen in
Austrian Silesia, at the foot of the western Carpathian range
of mountains. It flows in an easterly direction to Cracow,
where it becomes navigable, and as far as Sandomir forms
a boundary-line between Galicia and Poland. Amongst
its affluents the most important is the Boog, which origi¬
nates on the northern side of a chain or lofty ridge of hills
separating the chalky lands of Volhyniafrom the rich plains
of Podolia, and receiving at Sierock the Nareff, a river
which flows from the plains of Lithuania. Its other tribu¬
taries are the Wieprz, the Pilica, the San, and the Bzura.
(6.) The Wartha, a river which rises in a plateau near
Kromoloff in Cracow, flows in a broad channel like the Vis¬
tula, and inundates the neighbouring fields. After re¬
ceiving the Ner it becomes navigable ; and though not so
deep as the Vistula, may be considered a large river.
After receiving the Prosna, which for a great distance forms
the boundary between Poland and Prussia, the Wartha
flows into the Prussian territory, and joins the Oder.
The Baltic, the Black Sea, and the Caspian, will be found Lakes,
described under their respective heads in this work. In ^’tsand
the foregoing account of the rivers of Russia we have no¬
ticed four of the most considerable sheets of water in this
country. Deep in the interior are a few pretty large col¬
lections of water ; but lakes are not a characteristic of Rus¬
sia, except in the north-west part, where Finland is situated.
Here, indeed, immense numbers of w inding lakes, of varied
form and dimensions, intersect the country in all directions,
giving rise to numerous rivers, but none of them irrigates a
great extent of country. All these, surrounded by rocky
shores, a sterile soil, and pine-clad hills, present the most
striking scenery in European Russia, but afford few facili¬
ties for internal intercourse. The coasts of Russia are
deeply penetrated by large arms of the sea, forming gulfs,
bays, and creeks. Besides the Black and Baltic seas we
have the Kara Sea, signifying “brown” or “hazel,” which is
the most easterly, and washes at once Europe and Asia. It
is 450 miles in length ; but navigation is almost constantly
obstructed by the ice at its northern entrance. On the
north-west is the Bieloie Morie, or White Sea, wdiich itself
embosoms a number of bays and gulfs of considerable size.
The largest of these are the Gulfs of Mezen, Dvina, and
Onega, so called from the rivers which flow into them ; and
Kandalask, which communicates with Lake Kovdozero.
The White Sea is about the same length as that of Kara,
with a breadth of from 60 to 70 miles. Between these two
great inlets of the Arctic Ocean occur other gulfs ; the
most considerable being Tcheskaia, which is separated from
the White Sea by the peninsula of Kaniskaia Zemlia; and
that formed to the east of this by the estuary of the Petchora.
The extensive inlets of the sea above mentioned of course Capes, &c-
form numerous promontories. In looking over a good map
the most striking to the eye is Cape Kanin, the north¬
western extremity of the peninsula of Kaniskaia Zemlia.
This neck of land, which separates the Gulf of Tchesk from
the White Sea, stretches directly north into the Arctic
Oce*an, a distance of about 150 miles. Its breadth is be¬
tween 40 and 50 miles. Cape Onega projects into the
White Sea near the bottom of that gulf, and forms the Bay
of Arkhangel on the N.E. and the Bay of Onega on the
S.W.
The geological structure of Russia in Europe corresponds Geology,
in its vastness and simplicity to the other characters of that
huge empire. Single formations extend over spaces equal¬
ling whole kingdoms, and have never been broken up or
subjected to those igneous convulsions which have compli¬
cated the structure of other parts of Europe. From Fin¬
land and the shores of the Baltic, till we reach the low
ridges of the Ooral, and from the Arctic Sea almost to the
Black Sea and the Caspian, no trace of igneous or intrusive
R U S
Statistics, rock breaks the wide expanse of the regularly-stratified
deposits.
The oldest and deepest-seated strata are the great masses
of granitic and hornblendic gneiss, generally dipping S.E.,
which compose nearly the whole province of Finland. They
form a low, undulating country, lull of irregular lakes and
morasses, and rarely varied even by intrusive igneous rocks
except near Lake Onega. But immediately south-east of
the depression from the White Sea to the Gulf of Finland,
the series of fossiliferous deposits begins. The first of
these is the Silurian formation, stretching from the southern
extremity of Lake Ladoga, by St Petersburg and Esthonia,
to the islands Dago and Oesel in the Baltic. The
Lower Silurian is well seen in the cliffs of the Esthonian
coast, and forms all the flat country round the capital. It
begins below with beds of blue or greenish clays, marked
with fucoidal impressions, and still so soft and plastic as to
be readily moulded with the hand, though the equivalent in
age of the hard, compact slaty rocks of Wales. Above are
beds of white or yellow sand, occasionally hardened into a
calcareous sandstone, named the ungulite grit by native
geologists, from the abundant remains of the horny shell of
the obolus or ungulite. Dark-coloured graptolite slates, often
bituminous, and a thin band of greensand, containing the
curious bodies named conodonts by Pander, and supposed
by him to be teeth of fishes, but which are rather remains of
molluscs or annelids, follow. These are covered by the Pleta
or orthoceratite limestone, rich in remains of trilobites, orthi-
dae, orthoceratites, and other characteristic fossils, identify¬
ing it with the strata of our own country. Above these
deposits, especially in the island of Oesel, bands of marly
or dolomitic limestone, often grey-coloured and full of the
pentamerus and other fossils, represents the Wenlock or
upper Silurian of England. In this region all these beds
are soft, incoherent, and slightly consolidated; and it is
only where they again appear in a narrow zone skirting
the western declivities of the Ooral, and pierced by the gra¬
nites, syenites, porphyries, and trap rocks of that chain, that
they assume a liarder and denser structure, and even graduate
into metamorphic and crystalline strata.
Next in order is the Devonian, or old red sandstone for¬
mation, extending over a much wider surface of 150,000
square miles, and thus considerably more than the whole
British Islands. Beginning in Courland and Livonia, and
resting on the Silurian beds, one branch runs north to the
shores of the White Sea, beyond Arkhangel, and skirts even
the west coast of the Kola peninsula. Another branch extends
south and east from the Valdai Hills, by Smolensk and Orel,
to the valley of the Don, north of Voroneje. In the northern
band sands and marls prevail south of St Petersburg, and
in the great region from the Baltic provinces to Orel red
and green marls, shales, and sands are covered by, or alter¬
nate with, laminated limestones. In these beds fossil fish,
—as the gigantic Asterolepis, the Osteolepis, Diplopterus,
Dipterus, Pterichthys, and lately the Coccosteus,—charac¬
teristic of Caithness and the north of Scotland,—are asso¬
ciated with the typical mollusca of Devonshire and the
Eifel. This important fact, first recorded by Sir K. I.
Murchison and his colleagues, thus casts a most valuable
light on the structure of our own country, where these dis¬
similar types of life have never been found conjoined.
To the east and north, as is well seen in the Valdai Hills,
the Devonian strata are overlaid by a scarcely less exten¬
sive deposit of Carboniferous beds. From Cape Voronin,
on the White Sea, they run down through Novgorod, Tver,
and Moscow, to Riazan, forming the upper basin of the
Volga, and the low plateau from which this river, the Don,
Dnieper, and Dvina diverge to the far-separated Caspian,
Euxine, and Baltic seas. Sinking down below the newer
formations in the centre of the kingdom, they re-appear in a
long, narrow zone along the flanks of the Ooral, and in other
S I A. 517
detached portions, showing an enormous underground ex- Statistics,
tension. In all this region it is, however, chiefly the lower
parts of the formation, or the mountain limestone, with its
characteristic crinoids, product!, and spirifers that are seen,
and the few seams of coal are thin and poor in quality.
Like the associated strata of sand and clay, the coal is only
half-mineralized, and more resembles the tertiary lignites
than the true coal of Western Europe. Recent attempts,
too, to find workable coal by boring through the overlying
Jurassic beds at Moscow have failed ; a small detached
field between the Donetz and the Sea of AzofFalone affords
a better promise. There several seams of good coal, inter-
stratified with sandstone, shale, and limestone, have been
wrought; and though the beds are often broken and highly
inclined, Sir R. I. Murchison thinks that valuable and ex¬
tensive deposits of this mineral may yet be discovered in
that vicinity.
The Permian, which succeeds, is the most extensive for¬
mation in Russia. It was so named by Sir R. I. Murchison
from its full development in the ancient kingdom of Perm.
Touching on the shores of the White Sea and Arctic
Ocean in the north, and skirting the base of the Oorals in
the east, it occupies the whole basin of the Dvina, the Kama,
and the northern tributaries of the Volga, and runs south
into Orenburg and the Keerghees steppes. Everywhere
the beds are nearly horizontal, but of very varied mineral
character—grits, sandstones, marls, conglomerates, and
limestones inclosing great masses of gypsum and rock-
salt, and often impregnated with copper ores. According
to Von Qualen, it consists, in the province of Orenburg, of
three divisions : the lower division, very rich in copper ore,
is composed of large masses of gypsum, thick beds of red,
brown, and grey sandstones and conglomerates, and of vari¬
ous marls, with limestones and thin layers of coal. The
middle division consists of clays and marls, with many beds
of limestone and slaty coal, but less abundance of copper
ore. Fucoids and ferns, producti, and other molluscs, with
remains of fishes and Saurian reptiles, occur in this and the
lower division, and in the latter, also, innumerable fragments
of fossil wood. The third or upper division, of thin layers
of marly or tufaceous limestone, with no fossils, is seen only
on the top of some hills and plateaux. The most remark¬
able feature of the Permian formation in Russia is the
abundance of copper ore and gypsum. The ores of copper
are chiefly malachite and azurite ; but cuprite, native copper,
and copper pyrites also occur. These ores are mostly mixed
in the sandstones and marls, rarely in small nests, and are
peculiarly rich on the broken stems and branches of trees
that abound in the sandstones of the lowrer division. Gene¬
rally there is only one metalliferous bed, from a few inches to
less than six feet thick, but occasionally more than one is
seen. These copper ores are found all along the foot of
the Ooral in Orenburg and Perm, but decrease as the dis¬
tance from the mountains is greater, and disappear beyond
,300 to 350 miles from their foot. The gypsum also follows
this mountain chain in an unbroken band from Orenburg to
beyond 60. N. Lat., with a breadth of about 80 miles near
Perm, but extends farther west into the basin of the Dvina.
Numerous salt springs and beds of salt, in some places 50
feet thick, accompany this gypsum. The most remarkable
salt deposit is found at Illetzkaya-Zastchita, in the barren
wilderness south of Orenburg. At that place a mass of
pure salt, more than a mile in diameter, is wrought at an
open quarry 70 feet deep, and, according to Rose, yields
about 700,000 poods of salt annually.
Resting on the Permian, though separated from it by a
long geological interval, during which the Trias and Lias ot
other parts of Europe were deposited, come the Jurassic
strata. These consist chiefly of incoherent, dark-coloured
clays and sands, containing many characteristic fossils of the
middle oolite,—ammonites, belemnites, gryphaea, and tere-
518 R U S
Statistics, bratula. In the centre of the country it extends from Mos-
Vt v—cow, where it rests on the carboniferous beds, by Vladimir
to Simbirsk on the Volga. Farther north it forms the great
marshes along the watershed of the Dvina and Volga, and
also fills the trackless valley of the Petchora, between the
Timan Mountains and the Ooral, covered by marshy forests
and bleak tundras. All this region is a low, scarce hilly,
land ; but on the south shore of the Crimea and the flanks
of the Caucasus it rises into a more varied mountain country,
and contains a richer store of corals and crinoids than in
its northern extension.
These Palaeozoic and Jurassic strata compose the northern
and larger half of European Russia. The newer cretaceous
and tertiary beds occur only in the southern portion, drained
by the rivers flowing to the Caspian and Black seas. Their
northern boundary is marked generally by a line drawn from
Memel, south-east to Voroneje on the Don, thence north
to Jelatma on the Oka, and again south-east to the southern
end of the Ooral and Lake Aral. The chalk is chiefly seen
in the central region between the Dnieper and Volga, but
probably is concealed below the tertiary beds in other parts
of the great plain, as it rises through them in irregular
patches in many localities. According to Von Buch, the
chalk in the north belongs chiefly to the upper beds, whilst
the lower Neocomian, or greensand, is seen only in the south
near the Caucasus, where Abich estimates the formation as
5000 feet thick. The rocks in the north resemble those of
Western Europe, or are pure white chalk, forming highly
picturesque rocks on the Donetz, chalk-marls, and ferrugi¬
nous sands. Near Voroneje, sandstones containing 31 per
cent, of phosphate of lime have been described by Khod-
nieff. On both flanks of the Caucasus this formation is
partly represented by a formation, several thousand feet
thick, of clay slates, in which fossils characteristic of the
chalk occur, though not in abundance.
The older tertiary, in many places composed of clay, and
not distinguishable in aspect from the similar deposits in the
London basin, extends from the Baltic to Poltava, north of
the Dnieper. Large masses of it also cover the chalk strata
to the west of the Volga; and in the south of'the Crimea
the nummulite formation is well seen resting on the chalk
and oolite rocks. The upper tertiary, widely extended from
the Dniester to the Caspian, and over the wide steppes from
the Volga to the Ooral, is more interesting. This formation
begins with blue marls and clays, alternating with a yellow
calcareous tufa. In the higher part the tufa alone prevails,
and is almost entirely made up of broken shells, partly fresh¬
water, partly brackish-water species, either identical or
closely analogous to those now living in the Caspian. This
formation, spread far and wide over the vast steppes round
the Caspian and Aral seas, and used as the common build¬
ing-stone even in Odessa, proves the former enormous ex¬
tension of an inland sea of brackish water. According to
Murchison, this sea, larger than the Mediterranean, was
reduced by two elevations, the latter leaving only the pre¬
sent Caspian behind.
Connected with the same recent period must be placed
the formation of the gold sands of the Ooral, and the extinc¬
tion of the mammoth, rhinoceros, and urus, whose bones
at e so often imbedded in them. The dispersion of erratic
b.ocks over Russia and Northern Europe is a kindred
phenomenon. More important for the agriculture of Rus¬
sia is the tchornozem, or black earth, found only in the
southern provinces, and unquestionably the finest soil in
the empn-e for the production of wheat and grass. “ It is
so fei tile, say Sir R. I. Murchison, “ as arable land, that the
faimeis never apply manure; and after taking many crops
m succession, leave it fallow for a year or two, and then re¬
sume theii scouiging treatment.” It has been supposed of
vegetable origin, but is more probably derived from the
waste ol the Jurassic beds.
S I A.
(Lor further details on the geology, &c., of this vast em- Statistics,
pire, see especially Russia and the Ural Mountains, by Sir
R. I. Murchison, E. de Verneuil, and Count Keyserling, 2
vols. 4to; Siluna, by Sir R. I. Murchison, 2d edition ;
Reise nach dem Ural, von G. Rose; the Petchora-Land,
by Count Keyserling; with many memoirs in the Russian
and German scientific journals ; and for the distribution of
the rocks, the Geological Map of Europe, by Sir R. I. Mur¬
chison and Professor Nicol.)
In a country of such vast dimensions, the soil must of Soil,
course vary considerably in different situations. There is
a vast tract of territory, 65,000 geographical square leagues
in extent, which possesses a peculiar and rather remark¬
able soil. Indeed, Ritter, in his Erdkunde, informs us
that there is only one other place on the surface of the
earth where anything similar in soil has been discovered, and
that is the north of Hindustan. It consists entirely of de¬
composed vegetable matter, and is deposited in a thick layer.
It is situated in the S. of Russia, stretching in a broad belt
from Volhynia, in a north-easterly direction, to the foot of
the Ooral chain near Perm. It is prolonged on one side
from this to the shores of the Black Sea ; and on the other
it stretches from Perm to Orenburg, and thence to the Cas¬
pian Sea. All this vast tract, exceeding in extent France,
Spain, and Prussia united, is covered throughout with a stra¬
tum of vegetable mould, which varies in thickness from 3 to
5 feet. It is so extremely productive as to stand in no need
of manure. Its fertility is shown in the large returns of grain,
especially rye, which it yields; and in the excellent breeds of
cattle which are reared upon it. From the thinness of the
population, vast tracts of this country still remain unoccupied.
The soils of the steppes, which cover so large a portion of
Russia, we have already adverted to when describing these
plains. The country between the Dniester and the Dnieper
has a soil impregnated with nitre, a substance deleterious
to vegetation; yet, as soon as it is removed or diminished,
wheat, millet, and the arbute melon, may be cultivated with
great success. The mildest and most fruitful region in all
the Russian empire is that continuation of valleys arranged
in natural amphitheatres at the southern base of the Tau¬
rida, along the coasts of the Black Sea. Proceeding east¬
ward, we come to the government of Astrakhan. Only part
of its soil is fertile. This portion includes the low districts
on the banks of the Volga, the Ooral, and the Terek, and
is by no means large; but here vegetables attain an enor¬
mous size. The soil is impregnated with saline and bitu¬
minous substances. Higher up, the land on the Volga
becomes sandy and unproductive. The soil of Little
Russia and the Polish Ukraine is partly sandy and not
very fruitful, partly very rich and fertile. A great part of
Western Russia is sandy, and intersected by vast marshes
and bogs. Large tracts are covered with immense forests,
the retreat of the bear, wolf, and wild boar; whilst not an
inconsiderable portion of this westerly territory ranks
amongst the most fertile in the empire.
It thus appears, with regard to the soil of Russia, taking climate,
a summary view of it along with the climate, that from the
44th to the 50th parallel of N.Lat., comprising Bessarabia,
Podolia, Kherson, YekaterinoslafF, and Taurida, it is for
the most part low and level, little wooded, partly very
fruitful, partly arid and unfruitful, besides being here and
there impregnated with salt. The winters are short, with
little snow; but in some parts the cold is severe. The
spring is early and mild; the summer is of long duration,
with oppressive heat and little rain; autumn follows late
in the year. Violent whirlwinds are frequent, and the S.
of Russia is subject to tremendous snow storms, called
metel. The middle or temperate district, extending from
50° to 57°, has a rough and lasting winter, especially in the
eastern territory. This district is the largest and wealthiest
portion of the empire, forming broad, open, undulating
RUSSIA.
519
Statistics, plains, over which, up to the declivities of the Ooral chain
upon the E., only slight elevations break the monotonous
level. The northern district, from 57° to 67° in European
Russia, has a much milder climate than the same parallels
in Asia. With the exception of the wooded mountains of
Finland on the W., it is, as far as the Oorals, a continuation
of the former flat land, upon which forests, meadows,
marshes, and moor ground alternate with one another.
The poor, meagre soil only insures the husbandman a
return as far as the 60th parallel. The winter here is long
and severe, there being six or seven months in which
sledges are the only mode of travelling. Mercury freezes
in winter, and the autumn is foggy. Here only slow-grow¬
ing timber succeeds, and beyond 67 is confined to dry,
stunted shrubs. From 64° the rearing of cattle is always
difficult, and agriculture is limited to roots. Under the
parallel of 66° the sun does not set on the 21st of June,
nor rise above the horizon on the 21st of December.
Snow and ice often set in at St Petersburg about the middle
of October, and sometimes continue till the middle of April.
For 160 days,—that is, from the end of November till the
middle of April, the Neva is generally bound fast with
ice. In summer the W., S.W. and N.E., in winter the
S.W., S., and S.E. winds prevail. The climate in this part
has become much milder, through the cultivation of the
soil and the hewing down of the forests. The quantity of
rain which falls is about 18 English inches at St Petersburg,
and the number of rainy and snowy days is reckoned at
about 150 at St Petersburg. The following table has been
supplied us by Academician Vesseloffski, and is extracted
from his recent learned work on the Climatology of
Russia:—
Number of Snowy
and Rainy Days.
Western region  146
Baltic „   140
Northern and central region  114
Eastern region  113
Southern steppe  83
Quantity of Water.
English Inches.
22
21
20
16J
14
“ Taking, for St Petersburg,” Academician Kupffer in¬
forms us, “ the mean temperatures of every month, they
are, during five months, below 32° Fahr. Tfye mean an¬
nual temperature is 380,9 Fahr. The difference between
the mean temperatures of winter and summer, calling by
the name of winter the months of December, January, and
February, and by that of summer the months of June, July,
and August, is 420,5 Fahr. At Yakootsk in Siberia, Lat.
62. 2., Long. 129. 73. E. from Greenwich, the mean tem¬
perature of the year is-f 120,2 Fahr.; that of winter, De¬
cember, January, and February, — 360,6 Fahr. ; and that of
summer + 580,3 Fahr.; the difference, therefore, between
the mean temperatures of the summer and of the winter is
95°. Notwithstanding the rigour of the climate, the cul¬
ture of rye has been attempted with success.” In the
Arctic or hyperborean region, extending from 67° to 74°,
the rigour of the climate tells both upon men and domesti¬
cated animals, as well as upon vegetation; for neither at¬
tain their full size. In Arkhangel the sun rises on the 23d
of December at 2 minutes past 10, and sets 57 minutes
past 1 ; whilst on the 23d of June it rises 14 minutes past
1 in the morning, and does not disappear below the hori¬
zon until 49 minutes past 10 in the evening. Beyond 67°,
however, the climate is one long summer day and one
long winter night. The summer is still much overcast
with vapours, which obscure the sun. The dreary region
of winter is somewhat cheered by splendid moonlight and
the brilliant phenomenon of the aurora borealis. Trees
entirely cease about 67°, only hardy shrubs being able to
endure the intense cold of the climate. In St Petersburg
in 1759 the cold was 41° Fahr. below zero, and in the
winter of 1809-10 quicksilver froze into a solid mass in
Moscow, and was extended with a hammer like lead. As Statistics,
this metal becomes solid about 32° Reaumur, we may
reckon the degree of cold in this case as exceeding 40°
Fahr.
From the vast extent of this empire, and the great range Vegetable
of its temperature, it is not surprising that the productions produc-
of every clime are found, or may be successfully cultivated,tions-
in some parts of its wide-spread surface. On the E., the
great chain of the Ooral separates by a bold line the
northern European from the northern Asiatic botany; and
over this vast, expanse winter reigns with excessive seve¬
rity, while the almost tropical temperature of the brief
summer ripens the productions of the vegetable kingdom
to sudden maturity. This rapid growth is followed by as
rapid a decay in autumn.
The forests of Russia are in several respects an important Forests,
feature of the country : firstly, as a physical characteristic,
from their overspreading such enormous tracts of country ;
secondly, in a commercial point of view, from the timber, tar,
pitch, potash, and turpentine which they afford forming im¬
portant articles of trade ; and thirdly, from their supplying
fuel in a country only recently found to possess coal. “ Esti¬
mating the surface of European Russia,” says Mr Schnitz-
ler, “ at 402,100,552 dessiateens, 156,000.000 of this num¬
ber are occupied by forests; 178,000,000 by uncultivated
land, water, houses, and roads ; 61,500,000 by arable, and a
little more than 6,000,000 by meadow land. On this ge¬
neral view of the surface, we may compute that one dessia-
teen of wood occurs to every two, and five-ninths of a dessia-
teen without it. The forests, indeed, constitute a source of
riches which may long continue inexhaustible, and which
might be indefinitely increased by strict regulations for
their economy and management. Seventy-six millions
of dessiateens are still completely covered with pines, firs,
and other cone-bearing trees, without counting the oaks,
maples, beeches, poplars, and elms, which are by no means
rare in the latitudes within the 52d degree, and the birch,
which grows in still more northern regions  The
governments of Novgorod and Tver, in particular, are
studded with forests, and that of Volkonski, which extends
to the Valdai Hills, is one of the largest known. In the
government of Perm, out of 18,000,000 of dessiateens,
17,000,000 are forest. These immense tracts covered with
wood are a great blessing in so inclement a climate, as
they form a shelter against the winds from the icy seas.
The provinces to the S. have not the same necessity for
them, and are so destitute of wood as to occasion the burn¬
ing of grass and dung for fuel.” Forest economy is now
being more attended to. The trees furnish the inhabitants
with fir-timber of the finest quality for building, household
furniture, and utensils. The same trees supply the pea¬
santry in some parts with torches, which they use instead
of candles. The brushwood, covering a vast extent of
forest land, consists almost entirely of the hazel, dwarf
birch, alder, willow, and juniper. In other places the
surface of the earth is covered with bilberry, and the cran¬
berry, which latter is extensively exported.
Russia is as yet chiefly an agricultural country. It is Grain,
so extensive, and in many parts yields such abundant crops hemp, and
of grain, that enough is produced not only for home con- flax*
sumption, but for exportation in considerable quantities.
The price of grain varies exceedingly in different govern¬
ments. St Petersburg, Moscow, Arkhangel, Vologda, and
Perm are the only governments that consume more than
they raise; all the others produce more than they require.
The grains most commonly cultivated are rye and oats.
The best wheat is produced in Southern Russia, and in the
eastern governments of Kazan, Seembeersk, and Orenburg;
where also, along with millet, a little rice is raised. Hemp
and flax are very largely cultivated, and yield not only
material for the manufactories of the country, but a large
520
RUSSIA.
Statistics.
Vine, mul¬
berry, su¬
gar-cane,
and indigo,
Fruits and
flowers.
Garden-
stuffs, me¬
dicinal
plants, and
dye-woods.
Animals,
cattle,
sheep, &c,
surplus for exportation. (For statistics of agricultural pro¬
ductions, &c., see after—“ Productive Industry.”) Whilst
corn and cattle constitute the riches of the central districts
the southern abound in productions of a moie piecious or
delicate nature. The peninsula of the Crimea is adapted,
both by climate and soil, to all the productions of Italy and
Greece; and here, indeed, many of them are indigenous.
Government has taken a most lively interest in developing
the resources of each portion of the empire ; and in conse¬
quence of this, the cultivation of the vine, an indigenous
plant, the mulberry tree, and the sugar-cane, have been
fostered to a considerable extent. The vine cultivation
is extending with great success in the south, in the govern¬
ments of Astrakhan, Kherson, Podolia,^ the country of the
Don Kozzacks, and especially in the Taurida. The mul¬
berry tree has been as carefully attended to as the vine,
and the result has been upon the whole favourable. Vast
plantations of mulberries have been formed near all the
principal towns of the southern districts. Every encour¬
agement is held out to planters by the government. In
the Crimea and countries of the Caucasus the rearing
of the silk-worm is likewise rapidly advancing. Experi¬
ments have also been made to cultivate the sugar-cane and
indigo, but they have not succeeded. In Southern Russia,
a region whose climate differs little from that of Asia
Minor, wc find a similar variety of fruits and vegetables.
The flora of Russia is very abundant in the south. As
Pallas informs us, the country presents the most enchant¬
ing aspect. On the mountain-side, in the valley, in the
forest, everywhere, the earth is clothed with a profusion of the
loveliest flowers and most aromatic herbs, whose delicate
odours embalm the atmosphere. Russia further produces
hops (not sufficient for home consumption), and tobacco, the
Nicotiana paniculaia, of which the young leaves are gene¬
rally removed, dried in the shade, and buried beneath hay¬
ricks, where they become of a brownish-yellow colour. Of
garden vegetables there are the usual varieties found in Eu¬
rope. Spanish pepper and the mustard-tree are raised on the
Samara and Lower Volga; poppy in Kharkoff, where it
yields a return of 160-fold ; rhubarb, which grows wild in
Taurida; rhapontick, which grows wild in the Oorals; and
Polygonum minus, which in the Ookraine engenders worms
that yield a beautiful crimson dye, used as paint by the
Kozzack women. Genuine turpentine might be collected
to a great extent. Many plants useful for dyeing are pro¬
duced in a wild state ; and for tanning there are several
valuable plants. In short, the Crimea presents great fa¬
cilities for rendering this a lucrative branch of manufacture.
The quadrupeds of Russia are numerous. Some appear
to be peculiar to the country; but our business is chiefly
with the domesticated animals. Cattle of every descrip¬
tion are bred in vast numbers in the steppes, and they
have increased with the improvement of agriculture. Black
cattle and oxen are raised as far N. as the 64th parallel, but
especially in Podolia and the Ookraine. Some of the
calves of the latter country weight from 480 to 600 lb.
Sheep are reared to a great extent. In the 'laurida a
poor Tartar may have in his possession 1000, and a rich
Tartar 50,000. The Merino breed of sheep has been na¬
turalized in Little Russia, in the governments comprised
under the name of New Russia, on the S. and E., and in
those of the shores of the Baltic Sea. (For statistics, see
after—“ Productive Industry.”) These different regions, so
remote from one another, are too dissimilar to enjoy pre¬
cisely the same advantages; nevertheless, the perseverance
and judicious management of the cultivators have been
crowned with success. Even in those districts least favoured
by nature rapid improvement has been made. At Tagan¬
rog the exports have greatly increased ; and in Little Russia
this branch of commerce is acquiring fresh activity. The
wool trade is now also cultivated in Siberia, where a
wool company was established in 1832. In fine, Russia, Statistics,
lately so poor in this species of produce, that even in
1824 her exports did not exceed annually 11,270 cwt.,
valued at only L.93,500; in 1857 sold 357,977 cwt., the
value of which amounted to L.2,069,456. 1 his is of course
independently of the demand for home consumption, which
has increased to a very large extent. The breed of horses
has been considerably improved, by crossing the best native
with Arab, English, and Flemish races. Count Orloff was
a great benefactor of his country in this respect. So much
as L.1560 have been paid for horses from the Orloff breed¬
ing-stables. The camel inhabits the warm, saline steppes of
the Taurida and Kherson ; asses are especially domesticated
in the Taurida; and the goat, sheep, swine, and other tamed
animals exist in theusual proportions and qualities. Amongst
useful insects, there are bees, which yield an abundance of
honey and wax for exportation. In the north the reindeer
and the elk roam in countless herds; and there are many
wild animals, such as the untamed steppe-horse, wild ox, the
fox, bear, lynx, and wolf, besides others, the skins or furs
of which constitute important items of trade in the northern
parts of Russia. Birds of the usual European descriptions^
are very numerous, including field and water game of
various kinds. The falcon is taught to chase even the
wolf in the Keergheez-Lands; and in the government of
Koorsk the magnificent greyhound of the country is
loosed upon the flocks of bustards that are met with there.
The seal and walrus haunt the waters of the north ; and
fish abound in the seas, lakes, and rivers. The fisheries
constitute an important branch of productive industry.
Russia consists of the following countries :—Russia pro- Divisions
per (originally Novgorod and Moscow); the country of the of the em-
Kozzacks of the Don, and of the Black Sea; Bessarabia; pire*
the khanate of the Crimea; the Caucasus; the kingdoms
of Kazan and Astrakhan; Siberia; Daooria and the Amoor
region ; the kingdom of Poland ; the greater part of Lap-
land ; the grand principality of Finland; the archipelagoes
of Abo and Aland, with the islands of Dago and Oesel;
the Baltic provinces of Courland, Esthonia, and Livonia;
and possessions in North America. In administrative re¬
spects, Russia is divided into governments and provinces,
of which in 1856 there were 65.
Governments. Provinces. Kozzack-Lands.
European  47 1 1
Caucasian  6
Siberian  4
Total  57
The land of the Black Sea Kozzacks belongs to the Cau¬
casus. The population of this empire, as diverse as its com¬
ponent parts, was estimated in 1856 at nearly 71,500,000
souls, including Poland and Finland, thus distributed :—
In Europe.
The European governments and provinces 57,602,185
The kingdom of Poland   4,696,919
The Grand Principality of Finland  1,632,977
In Asia.
The lieutenancy of the Caucasus, with the
dependent lands  3,179,997
The Siberian governments and provinces,
with the Keergheez-Lands.  4,120,815
In America.
Possessions of the North American Company 
63,932,081
7,300,812
10,723
Total population  71,243,616
The increase may be computed at 0’88 per cent.; and the po¬
pulation must therefore now, in 1859, amount to 73,387,600
souls. It doubles itself in 114|- years.
.RUSSIA.
521
Statistics.
Table of the Population and Superficies of the Russian Empire.—Each Government is taken separately, and the Statistics.
Number of Inhabitants is that returned for 1856, in the Tables drawn up by the Central Statistical Committee. ^ - V-»J
The Area is based on the calculations of Academician Koppen, founded on the returns of the Ninth Census.
Governments.
Arkhangel 
Astrakhan 
Bessarabia  
Country of the Don Kozzacks 
Country of the Black Sea Kozzacks    
Courland  
Derbent 
Erivan   
Esthonia 
Grodno 
Irkootsk 
Kalooga 
Kaminietsk-Podolsk, with the military l
colonies J
Kamtchatka 
Kazan 
Keeyeff, with the military colonies 
Kharkoff  
Kherson  
Koorsk 
Koota'is 
Kostroma 
Kovno 
Livonia 
Minsk  
MohilefF 
Moscow   
Neezegorod 
Novgorod   
Olonetz  
Orel, or OrlofF 
Orenburg, with the Kozzacks of the Ooral..
Penza   
Perm  
Poltava   
Population,
263,630
414,526
992,841
871,130
194,519
537,855
427,913
254,077
293,599
827.200
348,187
1,006,671
1,717,314
7,331
1,482,130
1,804,961
1,272,997
1,083,852
1,836,949
324,320
1,056,558
982,595
863,035
983,338
873,888
1,580,405
1,216,081
804,410
285,945
1,445,900
1,893,254
1,135,979
2,011,453
1,753,144
Area.
329,778
84,893
18.232
62,538
14,726
10,582
8,755
7,862
13,366
13,153
12,176
16,447
635,587
23,715
19,507
20,973
28,666
17,382
30,833
16,107
17,680
34,467
18,806
12,516
19,613
46,070
51,318
18,253
146,986
14,662
128,562
19,061
Governments.
Population.
and |
Pskoff 
Riazan   
St Petersburg 
Shemakha  
Samara 
Saratoff 
Semipalatinsk  
Siberian Keergheez country 
Simbirsk  
Smolensk 
Stavropol  
Tamboff   
The Taurida, with Sevastopol
Kertch-Yeni 
Tcherneegoff 
Tiflis  
Tobolsk  
Tomsk 
Toola  
Trans-Baikal region 
Tver  
Veetebsk 
Viatka  
Vilna 
Vladeemir 
Volhynia 
Vologda 
Voronej 
Yakootsk  
Yaroslaff  
Yekatereenoslaff, with Taganrog.   
Yenisaysk   
Possessions of the North American Comp
Total.
1,689,783
1,394,235
1,071,909
541,170
1,479,081
1,615,609
159,897
255,166
1,118,605
1,084',481
334,425
1,808,172
659,509
1,401,879
560,455
1,011,413
687,677
1,125,517
356.688
1,466,194
748,524
2,051,944
840,879
1,220,820
1,498,387
926.689
1,840,146
214.208
928.445
1,030,521
271,500
54,000
63,295,933
Area.
17,042
16,213
17,318
65,088
31,577
194,246
303,301
18,763
21,653
25,542
24,140
21,250
574,345
333,922
11,772
254,447
26,031
17,212
55,356
16,320
18,062
27,540
148,240
25,691
1,575,730
14,003
25,627
971,295
The central governments are the most populous ; and
the North American possessions the most thinly inhabited.
9-80 souls go to the English square mile in the whole Rus¬
sian empire, exclusive of Poland and Finland :—
Population.
In European Russia  31-08 \ are reckoned
In the Caucasus  22-49 \ to 1 English
In Siberia  0-74 J square mile.
And in the whole empire, without the
dependent lands   9-80
The whole population of the empire was further distri¬
buted in 1856 in the following manner :—
Number of Inhabitants of both Sexes.
In Towns. In Districts. Total.
In the European governments
and provinces  5,203,187 52,398,998 57,602,185
In the lieutenancy of the Cau¬
casus   288,102 2,618,895 2,906,976
In the Siberian governments
and provinces  192,710 3,160,105 3,352,815
Total  5,683,999 58,177,998 63,861,997
The proportion betwixt the town and district populations
was consequently as follows:—
To 1 Inha-
To every 100 Inhabi- bitant of
tants of the Govern- Towns
ments there lived,— there falls
in the
In Towns. In Districts. Districts.
Numerical Proportion of the Sexes.
Males.
In the 49 European-govern¬
ments and provinces  28,331,969
In the 7 Caucasian do  1,519,220
In the 9 Siberian do  1,738,314
Females.
29,270,216
1,387,777
1,614,501
Total.
57,602,185
2,906,997
3,352,815
Total  31,589,503 32,272,494 63,861,997
Hereto add the population of the dependent posses¬
sions :—
In the Caucasus, about  291,000
In the Keergheez hordes of Siberia, about 750,000
In the North American possessions  10,723
1,051,723
Total population  64,913,720
If we further add the number returned by the secre¬
taries of state for Poland and Finland, we have,—
In the 5 governments of Poland  4,696,919
In the 8 governments of Finland  1,632,977
6,329,896
Entire population of Russia, with incorporated and
dependent lands in 1856..   71,243,616
Movement of the Population in 1856.—Number of Births
and Deaths ; also increase of Population.
In the European governments and
provinces  9'03
In the lieutenancy of the Caucasus O^l
In the Siberian governments and
provinces 4... 5-75
In the whole empire  8-91
VOL. XIX.
90-97
90-09
10-07
9-40
In the European governments Born.
and provinces  2,496,995
In the Caucasus  88,515
In Siberia  121,359
Died.
2,007,557
64,024
75,291
Increase of
the Popu¬
lation.
489,438
24,491
46,068
Total.
2,706,869 2,146,872 559,997
3 u
522
RUSSIA.
Statistics. From these figures, proportionally to the whole popula-
tion of the empire, are deduced the following results
In the European "J
governments and V
provinces  J
In the lieuten¬
ancy of the Cau¬
casus 
In the Siberian go- "l
vernments and >
provinces J
In the whole em- l
pire j
Proportion to
every 100 souls
of botli Sexes.
Births.
4-34
3-74
3'62
4-27
Deaths
3-49
2-71
2-25
3-39
1 Birth
occurs to
23 04
26- 74
27- 62
2342
1 Death
occurs to
28-65
36-90
40 00
29-50
Percental
Increase
of the Po¬
pulation.
0-85
1-04
1-37
0-88
The result of several decennial deductions made in the
present century gives the following average proportion of
births:—1 born to 21-23 souls ; and of deaths, 1 dead to
30-33 souls. The average annual increase would therefore
be about 1 per cent., which is the utmost. This is the result
returned by the statistical tables of 1856. Von Stein re¬
turns 0-88 per cent., which is nearly -p^ths. We ourselves
have many reasons, too manifold for recapitulation here, to
give this return as rather nearer to x8ir^ls ^ian to
The returns of marriages in European Russia were 557,123.
The average proportion to 100 souls of both sexes is 0"97
marriages, or 1 marriage to 103-09 souls of the whole po¬
pulation. In the above returns, the numbers given are only
those of the tax-paying community, because most easily
obtainable ; the non-tax paying portion fii’e not included,
neither is the army nor fleet. The great uncertainty of the
computation lies in the circumstance of the census not
being taken at one and the same time, and in certain classes
not being registered. It is the consistory of every govern¬
ment that has the charge of registering the movement of
births, deaths, and marriages. Improved measures are now
adopted for insuring reliable returns. It must not be
thought that the learned of Russia are by any means indif¬
ferent to such a vital point. Academician Kbppen’s tables
of measurement and population, and Mr Schweitzer’s com¬
putation of areas, will most likely appear in the course of
this autumn. Councillor Troinitski hopes likewise to be
ready within the same period with his population returns,
based on the tenth revision or census, which is now in pro¬
gress on a surer basis than any of the foregoing. It is
expected to show a lower amount of population. The
census is taken at unequal intervals of time ; the present
was ordered in consequence of the late war, and of the pro¬
posed emancipation of the peasants. The number of nobles
is estimated at about 400,000.
View of the Foreign Races inhabiting European Russia,
taken from Academician Koppen’s Returns of 1853, the
Latest existing.
Both Sexes.
1. Samoyeds, in the government of Arkhangel  4,495
2. Loparees, „ „ Do  2,289
3. Vogools „ perim  872
4. Fins,—
A. The Tchood race, in its widest acceptation,—
(a.) Tchoods, strictly taken (Tchookaree), in the
governments of Novgorod and Olonetz  15,617
Both Sexes,
(6.) Vods (Tchoods), in the government of St
Petersburg  5,148
(c.) Esths (Tchooknee), in the governments of
Vitebsk, Livonia, Pskoff, St Petersburg;
and Esthonia •  633,496
(d.) Leevs, in the governments of Courland and
Livonia  2,074
B. Karels, in the widest acceptation,—
(a.) Ervemeisets, in the governments of Novgorod
and St Petersburg  29,375
(b.) Savakots, i,n the government of St Petersburg 42,979
(e.) Izori1 „ „ „ 17,800
(d.) Karels, in the governments of Arkhangel,
Novgorod, Olonetz, St Petersburg, Tam-
boff, Tver, and Yaroslaff  171,693
Statistics.
5. Perm Races,—
(a.) Ziriane, in the governments of Arkhangel and
Vologda..;    70,965
(&.) Perms in the governments of Perm and Vi-
atka  52,204
(c.) Votiaks, in the governments of Viatka, Kazan,
Orenburg and Samara    186,770
(d.) Besermiane, in the government of Viatka  4,545
6. Volga races,—
(a.) Tcheremeesses, in the governments of Viatka,
Kazan, Kostroma, Neezegorod, Orenburg,
and Perm  165,076
(&.) Mordva (Moksha, Erzia, and Karatais) in the
governments of Astrakhan, Kazan, Neeze¬
gorod, Orenburg, Penza, Samara, Saratoff,
Simbeersk, Taurida, Tamboff  480,241
(c.) Tchoovashes, in the governments of Viatka,
Kazan, Orenburg, Samara, Saratoff, Sim¬
beersk    429,952
7. Tartars, in the widest acceptation,—
(a.) Tartars, in the strict acceptation (with the
Nogais), in the governments of Astrak¬
han, Vilna, Viatka, Grodno, Don-Kozzack
country, Kazan, Kostroma, Minsk, Neeze¬
gorod, Orenburg, Penza, Perm, Podolia,
Itiazan, Samara, Saratoff, Simbeersk, Stav¬
ropol, Taurida, Tamboff, Esthonia  1,284,234
(6.) Bashkeers, dn the governments of Viatka,
Orenburg, Perm, and Samara  392,072
(c.) Mestcheriaks, in the governments of Oren¬
burg, Penza, Perm, and Saratoff  79,941
(d.) Keergheezi (Kaisaks), in the governments of
Astrakhan  82,000
8. Mongols,—
(a.) Kalmucks, in the government of Astrakhan,
the Don-Kozzack country, Orenburg, Sa¬
mara, Saratoff, Stavropol  119,162
9. Lithuanians, in the widest acceptation,—
(a.) The Leetva, in the strict acceptation (Zmood),
in the governments of Vilna, Grodno,
Kovno, and Courland  716,886
(6.) The Letts, in the governments of Vitebsk,
Kovno, Courland, Livonia, Pskoff, and St
Petersburg  872,107
10. Volokhs (Moldavians) in Bessarabia, and in the go¬
vernments of Yekaterinoslaff, Podolia, and Kherson 498,464
11. Slavane races,—
(a.) Bolgars, in Bessarabia and the governments
of Taurida and Kherson    77,102
(b.) Serbs, in Bessarabia and the governments of
Yekaterinoslaff and Kherson  1,383
(c.) Poles, in the government of Astrakhan, Bes¬
sarabia, Volhynia, Grodno, Yekaterinoslaff,
Keeyeff, Kovno, Courland, Livonia, Minsk,
Mohileff, Orenburg, Podolia, St Petersburg,
Saratoff, Stavropol, Kherson, Esthonia  477,535
12. Gypsies,2 scattered throughout the empire  48,247
roug out this article, in all Russian wrords the z has the power of the z in azure. The Poles, who are also Slavonians, but who
use t e jatin c laracter, adopt this mode of rendering that sound. It is a far more simple way than zh, sh, or j. It is a law in philo¬
logy t a anguages proceeding from parent stocks not akin, and with totally dissimilar characters, should have their sounds rendered
phonetica y when bodily transported into a totally dissimilar language. The learned of the Continent all obey this law. It is the
, a one,w from ignorance of the Russ, still keep up the old absurd way of writing Russian names, which thus become unin-
telhgibie to the Russians themselves ! It is time this were remedied.
Ihe greater number of these gypsies live in Bessarabia and Kherson. They are enrolled in the towns and villages as peasants. This
measure a vise one is taken in order to absorb them into the Russian population.
RUSSIA.
Statistics.
Both Sexes.
13. Jews,—
(a.) Talmudists (Polish and Turkish), mostly in the
governments of Volhynia, Podolia, Minsk,
MohilefF, Grodno, Vilna, Veetebsk, Keeyeff,
Kherson, Tcherneegoff, Bessarabia, and
Courland   1,054,407
(6.) Karaims, in the governments of Vilna, Vol-
hynia, Kovno, the Taurida, and Kherson ... 5,725
14. Greeks, in Bessarabia and in the governments of
Astrakhan, Yekaterinoslaff, Podolia, Taurida, Kher¬
son, Tcherneegoff    46,773
15. Armenians, in Bessarabia and in the governments of
Astrakhan, Yekaterinoslaff, St Petersburg, Stav¬
ropol, Taurida, Kherson  37,676
16. Germans, settled in various parts of the country, but
mostly in the governments of St Petersburg, Mos¬
cow, Courland, Esthonia, Livonia, Saratoff, Samara,
Taurida, Bessarabia, and Yekaterinoslaff  373,000
17. Swedes, settled mostly in the governments of St
Petersburg and Esthonia  11,470
Total of foreign races settled in Russia  8,493,782
The following Races are further met with in European Russia.
Arnauts (Albanians or Shipetars) in Bessarabia  1,328
Bokharians, number not shown 
Grusinians, in the governments of Astrakhan and Stav¬
ropol   1,000
Karakalpaks, in the government of Astrakhan  60
Osseteens, in the government of Stavropol  1,650
Persians, Kizilbashes, in the governments of Astrakhan
and Samara   641
Turcomans, in the governments of Astrakhan, Stavropol,
and Taurida  7,321
Kheevites, in the governments of Astrakhan and Saratoff 215
Circassians, in the Don-Kozzack country, and in the
governments of Samara and Simbeersk  175
Indians in the government of Astrakhan  10
(All these figures are returned mostly from the
census of 1834.)
French colonists in Bessarabia in 1850  250
French foreigners, about  3,000
English „ „   3,000
Serfs.
A Statement of Deaths in the year 1856, of Males and
Females of the Orthodox Catholic Confession, according
to their ages.
In all European Russia the total amount of the male
population in 1857 was 28,613,380 souls, and in this num¬
ber are included 10,844,902 male serfs. The number of
female serfs is supposed to be greater, in consequence of
the constant draft entailed by the conscription. They are
not taken into count for financial reasons, as they pay no
taxes. The serf percentage of the whole population in
European Russia is thus 3T'OO ; «'.e., out of one hundred
souls of the entire population, more than one-third, or about
thirty-eight souls, are in a state of serfage. All these serfs
belong to 114,967 proprietors, which number amounts to
no more than 0-40 per cent, or two-fifths of the whole male
population of European Russia. In the year 1856 so many as
6,596,620 souls,—i.e., 60*82 per cent., or three-fifths of the
total number of serfs,—were hypothecated to the crown-
banks for debts of their holders, amounting to L.62,186,665.
In Asiatic Russia, out of a population of 2,818,948 souls,
there were 1844 serfs belonging to 153 proprietors, which
gives a serf percentage of 0*06 on the whole population.
A serf at present pays to his master a poll-tax {ohrok) of
from L.l, 5s. to L.4 yearly, subject to family considerations
too long to enumerate ; and to the government a capitation-
tax of about 6s. yearly ; of which part goes to the national
treasury, and part to the communal fund, toward salaries
forjudges, road-repairing, &c. The government peasants,
who are considered as free, pay only from L.l, 2s. to L.l,
8s., or L.l, 11s. yearly, including the capitation-tax. There
are no poor-rates, but every proprietor is bound to provide
for his destitute serfs. The government does the same.
The schools for the crown peasants are as follows :—Under
the first and second departments of the crown domains, in
the settlements of the crown peasants, there are 2511
schools, with 2803 teachers, and attended by 90,178 boys,
and 19,486 girls ; of which number 488 were Mohammedan
schools, with 511 teachers, and attended by 13,588 boys
and 6016 girls.
In the number of crown peasants, it is noteworthy that
there are 268,473 who live on crown lands, and possess, be¬
sides, land of their own in freehold; and that of the above
number only 29,101 live on their own freeholds, without
taking the benefit of the crown lands.
The serfs in Russia vvere not originally attached to the
soil, or to the persons of their masters. It was when the
Ruricks died out, and a boyar, Boris Godoonoff, ascended
the throne, that the nobility got the ascendant, and that the
peasants were deprived of the right to remove at will from
master to master. By this ookaz, dated 21st November
1601, every peasant was thenceforth attached to the soil of
that commune in which he might happen to be on St
George’s Festival; and u YooriefF Den’” has ever since
been a day of wail and woe throughout the land. It should
therefore be w^ell understood that the people were first en¬
slaved, not by their tsars, but by the nobility, whom they
therefore look upon as their despoilers. The tsar is rather
looked up to as a father. This circumstance explains many
matters in Russia. By ookaz of the emperor, promulgated
on the 5th December 1857, the serfs are to be finally libe¬
rated within twelve years after settling the terms to be re¬
solved on between them and the proprietors. The inter¬
vening period is considered needful to prepare the serfs for
the coming change in their position. In every government
a committee has been appointed, consisting of two deputies
from the nobility of every district, and to this number are
adjoined two deputies as members for the crown. Their
labours, with the opinions thereon of the provincial gover¬
nors, and of the minister of the interior, are subsequently
revised by the Central Committee of Serf Emancipation
sitting at St Petersburg. It was originally the emperor’s
intention to convoke in the capital an assembly of proprie¬
tors ; but whether from the probability of stormy discussions
or dislike of anything resembling a representative system, a
commission has been appointed, and now sits at St Peters¬
burg, to collect opinions and to decide on the final plan.
The chief difficulty lies in conciliating the conflicting in¬
terests of the proprietors and peasants. The former would
willingly enough part with their serfs, but they wish to re¬
tain the whole of their lands, or to receive for them full
compensation, according to their own estimate. The em¬
peror, again, has decreed that the peasants shall be allowed
4 dessiateens (about 11 English acres) of land and a cot¬
tage in freehold, and this they are allowed to pay for dur¬
ing the twelve years intervening betwixt the settling of
the rules and their final emancipation. The sum proposed
is moderate enough (L.16); but this is the real point at
issue : The rich landholders, 3917 in number, are on
523
Statistics.
524 RUSSIA.
Statistics, the whole not so much against the measure, because aware
\ j that, although they lose the last remnant of their feudal
rights, the ultimate gain to their descendants, through rent-
income and tillage of their estates by free labourers, is cer¬
tain. The Russian noble, however, looks more to the pre¬
sent than to the future, and has little public spirit, as in
England. It is the minor landholders, 111,050 in number,
who are most dissatisfied, and for the following reasons :—
In some trading and manufacturing governments, the cen¬
tral in particular, land is very dear, and the proprietors have
positively not enough disposable soil for portioning off to
their peasants the number of dessiateens required, which it
has been proposed shall be reduced to 3. Land in those
parts, and about St Petersburg, Taganrog, &c., is fully
worth L.16 the dessiateen ; in other parts only from L.4to
L.8. Some proprietors, besides, who possess forty pea¬
sants, have but 60 dessiateens of land in all; so that to
allow them only 3 dessiateens, the proprietors must purchase
60 dessiateens additional to make up the 120 dessiateens at
least required. Other proprietors possess 1000 dessiateens,
with 400 peasants, and they would be deprived of the whole
of their lands, besides having to purchase 200 or 600 des¬
siateens more wTere they to give the 3 or 4 dessiateens de¬
manded. Some, again, who are perfectly landless, possess
as many as fifty house-serfs. What are they to do ? In
Little Russia, and some other parts, land is very cheap, and
there the proprietors would be at an advantage ; for they
could easily afford to pay the peasants as free labourers.
As Russia comprises different climates, soils, and peoples,
the difficulty of settling rules in all their details becomes
manifest; it is therefore believed that the country w ill be
divided into zones. It is also noteworthy that in Siberia
there are 'very few serfs, and they are mostly attached to
the government foundries ; so that this portion of the em¬
pire can be first freed. In order to develop national in¬
dustry, Peter I. bestowed serfs both on nobles and mer¬
chants, in various manufacturing governments, on condition
that these men should revert to the crown, in case the
manufactories were closed. These people, who were called
possession-serfs, are landless, and now amount to about
40,000. The Emperor Nicholas did all he could to diminish
their number, which was 100,000. The position of this
class was dreadful, and they were positively slaves. Fears
are entertained that the peasants will desert their villages,
and when no longer attached to the glebe, will turn more to
trade than follow agricultural pursuits. When roused, these
peasants are an intractable class. The great point is, that
the matter is too far advanced to be withdrawn ; and come
of it what may, the reign of Alexander II., who is
pledged to the measure, will be immortalized by a glorious
act, that can best be contrasted with the barbarity of the
one that reduced the peasants, 258 years ago, to their pre¬
sent condition.
Govern- The government of Russia is an absolute hereditary
ment. monarchy. The emperor, or White Tsar of his people,
rules of divine right, and acknowledges no fixed law but
his own will. Round his diadem is wound the pontifical
tiara, and he bears the following titles :—By the grace of
God, Emperor and Autocrator of all the Russias, of Mos¬
cow, Keeyeff, Vladeemir, Novgorod; Tsar of Kazan, Tsar
of Astrakhan, Tsar of Poland, Tsar of Siberia, Tsar of the
Tauric Chersonesus ; Lord of Pleskoff, and Grand Duke of
Smolensk, Lithuania, Volhynia, Podolia,and Finland; Duke
of Esthonia, Livonia, Courland, and Semigallia; of Samo-
gitia, Bielostock, Karelia, Tver, Yugoria, Perm, Viatka,
Bolgaria, and other lands ; Lord and Grand Duke of Lower
Novgorod, Tcherneegoff, Riazan, Polotsk, Rostoff, Yaros-
laff, Bieloosersk, Oodor, Obdor, Condia, Veetebsk, Mstis-
laff; Dominator of all the Land of the North; Lord of
Iberia, Cartalinia, Georgia, Cabardia, and of the province
of Armenia: Hereditary Prince and Sovereign of the
Princes of Circassia and other mountain princes; Sue- Statistics,
cessor of Norway ; Duke of Schleswig-Holstein, Stormarn,
Dithmarsen, and Oldenburg, See. The dynasty of his
house is that of Romanoff the senior, and of Holstein-
Gottorp the junior branch. The title of Tsar was first
taken 1462-1505 by John III., the breaker of the Tartar
yoke, the putter-down of the independent princes, and
the conqueror of Novgorod, who married Sophia, niece of
the last Greek emperor, Constantine Palseologus. It was
he who in consequence quartered the Byzantine arms,
the two-headed eagle, with his own of St George the
Conqueror, although the tutelar patron of the country is
St Nicholas. The Roman and Greek emperors being
Caesars, and Caesar having been pronounced by the old
Romans Tsaysar, by the Greeks Kaisar (Kaicrap), it is
evident how from Kaisar, by the ellipsis of a syllable, came
Tsar, written by the ignorant Czar, which gives no idea
of the sound, as it is Polish for Char. Previously to John
III. the title of Tsar was unknown, and the Russian sove¬
reigns were always called Grand Princes, which is the title
of the emperor’s own children ; the other members of the
imperial house are styled Imperial Highnesses. Princes,
Counts, and Barons are the only titles of nobility ; the lat¬
ter being but seldom bestowed. Formerly the sole title
was boyar, equivalent to feudal lord. These titles descend
to all the children equally, and there is no right of primo¬
geniture ; although majorats, or entailed estates, have been
created in favour of some families. The orders of knight¬
hood are 7 in number. The highest is the purely mili¬
tary order of St George, with four degrees. The others
are'both military and civil: St Andrew the First-Called,
1 degree ; Vladeemir, 4 degrees; St Alexander Neffski,
1 degree ; the White Eagle, 1 degree; St Anne, 4 de¬
grees; St Stanislaus, 3 degrees. There are military deco¬
rations, such as occasional medals of honour, and gold
swords for courage. When any of the above orders are
given to military men, sivords are added to the insignia.
For soldiers there is a particular cross of St George, also
with 4 degrees, corresponding to the Victoria medal; and
further a medal of St Anne, 1 degree. The officials, in¬
cluding teachers in the government service, are all classed
as of certain tchins or ranks, of which there are nominally
14, but really only 12; two having fallen into desuetude.
These ranks rise in degree as follows:—14^, or lowest
class, college registrator; 12>th, does not exist; 12^, go¬
vernment secretary; \\th, does not exist; \0th, college
secretary; §th, titular councillor; 8</<, college assessor;
1th, court councillor; 6th, college councillor; 5th, state
councillor; Ath, actual state councillor; 2>d, privy coun¬
cillor; 2d, actual privy councillor; \st, the chancellor of
the empire. The rank of personal nobility is part of the
privilege conferred by the lowest degree, upwards to that
of actual state councillor, which confers the privilege of
hereditary nobility. The highest department of the go¬
vernment is the council of the empire, established in 1810
to render the laws less changeable, and their application
more correct. The other main objects are the revision
and sanction of the budget. The number of members is
not limited, but it generally amounts to 35 or 36. The
council is divided into 5 departments:—1. Legislation;
2. War. 3. Church and civil affairs. 4. Internal political eco¬
nomy, or the administration of the public revenue. 5. The
affairs of Poland. The emperor himself is the real presi¬
dent ; but the council has further a permanent presiding
member, selected by the emperor for life. Each depart¬
ment has its own president and state secretary ; and the
whole together have a common grand secretary of state,
who is the principal director of the chancery, and the organ
through whom the council makes known its decisions to the
monarch. On receiving the emperor’s confirmation of the
council’s decisions, this grand secretary communicates them
RUSSIA.
525
Statistics, to the respective authorities upon whom their execution
devolves. Neither this secretary of the council, nor the
council itself, receives from private persons any petitions,
which must be presented to the Emperor’s special state
secretary for the receipt of petitions, who, after perusal,
forwards them to the respective ministers. Without the
monarch’s sanction the decisions of the council are value¬
less. The directing senate is divided into 10 departments :
5 in Petersburg, 3 in Moscow, and 2 in Warsaw. It is
the supreme civil and criminal tribunal of the empire, a guar¬
dian of the law, and a watcher over the inferior tribunals.
The minister of justice is the chief ober-pi'ocuror, procurator
or attorney-general of the whole senate ; but every depart¬
ment of the senate has its own crown-attorney, dependent
on the ober-procuror, or minister of justice. No laws can
be promulgated without the senate, which prescribes their
execution to all ministers and tribunals by separate edicts,
or ookazes, printed in the Senate gazette. The holy direct¬
ing synod has for its object the management of ecclesiastical
affairs. The ministries of state, whose members officiate in
their several departments independently of each other, form
the first instance of administration. Important affairs,
purely administrative, are presented by every minister to
the committee of ministers, and their collective opinion is
then confirmed by the emperor. Each committee has its
own state secretary, who bears to it the commands of the
sovereign, and communicates them to the individual chiefs
of the administration throughout the empire. The presid¬
ing member of the council of the empire is also the presi¬
dent of the committee of ministers. The ministries are as
follows :—1. Foreign affairs and state archives; 2. War
(artillery, engineering, inspection, audit, commissariat,
victualling, and the medical department); 3. Marine and
the colonies ; 4. The Interior (police, municipal revenue
and expenditure, interior administration, foreign religions,
and medicine) ; 5. Public instruction ; 6. Finances and trade
(revenues and expenditure, trade, manufactures, treasury of
the empire, customs, and mines) ; 7. The crown domains
(crown-lands, peasants, and their management) ; 8. Justice;
9. The general direction of land and water communications;
10. Financial control; 11. Ecclesiastical affairs (Russian
church); 12. The imperial household and appanages; 13.
The post-office. The emperor’s chancery, divided into four
sections, one of which, the third, comprising the secret po¬
lice, is another high organ of government; and there is,
further, a special minister or state secretary for Poland,
and a secretary of state for Finland. The governors and
other authorities in the provinces receive their commands
through the ministers and their departments. Every go¬
vernment has a civil governor, who is often also military
governor.
Ministry of The senate is the third instance, or supreme court of
justice. judicature. The nomination to places resting solely with
the crown, and all presidents being removable at will, it
follows that the courts are nothing but an organ of judica¬
ture, entirely at the command of the government; the
nobility-assessors not being eligible of right, but nominated
at the sovereign’s will. In the middle courts of second
instance, however, the nobility have a privilege of admis¬
sion, being elected by their own order, and in some cases
with merchants for assessors. These courts of second in¬
stance, which revise the law proceedings of the first Statistics,
instance courts, are the palata grazdanskago sooda or
civil court, the criminal court, the executive police, the
court of conscience, and the commercial court; the last
with no deputies from the nobility, but with merchant-
assessors only. To the lowest or first instance belong the
district court, which investigates, in legal form, all law
matters appertaining to it; the zemskoy-sood, or county
police court, which is its executive ; the nobility tutelage
court, all with representatives from the nobility, merchants,
burghers, and peasants ; the nadvbrnoy-sood, or aulic court;
the orphan’s court; the town magistracies and town-halls,
with no representatives from the nobility, but solely from the
merchants, burghers, and peasants. There are judges only
in the conscience and district courts. Finland and Poland
have their independent codes and judicature. The torture
is abolished, as are also the knoot and slitting of the nos¬
trils. Some criminals are stamped, but not branded. The
corporal punishment inflicted is the plet, or cat-o’-nine¬
tails ; and sometimes, when a criminal is exceptionally
punished by military law, running the gauntlet. The no¬
bility, clergy, and merchants are exempted from this
punishment. Criminals are further sent to work in the
mines of Siberia.1 The secondary degree is simple banish¬
ment to the settlements in Siberia ; and the third, infliction
of the rod, imprisonment, confinement in penitentiaries and
reformatories, public reprimands in court, sometimes entered
on the official’s commission, and fines.2
All proceedings are carried on in writing, which is the
great evil of the system, leading to venality, delay, gorging
of the prisons, and vexations innumerable. The adminis¬
tration of justice is indeed the department most requiring
reform ; for of no country can it be more truly said that
there is one law for the poor and another for the rich. But
this may be looked upon as a remnant of the old bad order
of things which is now being rapidly amended.
The first book of laws was the Robsskaia Prdvda, orRus- Jurispru-
sian jurisprudence, issued by Yaroslaff in 1020, and conti- dence.
nued in the thirteenth century. John III. next commenced
a book of laws in 1497 ; and this was again revised by John
IV. in 1550. In 1664 the Tsar Alexay Mikhailovitsch
issued his Oolozdnie, or general book of laws ; and this code
formed the foundation of the later jurisprudence, supple¬
mented by ookdzes, or edicts, of the successive sovereigns ;
the number of statutes, up to the time of Alexander I.,
amounting to 30,920. Many attempts were made regu¬
larly to codify the whole; and Peter I., in particular, ap¬
pointed in 1700 a commission for this purpose. Elizabeth,
Catherine, and Alexander I. followed up his plan ; but it
was Nicholas I. who, after a previous outlay of about
L.900,000, partially succeeded in the purpose. Up to
1859, 15 tomes, containing 21 sections, have been pub¬
lished ; but the work, although still continued in the second
section of the emperor’s chancery, is far from concluded,
contains numerous errors, and by no means does away
with the special edicts of the sovereign, which can at any
time upset the written law. The school of jurisprudence
was instituted by Nicholas, with a view of bettering mat¬
ters, by forming legists, and appointing from among them
and the law-students of the universities, crown-officials for
the senate and law-courts, incorruptible, well-mannered,
1 No atrocities equalling those of Norfolk or Cayenne are enacted in Siberia, where all the condemned are under the special super¬
vision of the secret police. The town prisons, however, and even the police-stations, are sinks of horror; the condition of prisoners on
trial being scarcely better than that of the condemned themselves.
2 In 1856 there were (exclusive of Finland and Poland) 283,229 criminal, civil, and police cases; of these, 57,130 were convicted,
53,000 pardoned by manifests, 99,656 acquitted, 1574 sentenced to labour in the mines, 157 sentenced to the settlements in Transcaucasus,
3839 to Siberia. Among the above were 1124 cases of murder, 280 arson, 73 highway robbery, 6049 theft and robbery, 743 burglary,
101 false coining, 126 offences against religion. In Poland many crimes are committed, in Finland few, in Courland but one case oc¬
curred. In 1856 acts and obligations to the amount of L.31,353,758 for the sale and transfer of property were registered in the go¬
vernment courts, excepting those of Poland and Finland. In 1849, in 46 governments and 1 province of European Russia there were
1089 cases of murder, 1512 of suicide, 30 infanticide, 3114 child exposure, 804 personal insult, 194 unlawful gratification of the pas¬
sions, and 690 horse stealing. There were, further, 27,694 vagrants, and 1183 vagrant and thief harbourers.
526
RUSSIA.
Statistics, and likely to exercise a beneficial influence on their
confraternity. But “ a little leaven leaveneth the whole
lumpand no radical good can result until a total sweep is
made of the whole corruption, and trial by jury, with pub¬
lic pleading and a free press, introduced—not a licentious,
but a public press, for exposing evil, and for giving a voice
to the public wants. Trial by jury did once exist in the
remoter ages of Russian history. The present monarch,
Alexander II., who has begun so well, might do still better,
would he but extend his admirable reforms to this vital ob¬
ject. When so many princes of the imperial house are
appointed to public functions, it is to be hoped that the
energies of some will be directed to the sword of justice as
well as to the sword of war.
Schools under the Ministry of Justice.
Teachers. Scholars.
1 School of jurisprudence  43 231
1 Preparatory class to this school  20 67
1 Constantine surveyors’ school  36 250
1 Writers’ school, to form scribes for the
government offices  7 60
1 Surveying topographers’ school  23 200
Total  129 808
Religion. The established religion of Russia is the Greco-Russian,
nationally called the Orthodox Catholic Faith, and is pro¬
fessed by 49,099,717 souls. This church separated from
the Roman in 1054, and from the Byzantine patriarchate
in 1587. It has now its own independent synod, but it
maintains, with the four patriarchates of Constantinople,
Jerusalem, Antioch, and Alexandria, the intimate relations
of a sister-church, possessing over them, as well as over the
whole Slavonic race, a moral supremacy, which, though
not despotic like that of the Roman Church, appears likely
one day to rival that of the Pope over the Latins. It
further maintains at Jerusalem a mission, with a bishop at
its head. This religion was introduced into Russia by the
Grand Princess Olga and the Grand Prince Vladeemir in
a.d. 955 and 988. Previously to the year 955, Christianity
counted in Russia only a few followers at KeeyefF; but the
general introduction into Russia of Christianity is reckoned
from the year 988. Under Yaroslaff (1019-1054) Russia
had her own metropolitan, but until that time the upper
hierarchy came from Greece. In 1589 a patriarch was
nominated head of the national religious establishment;
but under Peter the Great the emperor was declared its
spiritual head, the synod taking the place of the patriar¬
chate. With it was vested the management of ecclesias¬
tical affairs. An oher-procuror is its secular chief. The
synod consists of permanent and temporal assessors, all
selected from among the highest ecclesiastical dignitaries.
It is generally composed of three metropolitans, several
archbishops of the black, and, further, two assessors of the
white clergy, the senior priests of the guards, and of the
army and fleet. It never consists of less than three bishops.
1 he ecclesiastical hierarchy, recruited mostly from its own
ranks and the lower classes, although the upper also occa¬
sionally supply members, is divided into two orders,—the
black or monastic, and the white or secular clergy. The
following is a return of numbers of the black clergy :—4 me¬
tropolitans, of St Petersburg, Moscow, KeeyefF, and Lithu¬
ania, and 1 exarch of Grusia; 26 archbishops or archi-
hieieis ; 39 bishops, also styled archihiereis; 176 archi-
manchites or abbots, and 84 hegoumens or priors; 5612
monks ; 2339 nuns ; 5349 lay brothers and novices ; 7091
lay sisteis and novices. I he black clergy has Basilius the
Great for its tutelar saint, and it is entirely provided for bv
the state. White clergy: 1400 protohiereis or arch- Statistics,
priests; 35,593 popes or priests ; 12,804 deacons ; and
63,358 sub-deacons, readers, sacristans, and low ecclesias¬
tical servants. The secular clergy receive from L.16 to
L.40 yearly salary from the state, with some income in fees
and in kind, which altogether places them, as a body, above
positive want, but no more. When a clergyman gets too
old for service, his successor, should he be his son-in-law, is
bound to maintain him. When he dies, a place is first
found for his son, and his daughter is married off if possible
to the successor. A retiring-fund has been instituted, to
afford pensions, but it is as yet too trifling for mention.
The fees are prescribed by usage, but the priest can be
compelled to perform his functions without remuneration.
There are 4 first, 19 second, and 27 third class eparchies
or bishoprics ; in Grusia, 10. Further, 463 monasteries, of
which 44 of the first, 85 of the second, and 160 of the
third class; the chief or laurel monasteries are the Keeyeff-
Grotto, the Trinity-Sergius, the Alexander-Neffski, and
the PotchiUefFski. There are 129 nunneries and 36,697
churches, of which 145 are for the Starover, or Assimilated
faith. Spiritual education is provided for by 4 ecclesias¬
tical academies, at St Petersburg, Moscow, KeeyefF, and
Kazan, with 73 professors and 336 students; each with but
1 faculty for theology, although the Hebrew, the ancient
and modern Greek, the Latin, and now even the English,
German, and French languages are taught, besides mathe¬
matics in exlenso, and the natural sciences in part. Further,
48 seminaries, with 708 teachers and 13,864 scholars; 183
clerical district schools, with 1054 teachers and 36,359
scholars; and 18 clerical parish schools, with 32 teachers
and 1401 scholars: total, 253 schools, with 1867 teachers
and 51,960 scholars. These church-schools were once the
light of the land. Several schools have been founded for
clergymen’s daughters, but their number is not returned.
The national church property cannot be valued, but its
capital is stated at L. 1,700,000 sterling, and its annual in¬
come suffices to defray all the church expenditure, besides
leaving a large surplus, which is credited to the church
account. It is chiefly derived from the candle-money col¬
lected for the wax tapers burned. The amount of free
gifts derived from the church-boxes amply suffices to de¬
fray the building and repairing of churches. Each govern¬
ment has its archbishop or bishop, excepting the govern¬
ments of Petersburg, Moscow, KeeyefF, and Vilna, in each
of which there is a metropolitan in lieu of an archbishop ;
and under these metropolitans, archbishops, and bishops are
placed all ecclesiastics and schools, excepting those of the
war ministry, which has its own senior priests, standing
under the synod and the war minister. The archbishop
of every government is the president of the government
consistory,—a spiritual college, consisting of five to seven
members, according to the extent of the bishopric. It is
composed of several archimandrites, protohiereis, and some
of the worthiest clergymen. For punishment, monks are re¬
moved from a higher to a lower class monastery; the secular
clergy are sent for a time to monasteries; and for more
serious offences are either degraded by one degree, or are
deprived of the riassa, their every-day upper vestment,
their hair being cut off before final dismissal from the cleri¬
cal function. Grave crimes come under the cognisance of
the criminal law of the country; but the clergy possess a
right of having deputies to see that they are treated fairly,
and they are not sent to prison without the knowledge of
the consistory or synod, where the sentence meets with
approval or disapproval. The following distinctions exist
for protopopes and popes :—Epigonations,1 palitzas,2 skull¬
caps, calottes, the synodal and cabinet naperstnoy krest, or
1 Epigonation, a sacerdotal decoration of embroidered stuff, in the shape of a parallelogram, worn on the right hip, below the upper
and above the under reeza or sacerdotal vestment. It denotes the spiritual sword.
alitza, a similar distinction, but now ranking higher than the epigonation. It is shorter, square, and richly embroidered.
RUSSIA.
527
Statistics, breast-slung cross,1 2 and the orders of St Anne, 2d and
3d, and of St Vladeemir, 3d and 4th classes. The same
distinctions, excepting the skull-caps and calottes, are given
also to the black clergy, from the hieromonach to the
archimandrite inclusively ; archihiereis and proto-presbyters
receive the orders of St Anne, 1st; St Vladeemir, 1st
and 2d classes ; of St Alexander Neffski; and of St Andrew
the First-Called. All the black clergy indiscriminately
wear beads.
Church. The Greco-Russian Church guards vigilantly against
the introduction of any doctrine open to the slightest sus¬
picion of heresy, and has its own censorship and jour¬
nals. It is also very observant of hierarchical subordina¬
tion. Generally, however, the Russian clergy, although
jealous of their dignity, have not the spiritual pride or
priestcraft of the Roman Catholic order, attributable no
doubt in part to the kindly national character, and in part
to the humanizing influence of marriage, which prevents the
overwhelming concentration of all the human passions into
one single channel. The Greco-Russian Church is mostly
antagonistic to the Roman Catholic, and differs from it in
the following essential particulars:'—1. In not recognising
the primacy of the Pope. 2. In denying that the Holy
Ghost proceeds from the Son (filioque). 3. In rejecting a
purgatory, predestination (except in the omniscience of the
Deity), indulgences, dispensations, and works of superero¬
gation, although admitting the intercession of saints by
prayer. 4. It holds the necessity of complete submersion of
the whole body at baptism, unless in urgent cases, when
even lay-men and women may perform it; but they must
immerse the infant with the baptismal words, “ In the name
of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost,” if the infant can
bear the immersion; if not, then sprinkling or ablution is
used. Should the priest arrive in time, he reads the sup¬
plementary prayers, and performs the mystery of anointing
with chrism. 5. Whilst admitting the doctrine of transub-
stantiation in regard to the eucharist, it affirms that the holy
bread (Trpocrc^opa.) must be leavened; the wine and water be¬
ing placed in the chalice; and it is only at the prayer of
transubstantiation that part of the agnus is placed in the
chalice. The element of wine with water, is alone admin¬
istered to children up to the age of seven, for fear of the ele¬
ments being ejected or falling to the ground. 6. Another im¬
portant distinction, is that marriage is obligatory on the secu¬
lar clergy, although monogamy is a strict tenet of the church.
A priest may continue to serve after his wife dies. 7. No
instrumental music is allowed, but vocal music forms a most
attractive portion of the service. This church rejects all
massive images of the Saviour or saints as idolatrous ; but
pictures, mosaics, bas-reliefs, and, in short, all that is repre¬
sented on a flat surface, is not held a violation of the law
which says, “ Thou shalt not make unto thee any graven
image!”" Broadly stated, and besides some of the pre¬
ceding tenets, the Greco-Russian religion differs from the
Anglican in so far as the latter church approaches to the
Lutheran. The general harmony, however, with the An¬
glican is greater than with any other church ; and several
attempts have been made, but not successfully, to unite
them, particularly in 1723. Addresses still pass at intervals
between the two churches; and independently of the
Irvingites, the ritual of Flatherly’s new community at
Liverpool so strongly resembles the Greek service that it
has attracted the notice of the Russian synod. There are
four great fasts:—1. Lent, or the great fast, between the Statistics,
carnival and Easter, of seven weeks’ duration, and of which.
the first and last are the most rigidly observed, being more
specially devoted to repentance, confession, and preparing
^ /r* -facf
-fnr CQr'rampnt • 9. Flip PptmfF.
St Peter’s day in June of two to five weeks’ duration, ac¬
cordingly as Easter Sunday falls; 3. The Oospenski, or Con¬
ception fast, called by the people the Gospozinki, from the
1st to loth August. 4. The Philippoff, or St Philip’s fast,
of six weeks before Christmas. The first fast or Lent is
the most rigidly observed.. Besides the above, the Wednes¬
day and Friday of every week are fast days, and the com¬
mon people scrupulously keep them all. Catechising and
preaching are practised,—the latter frequently, the former
at set intervals. Confirmation is not practised, the chrism
used at baptism being held to comprise a mystery, render¬
ing that ceremony supererogatory. The church festivals
and saints’days, kept with eastern splendour, are numerous,
and consequently form drawbacks to the business of life,
although they greatly relieve the labouring classes. The
venerative feeling of the people is profound, and they are
zealous church-goers, early and late, being due observers
besides of all the outward forms of religion, in which the
essence is sometimes absorbed. There is, however, much
genuine piety to be met with ; pilgrimages to monasteries
are frequent among all classes; donations, free gifts, offer¬
ings, and alms, being liberally bestowed by both rich and
poor. There are no entrance-fees, no distinctions for
great and little, no pews, no reserved places in Russian
churches : the congregation stand : all are equal before God.
The Sabbath is not much observed, except as a church¬
going day. The shops are shut during the hours of worship,
but all public places of amusement are afterwards thrown
open ; visits are made, and business is but little affected
by obedience to this salutary ordinance of the Supreme
Lawgiver. The church service is performed in the ancient
church Slavonic, and the lower classes cannot therefore
completely follow it, except as a thing they take for granted,
although they comprehend its general signification. I he
Bible, however, is now being translated into the vernacular
Russ. The congregation fervently join in the choral parts,
the responses, and the ejaculations. I his portion ot the
service, and the great pomp investing the whole system of
worship, together with the procession of banners, pictured
saints, and relics, have no doubt been the great means ot
originally impressing on a rude people the holy awe they
entertain for tsar and church ; which two, with them, are
identical. Church service usually consists ot the vbzglass,
or call to worship ; singing of psalms or hymns; the hkte-
nia? a series of prayers, mostly intoned, for the welfare
of the church and her chiefs, for the peace and union of
the Christian churches, and for every separate member of
the imperial family ; the reading of the epistles and evan¬
gel ; choral and part singing of unexampled harmony ; a
sermon, always in the common language, explaining the
evangel read; prayers, preparing for the communion, and
during which the priest prepares himself; the consecration
of the elements, and the administration of the sacrament,
which the clergyman takes every time, and the congrega¬
tion at will; then, thanksgiving for the sacrament, and part¬
ing benediction; the chanting and incense-burning through¬
out being frequent. Asperging with holy water is also
used.3 The Old Testament is read only during evening
1 Nanerstnov krest, a gold cross slung over the breast, a mark of distinction common to all the black clergy.. The imperial .ami y
often give besides for distinguished services, so-called ftriZZmnt crosses (diamond). The other crosses for proficiency in the learne e-
grees are 2 in number : one, a small square gold cross for the degree of Magister Scientium ; and the other a more elongated, light- ue,
enamelled one for the degree of Doctor of Divinity. The last reward for a member of the white clergy is a mitre.
2 The Ektenid : there are several forms of prayer so called. Some portions of this service resemble that of the Irvingites.
3 A foreigner is mostly struck by the constant signing of the cross, the repetition of the Gospodi Momeelooi, or “ Lord be merci u
genuflexions, and the semi or entire prostrations.
528
RUSSIA.
Statistics, service, which is intended to prepare for the 'morning or
^ principal service, and it therefore has a prophetic tendency,
the psalms and hymns being all appropriate. The morning
service represents the fulfilment of these prophecies. Ser¬
vice much of the same kind is often performed—sometimes
exorcisms too—at private houses, on special occasions;
and the remembrance-service, or Pomeenki, forty days
after a person’s death, is a pious custom ; as is that of the
yearly visitation of family graves, although this often de¬
generates into revelling. It is another laudable custom of
the Russians to remove their hats, in the streets, before oil
funerals that pass. Every Russian is obliged to take the
sacrament at least once a year. The calendar in use is
the Julian or Greek, which is twelve days behind the
Gregorian or Latin. The antagonism of the two churches
is perhaps the chief objection to a reform in this respect.
The superstitious belief of the common people in good and
bad spirits, in house-spectres, forest and water demons, is
fast dying out, although too much credence is still given
to omens and witchcraft. All decent creeds are liberally
tolerated,—a beautiful contrast to Roman Catholic usage ;
and no civil disabilities attach to those who profess another
faith, except to the most hateful of the sectarians. The chief
attributes of pre-eminence assigned to itself by the Russian
Church are the ringing of the larger church-bells—the
smaller ones being allowed to the foreign denominations,—
and, further, the 'public processions. The Roman Catho¬
lics are permitted to walk in state round the outside of
their churches when walled in, or within them when not.
The host must be carried in coaches. Funerals may be
publicly followed by the clergy of all persuasions. Col¬
lisions with the populace are thus prudently avoided, whilst
perfect toleration is granted. In towns and places where
the Roman Catholic faith is predominant, greater public
display is permitted. There exists, too, a species of
church police, in the form of visitation, at times, of foreign
churches by a deputed person. The confine where tole¬
ration touches on persecution is in the ordinance, that
the children of a foreigner, man or woman, married to a
Russian, must, unless specially exempted, be brought up
in the national religion. Apostacy to any other faith is
strictly prohibited; but Mussulmen and Jews, on the con¬
trary, who go over to the Russian Church, are allowed
many immunities,—the latter, a consideration in money!
The empress, too, and foreign princesses marrying into the
imperial family, must likewise embrace the national reli¬
gion, but they are not re-baptized, being only anointed with
the holy chrism. None but Jews, Mohammedans, and
those baptized in one person of the Trinity are re-baptized.
Sectarians. Since the first introduction into Russia of Christian¬
ity, many schisms have taken place, such as the Adrian-
ites and. the Self-Mutilators; but the chief separations
were:—(1.) In 1649, when a considerable number of
Greco-Russians went over to the Unia, which was formed
by orthodox believers abandoning the ritual of the national Statistics,
church, and^ accepting the dogmas of the Roman Catho-
lie faith. Ihe Uniats, 2,000,000 in number, were again
forcibly taken into the bosom of the mother church in
1839. (2.) Under the Tsar Alexay Mikhailovitch (1645
to 1676), when the amendment of the church-books occa¬
sioned a new separation. Many who believed not in the
right correction of the church books of worship, which had
become full of errors, formed a community holding to the
ancient order of things, and they were called St&ro-Obriad-
tsi or Staroveri (Old Ritualists or Old Believers), because
opposed to all innovations, even in non-spiritual matters.
Latterly, some of them have consented to accept priests
from among the orthodox hierarchy, on condition of their
performing church-service according to the ancient ritual.
This section is called the Assimilated Church, and it
counts 145 places of worship. Their church-service is
very coarse and unimpressive. Those sectarians who
accept no such clergy are called the Bezpopoffstchina, or
Popeless. There are at least 40 different sects, officially
stated at about 2,000,000 in number; but the well-in¬
formed calculate them as amounting to nearly 8.000,000 ;
and they all conceal their profession as much as possible.
The most respectable are the Staro-Obriadsti. The Dook-
hobortsi, or Soul-Strugglers, and the Molokhane (so called
from the locality they inhabit), are schismatics, living, as
do the Mennonites, mostly in the south of Russia, and their
tenets have much in common with those of the Protestant
dissenters, particularly of the Anabaptists. The other sec¬
tarians dwell in the remoter governments and in Siberia.
Many of their tenets are horrible; the Skoptsee, or Self-
Mutilators, in particular, who are met with even in St
Petersburg, and include some Germans and Fins; but they
are rigidly put down, and must eventually finish by becom¬
ing absorbed into the national church. Many converts are
annually made both from them and other religions,—Mo¬
hammedans, Jews, Buddhists, Lama'ites, and pagans; the
Russian Church prudently confining its charity to its own
home-circle of heathen ; but there are no sufficient data for
specifying the number christianized. This was partly
the reason why the Foreign Bible Society-branch, to¬
gether with free masonry in Russia, was put down by
Alexander in 1824. Another reason was jealousy of Pro¬
testant interference with the Russian translation of the
Bible, which is that of the Septuagint. The Evangelical
Church counts many adherents, called Herrnhuters—United
Moravian Brethren,—living mostly in the German colonies
on the banks of the Volga, in the town of Sarepta, in
Southern Russia, and about Tiflis. The Jews abound
mostly in Poland and in the semi-Polish governments. The
Kara'im Jews, a peculiar sect, dwell in the Crimea.
The Armenio-Gregorian church in Russia has six epar- Armenio-
chies, of which five are under archbishops, and one is ruled Gregorian
by a supreme patriarch. Church.
Eparchies.
1. Nakhitchevan and Bessarabia...
2. Astrakhan 
3. Erivan   
4. Grusino-Imeritia 
5. Karabagh 
6. Shirvan 
Churches.
Cathe¬
dral.
13
Parish.
28
14
319
18
163
35
577
Burial-
grounds
and
Chapels
Total.
White Clergy.
Officiat¬
ing
Divines.
4
5
7
277
4
3
36
22
327
299
168
38
300
890
54
81
373
312
169
32
Church
Ser¬
vants.
44
30
270
332
86
32
1021
794
Monas¬
teries.
13
8
8
2
34
Monastics.
Male.
Female.
3
1
55
7
8
76
14
7
24
Number
of
Parishioners
of both
Sexes.
23,854
17,511
108,536
128,761
63,394
15,502
357,558
Learned
E tablishments.
Semi¬
naries.
District
and
other
Schools.
19
The present patriarch, Matheos, is the 141st supreme gory, the Enlightener. He has his throne at Etchmiadzin,
patriarch of the Haikan people since the time of St Gre- in Armenia. Church affairs are administered, under him,
RUSSIA.
529
Statistics, by a synod consisting of four archbishops or bishops, and
four archimandrites. These members are chosen by the
Roman patriarchs, and confirmed by the emperor, who likewise
Catholic sanctions the nomination of the eparchial archbishops.
Church. The synod is further assisted by several consistories and
spiritual directories. This church is wholly supported
by voluntary contributions, the government adding only a
sum of about L.1150 yearly for some particular ex¬
penses. The Lazareff Institute of Oriental Languages,
at Moscow, provides for the education of twenty youths,
who are afterwards either ordained as priests, or appointed
as teachers in the seminaries, or to situations in the synod, Statistics,
consistories, and spiritual directories. The Armenio-Gre-
gorian Church considers itself the most ancient in Chris¬
tendom. It differs from the Greek—with which, however,
it has much similarity—in the doctrine of Jesus Christ’s
humanity; the A rmenio-Gregorians maintaining that his two
natures, of divinity and humanity, are blended into one;
the Greeks, on the contrary, that they are distinct. The
Armenio-Gregorian supreme patriarch, or Katholicos, styles
himself in consequence AvroKec^aX^, or independent
head.
Statement of the Homan Catholic Church
Eparchies.
1. Mohileff.
2. Vilna 
3. Telzky ....
4. Lutzk 
5. Kamenetz ,
6. Minsk  
7. Tiraspol...
Total.
Churches.
164
299
214
165
99
81
88*
14
97
112
16
2
79
20
1110
340
Chapels.
331
361
134
371
66
184
17
Monasteries.
Male.
Pemale.
4
17
9
9
2
6
1464
47|
Numher of Clergy.
11
11
10
13
11
12
11
2ot
79
392
538
612
241
148
182
112
Monastic generally.
106
339
160
150
24
134
2225
913
52
213
72
36
9
68
540
Parishioners of
both Sexes.
304,354
853,608
815,881
251,059
209,550
188,586
129,749
2,752,787
* In this number are included 40 parish churches of the Armenian Catholics, and 4 chapels; 54 white parish
clergy, and 14,345 parishioners of both sexes.
t Of the total number of these monasteries (72), 49 are on the government civil list, and 23 on the supernu¬
merary list, which implies that they are doomed ultimately to suppression, as has been already the case with many.
Mode of The Roman Catholic clergy are supported from the in¬
support. come of their immovable property and funded capital, which
accrued to the government when they were deprived of
them in 1841. The reason assigned was, that they were
thus only placed on a footing similar to that of the Russian
clergy, who are paid by the government, likewise out of
the church income. All expenses relating to the church,
and amounting to L.110,000, are defrayed by the govern¬
ment out of the above income, the state treasury adding
only, of its own, L.6000. Every eparchy has its seminary,
and there is one ecclesiastical academy at St Petersburg.
There are three tribunals: the eparchial direction, the
spiritual college, and the ministry of the interior. This
college consists of assessors chosen by every eparchy, and is
presided over by the metropolitan. A government procurer,
or superior crown-attorney, always attends. This church
has its chief seat in Poland and the neighbouring govern¬
ments. It has two metropolitans: one of Warsaw, for
Poland; and one of Mohileff, for the whole empire of
Russia. He is the primate, and resides mostly at St Peters¬
burg, which is the seat of the chief ecclesiastical academy.
Lutheran The consistorial sessions, formed of deputies, take place
Church. twice a year, and a government procurer assists at them.
As a means of learning the wants of the Lutheran Church,
a general synod, consisting of members and deputies of the
consistories, is sometimes convened at the pleasure of go¬
vernment. Many evangelical Lutheran churches have large
funds, amply sufficient for defraying all their expenses ;
others, again, receive assistance from government, to the
amount of L.9000. All these churches have the undis¬
turbed management of their property. Theological facul¬
ties for this confession exist at the universities of Dorpat
and Helsingfors. The Bible Society at St Petersburg had
distributed 13,000 copies of the Book among members only
of the Reformed Church, and had 30,000 more remaining.
Its fund amounted to nearly L.2000.
Statement of the Lutheran Church.
Consistorial
Districts.
1. St Petersburg
2. Moscow ...
3. Livonia ...
4. Courland ..
5. Esthonia...
6. Oesel 
7. Riga  
8. Revel 
Total  397
Number of Churches.
Parish.
55
38
108
120
48
14
10
4
Affili¬
ated.
14
50
33
64
26
0
7
1
195
Chapels
50
6
161
19
57
59
O
1
353
Number of
Clergy.
Upper
Hier¬
archy.
Preach¬
ers.
78
34
109
115
44
14
15
5
Number
of Pa¬
rishioners.
224,095
145,937
588,654
491,244
280,580
35,406
47,315
16,781
414
1,830,012
The Reformed denomination counts in all 31 churches
and chapels, with 26 officiating clergy. All matters relat¬
ing to this church, excepting those of the Reformed deno¬
mination in the governments of Vilna, Kovno, Grodno,
Minsk, and Mohileff, are regulated in separate Reformed
church-sessions, held at the Lutheran consistories. The
Vilna Evangelico-Reformed synod takes cognisance of all
church affairs relating to these last-mentioned governments.
There is, also, a spiritual college for this church at Vilna. Of
Hebrews, Mohammedans and Pagans, there are as follows:—
Hebrews1 1,322,936
Synagogues    345
Rabbis, readers, and teachers   4,935
Mohammedans 1,948,817
Mosques, (failed metcheds   4,718
Muftis, mullahs, and teachers   7,924
Pagans2   374,574
Places of worship   490
Priests  4,778
The philanthropic institutions of Russia are mostly under Charitable
     institutions
1 We believe this number to be more correct than that given in Kdppen’s returns of the foreign races. It is a year later.
2 In this number of pagans are included,—Lamaites, 190,390 ; Places of worship, 386 ; Priests, 4,410.
VOL. XIX. 3 X
530 R U S
Statistics, the direction of the Philanthropic Society, composed of
v ^ ^ various classes, and particularly of merchants. Its chief
curator is the metropolitan of St Petersburg. Under this
society are many establishments for widows, orphans, the
deaf and dumb, cripples, &c. There is also a committee
of prison inspection. Besides these, and the alms-houses
maintained by the towns, there are numerous establishments
supported by the government; such as the foundling hos¬
pitals, and the Widows’ Home at the Smolna convent.
Several more are supported by private charity; as the De-
midoff Institution, for orphan girls, and Zookoff’s Asylum, for
minor orphans. There were also, in 1851, 75 infant asylums
in the whole empire, attended by 7980 children of both sexes.
Education. Public Instruction. — Education was introduced into
Russia conjointly with Christianity in the tenth century.
The first school for boys was founded by the Grand Prince
Vladeemir, Russia’s Alfred, about 988 ; and the first school
for girls, under Yaroslaff, 1019 to 1054, by his sister Anne.
Public schools were afterwards founded in different parts
of Russia during the eleventh century, yet little had been
done when the great Peter first flung his mighty intellect
into the work before him, and by his rough but useful
lessons forced civilization upon his unwilling subjects.
This sovereign was indisputably as much the primary
teacher of his people as the founder of Russia’s present
greatness. He began by making education compulsory on
the nobility and officials, and each succeeding sovereign
after him did more or less in furtherance of his views.
The sole honourable record, indeed, of Elizabeth Petrovna’s
reign is the founding, at Shoovaloff’s suggestion, of the
Moscow university in 1755, and two years later of the
Academy of Fine Arts at St Petersburg, afterwards com¬
pleted by Catherine II. It was Elizabeth who first showed
the first leaning towards Gallic ideas. Catherine II.
zealously continued Peter’s labour, and was properly the
founder of the national schools. Her action is mostly
evidenced by the marked introduction, in moral culture,
manners, and dress, of an exclusively French system,
which continued down to the time of Nicholas. Russia
still owes much to Catherine, both in point of learning and
refinement of manners ; but it is a question whether her
system has not been in other respects hurtful by diminish¬
ing the national self-respect, and perhaps by corrupting the
national morals. Alexander I. greatly contributed to the
advancement of learning. He founded the universities of
Dorpat, Kharkoff, Kazan, and St Petersburg, as also the
Alexander Lyceum, ardently carrying out the work of
reform, much on Catherine’s plan, with steady perseve¬
rance and great success. His system was chiefly marked
by the introduction of a soldier-like discipline in the train¬
ing of youth. This system was yet more rigidly carried
out by Nicholas, to whom still belongs the credit of having
been the first to re-Russianize his empire. With this
view, he gave a more national direction to the course of
studies pursued, by making the Russian language, literature,
history, geography, statistics, and knowledge of Russia the
chief objects of study. He further prohibited the young
gentry from being educated abroad, except by special per¬
mission, and even laid restraints on their stay in foreign
countries, in order to counteract their inoculation of too
liberal ideas. He also made it imperative to obtain his
sanction for staying abroad, inflicted passport duties so
heavy as to be equivalent to a prohibition from travelling,
and sharpened the action of a severe censorship. He still
vigorously carried out the work of improving the national
education, and, like all his predecessors, considerably in¬
creased the number of the learned establishments. This
sovereign was vastly superior to any of his predecessors
after Peter. His personal gifts, mental and physical, were
of the highest order; and few men in his position have
nossessed so much mastery of the mind over the body.
S I A.
The accession of the present emperor Alexander II. has Statistics,
been marked by an abatement of his father’s restrictions, by
a comparative liberty of the press, and, strangely enough,
by a happy revulsion in favour of English principles, but
without any exaggeration of the sentiment. Already the
healthful impulse given in particular to literature surpasses
expectation, and promises the happiest results, although in
so vast an empire education has of course not yet had
time to permeate the masses. The Russian system of
education is on the whole too much intended for the eye ;
too hollow; too superficial; embraces too many objects
at once ; and does not sufficiently provide for the education
of the body. The education of females is the one most
requiring reform. Girls of all classes are superficially
taught all that they least want to know ; whilst the real
objects for which woman was created are precisely those
mostly left out of view. In the female government esta¬
blishments an undue luxury prevails, that totally unfits the
poor girls for the rude families into whose bosoms they
return ; and worst of all, their long stay in those semi¬
conventual establishments damps in them the faculty of
love, by severing them from the bonds of family affection.
As regards the general direction given to learning, it wras
mostly the scholastico-ecclesiastical spirit that prevailed up
to the time of the minister Oovaroff, in Nicholas’s reign.
The system followed in the universities and gymnasia was
bad to a degree, having besides the old seminaristic ten¬
dency. Oovaroff abolished this, and gave to learning a
more German or philologo-philosophical direction, in which
it now continues, although Nicholas interrupted it awhile
by stopping in 1848 the teaching of many branches of
philosophy in the universities, retaining only the lectures
on logic and psychology, and confiding them to priests, who
still occupy these chairs.
The fine arts came into Russia with Sophia, the Greek
spouse of John Yassilievitch III. The learned establish¬
ments of Russia, religious, military, naval, civil, and
special, are severally placed under particular chiefs at the
head of these different departments,—Poland and Finland
being separately administered,—and are mostly divided
into three classes, which take rank according to the degree
of distinction that attaches to them, regard being had to
the importance of the schools, and to the social position
of the scholars. These classes confer on the pupils various
advantages, which are held out as inducements for parents
to send their children to them for education, it having been
found both impossible and needless to carry out the system
of compulsory education first enforced by Peter. The
academies of sciences and of fine arts,'the liberal, chari¬
table, and many special institutions, are under the im¬
mediate protection of the imperial family, who further
provide for the instruction of their servants’ children, as do
also several of the separate ministries. By this special
superintendence for each branch of education, the object
in view is no doubt best attained ; but the fault lies in
over-government, and in nothing being left to the generous
action of public spirit, which is thus destitute of a high
moral tone. Teachers in public schools are very properly
subjected to examinations as to their competency, but
when once this is certified, they partake of the advantages
bestowed on the schools in the shape of pay,—which once
was liberal, but is not so now,—a gradually rising rank, and
subsequently a pension for their old age. Domestic tutors,
private teachers, and governesses, are all alike subjected
to tests, varying in proportion to the degree they may wish
to take, and are thus all equally under the control of the
government. Female teachers in the numerous government
establishments for young ladies, have advantages correspond¬
ing to those of the men. Generally speaking, the social stand¬
ing of a teacher is, as it ought to be, highly respectable. Not
to detail the minor establishments existing under the different
RUSSIA.
531
Statistics, ministries, a minute return of which would be of little
interest, we shall hereafter give the most important tables
w hen we touch the several heads to which they respectively
relate. The following summary will meanwhile answer all
needful purposes :—^Esthetics, and their affiliated branches,
are fostered by an Academy of Fine Arts,—the noblest in
Europe,—with its splendid sculpture and picture galleries,
and its collection of engravings; the Hermitage, with its
countless treasures of sculptures, paintings, and coins ; the
National and the Roomiantsoff museums; the museum of
sculpture in the Taurida Palace ; the permanent exhibition
of works of art near the Exchange; four porcelain, glass,
bronze, and tapestry manufactories ; four theatres, including
a national and an Italian opera, with a ballet, and where
French and German pieces are also performed; one sum¬
mer theatre, and one court-singers’ school,—all at St Peters¬
burg, or near it. A marked feature of the time is the
introduction of parks and public squares; some of the
bridges, too, in the empire, are of unparalleled magni¬
ficence ; and generally the improvement in architecture is
striking to the dullest eye. In architecture, it is the In¬
dian, the ancient Russian, the Russo-Byzantine, the re-?
naissance, and mixed styles that mostly prevail. Moscow has
but little to boast of in point of art, unless in the quaint archi¬
tecture of its Kreml and its countless churches. It possesses
a branch-school of the Academy of Fine Arts, and, further,
YablonofF’s cabinet of art-curiosities, two theatres, and
one theatre-school. Near that city are the picture-galleries
of Mr Narishkin, Count Strogonoff, Count Bezborodko, and
Prince Yoosoopoff. Science is provided for by more nu¬
merous establishments: the Academy of Sciences, with its
cabinets of natural curiosities and oriental coins, and its
costly library ; the public library, with 802,717 volumes,
28,536 manuscripts, and 63,503 engravings, independently
of the libraries of the universities and ecclesiastical acade¬
mies; the magnificent astronomical observatory at Pool-
kova; numerous other observatories at Moscow, Kazan,
Nicholaieff, Dorpat, Riga, Mitau, and other places; the
physical observatory at St Petersburg; the cabinets of na¬
tural curiosities at Moscow, Yilna, Dorpat, Riga,and Mitau;
the scientific collection and models of marine apparatus in
the Naval College of St Petersburg; Loder’s anatomical
museum at Moscow ; the museum of South Russian anti¬
quities at Odessa and at Kertch ; the Geographical and Im¬
perial Mineralogical societies; the botanical garden ; the
Free Economical and Horticultural societies; the Society
for Mutual Instruction; another for the encouragment of ar¬
tists,—all at St Petersburg; the Society of Friends of Rus¬
sian Literature, for Russian history and antiquities; the
Medico-Physical Society, for the discussion of the natural
sciences, and of pharmaceutic knowledge; the Agricultural
and Antiquarian societies: the Literary and Lettish socie¬
ties ; one for rural economy; the Livonian societies of Public
Instruction and of Agriculture at Riga; the Courland Society
for Literature and the Fine Arts at Mitau ; the Literary so¬
cieties of Kalooga and Zitomir; the Philotechnic and Scienti¬
fic associations of Kharkoff; the societies of Friends of the
Russian Language at Yaroslaff; of Friends of the National
Literature and of the Sciences at Kazan; and the Physio¬
logical Society at Abo ; one of which might have been ad¬
vantageously replaced by a society for the prevention of
cruelty to animals. A society for the acclimation of animals
has been recently formed at Moscow, and Mr Lamanski has
projected one for the diffusion of useful knowledge.
Among the special institutes, the most noteworthy are
the learned section for the oriental languages, under the
minister of foreign affairs, instituted to qualify young diplo¬
matists for their vocations; and the Lazareff Institute for
the oriental languages at Moscow.
First-class Establishments for the Daughters of the No- Statistics.
bility. Officers, and Officials, under the immediate pro-
tection of their Imperial Majesties.
Teachers. Scholars.
1 Smolna rearing establishment   83 392
1 School of the Order of St Catherine at St
Petersburg  50 357
1 School of the Order of St Catherine at Moscow 59 288
1 Patriotic Institute  36 244
12 Other institutes for noble young ladies at dif¬
ferent places  356 1589
13 Second-class establishments at different places 426 1533
12 Third-class establishments for girls of lower
condition at different places  207 953
Special Establishments.
1 Nicholas Orphan Institute at St Petersburg... 166 793
1 Nicholas Orphan Institute at Moscow  108 725
1 Deaf-and-dumb school at St Petersburg  23 65
1 School of midwifery „   14 131
1 „ „ at Moscow  16 82
1 Section of the Moscow founding-hospital
for infants   40 125
Total 1590 7277
Five female gymnasia, of which four are at St Petersburg
and one at Veeshny-Volotchock,—number of^scholars not
shown—have been recently instituted, much on the plan
of the German daughter-schools.
Male Educational Establishments at St Petersburg.
Teacliers. Scholars
1 Alexander Lyceum  33 126
1 Deaf-and-dumb school    13 101
1 Commercial school      35 299
2 Hospital-assistants’ schools  11 85
1 Nicholas Orphans’ Institute at Gatchina  44 671
At Moscow.
1 Section of the foundling hospital for infants.. 21 96
1 Commercial school  24 121
1 Hospital-assistants’ school  15 251
1 Mechanics’ institute  18 290
Masters for instructing in artizanship  14
Total   228 2040
There are also 3 schools—the Maria, Midwives’, and St
Helen’s—under the protection of H.I.H. the Grand Duchess
Helen, with 30 teachers and 490 scholars; and 12 private
and 3 sectional schools belonging to the Ladies’ Patriotic
Community, with 32 teachers and 507 scholars.
This ministry, established by Alexander I. in 1802, is Ministry ol
presided over by a special minister, assisted by a colleague, public in-
a superior director of schools, a high committee of censor- struction.
ship consisting of three individuals of note, a committee of
censorship, and a staff of 46 censors; of whom 8 are at St
Petersburg, 5 at Moscow, 6 foreign, 3 at Riga, 3 at Vilna,
2 at KeeyefF. 3 at Odessa, 11 at Warsaw, 2 at Tiflis, 1 at
Dorpat, 1 at Revel, and 1 at Kaz^n. Besides these cen¬
sors, there are others for the ministry of foreign affairs,
the synod, the post-office, the theatre-direction, and one
for the ministry of war.1 The ministry of public instruc¬
tion is at present divided into 11 learned circles,—of St
Petersburg, Moscow, Keeyeff, Kazan, Kharkoff, Odessa,
Dorpat, Siberia, the Caucasus, Vilna, and Warsaw,—each
under the superintendence of a curator, and each district
under a separate inspector of schools. The six universities
of St Petersburg, Moscow, Keeyeff, Kazan, Kharkoff, and
Dorpat, are under this ministry; that of Helsingfors is
under the state-secretary for Finland. The following is a
special return of their status :—
1 This vexatious censorship is beginning to cause a most serious evil or blessing—the printing of Russian books abroad.
RUSSIA.
532
Statistics.
Universities.
1. Helsingfors (formerly at
Abo), founded in 1640
2. Moscow, founded 1755 .
3. Dorpat, 1802  
4. Kazan, 1804
5. Kharkoff, 1804
6. St Petersburg, 1819
7. St Vladeemir, at Kee-
yeff (re-established in
1839) 
Facul¬
ties.
Objects of Study.
l’ro“ Students,
fessors.
a, Theological; &, medical; c, juridical; of, historico-philological; e, physico-
mathematical   
a, Historico-philological; 6, physico-mathematical; c, juridical; d, medical .
a, Theological (Protestant); 6, juridical; c, historico-philological; d, pby-
sico-mathematical; e, medical  
a, Historico-philological; 6, physico-mathematical; c, juridical; d, medical.
The physico-mathematical faculty has two sections—for the mathematical
and the natural sciences ; the juridical faculty has two sections—for juris¬
prudence proper and the cameral sciences  )
a, Historico-philological; 6, physico-mathemntical; c, juridical; d, medical.-i
The mathematical faculty is subdivided into the two sections of the natu- l
ral and the mathematical sciences   J
a, Historico-philological; fc, physico-mathematical; c, juridical; d, oriental)
languages. The physico-mathematical faculty is subdivided into the two
sections of the mathematical and the natural sciences; the juridical into
the juridical proper and cameral. Cameral science comprises—State insti¬
tutions, laws of organization and police, finance, rural and political eco¬
nomy, statistics, technology, and international law. The faculty of oriental
languages comprises five sections: the Arabic—Persian, Turkish, and
Tartar ; the Mongolian and Kalmuck Tartar; the Chinese—Mantchoor; the
Arabic—Hebrew; and the Armenian—Grusian and Tartar 
a, Historico-philological; b, physico-mathematical; c, juridical; d, medical. )
The physico-mathematical faculty has two sections—for the natural and V
the mathematical sciences     • • J
Total  594
60
117
84
76
79
82
96
600
1725
555
353
459
716
906
Statistics.
5314
By a decree of the emperor, promulgated in January
1859, the upper pedagogical institute, as it now exists, will
be suppressed, and replaced by special courses of pedagogy.
Similar pedagogical courses are to be established in all uni¬
versity-towns. The other educational establishments are
—2 lycea, the Richelieu at Odessa, and the Bezboroko
at Nezin ; further, 84 gymnasia, each government and
every important town having at least 1 ; 458 district, 1090
parish, 19 primary, 654 private, 2 veterinary, and 107
Hebrew schools. Total under this ministry, exclusive of
Poland, 2434 schools, with 7472 teachers, and 104,164
scholars, at an annual outlay to the state of L.475,000.
Educational matters in Poland are under a curator, who
reports both to the lieutenant of the kingdom and to
the minister of public instruction. The Warsaw learned
circle is the only one in the country, and under it formerly
stood a university atYilna; but it was suppressed in 1833
on account of the political troubles, and removed in 1839
to KeeyefF, the Vilna professors being bodily translated
thither, and the former university at KeeyefF re-established
under the name of St Vladeemir. There exist at present
in Poland 1 medico-chirurgical academy, 1 nobility insti¬
tute, 1 government ladies’ boarding-school, 1 school of arts,
6 philological gymnasia, 1 practical gymnasium, 2 practical
high schools, 1 school of agriculture and forest economy, 181
private and 9 practical district schools ; 17 district, 1 Sun¬
day commercial, 1 primary teachers, 1119 primary, 93 Sun¬
day artizans, 1 rabbinical, and 5 Hebrew schools. Total,
1441 places of education in Poland, with 74,343 scholars,
the number of masters not being shown.
Education in Finland is under the secretary for that grand
principality. It is provided for by 1 university at Helsing¬
fors, 1 cadet corps at Friedrichshamm, 6 gymnasia, 14 upper
elementary, 53 lower, and 25 Sunday-schools; further, 3
navigation, 3 teclinico-practical, and 3 commercial schools ;
1 institute for rural economy, several people’s schools, and
6 girls’ schools ; the total of masters being about 300, and
of scholars 9000. Girls are mostly taught at home. No
Fin is admitted to the sacrament unless he can read.
In 1849, only 917 books were printed in the whole em¬
pire, against 1626 printed in 1857, in the Russian, Polish,
Finnish, Lettish, Esthonian, Gruzinian, Armenian, German,
French, Italian, and English languages. The number of
journals and periodicals issued in 1859 forms a total of 204.
Piracy of literary property is punished by heavy fines, and
copyright is inalienable for fifty years. Typography, as an
art, although improving, is still in a backward state, and print¬
ing is dear. The greatest darkness prevails in the Caucasus
and in Siberia ; the greatest enlightenment, in the capitals
and the Baltic provinces. It was through this German
section of the empire, not to speak of the foreigners who co¬
operated in the work, that the country became permanently
civilized.1 Russia is still the great barrier against Asiatic
barbarism, and the great means of Asiatic civilization.
Summary from the Statistical Tables of 1856.
Schools. Scholars. of Sch’ouf!
In the European governments and of both Sexes.
provinces  7841 432,889 0-75
In the Caucasian lieutenancy  74 5,505 0T9
In the Siberian governments and
provinces  312 11,608 0'35
In the whole empire  8227 450,002 0'70
On an average there fell to every government and pro¬
vince of the empire from 126 to 127 schools, and 6329
scholars ; to every school 55 scholars; and in the whole
empire 0’70 scholars to every 100 inhabitants of both sexes,
—otherwise expressed, 1 scholar to 143 inhabitants.
Army.—The general direction of this branch of the ser- Ministry
vice rests of course with the emperor ; but the detailedof war‘
direction is under the management of the Staff-Office, cor¬
responding to the English Horse-Guards. In its organiza¬
tion the staff adheres mostly to the French. The officers
of the staff are well versed in foreign languages ; still their
education calls for some amendment. There are many
abuses of management, as well as much peculation, existing
in the army generally ; although, to the credit of the go¬
vernment be it said, commissions are nominated in regi¬
ments and elsewhere to inquire into and uproot abuses.
The hospital service, during the recent war, was open to
indignant animadversion. Promotion goes by seniority,
favour, and for distinguished services; there is no putting
of demerit over the head of merit by purchase ; and every
officer must serve from the rank of under-officer upwards.
Young men educated in the military colleges come out as
1 The discharged soldier in Russia is an important agent in the communication of that floating knowledge which goes so far to instruct
a people.
RUSSIA.
533
Statistics, officers. The whole army is under a minister of war, as-
^ sisted by a colleague and a military council. The office of
Master of the Ordnance is generally filled by a grand prince.
The total amount of the regular forces, reduced as it has
been since the war of 1853-55, may be taken at 500.000
men ; and the total of the irregular troops, consisting of the
Kozzack forces and different militia troops, at 150,000 men.
The following is a view of their composition :—
Regular Troops.—The active army consists (1.) of the
separate corps of the Guards, comprising the infantry
and reserve cavalry corps of the Guards; (2.) of the sepa¬
rate grenadier corps ; (3.) of the 1st, 2d, 3d, 4th, 5th, and
6th corps, the three first forming the 1st army and subor¬
dinate to its commander-in-chief; (4.) of the separate re¬
serve cavalry corps; (5.) and of the following separate
corps—the Caucasian, Orenburg, and Siberian ; (6.) lastly,
of the forces stationed in Eastern Siberia and in Finland.
Statement of Army.
Guard Corps.
Men.
2 Divisions of heavy cavalry1    4,000
1 „ light „   2,000
3 „ infantry  36,000
9 Batteries of foot artillery 
4 „ horse „  
The grenadier corps, and the 6 army corps, are each
composed of—
3 Divisions of infantry 252,000
1 „ light cavalry   14,000
1 ,, foot artillery 
To each infantry corps is attached a division of foot
artillery, and each division has 3 brigades, of which
1 brigade, composed of 4 batteries, is attached to
each division of infantry.
1 Brigade of horse artillery, composed of 2 bat¬
teries     4,000
The separate corps of reserve cavalry consists of 2 divi¬
sions of cuirassiers, which form the cadres for war¬
time ; to this reserve cavalry are attached—
6 Horse batteries 
1 Division of horse pioneers  250
Separate Caucasian Corps.
4 Divisions (strong ones) of infantry 
13 Battalions of the Caucasian line 
18 „ „ Grusian line  
6 „ „ Black Sea line 
Forming a total of 139 battalions, equal to...170,000
Grand total 482,250
The regular troops included in the separate corps of
Orenburg, Siberia, and Finland, with the artillerists, &c.,
will swell this amount to about 500,000 men. The irregular
troops cannot be estimated with any degree of exactness
on account of their peculiar organization, no permanent con¬
tingent being fixed, and the whole male population being
in some parts liable to serve when summoned.
The recruiting is efi'ected by alternate levies made in
the different governments, and ordered by imperial com¬
mand, designating the classes and the number of men to be
taken from every thousand. Recruits are chosen by the
communes or selected by lot, and are received by a com¬
mission in the presence of an imperial aide-de-camp. The
nobility, officials, clergy, and merchants, are exempted
from serving ; the recruitment thus falls mostly upon the
serfs between the ages of 18 and 35. The term of service
is 20 years for the Guards, 22 for the line, and 25 for the
train and military servants, although unlimited furloughs
are given earlier. Every year after the manoeuvres, which
take place at different times and places, the minister of
war demands of the regimental chiefs what soldiers may be Statistics,
dismissed ; but the principles on which furloughs, limited
or unlimited, are granted, do not, from their complication,
admit of detail. The general rule is, in case of war being
expected, to give leave of absence only to such soldiers as
are natives of the nearer governments, in order that they
may be promptly called in when needed ; but if war should
not be expected, then the soldiers are dismissed to the re¬
moter governments, though always liable to be summoned
to the ranks so long as physical capacity allows. The fur¬
loughed soldiers must, on arrival at their homes, report
themselves at the depot of the nearest regiment, no matter
that it is not their own, and every year appear at the
nearest place appointed for manoeuvres and drill, which
never last beyond a few weeks. Little or no pension is
given, but the old soldiers are emancipated as serfs, and
provided for by being preferentially appointed to situations
as doorkeepers, watchmen, overseers, and so forth, in
government establishments and public institutions. There
are but few hospitals for invalided soldiers; the chief one
is at Tchesma, near St Petersburg. The Russian soldier
of the Guards is tall and well made ; but the line-soldier is
often narrow-chested, has not so much strength or stamina,
and he is but very indifferently fed in war, which explains
why he dies so fist on march and in hospitals. The Rus¬
sian is hardy beyond compare, and most unquestionably
brave ; but his bravery is of a stoical kind, totally differing
from the fury of the French, and more resembling the in¬
trepidity of the English soldier, which has no equal. His
favourite weapon is the bayonet, which, like the English¬
man, he takes to naturally, because used from infancy to
the hatchet and to chopping. The Russian soldier can be
his own cook, tailor, and bootmaker ; he is handy to a de¬
gree, and enduring to martyrdom ; but he wants that high
tone of spirit which is imparted only by moral superiority,
and this is the reason why his education is now being more
attended to; the officers themselves being made, through¬
out the Guards and army, the schoolmasters of their men,
who learn, good-humouredly and successfully, reading,
writing, and the rudiments of arithmetic. The men are
now also taught gymnastic exercises, besides bayonet and
sword-play. Every battalion has a proportionate number
of special marksmen with rifles, who are taught musketry-
practice. The men are much more liberally treated than
before the war of 1853-55, and the drill and exercise sys¬
tem is greatly altered, the automaton system having been
found of bad effect, serving only to stupify. The Kozzacks,
the artillery, the cavalry, and infantry regiments of the
Guards, are composed of fine men. The favourite mode of
attack is in column ; in Soovoroff’s time it used to be in line,
like the English. The immense spaces to be traversed, and
the distance from depots, neutralizes one-third of the active
force. Railways, however, are altering this state of things.
Scientific Establishments and Schools under the Ministry
of War.
1 Medico-chirurgical academy, placed directly Teachers,
under the medical department of the war
ministry.,    35
Several surgeon-barbers’ schools at the differ¬
ent military hospitals  17
1 Topographers’ school  13
22 Military schools2 Not shown.
Total  65 12,138
Further, 3 lower artillery schools, distinct from the artillery
college, viz., the technical, pyrotechnical, and farriers’ schools, with
22 teachers and 166 scholars.
Scholars.
978
1,020
140
10,000
1 To everv division of infantry is attached a battalion of sharpshooters. Each infantry corps has 3 divisions, each division 2 brigades
or 4 regiments and each regiment is composed of 3 battalions. Each battalion has 4 companies of 250 privates. 1 cavalry division
has 4 regiments of 4 squadrons each, consisting of 120 privates. A distinction is made in liuss between the words division and divisia ,•
a division may consist of only 250; but a divisia corresponds to the continental division ^
2 These military schools are a great improvement. They have been lately instituted in lieu of the canonist schoo ,
534
RUSSIA.
Statistics.
Under the section of the Military Learned Establish¬
ments, whose chief is independent of the war minister, and
reports to the emperor directly:—
Three military academies, viz.:— Teachers.
1. The Nicholas academy of the staff  22
2. „ upper engineer school... 50
3. The Michael artillery school  32
1 page corps, or college   41
1 ensigns’ school of the Guards    34
22 cadet corps, or military colleges, for the 1
Guards and line  j
723
Scholars.
250
126
117
159
206
7440
Total  899
8298
The engineers are perhaps the most learned of all the
army. The Guard officers are gentlemanly in tone, and
well educated, the artillery and staff particularly. Krupp’s
steel cannon is used in the Caucasus, and has proved itself
a good weapon of war, although a costly one. The per¬
cussion-lock has long been adapted throughout the army to
a plain bore, with the Minie ball. The artillery is very fine,
and the horses are strong; but the powder is bad. This
arm manoeuvres well, is bold in advance, and fires quickly.
The cavalry is admirable, the Kozzacks making excellent
light troops, through the hardiness of their horses and their
equipment being suited to its purpose. It is the Kozzacks
of the Caucasian line and of the Black Sea who are the
best and bravest; the other Kozzacks are but indifferent
troops. The arsenals, powder-mills, and great military Statistics
manufactories are at St Petersburg, Systerback, Toola, and
etrozavodsk. Dark-green is the prevailing colour, often
with red facings, but blue and other colours are also affected.
One-half of the income of the empire was supposed to be
applied to the former war budget, but retrenchments of
great magnitude have been made since the last war. The
numerical amount of the army is rigidly kept secret, as a
supposed means of strength.
Statement of the Russian Fleet.
Navy.
Description of Vessels.
Sailing ships of large ]
dimensions  J
Screw steam line-of- i
battle ships J
Screw steam frigates  
Steam frigates and pad¬
dle-boats  
Inferior vessels* ,
Screw gun-boats 
Total of fleet.
Baltic
Fleet.
24
8
7
9
66
70
184
Black Sea
Fleet.
^ ^ ^
t-/2
CO ^ W C
•5 S2 =«
® £
2
White Sea
Fleet.
CL
S a
ii^i
Nil
^ o £ 18
p.£P3
Caspian
Fleet.
6 s a S'
p,**- ^ ’a
a • fe
2
C"-1 pp-l ,
18 c a 5
^ ® S 2
brigtTndVmalUteamers.33613 ^ ClaS8ed the corvettes> cliPPers, yachts,
Screw Steam Line-of-Battle Ships.
(Some new and all sound.)
Guns.
*Tsesarevitch   135
*Sindpe  131
Orel  84
*Retvisan    84
fGangoot    74
*Vola  74
fKonstanteen   74
*Veeborg  74
*The General Admiral  70
Prokhor (sailing line-of-
battle ship), like the Ex¬
cellent, in England, used
for gunnery practice ... 84
Screw Steam Frigates.
(All new and sound.)
*Svetlana   60
*01eg  58
*Ilia Moorometz     53
*Gromoboy   50
* Askold  45
*Palkan  44
Sailing Frigates and Large
Vessels.
(Nearly unserviceable.)
Rossia   120
Imperator Peter Pervy .... 110
Imperatreetza Alexandra .. 84
Poltava  84
Andray  84
V’lad&emir  34
Names and Order of the Vessels.
Krasnoy
Ne Tron MeniaJ  
Brienne  
Pamiat Az6va§  
Veleekoy Kniaz Meekhael..
Fere Champenoise  
Ezekiel  ,„...
Ingermannland 
Borodino  
Vilaroche  
Seezoy Yeleekoy  
Narva 
Amphgtreeda   
Tsesarevitch Konstansteen.
Castor '. 
Corvettes.
(Nearly unserviceable.)
Kniaz Varshaffsky   30
Olivootsa    30
Smolensk    28
Steam Frigates—all paddles.
(Seaworthy and serviceable.)
Ho.-p.
Kamtchatka....  550
Gremiastchy   400
Smialoy   400
Groziastchy  400
Olaff ,,...  400
Vladeemir (post steamer).. 350
Rurick   300
Otvaznoy   300
Khrabroy  300
Inferior Vessels.— Corvettes.
(Seaworthy and new.)
Gnns.
Bayan  10
Vol  11
Medvdd   11
Boyarin    H
Yoyevoda   11
Rinda  H
Posadnick     11
Noveek    11
Greeden  H
Clippers.
Strelock  6
Plastoon   6
Djegheet    6
Razboynik   6
Opritchnik   6
Nayezdnik   6
20-gun Brigs.
Phildktet (new)   20
Agamemnon ,,   20
Antenor (old)   20
Palinoor    20
Ooleess    20
Parees ,,   20
River Paddle-Boats.
St Petersburg (a post steamer).
Fontanka.
Ladoga.
Ilmen.
Meernoy.
Pospeshnoy.
Guns.
84
84
74
74
74
74
74
74
56
56
56
56
44
44
44
Yastreb.
Vestovoy.
Beestroy.
Onega.
Alexandria.
Courier.
Graf Vrontchenko.
Neffka.
Neva.
Veeborg.
Okhta.
Eezora.
Gun-Boats.
70 screw (serviceable)-.
6 yachts.
Schooners.
Bakon (new), Screw..
Vekha „ „ ..,
Veekhr (old), Sailing.
Doshd „ „
Meteor „ „
Grad „ „
Radooga „ „ .,
Strela
Transports.
1 screw.
11 sailing.
Ho.-p
. 30
. 3.0
. 14
. 16
16
. 14
. 14
. 14
Imperial steam yacht “ Stan¬
dard.”
Grand Duke Constantine’s steam
yacht, “ Strelna.”
Total of Russian fleet, 183
* New. f Timbered afresh. J Don’t Touch Me.
§ Memory of Azoff.
It is asserted that the light craft in the Black Sea are
so built as to be easily convertible into vessels of w'ar.
There are, further, a few steamers, corvettes, and transports
built in the United States for the Amoor service.
As hereby appears, the Baltic fleet is at present the only
important one in the empire, and forms the nucleus of the
Russian navy. The life of a Russian-built ship is ten years,
and no more. The American-built vessels ordered for
Russia, though infinitely dearer, live at least three times
that term. The number of men actually serving in the
cn dren of soldiers were forcibly brought up as scribes, and for service in the line, thus forming a positive caste, from which there was
no escape. 1 e military schools provide education for the same class without entailing any such bondage. The military colonies have
also been done away with, as a mighty failure, candidly avowed, and the colonists are merged into the population.
RUSSIA.
535
Statistics. Russian fleet may be computed at about 38,000; but in
point of fact the number is next to illimitable, for it can be
augmented at will by drafts from the land force. Regard
is certainly, in some degree, had to the provinces from
which ships’ crews are taken, but little positive good, through
different causes, is on the whole derived from this measure ;
the chief reason being, that Nature herself is against Rus¬
sia’s ever being a great naval power, although she may be,
and is, a considerable one. So long as her ports freeze up
for half the year, so long will Russia possess only a second-
rate navy. The fleet itself is now divided into three divi¬
sions,—the blue, white, and red. Cronstadt is the perma¬
nent harbour. The national navy flag is a blue cross
transversing a white field. The marine is presided over by
a minister, assisted by a colleague and an admiralty council.
This forms the highest administration of the navy. The
other departments are,—the general auditorial, which is the
highest naval court; the auditorial department is its exe¬
cutive branch ; the minister’s chancery serves to link the
administration with the departments, and transmits orders
to them ; the inspector’s department checks accounts, exer¬
cises a general supervision over the navy, and is the ma¬
naging section. The other divisions are,—the medical,
building, ship-building, hydrographic, and commissariat
departments ; a scientific committee ; a committee for the
steam-engine service; and besides these, at Nicholaieff, a
hydrographic section, but on a small scale. The ship-
timber department is under the minister of crown domains.
The hospitals are numerous, well provided, and sufficient,
were they only well conducted.
Statement of the Naval Schools under the Ministry
of Marine.
Teachers. Scholars.
1 Naval cadet college....  92 631
1 Training naval school for seamen, forming
a complete ship’s crew  15 553
1 Company of commercial navigation at Cron¬
stadt   12 45
1 Pilots’ school at Cronstadt  32 355
1 Lower engineer and artillery school at St
Petersburg  38 265
1 Black Sea pilots’ school at Nicholaieff  22 182
1 Black Sea midshipmen’s company  13 62
1 Nicholaieff girls’ institute   7 100
1 Training naval school for seamen at Nicho¬
laieff   18 415
249 2608
There are now no English officers in the Russian fleet:
formerly, under Peter, Catherine, and Alexander, they con¬
tributed to make the Russian navy what it now is.
Ministry This ministry, answering to the English Home Office, is
of the In- one of the most important branches of state-administration,
terior. embracing internal economy and police superintendence,
besides the management of the medical department and of
matters relating to the foreign religious denominations. It
consists of the following departments:—(1.) General mat¬
ters and the minister’s chancery, in which are concentred
all affairs relating to the persons composing this extensive
ministry,—?.e., the nomination of governors, town-chiefs, and
so forth; to peasants applying for their emancipation, and
to the sectarians. (2.) The executive police, charged with
the correspondence relating to the repairing of roads, the
prisons, alms-houses, the arrangement of corn-magazines in
tow ns and manors, excepting the lands of the crown pea¬
sants, the land-rates and their outlay, the recruitment, the
town and land-police, the nobility elections, and generally
to events occurring in all parts of the empire, excepting
Poland and Finland. The economical department has the
management of all matters relating to the financial economy
of the towns throughout the empire, again excepting Poland
and Finland; to the town-halls, the merchant guilds, arti-
zans’ companies, and burghers’ corporations. This depart- Statistics,
ment has also the management of the committees of public
supervision and of their funds. It is here necessary to ex¬
plain that these committees manage the affairs of the cha¬
ritable institutions, such as alms-houses, hospitals, &c., in
every government; and at the same time form financial
credit establishments, which receive sums of money on in¬
terest, and lend them out again, the profits on which
transactions are made over to the charitable institutions.
Under the department of foreign religious denominations
are placed all their consistories, schools, and other esta¬
blishments. This ministry has further a council for very
important affairs, and a statistical committee. To the latter
are entrusted all matters relating to statistical information,
and the reports of governors concerning the state of affairs
in all parts of the governments confided to their rule.
The highest instance in medical administration is the Medicine,
medical council in St Petersburg, under the minister of the
interior. The medical service is divided into three parts:
(1.) The civil medical service. For this there exist a me¬
dical department, and a separate department for supplying
all the medical establishments with drugs and other means
of treatment. To this department belong a manufactory of
surgical instruments, and five w-arehouses for medicaments
in different towns, and with botanical gardens. In every
governmental town there is a medical administration, con¬
sisting of three members, an inspector, an operator, and an
accoucheur ; in every smaller town, a district physician ; and
in most of them a physician for the town hospital. In both
capitals spacious hospitals are founded, either at the expense
of the crown or of private individuals and societies. (2.)
The army medical service has a medico-chirurgical aca¬
demy, with a scientific committee. Each army—the
northern, southern, and the army of the Caucasus—has a
general staff-doctor; and each corps, division, brigade, re¬
giment, and battalion, also each military educational esta¬
blishment, has its physician. (3.) The naval medical service
resembles that of the army. There is a department, and a
medical inspector for the Black Sea navy; and each naval
division, ship, and sea-port hospital has one or more phy¬
sicians, as required. The crown and appanage peasants, the
manufactories and foundries, are all provided with physi¬
cians depending on the respective ministries. At each of
the universities, with the exception of St Petersburg, there
are faculties for medical students, with professors, anato¬
mical cabinets, and clinical institutions. In lieu of the
medical faculty there is in St Petersburg a medico-chirur¬
gical academy. Another such academy has recently been
established at Warsaw. Both in the universities and aca¬
demies there are students of pharmacy. The veterinary
schools are three in number; and there are schools for
hospital-dressers connected with all the larger hospitals.
Every one desirous of obtaining a license to practice in
medicine or the veterinary art must pass an examination
in one of the universities or academies. The lowest degree
is that of lekar (medical practitioner) ; then follows that of
doctor of medicine ; and the highest is that of doctor of me¬
dicine and surgery. As for pharmaceutics, young persons
are engaged by private apothecaries as apprentices for a
term of four or five years, and they afterwards pass an exa¬
mination as pharmaceutic assistants, then as provisors. The
highest degree is that of magister of pharmacy: the two
latter degrees entitle them to keep an apothecary’s shop of
their own. There are two principal lunatic asylums ; one Lunatic
near St Petersburg, with 240, and the other at Moscow, asylums,
with about the same number of beds. Besides these, in
every governmental town there are hospitals under the in¬
spection of the committee of public supervision, with sepa¬
rate rooms for the reception of the insane. The large
asylums are well provided with all the means requisite for
the successful treatment of patients. Not so the hospitals
536
RUSSIA.
Statistics, in the provincial towns, which are totally destitute of every
needful appliance. Private asylums, under strict govern¬
ment control, have been established at different times in
both capitals, but they never succeeded, and have seldom
lasted lonsj. The number of persons attacked with mental
derangement having increased of late years to an awful
extent, especially during and after the war, the attention of
the government was directed to this point; and in the
winter of 1857-58, a committee, consisting of medical men
and some superior civil officers, under the presidence of Dr
Marcus, was formed, in order to deliberate upon the mea¬
sures to be taken for the future. The opinion returned was,
that eight central lunatic asylums were indispensable in
Russia, besides those already existing in the greater pro¬
vincial towns; that these asylums should be provided in the
best manner, and considered as practical schools for young
medical men in order to prepare them for their future call¬
ing,—i.e., physicians-in-chief of lunatic asylums, to be sub¬
sequently founded in each governmental town. It is not yet
known whether government will confirm the measures pro¬
posed. In 1856, no fewer than 3616 cases of mental de¬
rangement were medically treated throughout the empire,
both in the lunatic asylums and other civil hospitals. Of
these, 2078 either recovered, or were dismissed as such, 288
died, and 1150 remained. This most happy result must
surprise every one who is conversant with such matters;
but it may be partly explained by what is designedly said in
the report, that a sixth of the cases were such as are called
in England brain-fever of drunkenness, or delirium tremens;
a disease which in Russia is considered as insanity, and the
treatment of which is generally successful. Still the vera¬
city of the report is to be doubted.
Schools under the Ministry of the Interior:—
Teachers. Scholars.
19 Orphan-houses, with  Not shown. 1754
6 Foundling-hospitals   ... 2410
19 Schools for the children of chan- 1 „
. 1 ... 900
eery servants  J
3 Hospital-assistant’s schools  ... 199
1 School for servants’ children  7 42
Dveena, the Oollah, Lake Leppel, the Essa, and Be- Statistics,
reshta, Lake Bereshta, the Berezina Canal, Lake Flavio,
and the rivers Sergootch, Berezina, and Dniepr. (2.) The
Oghinsk system is formed by the Niemen, the Shara, the
Oghin Canal, the Yasselda, Priepetz, and Dniepr. (3.) The
Dniepro-Boog system is formed by the Vistula, Nareff
Boog, Mookharetz, the Dniepro-Boog Canal, the Peena,
Priepetz, and Dniepr. I he Vistula and Niemen are also
united by the Augustovo Canal betwixt the Netta, which
falls into the Bobr, an affluent of the Nareff, and the River
Gantcha, which runs into the Niemen. There are many
smaller canals in Finland and the Baltic provinces.
Railways already Constructed. Railroads.
Miles.
From St Petersburg to Pavlovsk   it}
,, ,, Peterhoff   18
>. „ Pskoff    170
„ „ Moscow    398
„ Warsaw to Tshenstokhoff on the Prussian fron¬
tier, and for 25 versts beyond   182
Total ;  784 %
Railways in course of Construction, or Projected.
Miles.
From Pskoff to Warsaw  462 1
„ Dunaburg to Riga  145
„ Moscow to Theodosia  990
,, Dunaburg to Liebau (uncertain)  198
Total 1795
Telegraphic Lines already completed.
From St Petersburg to Abo  396 Telegraphs.
„ „ Cronstadt  20
,, over'Kovno to the Prussian fron¬
tier   594
„ St Petersburg to Polangen, over Narva, Revel,
Pernau, Riga, Liebau  663
„ St Petersburg over Dovsk and Keeyeff to the
Austrian frontier  928
„ Dovsk to Simpheropol  530
„ Riga to Dunaburg   132
„ Nicholaieff to Odessa  132
Total  7 5358
The navigable water-ways of communication, uniting
the Baltic and White Seas with the Caspian, form the
so-called eastern system. Of these water-ways, the most
important is the one uniting the Baltic with the Cas¬
pian. It consists of three systems: the Veeshni-Volotski,
the Teekhvin, and the Maria. (1.) The Veeshni-Volotski
system is formed by the Neva, the Ladoga Canal, the Nov¬
gorod or Siever’s Canal, the Alsta, Lake Alstino, the
Veeshni-Volotski Canal, the Tvertsa, and the Volga. Its
length from Petersburg to Ribinsk is 868 miles. (2.) The
Teekhvin system is formed by the Neva, the Ladoga, and
Siasski canals, the Siass, the Teekhvinka, Lake Eglino,
the Teekhvin Canal, the Voitchina, Lake Somino, the S6-
mino, Lake Vozensk, the Gorioon, Tchagodostcha, Mologa,
and Volga. Its length is 561 miles. (3.) The Maria
system is formed by the Neva, the Ladoga, Siasski, and
Sveer Canals, the Sveer, the Onega Canal, the Veetegra,
the Maria Canal, the Kovza, the Bielozer Canal, the
Sheksna, and the Volga. Its length is 699 miles. The
water-way from the White Sea to the Baltic and Caspian
is formed by the Northern Dveena, the Sookhona, Lake
Koobensk, the Porogoveetsa, the Duke of Wurtemberg
Canal, and the Sheksna; whence it branches off on the
light to the Neva, and on the left to the Volga. The
Moscow Canal has been dug betwixt the upper courses
of the Mo>kva and Volga.
I he water-way from the Baltic to the Black Sea is
formed by three systems: the Berezina, the Ogheen,
and the Dniepro-Boog, and is called the western sys¬
tem. (1.) 1 he Berezina system is formed by the Western
Total 3395
Many more lines are projected.
Schools under the Chief Direction of the Ways of
Communication and Public Works.
Teacliers. Scholars.
1 Institute of the Roads’ Engineer Corps... 50 270
1 Master-builders’ school    32 164
Total  82 434
The national debt of Russia amounted on the 1st January Finance.
1859 to a sum of L. 140,000,000, viz.:—
(a.) Dutch loan at 5 percent L.3,752,375
(b.) Foreign loans, at 5, 4J, and 4 per cent, without
a term   53,119,622
(c.) Interior loans, to credit institutions, at 4 per
cent  68,830,000
(d.) Exchequer bills, at 4£ per cent  14,500,000
Total L.140,201,997
The 4 per cent, consolidated bill issue, announced on
the 23d March 1859, is not a new loan, but only a consoli¬
dation of deposits, or substitution of one kind of value for
another. A part object is to reform the vicious system
which prevails at the banks. The amount, intended to
reach 125 millions sterling, can be liquidated at the end of
56 years. Should the present measure succeed, the old
order of things may be looked upon as superseded, and
special mention of the banking returns is therefore super¬
fluous, because the old system is now antiquated. The
curious on this subject, as well as on the paper system of
the country, ■would do best to consult at length Lamanski’s
very able w’orks on Russian finance.
RUSSIA.
Statistics. The national income is presumed to be from 36 to 39
millions sterling. The expenditure amounts to the same
sum, and for the last twenty years has generally exceeded
it. This order of things gave birth to continual loans of
the public banks, and to an unexampled emission of paper
money, which amounted on the 1st January 1858 to a sum
of more than 115 millions sterling, having been increased
during the late war, and up to 1857, by more than 62 mil¬
lions sterling. Since that year no fresh issues have been
made. The amount of bullion formed, at the same period,
a sum of 18 millions sterling, both in gold and silver. The
exchange of the so-called credit bills, notwithstanding the
large amount of bullion, takes place not, or only exception¬
ally, from a fear on the part of the government that a large
portion of it, were the bills payable at call, would be exported.
The chief sources of revenue are:—1. The monopol-
right of selling brandy. This right is sold for a term of
four years by auction, which takes place at St Petersburg,
where the prices for every province are settled separately.
This monopol-right has been sold for the next four years,
1859-63, for an annual revenue of 18 millions sterling.
2. The capitation-tax, paid by every person, of all ages, of
the male population, and by all classes except the nobility,
clergy, and merchants inscribed in guilds, or by special
classes. This personal tax is laid on the male population
found in life at the period of the census, and its amount is
never changed until a new census is taken. Children born
after the census pay no taxes. The survivors pay for the
dead. The amount of this tax is L.8,000,000. 3. The im¬
port duties give a sum of L.4,000,000. 4. Miscellaneous
537
unfixed taxes, L.3,270,000,—viz., (a.) Patents for trade, Statistics.
L.590,000; passes and road passes, L.310,000; (6.) Stamp- '
duties, L. 1,070,090 ; (e.) Court and chancery duties,
L.680,000; and (d.) Post revenue, L.620,000. 5. The salt
taxes, and mineral taxes on gold and other mineral produc¬
tions, 4^ millions sterling. The civil list, or court expen¬
diture, is supposed to amount to L.1,700,000, towards
which the peasants of the appanages and crown domains
contribute about L.600,000.
The trading ports on the German coast of the Baltic are Foreign
St Petersburg, with its port of Cronstadt, Narva, Revel,trade-
Arensburg, Pernau, Riga, Windau, and Liebau. Of these
ports, the first two are frozen up for six months; but the
latter are much longer open to navigation, according to the
season, generally for ten months, more or less. On the
Finnish coast, Wyburg, Lovisa, Helsingfors, Abo, Nvstad,
New Carleby, and Torneo; on the Arctic Ocean, Kola;
on the White Sea, Arkhangel and Onega; Petro Pav-
lovsk, on the Kamtchatkan Sea; and on the North Pacific,
Sitkha, the capital of the possessions of the American Com-
panv^. on the Sea of Azoff, Taganrog, Mariupol, Kertch,
Berdiansk; on the Black Sea, Odessa, Theodosia; on
the Caspian, Astrakhan, Bakoo, Derbent. The port of
NicholaiefF, at the mouth of the Amoor, on the Gulf of Tar¬
tary, has just commenced its prospectively splendid career.
1 he chief articles of export are corn and grain, hemp and
linseed ; also hemp and linseed oils, tallow, hemp, flax, iron,
copper, timber, potashes, bristles, furs, hides, and isinglass.
There are no free ports at present in Russia except Nicho¬
laiefF, on the Amoor. Odessa was, but is so no more.
A Statement of the Quantities and Value of Merchandise imported into Russia from Countries
froyn America, in the year 1857.
Description.
Merchandise imported paying no duty....
Merchandise on which one and the same
duty is levied at 20 cop. (=7£d.) per
pood (36 lb.)  (cwt.)
Merchandise paying different duties :—
Provisions and victuals (colonial mer¬
chandise :—
Coffee, raw sugar, pepper, &c. (cwt)
Wines, liquors, porter, beer, mead,
&c (cwt.)
Kirschwasser  
Champagne and other imported
By the Tariff of 1857.
Quantities. Value.1
L.1,538,289
38,374
159,064'
9,675
■
bottles
736,385
222.153
149,061
wines  
Mead, porter, beer....J
Vegetables and fruits  (cwt.)
Oranges, lemons, &c (No.) 15,629,606
Cherries, pears, apples, &c (casks)
Fish and herrings (cwt.)
Herrings (casks)
Cattle    (heads)
Grain,—wheat, rye, barley, groats,
&c  (cwt.)
Do. do (qrs.)
Salt  (cwt.)
Olive oil  ,,
Tobacco  „
Various provisions and victuals, such
as cheese, mustard, vinegar, oys¬
ters, mushrooms, treacle, sweet¬
meats, &c  
156,172
365,576 1,008,093
7,744 1
147,944 J
33,463
1,239
1,447,082
176
30,842
881,668
415,500
312,010
62,764
357,317
607
343,992
93,819
Total.
Raw materials and other articles for
manufacturing and agricultural pro¬
duce :—
Dyestuffs and colours   (cwt.)
Metals   „
316,466
136,654
L.5,170,231
1,158,765
205,357
Description.
Chemical materials and produce
(cwt.)
Cotton  
Cotton twist  ,,
Raw and spun wool, and fine
hair (cwt.)
Raw and spun silk  „
{Olive, hempseed, linseed,
„ &c7 V  (cwt-)
Turnip, cocoa, palm oils, &c.
(cwt.)
Tallow, fat, blubber and grease (cwt.)
Chalk  j,
Fuller’s thistles, teasel  „
Other different raw materials, such
as gum-arabic, gamboge, ink, soda,
arsenic, incense, timber for joiners’
and turners’ work, &c 
Total.
Manufactory and other produce :—
Gum-elastic and gutta percha (cwt.)
Wooden articles, playthings, furni¬
ture, &c ^  (cwt.)
Instruments,—musical, mathemati¬
cal, astronomical, &c (cwt.)
Do. do    (No.)
Leather produce (cwt.)
Metal articles  „
Glass and crystals  „
Bottles   (No.)
Plate-glass and mirrors  „
Woven produce of cotton, silk, wool,
hemp, &c  (cwt.)
Coarse linen bags (No.)
Turkish fez caps 
Turkish cotton and silk stuffs... (yds.)
in Europe, and
By the Tariff of 1857.
Quantities. Value.
196,417 L.248,326
547,781 1,972,363
74,415 754,786
16,756 308,914
1,046 143,193
140,525 451,369
8,079 23,978
15,243 6,596
2,651 12,145
181,454
L.5,497,899
1,307 24,765
4,727 32,805
407 1
5,763 j
487
69,631
4,231 ,
4,667 1
10,561 J
50,458
37,053
362,824
57,651
29,458
10,5521
5,978 >
106,753 J
1,650,283
1 In translating Russian values into English, the L.l sterling has been calculated throughout at 6 roubles 40 copeeks, its average equi¬
valent; the pood, or standard of weight, at 36—113 lb. avoirdupois; and the arsheen, or unit of length, at 2 333 feet. The immense
labour which attends the reduction of foreign values into corresponding English might be entirely spared to the compiler of statistics
by the adoption of a universal system of decimal measures, weights, and coins.
VOL. XJX. 3 y
538
Statistics.
Description. Quantities.
Crockery and porcelain articles
J (cvvt.) 8,152
Clocks and clockwork  „ 129 1
Do. do   (No.) 73,342 /
Paper (cwt-)
Cork   >» l,8o2
Marble, &c  >> 2,105
Hats i  .. 31
Do   (No.)- 6,794 /
Ready-made clothes and linen  
Equipages and their parts .... (cwt.) 115 1
Do. do (No.) 385 1
RUSSIA.
Value.
L.47,172
123,235
41,037
13,458
10,570
4,240
32,047
19,973
Description.
Machines and models 
Other different manufactory pro¬
duce, such as cosmetics, haber¬
dashery, artificial flowers, glass
beads, caps, soap, &c 
Quantities.
Total.
Various merchandise:—
Apothecary’s goods, furs, horses, &c.
Grand total.
Value,
L.178,111
L.2.685,687
295,262
L.13,649,079
A Statement of the Quantities and Value of Merchandise Exported from Russia to Countries in Europe,
and to America, in the year 1857.
Description.
Provisions and Victuals :—
Grain, wheat, rye, barley, groats,
&c  (cwt.)
Do. do. do. (qrs.)
Butter  (cwt.)
Moat     ,,
Brandy, wines &c  „
Do. do (gallons)
Do. do  (bottles)
Porter, beer, and mead  (casks)
Do. do. do (gallons)
Poultry  (No.)
Caviar   (cwt.)
Fish  
Cheese  (cwt.)
Cattle     (head)
Tobacco, cigars, papiroses, &c 
Maccaroni  (cwt.)
Anise  „
Various provisions and victuals,—
such as eggs, pepper, fruits, &c....
Quantities.
5,696 )
5,659,510 /
60,135
16,846
21,932
351,325
34,066
23
8
22,653
26,675
6,320
108,768
6,277
4,203
Value.
L.8,008,796
188,294
21,906
59,124
Total.
Raw materials for manufacturing, agri¬
cultural, and other purposes :—
Leather and hides (cwt.)
Wax  „
Bones  ,,
Flax   „
Hemp  ,,
Wooden ware  „
Metals  „
Potash    „
Pitch < 
Seeds   (qr
Tallow, fat, blubber, and grease,
(cwt.)
193,249
2,169
324,553
1,789,792
1,037,945
279,764
196,552
115,945
1,102,966
1,911
73,134
8,352
6,783
197,262
168,411
8,103
5,938
9,256
L.8,757,270
803,887
11,753
96,044
2,594,447
1,381,250
932,986
473,269
285,522
57,959
2,300,581
Description.
Oils,—hempseed, linseed, and sun¬
flower (cwt.)
Raw silk  ,,
Raw wool  „
Horses’ tails  ,,
Horse-manes  „
Bristles  ,,
Isinglass  ,,
Other different raw materials,—such
as drugs, oleine, stearine, colours,
Ijair, lime, &c 
Quantities.
118,80f
1,689
364,614
4,512
11,746
26,997
13,078
Total.
157,927
L 14,182,012
Manufacturing produce:—
Cotton, flax, and hemp
do.
produce
(pieces)
(yards)
Do. do.
Silk produce 
Woollen produce   
Cloth  (yards)
Leather produce 
Metal articles 
Ropes  (cwt.)
Ready-made clothes and linen 
Candles    (cwt.)
Other different manufactory pro¬
duce,—such as instruments, paper,
glass-ware, soap, harness, equi¬
pages, &c 
45,712 )
3,120,296 J
8,139
160,181
13,524
Total.
Various merchandise :—
Apothecary’s goods, furs, mats, fea¬
thers, charcoal, bricks, horses,
straw, hay, &c 
1,151,425 2,234,008
Grand total.
L.476,618
555,952
L.23,971,852
Statement of the Quantities and Value of Merchandise Imported into Russia from Countries in Asia in the
year 1857.
Description.
Provisions and victuals :—
Tea (cwt.)
Sugar (raw)  ,,
Coffee  „
Wines, liquors, champagne, &c. ,,
Do. do. do. (bottles)
Bo. do. do. (gallons)
Arrack, rum, and brandy  (cwt.)
Porter, beer, and mead  (bottles)
Fruits, oranges, lemons, cherries,
grapes, dry and marinated fruits,
&c 
Raw mead 
Treacle 
Pepper   (cwt\
Olive oil 
Butter 
Grain,—wheat, rye, barley, groats.
&c.
Salt  
Salted fish
(cwt.)
Quantities.
138,834
25,397
. 572
75
15,387
879
450
14,900
109
184,956
11,705
Value.
L.925,742
97,593
2,179
7,350
101,791
3.087
1.795
1.796
3,653
5,086
30,804
8,878
12,144
Description.
Cattle  
Tobacco 
Other different provisions and vic¬
tuals,—such as cheese, anchovies,
pilchards, nuts, vegetables, cloves,
cinnamon, cardamon, sweetmeats,
&c 
Quantities.
Value.
L.395,875
25,251
Total
Raw materials and other things for ma¬
nufacturing, agricultural, and other
purposes:—
Cotton 
Cotton twist  (cwt.)
Raw and spun silk  
Raw and spun wool 
Madder  (cwt.)
Cochineal 
Indigo 
Colours    
5,688
8,931
116
56
Statistics.
Value.
L.222,400
28,572
2,063,650
30,616
31,460
366,814
108,867
152,892
429
3,216
1,375
2,273
40,739
179,610
7,874
66,697
21,513
17,210
L.1,640,234
130,078
31,992
79,159
15,426
17,075
2,276
1,935
6,975
RUSSIA.
Statistics.
Description.
Precious woods for joiners’ and turn¬
ers’ work, &c 
Leather made up 
Tallow 
Other different raw materials,—such
as isinglass, oils, metals, tar,
pitch, sal-ammoniac, naphtha,ink,
&c 
Quantities.
L.2,545
12,902
14.773
146,329
Total.
Manufactory and other produce ;—
Cotton produce (cwt.)
Wooden produce, playthings, furni¬
ture, &c 
Instruments, mathematical, physical,
musical, &c (cwt.)
Do. do. do. (No.)
Leather produce,—hoots and shoes,
gloves, harness, &c 
Metal produce,—figures, bas-reliefs,
L.461,465
3,707 401,398
Description.
musical strings, wire, files, boxes,
steel-pens, needles, knives and
forks, &c (cwt.)
Clothes 
Glass, plate-glass, and mirrors (cwt.)
Do. do. do. (No.)
Silk produce 
Woollen produce   
Other different manufactory pro¬
duce,—such as haberdashery pro¬
duce, artificial flowers, watches,
cambrics, linens, paper, soap, ma¬
chines, marble produce, &c 
Quantities.
246
141
15
539
Value. Statistics.
L.3,810
1,498
1,236
87.880
38,109
12,976
41
237 }
1,977
2,010
13,251
Total.
Various merchandise,—apothecary
goods, books, and pictures, stones,
skins and hides, incense, horses,&c.
Grand total
L.564,145
357,154
L.3,022,998
A Statement of the Quantities and Value
Quantities.
Description.
Provision and victuals :—
Grain,—wheat, rye, barley, groats,
&c (cwt.)
Do. do. do. (qrs.)
Brandy, wines, &c  (gallons)
Do. do. ... (bottles)
Porter and beer  ,,
Tobacco, cigars, papiroses, &c. (cwt)
Do. do. do. (No.)
Sugar  (cwt.)
Salt  ,,
Caviar    „
Fruits and sweetmeats  
Cattle  (head)
Meat  (cwt.)
Various provisions and victuals,
such as fish, poultry, eggs, butter,
cheese, mushrooms, &c 
of Merchandise Exported from Russia to Countries in Asia,
in the year 1857.
Value.
2,447 \
133,935 J
5,548 )
8,777 l
332 J
3,373 1
172,155 j
2,941
24,484
380
16,013
5,079
Total
Raw materials for manufacturing, agri¬
cultural, and other purposes :—
Cotton ..*. (cwt.)
Cotton-twist  „
Silk   „
Wool and fine hair  „
Drugs  „
Colours 
Leather, hides, yoofts (cwt.)
Do. do. do  (No.)
678
3,340
3,422
5,370
27,064
6,162 '
172,518
L.51,982
2,794
2,766
14,804
1,432
1,851
1,355
14,352
869
3,304
L.95,509
1,311
25,681
129,452
5,806
9,400
15,598
161,961
Description.
Metals  (cwt.)
Horns and hoofs  „
Do. do  (No.)
Wooden ware  
Other different raw materials, such
as wax, oils, hemp, tar, pitch,
seeds, &c 
Quantities.
92,155
13 1
200,480 J
Total.
Manufactory and other produce -
Woven produce of cotton, silk, wool,
hemp, &c  
Metal produce 
Cloth  (yards)
Leather produce 
Crockery 
Paper  (reams)
Wooden produce 
Plate-glass and mirrors  
Other different manufacturing pro¬
duce,—such as boxes, candles, soap,
ropes, clothes, &c   
671,213
38,960
Total.
Various merchandise,—apothecary
goods, furs, mats, camels, horses,
&c 
Grand total
Value.
L.61,762
8,985
5,032
3,796
L.428,784
576,740
255,413
245,940
2,188
8,949
7,308
2,667
1,775
11,830
L.1,112,810
229,382
L.1,866,485
A Statement of the Quantities and Value of Merchandise exported from Russia to Finland in the year 1857.
Description.
Provisions and victuals :—
Grain, wheat, rye, barley, groats,
&c (cwt)
Do. do. do. (qrs.)
Tobacco, cigars, papiroses, &c. (cwt.)
Do. do. do. (No.)
Meat  (cwt.)
Mead and treacle  „
Vegetables 
Chicory (cwt.)
Other different provisions, such as
vinegar, fish, cheese, eggs, fruits,
sweetmeats, &c 
Total 
Merchandise for manufacturing and han¬
dicraft purposes:—•
Metals .“ (cwt.)
Drugs  „
Hemp....  ,,
Cotton    „
Quantities. Value.
107 )
372,951 j
12,568 i
633,600 j
1,400
656
1,516
L.496,046
21,123
2,239
1,767
2,071
1,538
4,872
L.529,656
6,951 7,830
1,757 2,762
2,068 3,207
661 1,908
Description.
Leather and hides  (cwt.)
Oils,—hempseed, linseed ...... „
Horse-manes  „
Tallow  „
Other different articles, such as
wooden ware, potash, isinglass,
wax, whalebones, colours, &c 
Quantities. Value.
2,100 L.10,598
3,628 5,748
407 1,581
2,646 4,420
11,856
Total
L.49,910
Merchandise made up :—
Ropes and cables   (cwt.) 13,648 20,266
Wooden produce    ... 4,496
Leather produce    ... 2,445
Cotton, flax, hemp, and woollen
produce  ... 13,904
Cloth (yards) 27,622 6,256
Metal produce (cwt.) 5,340 6,673
Candles   ... 15,764
Soap  (cwt.) 2,986 4,507
Boots and shoes  ... 5,522
Caps (No.) 17,794 2,637
▼
540
RUSSIA.
Statistics Description. Quantities. Value.
v < y Other different articles, such as ma-
^ chines and models, musical instru¬
ments, ready-made clothes and
linen, paper, equipages, &c  ... L.7,292
Total  ... L.89,762
Description. Quantities.
Various merchandise,— furs, apothe¬
cary goods, stones, seeds, and
plants, &c 
Value.
Statistics.
L.6,064
Grand total,
L.675,392
A Statement of the Quantities and Value of Merchandise imported into Russia from Finland in the year 1857.
Description.
Provisions and victuals :—
Grain, rye, &c 
Potatoes  (q1,8-)
Butter (cwt.)
Fish   „
Smoked, dried, and salted meat 
Different provisions 
Quantities.
1,957
1,359
1,168
Total,
Merchandise for manufacturing and han¬
dicraft purposes:—
Cotton twist (cwt.) 337
Metals (cwt.) 40,865
Wood (feet) 38,388
Pitch and white rosin (cwt.) 4,098
Value.
L.1,221
174
1,994
3,845
566
53
L.7,853
Description. Quantities.
Different articles,—such as leather,
bones, wooden ware, &c 
Total 
Merchandise made up :—
Cotton, flax, and woollen produce....
Glass 
Paper 
Metal produce 
Machines 
Different produce 
Value.
L.404
L.44,998
23,278
1,640
2,965
1,264
804
96
Total  ... L.30,047
312 Various merchandise, such as furs,
35,575 books, stones, &c  . 5 223
1,917 - __J_
5,790 Grand total  ... L.88,121
A Statement of the Value of Merchandise imported into, and exported from, Russia, distinguishing the Trade with
each Country, in the year 1857.
Countries.
European and American trade,—
Sweden 
Norway 
Prussia 
Denmark 
The Sound 
The Hanse towns 
Holland 
Belgium 
Great Britain 
France  
Portugal 
Spain  
Sardinia 
Tuscany  
The Papal dominions 
The kingdom of Naples 
Austria 
The Ionian Islands 
Greece 
Value of
Imports.
L.40,637
215,751
4,040,714
188,687
1,859,212
1,506,608
211,841
6,075,648
1,422,474
69,622
311,627
71,427
22,779
607,944
1,115,344
26,041
39,509
Value of
Exports.
L.392,422
102,429
2,780,699
795,032
106,231
713,800
1,546,597
365,267
11,292,877
2,230,602
97,271
51,735
350,217
244,508
58
12,250
1,160,810
4,850
23,757
e Countries.
South America and the West Indies
Turkey   
The North American United States..
Other countries 
Value of Value of
Imports. Exports.
L.34,387
1,325,460 L.1,307,576
1,266,847 353,638
137,367 39,233
Total
Asiatic trade,—
Asiatic Turkey   
Persia  
The Keergheez steppes
Kheeva 
Bookharia 
Tashkent 
China  
Other countries 
Total 
L.20,589,926 L.23,971,859
75,804
621,540
562,209
43,578
213,720
118,907
1,178,511
208,729
L.3,022,998
191,956
136,887
401,067
3,155
84,283
94,601
954,547
L.1,866,498
Grand total L.23,612,924 L.25,838,355
A Statement of the Imvort and Export of Gold and Silver from and into Russia in the years 1847 and 1857, in
Russian and Foreign Coin and Ears, converted into British sterling.
1857.
Import :—
Foreign I
Russian j
Export :—
Foreign
Russian
Gold.
159,032
Coin.
L.
387,226 \
186,326 j
222,414
3,239,805
Silver.
1,466,845
377,441
166,169
234,902
1,326
1847.
Import:—
Foreign
Russian
Export :—
Foreign 1
Russian j
Gold.
222,000
1,396
f 78,372 \
1 1,161,966 J
f 47,437 \
{ 1,679,395 /
Silver.
Bars.
6,426,976
2,993
Coin.
L.
413,135
799,340
2,8'/6
298,995
Gold and Silver in Coin and Bars.
Imported.
, J.O+I. iso/.
European trade  L.3,226,080 L.1,340,433
Asiatic trade  18,911 30,773
Exported.
European trade  L.1,533,560 L.2,800,757
Asiatic trade  478,357 897,691
Imported through the Custom-house at
St Petersburg, 1858  L.647,743
Exported   3,565,136
The tables of foreign trade show that from 1843 to 1857
the value of importations, as well as of exportations, has
constantly augmented, both for Europe and Asia; and tnat
in the European trade, excepting the years 1851, 1854, and
1855, the Russian exports have constantly surpassed the
imports.
RUSSIA.
541
Statistics.
Trade with Europe.
Importations. Exportations.
1843  L.9,596,490 L.11,126,482
1844   10,111,541 12,580,440
1845   10,525,962 12,562,876
1846   11,003,024 13,811,401
1847   11,313,766 20,955,063
1848   11,788,278 11,865,262
1849..  12,553,850 13,028,281
1850   11,735,538 12,989,679
1851   13,602,138 13,136,500
1852    12,987,245 15,632,929
1853   13,941,375 21,469,787
1854   8,503,936 8,362,755
1855   8,779,576 4,300,708
1856   16,405,535 22,933,108
1857   20,588,683 23,971,870
Total L.183,436,937 L.218,727,141
In ) 857 the amount of confiscated merchandise sold was
L.118,183; and as contraband trade could not subsist if
more than 20 per cent, of fraudulently-imported merchan¬
dise were to be confiscated, it must be supposed that at
least L.600,000 worth was introduced into the country.
The sole means of preventing contraband trade is to lower
the tariff.
Trade with Asia.
Importations. Exportations.
1843  L.1,819,537 L.1,283,459
1844   1,898,175 1,518,072
1845   2,166,938 1,585,615
1846   2,273,078 1,638,499
1847   2,280,221 1,646,517
1848   2,108,979 1,350,682
1849   2,157,317 1,409,249
1850   2,460,067 1,753,586
1851   2,458,568 1,740,670
1852   2,601.476 1,941,232
1853   1,874,791 1,245,086
1854   2,437,785 1,548,127
1855   2,539,745 1,616,820
1856   2,656,592 1,655,294
1857   3,022,999 1,866,499
Total L.34,756,268 L.23,799,407
This table shows that, as regards the trade with Asia, tlm
value of the exports has constantly been inferior to that of
the imports, and that for these fifteen years the difference
amounts to a total of L.10,956,961. This, however, is
more than compensated by the larger amount of exporta¬
tions over importations in the European trade, the former
exceeding the latter by L.47,290,240 ; so that the total dif¬
ference in favour of Russia is L.36,333,243, on an amount
of capital turned over of L.452,739,853, of which sum
L.208,213,305 go to the account of importations, and
L.244,526,548 of exportations.
Peter would perhaps have done better had he founded
his capital at Windau or Liebau, for the sake of more open
water ; but political considerations no doubt prevented him,
as all his designs show foresight enough. Nearly the same
result will now be attained by the railroads in course of
construction.
The first company in Russia was established in 1790.
The number of existing companies now amounts to 90. The
original capital of all these companies amounts to about
L.69,669,016, in which sum the chief company of Russian
railroads figures for L.48,437,500.
The number of Russian merchant-vessels is supposed to be
about 2000, including coasters, small craft, and steamers;
but there are as yet no reliable returns; and until these be
issued by the proper authorities, it would be entirely vain
to aim at anything like a correct estimate of the Russian
shipping.
Number o f Russian and Foreign Vessels entered and cleared Statistics.
at the Northern and Southern Ports of Russia in 1857.
Ports.
Northern ports.
Southern ports.
Total.
Entered.
Total. Russian
5459
3379
8838
375
405
780
English.
1989
1989
Cleared.
5814
3272
9086
380
416
796
English
h
2099
2099
It is now only in consequence of Count Renaud de Che-
vancy’s recent invention of an international marine tele¬
graph, indicated by numbers, that Russian vessels are at last
being counted, measured, and formally tabulated. The
following returns are authentic :—•
Grand Total of the Russian Commercial Fleet at
January 1858.
Sea-Going.
Coasters.
Total.
In the Black Sea 
„ Sea of Azoff 
„ White Sea 
The colonial fleet (ves-1
sels of the Russo- V
American Company) J
On the German side of
the Baltic   
25
13
128
13
107
5,070
1,330
4,781 J
2,368
9,451
160
291
212
150
9,580
10,670
4,922J
4,107
185
304
340
13
257
286 23,000^813 29,2791 1,099 52,280!
14,650
12,000
9,704
2,368
13,558
1 Or, 104,560 tons.
In this total, for want of data, are not included the ves¬
sels belonging to the port of St Petersburg, to Finland, and
to the Caspian Sea. The total number of registered sailors
was only 5000, viz.:—In the Black and Azoff seas, 2300 ;
in the White, 1620 ; in the employ of the Russo-American
Company, about 300 ; in the Baltic, 1000. 1 his number
of sailors is most likely much below the mark. In the
Baltic there were 30 foreign masters, mates, and pilots, be¬
sides 112 foreign sailors registered ; but the legal propor¬
tion of foreign to native sailors (1 to 3) is never observed,
the law obeyed being solely that of necessity. I he causes
of the little progress made in ship-holding affairs are insuffi¬
cient education, vexatious over-government, the stupid
passport system, the want of sea-insurance companies, and
generally the manifold reasons which impede the develop¬
ment of the foreign trade. Compared with every other
branch of national economy, the shipping interest may be
said to have progressed in a ratio inverse to them. It will
be observed from the above table, that the number of sea¬
going vessels is exceeded by the number of coasters in the
proportion of nearly three to one ; while the tonnage or last-
age of the two are pretty nearly equal. But one can scarcely
venture with safety upon any remarks regarding the state of
the Russian shipping, while the exact returns remain un¬
declared for St Petersburg, Finland, and the Caspian Sea.
The following return of figures will best show the state of productive
the manufactures, internal trade, and productiveness of the industry,
empire.
Amount of Produce for 1856, in the Manufactories and
Foundries of the Russian Empire.
In the European government and lands L.34,715,716
In the lieutenancy of the Caucasus  86,059
In the governments and provinces of Siberia 250,249
Total L.35,052,024
RUSSIA
542
Statistics.
Statement of the Quantity of Metals, Coals, Vitriol, Saltpetre, and Salt, obtained from the Government and Private
Foundries in Russia during the year 1857.
Foundries and Mines.
Government foundries
Private foundries  
Total.
Gold.
Lb.
5,779
65,450
71,230
Dwt,
2
12
14
Platina.
Lb.
15
328
344 1 2
Dwt.
11
2
13
Lb.
16
412
428
10
Dwt,
18
18
Copper.
Cwt.
19,038
98,788
117,826
Cwt.
4992
4992
Cast Iron.
Cwt. Cwt.
352.043 243,887
3,853,256 3,291,655
4,205,299 3,535,542
Cwt.
14,300
24,823
39,123
Different
Metallic
Produce.
Cwt.
4.987
812,248
817,235
Anchors.
Scythes
Cwt.
4943
2101
7044
Pieces.
3.936
35,780
39,716
The government mines produced coals  131,057 cwt.
The private mines produced vitriol and saltpetre .... 12,302 „
Common Salt.
Government salt-mines  6,986,217 cwt.
Private salt-mines  2,377,439 „
Total 9,363,656
The trading community consisted in 1857 of:—
Merchants of the 1st guild  963
„ 2d      2,067
„ 3d „  49,372
Foreign guests  34
Number of peasants with trading certificates :—
1st class     4
2d „    34
3d „  2409
4th „  4203
The amount of capital declared was, in 1856—
Of the 1st guild  L.18,000,000
2d „   18,180,000
3d „   47,820,000
Total   L.84,000,000
Russian American Company.— In 1857 its tra<
operations stood as follows :—
Income from the sale of furs and teas L.60,912
colonial produce and other articles, 55,676
Total L.116,588
Expenses of management  L.28,189
For insurance of goods, carriage of furs and
teas, duties, &c  65,140
Total
.L.93,329
A dividend was paid of 18 roubles per share.
Paid into the reserve capital L.2105
Paid into the poor fund  105
A Statement of the Total Quantities of Gold, Platina, and
Silver extracted from, the Government and Private
Mines in Russia during the year 1855 :—
Foundries and Mines.
Government Mines:—
1. Yekatherinburg ,
2. Bogoslovsk 
3. Goroblagodatsk..
4. Zlatoustovsk 
5. Alagheersk 
6. Altai 
7. Nertchinsk 
Total ,
Private Mines.
Grand total.
In the Year 1855.
Platina.
Lb.
1,364
1,805
324
2,155
5,650
59,533
65,184
Silver.
Lb.
618
618
618
A Statement of the Total Quantities of Gold, Platina,
and Silver extracted from the Government and Private
Mines in Russia during the years 1856 and 1857 :—
Foundries and Mines.
Government Mines:—
1. Yekatherinburg.
2. Bogoslovsk 
3. Goroblagodatsk.
4. Zlatoustovsk  
5. Alagheersk 
6. Altai 
7. Nertchinsk  
Total.
Private Mines.
In the Year 1856.
Gold.
Lb.
1,465
1,769
390
2,191
3,505
2,878
12,199
60,267
Grand total 72,466
10
Platina.
Lb.
15
62
62
11
11
Lb.
228
46,763
1,356
48,349
48,349
Foundries and Mines.
Government Mines:—
1. Yekatherinburg.
2. Bogoslovsk 
3. Goroblagodatsk.
4. Zlatoustovsk 
5. Alagheersk 
6. Altai 
7. Nertchinsk 
Total ,
Private Mines.
In the Year 1857.
Lb.
1,493
1.954
272
2,087
5,807
65,450
Grand total 71,258
Dwt,
19
8
19
Platina.
Lb.
336
7
412
419
The value of cotton-twist produced in 1858 was at least
L.10,937,500, and it continues to increase rapidly. At
present there are 480 mills, with 1,500,000 spindles. The
linen manufactures, however, are rather declining. The
woollen productions are estimated at L.7,031,250, and there
are 640 cloth manufactories. The flax and hemp produce
amounts to L.9,375,000, with 290 manufactories. Silk
produce, L.937,500 (this return is obviously exaggerated);
manufactories, 250. Tanneries and leather manufactories,
2060; produce, L.1,562,500. Paper manufactories, 180;
produce, L.781,255. Distilleries, 800; brandy produce,
46,800,000 gallons ; value, L.2,560,000. Licensed public-
houses, 1899. At present, in consequence of the temper¬
ance movement, mostly beer and mead are drank there.
It should be observed that, not as in France, where from
vanity the manufacturers exaggerate the amount of their
produce, the Russians generally return figures below the
actual amount, perhaps from a fear of additional imposts.
Trade returns at Neezne-Novgorod fair:—In 1857, of
L.13,435,050 value brought, there was sold L.12,247,100 ;
in 1858, of L.44,838,180 brought, was sold L.13,719,190.
Fair of Irbit (in Western Siberia) :—Value of merchan¬
dise sold in 1859 :—
Statistics.
RUSSIA.
Statistics. Ilussian L.3,663,700
i European and colonial produce  2,478,400
v'_™" Chinese   465,100
Bokhara  50,000
Horses   3,400
Total L.6,660,600
In the government of Keeyeff a common plant, called
the Asclepias syriaca, is being cultivated for the cotton¬
like tissue it produces.
Teheffkin’s work (written in 1851) gives the following
statistics of the mining produce :—The whole quantity of
pure gold won from sands and mines since the middle of
the last century up to 1850, was 869,630 lb. troy. It is in
the Asiatic governments of Perm, Orenburg, Tomsk, Yeni-
saysk, Irkootsk, and the Keergheez lands, that the gold is
mostly found. In the government of Orenburg at present,
in 1859, so many as 10,000 workmen are employed in this
branch of industry, and the yearly produce for private
account is 4370 lb. troy of the metal.
Lead and Silver Ore.— The lead produced barely suffices
for the extraction of the silver required; in aid of which
purpose 402 tons of foreign lead was not long ago sent up
on trial to the Altai foundries, at a cost-price of L.15, 10s.,
and a further charge for carriage of L.10, 8s. per ton. Im¬
provements are taking place in the working of these mines,
and the veins of silver-lead ore lately discovered promise
well for the future. The ore at Nertchinsk contained 9‘7 oz.
of silver, and about 168 lb. of lead in the ton.
Up to 1850 the whole quantity of pure silver won from
the mines in Russia, chiefly in the Altai and Nertchinsk
foundries, was 4,704,418 lb. troy.
Between 1826 and 1850, in the course of 24 years, the
value of the gold and silver won was L.41,478,750
Imported from abroad in bars and foreign
coins  7,072,800
Exported  27,229,690
Deducting this export there remained, won
and imported  61,635,640
Of which were delivered to the Mint  59,104,400
Coined  • L,48,258,400
Cast into medals  240,300
Ke-delivered in bars  6,097,300
  54,596,000
The difference between the in- and out-going amounts is
accounted for by the circumstance of the Mint retaining a
considerable portion of the metal which it receives, either
for re-coinage or for delivery in the next year.
The whole amount of Russian bullion up to 1850 may
be taken at:—
In gold L.26,625,000
In silver   20,781,000
Total ,..L.47,406,000
And adding hereto the amount coined in 1850, at the aver¬
age rate of the five years preceding, say L.3,281,000, the
sum total of Russian gold and silver bullion may be taken,
up to the beginning of 1851, at L.50,687,000.
Of this amount more than fifteen millions are deposited in
the expedition of credit-bills (bank-notes or assignats), the
current paper-money, and more than L.34,375,000 must be
in circulation. Considering the national custom of hoard¬
ing and burying money, particularly bullion, this amount,
although large, is not perhaps sufficient.
Between 1826 and 1850 the amount of foreign bullion im¬
ported was L.16,196,250
Exported   3,999,060
Balance L. 12,197,190
This remarkably larger import of foreign bullion, com¬
pared to the export, is the more noteworthy that it did not
decrease during 1843 and 1848, when the demand abroad
for Russian gold and silver was so unusual as to cause the
government partially to prohibit the export, which was again
permitted only in November 1849. A large portion of the
foreign bullion, however, is converted into bars for purposes
of trade, re-coined into Russian money, or used in articles
of jewellery ; so that the amount remaining in circulation
can hardly be taken at more than one-fourth of the above
quantity,—i.e., L.3,000,000. Including this latter sum, the
whole mass of gold and silver coin at present circulating in
Russia may be estimated at L.53,687,000.
Platina.—Since the time of its discovery in 1824 up to
1858,—89,563 lb. troy had been won, at the rate of 3‘7 lb.
avoird. from every ton of sand. The disuse of this metal
as money has induced the owners of platina-yielding depo¬
sits to abandon the search, although much more might yet
be obtained.
Copper.—The average of the ten years between 1841
and 1851 showed that about 14,872 cwt. of copper are
yearly smelted in all Russia.
Lake-Salt.—The same decennial period showed a yearly
return of 6,601,000 cwt. of lake-salt.
Coal.—The quantity yearly won was only 1,017,520 cwt.,
chiefly in the south of Russia, and in the land of the Don
Kozzacks. Numerous veins have been discovered in Cen¬
tral Russia, the Caucasus, and Siberia. The import of
English coal was 4,830,000 cwt. This mineral will soon
be produced in larger quantities.
It is conjointly with coal that the production of other
metals, excepting gold, takes place ; and as the coal branch
of industry has not yet attained to so much as the first stage
of its proper development, the other metals are in a similar
backward state. Russia produces gold, silver, copper, iron,
lake-salt, and, in a small quantity, platina, lead, coal, and
anthracite. In the Nertchinsk district there are indeed
mines of tin, cinnabar, and zinc; but they are not worked
on account of their distance and poorness. To speak now of
iron, as of that metal on which the successful cultivation of
the chief branches of industry is to such an extent founded,
that the quantity of iron won and consumed might be taken
as the best gauge of a country’s industrious development:—
By the decennial average of 1840-50, the go-1 Cwt.
vernment foundries produce annually of >- 644,000
cast-iron about J
And the private foundries 3,570,336
Total 4,214,336
Of which latter quantity, 2,973,140 cwt. were forged into
iron. Of late years this branch of industry is increasing ;
the difference between 1832 and 1849 being 30 per cent.
The demand for iron in the interior is so great that, not¬
withstanding the increased import from Poland and Finland,
as well as the sensible falling off in the exportation abroad
of Russian iron, prices have still risen.
Per cwt.
In 1838 the average wholesale price of har-iron
throughout the empire was   15s. 2d.
Retail 16s. Od.
And in 1843 wholesale 15s. 6d.
„ „ retail 16s. 4d.
Consequently in five years the average price had increased
by 4d. The price for sorted iron was yet higher ; and
subsequently to 1843 prices had gone on rising; as, for in¬
stance, in Moscow, for 1846 and 1847, iron cost 14s. 2d.
per cwt., but in 1848 and 1849 it cost 17s. 8d.; at Tagan¬
rog the proportion was 11s. 6d. to 13s.; and in Odessa 15s.
to 15s. 6d. The average price of bar-iron in 1851 was in
Prussia 12s. 4d., in France 10s. 6d., in Belgium 9s. 6d., and
in England 5s. 2d. per cwt.; Welsh iron costing there only
4s. 4d. per cwt. Experience shows, as well in Russia
as abroad, that no marked increase in the production of
cheap iron can take place until coal is called in to aid this
branch of industry. The difference in cheapness between
the cost of iron produced by the agency of pit and charcoal
544
RUSSIA.
Statistics, was in France alone 30 per cent. In Russia this want of
'wcharcoal fuel is becoming more and more sensibly felt; and
the foundries in the governments of Toola and TambofF
have already been closed on account of the thinning of the
woods ; but Providence seems likely to help the country in
this respect, as coal veins will soon be largely worked in
the government of Yekaterinoslaff, on the Sea of Azoff.
The Ooral foundries possess the finest ore, particularly
mao-netic; vet notwithstanding its adaptation to steel and
wire, the importation from abroad increases ; as does also
that of machinery, which in 1841 was for L.35,780, in 1846
for L.201,720, and in 1849 for L.293,590.
List of Manufactories in Russia, with Value of Annual
Produce, according to latest returns
No. Amount.
Sugar and treacle refineries  443 L.4,010,263
Beer and mead breweries, also honey¬
melting establishments  153 223,807
Glue and starch manufactories  118 72.466
Varnish    9 9,384
Sealing-wax  10 12,662
Tar, pitch, and turpentine  225 32,997
Oil-crushing  290 47,733
Chemical   113 537,786
White-lead and dye  365 2,982,875
Salt-making  13 45,525
Potash    164 79,339
Saltpetre  182 124,017
Soap-boiling  316 293,197
Tallow-melting and candle 1147 2,486,106
Stearine  19 491,386
Wax-crushing and wax-candle  170 228,457
Potteries, brick and lime 1335 243,527
China and delft-vrare  32 97,305
Glass and crystal  170 538,152
Whitesmith’s workshops, needle and
pin manufactories  93 178,725
Musical instrument  15 35,894
Equipage  56 108,352
Wood-sawing  86 153,897
Furniture and wooden utensils  95 72,728
Furrieries  84 65,929
Hair, bristle, and tortoise-shell  35 145,920
Animal and vegetable preparations I
for food ; such as meat, fish, mac- l 452 69,598
caroni, chocolate, mustard, &c. J
Many other trading establishments relating to crafts and
artizanship, not being manufactories, are under the minister
of the interior.
Statement of Schools under the Ministry of Finance.
Teachers. Scholars.
1 Mining institute   37 242
1 „ technical school   36 21
1 Assaying school at St Petersburg  8 14
7 District foundry schools   41 361
44 Lower foundry schools for the Mint and
Mining Institute 131 3957
1 Technological Institute   36 257
With a Sunday drawing-school  3 72
1 Drawing-school at St Petersburg, for
visitors, with a Sunday do  11 646
1 Female division of the same   7 215
3 Drawing-schools at Moscow    24 667
Sundry primary schools for manufactory
children   4 143
Sundry private manufactory schools  8 335
1 Practical commercial academy at Moscow 30 174
1 School of commercial navigation at
Kherson   9 48
1 School of commercial navigation at Kiga 1 10
Public courses for the masters of merchant
vessels: —
1 At Arkhangel  y yo
1 At Remi, in Finland  y 9
Total 388 7183
Flusbandry is still in a very backward state. Rotation
of crops is the system mostly followed, but ignorantly, and
not by any means so profitably as might be the case. As Statistics,
many crops are taken out of the soil as it will yield, and
then it lies fallow for a year or two. The Russians say Agricul-
that this state of things is best suited to the ignorance ofture.
the peasants, who have no instructors, and to the great
quantity of land allowed them to till. The model farms
established in most of the governments are slowly doing a
small amount of good. In a few of these agricultural
schools, steam apparatus have been tried ; but the applica¬
tion of steam to husbandry is known only by hearsay.
That agriculture might be rendered a very profitable
branch of industry, is evident from the results obtained by
the German colonists, who thrive prodigiously ; and by the
Quakers who have cultivated land in the neighbourhood of
St Petersburg. All have succeeded eminently in their
undertakings.
According to calculations carefully collated in 1849
by the agricultural department, the quantity of winter and
spring corn produced in Russia amounted to 168,000,000
qrs. There were 189,000,000 acres of arable land;
63,750,000 acres were used for winter and 63,750,000
acres for spring corn. The medium return of corn
throughout the empire was four-fold, or about 10 bushels
to the acre. The return of crop-produce may be calculated
as follows :—Rye, 83,000,000 qrs. ; wheat, 23,000,000
qrs. ; oats, 42,000,000 qrs. ; barley, pease, chives, bpck-
wdieat, and maize, 31,000,000; potatoes, 14,000,000 qrs.;
linseed, 1,500,000 qrs.; flax, 432,000,000 lbs. avoird.;
hemp, 288,000,000 lbs.; sugar beet-root, 11,000,000 cwt.;
tobacco, 354,200 cwt.; silk, 9660 cwt.
Table showing the Quantities of Horses, Horned Cattle,
Sheep, and other Animals in Russia in the year 1856.
Horses and
Horned Cattle.
In the European
Governments
and Lands.
In the Cau¬
casian Lieu¬
tenancy.
In the
Siberian
Provinces.
Total.
Horses  
Horned cattle
Stags 
Camels 
Asses, mules,
&c 
* Sheep  
Swine 
G oats 
15,065,750
21,732,787
139,760
31,023
2,026
41,484,938
8,808,435
1.364,962
469,522
2,024,022
24,885
24,322
4,425,443
428,375
108,662
3,036,011
2,463,013
292,582
3,929
6,250,651
516,990
220,505
18,571,283
26,219,822
432,342
59,837
26,348
52,161,032
9,753,800
1,694,129
Grand total
88,629,681 I 7,505,231
12,783,681
108,918,593
* Of this number about 8,000,000 were of the so-called fine-
fleeced sort.
The Russian is charitable, kindly of nature, and hospi- National
table. Respectful, obliging, and content with little, he is character,
honest enough in the country, but in town he sadly alters,
losing most of his good, and acquiring none but bad qualities.
He possesses the imitative faculty in an extreme degree,
but not the inventive. An early riser, he can work well
when put to it, and has but few wants. He is better than
his master the noble. The dark side of the picture is,
that he will lie remorselessly ; is sly, false, and insincere;
lazy when possible ; fond of drink; and he rather enjoys
uncleanliness, although his hot bath once a week is an
example well worthy of being followed, because greatly
contributing to his extreme longevity. Civilized, the
Russian becomes a great thief. The temperance move¬
ment that has lately taken place in the semi-Polish and
central governments is very remarkable, and is spreading
widely. It originated with the Polish clergy (to their
honour be it spoken), and was favoured by the badness of
the brandy. Tall of stature and straight-limbed, the Rus¬
sian is tolerably strong, robust, hardy, and not much sub¬
ject to disease, through his out-of-door life during the
greatest part of the year, and the continual exercise which
RUSSIA.
545
Statistics, the vastness of all things Russian,—embracing as well every
object as every degree of distance,—forces him, against
his will, to take. He is mostly fair of complexion, hairy, and
bearded, pug-nosed, and rather small-eyed; but his good-
humoured bearing and healthy look lend him a degree of
handsomeness. The women are, alas, inferior to the men,
being far from pretty; and even the beauty of youth fades
with them much earlier than they could wish. The female
population is likewise weakly, and much earlier broken
down, through excessive labour in the fields, which, though
a shame to the men, is a forced consequence of the impress¬
ment called conscription. Some few governments, how¬
ever, are noted for their healthy, pretty-faced girls. Many
men and women of huge proportions are to be met with; but
there is more fat than muscle about them. Several of the
strongest men of modern times were, however, Russians,—
Orloffsky and Lookeen. The Russian man is the best speci¬
men of the Slavonian race ; the woman, not. The Russian
has more real patriotism, too, than the vapouring Pole, who
will sacrifice his country to his personal loves and hatreds;
the Polish women, however, are superior to the Russian.1
Dress and A red or blue linen shirt, linen drawers, boots worn over
foud. very wide trousers, often mat or bast sandals, a cloth kaftan
bound by a sash, the national sheep-skin tooloop or body-
coat, with various descriptions of head-coverings, form the
simple dress of the men. The hair is cut round. The
women wear boddices, coloured jackets called sarafans or
katsavaykas, and kokoshniks for the head. This national
dress is exceedingly becoming, and is very properly used
at court. The kokoshnik, set with brilliants, is a magnifi¬
cent head-dress, and the other parts of the costume admit
of much elegance of display. Girls wear kossas or plaited
tails to their heads. Married women tie up their hair,
which is mostly coarse, in gaudy-coloured handkerchiefs.
In one word, the national garb is pretty, useful, and has a
peculiar type. The food is simple. It chiefly consists of
rye bread called black, always soup, curds, much milk,
seldom meat, many vegetables, different farinaceous dishes,
sundryor pasties, jams, preserves, and marmalades.
The kvas, a sour small beer, unhopped, is a horrible drink ;
but the braga and the mors (cranberry juice sweetened—the
mead of the country), the donskoy, and various home-made
wines,are delicious beverages. Tea and coffee are becoming
more and more used. The former is said to be better than
in England, through its being transported over land; but
it is more likely that it is a different sort. The white-flour
bread is excellent; the meat and mutton small, but sweet.
The cabbage-soup, called stekee, the Little Russian borstch,
the porosibnok, or pickled sucking-pig,—all used with sour
or clotted cream ; (dekoolibidk, an egg and fish or meat pie ;
the rastiagdi, a little meat pasty; the pelmenni, a small
chopped-meat pudding-tart, eaten warm ; and the caviar,
are well worthy of adoption into the English kitchen.
Amuse- The Russian is fond of dancing and music, and sings at
mentsv his work the plaintive ditties of his country, in a high,
falsetto key, accompanied by indescribable quavers. The
women’s shrill skirl is extremely unpleasant; but both sexes
are mirthful, and much given to amusements, which are
innocent enough, consisting of eating nuts and gingerbread
of holidays, and at their carnival shows, the Verbi,or Feast of
Palms, and the Easter festival; of gliding down ice-hills in
sledges; and swinging. The khorov'odis are women’s dances,
accompanied by singing. A characteristic dance is the
kazatchbck. Strangely enough, skating is next to un¬
known. The indigenous musical instruments are the
balalaika, a sort of guitar, and the goosli, a sort of spinnet,
now falling into disuse. Public amusements in the capi¬
tals are too dear and rare. The upper classes follow the Statistics,
usual European fashion. They love display; are graceful,
polished, and urbane; but supple and false, not scrupulous
in keeping his word, and with no manly love of exercise,
the Russian nobleman is frequently one thing in public
and another in private life. When the Russian noble is at
the same time a gentleman, he is unsurpassed. Card¬
playing is the great social vice ; but excessive drinking is
now next to unknown. Higgling and dishonesty in trade
are common in buying and selling. All classes take pride
in rich furs and fine horses. Sledge-racing supplies the
place of our English horse-racing, which, however, has
lately been encouraged. High and low have a singular
love of proverbial sayings, and all take a personal pride in
the outward magnificence of the court.
The Russian language, one of the most beautiful exist- Language,
ing, is a dialect of the Slavonian, the common tongue of
a large family of nations descended from the Scythians,
but whose earlier origin is unascertained. If the language
of a people were to be taken as an index of its destiny, a
still brighter career than that already run might be augured
of the country under review. In point of copiousness,
flexibility, harmony, and grace, the Russian language has
but few superiors, and not many equals. From the separate¬
ness of its roots, it is, however, but little assimilative ; which
must prevent its ever becoming so universal as English.
Many of the modern roots are Sanscrit, Greek, Latin, and
German. When the church-books of w orship were trans¬
lated, in the tenth century, intoSlavonian-Russ, Greekforms,
both alphabetical and of construction, were introduced,
and thus was created a written church-dialect existing up
to the present time, side by side with the vernacular, which
it has greatly affected. The spoken language meanwhile
incorporated many words from the Polish and other Sla¬
vonian dialects, the Tartar, and Mongolian ; but Peter’s
reform of the alphabet, adoption of technical terms, and
introduction into printed use of the vernacular, in lieu of
the church-language, contributed the most to give the
Russ that form which later culture has refined, and which
it at present wears. The want of an article renders ex¬
treme precision less attainable than in those languages
which possess one, otherwise than through the general
sense of a phrase ; but this is tolerably balanced by an avoid¬
ance of constantly-recurring particles, the great defect of
the English and other languages. Adjectives, nouns, and
pronouns are richly declinable in their various genders,
persons, and numbers; and verbs, besides denoting in their
inflections the numbers, persons, and genders, have further
so-called modes, which clearly determine the frequent and
unfrequent, the precise and unprecise modes of every ac¬
tion. A flexibility of construction, perhaps unsurpassed, is
thus obtained ; for, transpose the words as one may, sense
can always be made of them. The prepositional verbs,
mostly with prefixes, are a mine of wealth for the deter¬
mination of action; but an insufficiency of this part of
speech consists in its having but one compound tense, with
shall, and, strictly speaking, only one past tense; through
which defect a past action cannot be defined with such
precision as in French. In consequence of the verb show¬
ing the gender, the personal pronouns may be dispensed
with or used, at will. The great richness of the language
consists, besides its inflectiveness and the copiousness of
its roots, in the number of the derivatives ; nouns, adjec¬
tives, and verbs, mutually giving and receiving, and all
possessing this attribute to an inconceivable degree. The
written character is a very neat one; and the printed has
much resemblance to the Greek, some also to the Latin.
1 It was a just retribution of Providence that visited the iniquitous tyranny in old times of Poland over Russia with eventual subju¬
gation to the latter, not that the punishment should be eternal. It testifies, besides, historically and undeniably, to the existence of a
moral principle as positively pervading the unseen as the seen world of the senses.
VOL. XIX. 3 z
546
E U S
Statistics. The alphabet is as nearly phonetic as can be desired, and
has the advantage of expressing complex consonantal
sounds, such as ts in tsav, tch in child^ sh in shall) stch
in question, kh in ladakh ; each in one character. The
Celtic guttural kh, the Greek x> is the only consonantal
sound in which the Russian language has the advantage,
of the English ; but it has n'ot the English nasal ng, the th,
the j as in join, nor the w as in will. All the vowels are
neither long nor short, but properly between the two;
neither have the Russians the long diph- or triph-thongal
sounds of the English, as in meed, mound, and queen.
The a sound in fat and fall, and the short i and u, as in
hit and but, are totally wanting; whence follows that the
English has several more sounds than the Russian. A set¬
off against this is the more frequent occurrence of liquids
and of united vowel-syllables ; the a-yah, e-yah, e-ay-yah,
e-a-u, lending extreme harmony to the music of the
rhythm. A harsh semi-vowel, which the English have not,
is the quick contraction of the oo-ee into one sound. The
most favoured letters are p and r; the ugly s is not so
much used as in German or English; the vowels most
affected are a, as in far; yah, and e. The diminutive,
augmentative, and deprecative terminations are next in
expression, strength, and grace only to the Italian. An¬
other distinctive feature of the language is, that through
the peculiar inflectiveness of its nature, the purely Rus¬
sian race, from the White Sea to the Black, from Poland
to the farthest confines of Siberia, speak with a gramma¬
tical correctness perfectly delightful to ears that care for
such niceties. There are of course vulgarisms, and here
and there some slight shades of difference in the pro¬
nunciation ; but they are inconsiderable indeed, when
contrasted with the barbarous idioms met with in all the
countries of Europe. The Little Russian is certainly a
marked deviation from the rule, but this is not the pure
Russian race. Russ is spoken most elegantly in Moscow
and Petersburg. The points of beauty in this language
are so striking that much might be taken from it as first
principles for a universal language, were any such pos¬
sible ; and an unbeliever in the great advantages derivable
from these varied inflections would best be convinced by
contrasting the cumbrous phraseology of an English law
document with that of a Russian one. There is little in¬
tonation of whole phrases—raising or sinking of the voice
—compared to English, the most intoned of living lan¬
guages, and which is a remedy for its large number of
monosyllabic words. Russian words, on the contrary, are
egregiously long, in proportion to the graduated short
words; a result of which is, that one page of Russian print,
despite the saving of particles and repetitions incident to
the varied inflections of the Russ, would make on an aver¬
age no more than three-fourths of an English page. There
are, however, much fewer ellipses in Russ than in English,
the most elliptical language spoken; and this is partly
another cause of English concision. For poetry, the lan¬
guage is beauty itself, being hard and soft in due propor¬
tion ; and it admits of all rhythmical measures, besides
affording every imaginable facility for rhyme. And it was
for nasal French that the upper class of Russians could
abandon their own far more beautiful tongue! What can
not fashion in its folly do ?
Mythology. The Russian mythology is common to that of the whole
Slavonian race. Their thunder god Peroon answers to
the Greek Zeus, or the German Wodan. His statue stood,
in times of old, in the yard of Vladeemir’s court at Keeyeff,
and was of wood, with a silver head and gold moustache.
The annalist Nestor (1060) makes mention of the gods
Kors, Dashbog, the god of fruitfulness {boy signifies god),
Shreebog, called also Samergl, and Mokosh. The name
of Voloss, denoting hairiness, occurs in the Grand-Prince
Oleg’s conversations with the Greeks, as the protector of
S I A.
herds, and it was by his and Peroon’s name that the Rus- Statistics,
sians confirmed their sayings by oath. The goddess of
love, friendship, and unity, was Tada; lovers and the newly-
married sacrificed to her, praising her name in songs.
Her sons Lelia and Palelia were also honoured as the
gods of love and marriage. Kupalo was the name of the
god of harvests, and sacrifices were made to him before
harvest, on the 23d of June; this festival was called the
Kupalaxtza. Young people decked themselves with flowers,
lit fires in the evening, danced round them, and sang in
honour of the god. The memory of this feast may still be
traced in the fires lit to this day on St John’s Eve. In
the government of Arkhangel, many of the peasants still
heat their baths on the 23d of June, strew their floors with
kupalinka {Ranunculus acris), and then bathe. The root
of the word implies bathing. Deevo was the name of the
Evil One. The 24th of December was holy to the god of
peace, Koleda; the rejoicings of Christmas Eve, consulting
the future, and the custom called Koledov^nie, now exist¬
ing in Little Russia, are living remnants of this festival.
Forest-demons, house-spectres, and good spirits were also
supposed to exist. The Roossjilka, a naiad, though no more
seen, is still believed in; and the ancient Russians further
venerated trees, particularly hollow ones, and bound linen
cloths round their branches. They had temples and priests;
they burned their dead, and held feasts in their honour.
Briefly outlined, Russian literature has undergone three Literature,
marked changes : 1. The literature developed under Greek
influence by the introduction of Christianity, 988-1689;
2. That first improved by Peter the Great on the general
European model, from 1689-1801; 3. And the more po¬
lished, lasting from Alexander I. till the present time. The
first period is long as regards duration, but poor as regards
matter. Tales and songs, mostly oral; chronicles, and spi¬
ritual books describing the miraculous doings of the saints,
reviling the Latins, or disputing about the sectarian here¬
sies, were its chief products. The subsequent invasion of
the Tartars, 1238-1480, not only checked the advance of
civilization, but threw it back by many centuries ; and dur¬
ing this period the learned sought refuge in the cloisters.
The incorporation with Russia, in the sixteenth century, of
the grand principality of Lithuania, naturally operated on
the letters, such as they were, of the country, by introducing
the more advanced literature of Poland. John IV. esta¬
blished the first printing-office at Moscow in 1564. Dra¬
matic art dawned late. It was in the seventeenth century
that the students of the Keeyeff academy began to perform
religious mysteries in Polish and Slavonian; and under the
tsar Alexay Mikhailovitch, 1645-1676, the boyar Matvayeff
invited German actors to Moscow, where they performed
pieces, with music and singing. Throughout this period,
but no later, the whole literature of the country was in the
hands of the clergy, who were thus the centre of the refine¬
ment that existed. The second period is marked by Russia
arousing from her intellectual stupor. Peter had appeared;
and from this time the country enters within the pale of
European civilization. He invited learned foreigners to
his dominions; sent young Russians to Germany and Hol¬
land for the acquirement of useful learning; and such was
the impulse he gave, that in a few years Russia made more
progress in civilization than in many preceding centuries.
Relations had indeed been maintained with Europe under
John III., but their influence had been unfelt. It was
under Peter, too, that the first newspaper—The St Peters¬
burg Gazette—was issued, in 1703. It contains matter
very interesting for the present age. Peter’s own time was
not marked by any distinguished writers; but most of the
successive sovereigns only executed what he had originally
conceived and planned. Lomonossoff, the son of an
Arkhangel fisherman, a learned prosaist, although an indif¬
ferent poet, under Elizabeth Petrovna, was the earliest
RUSSIA.
Statistics, classical writer of his country, and the great practical re-
former of her letters. He first introduced measure, in lieu
of the pre-existing Polish quantity. Kantemir, Soomaro-
koff, Kniazneen, and Kher&skofF are names of secondary
note, intervening between this time and Catherine’s more
glorious epoch. Derz&vin, the first great poet of his coun¬
try, and who flourished in her reign, stands higher than all
before and after him until the appearance of Pooshkin and
LermontofF. His Ode to God has been translated into
English by Bowring, whose Anthology, containing speci¬
mens of the Russian poets, is deserving of commendatory
notice. Von Wisin, the successor of Kantemir as a satirist,
still retains possession of the stage. His comedy of the
Spoiled Minor would alone throw more light on the man¬
ners and customs of his country than many books of his¬
tory. This second period, although unmarked by many
gifted writers, was still rich in translations from the an¬
cients, French literature, and works of science, which cir¬
cumstance had a vast influence upon the mental refinement
of the people. There even existed under Catherine II. a
department for translations. In this respect the country
owes much to NovikofF, who, under Catherine II., founded
the Literary Society of Moscow, the precursor of the Aca¬
demy of Sciences, and devoted his whole life and fortune
to this object. The earliest illustration of the third period
is Karamzin, who, as a prosaist, first broke through the
rules of ancient classicism, and introduced the romantic
school. He is best known as the historian of his country,
although his fame as such now suffers diminution; but his
style is still deservedly celebrated for its purity, and he has
been followed by Oostrialoff and Solovioff. In universal
history, Granoffski and Koodriavtseff are the best represen¬
tatives of Ranke’s school. DmeetriefF is a fable-writer of
merit; but Kreeloff’s fables, for point, satire, raciness of
style, and adaptation to life in his country, are equal to
those of any age or land. The best tragic dramatist is
Ozeroff, but he is pompous, and writes too much in the
French style. Greeboyedoff’s comedy of Sorrow Comes of
Sense, a social satire on Moscow society, may be classed
with Beaumarchais’ Marriage of Figaro, or Sheridan’s
School for Scandal. Gogol’s Revisor is a satire of like
eminence, on the corruption of his time. The only other
dramatists of distinction are Pooshkin, and Ostrovski, a
contemporary author. The Russian drama was originally
formed on the declamatory French model; but Shakspeare
has long beaten French tragedy off the stage. For vaude¬
villes the French style still prevails, because the best. In¬
dependently of the earliest national poetry, of which nume¬
rous collections have been made, and not to dwell here on
the claims, as poets, of Bogdanovitch, Khemnitzer, B&tiush-
koff, Kozloff, Countess Rostoptchin, and others, all of more
or less distinction, the names of Pooshkin and LermontofF
speak for themselves as the greatest. Pooshkin, in parti¬
cular, is the poet of his country, from his identification with
the national mode of feeling. His prose is a model of
polite style. The living poets of mark are MaikotF, Tiut-
chefF, Nekr^ssofF, and Stcherbina. It is remarked of Rus¬
sian poetry, two-thirds of which is imitative, that, with
much melody of versification, it has but little substance.
More tender than impassioned, more graceful than ener¬
getic, the unseen spirit of song rather glides over the sur¬
face of feeling than issues from poetry’s true home, the well
of passion, lying deep within the heart, Russia is a land
of song, and numerous collections therefore exist of na¬
tional, Little Russian, Finnish, Lettish, and other songs,
well meriting attention. The first novel was written by
KheraskofF, under Catherine II., not that it was a good one;
but of the later novelists and belletrists, the oldest are
LazetchnikofF and Zagoskin; then follows the inimitable
Gogol; and afterwards come Peesemski and GontcharofF.
Pooshkin, Kookolnik, Count Solohub, Greegorovitch, Count
547
Tolstoi, and ToorgheniefF, the last and best, are delightful Asiatic
story-tellers. Translation, which now supplies the place of Russia,
civilizers from abroad, is cultivated in every branch to an
immense extent. A remarkable production in this art was
Gneditch’s translation of the Iliad, which, though heavy,
is still correct. It was from 1820 to 1840 that translations
began chiefly to be made from the German. ZookbfFski,
in particular, gave the impulse to translations from that
language and from English. The most distinguished in
this department, not to speak of purely scientific works, are
BatinshkofF and ZookofFski. The other names are KozlofF,
Huber, Vrontchenko, Kronberg, and Min. Ketcher is a
very accurate translator. Most of Shakspeare’s plays, and
indeed many of the best English productions in verse, in¬
cluding several of Byron’s poems, have been beautifully
done into Russ; besides numerous translations from the
ancient and living languages. In philology, the chief names
are BoosltliefF, Sjogren, Castren, Schiffner, Wiedemann,
Bothlingk, Dorn, Pavski, VostokofF, Gretch, Kasembeg,
and DavidofF. Statistics, including finance and political
economy, have lately made immense progress. We need
only allude to ArseniefF, Koppen, Tengoborski, Nebolsin,
and Lam&nski. In medical surgery, PeerogofFis known to
all Europe. Philosophy is yet a barren field, and many
departments of letters are still unrepresented; but in the
higher walks of science it is sufficient to cite Pallas, Frehn,
W. Struve, Bar, Ostrogradski, KupfFer, Jacobi, Pander,
Abich, and VesselofFski. The fine arts have had, and still
have, distinguished disciples in Kokorin, Marthus, Count
Theodore Tolstoi, Baron Klodt, BrulofF, Bruni, Basen, and
EvanofF. Bortnianski’s church music is abstract beauty
tangibly revealed to the senses. As travellers and navi¬
gators, we have Golovnin, Kotzebue, Krusenstern, Bellings¬
hausen, Liitke, Wrangel, TchikatchofF, YermolofF, Demi-
dofF, MiddendorfF, and KovalefFski. The church literature
is perhaps the most popular and widely diffused. Platon,
Innocent, and Philaret are the most eminent sermonists.
Prokopovitch, Yavorski, Philaret of Moscow, Philaret of
Kharkoff, and Macarius, are eminent as theologians. Pe¬
riodical literature has made immense strides, and at present
absorbs nearly all the intellect of the country. Belinski, as
a critic, exercised over it a lasting influence. Herzen’s
Kblokol, or Bell, and his Northern Star, both published
in London, form a remarkable feature in the journalism of
the day. An encyclopaedical lexicon is being published
by Kraieffski; and a movement has been made towards
furthering the introduction of the decimal system. Gene¬
rally, it may be truly said that purely intellectual civiliza¬
tion has lately advanced with the step of a giant. That
Russian literature has not yet contributed its full quota to
the great hive of human learning should be mainly ascribed
to over-government, to its being yet in the youth of its
existence, and still in a condition which compels it to bor¬
row much. When civilization shall have taken firm root
in all classes, then Russia will no doubt enlarge her preten¬
sions ; but the time is coming, and the minds to do the
work ^re ripening,
Asiatic Russia.
Russia in Asia comprehends the whole northern portion Asiatic
of that continent extending from Lat. 38. 25. to 78. 26. Russia.
N., and from Long. 37. 14. to 190. 22. E. from Green¬
wich. It is bounded on the west by European Russia and
the Black Sea, on the south by Asiatic Turkey, Persia, the
Caspian and Aral Seas, the territories of the Turkomans
and Keergheez, and by China; on the east by the Pacific
Ocean and Behring’s Straits. The Frozen Ocean extends
along the whole of its northern limits. Its greatest extent
from west to east is about 4142, and its greatest breadth
from north to south 2622 English miles. This vast dominion
548 R U S
Asiatic 5s larger than the whole of Europe. Siberia, which occupies
Kussia. the whole north of Asia, from the Ooral Mountains to the
V - ^ ^ Great Ocean, has a general inclination towards the Northern
General Arctic Sea. It presents an immense plain, bounded on the
aspect. south by ranges of mountains. In the northern part this
plain gradually inclines into a low flat. Siberia is divided
by the Yenisay into two regions, the western and eastern.
Western Siberia is one entire level, unbroken by any hills
whatever. The north-western region is covered by forests ;
the other part consists of steppes. 1. The Barabinskaia
steppe, between the rivers Irtish and Ob, has large birch
groves, and is suited to agricultural pursuits. 2. The
Ishim, to the south of Omsk, along the rivers Irtish and
Ishim, consists of sands and salt-marshes. 3. The Kheer-
gheez steppes, extending from the left of the River Ooral to
the Caspian and Aral seas, form a wilderness whose eastern
and north-eastern parts alone are intersected by hills, form¬
ing a continuation of the centre chain of the southern
Ooral. The soil consists of clay and sand, but in the south¬
west it is overspread with salt-marshes and bogs. 4. The
Abakan steppes lie along the River Abakan, which falls
into the Yenisay. Their soil is so fertile that it requires
no manure. 5. The Sagai, lying between the left bank of
the Abakan and Lake Teletski, and extending in the north
to the River Tchoolim, serve as excellent pasture-grounds
for the countless herds possessed by the natives. Eastern
Siberia affords a much more diversified aspect. The plains
are here intersected by numerous offshoots of the high
Altai and Sagan mountains, as well as by the Yablonnoy
and Stanovoy ranges. The northern Siberian flat, from
the Northern Arctic Circle to the Polar Ocean, and from
the Ooral Mountains to Behring’s Straits, may be divided
into three portions. The first, from the Oorals to the
Yenisay, does not rise above the level of the sea; the
second, from the Yenisay to the Lena, is a little above that
level; and along it, from south to north, extends the Poos-
tinnoy range of hills, which, terminating in Cape Severo-
Yostotchnoi, serves as the dividing water-shed of the Yeni¬
say and Lena. The third portion, from the Lena to
Behring’s Straits, is considerably higher than the water-
level ; and more eastwards it is intersected by branches of
the StanovoyMountains, which never reach above 3000 feet.
The whole of this flat has a dreary character, and the magni¬
ficent forests which cover the whole south of Siberia become
gradually thinner. At 70 N. Lat. all vegetation ceases, and
nature seems as if deprived of life. The soil of this northern
Siberian flat is one continued moss-grown toondra.
Mountains. The Siberian mountains extend from the River Irtish
at first eastwards to the upper sources of the Aldan,
which falls into the Lena, and hence through Kam-
tchatka towards the north-east. They terminate in two
branches, of which one extremity is called Tchookotskoi
Noss, and the other Cape Lopatka. That part of the
Siberian mountains which passes from west to east con¬
sists of the Altai, Sayan, and Daoorian chains. The
Altai sweeps along the southern confines of the govern¬
ments of Tobolsk and Tomsk, and, by means of the Ya¬
blonnoy and Stanovoy ridges, unites in the north-east with
the Okhotsk Mountains. This Altai range is 450 miles
long and 230 miles broad, having numerous offshoots. Its
general height is 7000 feet; but the pinnacle of one, called
the Belookha, attains the height of 12,000 feet. The snowr-
line is from 6000 to 6500 feet above the horizon of the
water. 1 he Altai serves as the dividing-line from which
flow the rivers of that region, on one side into the Arctic
Ocean, and on the other into the streams of the Keergheez,
1 urkestan, and Zoonghoi steppes. The Sayan mountains
extend betwixt the Yenisay and Baikal, a distance of 1260
versts. The Daoorian extend from the Sayan mountains,
S I A.
touch the Yablonnoy range, and run into the Chinese do- Asiatic
minions. Russia.
The rivers of Asiatic Russia that discharge themselves
into the Arctic Sea are amongst the most considerable of Rivers,
the ancient world. The most remarkable of these are,—\st,
The Ob, whose course is 2170 miles in length, during which
it receives the great rivers Tom, Tcholeem, Ket, Vakh,
the Irtish, Sosva, and all their tributary streams. 2d, The
Yenisay, which has a course of 2000 miles, with fewer
sinuosities than are usually observed in other great rivers.
It is formed by the confluence of the Great Ket and Angara,
which latter is the greater river of the two. The upper
Toongoozka or Angara rises in the government of Irkootsk,
joins the Eeleem, and flows for 1000 miles. The right
affluents are the Middle and Lower Toongoozkas, and the
left are the Abakan and Toorookhan. 2>d, The Lena, one of
the largest of the Russian-Asiatic rivers. It rises in the
Baikal Mountains, in the government of Irkootsk; is from
half a mile to 2 miles broad, at Irkootsk about 6 miles;
and falls into the ocean in Lat. 70. 40., and Long. 164. 26.,
after a course of 2666 miles. The Lena is navigable at
Verkholensk, 200 miles from its source, until it receives
the Aldan. Its tributaries on the right are the Veteem,
Olekma, and Aldan; on the left the Velui. Besides the
Ob, Yenisay, and Lena, whose lower courses water the
northern flat of Siberia, along the toondras flow the fol¬
lowing considerable rivers;—The Taz, Khatanga, Anabara,
Olenek, Yan, Indighirka, and Koleema. The rivers flow¬
ing from the eastern declivity of the Stanovoy hills into the
great ocean and sea of Okhotsk are mostly unimportant
and rapid, because this range is steep, rocky, and often
closely approaches the shores. The chief are the Anadir,
Kamtchatka, and Avatcha, remarkable as forming the bay
of Avatcha, surrounded on all sides by mountains, and 9
miles in diameter; Port Peter and Paul, the Penzeena,
Gizeeghina, Okhota, and Amoor.
The Amoor is formed by the confluence of the Argoon Amoor
and Sheelka, in the south-east angle of the Trans-Baikal River,
region, at a point called the Oost-Strelka. The Trans-
Baikal region spoken of borders on Chinese Daooria, of
which latter a vast portion has been silently incorporated
with Russia, and called Russian Daooria. From the Strelka
mouth to the last Russian station on the Tartar Gulf, called
the Petroffskoie Winter Quarters, the entire length of the
Amoor is 1880 miles. The chief tributaries of this river
are the Zayah, Newman, Amgoon, Soongari-Oollah, and
the Oossoori,—all mighty streams. The Soongari-Oollah,
called in Chinese Khoon-Taoon-Tsian, unites with the
Amoor 950 miles below the Strelka mouth. The Soongari
runs through Chinese Mantchooria, and the Amoor may
rather be said to fall into it. In many places from a mile
to a mile and a half broad, the Amoor is navigable through¬
out its whole course, the depth being considerable, often
averaging ten fathoms; and there are few rapids or shallows
to impede navigation. It must, however, be observed, that
the last exploring expedition took place in May, when the
waters were at their highest. The current generally runs
at the rate of 2^ miles an hour. No forts are as yet laid
down along the river’s course, and it is only near the mouth
of the Amoor that there are fortifications; but they have
not yet had time to become important. The left river-
bank is being permanently colonized. The sole consider¬
able position at present held by the Russians on the right
bank is the Mareeinski station, near Lake Keezi. Sakha-
leen-Oollah-Khoton is the only large town on the Mant-
choorian or right bank of the Amoor. On the left bank
there is not a single town. Toongooz tribes inhabit the
whole of this region, which is extremely fertile, the soil
and climate being both excellent.1
1 The rapid extension of the Russian empire at present taking place in this region, and the political results that are likely to ejjsue
HUS
Asiatic Lake Keezi, at the Mareeinski station, on the right bank
Russia, of the Amoor, is 26 miles long, of varying breadth, and in
parts tolerably deep. It naturally forms a convenient har¬
bour, and the idea has therefore been entertained of esta¬
blishing a way of communication, either by canal or rail,
across the hilly ridge—only 13 miles in breadth—which
separates Lake Keezi from De Castries’ Gulf in the Sea of
Okhotsk. When one takes into account that the Maree¬
inski station is 290 miles higher up the river than its mouth,
the utility of the plan becomes obvious. A railway from
the Amoor, to be connected with the internal lines of road,
has been more than once projected ; but either the demands
made for a cession of bordering crown-lands were so un¬
reasonably exorbitant, or the offers made so unsupported by
sufficient guarantees, that the plan has been rejected. The
railroad will yet be effected, though on another basis, and
then the results will be of high interest to England. The
chief considerations which suggest themselvesare,—1st, That
Russia has now managed to acquire a vast portion of
Chinese territory, with a valuable harbourage and sea-board,
on the North Pacific; 2d, That a vast amount of trade in
Central Asia is being opened out to her merchants: and,
3c?, That she is hereby obtaining a direct water communica¬
tion with India, which is thus in process of becoming more
and more closely hugged by Russia both by land and sea.
Two rivers, of great interest to England, remain yet to be
noticed: the Oxus, or Amoo-Daria, which rises in the
western extremity of Lake Sir-i-Kol, Lat. 37. 27., and
chron. Long 69. east of Greenwich, in the table-land of
Pamir in Central Asia; and the Jaxartes, or Sir-Daria,
which rises in China, and passes through Kokan, Turkestan,
and Tashkent. Both fall into the Aral Lake, the Amoo-
Daria, after an approximative course of 800, and the Sir-
Daria of about 520 miles.
Lakes. The lakes in Russian Asia are very numerous, and some
of them so extensive as to form inland seas. One of the
largest is the Baikal or Holy Lake, between Lat. 52. and
55., and Long. 104. 26. and 109.56., extending over 11,180
square miles. Its water is clear and bright, and the depth
varies from 18 to 500 feet. The River Angara, which runs
into the Yenisay, issues hence. It contains a great number
of rocky islands. The other is the Aral Lake, or Blue Sea,
situated on a parallel with the northern part of the Caspian.
It is 250 miles long by 150 miles broad. The lakes next
in extent are the Tchani and the Piasenskbe, both in the
government of Tomsk; but there are one or more lakes in
every province. A large number of steamers already ply
on these inland seas and rivers of Asiatic Russia.
Climate From the Ooral Mountains to the Yenisay the climate
and pro- differs little from that of European Russia, but beyond that
dactions. riVer the difference is marked. The general severity, how¬
ever, of the climate in Russia—apparently so inimical to
health and comfort—is considered by the inhabitants as
one of their greatest blessings. The vast expanse of
frozen snow that environs them both shortens distances
and facilitates travelling. Ice-cellars also form a positive
necessary of life, for by their means provisions, which could
not otherwise be kept from putrefaction, are preserved dur¬
ing summer. The fine fresh air engendered by a bracing
S I A. 549
frost is likewise most conducive to health. The intense Asiatic
cold, however, that prevails in Siberia beyond the Yenisay, Russia,
like every extreme, is an evil, and forms one ot the great
obstructions to travelling, as does also the plague of mos¬
quitoes in summer. The natural wealth ot the country
consists at present in its minerals, timber, furs, produce of
the chase, fisheries, and cattle. The southern territory,
which is often covered with luxuriant pastures, might be
made to yield very rich crops, if the inhabitants would but
change their taste for nomadic life, and till the ground.
For some time past, indeed, the Kheergheez have shown
indications of commencing agricultural pursuits; yet not¬
withstanding the general neglect of tillage, the produce is
in some parts extremely plentiful, and crops are raised even
without the aid of manure. The rearing of sheep for
wool is a branch of industry lately much increased in Si¬
beria, and the Kheergheez steppes supply countless droves
of cattle for the Russian market. Pasturage, indeed, and
agriculture will ultimately form the chief riches of the land,
because inexhaustible. The mineral productions are gold,
silver, lead, platina, copper, dendritic and stalactitic copper
or malachite, iron, coal, anthracite, tin, cinnabar, and zinc;
bismuth, arsenic, sulphur, alum, sal-ammoniac, nitre, naphtha,
and natron, are met with in abundance; and a few precious
stones are also found. Near the River Argoon are found
the common topaz, the hyacinth, the Siberian emerald, the
beryl, onyx, and beautiful red and green jaspers. Near
Yekaterinburg are the gem-mines of Moorsinsk, where are
found the beryl and chrysolite. Near Lake Baikal red
garnets are very common ; and lapis lazuli, as well as the
baikalite of Keervan, are also met with. The Altai Moun¬
tains furnish the opal.
The mineral springs of Russia are found principally in Mineral
the Asiatic part, especially in Kamtchatka. The only Eu- waters,
ropean mineral waters that merit particular notice are the
hot spring near Selo-Klintchy in Perm; a chalybeate
spring in the village of Singovo, Olonetz; an assemblage
of springs strongly impregnated with iron near Sarepta, on
the Volga; the Sergius sulphur waters in the government
of Orenburg ; several naphtha springs in the Taurida; and
at Piatigorsk, on the Terek in the Caucasus, warm springs,
that serve as baths. Similar baths exist in the province of
Nertchinsk, and springs impregnated with naphtha and
petroleum are also found near Lake Baikal. Chalybeate
waters likewise are met with among the iron mines near
Yekaterinburg, and a few in the province of Daooria. The
principal hot baths of Asiatic Russia are in Kamtchatka.
Those near Natchikhin, containing vitriolic and nitrous
salts, fall in a rapid cascade, about 300 feet below which
they are collected into a basin 6 or 7 feet broad, and 18
inches deep.
The territory which stretches along the southern Asiatic Frontiers,
border alone deserves particular mention, as the most fa¬
voured district of Siberia. This vast space is chiefly in¬
habited by Kozzacks, whose number has been lately much
augmented, under a system perfected between the years
1852-59 by Count Mooravieff-Amoorski. There are three
descriptions of Kozzacks—the inhabitants of towns, foot
regiments, and horse Kozzacks, who form the chief military
therefrom, warrant us in here giving a short account of the Amoor acquisition, It was in 1845 that Academician MiddendorfF, appre¬
ciating the necessity of an outlet for Siberia into the North Pacific, crossed the frontier despite Chinese prohibition, and found during
his four months’ travels in this quarter, that the Russian government erroneously considered the Stanovoi mountains as their boundary
by the treaty of Nertchinsk, the Chinese themselves having erected boundary-posts much more southerly, among the left affluents of the
Amoor; and that thus an immense extent of territory would accrue to Russia, besides the desired outlet into the Pacific. About the
same time Captain Nevelskoi, after sailing round South America, entered unbidden the mouth of the Amoor, being the first European
navigator who had ever done so, and proved that Sakhalin was not a peninsula, but an island. Delighted with the discovery communi¬
cated to him by Academician Middendorff, Nicholas immediately acted upon it. Captain Achte was despatched to execute the idea, and
political circumstances being favourable, the result has at length been the acquisition by Russia of the whole left bank of the Amoor,
its right and left banks from the Oosoori downwards, the dependent sea-board on the Gulf of Tartary, its outlet into the Pacific, its
prospectively boundless trade, the whole island of Sakhalin, and nearly one million square miles of territory. Russia now wants only
an outlet into the North Atlantic by the acquisition of a seaport in Swedish Finmark.
550
RUSSIA.
Mines.
arm of the country. In their capacity of soldiers, they
mount guard in turn at the different posts assigned them;
and their leisure time is employed in the rearing of cattle,
gardening, hunting, and fishing. The territory they occupy
is for the most part very fertile, especially between the
forty-ninth and fifty-first degrees of latitude, where the soil
spontaneously produces fruit trees, melons, tobacco, &c.;
whilst in the most easterly part the picturesque and fruitful
valleys of the Altai, rich in every description of odoriferous
flowers, enable the inhabitants to rear innumerable swarms
of bees, which furnish the greater part of Siberian honey.
Several manufactories, especially of leather, have been es¬
tablished in the towns. The progress of trade will doubt¬
less hereafter enhance the value of the natural productions
of these regions, amongst which must be reckoned the lakes
of salt water so numerous in the steppes. Important as
they are in relation to commerce, these lakes likewise pre¬
sent to the naturalist a series of interesting phenomena.
Their waters hold so great a quantity of salt in solution
that the action of the summer heat is of itself sufficient to
convert it into crystals, which, carried towards the banks,
form there immense shoals of salt. Magazines have been
formed upon the borders of Lake Koriak, and the salt
therein preserved generally amounts to many thousands of
tons. But however rich this lake may be, it is less so than
three others, the Karoshak, the Kolkaman, and the Dje-
manton, situated in the steppes on the right bank of the
Irtish. Each of these basins is from 12 to 15 miles
in circumference, and the action of the solar rays produces
in them during the summer season crystals of salt so nume¬
rous that, by mutual contact, they at length form solid
arches, which, like winter ice, cover the surface of the
lakes. These masses are frequently nine inches thick.
The action of the air whitens the upper layers; the lower
ones preserve a bluish tint, which in some places assumes a
beautiful violet hue ; and the solidity of these crystal fields
is such that horses, camels, and chariots pass over them
with the greatest safety.
The mines of Russian Asia are by far more productive
than those of any other portion of the empire, as from them
is extracted the whole of the gold, silver, platina, and lead,
nine-tenths of the copper, and eleven-twelfths of the iron
which is brought into use. These mines are mostly situated
in the Ooral and Altai mountain ranges. It is in those
parts which face Siberia—that is, the eastern slope of the
Ooral, and the northern declivities of the Altai, with its
secondary branches—that are found the veins of precious
metal. The best account of these mines is that contained
in Tcheffkin’s able work on the subject, published in 1851,
and to which we call particular attention, as well worthy of
translation. The original discovery of gold—and that, too,
in its native state of veins-^-occurred in 1743, near Yeka¬
terinburg; but the subsequent discovery, in 1814, of auri¬
ferous sand-fields afforded a much cheaper means of ob¬
taining this metal, and caused the working of gold-mines
to be nearly abandoned. The Berezoff mine gold, contain-
ing ];£■ oz. troy to 100 cwt. of ore, cost, for working ex¬
penses alone, 18s. an oz.; whereas the sand-gold of the
same mining district, containing only J oz. in 100 cwt. of
sand, cost but 10s.; so that, supposing the yield to be
equal, the extraction of sand-gold would be ten times
cheaper than that of ore-gold. The working of auriferous
sand-fields was first introduced by the Ooral government
mining foundries; but in 1819 it passed into the possession
of private foundries. In 1829 private companies began to
work these fields in Western, and about 1838 in Eastern
Siberia. An extension of the gold produce in Russia is
scarcely to be expected. For several years no new dis¬
coveries of importance have been made, excepting only in
the Nertchinsk foundry district, where, indeed, such pro¬
mising deposits have been found among the affluents of the
Sheelka that the yield of this district, which amounted Asiatic
from 1846 till 1849, to about 8 cwt. a year, rose in 1850 Russia,
to 24 cwt. The love of exploration, however, has subsided;
the former deposits are becoming exhausted; the yield of
the auriferous sands is perceptibly diminishing; and the
gain of the private Siberian companies, particularly of
Eastern Siberia, has sensibly decreased. The average
yield of the sands washed in the Oorals, which, from 1814
to 1839, was 12 dwt. of gold to 100 cwt. of sand, fell in
1846 to less than 5 dwt.; and there are whole districts
where the yield of the sands has fallen to below 4 dwt. In
the Verkh-Issetski foundries of Mr Yakovlieff, for many
years, about 50 cwt. of ore are won, at a yield of only 2 dwt.
With regard to diamonds, only small stones are found.
These regions, as yet but little known, are now explored
with systematic regularity. The two chains, the Ooral
and the Altai, are divided into several mining districts. In
each of them, the officers to whom is confided the direction
of the works send out every summer detachments of dis¬
covery, whose duty it is to examine in detail the mountains
assigned to them; and the point at which the expedition
stopped the preceding year is generally that of departure
for the next year’s expedition,
Asiatic Russia, independently of Transcaucasia, has re-Divisions,
cently been distributed into the following divisions:—
Western Siberia, comprising the governments of Tobolsk
and Tomsk, and the provinces of Semipalatinsk and Omsk;
Eastern Siberia, comprising the governments of Yakootsk,
Yenisay, and Irkootsk, and the Transbaikal and Kamtchatka
provinces. It is further intended to divide the Amoor re¬
gion into two new provinces.
The population of this territory amounts to 5,361,234 Population,
inhabitants, and consists of Slavonians, called Siberiaks,
settlers from the interior of Russia; Siberian Kozzacks,
Finnish races, Samoyeds, Ostiaks, Toongooz, Yakoots,
Booriats, Gheeliaks, Mongols, Tartars, and Keergheez. It
is rapidly increasing; and here, as in the Caucasus, it
was religious questions, much more than political causes,
which contributed most to the colonization of the country.
In 1765 alone, 40,000 sectarians, called Polish settlers,
were exiled to Siberia from Starodoob and other towns
in the government of Tcherneegoff; and fully two-thirds
of the Ooral Kozzacks are also sectarians, whose super¬
stitions are extremely absurd, and often noxious. In ten
years, from 1832-42, seventy thousand peasants, male and
female, were sent to Siberia for bad conduct by their pro¬
prietors, the town corporations, and rural communes. Ex¬
cept for crimes, however, none can be sent without their
families. The Swedish officers who fell into the hands of
Peter the Great, and a regular succession of recruits fur¬
nished by the empire itself, formed another part of the
population. The lowest class of exiles are condemned to
the mines ; a class whose offences are of a milder character,
are distributed amongst the distilleries; a third class receive
grants of lands, for which a trifle is paid to government.
The individuals comprising this section are formed into
settlements, under the superintendence of a strict police.
Siberia has its schools, gymnasia, and other institutions of
the kind, which have lately been much increased. Irkootsk
is the centre of the greatest civilization, and it possesses a
section of the Russian Geographical Society, very impor¬
tant for statistics. The Keergheez steppes are supposed
to contain about 750,000 inhabitants, divided into the
Great, Middle, and Little Ordes.
The manufactures are few, and unimportant, with the jfanufac
exception of spirits and leather, which are made to a con- tures and
siderable extent in various parts. There are several esta- commerce,
blishments for soap-boiling, the melting of tallow, and mak¬
ing of stearine candles. Cotton and wool are manufactured
in some parts into coarse stuffs. The chief trading towns
are Irkootsk, Kiakhta, Krasnoyarsk, Omsk, Tomsk, and
RUSSIA.
551
Tobolsk. Irkootsk, the principal city of Eastern, and Omsk,
of Western Siberia, being the seats of the respective go¬
vernors, are of course emporiums for the sale of European
commodities, which are also largely dealt in at the fairs of
Irbit and Tiumen. This latter place is rapidly rising in
importance. Independently of the sale of colonial and
other goods, the produce of European Russia, such as corn,
meal, and iron, tools and utensils, are exchanged for the
skins, cattle, caviar, fish (salted and fresh), and game, brought
to them from the interior by the Ostiaks or Tartars.
Every year the merchants of Tobolsk, Tiumen, and other
towns send boats laden with flour up the Irtish and Ob to
Berezoff and other small towns situated farther to the north,
and these boats return freighted with fish. It is, however,
on the Caspian that the most productive fisheries are esta¬
blished. One alone is farmed for L.34,375 yearly, and there
are several others; but, like its waters, the productiveness
of this sea is declining. Measures have been proposed to
remedy this evil by piscicultural enactments. The Ooral
river yields also great quantities of belooga, or large stur¬
geon, which furnishes the delicate Russian caviar. The
agents of the merchants, established in the small towns
upon the banks of the Ob, purchase also of the Ostiaks
valuable furs, which, together with soap, tallow, and leather,
they afterwards export, partly to the fair of Neezni-Nov-
gorod, and partly to the Keergheez of the steppes, who pay
them in horses, cattle, and cotton stuffs, purchased by them¬
selves of the Bookharians; the remaining produce of the
government of Tobolsk is exported by the way of Kiakhta
into China, whence are brought in exchange silks and tea.
Kiakhta is the sole point of commercial intercourse between
the two great empires of Russia and China. Almost all
the principal tea-dealers in Russia have agents at that
place, whilst the Chinese traffickers consist chiefly of tem¬
porary visitors without their families. The Russians there
receive the staples of China, for which they give in return
the productions of their own country. The nature and
extent of the commerce of Kiakhta will be seen from the
following statement:—
Exportation of Russian Merchandise to China.
Description.
In 1835.
Roohles.
Skins to the amount of  636,964
Leather  212,137
Linen  58,033
Cottons    266,321
Cloths  641,897
Furs 
Gold and silver articles  
Corn, iron, steel, copper, glass, and
other articles  413,185
Flax, hemp, silk, and woollen produce;
hoofs and horns, metal articles, &c 
Transit merchandise  155,923
Total 2,384,460
Or sterling L.372,337
In 1857.
Roobles.
324,850
1,393,592
1,429,445
1,247,350
1,236,642
477,225
6,109,104
L.954,547
Importation of Chinese Merchandise into Russia.
Description. In 1835.
Itoobles.
Tea  1,974,042
Sugar
Silks  59,599
Cottons  35,064
Drugs,    53,398
Wool 
Other different articles, such as fruits,
grain, colours, furs, raw silk, &c 
Total 2,122,103
In 1857.
Roobles.
5,892,261
73,782
13,146
26,769
623
1,535,891
7,542,472
Or sterling  L.331,578 L.1,178,511
There is a school at Kiakhta for teaching the Chinese Asiatic
language. The trade with China is a great source of wealth Russia,
to Siberia, as will also be that carried on by the Amoor;
for now that Siberia has an outlet on the navigable Pacific,
it will flourish like California.
Another great commercial line is that which branches
from Irkootsk, down the Lena, into the heart of the frozen
regions and the shores of the Arctic Ocean. Yakootsk,
situated about 800 miles down the Lena, is the emporium
where the furs and other products of these desolate regions
are collected. They are brought from the remotest extre¬
mities of the land which borders on Behring’s Straits, and
from the American territory. A considerable proportion
consists of the tribute which is paid to government, and the
wandering traders exchange tobacco, spirits, cutlery, beads,
and toys for the remainder. The wild animals of this
country are the polar bear, wolf, lynx, Arctic fox, wild boar,
beaver, sable, ermine, squirrel, sea-lion, walrus, seal, otter,
and sea-cat. Stray tigers and panthers have likewise been
met with.
A geographical and statistical account of the Caucasus rpranscaU_
at large having been already given in the general descrip- casia
tion of Russia, we need only add the following complemen¬
tary remarks. That part which extends from the southern
governments of European Russia up to the central moun¬
tain range of the Caucasus belongs to Europe, and is
called Ciscaucasia; the part beyond belongs to Asia, and *
is called Transcaucasia. The latter is divided into the fol¬
lowing governments:—1. Tiflis ; 2. Derbend ; 3. Tche-
makha; 4. Erivan ; 5. Kutais,—each with a chief town of
the same name. Tiflis is the capital. These governments
comprise the former provinces of Gruzia, Armenia, Imeritia,
Daghestan, and some other lesser ones. Small as this
territory is, compared with the vast extent of Russia, it is
of no trifling importance to her in a commercial, financial,
and political point of view. Its geographical position ap¬
pears to us the happiest possible for a power prosecuting
gigantic schemes of commercial intercourse and of terri¬
torial aggrandizement. Climate, soil, natural capabilities,
situation, and political relations, all prove that, whatever it
has cost Russia to acquire and maintain her Transcaucasian
dominions, their value, which as yet is developed only to a
small extent, justifies her policy. A history of the Cau¬
casus, with a full account of its productions, by Colonel
Uslar, being about to appear under the auspices of the
Russian government, we would rather call attention to this
fresh source of trustworthy information than give returns
which are both incomplete and antiquated. The following
general account we know to be true:—
The cultivation of the mulberry tree is now very much
improving, and as much as 9660 cwt. of raw silk were for- Sl k'
warded in 1858 to Moscow alone for manufacture there.
The natural capabilities of the country afford a possibility Cotton
of immensely increasing the production of this valuable
commodity. It has lately been very much developed. The
quality is still rather inferior; and although cotton is pro¬
duced in some of the other southern or Asiatic possessions,
it will be long ere Russia becomes independent of the
United States for this article, more particularly since her
own internal demands are extensively increasing.
The wine is indigenous to these regions, and presents a
great variety of kinds. The vineyards are numerous and ^ ine’
rich, the country being well adapted for the cultivation of
the plant. All the wine and brandy produced are entirely
absorbed by the internal consumption, which is incredible.
Among the natural products likely to become important
articles of trade, but which are at present nearly all con¬
sumed at home, are rice, saffron, madder, and cochineal.
The Armenian or southern parts of the Transcaucasian
provinces, produce a kind of cochineal which is said to
yield a dye equal to that of Mexico. The mountain off-
552
RUSSIA.
Asiatic shoots of the Kazbeck and Elbrooz are rich in siiver-lead
Kussia. ore> which has been found in fifty different places. Parts
0f tihs country also produce coal.
Live stock. Extensive herds might be reared in these provinces,
which afford great facilities for their maintenance. Great
numbers of cattle and sheep are indeed raised, but the
wool of the one is bad and the breed of the other inferior.
Merino sheep have been successfully introduced into this
quarter. There is a fine race of horses, and an abundance
of camels, asses, mules, and swine. The natural capa¬
bilities of these provinces are very great, affording facilities
for the production of the most valuable commodities, ex¬
clusively furnished by southern climates. These have only
been developed to a partial extent; but the government
displays so much laudable zeal in encouraging such branches
of industry as are best suited to the various divisions of the
empire that, after a certain time, she will be nearly inde¬
pendent of what are called colonial goods,—silk, cotton,
and the like.
1 his is not the place to enter into the important ques¬
tion relative to the political influence which Russia is likely
to exercise over the East by thus firmly establishing her
dominion beyond the Caucasus; but her far-sighted policy
has two main objects, which will be promoted by rendering
the Caucasian isthmus a commercial country, securely in¬
corporated with the rest of the empire. These are the
creation of a manufacturing industry that will in time ren¬
der her independent of other countries, particularly of
England, and the establishment of her power in Asia,
whence great advantages are not unreasonably expected.
Now these provinces will at once supply the raw material
necessary for manufactures, and at the same time open out
a market for them in the East. It is true that the Cau¬
casian mountains almost totally sever this limb from the
great body of the empire, the passes ofMozdak being diffi¬
cult of access, and the country infested with predatory
hordes. But there are other and more eligible means of
communication,—viz., the Caspian on the east, and the
Black Sea on the west. Over the former Russia now
reigns paramount, no other vessels of war but her own be¬
ing allowed to navigate there. In this vast reservoir the
Volga, which is the great artery of Russia, pours its waters,
collected during a navigable course of 2055 miles through
some of the most fertile regions of the empire, and includ¬
ing in its tributaries those most distinguished for manufac¬
turing industry, which is the main object. This noble
stream communicating with the Baltic, there is an easy
transport of goods insured from the remotest governments
of the empire to the Caspian, and thence to the Trans¬
caucasian territory. There is also on the other side a
Islands of
Russia.
communication by the Black Sea, but it d<
so many advantages as that by the Caspian.
In the Baltic Sea are,—1. The Aland Islands, more tht
100 in number, forming a group at the entrance of tl
Bothnian Gulf. They are almost all rocky ; and the large
are Aland, Lemland, Eckerb, Fegle, and Brende. 2. Hocl
land, nearly in the middle of the Finnish Gulf, is a hig
granite cliff. 3. Kotlin, on which is situated the fortress <
Cronstadt, one of the strongest in Europe 4. Oese
o. ago. 6. Worms. 7. Mon, on the western coast <
Esthonia. 8. Runo, in the Gulf of Riga. Besides thesi
on the northern coast of Finland, lie a countless number <
loc v} ets called scheeren, often affording very picturesqi:
sceneiy. n the Caspian Sea the islands are general
, .vTle remarkable on the western coast ai
the 1 mien or Seals Island, and the Zeeloy, on which tl
vine is cultivated. In the White Sea is the Solovetsf
group, abounding with Muscovy glass or mica (vitru,
ruthenicum.)
Ihe islands in the Northern Ocean are,—1. Kolgooiel
opposite Fchesk Bay, visited by the inhabitants of the g(
vernment of Arkhangel for its great quantity of geese and
eider-down. 2. Novaia Zemlia, consisting of two large
islands, separated by the Matotchkin Strait, and of several
smaller ones. In June the Russian hunters resort hither
for chasing the morse, sea-hares, and seals. 3. Waigats, at
the north-eastern point of European Russia. 4. The Spitz-
bergen Archipelago. 5. I he Lena Archipelago, situated
at the mouth of the Lena, and the principal of which are
New Siberia, Thaddeus, Kotelni, and Liakhoff. 6. To the
north of the Koleema lies the Bears’ group. These islands
are covered with snow during nearly the whole year.
Their surface is generally rocky, and on some of them there
are marks of volcanoes. I hey are chiefly remarkable for
the teeth of the mammoth, rhinoceros, buffalo, and other
animals found upon and beneath the surface of the ground.
It was the search for ivory which originally induced the
Russians to visit these regions, and their first exploring
expedition was despatched in 1820. These islands are not
Asiatic
Itussia.
inhabited, though traces of human beings have been dis¬
covered by the Russians engaged in the fisheries. Several
kinds of shrubs are found, but no trees, although the shores
are covered with drift wood. The southernmost point of
these islands is in Lat. 69. 5., and they extend to Lat. 76.
20. Their longitude is between 154. and 183. 50. E. of
Greenwich.
These consist of the N.W. coast of America, extend- Lasso¬
ing on the south of Behring’s Straits to 127. 30. W. Long. American
from London, with a narrow stripe of coast reaching as Possessions>
far south as 55. 30. of N. Lat. Further, of the islands
lying to the south and east of Kamtchatka, enumerated as
follows:—1. The Kurile group, twenty-two in number, and
of which nineteen belong to Russia. They are all volcanic,
and the few inhabitants are of Japanese origin. 2. The
Commanders Group, comprising Behring’s and Copper
islands, on the latter of which Behring himself was buried.
3. Ihe Aleutian Islands, divided into four groups,—the
Bleezni or Near, the Rat, the Andreanoff, and the Fox
groups. The largest of the Aleutian Islands is Oonalashka,
100 miles by 35. Ihe volcano of Agazedan, on Ooni-
mak, is 9000 feet above the water-level. 4. The Shoo-
magin ; and 5. ihe Eudoxian, both to the south of the
peninsula of Aliaska. 6. Kadyak, to the east of Aliaska.
i. Sitkha and the adjacent islands, lying on the extreme
southern confine of the Russian coast* 8. The Prebeeloff,
to the north of the Aleutian. 9. St Matthew’s Island ; and
10. St Lawrence’s, both to the north of Prebeeloffs group.
11. Gvozdieff, or St Diomed’s Island, in Behring’s Straits.
Every one of these islands is either a distinct mountain or
the continuation of a chain. On the American continent
the whole interior of the stripe extending from the southern
border to Mount St Elias, is one continued mass of moun¬
tains, which sensibly declines as it approaches the Polar
Sea and Eastern Ocean. The eastern parts of these pos¬
sessions are covered with marshes and forests. The soil is
mostly stony and the climate cold, though not so much so
as in Kamtchatka. It is even warmer than the province of
Yakootsk in Northern Asia. Thick fogs brood over these
inhospitable shores; and the produce of the chase or fish¬
ing forms the sole source of riches to the natives. The
population, on the 1st January 1858, in the American co¬
lonies of New Arkhangel, Kadyak, Oonalashka, Akhtinsk,
the Kurile Islands, and Kenaisk Bay, amounted only to
5322 males and 4743 females, making a total of 10,065
souls; of which number 746 were Russians, 688 being
males and 1838 Creoles, of whom 910 were males.
There were further in America 9 orthodox Greek
churches and 35 chapels, besides 1 church at Avan in
Asia, altogether with 12,000 parishioners, of whom 9050
natives, called Koloshes, Kadyaks, Oonalashkins or Aleuts,
Akhtins, Kenaitses, Tchoogatches, Alegmutes, and Koikh-
paktses, besides some Esquimaux. Five Creoles were or-
R U S
Rustchuk dained clergymen. Not one crime bad been committed
|| during the last forty years. Many religious books had also
Ruth, The ^een translated into the native tongues. The Spiritual
Book of. Seminary of New Arkhangel had been transported to
Yakootsk in Asia, and several schools existed at some of
the colonial churches. A general colonial school was also
about being established at the chief town, New Arkhangel,
on the Island of Sitkha.
This, the progress of a country which, at the accession
of Peter the Great in 1689, only 170 years ago, contained
but 5,636,000 square miles, with 10 millions of inhabitants,
and a revenue of LAOS,125.
(Chief sources of reference applied to in the compilation
of this article :—The Statistical Tables of 1858; the Sta¬
tistical, Geographical, Military, and Naval Sborniks, or
Gatherers of 1857 and 1859; Orsenieff’s Statistical Out¬
lines of Russia; Koppen’s Ethnographical Chart and Ninth
Revision; the Russian and Caucasian Calendars of 1859;
the. Government Chart of the Empire, besides sundry
others; Kooznetsoff’s Geography; Views of Foreign and
Internal Trade ; Tengobcrski’s Productive Strength; La-
manski’s various works on Russian Finance ; Nebolsin’s
RUT 553
Internal Trade, and Thorner’s continuation of this work; Rutherford
Aksakoff’s Fairs of Russia ; Troinitski’s pamphlet on the
Serfs, and Statistical Chart; Oostrialoff’s History; Disser¬
tations on the Eastern Catholic Church, by Palmer; Enter-
scheidungslehren der Christlichen Bekenntnisse, by Graul;
Hanusch, Slavonian Mythology; Ritter’s Asien ; EAsie
Centrale, par A. de Humboldt. The rest is completed from
the writer’s own personal knowledge. The best foreign
writers on Russia are Schnitzler and Haxthausen, although
their works contain numerous errors, and are becoming
antiquated; the best national writers are Tengoborski and
Tcheffkin. The works edited by Demidoff are also note¬
worthy ; but Russia is still much in want of an able exposi¬
tor in several points of view, as the country is much mis¬
represented. We are much beholden to Professor Oossoff,
Colonel Uslar, and Councillor Tetera ; besides being par¬
ticularly indebted for unwearied attentions to Baron von
Behr, Academicians Vesseloffski and Kupffer, State-Coun¬
cillors Lamanski, KhvostofF, Gaieffski, and last, though not
least, to the Rev. E. E. Law, D.D., and R. Winkler, M.D.,
both of St Petersburg.) (j. h. b—p.)
RUSTCHUK, a town of European Turkey, in Bul¬
garia, on the right bank of the Danube, here about 2 miles
broad, opposite Giurgevo, and 55 miles below Nicopolis.
It stands on a series of low hills, among extensive orchards,
from the midst of whose foliage it rises conspicuous with
its white chimneys and minarets. Extensive fortifications
surround the town, and a citadel commands the passage of
the river. The buildings are generally mean-looking, but
there are several mosques, Greek and Armenian churches,
synagogues, bazaars, and baths. Rutschuk is the seat of
a Greek archbishop and of a Turkish pasha. There are
some manufactures of woollen and cotton cloth, silk, leather,
linen, and tobacco; while an active trade is carried on
with Constantinople and Wallachia. For river navigation
there is a harbour under the w^alls of the citadel. A battle
was fought here between the Turks and the Russians in
1811, after which the town was taken by the latter. Rust¬
chuk is inhabited by Turks, Wallachians, Greeks, and
Jews. Pop. 30,000.
RUTH, The Book of, is inserted in the Scripture
canon, according to the English arrangement, between the
book of Judges and the books of Samuel, as a sequel to the
former and an introduction to the latter. Among the
ancient Jews it was added to the book of Judges, because
they supposed that the transactions which -it relates hap¬
pened in the time of the judges of Israel (Ruth i. 1). Se¬
veral of the ancient fathers, moreover, make but one book
of Judo-es and Ruth. But the modern Jews commonly
place in their Bibles, after the Pentateuch, the five Megil-
loth—i. The Song of Solomon; 2. Ruth; 3. The La¬
mentations of Jeremiah; 4. Ecclesiastes; 5. Esther. Some¬
times Ruth is placed the first of these, sometimes the
second, and sometimes the fifth. The true date and
authorship of the book are alike unknown, though the cur¬
rent of authority is in favour of Samuel as the writer.
That it was written at a time considerably remote from the
events it records, would appear from the passage in ch. iv.
7, which explains a custom referred to as having been
“ the manner informer time in Israel, concerning redeem¬
ing and concerning changing” (comp. Deut. xxv. 9). I hat
it was written also at least as late as the establishment of
David’s house upon the throne, appears from the conclud¬
ing verse—“ And Obed begat Jesse, and Jesse begat
David.” The expression, moreover (ch. i. 1), “when the
judges ruled,” marking the period of the occurrence of the
events, indicates, no doubt, that in the writer’s days kings
had already begun tc reign. The canonical authority of
VOL. XIX.
Ruth has never been questioned, a sufficient confirmation
of it being found in the fact that Ruth the Moabitess comes
into the genealogy of the Saviour, as distinctly given by
the evangelist (Matt. i. 6). The principal difficulty in
regard to the book arises, however, from this very genea¬
logy, in which it is stated that Boaz, who was the husband
of Ruth, and the great-grandfather of David, was the son
of Salmon by Rachab. Now, if by Rachab we suppose to
be meant, as is usually understood, Rahab the harlot, who
protected the spies, it is not easy to conceive that only
three persons—Boaz, Obed, and Jesse, should have inter¬
vened between her and David, a period of nearly 400 years.
But the solution of Usher is not improbable, that the an¬
cestors of David, as persons of pre-eminent piety, were
favoured with extraordinary longevity. Or it may be that
the sacred writers have mentioned in the genealogy only
such names as were distinguished and known among the
Jews.
The leading scope of the book has been variously under¬
stood by different commentators. Umbreit (“Ueber Geist
und Zweck des Buches Ruths,” in Theol. Stud, und Krit.
for 1834, p. 308) thinks it was written with the specific
moral design of showing how even a stranger, and that of
the hated Moabitish stock, might be sufficiently noble to
become the mother of the great king David, because she
placed her reliance on the God of Israel. Bertholdt re¬
gards the history as a pure fiction, designed to recommend
the duty of a man to marry his kinswoman ; while Eich-
horn conceives that it was composed mainly in honour of
the House of David, though it does not conceal the poverty
of the family. The more probable design we think to be
to pre-intimate, by the recorded adoption of a Gentile
woman into the family from which Christ was to derive his
origin, the final reception of the Gentile nations into the
true church, as fellow-heirs of the salvation of the gospel.
RUTHERFORD, Samuel, a divine celebrated for his
piety and learning, was born about 1600 at the village of
Nisbet in Roxburghshire, and was educated for the church
at the university of Edinburgh. Being appointed in 1627
to the parish of Anwoth in Kirkcudbrightshire, he ad¬
dressed himself to his work with a holy zeal. He rose in
the morning at three o’clock to meditate and pray. The
care of his poor, ignorant flock occupied his every thought.
Many of them by name were made the subject of his fre¬
quent wrestlings with God. Even his very dreams were
disturbed with anxiety on their account. Nor after he had
been deposed and banished from his office in 1636, for
554
K U T
Ruthin.
Ruther- preaching against the Articles of Perth, did he forget his
glen charge. No sooner was Episcopacy overthrown in 1638
than he hastened home from Aberdeen to Anwoth. After
his settlement in 1639 as professor of divinity in St Mary’s
— College, St Andrews, Rutherford began to take a promi¬
nent part in the politics of the church. He was sent up to
London in 1643 as one of the commissioners from Scot¬
land to the Westminster Assembly. Remaining there at
his post for four years, he did great service to the cause of
his party. He exerted himself to get his peculiar views
embodied in the Shorter Catechism which was then drawn
up. So great also were his efforts in favour of Presby¬
terianism that Milton attacked him by name in the poem
entitled On the New Forcers of Conscience under the
Long Parliament. At the same time, his pen was busily
employed in tbe same cause. He published The Due Right
of Presbytery, 1644; Lex Rex, 1644; The Trial and
Triumph of Faith, 1645 ; and The Divine Right of Church
Government, 1646. The last days of Samuel Rutherford
were assailed by the persecution which followed the Res¬
toration in 1660. His Lex Rex was burnt in front of his
own windows. All his offices were taken from him. He
himself would also have been arraigned before the Parlia¬
ment had he not been summoned away before a superior
judicatory on the 20th March 1661. (See The Letters of
the Rev. Samuel Rutherford, accompanied with a Sketch of
his Life, by the Rev. A. A. Bonar, Edinburgh, 1848.)
RUTHERGLEN, or Ruglen, a parliamentary, muni¬
cipal, and royal burgh of Scotland, county of Lanark, on the
left bank of the Clyde, 2 miles S.E. of Glasgow. It has
one main street of considerable breadth, extending from E.
to W., and many smaller streets and lanes diverging from
it. 1 here are no public buildings of any importance ex¬
cept the town-hall, parish church, chapel of ease, Free and
United Presbyterian churches. The parish church is
ancient, and it is said to have been here that the treaty was
made in 1297 between Edward I. of England and Sir
John Menteath, by which the latter agreed to betray Wal¬
lace to the English. The castle that formerly stood at
Rutherglen was demolished by the Regent Murray. The
town contains a court-house, prison, and several schools.
I he inhabitants are very generally employed in hand-loom
weaving. There are chemical works, print and dye works
here ; and in the vicinity several coal mines. Formerly the
town was of considerable importance, and had a large trade
on the Clyde; but this has been absorbed by Glasgow,
with the suburbs of which Rutherglen is connected by an
old narrow bridge. Several annual fairs are held. The
burgh was first chartered by David I. in 1126, and is go¬
verned by a provost, two bailies, and eighteen councillors.
It unites with Kilmarnock, Dumbarton, Port-Glasgow, and
Renfrew in returning a member to Parliament; and the
constituency is 194. The value of real property, 1858-9,
was L.23,304; and the corporation revenue, 1857—8,
L.1633. Pop. (1851), 7104.
RU THIN, a market-town, parliamentary and municipal
borough of Wales, in the county and 8 miles S.E. of Den-
ig i, 195 N.W. by W. of London. It stands on the sides
and top of a hill on the left bank of the Clwyd. The
ancient castle, which was founded by Edward I., was taken
^riLa sie^e tvvo months by the parliamentary forces in
, am a tei wards dismantled. Recently a castellated
mansion-house has been erected on the site. In the mar-
, e..P.ace ^ |le town stands the town-hall, a substantial
ui tmgo t ie seventeenth century. Ruthin has also a
ian some com t- muse, a grammar and other schools, and a
jad. i he church is ancient, and has a much-admired oak
roof. 1 he other places of worship belong to Baptists, In¬
dependents, and Methodists. The inhabitants are chiefly
employed in farming. Markets are held twice a week, and
there are several annual fairs. The borough is governed
Rutland¬
shire.
RUT
by a mayor, three other aldermen, and twelve councillors ; Rutilius
and it unites with Denbigh, Holt, and Wrexham in re¬
turning a member to Parliament. Pop. (1851), 3373.
RU II LIUS LUPUS, a Roman rhetorician of the time
of Cicero, has left behind him a treatise De Figuris Sen~
tentiarum et Elocutioms. I his treatise was merely an
abridgment from the work of a contemporary, Gorgias of
Athens. 1 he one book of wdiich it originally consisted was
divided into two by some of its subsequent editors. Its
chief value in the present day is derived from its numerous
quotations from the works of Greek authors now lost. The
editio princeps of Rutilus was printed by Zoppinos at Ve¬
nice, 8vo, 1519. "1 he best edition is that of Ruhnken,
8vo, Leyden, 1768.
Rutilius Numatianus, Claudius, a Latin poet of the
fifth century, was a native of Gaul, and, sojourning in Rome
for some time, held the high office of profectus urbi. His
style was formed after the best models in the language,
and his spirit was truly poetical. The subject of his verse
was his return by sea from Italy to his native country. He
described the scenery which he saw as he coasted along
the shores, and the people whom he met in the towns at
which he touched. Among other subjects, he attacked
the monks, and lamented the ravages committed by the
barbarians of the north. This poem of Rutilius has come
down to us in an imperfect state, under the title of Itine-
ranum or De Reditu. The editio princeps was printed
at Bologna, 4to, 1520. The best edition is that of Zumpt,
Berlin, 1840.
RUTLANDSHIRE, an inland county of England, the
smallest in size of the whole, bounded on the N.E. by
Lincolnshire, S.E. by Northamptonshire, W. and N.W. by
Leicestershire : length, from N.E. to S. W., about 20 miles ;
greatest breadth, 16; area, 150 square miles, or 95,805
acres. It is divided into five hundreds, and contains two
market-towns, Uppingham and Oakham, and fifty-seven
parishes, besides two extra parochial districts.
It gives only one title at present, that of duke, to the
family of Manners; two former peerages, that of Ferrars
of Okeham, and Noel of Exton, being extinct. Only two
members are returned to the House of Commons from the
county, and none from either of the towns. In judicial
affairs it is on the midland circuit of the judges; and in
ecclesiastical matters it has formed, since the year 1541, a
portion of the bishopric of Peterborough.
The appearance of this small county is pleasing to the
traveller. It is much diversified by ranges of moderate
hills running from east to west, in some parts well wooded.
Between these ranges of hills, the valleys, of about half
a mile in breadth, are luxuriant and verdant. The prin¬
cipal vale, called Catmoss, is in the centre of the county,
having to the north a tract of table-land overlooking the
well-wooded plains of Leicester, Lincoln, and Nottingham¬
shire. The rivers of Rutlandshire all discharge their waters
into the estuary called the Wash. The largest of them is
the Welland, which flows in a N.E. direction along the
border of the county, separating it from that of North¬
ampton. The Chater, the Wash, the Eye, and the Wreak
are all affluents of the Welland, flowung from W. to E.,
through various valleys in Rutlandshire. The geological
formations of the county belong to the lower part of the
oolite series of deposits. Limestone is the prevailing rock
in the table-land that occupies the northern and also in
the south-eastern part of the county. The south-western
portion is mostly occupied by the reddish sands that sepa¬
rate the oolitic formation from the lias that underlies it.
I here are good stone quarries at Ketton, on the south-east
border of the county.
The soil on the eastern and south-eastern parts is chiefly
shallow, resting upon a basis of limestone, composed of
clays and loams. The other parts consist principally of a
RUT
Rutna- tenacious but fertile loam ; but the vale of Catmoss enjoys
gherry. a most fertile soil of good clay, or red loam, or a grateful
mixture of both these earths. A peculiarity of the soil is
a redness, which generally prevails, and which tinges all the
waters of the country. A great part of the area, especially
in the west, is laid out in pasture ; the eastern portion is
mostly occupied by farms ; and hardly any part is waste.
The woods of this county were far more extensive in
former ages than they are at present, but they are still
estimated to cover nearly 3000 acres. The climate is
generally accounted peculiarly soft and healthy ; and the
elevation is of that medium kind which equally exempts it
from the pernicious effects of moist exhalations and cold
mountain fogs.
The agriculture, though it has partaken of some modern
improvements, is not upon the whole conducted in the
best manner. Large crops of wheat and barley are reared ;
but it is chiefly for its pastures that Rutlandshire is remark¬
able. The cattle are for the most part shorthorns; but
other breeds are also to be met with. The cows are re¬
markable for the richness of their milk, though they yield
but a small quantity. The rich cheese commonly known
as Stilton is chiefly made in the dairies of this county.
Most of the sheep are of the Leicester breed. Hogs of the
Berkshire and the Suffolk breeds are raised; and many
strong dray horses are sent from Rutlandshire to London.
The farms have for the most part an extent of 15 acres
and upwards, and the farm-houses are good old-fashioned
buildings.
Rutlandshire is neither a manufacturing nor a mineral
district, but depends exclusively on its agriculture. It is
traversed by numerous roads, by a canal from Melton
Mowbray to Oakham, and by lines of railway connecting
Peterborough with Leicester and Rugby. The principal
seats of noblemen and gentlemen in the county are Exton
Park, belonging to the Earl of Gainsborough ; Normanton
Hall, to Baron Aveland ; Cottesmere, to the Earl of Lons¬
dale ; Glaiston, to the Earl of Harborough ; and Burley,
to G. Finch, Esq. The last-mentioned place belonged at
one time to the Duke of Buckingham, who entertained
here on several occasions James I. and Charles I. It was
afterwards purchased by the Earl of Nottingham, who
erected the present splendid mansion. There are few re¬
mains of antiquity in the county; and these are mostly to
be found in the churches, some of which are of Norman
architecture, and beautifully ornamented. According to
the census of 1H51, the county contained in all 91 places of
worship, with 17,399 sittings. Of the former, 53 belonged
to the Church of England, 18 to Wesleyan Methodists, 12
to Baptists of various denominations, 6 to Independents,
and 1 each to Quakers and Mormonites. According to the
same returns, Rutlandshire contained 39 public day schools
and 74 private ones,—in all, 113 ; attended by 3405 child¬
ren. Of the public schools, 2 were workhouse schools,
supported by taxation, 15 were supported by endowments,
and 22 by the Church of England. There were also 58
Sunday schools, with 3038 scholars, The only literary in¬
stitution is the Rutland Farmers’ and Graziers’ Club, which
has 40 members, and a library of 80 volumes. By the re¬
turns of 1801, the inhabitants were 16,300; in 1811 the
numbers were 16,380 ; in 1821 they were 18,487 ; in 1831
the numbers were 19,385 ; in 1841, 21,302 ; and in 1851
22,983.
RUTNAGHERRY, a collectorate of British India, in
the presidency of Bombay, stretches along the shore of the
Indian ocean, bounded on the N. by the collectorate of
Tannah, E. by those of Sattara and Kolapore, S. by Sa-
wunt Warree and the Portuguese territory of Goa, and W.
by the sea. It lies between N. Lat. 15. 44. and 18. 6.,
E. Long. 73. 6. and 73. 58: length, from N. to S., 167
miles; greatest breadth, 40; area, 3964 square miles.
R U Y 555
The surface is in general very rugged, being occupied in Rutuli
many parts with mountains and jungle, and intersected II
with torrents, which rush down from the western ghauts to Ruysch.
the sea. Only a small part of the soil is arable, but the “v'"*''
facilities for water communication with the coast, where a
ready market is found for agricultural produce, induce the
peasant to make the most of his available ground. But
this region is almost entirely cut oft' from the Deccan by
the mountains, through which there are only a few passes,
while communication is greatly impeded by the want of
good roads and bridges. Rice and grain are the principal
crops raised in the district; no great success has attended
the efforts made to introduce more valuable kinds of pro¬
duce. Pop. 665,238.
RUTULI ('PovtoiAoi), a people of ancient Italy, who
settled at an early period in a portion of Latium adjoining
the sea-coast, their capital city being Ardea, have ac¬
quired considerable celebrity from the prominent part which
their king, Turnus, played in the settlement of Arneas, as
poetically told by Virgil. An old tradition representing
Ardea as founded by a colony from Argos has led Niebuhr
to conjecture the Pelasgic origin of the Rutuli. (Nieb.
vols. i. and ii.) Schwegler again considers them as Etrus¬
cans [Rom. Gesch., vol. i.) ; but the whole subject is so
bound up with poetical invention, that it is almost impos¬
sible to extract the smallest grain of truth from it.
RUYSCH, Frederic, one of the most eminent ana¬
tomists of which Holland can boast, was born at the Hague
in 1638. After making great progress at home, he repaired
to Leyden, and there prosecuted the study of anatomy and
botany. He next studied at Franeker, where he obtained
the degree of Doctor of Physic. He then returned to the
Hague, and, marrying in 1661, dedicated his whole time to
the study of his profession. In 1665 he published a treatise
entitled Dilucidatio Valvularum de variis Lymphaticis et
Laeteis, which raised his reputation so high that he was
chosen professor of anatomy at Amsterdam. This honour
he accepted with the more pleasure, because his situation
at Amsterdam would have given him easy access to every
requisite help for cultivating anatomy and natural history.
After he settled in Amsterdam he was perpetually engaged
in dissecting, and in examining with the most inquisitive
eye the various parts of the human body. He improved
the science of anatomy by new discoveries; and, in parti¬
cular, he found out a way to preserve dead bodies many
years from putrefaction. His anatomical collection was
curious and valuable. He had a series of foetuses of all
sizes, from the length of the little finger to that of a new¬
born infant. He had also bodies of full-grown persons of
all ages, and a vast number of animals of almost every
species on the globe, besides a great many other natural
curiosities. Peter the Great of Russia, in his tour through
Holland in the year 1698, visited Ruysch, and was so
charmed with his conversation that he passed whole days
with him; and when the hour of departure came, he left
him with regret. He set so high a value on Ruysch’s
cabinet of curiosities that when he returned to Holland in
1717 he purchased it for 30,000 florins, and sent it to St
Petersburg. In 1685 he was made professor of medicine,
an office which he discharged with great ability. In 1728
he got his thigh-bone broken by a fall in his chamber.
Ruysch is said to have been of so healthy a constitution
that, though he lived to the age of ninety-three, yet dur¬
ing that long period he did not labour above a month
under the infirmities of disease. From the time he broke
his thigh he was disabled from walking without a sup¬
port ; yet he retained his vigour both of body and mind
without any sensible alteration, until in 1731 his strength
at once deserted him. He died on the 22d of February
of the same year. His anatomical works are printed in 4
vols. 4to, His second collection in natural history and
556 R U Y
R Y E
Euysdael
Ruyter.
anatomy was sold at his death to the King of Poland for
20,000 florins.
The style of his writings is simple and concise, but some¬
times inaccurate. Instruction, and not ostentation, seems
to be his only aim. In anatomy he undoubtedly made
many discoveries ; but from not being sufficiently conver¬
sant "with the writings of other anatomists, he published as
discoveries what had been known before. The Academy of
Sciences at Paris in 1727 elected him an honorary member,
in place of Sir Isaac Newton, who had lately deceased.
He was also a member of the Royal Society of London.
RUYSDAEL, or Ruisdael, Jacob, the prince of
Dutch landscape-painters, was born at Haerlem in 1630,
and is said to have studied under Berchem. Settling in
his native country, he commenced to paint landscapes with
unsurpassed success. His eye sought for subjects under
every aspect of nature. He selected a wide sweep of mea¬
dow-land, a wooded hamlet, or a frozen canal with unfail¬
ing artistic skill. His lively fancy imparted to the scene
its appropriate poetic feeling, and his hand copied the
whole with exquisite fidelity. But it was especially in the
wild and the magnificent that Ruysdael was at home. His
ardent imagination loved to exercise itself in imitating the
lawless strength of nature. Tempestuous seas and rude
forest landscapes came out upon the canvas with all the
striking effect of reality. Ruysdael died at Haerlem in
1681. Specimens of the works of this great painter are
found in most of the principal collections in Europe.
There is a landscape in Worcester College, Oxford, a
church interior in Lord Bute’s collection, and two land¬
scapes in the National Gallery of Scotland. His master¬
piece, a “ Stag-Hunt,” is in the Dresden gallery. The
figures in his pictures are painted by Philip Wouwerman,
Adrian Vandevelde, or Berchem. Jacob Ruysdael’s elder
brother Solomon was also a landscape-painter.
RUYTER, Michel Adrian, a distinguished naval
officer, was born at Flushing, a town of Zealand, in the
year 1607. He entered on a seafaring life when he was
only eleven years old, and was first a cabin-boy. Whilst
he advanced successively to the rank of mate, master, and
captain, he acquitted himself with ability and honour in all
these employments. He repulsed the Irish, who attempted
to take Dublin out of the hands of the English ; he made
eight voyages to the West Indies, and ten to Brazil; he
was promoted to the rank of rear-admiral, and sent to
assist the Portuguese against the Spaniards. When the
enemy came in sight he advanced boldly to meet them,
and gave such unquestionable proofs of valour as drew from
the Portuguese monarch the warmest applause. His gal¬
lantry was still more conspicuous before Sallee, a town of
Barbary. With a single vessel he sailed through the roads
of that place, in defiance of five Algerine corsairs who came
to attack him.
In 1653 a squadron of seventy vessels was despatched
against the English, under the command of Admiral Van
1 romp. Ruyter, who accompanied the admiral in this
expedition, seconded him with great skill and bravery in
the three battles which the English so gloriously won. He
was afterwards stationed in the Mediterranean, where he
captured several Turkish vessels. In 1659 he received a
commission to join the King of Denmark in his war with
the Swedes. As a reward of his services, the King of Den-
maik ennobled him and gave him a pension. In 1661 he
grounded a vessel belonging to Tunis, released forty Chris¬
tian slaves, made a treaty with the Tunisians, and re¬
duced the Algeiine corsairs to submission. His country,
as a testimony of her gratitude for such illustrious services,
raised him to the rank of vice-admiral and commander-in-
chief, lo the latter dignity, the highest that could be con¬
ferred upon him, he was well entitled by the signal victory
which he obtained over the combined fleets of France and
Spain. This battle was fought in 1672, about the time of Ryde
the conquest of Holland. The battle was prosecuted be- I!
tween the English and Dutch with the obstinate bravery v
of nations which were accustomed to dispute the empire of
the ocean. Ruyter having made himself master of the
sea, conducted a fleet of Indiamen safely into the Texel;
thus defending and enriching his country, whilst it had be¬
come the prey of hostile invaders. The next year he had
three engagements with the fleets of France and England,
in which, if possible, his bravery was still more distinguished
than ever. But he did not long enjoy the triumphs which
he had so honourably won. In an engagement with the
French fleet off the coast of Sicily he was defeated, and
received a mortal wound, which in a few days put an end to
his life. His corpse was carried to Amsterdam, and a
magnificent monument to his memory was there erected by
the command of the States-General. The Spanish Council
had bestowed on him the title of Duke, and transmitted a
patent investing him with that dignity; but he died before
it arrived. When Louis XIV. was congratulated upon De
Ruyter’s death, he replied, “ Every one must be sorry at
the death of so great a man.” (See the Life of M. A.
Ruyter, by G. Brandt, Amsterdam, 1690.)
RYDE, a market-town of England, Hampshire, on a
hill on the N.E. coast of the Isle of Wight, 7 miles N.E.
by E. of Newport, and 75 S.W. by S. of London. It is a
modern place, and has broad, straight, and well-paved
streets. The houses, which are considerably varied in their
appearance, and generally surrounded with gardens, rise
tier above tier from the sea-shore, and have, when seen
from Portsmouth, a striking and picturesque aspect. One
of the finest public buildings is that which includes the mar¬
ket-house and town-hall, a Doric structure, 198 feet by 56.
There are numerous places of worship in the town, of
which 3 belong to the Church of England, and are under
the parish church of Newchurch, 7 miles distant. The
others belong to Independents, Baptists, Methodists, and
Roman Catholics. Ryde has also several schools, a lite¬
rary and scientific institution, and a dispensary. One of
the most elegant buildings is that of the Royal Victoria
Yacht Club, recently erected. There are also a theatre,
baths, public libraries, and reading-rooms, assembly-rooms,
and a fine arcade. The pier, which has been recently built
at considerable expense, is 1740 feet in length, and forms
a favourite promenade. Ryde is a much-frequented resort
for visitors during the summer months, and the accommo-
tion it affords to strangers has been recently much in¬
creased. Steamers ply regularly between this and Ports¬
mouth. The neighbourhood is very beautiful, and contains
many fine mansions. There are at Ryde building-yards
for boats and yachts; and the town exports, among other
articles, corn, flour, calves, sheep, and lambs. Vessels
bound for the East and West Indies often touch here for
provisions. Pop. (1851) 7147.
RYE. See Agriculture.
RYE, a market-town, municipal and parliamentary bo¬
rough of England, one of the cinque ports, in the county of
Sussex, on the right bank of the Rother, at its mouth, 38
miles E.N.E. of Lewes, and 63 S.E. of London. It is built
on the northern and eastern slopes of a hill, and has some
regular streets lined with old, substantial, and not very
uniform houses. The houses are for the most part built of
brick, as also is the town-hall, a neat edifice, raised on
arches, beneath which is a market-place. The parish
church is a large building in the form of a cross, with a
central tower. It is partly in the Norman and partly in
the early English style. There are also places of worship
belonging to Methodists, Independents, and Baptists. The
educational establishments comprise two endowed schools,
a free grammar school, and national schools. The town
has also alms-houses and other charitable institutions. Rye
R Y M R Z E 557
Rymer. has always depended very much for its prosperity on the
—/ harbour. This was at one time very good ; but the gra¬
dual deposition of sand in the mouth of the Rother, where
the harbour is, went on to such an extent that in the
sixteenth century it was nearly choked up. In 1750 an
attempt was made to form by a canal a new mouth to the
river ; but this proved unsuccessful, and was abandoned in
1778. The old harbour was then improved by a wooden
pier at one side and embankments at the other, which nar¬
rowed and deepened the channel; but even with this im¬
provement it can only admit of vessels of 200 tons burden.
The entrance, too, is difficult, and the harbour is dry at
low water. The number of sailing-vessels registered at the
port, 31st December 1857, was 120, tonnage 7218; of
steamers 1, tonnage 21. In the year ending on that day
the number of sailing-vessels that entered was 484, ton¬
nage 40,349; those that cleared 133, tonnage 9024. The
principal articles of export are wool, oak timber, bark, and
hops. Coal, corn, and Dutch produce are imported. The
fisheries are somewhat productive. In the town are ship¬
building yards, and in the vicinity lime-kilns. The bo¬
rough is governed by a mayor, three other aldermen, and
twelve councillors. It returns a member to the House of
Commons. Rye is a very ancient place, and is supposed
to be the Novus Portus of the Romans. In the reign of
Stephen a castle, which still remains, and is now used as a
jail, was erected here ; and by order of Edward III. the
town was walled on all sides, except where steep cliffs de¬
fended it towards the sea. One of the gates of this period
still remains. Pop. of the borough (1851) 8541.
RYMER, Thomas, the author of that well-known and
important work the Fcedera, was born in Yorkshire in
1638 or 1639, and was educated at the grammar-school of
Northallerton. He was admitted a scholar at Sydney
Sussex College, Cambridge ; then became a member of
Gray’s Inn in 1666 ; and at length was appointed historio¬
grapher to King William, in place of Shadwell, in 1692.
He wrote a Vieiv of the Tragedies of the Last Age, and a
tragedy named Edgar, or the English Monarch. For a
critic he was certainly not well qualified, for he wanted can¬
dour ; nor is his judgment much to be relied on who could
condemn Shakspeare with such rigid severity in his Short
View of Tragedy, 1693. His tragedy will show that his
talents for poetry were by no means equal to those whose
poems he has publicly censured. In 1694 appeared his
translation of Rapin’s Reflections on Aristotle's Treatise of
Poesie. But though he has no title to the appellation of
poet or critic, as an antiquarian and historian his memory
will long be preserved. His Fcedera, which is a collection
of all public documents of the kings of England with fo¬
reign princes, is esteemed one of our most authentic and
valuable records, and is oftener referred to by the best
English historians than any other book in the language. It
was published at London in the beginning of the eighteenth
century, in 17 vols. folio. Three volumes more were
added by Sanderson after Rymer’s death. The whole
were reprinted at the Hague in 10 vols., 1739. They
were abridged by Rapin in French, and inserted in Le Ryots
Clerc’s Bibliotheque, a translation of which was made ||
by Stephen Whatley, and printed in 4 vols. 8vo, 1731. Rzeszow.
Rymer died on the 14th of December 1713, and was buried
in the parish church of St Clement Danes. Some speci¬
mens of his poetry are preserved in the first volume of
Nichol’s Select Collection of Miscellaneous Poems, 1780.
RYOTS, the name given to the cultivators of the soil in
Hindustan. (See Hindustan.)
RYSBRACK, Rysbraeck, or Rysbrechts, Peter,
a Flemish painter, was born at Antwerp in 1657, and re¬
ceived his rudimentary instruction in the studio of Francis
Mile, whom he afterwards accompanied to Paris. He made
a special study of the works of Caspar Poussin, and re¬
ceived flattering encouragement to remain in Paris. He
returned, however, to his native country, and exercised his
talents in Antwerp with (great reputation. Rysbrack pos¬
sessed great harmony in the distribution of his colours, had
a broad and free touch, and great facility of execution,
but there was a monotony and want of variety about his
pictures, which placed him on a much lower level than the
master whom he imitated. He died about 1716.
Rysbrack, Michael, a distinguished Flemish sculptor,
was born at Antwerp according to the testimony of Charles
Rogers, who knew him well, on the 24th of June 1693.
His father, Peter Rysbrack, the painter, already noticed,
placed him early with Michael Vander Vorst, with whom
he remained till 1712. He came to London in 1720, and
was for a time obscurely engaged in executing monumental
works for Gibbs, who industriously farmed out these orna¬
mental works to the lowest bidder. Having rid himself
of Gibbs, he soon brought himself into notice, so that there
was no piece of monumental art executed in England of
any importance that did not pass through his hands. He
gave a great impulse to sculpture in England, and so
great was his reputation, that men used to recount in
remote districts of the country, as the greatest event of
their lives, their having had the honour of visiting the
workshop of Rysbrack of Vere Street, London. Form
and character were his exclusive study; and he had very
slender regard for his illustrious countrymen, Rubens and
Rembrandt. For many years he may be said to have had
the sculpture of Britain at his feet, but on the appear¬
ance of Scheemacker and Roubiliac, he had to recognize
two successful rivals. During his career he executed busts
of Pope, Ben Jonson, Butler, Milton, Cromwell, Sir Hans
Sloane, Locke, and many others, besides erecting numerous
monuments in Westminster Abbey and elsewhere. He
died January 8, 1770. (See Sculpture.)
RZESZOW, a town of the Austrian empire, capital of
a circle in Galicia, in a deep valley, 94 miles W. by N. of
Lemberg. It has a large castle, a school, linen factories,
and some trade in linen. About half of the inhabitants are
Jews; and many are employed in making jewellery of a
sort of false gold, with or without precious stones. This is
sold not only at home, but in other countries, especially in
Wallachia. Pop. 6700.
558
S.
8 Q the nineteenth letter and chief sibilant of the English
I! alphabet. The sound of it is formed by forcing the
Saadi. kreatb through a narrow passage between the palate and
the tongue elevated near it, together with a motion of the
lower jaw and teeth, towards the upper jaw. Its sound, how¬
ever, varies, being strong in some words, as this, thus, and
soft in words which have a final e, as muse, wise (pro¬
nounced z). It is generally doubled at the end of words,
by which they become hard and harsh, as in hiss, loss.
In some words it is silent, as isle, island, viscount. It is
subject to numerous interchanges, which are observable in
most languages. The following are the best known :—S
interchanges with d, th, t, z, sh, c, g, h, ks, with g, n, and
r. The letter S is frequently dropped, of which we have
numerous examples in the history of the French language.
In abbreviation, S. stands for socielas or socius; as R.S.S.
for regice societatis socius, fellow of the royal society. In
medicinal prescriptions, S.A. signifies secundum artem, ac¬
cording to the rules of art. And in the notes of the
ancients, S. stands for Sextus; S.P. for Spurius ; S.C. for
senatus consultum; S.P.Q.R. for senatus populusque
Jlomanus; S.S.S. for stratum superstratum, one layer
above another alternately ; S.V.B.E.E.Q.V. for si vales
bene est, ego quoque valeo, a form used in Cicero’s time in
the beginning of letters. (See Abbreviations.) Used
as a numeral, S. anciently denoted seven ; in the Italian
music, S. signifies solo; and in books of navigation, S.
stands for south, S.E. for south-east, S.W. for south-west,
S.S.E. for south-south-east, S.S.W. for south-south-west.
S A AD-ED-DEEN, Mohammed Effendi, a celebrated
Turkish historian, was born in the early part of the six¬
teenth century, and was educated among the pages of the
imperial palace. The influence of his father and his own
acquirements raised him to a high position in the world.
Several emperors in succession patronized him. Selim II.
made him preceptor to his son the heir-apparent. Mourad
III. appointed him military judge, and instituted for him
the new office of imperial historiographer. Still more
marked were the favours of Mohammed III. He kept
him in his presence as his confidential councillor, raised
him to the dignity of mufti, and continued to cherish him
till death carried him off in 1-599. The great work of
Saad-Ed-Deen treats of the history of the Ottoman em¬
pire from its foundation by Ottoman to the death of Selim
I. in 1520. Speaking of it, Sir William Jones says that,
“ for the beauty of its composition and the richness of its
matter, it may be compared with the finest historical pieces
in the languages of Europe.” It is still in manuscript.
SAADI, surnamed Moslih Eddin, one of the most
celebrated of the Persian poets, was born at Shiraz about
1175, and after receiving his education at the college of
Bagdad, became a dervish. In the early part of his life he
was known as a great traveller. His frame was strong and
vigorous, and his temperament healthy and sunny. The
free air and the light of many-coloured life were pleasant
to his soul. He was ever on foot venturing into all sorts
of countries, associating with all sorts of people, and meet¬
ing with all sorts of adventures. He cracked his jokes in
India, fought against the infidels in Asia Minor, and was
for some time a prisoner in the hands of the Crusaders at
Fiipoh. At the end of thirty years, however, Saadi settled
down. Building a hermitage near the walls of Shiraz, he
secluded himself from the world. His time was chiefly
engrossed in digesting his large experience of men and
manners, and in embodying it in his poetry and prose
works. Many persons of rank broke in upon his retire¬
ment and heaped his board with gifts, but they could not Saale
affect his spirit of austerity. He appropriated part of their !|
bounty for his own simple wants, and bestowed the rest Saarbriick.
upon the poor, rims did the peaceful years pass by until
his death, which occurred in 1291, at the advanced age of
116. Saadi’s collected works were printed in the original
in 2 vols., Calcutta, 1791. They consist of the Gulistan,
Bostan, odes, elegies, fragments, quatrains, and essays of
various kinds. By far the best known is the Gulistan and
Bostan. The former is a composition of eight chapters of
prose, with occasional intermixtures of verse, either from
the author’s own pen, or from that of some of his predeces¬
sors. The chapters treat of the morals of kings, the morals
of dervishes, the excellency of contentment, the advantages
of taciturnity, on love and youth, on imbecility and old age,
on the effects of education, and rules for the conduct of
life. They consist for the most part of unconnected moral
stories, unlike in their mutual relation to other oriental
collections, such as the Arabian Nights, or the Fables of
Pilpay or Bidpai, whose consecution is ordinarily that of
subordination to the more general story. All the connec¬
tion manifest in these Persian tales is that of their allusion
to a common subject. There have been numerous versions
of this book. It has been translated into French by Du
Ryer, 1634 ; by another Du Ryer in 1789; and by Seme-
let, Paris, 1834 ; a spirited German translation by Olea-
rius, 1654 ; another more recent one by K. H. Graf', 1846;
into Dutch, 1654; into English by Gladwin, 1808; by
Ross for the Asiatic Society, and by Eastwick in prose and
verse, who edited the original two years before, Hertford,
1852. The Gulistan is considered the best text-book for
students learning Persian. There is a good life of Saadi
given by Harrington, in his edition of his works (1791),
translated from the Persian of Dowlet Shah.
SAALE, a river of Germany, rises on the northern
slope of the Fichtelgebirge, in the N.E. of Bavaria, and
flow's in an irregular course, generally northwards, through
the Saxon duchies. It waters the states of Reuss,
Schwartzburg, Rudolstadt, Saxe-Meiningen, Saxe-Alten-
burg, and Saxe-Weimar, and enters the Prussian province
of Saxony. Finally, after traversing the duchy of Anhalt-
Bernburg, it falls into the Elbe 6 miles below Calbe. Its
whole length is 200 miles; and it is navigable for large
vessels as far up as Halle. The principal other towns on
its banks are Hof, Saalfeld, Jena, Merseburg, and Bernburg.
It receives from the right the Elster and other smaller
streams, and from the left the Ilm, Unstrut, and others.
SAALFELD, a town of Saxe-Meiningen, on the left
bank of the Saale, in the midst of the Thuringian forest,
41 miles E. of Meiningen. It is an old town, surrounded
by walls, and containing many venerable buildings.
Among these are the Gothic town-hall, and the church
of St John, built in 1212, remarkable for its fine painted
glass, and for a colossal wooden statue of the saint. There
is a ducal palace in the town now used as a mint, and
another in the suburbs wdth extensive gardens. Near the
walls stand the remains of an old fort, said to have been
built by Charlemagne to resist the incursions of the
Slavonic tribes. Pop. 4550.
SAARBRUCK, or Sarrebruck, a town of Prussia,
near the frontiers of France, in the province of the Rhine,
government and 40 miles S.S.E. of Treves. It stands on
the left bank of the Saar, and is connected by a stone
bridge with the suburb of St John on the opposite side.
There was formerly a palace here, belonging to the princes
of Nassau-Saarbriicken, but it was destroyed by the
S A A
Saarlouis French in 1793. Saarbriick contains a gymnasium,
|| manufactures of tobacco, woollen stuffs, hardware, &c.,
Sabatier. an(j ilas a considerable trade. In the vicinity there are
rich coal mines. Among these is one very remarkable, as
it has been burning in the interior for 180 years, and on
its surface, even in the severest winter, no snow lies.
Pop. 9514.
SAARLOUIS, or Sarrfxouis, the frontier fortress of
Prussia towards France, on the left bank of the Saar, in
the province of the Rhine, government and 43 miles S. of
Treves. It occupies a peninsula formed by the river, and
is strongly fortified ; the works were constructed by Vauban
in 1681, in the course of one year. There are a Protestant
and a Roman Catholic church, a synagogue, hospital,
school, barracks, &c. Linen cloth, leather, hardware, and
fire-arms are made here ; and there is some river naviga¬
tion. Saarlouis is the birth-place of Marshal Ney, and the
house where he was born is marked by a marble tablet.
The name of the town, then in the possession of France,
was changed to Sarreiibre at the time of the first revolu¬
tion. It was ceded to Prussia in 1815. Pop. 6340.
SAATZ (Bohem. Zatecz, Lat. Zatecium), a town of
Bohemia, capital of a circle of the same name, on the
Eger, here crossed by a suspension-bridge, 40 miles
W.N.W. of Prague. It is an ancient, ill-built, and
wretched-looking place, containing numerous churches
(the principal one a large clumsy building), two convents,
schools, a town-hall, and a court-house. There are
breweries and manufactories of nails in the town. The
hops grown in the vicinity are much esteemed, being
considered the best in Bohemia. There is some trade in
that article and in corn. Pop. 5554.
SAAVEDRA FAXARDO, Diego De, a Spanish
statesman and litterateur, was born of a noble family in the
kingdom of Murcia in 1584. After being secretary to Car¬
dinal Borgia, he became ambassador to Rome, and was
employed for thirty-four years in numerous negotiations
in Italy, Germany, and Switzerland. After being no¬
minated to the supreme council of the Indies in 1646, he
subsequently retired to a convent of the Augusfmians,
where he died in 1648. His works have been collected
and published at Antwerp in folio, 1677-78. His most
popular production was his Liter ary Republic.
SABARA, a town of Brazil, in the province of Menas
Geraes, on the right bank of the Rio das Velhas, 50 miles
N.N.W. of Duro Preto. It is a long, dull town, with
broad, well-paved streets, lined with handsome houses
built generally of earth and roofed with tiles. The public
buildings are a court-house, several churches, an hospital,
and two schools. In the neighbourhood are some gold¬
mines ; but, notwithstanding, the trade of Sahara is not
very great. Pop. about 5000.
SABATIER, Andre Hyacinthe, a French litterateur,
was born at Cavaillon in 1726. He became tutor to the
son of the Prince of Soubise, and, after the suppression of
the Jesuits, filled the chair of rhetoric at the college of
Tournon. He quitted this place after a time and went to
Paris, where he obtained a pension from the king. In
1789, he allowed himself to be carried away with the
opinions of the day, and he accepted the chair of belles-
lettres at the central college of Var. He was subsequently
nominated to the central school of Carpentras; but being
unable to hold this situation from the violence of the revo¬
lution, he retired with his family to Avignon, where he
died on the 14th August 1806, aged eighty years.
Sabatier wrote a great number of Odes and Epitres,
which had some success during their day, but which, it is
to be feared, are now mostly forgotten. He addressed also
numerous Discours to the French people, characterized by
judicious observations and useful precepts, but which are
now permitted to enjoy the dignified retirement of the
SAB 559
Odes. The most complete edition of his CEuvres is that of Sabbath.
Avignon, 2 vols. 1779. In the first volume, which is chiefly
composed of verse, we may mention an Epitre a, Vabbe
Poulle sur la methode de diviser les discours, and L'En-
thousiasme, an ode, of which many of the strophes would
not be considered unworthy of J. B. Rousseau. The second
volume is composed of academical discourses.
SABBATH, in the Hebrew language, signifies rest. The Definition,
seventh day was denominated the Sabbath, or day of rest,
because in it God rested from all his works which he had
created. From that time the seventh day seems to have
been set apart for religious services; and, in consequence
of a particular injunction, it was afterwards observed by the
Hebrews as a holiday. They were commanded to set it
apart for sacred purposes in honour of the creation, and
likewise in memorial of their own redemption from Egyp¬
tian bondage.
The importance of the institution may be gathered from Importance
the different laws respecting it. When the ten command- of the insti
ments were published from Mount Sinai in tremendous tut|on» a,1<^
pomp, the law of the Sabbath held a place in what is com-inomes!*^*
monly called the first table; and by subsequent statutes
the violation of it was to be punished with death. Six days
were allowed for the use and service of man ; but the se¬
venth day God reserved to himself, and appointed it to be
observed as a stated time for holy offices, and to be spent
in the duties of piety and devotion. On this day the mi¬
nisters of the temple entered upon their week ; and those
who had attended on the temple service the preceding week
went out at the same time. New loaves of shew-bread were
placed upon the golden table, and the old ones were taken
away. Two lambs were offered for a burnt-offering, to¬
gether with a certain proportion of fine flour, mingled with
oil, for a bread offering, and wine for a libation. The Sab¬
bath, like all other festivals, was celebrated from evening
to evening. It began at six in the evening on Friday, and
ended at the same time the next day.
Concerning the time at which the Sabbath was first in-Time of'iti
stituted, different opinions have been held. Some have institution,
maintained, that the sanctification of the seventh day, men¬
tioned in Genesis ii., is only there spoken of ns bia
or by anticipation; and is to be understood of the Sabbath
afterwards enjoined the children of Israel at the commence¬
ment of the Mosaic dispensation. But without entering
into a particular examination of all the arguments produced
in support of this opinion, a few observations, it is presum¬
ed, will be sufficient to show that it rests upon no solid foun¬
dation.
It cannot easily be supposed that the inspired penman
would have mentioned the sanctification of the seventh
day amongst the primeval transactions, if such sanctifica¬
tion had not taken place until 2500 years afterwards. Wri¬
ters, ambitious of that artificial elegance which the rules of
criticism have established, often bring together in their
narrative events which were themselves far distant, for the
sake of giving form to their discourse ; but Moses appears
to have despised all such flimsy refinements, and to have
constructed his narrative in conformity to the series of
events.
From the accounts we have of the religious service prac-Religious
tised in the patriarchal age, it appears that, immediately service in
after the fall, when Adam was restored to favour through a t*16 patri-
Mediator, a stated form of public worship was instituted,arcllal aSe*
which man was required to observe, in testimony, not only
of his dependence on the Creator, but also of his faith and
hope in the promise made to our first parents, and seen by
them afar off. Of an institution, then, so grand and im¬
portant, no circumstance would be omitted that is neces¬
sary to preserve it, or that contributes to render the ob¬
servance of it regular and solemn.
That determined times are necessary for the due celebra-
SABBATH.
560
Sabbath, tion of divine service, cannot be denied. Such is the con-
' <—’ stitution of man, that he must have particular times set
Necessity apart for particular services. He is doomed to toil and la-
davsfor' bour> to earn llis bread with the SWeat ^ his br0W 5 antl ‘S
the per- capable of performing religious duties only in such a manner
formance. as is consistent with his situation in the world. It stated
times for religious solemnities had not been enjoined, the
consequence would have been, that such solemnities would
have been altogether neglected ; for experience shows, that
if mankind were left at liberty when and how often they
should perform religious offices, these offices would not be
• performed at all. It is the observation of holy times that
preserves the practice of holy services; and without the
frequent and regular returns of hallowed days, man would
quickly forget the duty which he owes to God, and in a short
time no vestige of religion would be found in the world.
Objections Among the ordinances which God vouchsafed his ancient
to the ear- people, we find that the pious observation of holidays was
]y institu- particularly insisted upon •, and the Sabbath was enjoined
Sabbath*16 to be bePt holy, in the most solemn manner, and under the
considered, severest penalties. Can it then be supposed that He would
suffer mankind, from the creation of the world to the era
of Moses, to remain without an institution so expedient in
itself, and as well fitted to answer the end proposed by it
under the one dispensation, as ever it could be under the
other ? No. We have every imaginable reason to con¬
clude, that when religious services were enjoined, religious
times w7ere appointed also; for the one necessarily implies
the other.
. It is not an objection to the early institution of the
Sabbath that there is no mention of it in the patriarchal
age. It would have swelled the Bible to a most enormous
size had the sacred historian given a particular account of
all the transactions of those times ; and, besides, it would
have answered no end. When Moses wrote the book of
Genesis, it was unnecessary to relate minutely transactions
and institutions already well known by tradition. Accord¬
ingly we see that his narrative is everywhere very concise,
and calculated only to preserve the memory of the most im¬
portant facts. However, if we take a view of the church-
service of the patriarchal age, we shall find that what is
called the legal dispensation, at least the liturgic part of it,
was no new system, but a collection of institutions observed
from the beginning, and republished in form by Moses. The
Scriptures inform us that Cain and Abel offered sacrifices ;
and the account which is given of the acceptance of the
one, and the rejection of the other, evidently shows that
stated laws respecting the service had then taken place.
“ In process of time,” at the end of the days, “ Abel brought
an offering.’’ Here was priest, altar, matter of sacrifice, ap¬
pointed time, motive to sacrifice, and atonement made, and
accepted. The distinction of animals into clean and un¬
clean before the Flood, and Noah’s sacrifice immediately after
his deliverance, without any new direction, is an unanswer¬
able proof of the same truth. It is testified of Abraham,
by God himself, that he kept his charge, his commandments,
his statutes, and his lawTs. These expressions comprehend
the various branches into which the law given at Sinai was
divided. They contain the moral precepts, affirmative and
negative, the matter of religious service, a body of laws to
direct obedience, and to wffiich man was to conform his con¬
duct in every part of duty. Agreeably to this, we find that
sacrifices were offered, altars and places of worship conse¬
crated, and the Sabbath also mentioned as a well-known
solemnity, before the promulgation of the law. It is ex¬
pressly taken notice of at the fall of manna; and the inci¬
dental ma.nner in which it is then mentioned is a convin-
cilig proof that the Israelites were no strangers to the insti¬
tution. For had it been a new one, it must have been en- Sabbath,
joined in a positive and particular manner, and the nature
of it must have been laid open and explained, otherwise the
term w'ould have conveyed no meaning.
The division of time into weeks, or periods of seven days, Argument
which obtained so early and almost universally, is a strong ^rom th0.
indication that one day in seven was always distinguished
in a particular manner. Week,1 and seven dai/s, are in scrip- time Into
ture language synonymous terms. God commanded Noah, weeks,
seven days before he entered the ark, to introduce into it
all sorts of living creatures. When the waters of the Flood
began to abate, Noah sent forth a dove, which, finding no
rest for the sole of her foot, returned to him. After seven
days he sent forth the dove a second time, and again she
returned to the ark. At the expiration of other seven days
he let go the dove a third time ; and a week is spoken of
(Gen. xxix.) as a well-known period of time.
This septenary division of time has, from the earliest
ages, been uniformly observed over all the eastern world.
The Israelites, Assyrians, Egyptians, Indians, Arabians, and
Persians, have always made use of a week, consisting of
seven days. Many vain attempts have been made to ac¬
count for this uniformity ; but a practice so general and
prevalent could never have taken place had not the sep¬
tenary distribution of time been instituted from the begin¬
ning, and handed down by tradition.
From the same source also must the ancient heathens
have derived their notions of the sacredness of the seventh
day. That they had such notions of it is evident from se¬
veral passages of the Greek poets quoted by Aristobulus, a
learned Jew, by Clement of Alexandria, and Eusebius.
 iZotiy.n, liOOV
The seventh, the sacred day.
'ECSoftarn y Itrsira xarnXvhv, bpcif).
Afterwards came the seventh, the sacred day.
Again :
EGSofiov l*jv, xoa vai riTiXero <jra.tra.
On the seventh day all things were completed.
'EZdap.arn "htot ririXr.afj.iva vratra rirox.Ta.1.
All things were made perfect on the seventh dav.
That they likewise held the number seven in very high
estimation, has been shown by a learned, though sometimes
fanciful author,2 with such evidence as to enforce convic¬
tion. The Pythagoreans call it the venerable number,
ffsCac'/Aou a^/og, worthy of veneration, and held it to be
perfect and most proper to religion. They denominated it
fortune, and also styled it voice, sound, muse, because, no
doubt, seven distinct notes comprehend the whole scale of
music, beyond which neither voice nor instrument can go,
but must return from the seventh, and begin again anew.
They likewise designed it rihigpogos, leading to the end.
Seven, in the Hebrew language, is expressed by a word
that primarily signifies fulness, completion, sufficiency, and
is applied to a w’eek, or seven days, because that was the
full time employed in the work of creation ; to the Sabbath,
because on it all things were completed; and to an oath,
because it is sufficient to put an end to all strife. This
opening of the Hebrew root will enable us to come at the
meaning of those expressions of the heathens, and also let
us see whence they derived their ideas and modes of speak¬
ing, and that the knowledge of the transactions at the crea¬
tion, though much perverted, was never entirely lost by
them.
It has been supposed by some, that the heathens borrow¬
ed the notion of the sacredness of the seventh day from the
Jews. But this opinion will not readily be admitted, when
it is considered that the Jews were held in the greatest con-
1 1731?, seven.
Holloway’s Originals, vol. ii. p. 60.
SABBAT H.
561
Sabbath, tempt by the surrounding nations, who derided them no
' v ' less for their sabbaths than for their circumcision. All sorts
of writers ridiculed them on this account. Seneca charged
them with spending the seventh part of their time in sloth.
I acitus said, that not only the seventh day, but also the
seventh year, was unprofitably wasted. Juvenal brings
forward the same charge ; and Persius upbraided them with
their recutita sabbata- Plutarch said that they kept it in
honour of Bacchus; Tacitus affirmed that it was in ho¬
nour of Saturn ; but the most abominable assertion of all is
that of Apion, who said that they observed the Sabbath in
memoi y of their being cured on that day of a shameful
disease, called by the Egyptians sabbo.
Some, perceiving the force of this objection, have con¬
tended that time was divided into weeks of seven days,
that each of the planetary gods, the Sun, Moon, Mercury,
Venus, Mars, Jupiter, and Saturn, who were the DU ma-
jorum gentium, might have a day appropriated to his ser¬
vice. But if such was the origin of weeks, how came the
great and ancient goddess Tellus to be omitted ? She was
worshipped by the early idolaters as well as the other planets,
and must surely have been deemed by them as worthy of
a particular day set apart to her honour as the planet Sa-
tuin, who was long undiscovered, afterwards seen but oc-
. casionally, and at all times considered as of malign aspect.
Strict man- Others have supposed, that as the year was divided into
which the ^unar mon^ls °f something more than twenty-eight days, it
ancient w.as natural divide the months into quarters from the
Jews oh- different phases of the moon, which would produce as many
served the weeks of seven days. But this supposition is less tenable than
sabbath. the former. The phases of the moon are not so precisely
marked at the quarters as to attract to them any particular
notice; nor are the quarterly appearances of one month
commonly like those of another. We cannot, therefore,
conceive what should have induced the earliest observers
of the phases of the moon to divide the month into four
parts rather than into three, or five, or seven. Had the
ancient week consisted of fourteen days, it might have been
inferred, with some degree of plausibility, that its length
was regulated by the phases of the moon, because the shape
of that luminary, at the end of the second quarter, is very
precisely marked; but there is nothing which, in the pre¬
sent hypothesis, could have everywhere led mankind to
make their weeks consist of seven days. This division of
time, therefore, can be accounted for only by admitting the
primeval institution of the Sabbath, as related by Moses in
the book of Genesis. That institution was absolutely ne¬
cessary to preserve among men a sense of religion ; and it
was renewed to the Jews at the giving of the law, and its
observance enforced by the severest penalties. It was ac¬
cordingly observed by them with more or less strictness in
every part of their commonwealth ; and there is none of the
institutions of their divine lawgiver which, in their present
state of dispersion, they more highly honour. They re¬
gard it, indeed, with a superstitious reverence, call it their
spouse, their delight, and speak of it in the most magnifi¬
cent terms. They have often varied in their opinions of
the manner in which it ought to be kept. In the time of
the Maccabees, they carried their respect for the sabbath
so very high, that they would not on that day defend them¬
selves from the attacks of their enemies. But afterwards
they did not scruple to stand upon their necessary defence,
although they would do nothing to prevent the enemy from
carrying on their operations. When our Saviour was on
earth, it was no sin to loose a beast from the stall and lead
him to water; and if he had chanced to fall into a ditch,
they pulled him out. But now it is absolutely unlawful to
give a creature in that situation any other assistance than
that of food; and if they lead an animal to water, they must
take care not to let the bridle or halter hang loose, other¬
wise they are transgressors.
VOL. XIX.
As the law enjoins rest on that day from all servile em- Sabbath,
ployments, in order to comply with the injunction, they
undertake no kind of work on Friday but such as can easily ^0<le
be accomplished before evening. In the afternoon theyservlr'£
put into proper places the meat that they have prepared to the modern
eat the day following. They afterwards set out a table co-Jews,
vered with a clean cloth, and place bread upon it, which
they also cover with another cloth; and during the sabbath
the table is never moved out of its place. About an hour
before sunset, the women light the sabbath lamps, which
hang in the places where they eat. They then stretch forth
their hands to the light, and pronounce the following bene¬
diction. “ Blessed be thou, O God, king of the world, who
hast enjoined us, that are sanctified by thy commandments,
to light the sabbath lamp.” These lamps are two or more
in number, according to the size of the chamber in which
they are suspended, and continue to burn during the greater
part of the night. In order to begin the sabbath well, they
wash their hands and faces, trim their hair, and pair their
nails, beginning at the fourth finger, then going to the
second, then the fifth, then the third, and ending with the
thumb. If a Jew casts the parings of his nails to the
ground, he is rascah, that is, a wicked man; for Satan
has great power over those parings of nails; and it seems
they are of great use to the wizards, who know how to em¬
ploy them in their enchantments. If he buries them in the
earth, he is tzedic, that is, a just man ; if he burns them in
the fire, he is chesid, that is, worthy of honour, or an holy
man. When they have performed these preparatory cere¬
monies, they repair to the synagogue, and enter upon their
devotions. As soon as prayers begin, the departed souls
spring out of the purgatorial flames, and have liberty to cool
themselves in water while the sabbath lasts, for which reason
the Jews prolong the continuance of it as much as they can ;
and the rabbin have strictly commanded them not to ex¬
haust all the water on the sabbath day, lest those miserable
souls should by these means be deprived of the refreshing
element. When they have ended their prayers, they return
home, and salute one another, by wishing a good sabbath.
They then sit down to table. The master of the family
takes a cup full of wine, and lifting up his hand, says,
“ Blessed be thou, O God our Lord, king of the world,
who hast created the fruit of the vine. Blessed be thou,
O God our Lord, king of the world, who hast sanctified us
by thy commandments, and given us thy holy sabbath ;
and of thy good will and pleasure hast left it to us an in¬
heritance, the memorial of thy works of creation. For it
is the beginning of the congregation of saints, and the me¬
morial of the coming out of Egypt. And thou hast also
chosen us from all other people, and sanctified us, and with
love and pleasure hast left thy holy sabbath an inheritance.
Blessed be thou, O God, who sanctifiest the sabbath.” Af¬
ter this benediction is ended, he drinks, and gives the cup
to all who are present. He then removes the cloth, and
taking bread, says, “ Blessed be thou, O God our Lord,
king of the world, who bringest bread out of the earth.”
Then he breaks off a bit, and eats, and also gives a piece
of it to every one of the company.
On the morning of the sabbath, the Jews do not rise so
early as they do at other times, thinking, the greater plea¬
sure they take on that day, the more devoutly they keep it.
When they come into the synagogue, they pray as usual,
only the devotions are somewhat longer, being intermingled
with psalmody, in honour of the sabbath. The pentateuch
is then produced, and seven sections of it are read in order
by seven persons chosen for the purpose. Several lessons
are likewise read out of the prophets, which have some
relation to what wras read out of the law. After morning
prayers, they return to their houses, and eat the second
sabbath-meal, showing every token of joy, in honour of the
festival. But if one has seen any thing ominous in his
4 B
562
SABBATH.
Prohibi¬
tions ob¬
served.
Sabbath. &leep ; if he has dreamed that he burned the book of the
■'—*—'' law, that a beam has come out of the walls of his house,
or that his teeth have fallen out; then he fasts until very
late at night, for all such dreams are bad ones. In the
afternoon they go again to the synagogue, and perform the
evening service, adding to the ordinary prayers some les¬
sons that respect the sabbath. When the devotional duties
are ended, they return home, and light a candle resembling
a torch, and again sit down to eat. They remain eating
until near six, and then the master of the family takes a
cup, and pouring wine into it, rehearses some benedictions;
after which he pours a little of the wine upon the ground,
and says, “ Blessed be thou, O Lord, King of the world,
who hast created the fruit of the vine.” Then holding
the cup in his left hand, with the right he takes a box of
sweet spices, and says, “ Blessed be thou, O Lord God,
who hast created various kinds of sweet spices.” He smells
the spices, and holds them out to the rest, that they may
do the same. He then takes the cup in his right hand,
and going to the candle views the left very narrowly, and
pronounces a blessing. With the cup in the left hand, he
examines the right in the same manner. Again, holding
the cup in his right hand, he rehearses another benedic¬
tion, and at the same time pours some of the wine on the
ground. After this he drinks a little of it, and then hands
it about to the rest of the family, who finish what remains.
In this manner the sabbath is ended by the Jews, and they
may return to their ordinary employments. Those who
meet pay their compliments, by wishing one another a
happy week.
The rabbin have reckoned up thirty-nine primary pro¬
hibitions, which ought to be observed on the sabbatical fes¬
tival ; but their circumstances and dependents, which are
also obligatory, are almost innumerable. The thirty-nine
articles are, not to till the ground, to sow, to reap, to make
hay, to bind up sheaves of corn, to thrash, to winnow, to
grind, to sift meal, to knead the dough, to bake, to shear,
to whiten, to comb or card wool, to spin, to twine or twist,
to warp, to dye, to tie, to untie, to sew, to tear or pull in
pieces, to build, to pull down, to beat with a hammer, to
hunt or fish, to kill a beast, to flay it, to dress it, to scrape
the skin, to tan it, to cut leather, to write, to scratch out,
to rule paper for writing, to kindle a fire, to extinguish it, to
carry a thing from place to place, and to expose any thing to
sale. These are the primary prohibitions, and each of them
has its proper consequences, which amount to an incredible
number; and the Jews themselves say, that if they could
keep but two sabbaths as they ought, they would soon be
belivered out of all their troubles.
If a Jew on a journey is overtaken by the sabbath in a
wood or on the highway, no matter where, nor under what
circumstances, he sits down, he will not stir out of the spot.
If he falls down in the dirt, he lies there; he will not rise
up. A fresh wound must not be bound up on the sabbath
day. A plaster that had been formerly applied to a sore
may remain on it; but if it falls off, it must not be put on
anew. The lame may use a staff, but the blind must not.
These particulars, and a great many more of the same na¬
ture, are observed by the Jews in the strictest manner.
But if any one wishes to know more of the practice of that
race, he may consult BuxtorPs Judaica Synagoga (chap,
x. xi.), where he will find a complete detail of their cus¬
toms and ceremonies on the sabbath, and likewise see the
primary prohibitions branched out into their respective cir¬
cumstances.
Institution As the seventh day was observed by the Jewish church,
of Sunday, in memory of the rest of God after the works of creation,
lord’s day anc* own deliverance from Pharaoh’s tyranny ; so the
'l0r k * first day of the week has always been observed by the
Christian church, in memory of the resurrection of Jesus
Christ, by which he completed the work of man’s redemp¬
tion upon earth, and rescued him from the dominion of him Sabbath,
who has the power of death.
This day was denominated by the primitive Christians
the Lord’s day. It was also sometimes called Sunday,
which was the name given to it by the heathens, who de¬
dicated it to the sun. And, indeed, although it was origi¬
nally called Sunday by the heathens, yet it may very pro¬
perly retain that name among the Christians, because it is
dedicated to the honour of the true light, which lighteth
every man that cometh into the world ; of Him who is
styled by the prophet the Sun of righteousness, and who on
this day arose from the dead. But although it was, in the
primitive times, indifferently called the Lord’s day or Sun¬
day, yet it was never denominated the sabbath ; a name
constantly appropriated to Saturday, or the seventh day,
both by sacred and ecclesiastical writers.
Of the change from the seventh to the first day of the The men-
week, or even of the institution of the Lord’s day festival, tion of it in
there is no account in the New Testament. However, it^e ^rew
may be fairly inferred from it, that the first day of the week
was, in the apostolic age, a stated time for public worship.
On this day the apostles were assembled, when the Holy
Ghost came down so visibly upon them to qualify them for
the conversion of the world. On this day we find St Paul
preaching at Troas, when the disciples came to break bread;
and the directions which the same apostle gives to the Co¬
rinthians concerning their contributions for the relief of
their suffering brethren, plainly allude to their religious as¬
semblies on the first day of the week.
Thus it would appear from several passages in the New
Testament, that the religious observation of the first day of
the week is of apostolical appointment; and may indeed be
very reasonably supposed to be amongst those directions
and instructions which our blessed Lord himself gave to
his disciples during the forty days between his resurrection
and ascension, in which he conversed with them, and spoke
of the things pertaining to the kingdom of God. Still, how¬
ever, it must be owned that those passages, although the
plainest that occur, are not sufficient to prove the apostoli¬
cal institution of the Lord’s day, or even the actual obser¬
vation of it. In order, therefore, to place the matter be¬
yond all controversy, recourse must be had to ecclesiastical
testimony.
From the consentient evidence and uniform practice of It never-
the primitive church, and also from the attestation of Pliny, theless ap-
we find that the first day of the week was observed in the
earliest ages as a holiday or festival, in honour of the resur- orjgin.
rection of Christ. Now there are but two sources whence
the custom could possibly have arisen. It must have been
instituted either by human or divine authority. But by
human authority it was not instituted ; for there was no ge¬
neral council in those early times, and without the decree
of a general council it was impossible that any ecclesiasti¬
cal institution could have been universally established at
once. It remains, therefore, that it must have been insti¬
tuted by divine authority ; and that it really was so, will
further appear from the following considerations. It is cer¬
tain that the apostles travelled over the greatest part of the
world, and planted churches in the remotest parts of it.
It is certain also that they were all led by the same spirit;
and their desire was, that unity and uniformity should be
observed in all the churches which they had founded. It
is not therefore surprising that, in the primitive times, the
same doctrine, the same worship, the same rites and cus¬
toms, should prevail all over the Christian world ; nay, it
would have been unaccountable had the case been other¬
wise. For this reason we may conclude that every custom,
universally observed in the early ages of the Christian
church, and not instituted by a general council, was of ori¬
ginal appointment.
As the Lord’s day is sanctified, that is, set apart, to Chris-
SAB
Sabbath, tians for the worship and service of God, their Creator, Tle-
deemer, and Sanctifier, a little consideration will easily dis¬
cover how it ought to be observed. Although a day sepa¬
rated from worldly business, yet it is in no sense a day of
idleness, but a season appropriated to the works of salvation
and labours of charity.
How it was 1° the primitive times this holy day was observed in the
observed inmost solemn manner. From the monuments of those early
the primi- ages we learn, that it was spent in a due and constant at¬
tire times, tendance on all the offices of divine worship. On it they
held their religious assemblies, in which the writings of the
apostles and prophets were read to the people, and the doc¬
trines of Christianity further pressed upon them by the ex¬
hortations of the clergy. Solemn prayers and praises were
offered up to God, and hymns sung in honour of Christ;
the Lord’s supper was constantly celebrated: and collections
were made for the maintenance of the clergy and the relief
of the poor. On this day they abstained as much as they
could from bodily labour. They looked upon it as a day
of joy and gladness ; and therefore all fasting on it was pro¬
hibited, even during the season of Lent, their great annual
fast. Such was the zeal of those times, that nothing, no
not the severest persecutions, hindered them from celebrat¬
ing the holy offices on this day. They were often beset and
betrayed, and as often slaughtered in consequence of cruel
edicts from emperors, those very emperors for whose hap¬
piness and prosperity they always offered up their fervent
prayers. For this cause, when they could not meet in the
day-time, they assembled in the morning before it was light;
and when sick, in exile, or in prison, nothing troubled them
more than that they could not attend the service of the
church. No trivial pretences were then admitted for any
one’s absence from public worship ; for severe censures were
passed upon all who were absent without some urgent ne
cessity. When the empire became Christian, Constaotint,
and his successors made laws for the more solemn observa¬
tion of the Lord’s day. They prohibited all prosecutions
and pleadings, and other juridical matters, to be transacted
on it, and also all unnecessary labour; not that it was looked
upon as a Jewish sabbath, but because these things were
considered as inconsistent with the duties of the festival.
But although the primitive Christians did not indulge
themselves in the practice of unnecessary labour or trifling
amusements, yet they did not wholly abstain from working,
if great necessity required it. The council of Laodicea
enjoined that men should abstain from work on the Lord’s
day if possible ; but if any were found to Judaize, they were
to be censured as great transgressors. So circumspect were
the primitive Christians about their conduct on this festi¬
val, that on the one hand they avoided all things which
tended to profane it, whilst on the other they censured all
those who insisted that it should be observed with Phari¬
saical rigour and devotion.
Advanta- The primary duty of the Lord’s day is public worship.
ges result- The nature and design of the Christian religion sufficiently
ing from shows the necessity and importance of assembling for the
duties of devotion. The whole scope of Christianity is to
bring us to an union with God, which cannot be obtained
or preserved without frequent communications with him;
and the reasons which show religious intercourse to be the
indispensable duty of Christians in a private capacity, will
bind it with equal or more force on them considered as a
community.
The advantages of public worship, when duly performed,
are many and great. There are two, however, which de¬
serve to be considered in a particular manner. It gives
Christians an opportunity of openly professing their faith,
and testifying their obedience to their Redeemer in the
wisest and best manner; and in an age when infidelity has
arisen to an alarming height, when the Son of God is cru¬
cified afresh, and put to open shame, every man. who has
SAB
563
the obser¬
vation of it.!
any regard for religion, will cheerfully embrace all oppor- Sabbio-
tunities of declaring his abhorrence of the vicious courses netta
pursued by those apostates. He will lay hold with pleasure
on every occasion to testify that he is neither afraid nor ^ im' j
ashamed to confess the truth; and will think it his indis-
pensable duty openly to disavow the sins of others, that he
may not incur the guilt of partaking of them.
Public worship preserves in the minds of men a sense
of religion, without which society cannot exist. Nothing
can keep a body of men together, and unite them in pro¬
moting the public good, but such principles of action as may
reach and govern the heart. But these can be derived only
from a sense of religious duties, which can never be so strong¬
ly impressed upon the mind as by a constant attendance
upon public worship. Nothing can be more weak than to
neglect the public worship of God, under the pretence that
we can employ ourselves as acceptably to our Maker at
home in our closets. Both kinds of worship are indeed ne¬
cessary ; but one debt cannot be paid by the discharge of
another. By public worship every man professes his be¬
lief in that God whom he adores, and appeals to Him for
his sincerity, of which his neighbour cannot judge. By this
appeal he endears himself more or less to others. It creates
confidence ; and it roots in the heart benevolence, and all
other Christian virtues, which produce, in common life, the
fruits of mutual love and general peace.
SABBIONETTA, a town of Austrian Italy, Lom¬
bardy, in the province and 18 miles S.W. of Mantua, near
the left bank of the Po. Anciently a place of much im¬
portance, it has now fallen to a low position, and is only
remarkable for some public buildings, an old palace, now
the court-house, and several churches.
SABELLIUS, an ecclesiastic, who flourished in the
second century at Ptolemais in Pentapolis, was the author
of the heretical system of Sabellianism. According to that
creed, there existed in the ages of eternity one God, in
one person, absolute, solitary, and inactive. At the be¬
ginning of time it occurred to him to create beings who
should delight and glorify him. In order to do this, he found
it necessary to assume, in addition to his own innate cha¬
racter, other two characters, impersonations, or persons.
According to the Logos, he created men after his own
image; and as the Holy Spirit, he endowed them with
wisdom. These two impersonations continued to act in a
limited manner during the whole period before the Chris¬
tian era. At the end of that period, they took a wider
range. The Logos appropriating a human body, and by
that appropriation creating the person of Christ, removed
the guilt of men, and became their permanent intercessor.
The Holy Spirit, in virtue of that removal and intercession
began to act with greater facility upon sinful souls. Their
influence is still exerted, and will be exerted until men
be redeemed, and be rendered capable of glorifying their
Maker. Then will the Father put off the two impersona¬
tions, and appear again in his own eternal character as the
one absolute God. (See Neander’s Church History.)
SABINI, an ancient people of Central Italy, were ge¬
nerally supposed to have derived their name from Sabus,
their chief tutelary deity. Their antiquity was very great,
They were the parent-stock of many of the neighbouring
tribes, such as the Samnites, the Peligni, and the Picentes.
Of their early descent nothing certain was known. The
only plausible genealogy is that which infers, from a simi¬
larity of language and religion, that they were a cognate
branch with the Umbrians. So completely, indeed, was
their origin lost in obscurity that Strabo calls tjiem natives
of the soil. The territory of the Sabines was bounded on
the S. by Latium, on the E. by the Marsi and Vestini, on the
N. by Umbria, and on the W. by Umbria and Etruria.
It was very broken and rugged. The eastern part was
occupied with the barren ranges and offshoots of the Apen-
564 SAB
Sabinus nines. Tlie western part, though arable, sloped away in
Sables considerable undulations towards the valley of the Tiber.
d'Olonne. ^ country of such highland nature had an effect upon
v y the character of the Sabines. The mountain air and
exercise made them healthy, strong, and hardy. Their
want of all luxuries preserved them from weakness and
effeminacy. The religious superstitions which were fostered
by the wild and weird phenomena of their homes height¬
ened their valour to the pitch of enthusiasm. They were
indeed men who were ready to dare and able to accomplish
the conquering of inroads upon their neighbours’ ter¬
ritories. Accordingly, at an early age of authentic history,
the Sabines, issuing from the north-eastern uplands to
which they were originally confined, began a system of
warlike aggression. Gradually, and by repeated attacks,
their invading hordes subdued the aborigines, and advanced
southward, occupying the land. At length, pushing their
outposts to the very gates of Rome, they commenced to
interfere with the affairs of the rising city. By victory or
by compromise they gained admittance into the state upon
very advantageous terms. The Quirinal Hill was allotted
for their residence; a share in the government was given
to them; and their sacerdotal and religious institutions
were adopted by the whole body of the people. Nor did
this important acquisition satisfy the ambition of the rest
of the Sabine nation. They persisted in their encroach¬
ments upon the Roman territory. The defeats they re¬
ceived from Tullus Hostilius and from Tarquinius Priscus
only checked them for a time. Their system of predatory
raids was resumed, and was not discontinued till 449 b.c.
The power of the Sabines then began to be broken. In
that year M. Horatius gave them a defeat which stilled
their animosity for more than a century and a half. They
recovered in 290 B.c., only to be overthrown by Man¬
lius Curias Dentatus with greater completeness than ever.
Their nationality had received its death-blow. Not more
than twenty years had elapsed before the Roman right of
suffrage was conferred upon them, and they were absorbed
into the commonwealth of Rome.
SABINUS, George, a Latin poet, born in the elec¬
torate of Brandenburg in 1508. His poem Res Geslce
Ccesarum Germanorum. spread his reputation all over Ger¬
many, and procured him extensive patronage. He was
made professor of the belles lettres at Frankfort-on-the-
Oder, rector of the new academy of Konigsberg, and
counsellor to the Elector of Brandenburg. He married two
wives, the first of whom was the eldest daughter of Me-
lancthon, and died in 1560. His poems are well known,
and have often been printed.
SABLfi, a town of France, in the department and on
the right bank of the Sarthe, at its confluence with the
Erve, 27 miles W.S.W. of Le Mans. It is a beautiful
town, almost encircled by the river, which is spanned by a
bridge of black marble. Sable was formerly strongly for¬
tified, but the defences have been all destroyed. On a
height above the town stands a splendid mansion built
upon the site of an old castle. Gloves, hats, serge, &c.,
are made here; and marble is quarried in the vicinity.
There is some trade in corn, fruit, and marble. Pop.
5282. V
SABLES D’OLONNE, Les, a town of France, capi¬
tal of an arrondissement in the department of Vendee, on
a peninsida on the coast of the Atlantic, 20 miles S.S.W.
of Napoleon (formerly Bourbon) Vendee. Part of its site
consists of level ground, hardly raised above the sea; the
remainder is slightly elevated in the form of an amphi¬
theatre. Several of the streets are long and handsome.
1 wo churches, a nunnery, alms-houses, schools, hospitals,
and a prison aie among the establishments of the place.
I here is a lighthouse, and a harbour capable of accom¬
modating vessels of 200 tons burden. The town is de-
S A C
fended towards the sea by a fort and battery; and on Sabzawar
the land side by salt marshes and a wall. Pop. (1856) ||
6133. Saccatoo.
SABZAWAR, or Stjbza'war, a town of Persia, in the
province of Khorasan, in a wide plain, 65 miles W. of
Nishapoor. It is an old place, and was once the residence
of an independent monarch, but was afterwards deserted,
and its walls have only recently been rebuilt. It is still a
very insignificant place, and has a small bazaar. Pop.
4000.
SACCATOO, or Socoto, a kingdom of Soodan, in
Central Africa, stretching from about N. Lat. 7. to 13.
E. Long. 5. to 15., between the kingdoms of Borneo and
Baghirmi on the E., and that of Gando on the W. It
occupies the country formerly known as the kingdom of
Houssa; but the conquest of this and the adjacent regions
by the Fellatas has changed the political relations of the
country. This people, who are the most intelligent of all
the African races, and who profess the Mohammedan
religion, are believed to have originally dwelt in the re¬
mote east; but this period is involved in impenetrable
darkness; and when they first made their appearance as
conquerors they came from the west, apparently from the
Senegal. As early as the sixteenth century they were in
sufficient numbers on the east side of the Kuara (Niger)
to be of some consequence in the civil wars of these coun¬
tries ; and in the early part of the seventeenth century
they had formed some settlements as far east as Lake Tsad.
But they were too much scattered and disunited to have
much power; and they were subject to the native heathen
tribes of the country until the beginning of the present
century. Othman, or Danfodio, one of the Fellata chief¬
tains, who exercised the office of imam at a village near
Wurno, succeeded in inspiring his countrymen with a fresh
religious impulse, and marshalled them under his colours
for a crusade against the unbelievers. Though at first
defeated in almost every encounter, yet the warlike spirit
of fanaticism grew so high that Othman obtained for him¬
self an extensive empire. This he divided, on his death
in 1816, into two parts, Gando and Saccatoo; the former
he left to his brother Abd Allahi, the latter to his son Mo¬
hammed Bello. This sultan, one of the most distinguished
rulers in Soodan, overcame the dangers that threatened
his throne from the subject native tribe and the rivalry of
surrounding potentates, and endeavoured to introduce order
into his dominions. He was succeeded in 1832 by his
brother Atiku, under whom the prosperous state of the
country continued ; but in the reign of his nephew and
successor Aliu, the present monarch, who ascended the
throne in 1837, great internal disturbance took place,
which the weakness of the government was unable to quell,
and which brought the country into a wretched condi¬
tion. It is true that the kingdom includes, with one ex¬
ception, the same number of provinces as in its most thriving
condition, but the revenue has much fallen off, and the
provinces have so loose a connection with one another as
to be virtually almost independent states. The greater
part of the kingdom of Saccatoo lies in the obtuse angle
between the Kuara (Niger) flowing from the N.W., and
its affluent the Benue or Tchadda from the east. The
former river does not touch the country at all, but flows at
some distance nearly parallel to its frontier ; the latter forms
part of its southern boundary, and in the upper part of its
course flows through the province of Adamana, which,
however, may be almost regarded as an independent king¬
dom. The greater part of the country is watered by tribu¬
taries of the Kuara, the chief of which is the Rima or
Kebbi, in the N.W. of the kingdom. In the N.E. portion,
however, there are many rivers which belong to the basin
of Lake Tsad. The province which contains Saccatoo
and Wurno, the principal town, lies in the N.W. extremity
SAC
Sacchetti of the country, and is composed of portions of two once
|| very extensive provinces, Kebbi and Sanfara. In it is a
Sacchi. sman desert tract called Gundumi. Katsena, which lies
farther to the S.E., is one of the finest regions in the whole
of Soodan. It occupies the watershed between the Niger
and Lake Tsad, and consists of an undulating hilly country,
with innumerable small rivers. The air is salubrious.
Pop. about 300,000. Kano, which lies to the E. of this
province, includes a large extent of extremely fertile
country, and has a population of more than 400,000, about
half of them slaves. Industry and trade are in a flourish¬
ing condition here. Still farther east lie the provinces of
Katagum, Schera, and Messau, which are in no way re¬
markable. The provinces already named occupy the whole
northern part of the kingdom. To the south of them lie the
extensive provinces of Segseg and Bautschi. The former
is an exceedingly fertile country, covered with luxuriant
corn-fields and meadows of the richest green, variegated
with pleasant hills and valleys. Rice is produced here in
great abundance. Adamana, the most easterly of all the
provinces, is almost an independent state, and is nearly
isolated from the rest of the kingdom by the surrounding
tribes. Part of this province is mountainous, and still oc¬
cupied by the native heathens, the Mohammedan con¬
querors having only a few detached settlements in the coun¬
try. The residence of the sultan of Saccatoo is at Wurno,
but the official capital is the neighbouring town of Saccatoo,
on the left bank of the Rima. It was founded in 1803 by
Othman, the original conqueror of the country, and is
surrounded with walls from 20 to 30 feet high. Entrance
is afforded by eight gates, which are closed at sunset. The
streets are pretty regularly laid out; and the town contains
two large mosques, one of which is 800 feet long, richly
adorned and supported by wooden pillars. There is also
an extensive palace and a bazaar. The surrounding
country is flat and marshy, but of much fertility; and the
river abounds in fish. Saccatoo has important manufactures
of leather, hardware, and cotton fabrics. The trade is also
very extensive; and it is said that British exchequer bills
are current here. Large caravans of salt arrive annually
from among the Tuariksof the Sahara. It was at Saccatoo
that the unfortunate traveller Clapperton died, April 13,
1827. Pop. from 20,000 to 22,000.
SACCHETTI, Franco, an eminent Italian novelist,
was born at Florence about 1335. The birth and influence
of his family gave him a high standing in the republic.
His whole life was engrossed with the duties of several im¬
portant municipal offices. He was in succession one of
the Council of Eight, and podesta at Bibbiena, at San
Miniato, and at Faenza. Yet Sacchetti devoted his leisure
hours to the composition of a series of excellent tales. The
incidents which he chose were short and simple. His lan¬
guage was a model of classical purity. Many of his re¬
ferences to men and manners had an historical value. The
whole series was executed with so much taste and skill
that, next to the Decameron of Boccaccio, it was reckoned
by critics the finest collection of tales in Italian literature.
Sacchetti died about 1410. His tales were first printed by
Bottari in 1724.
SACCHI, Andrea, one of the greatest painters of the
Roman school, was born near Rome about 1600, and studied
under Albani. He pursued his art with the most careful
assiduity. The works of Raphael were the subject of his
constant contemplations. His own ideas were allowed to
lie long and ripen in his imagination. “ It was better,” he
said, “to produce a few masterpieces than a great many
mediocre pictures.” And when he took up the brush, he
painted like one who brought all his powers into play.
His composition was simple and natural; his figures were
easy and dignified; and his colouring was sober and har¬
monious. The result of this thorough system of study
SAC 565
was, that Sacchi, at his death in 1661, left behind him se- Sacchini.
veral pictures of first-rate excellence. They still call v—
forth the admiration of visitors at Rome. “ St Romualdo
surrounded by his Monks,” in the museum of the Vatican, is
reckoned one of the four best paintings in the city. The
pictures from the life of the Baptist in St John Lateran, the
“ Death of St Anna” in S. Carlo di Catinari, a “ Crucifixion”
in S. Maria sopra Minerva, “ St Gregory the Great,” in
the Vatican museum, and the “ Intoxication of Noah,” in
Palazzo Sciarra, are also very beautiful. (See Lanzi’s His¬
tory of Painting, &c.)
SACCHINI, Antonio Maria Gasparo, a very eminent
composer of the Neapolitan school, was born at Pozzuoli
on the 23d of July 1734, and not at Naples on 13th May
1735, as most of his biographers have stated. He was the
son of a poor fisherman, and was destined for the same
occupation. Durante, then at the head of the Conserva-
torio of Sant’ Onofrio at Naples, happening accidentally to
hear the boy Sacchini singing some popular airs, was so
much pleased with his natural talent and intelligence as to
ask his parents to give him up to be regularly instructed in
music. Sacchini accordingly entered the Conservatory,
and there learned the elements of music, and became a
good violinist. He then studied musical composition under
Durante, who looked upon him as the most promising of his
pupils, although Piccini and Guglielmi, older than he, were
his fellow-students. Soon after the death of Durante, in
1755, Sacchini quitted the Conservatory, and began to
teach singing and to compose operas. In 1762 he was
called to Rome to compose a serious opera, which was so
well received that he resided chiefly at Rome for the next
seven years, during which time he visited several other
towns in Italy, in order to compose for them serious and
comic operas. The great merit of his opera Alessandro
nelV Indie, performed at Venice in 1768, obtained for him
there the directorship of the Conservatory of L’Ospedaletto.
He wrote much beautiful music for convents and churches
while he occupied that post for a few years. Doctor Bur¬
ney met him at Venice in 1770, and heard a Salve Re¬
gina, of which he speaks very highly in his Tour, p. 143.
Although then only thirty-six years of age, Sacchini had
composed forty serious and ten comic operas, and possessed
a high reputation. In 1771 he visited Germany and Hol¬
land, and composed two operas for Munich and Stuttgardt.
He arrived at London in April 1772, and brought out, at
first, some of his old operas. Dr Burney says {History of
Music, vol. iv., p. 498) that Sacchini’s first opera for the
English stage, 11 Cid, came out in January 1773, and in
May his Tamerlano. In November 1773 his Lucio Vero,
and in the spring of 1774 his Nitetti and Perseohis
Montezuma and 11 Creso in 1775 ; Erifile in 1776;
L’Arnor Soldato m 1777; 11 Calandrino in 1778; Enea
e Lavinia in 1779. According to Dr Burney, who knew
Sacchini intimately, the musical partizans of other eom-
posers immediately raised violent cabals against Sacchini
when he first came to London ; although his great merits
were afterwards amply acknowledged. Unfortunately,
Sacchini was thoughtless, dissipated, and extravagant, and
was obliged to fly from his creditors in the summer of 1781,
and take refuge in Paris. In Madame D’Arblay’s Diary,
vol. ii., p. 75, under the date July 16, 1781, we find a very
melancholy portrait of Sacchini, then in London, ruined and
miserable. In 1782 he returned to London, but only to
get into greater difficulties. He finally left England in
1784, and settled in Paris, where his latter days were ren¬
dered more comfortable by a pension from the Queen ot
France, and also the theatrical pension. In Paris he com¬
posed his operas, Renaud, Chimene, Dardanus, and (Edipe;
the latter a masterpiece in every respect. But even in
Paris hostile jealousy pursued him. His health failed; and
a severe attack of gout caused his death on the 7th October
566 SAC
Sacheverell 1786. He was honoured with a public funeral and great
II marks of respect, which were certainly due to his extraor-
Saek. dinary abilities, if not to his prudent conduct. Immediately
after his funeral his friend and rival Piccini published a
letter, in which his praises of Sacchini’s musical powers did
equal credit to his head and heart. How very rare are
such noble tributes from rival musicians! The merits of
Sacchini were very great. He was a perfect musician. His
style was always free, graceful, and unconstrained in every
kind of composition. His command of musical language
embraced the grand, the serious, the comic, the pathetic,
with equal ease. His influence upon the progress of his
art is now too much lost sight of; but is known to those
who have studied his works, and compared them with the
works of his contemporaries and successors. Mozart, in his
operatic music, was much indebted to Sacchini. There is
a bust of Sacchini in the Pantheon chapel at Rome. Be¬
sides many of his compositions not published, his works
include 16 pieces of church music ; 5 oratorios ; 38 operas;
6 trios for violins and bass; 6 quartets for violins, viola, and
bass ; 6 sonatas for the harpsichord, with violin accompani¬
ment. (g. f. g.)
SACHEVERELL, Dr Henry, a famous Tory clergy¬
man in the reign of Queen Anne, who distinguished him¬
self by indecent and scurrilous sermons and writings against
the dissenters and revolution principles. He was born in
1672, and was educated at Magdalen College, Oxford,
where he was chamber-fellow with Addison, and where he
seems to have cultivated the muses. He became a fellow
of his college ; took his degree of M.A. in 1696, of B.D. in
1707, and of D.D. in 1708. He owed his consequence,
however, to being indiscreetly prosecuted by the House of
Lords for his assize-sermon at Derby, and his oth of No¬
vember sermon at St Paul’s in 1709, in which he asserted
the doctrine of non-resistance to government in its utmost
extent, and reflected severely on the Act of Toleration. The
High and Low Church parties were very violent at that time ;
and the trial of Sacheverell inflamed the High Church party
to dangerous riots and excesses. He was, however, sus¬
pended for three years, and his sermons were burned by the
common hangman. The Tories being in administration
when Sacheverell’s suspension expired, he was freed with
every circumstance of honour and public rejoicing; was
ordered to preach before the Commons on the 29th of May ;
had the thanks of the House for his discourse ; and obtained
the valuable rectory of St Andrews, Holborn. He was
evidently a very weak, vain, and selfish man, and was sub¬
sequently as notorious for his lawsuits with his parishioners
as he had been for his quarrels with the state in the earlier
part of his career. He died in 1724.
SACHS, Hans, a German meister-singer of the time of
the Reformation, was born at Nuremberg in 1494, and was
bred to the trade of a shoemaker. His mind was ingenious
and unweariedly active. While plying the awl he was
constantly manufacturing verses. The books of Scripture,
the sentiments of the Reformers, and the tales and history in
classical literature were taken indiscriminately as the raw
material for his rhyming fabrics. His brain continued for
many years to produce piece after piece with all the regu¬
larity and despatch of a machine. Accordingly, at his death
m 1576 his compositions amounted to upwards of six thou¬
sand, a portion of which were published at Niirnberg in
5 vols. folio, 1576-79.
SACK (Fr. vin sec and vin d’Espagne'), a species of wine
used by our ancestors, regarding the peculiarity of which
there have been various conjectures. It is generally sup¬
posed to have been a Spanish wine of the dry kind, while
some have conceived it to be Rhenish and some Canary.
Venner says of sack in 1628 that, “ taken by itself, it is very
hot and very penetrative ; being taken with sugar, the heat
is somewhat allayed, and the penetrative quality thereof
SAC
also retarded.” This statement has led some to imagine Sackville.
that sack was not a sweet wine, from the fact of its being
occasionally taken with sugar. At a later period, however,
when Falstaff spoke of it as sherris sack (properly Xeres
sack, according to Blount in his Glossographia), the word
seems to have been used as a general name for all sorts of
sweet wines. In contradistinction to the French derivation
of the term from the word sec, it has been conjectured to be
derived from the Spanish sac,—a bag in which it was tran¬
sported from place to place.
SACKVILLE, Thomas, Lord Buckhurst and Earl of
Dorset, a statesman and poet, the son of Richard Sackville
of Buckhurst, in the parish of Withiam in Sussex, was
born in the year 1536. He was sent to Hart Hall, Oxford,
in the latter end of the reign of Edward VI., whence he
removed to Cambridge, where he took the degree of Master
of Arts. He applied himself to the study of the law in the
Inner Temple, and was called to the bar. We are told
that he cultivated poetry whilst at the universities, and that
these juvenile productions were much admired, though none
of them have been preserved. In the fourth and fifth years
of Queen Mary we find him a member of the House of
Commons, about which time, in 1557, he wrote a poetical
piece, entitled the Induction, or the Mirror of Magistrates.
This last was meant to comprehend all the unfortunate great
from the beginning of our history; but the design being
dropped, it was inserted in the body of the work. The
Mirror of Magistrates is formed upon a dramatic plan, in
which the persons are introduced speaking. The Induction
is written much in the style of Spencer, who, with some
probability, is supposed to have imitated this author.
In the year 1561 the tragedy of Ferr ex and Porrex,
subsequently called Gorhoduc, was acted before Queen
Elizabeth by the gentlemen of the Inner Temple. This
was the first tolerable tragedy in our language. The Com¬
panion to the Playhouse tells us that the first three acts
were written by Mr Thomas Norton. Sir Philip Sidney,
in his Apology for Poetry, says, “it is full of stately speeches
and well-sounding phrases, climbing to the height of Seneca
in his style.” Rymer speaks highly in its commendation.
Spence, at the instigation of Pope, republished it in 1736
with a pompous preface. It is said to be our first dramatic
piece written in verse. In the first Parliament of this reign
Mr Sackville was member for Sussex, and for Buckingham¬
shire in the second. In the meantime he made the tour of
France and Italy; and in 1566 was imprisoned at Rome,
when he was informed of his father’s death, by which he
became possessed of a very considerable fortune. Having
now obtained his liberty, he returned to England, where he
was knighted, and afterwards created Lord Buckhurst. In
1570 he was sent as ambassador to France. In 1586 he
was one of the commissioners appointed to try the unfor¬
tunate Mary, Queen of Scots, and was the messenger em¬
ployed to report the confirmation of her sentence, as well
as to see it executed. The year following he went as am¬
bassador to the States-General in consequence of their com¬
plaint against the Earl of Leicester, who,, disliking his
impartiality, prevailed on the queen to recall him, and
confine him to his house. In this state of restraint he
continued about ten months, when Leicester dying, he was
restored to favour, and in 1580 was installed knight of the
Garter. But the most incontrovertible proof of the queen’s
partiality for Lord Buckhurst appeared in the year 1591,
when she caused him to be elected chancellor in the uni¬
versity of Oxford, in opposition to her favourite Essex. In
1598, on the death of the treasurer Burghley, Lord Buck¬
hurst succeeded him, and by virtue of his office became in
effect prime minister; and when in 1601 the Earls of
Essex and Southampton were brought to trial, he sat as
lord high steward on that awful occasion. On the acces¬
sion of James I. he was graciously received, had the office
SAC
Sackville of lord high treasurer confirmed to him for life, and was
|| created Earl of Dorset. He continued high in favour with
Sacrament, the king till the day of his death, which happened sud-
denly on the 19th of April 1608, in the council-chamber at
’Whitehall. He was interred with great solemnity in West¬
minster Abbey.
Sackville, Charles, Lord Buckhurst and Earl of Dorset,
a poet and wit, was born on the 24th of January 1637-8.
After receiving a private education, he visited Italy ; and re¬
turning to England shortly before the Restoration, sat in
Parliament for East Grimstead in Sussex. Being of wild
and dissolute habits, he became a great favourite of Charles
II., and did not choose to engage in any public employ¬
ment. He attended the Duke of York as a volunteer in
the Dutch war of 1665, and is said to have composed the
celebrated song, “ To all you ladies now at land,” on the
eve of the 3d of June, when the Dutch were defeated, and
Opham, their admiral, slain. Buckhurst was soon after
made a gentleman of the bed-chamber, and sent a short
embassy to France on one of those missions, which was,
according to Dryden, “ a sleeveless errand.” Charles II. had
become "enamoured of Nell Gwyn, with whom Buckhurst
was then living, and this little journey to France was con¬
trived by the king to get rid of his rival. In 1674 he be¬
came heir to the estate and title of his maternal uncle, the
Earl of Middlesex ; and in 1677, by the death of his father,
he inherited the title of Earl of Dorset and the whole of
the family estates. He buried his first wife in 1684, and
subsequently married a daughter of the Earl of Northamp¬
ton, a woman of beauty and superior mind, who may still
be seen among the Kneller beauties at Hampton Court.
Dorset was taken favourable notice of by James II., but
ceased to adhere to his policy on his becoming more vio¬
lent in his measures. On the accession of King William
HI. he was made lord chamberlain of the household, and
received the honour of the Garter. His health afterwards
declining, he died at Bath on the 29th January 1705-6.
The epitaph of Dorset was written by Pope; Dryden
penned dedications and fulsome panegyrics to him; and
Prior eulogized his excellencies in the most elaborate
manner. He was distinguished among his contemporaries
for his elegant manners, sprightly wit, and courtly address ;
and his bounty to the learned may be judged of by the
number of dedications which were addressed to “ the witty
Earl.” His poetical pieces are, according to Johnson, “ the
effusions of a man of wit,—gay, vigorous, and airy.” (John¬
son’s Lives of the Poets, by Cunningham.)
SACRAMENT, is derived from the Latin word sacra-
mentum, which signifies an oath, particularly the oath taken
by soldiers to be true to their country and their general.
The words of this oath, according to Polybius, were ohtem-
peraturus sum etfacturus quicquid mandabitur ab impera-
toribus juxta vires. The word was adopted by the writers of
the Latin Church, and employed to denote those ordinances
of religion by which Christians came under an obligation,
equally sacred with that of an oath, to observe their part of
the covenant of grace, and in which they had the assurance
of Christ that he would fulfil his part of the same covenant.
Of sacraments, in this sense of the word, Protestant
churches admit but of two; and it is not easy to conceive
how a greater number can be made out from Scripture, if
the definition of a sacrament be just which is given by the
Church of England. By that church the meaning of the
word sacrament is declared to be “ an outward and visible
sign of an inward and spiritual grace given unto us, or¬
dained by Christ himself as a means whereby we receive
the same, and a pledge to assure us thereof.” According
to this definition, baptism and the Lord’s Supper are cer¬
tainly sacraments ; for each consists of an outward and vi¬
sible sign of what is believed to be an inward and spiritual
grace; both were ordained by Christ himself; and by the
SAC 567
reception of each does the Christian come under a solemn Sacramen-
obligation to be true to his Divine master, according to the to
terms of the covenant of grace. The Roman Catholics, |l
however, add to this number confirmation, penance, extreme Sacrifice^
unction, ordination, and marriage; in all, seven sacraments.
They call the eucharist, by way of eminence, the Holy Sa¬
crament. Thus to expose the holy sacrament, is to lay the
consecrated host on the altar to be adored. The procession
of the holy sacrament is that in which this host is carried
about the church, or about a town.
SACRAMENTO, a river of the United States of North
America, in California, rises in a chain of mountains con¬
necting the Sierra Nevada with the coast range, and flows
generally southwards, uniting with the San Joaquin from
the south, at the head of Suisoon Bay, through which their
united waters are discharged into the Pacific. Its whole
length is about 370 miles, for 200 of which it is navigable.
It abounds in fish, the catching of which is here an im¬
portant branch of industry. The valley watered by the
Sacramento is one of the most beautiful and fertile portions
of California.
Sacramento City, the capital of the state of California,
on the left bank of the river of the same name, about 150
miles above San Francisco. It owes its origin entirely to
the gold discovered here, and was founded in 1849, since
which time it has risen to be a large and flourishing town.
It is regularly laid out; the streets cross each other at right
angles, and are distinguished by numbers and the letters of
the alphabet. Many of them are lined with large oak and
sycamore trees, which have a very fine effect. Until recently
it was very liable to inundations, but the river has been
confined to its channel by embankments. The houses,
which were formerly of wood, often suffered from fire ; but
they are now built of more substantial materials. In and
about the town are many very beautiful gardens. Among
the most conspicuous buildings are numerous churches,
hotels, steam-mills, and manufactories. The commercial
importance of Sacramento is very great, it being the chief
emporium for supplying provisions to the gold regions.
Steamers ply regularly between this and San Francisco.
Pop. estimated at 20,000.
SACRED, something holy, or that is solemnly offered
and consecrated to God by prayers and benedictions.
Kings, prelates, and priests are reckoned sacred persons;
abbots are only blessed. The deaconhood, sub-deaconhood,
and priesthood, are all sacred orders, and are said to impress
an indelible character. The custom of consecrating kings
with holy oil is derived, says Gutlingius, from the Hebrews,
amongst wrhom, he agrees with Grotius, it was never used
but to kings who had not an evident right by succession.
He adds that the Christian emperors never used it before
Justin the younger. This term was first added to the title
of Majesty, in designating the English sovereigns, on the
accession of James I. in 1603.
SACRIFICE, an offering made to the object of religious
worship, is one of the forms of religious cultus everywhere
met with, being co-extensive with religion itself. The offer¬
ings made have been various, and the forms under which
they have been presented have also varied. The offerings
for the most part have been the fruit of the field and of the
flock; but not unfrequently the tiller of the field and the
keeper of the flock have also been offered in sacrifice. The
forms in which they have been presented embrace the na¬
tural form, or that form transmuted by slaughtering and
burning. The selection of the sacrifice appears to have
been made upon the ground of its nearness of relation and
preciousness to the offerer: it must be his own, the first
and the best of its kind ; it must represent him,—must be
therefore what he values and loves. And as the sacrifice
not only represented the offerer, but represented what was
his deepest feeling on the occasion of the offering, this
568
SAC
Sacrilege ground of nearness and preciousness furnished different
offerings on different occasions. The idea present in and
underlying all the forms of presentation appears to be that
of bringing the sacrifice near to the object of worship.
Another peculiarity of a sacrifice consisted in destroying, in
whole or in part, the offering presented to the object of
worship. Sacrifices prevailed throughout the whole of the
ancient world, both Jewish and Gentile. Christians believe
them to have been entirely abolished by the death of
Christ. The precise significance of Christ’s death has, how¬
ever, been variously interpreted by different men, and there
exists upon the various sides of this important question a
large amount of theological literature.
SACRILEGE, Sacrilegium, the crime of profaning
sacred things, or things devoted to God; or of alienating
to laymen, for common purposes, what was given to reli¬
gious persons and pious uses.
SACRO-BOSCO, Johannes he. See Arithmetic,
History of.
SACY, Antoine Isaac Silyestre he, a celebrated
orientalist, was born at Paris on the 21st September 1758.
Although a delicate boy, he soon became a precocious lin¬
guist. His ready mind, under the direction of a private
tutor, speedily mastered Latin and Greek. He then ap¬
plied himself to other languages. Hebrew, Syriac, Chaldee,
Samaritan, Arabic, and Ethiopic were acquired in succes¬
sion ; Italian, Spanish, English, and German were added ;
and at the age of twenty-three he appeared before the
public as a prodigy in philology. It was not long before
Sacy directed his attention to the history and antiquities of
the East. As his studies advanced he continued to lay
their results before the learned world. Two memoirs, one
on the bursting of the dike of Irem in Arabia Felix, and
another on the origin of Arabian literature, were published
in the Recueil de VAcademic des Inscriptions. Numerous
papers on ancient Persian and Arabic history were contri¬
buted to the collection entitled Notices et Extraits des
Manuscrits. He also read before the academy several
memoirs on the antiquities of Persia, and especially on the
inscriptions found among the ruins of Persepolis. Nor did
the turmoil of the Revolution interrupt his engrossing pur¬
suits. He retired to a small country house in the neigh¬
bourhood of Paris, and divided his time between the
cultivation of his garden and the investigation of the reli¬
gious system of the Druses. After the revolutionary period
the efforts of Sacy for the promotion of oriental learning
took a most practical turn. Much of his earnest attention
was given to the duties of professor of Arabic and Persian,
to which he had been appointed. No less than fifteen
years were engrossed in the composition of an Arabic
Grammar. He exerted himself to found the Asiatic Society
of Paris, a service which was acknowledged by his being
made its first president. At the same time, his pen was not
slow in advancing the great work of his life. He was a
powerful supporter of the Magasin Encyclopedique and of
the Mines de V Orient; and among other works he pub¬
lished a collection of Arabic extracts entitled Chrestomathie
Arabe, 1806 ; the Arabic text of the fables of Pilpay, under
the name of Calila et Dimna, 1816; the Pend-Nameh
(Book of Counsels) in Persian and French, 1819; and
the Sessions of Hariri, in Arabic, 1822. Towards the
close of his life Sacy held a very high position. In the
class-room no professor could be more eminent. His infor¬
mation was profound, well-arranged, and ready at command.
He explained with precision, clearness, and force. So as-
tomshing, indeed, were his qualifications for teaching that
old men, who had themselves written and spoken on the
subject, came from all parts to sit at his feet. Nor was it
only in his lecture-room that he was esteemed. After the
death of Cuvier the French held him up as their great
champion in learning. He was universally acknowledged
SAD
to be the greatest living authority in his own particular Sacy
branch of study. The influence of his commanding intel- 1!
lect was felt throughout the learned world. Chairs of Sadducees.
Chinese, Sanscrit, and Hindustanee were established in
Paris by his advice. Russian and Prussian institutions for
oriental studies were founded under his direction. His
pupils filled the principal professorships in Europe ; and he
had his readers and correspondents in every country. Sacy
fell down dead in the street, in a fit of apoplexy, on the 19th
of February 1838. At his death he was a peer of France,
keeper of the oriental manuscripts in the king’s library, and
perpetual secretary to the Academy of Inscriptions. His
friend Reinaud pronounced his eulogy, which was after¬
wards published under the title of Notice Historique et
Litteraire sur M. le Baron de Sacy.
Sacy, the name by which Louis Isaac le Maistre was
commonly known. He was born in Paris in 1613, and was
educated for the church. The instructions of his uncle, the
great Arnauld, and of his spiritual guide, the Abbe of Saint
Cyran, made him a zealous Jansenist. Withdrawing in the
company of those of the same mind to the famous suburban
retreat of Port-Royal-des-Champs, he commenced a life of
opposition to the errors and vices of the Jesuits. For se¬
veral years he assisted his fellow-recluses in instilling their
opinions into a small number of pupils, and in composing
works for the better enlightenment of their age. Persecu¬
tion assailed him in 1661, but his zeal remained unabated.
Fleeing before his enemies, he became an outcast for his
principles. Till 1666 there was no other hiding-place for
him but the dingy recesses of the Faubourg Saint An¬
toine. For the following three years his studies were pro¬
secuted in a cell of the Bastile. Even after his liberation
the attacks of his enemies did not cease. He returned to
Port-Royal in 1675, only to be chased from it in 1679.
Weary and worn-out, he retired to the house of his cousin,
the Marquis of Pomponne, and died there in 1684. The
following is a list of the principal works of Sacy:—Enlu-
minures du Fameux Almanack des Jesuites intitule la
Deroute et la Confusion des Jansenistes, in 8vo, 1654; a
French translation of the De Imitatione Christi, in 8vo,
1662; a French translation of the New Testament, in 2
vols. 8vo, 1667 ; and a French translation of the Psalms
of David, in 3 vols. 12mo, 1696.
SADDUCEES were a famous sect among the ancient
Jews, and consisted of persons of great quality and opu¬
lence. Respecting their origin there are various accounts
and various opinions. Epiphanius, and after him many
other writers, contend that they took their rise from Dosi-
theus, a sectary of Samaria, and derived their name from
the Hebrew word pnv , just or justice, from the great jus¬
tice and equity which they showed in all their actions ; a
derivation which neither suits the word Sadducee nor the
general character of the sect. They are thought by some,
too, to have been Samaritans. But this is by no means
probable, as they always attended the worship and sacrifices
at Jerusalem, and never at Gerizim.
In the Jewish Talmud we are told that the Sadducees
derived their name from Sadoc, and that the sect arose
about 260 years before Christ, in the time of Antigonus of
Soch, president of the Sanhedrim at Jerusalem, and teacher
of the law in the principal divinity school of that city. An¬
tigonus had often in his lectures, it seems, taught his scho¬
lars that they ought not to serve God as slaves do their
masters, from the hopes of a reward, but merely out of filial
love for his own sake; and from this Sadoc and Baithus
inferred that there were no rewards at all after this life.
They therefore separated from their master, and taught
that there was no resurrection nor future state. This new
doctrine quickly spread, and gave rise to the sect of Sad¬
ducees, which in many respects resembled the Epicureans.
Dr Prideaux thinks that the Sadducees were at first no
SAD
Sadducees. more than what the Caraites are now ; that is, they would
not receive the traditions of the elders, but acknowledged
the written word only ; and the Pharisees being great pro¬
moters of those traditions, these two sects hence became
directly opposite to each other. Afterwards the Sadducees
imbibed other doctrines which rendered them a sect truly
impious. They denied the resurrection of the dead, and
the existence of angels, and the spirits or souls of men de¬
parted. They held that there is no spiritual being but God
only; and that as to man, this world is his all. They did
not deny but that we had reasonable souls ; but they main¬
tained that this soul w'as mortal, and, by a necessary con¬
sequence, they denied the rewards and punishments of
another life. They pretended also that what is said of the
existence of angels and of a future resurrection is nothing
but illusions. St Epiphanius, and after him St Augustin,
have advanced that the Sadducees denied the Holy Ghost;
but neither Josephus nor the evangelists accuse them of
any error like this. It has been also imputed to them that
they thought God corporeal, and that they received none
of the prophecies. It is difficult to apprehend how they
could deny the being of angels, and yet receive the books
of Moses, where such frequent mention is made of angels
and of their appearances. Grotius and Le Clerc observe
that it is very likely they looked upon angels, not as parti¬
cular beings subsisting of themselves, but as powers, ema¬
nations, or qualities, inseparable from the Deity, as the
sunbeams are inseparable from the sun. Or perhaps they
held angels not to be spiritual, but mortal, just as they
thought that substance to be which animates us and thinks
in us. The ancients do not tell us how they solved this
difficulty, that might be urged against them from so many
passages of the Pentateuch, where mention is made of
angels. As the Sadducees acknowledged neither punish¬
ments nor recompenses in another life, so they were inexo¬
rable in chastising the wicked. They observed the law
themselves, and caused it to be observed with the utmost
rigour by others. They admitted none of the traditions,
explications, or modifications of the Pharisees ; they kept
to the text of the law, and maintained that only what was
written was to be observed. The Sadducees are accused
of rejecting all the books of Scripture except those of
Moses ; and to support this opinion, it is observed that
our Saviour makes use of no Scripture against them, but
passages taken out of the Pentateuch. But Scaliger pro¬
duces good proofs to vindicate them from this reproach.
He observes that they did not appear in Israel till after the
number of the holy books was fixed ; and that if they had
been to choose out of the canonical Scriptures, the Pen¬
tateuch was less favourable to them than any other book,
since it often makes mention of angels and their apparition.
Besides, the Sadducees were present in the Temple, and at
other religious assemblies, where the books of the prophets
were read indifferently, as well as those of Moses. They
were in the chief employments of the nation ; many of
them even were priests. Would the Jews have suffered in
these employments persons that rejected the greater part
of their Scriptures? Menasse Ben-lsrael says expressly
that they did not indeed reject the prophets, but that they
explained them in a sense very different from that of the
other Jews. Josephus assures us that they denied destiny
or fate; alleging that these were only sounds void of
sense, and that all the good or evil that happens to us is in
consequence of the good or evil side we have taken, by the
free choice of our will. They said also that God was far
removed from doing or knowing evil, and that man was the
absolute master of his own actions. This was roundly to
deny a providence ; and upon this footing I know not, says
SAD 569
Calmet, what could be the religion of the Sadducees, or Sadler,
what influence they could ascribe to God in things here
below. However, it is certain that they were not only to¬
lerated among the Jews, but that they were admitted to
the high priesthood itself. John Hircanus, high priest of
the nation, separated himself in a signal manner from the „
sect of the Pharisees, and went over to that of Sadoc. It
is said also that he gave strict command to all the Jews,
on pain of death, to receive the maxims of this sect. Aris-
tobulus, and Alexander Jannseus, son of Hircanus, conti¬
nued to favour the Sadducees ; and Maimonides assures us,
that under the reign of Alexander Jannaeus they had in
possession all the offices of the Sanhedrim, there only re¬
maining of the party of the Pharisees, Simon the son of
Secra. Caiaphas, who condemned Jesus Christ to death,
was a Sadducee : as was also A nanus the younger, who put
to death St James the brother of our Lord. At this day
the Jews hold as heretics the small number of Sadducees
which are to be found among them.1
The sect of the Sadducees was much reduced by the
destruction of Jerusalem, and by the dispersion of the
Jews ; but it afterwards revived. At the beginning of the
third century it was so formidable in Egypt that Ammonim,
Origen’s master, when he saw them propagate their opi¬
nions in that country, thought himself obliged to write
against them, or rather against the Jews, who tolerated the
Sadducees, though they denied the fundamental points of
their religion. The Emperor Justinian mentions the Sad¬
ducees in one of his novels ; banishes them out of all places
of his dominions; and condemns them to the severest
punishments, as people that maintained atheistical and
impious tenets, denying the resurrection and the last judg¬
ment. Annus, or Ananus, a disciple of Juda, son of
Nachman, a famous rabbi of the eighth century, declared
himself, as it is said, in favour of the Sadducees, and strenu¬
ously protected them against their adversaries. They had
also a celebrated defender in the twelfth century, in the
person of Alpharagius, a Spanish rabbi. This doctor wrote
against the Pharisees, the declared enemies of the Sad¬
ducees, and maintained by his public writings that the
purity of Judaism was only to be found among the Saddu¬
cees ; that the traditions avowed by the Pharisees were
useless ; and that the ceremonies, which they had multi¬
plied without end, were an insupportable yoke. The rabbi
Abraham Ben David Italleri replied to Alpharagius, and
supported the sect of the Pharisees by two great argu¬
ments,—that of their universality, and that of their anti¬
quity. He proved their antiquity by a continued succession
from Adam down to the year 1167 ; and their universality,
because the Pharisees are spread all the world over, and
are found in all the synagogues. There are still Sadducees
in Africa and in several other places. They deny the im¬
mortality of the soul and the resurrection of the body ; but
they are rarely found, at least there are but few who declare
themselves friendly to these opinions.
SADLER, Michael Thomas, was born at Snelstone, a
village in Derbyshire, in January 1780. He was descended,
on the father’s side, from Sir Ralph Sadler, one of Queen
Elizabeth’s ministers; and his mother’s family had been
French refugees at the revocation of the edict of Nantes.
He vras educated principally at home, his father having in¬
tended him for one of the learned professions ; but when
about eighteen years old he was induced to join his brother
in business at Leeds, where he continued until called into
public life by the ministerial proposal of the Catholic
Relief Bill. On a vacancy occurring for the borough of
Newark, in March 1829, Mr Sadler, being invited to be¬
come a candidate, immediately complied, and triumphantly
1 See upon this matter Menasse Ben-lsrael, Be Resurrectione Mortuorum; Basnage’s History of the Jews ; and Calmet’s Dissertation upon
the Sects of the Jews, before the Commentary of St Mark.
VOL. XIX. 4 °
570 SAD
Sadler, carried his election, though opposed by Mr Sergeant Wilde,
V—one of the ablest and most energetic members of the bar.
Mr Sadler distinguished himself by a long and eloquent
speech delivered against the Roman Catholic claims on the
17th of the same month ; and during the continuance of
the discussion he was the great champion of the Protestant
cause. At the general election of 1830 he was again
chosen for Newark; and in 1831 he took his seat for Aid-
borough in Yorkshire. At the first general election under
the Reform Bill, Aldborough having been disfranchised, he
became a candidate for the new borough of Leeds ; but
though highly esteemed by a large number of his towns¬
men, his reputation as an anti-reformer preponderated over
his less equivocal merits, and he lost his election.
In his public career Sadler was generally associated with
the old constitutional Tories. To the policy of free trade
he was also most decidedly hostile; nor was he less un¬
friendly to the settlement of the currency question, which
he considered should have been effected upon a more equi¬
table adjustment. He was likewise very hostile to the Re¬
form Bill, to which he recorded his objections in a speech
when seconding General Gascoigne’s motion, the effect of
carrying which was the dissolution of Parliament. For
Ireland he always expressed the deepest interest, and twice
introduced a poor-law bill for that country into Parliament.
During the last session he sat in Parliament he was almost
constantly occupied in prosecuting the bill he had brought
before the legislature for the protection of children em¬
ployed in the manufactories, and which is familiarly called
the Ten Hours Bill. This measure was referred to a select
committee, of which Sadler was appointed chairman ; and
it is believed that the fatigue and responsibility thus
imposed on him, of collecting the mass of evidence con¬
tained in the report, laid the foundation of his long and
fatal illness. Neither, after all, were his efforts successful
in passing this measure. Sadler was some years a member
of the Royal Society, and author of several works, the most
important of which are,—Ireland, its Evils, and their Re¬
medies ; and An Essay on the Law of Population, in two
volumes, written principally to controvert the opinions
of Malthus. A third volume, intended to complete this
treatise, the author was engaged upon at the time of his
death, which took place at New Lodge, near Belfast, on
the 29th of July 1835. Sadler’s disease appears to have
been an incurable affection of the heart, brought on by
severe study and intense anxiety. At the time of his death
he was the leading partner of th^firm of Sadler, Fenton,
and Company, of Belfast.
Sadler, Sir Ralph, an eminent English statesman,
was born of a good family at Hackney in Middlesex in
1507. His shrewdness and address in business early began
to lead him to promotion. While a mere child he was
serving the secretary Cromwell with great acceptance. In
his eleventh year he attracted the notice of the king,
Henry VIII., and a series of appointments was the result.
He was made clerk of the hamper, one of the gentlemen
of the privy chamber, and a knight. His services were
employed in dissolving the religious houses, and rewarded
with a large share of the rich spoils. Above all, several
successive embassies to Scotland were entrusted to his
management. In 1537 he was sent thither to strengthen
the English interest; in 1539-40 he was commissioned to
persuade the Scottish king, James V., to cast off the
supremacy of the Pope; in 1541 he went back to enforce
this same counsel; and in 1542 he was appointed to settle
the proposed match between Edward, Prince of Wales,
and Mary the infant queen of Scots. Nor did Sadler’s
want of success on all these various occasions affect his
prospects. Fortune still remained constant to him. On
Henry’s death in 1547, his name was found in the roval
will as one of the councillors to the sixteen nobles v'ho
S A F
were entrusted with the guardianship of the young king. Sadoleto
In the ?ame year he was appointed treasurer to the army H
sent against Scotland, and for his great services in rallying Saffron-
the repulsed cavalry he was dubbed a knight-banneret on . a ei1,
the battle-field of Pinkie. Even the relentless vengeance
of “ bloody Mary” did not injure his prosperity. During
her reign he lived in peaceful seclusion on his estate near
Hackney. On the accession of Elizabeth in 1558, Sir
Ralph Sadler came once more into a sphere of active em¬
ployment. He immediately became a member of Parlia¬
ment for the county of Hertford, and a privy councillor.
Not long afterwards his intimacy with the affairs of Scot¬
land recommended him as a fit person to take up his abode
in the town of Berwick, and to support with secret supplies
of money the Scottish lords of the Congregation in their
resistance to their Popish queen-dowager. A number of
years were spent in less obtrusive business; and he was
then, in 1584, appointed keeper of Mary, Queen of Scots, in
the Castle of Tutbury, an office which he discharged with
great honesty and humanity. His last service was to re¬
pair to Scotland to pacify the king’s indignation on account
of Mary’s death. He returned worn out with the labours
of a long life, and died at his lordship of Standon in Hert¬
fordshire in 1587. Sadler’s Nfafe Papers and Letters were
published in 2 vols. 4to, Edinburgh, 1809. Prefaced to
that edition was a memoir by Sir Walter Scott, which has
also appeared among that great author’s prose works.
SADOLETO, Jacopo, a learned cardinal, was born at
Modena in 1477. Leo X. made him and Peter Bembo his
secretaries, an office for which they were both well qualified;
and Sadoleto was soon afterwards made bishop of Carpentras,
near Avignon. He was made a cardinal in 1536 by Paul
III. ; was employed in several negotiations and embassies;
and died in 1547, not without the suspicion of poison, for
corresponding too familiarly with the Protestants, and tes¬
tifying too much regard for some of their doctors. His
works, which are all in Latin, were collected in 1607 at
Mentz, in one volume 8vo. They consist of a commentary
on the Epistle of Paul to the Romans, a work on Educa¬
tion, a disputation in two books, on the merits of philoso¬
phy, and a poem on the discovery of the group of the “ Lao-
coon” at Rome. His sincere piety and love of letters have
led him to be compared with Fenelon.
SAFFI, or Asaffi, a town of Morocco, in a barren
valley between two hills, on the shore of the Atlantic, not
far from Cape Cantiro. It was formerly a place of much
European trade; and until 1641 belonged to the Por¬
tuguese, but now it is gradually decreasing in size and im¬
portance. The roadstead in front of the town affords good
anchorage. Pop. about 9000, of whom 3000 are Jews.
SAFFRON, the dried stigmata of the common crocus
[Crocus sativus), much used as a colouring ingredient both
in food and medicine. Though affording a brilliant yellow
colour, it can hardly be called a dye-stuff. This substance
was formerly largely cultivated in England in the neigh¬
bourhood of Saffron-Walden. It is now chiefly imported
from Spain, France, and the south of Europe, and is used
in pharmacy. The total importations for 1857 from those
parts were 12,175 lb., which, at L.l, 8s. 6d. per lb., cost
L. 17,349.
SAFFRON-WALDEN, a market-town and municipal
borough of England, county of Essex, 22 miles N.N.W. of
Chelmsford, and 42 N.N.E. of London. It stands partly
in a valley at the foot, and partly on the sides and top of a
hill that was formerly rich in saffron, so as to give the
name to the town. Above all the other buildings the
parish church is conspicuous, from its lofty situation. It
is a fine Gothic pile, with an embattled tower. The streets
are irregularly laid out, but many of them good ; the houses
have an antique, but generally neat appearance. There is
a large market-place, in which stands an elegant town-hall
SAG
Sagan 1'^e post-office and corn exchange are also handsome build¬
ings, the latter in the Italian style. Besides the parish
Sage, Le. church, there are places of worship for Baptists, Inde-
Vs—pendents, Quakers, Wesleyan and Primitive Methodists.
For public instruction the town has a free grammar school,
founded in 1522; national, British, and infant schools; a
museum, and a literary institution. Here stands part of
the walls and towers of an ancient castle built by Magna-
ville, a Norman knight who came over with the Conqueror.
The only manufactories of importance are an iron foundry
and a brewery. Bailey and malt are the chief articles of
trade. Markets are held weekly, and there are three
annual fairs. The borough is governed by a mayor, three
other aldermen, and twelve councillors. Near Saffron-
Walden is Audley End, the seat of Lord Braybrooke, built
on the site of an old monastery. Pop. of the borough
(1851) 5911.
SAGAN, a town of Prussia, province of Silesia, on the
Bober, in the government and 48 miles N.W. of Liegnitz.
It is strongly fortified, and entered by three gates. There
is a large and handsome ducal palace, with fine parks, gar¬
dens, and hot-houses. There are one Protestant and five
Roman Catholic churches here, also a Roman Catholic
school. Woollen and linen cloth is manufactured; and
there is an important trade in corn. The principality of
Sagan, with an area of 420 square miles, and a population
of 52,000, was sold in 1628 by the Emperor Ferdinand II.
to Wallenstein ; after whose death it passed to the princes
of Lobkowitz, who sold it in 1785 to Duke Peter of Cour-
land. This duke abdicated his sovereignty in 1795, re¬
taining his titles and honours ; and his second daughter was
created duchess of Sagan in 1845. Pop. of the town, 8948.
SAGE, Alain Rene Le, author of Gil Bias, and the
greatest of the French novelists, was born at Sarzeau,
near the town of Vannes in Brittany, on the 8th of May
1668. His father, Claude Le Sage, a lawyer, who held
the office of registrar of the Cour Royale of Ruis, having
died while his son was yet young, left him a small property,
and entrusted him to the care of a worthless uncle, who
sent him to the Jesuit’s college of Vannes, but who seems
otherwise to have neglected both the fortune and educa¬
tion of the future novelist. Pere Bochard, principal of his
college, early detected the lurking genius of the young
scholar, and took great pleasure in cultivating his growing
taste for letters. On leaving this institution, he was com¬
pelled to accept of an office in connection with the collec¬
tion of taxes of Brittany, which he held for five or six years.
Leaving this situation, he went to Paris in 1692, and
entered the university with the intention of prosecuting
the study of philosophy. His youth, talents, and taste,
combined with a remarkably handsome person, soon gained
ready access for Le Sage to the best society of the French
capital. In 1604 he married a beautiful girl, the daughter
of a joiner in Paris, and with this date begins the activity
of a long and a very happy life. He was induced by
Danchet, professor of rhetoric at Chartres, whom he had
known at the university of Paris, to translate into French
the Letters of Aristcenetus. This volume appeared at
Chartres in 1695, at the expense of the professor, but with
the imprint of Rotterdam. Le Sage continued to frequent
the literary circles of Paris, and had the good fortune to
make the friendship of the Abbe de Lyonne, who, besides
bestowing upon him a pension of 600 livres, deserves the
gratitude of posterity, for introducing him to the literature
of Spain, which he was afterwards to combine in such a
striking manner with that of his own country. Then fol¬
lowed each other in quick succession the comedy of Le
Traitre Puni in 1700, translated, or rather imitated from
the Spanish of De Roxas ; Don Felix de Mendoce in 1700,
from a piece by Lope de Vega; Le Point d’Honneur, a
comedy also taken from De Roxas; and Les Nouvelles
SAG 571
Aventures de Don Quichotte, from the Spanish of Avel- Sage, le.
laneda. In none of these works, however, did the trans-
lator meet with any success. Le Sage had now reached
his thirty-eighth year, and a superficial observer would have
pronounced his life a failure. Genius, however, of the per¬
manent kind, is usually of slow growth ; and while Le Sage
had been wasting, according to some, the brightest years of
his life in idle folly, he was nevertheless receiving a disci¬
pline in making his own the wonderful wealth of the Spanish
drama, which should ultimately open up for him a more
brilliant triumph than any which the French nation then
knew. Hitherto he had confined himself to translations or
imitations. He was now to enter more boldly upon his
voyage to literary fame, by committing himself more freely
to the element than hitherto had been the case. In 1707
his comedy of Don Cesar Ursin appeared at the Theatre
Francais, with no success; but a small piece of his own,
entitled Crispin, Rival de son Maitre, had a brilliant run,
and is said to be almost equal to Moliere in the truthfulness
of its dialogue. The success of his next work, the Diable
Boiteux, 1707, was enormous. Its title and plan were de¬
rived from El Diablo-Cojuelo of Guevara, but the fancy,
the gaiety, the wit, and the vivacity of it, were entirely
the work of his charming French pen. Its pictures and
characters, many of whom were sketched from real Pari¬
sian life, were purely French, and yet truly world-wide;
and its nervous, clear, and uncommonly accurate style,
gained for it a lasting reputation. (See “ Le Sage” in
the article Romance.) He increased this work by an
additional volume in 1726, and in 1737 added to it the
Entretien des Ckeminees de Madrid. In 1708 he brought
forth a regular comedy in five acts called Turcaret, in
which he satirized with unsparing hand those financiers and
men of business, who, inflated by their sudden rise in the
world, so frequently outrage all propriety, and even decency,
by the absurdity of their conduct and the rudeness of their
manners. A cabal of those concerned in the finances
clubbed together to put it down, but an order from Mon¬
seigneur, dated 15th October 1708, “ commanded” the
king’s company to play it forthwith. It was accordingly
performed on the 14th of February 1709, and had a much
greater success than could have been expected. An anec¬
dote of this period illustrates well the character of Le Sage.
Chancing one day to be some hours late for a meeting
which had been arranged at the Flotel de Bouillon, at
which he was to read his manuscript comedy, when he ap¬
peared he pled an engagement as an excuse, upon which the
Duchess of Bouillon haughtily remarked that he had made
the company lose two hours. “ It is easy to make up the
loss, madam,” replied Le Sage; “ I will not read my comedy,
and you will thus regain the lost time.” He stept out of
the hotel, and never after could he be prevailed on to return.
Shortly after, he broke off' all connection with the Theatre
Franqais. He offered them a small piece in 1708, called
La Tontine, but it was not performed till 1732. This,
combined with other indignities, created in Le Sage that
bitter dislike towards performers which ail readers of his
romance will remember. He never permits an opportunity
to slip without holding them up to indignant scorn.
With the exception of the comic opera De la Foire,
for which he composed, either in whole or in part, upwards
of a hundred small pieces, calculated to beguile the tedium
of the hour, he bade adieu to the theatres, and began to
compose those delightful romances for which posterity
have never ceased to bless the name of Le Sage. His
great work, Gil Bias de Santillane, which was published
in the following order—2 vols. in 1710, 1 vol. in 1724, and
1 vol. in 1735, raised his fame to the very highest pitch,
and secured it upon an immoveable basis. “ Few,” says
Sir Walter Scott, in his biographical notice of Le Sage,
“ have ever read this charming book without remembering,
572 SAG
Sage, Le. as one of the most delightful occupations of their life, the
time which they first employed in the perusal; and there
are few also who do not occasionally turn back to its pages
with all the vivacity which attends the recollection of early
love.” (See Romance.)
Three distinct charges have been made against this work.
The first was brought by Bruzen de la Martiniere, and
followed up by Voltaire in his Siecle de Louis XIV. in
1752, who unite in pronouncing the Gil Bias “ to be en¬
tirely taken from Espinel’s Marcos de Obregon,” an accu¬
sation as absurd as it was malignant. The secret of Vol¬
taire’s dislike to the book was his having been subjected to
a personal caricature in it. The next attack on the authen¬
ticity of Gil Bias was made by the Jesuit Father Isla,
who published a Spanish translation of it, claiming it as
“ stolen from the Spanish, and now restored to its own
country and native language by a Spaniard who does not
choose to have his nation trifled with.” Isla declares, with¬
out the shadow of proof, that it was originally the perform¬
ance of an Andalusian advocate, who had given his manu¬
script to Le Sage when on a visit to Spain, as French
secretary to some ambassador. This was of course as great
a fiction as the first charge; for neither manuscript nor
advocate were ever forthcoming, and Le Sage was never
in Spain. These two charges have both been refuted by
Le Comte Francois de Neufchateau, in his Examen de la
Question de savoir si Le Sage est Auteur de Gil Bias,
1819. A third, and in some respects a more ingenious,
attack was made upon the reputation of Le Sage by Llo-
rente, in two works, the one in French, the other in Spanish,
1822, who asserts that Gil Bias was the work of Solis, for
this very good reason, that no one w^as capable, in the
judgment of Llorente, of writing such a romance except
the eminent historian. Ticknor, who in his Spanish Lite¬
rature devotes some pages to an examination of these
charges, remarks,—“ There is a ready answer to all such
merely conjectural criticism. Le Sage proceeded, as an
author in romantic fiction, just as he had done when he
wrote for the public theatre ; and the results at which he
arrived in both cases are remarkably similar; . . . the Gil
Bias, the greatest of all his works of prose fiction, is the result
of his confirmed strength, and in its characteristic merits
is as much his own as the Turcaret. On this point the
internal evidence is as decisive as the external.”
Le Sage meanwhile pursued his honest labour, and
reaped the fruits of his industry by securing an independ¬
ence. His Roland VAmoureux, 1717, was a rather poor
imitation of Bojardo’s Orlando Innamorato; but his Guz¬
man d’Alfarache, which appeared in 1732, was a great im¬
provement upon the original Spanish work of Aleman.
In the same year he published the Les Aventures de
Robert dit le Chevalier de Beauchesne, 2 vols., a sort of
Paul Jones who scoured the West Indian seas during that
period. This work was followed in 1733 by L’Histoire
d Estevanille Gonzales surnomme le Gargon de bonne Hu-
meur, 2 vols., avowedly imitated from El Escudero Obregon,
out to which it bears a very distant resemblance. Next
year he published Une Journee des Parques, a philosophi¬
cal piece, written with great wit and boldness. In 1738
appeared the Bachelier de Salamanca ; and in 1740 La
Valise Trouvee, which appeared anonymously. His last
vvoik, Ihe Melange Amusant de Saillies d,Esprit et de
Lraits Histonques les plus frappants, a lively collection of
anecdotes and3 criticisms, was published in 1743. The
.ong domestic tranquillity and happiness which Le Sage
lad enjoyed, and which was only interrupted by his eldest
and youngest son becoming actors, was now wearing gra¬
dually to a close. His eldest son, who had been bred to
the bar, and who, on assuming the sock, took the name of
Montmenil, gamed a high reputation as an actor. This
very amiable man died suddenly in 1743, shortly after he
SAG
had been reconciled to his father. His second son became Saghalien
canon of the cathedral of Boulogne, and on his father’s [I
ceasing to ply his pen, had the gratification of affording him Saguntum.
a shelter in his retirement. Le Sage died at his son’s resi-
dence on the 17th November 1747, in his seventy-ninth
year.
Most of Le Sage’s works of any importance were pub¬
lished under the title of (Euvres Choisies de Le Sage, 15
vols. 8vo, Paris, 1783, and 16 vols. 8vo, Paris, 1810. The
Diable Boiteux has been translated into English under the
title of Lhe Devil on Two Sticks; the Vanillo Gonzales,
and most of his other novels of much importance, have like¬
wise been translated into English. The Gil Bias, which
has appeared in all the languages of Europe, has been trans¬
lated into English by Dr Smollett.
SAGHALIEN, Tarakai, or Krafto, an island of Asia,
lying off the coast of Mantchooria, between N. Lat. 46. and
54. 20. It extends nearly due north and south for a dis¬
tance of 600 miles ; its greatest breadth at the head of the
Bay of Patience is about 120 miles, its average breadth
50, and its area more than 30,000 square miles. The sea
of Ochotsk washes it on the east, on the west the sea of
Tartary separates it from Mantchooria, and on the south the
Strait of La Perouse divides it from the island of Jesso.
The coasts are much indented, but there are few harbours
or safe anchorages. The southern portion of the island is
occupied by a chain of mountains stretching northwards
from Capes Crillon and Aniva, which form the twofold ex¬
tremity of the island, to about the middle. Few of the
summits exceed the height of 5000 feet, but they are
covered with snow for a great part of the year. Between
the mountains and the sea there is in general a narrow strip
of land densely covered with lofty trees. About the centre
of the island is a low, swampy, and sandy flat; while the
extreme north is occupied with a hilly and fertile country.
The coast here consists of lofty white cliffs. The climate is
generally cold, and dense fogs almost always enshroud the
island. Oak, fir, birch, and maple compose the forests, and
afford excellent timber; gooseberries, raspberries, and
strawberries are the principal fruits. Bears and martens
are the wild animals most numerous; salmon and her¬
ring are caught, cured, and exported. Whales are ob¬
tained in large numbers along the east coast and in the
Strait of La Perouse. The natives call themselves Ainos,
or men, and they resemble the people of the Kurile Islands.
They make a kind of cloth from willow-bark, and build
large and strong boats. A few Japanese and Mantchoos
have settled on different parts of the island. The whole of
the island now belongs to the Russian empire, the southern
portion having been obtained within recent years from
Japan, to which empire it had previously belonged.
SAGITTA. See Astronomy.
SAGO, a species of starch obtained from several palms,
of which the most common are Sagus Rumphii, S. Ccevis,
and Saguerus Rumphii. It forms when cooked a bland,
mucilaginous, and nutritive substance, and is commonly
given to children and invalids. The sago is obtained from
the pith of the palm, and is shaped into grains by being
passed through a coarse sieve when half dry. This process
of granulation is unknown to Europeans. Sago was im¬
ported from the British East Indies, Sumatra, Borneo, and
other parts, to the amount of 149,416 cwt. in 1857; the
cost of which, at L.l, 2s. 4d. per cwt., was L.166,848. It
pays 4^d. per cwt. of duty.
SAGUM. See Paludamentum.
SAGUNTUM, an ancient town of Spain, in the country
of the Edetani or Sedetani, in the Roman province of His-
pania Tarraconensis. It stood on a hill near the shore of
the Mediterranean, about 100 miles S.W. of the mouth of
the Ebro. It is said to have been founded by Greeks from
Zacynthus, along with Rutuli from Ardea ; and the fertility
S A H
S A I
573
Sahara of the surrounding country, together with the commercial
j! activity of its inhabitants, raised the town to a high posi-
Sail- tion. The figs of the vicinity were highly esteemed; and
—^ the name of Saguntum was widely known for the earthen¬
ware cups manufactured there. At. a time when the
greater part of Spain wras under Carthaginian influence
Saguntum was an ally of Rome; but it was besieged by
Hannibal in 219 B.c. This act of aggression, as it was
considered by the Romans, formed the pretext for the
second Punic war. After a desperate resistance, Sagun¬
tum was taken by Hannibal, but recovered in 210 by the
Romans. After this period it became a Roman colony.
The site is now occupied by Murviedro, which derives its
name, a corruption of muri veteres, from the ancient forti¬
fications in the place. (See Murviepro.)
SAHARA. See Africa.
SAIDA, or Said, a town of Syria, occupying the site of
the ancient Sidon, on the Mediterranean, about 20 miles S.
of Beyrout. It stands partly on level ground, and partly
on a slope ; the streets are narrow, gloomy, and dirty.
Mosques and bazaars are the principal buildings. Here is
a harbour and an old castle. Silk is manufactured in the
town. Pop. 8000. (See Sidon.)
SAIGON, Saigong-, or Saigun, a town of Anam, in the
province of Cambodia, on a small affluent of the River
Saigon or Mekom, about 30 miles from the sea. It may
be considered the capital of the province, as it is the seat of
the government. It consists of an old and a new town ; the
latter, called Pingeh, is on the main river, about 3 miles
from the other. Here is the residence of the governor, and
a citadel built in the European style by French engineers ;
also arsenals and ship-building docks. Both this and the
old town are intersected with numerous canals, on which
boats are continually plying ; and many people here, as in
some parts of China, live wholly on the water. I he stieets
are straight and handsome, lined with shops built of bamboo ,
' the houses of the Chinese are the largest and best in the
place. At the beginning of this century the trade of the
town was very considerable, but now hardly ever does a
foreign vessel enter the river. China-w^are, silk, paper, tea,
Src., are sold in the shops, as well as a few European goods.
Pop. about 30,000.
SAIL, in navigation, an assemblage of several breadths
of canvas, sewed together by the lists, and edged round
with cord, fastened to the yards of a ship, to make it drive
before the wind. The edges of the cloths or pieces of which
a sail is composed are generally sewed together with a
double seam ; and the whole is skirted round at the edges
with a cord called the bolt-rope. Although the form of
sails is extremely different, they are all nevertheless tri¬
angular or quadrilateral figures; or, in other words, their
surfaces are contained either between three or four sides.
The former of these are sometimes spread by a yard, as
lateen-sails, and otherwise by a stay, as stay-sails, oi by a
mast, as shoulder-of-mutton sails ; in all which cases the
foremost leech or edge is attached to the said yard, mast,
or stay, throughout its whole length. The latter, or those
which are four-sided, are either extended by yards, as the
principal yards of a ship ; or by yards and booms, as the
studding-sails, drivers, ring-tails, and all those sails which
are set occasionally; or by gaffs and booms, as the main¬
sails of sloops and brigantines. (See Ship, and Ship-Build¬
ing.) Sail is also a name applied to any vessel seen at a dis¬
tance under sail, and is equivalent to ship. I o set sail, is
to unfurl and expand the sails upon their respective yards
and stays, in order to begin the action of sailing. To make
sail, is to spread an additional quantity of sail, so as to in¬
crease the ship’s velocity. Fo shoTten sail is to reduce oi
take in part of the sails, with an intention to diminish the
ship’s velocity. To strike sail is to lower it suddenly7.
This is particularly used in saluting or doing homage to a
superior force, or to one whom the law of nations acknow¬
ledges as superior in certain regions. Thus all foreign
vessels strike to a British man-of-war in the British seas.
SAILING. See Navigation.
SAINT. See Canonization.
SAINT-ARNAUD, Marshal Leroy De, a brave
French general, was born of poor parents at Paris in 1801.
Flis fiery disposition made him an ardent soldier. Fie en¬
tered the Gardes du Corps at the age of ten. It is true
that he soon afterwards became stage-struck, and played for
several years in the suburban theatre of the Batignolles;
but the revolutionary turmoil of 1830 once more roused his
passion for military renown. Being engaged in the war of
La Vendee, he fought his way rapidly towards promotion.
Fie continued to rise after he went to Algiers in 1836.
His valour at the siege of Constantine gained for him the
decoration of the Legion of Honour. In every successive
battle his sword achieved for him a higher position than he
had held before. He was especially successful in 1851 in
his expedition against the Kabyles. With little more than
6000 men he overran the whole of that savage district, and
achieved one of the greatest campaigns ever carried out by
his countrymen in Algeria. At length, on his return to
France, he was taken into the confidence of Louis Napo¬
leon, and made minister of war in 1851, and a marshal in
1852. He had hitherto appeared perhaps too much in the
light of a reckless and not very scrupulous adventurer; but
on the outbreak of the Crimean war the valour of Saint-
Arnaud shone forth in a much clearer light. It had long
been the desire of his heart to command the French eagles
on a European field, and he was now eager to gratify it.
The mark of death was already upon him, but he set out
to the seat of war. His disease was stealthily making
way when he landed at the Crimea; but he kept down
every symptom of pain, and manned himself to lead his
troops against the enemy. Accordingly, on the 20th of
September, the day of the Alma, he mounted his horse with
great difficulty, and amid the turmoil of battle showed all
his former fire, energy, and decision. Even after the victory
was gained his enthusiasm still continued to burn, and he
wrote home despatches remarkable for the high tone in
which he recounted the bravery of the English and Trench
armies. It was not until the 27th that the disease mastered
him, and forced him to resign his command. The end of
Saint-Arnaud was now fast approaching. On the 29th of
September he died at sea off the Crimea; and on the 19th
of October he was deposited in the vaults of the Invalides
with every mark of honour. The XeWers of Marshal Saint-
Arnaud have been published by his brother in 2 vols. 8vo,
Paris, 1855.
SAINT-SIMON, Claude Henri, Comte de, founder of
the sect which bears his name, was born of a family which
claimed kindred with the old counts of Vermandois and the
Emperor Charlemagne, on the 17th October 1760. His
grandfather was the famous Due de Saint-Simon, author of
the Memoirs; but his father having lost his ducal designa¬
tion, Claude Henri, although counting kindred with empe¬
rors, had to commence life among the lower grades of the
French noblesse. Having received a solid education under
the teaching of such men as D’Alembert, this youth, re¬
markable from the first for restless eccentricity, entered the
American service as a French officer in 1777. Here he
fought under Bouille and Washington, and was made pri¬
soner in 1782 with De Grasse. Returning to Paris in the
following year he was made colonel of a regiment of Aqui¬
taine. From his earliest recollection he had dreams of his
future greatness, and his servant had been long instructed
to awaken him with “ Levez-vous, M. le Comte, vous avez
de grandes choses a faire.” After various unsettled wan¬
derings in France and Spain, he at last came to the conclu¬
sion that something must be done for “ the advancement of
Sailing
Saint-
Simon.
574 SAINT-
Saint- human civilization.” He had reached nearly his fortieth
Simon, year when he resolved to commence a thorough course of
study preparatory to the inauguration of the new scheme
which was troubling his brain. All he knew as yet was
that it must be a “ physico-political” reformation which he
was to effect. He accordingly commenced a ten years’
course of intellectual and practical study, to put himself
thoroughly abreast of the knowledge of the world. Taking
up his residence near the Ecole Polytechnique, and sub¬
sequently near the Ecole de Medecine, he began his “ theo¬
retical education.” Here he studied the physical sciences,
and acquainted himself with the whole field of physiological
knowledge. This department completed, he entered upon
his ‘‘experimental education.” He now strove to realize
“ in his own person the whole range of human situations
and emotions,” to enable him the more fully to fraternize
with humanity in every phase. He married, he gave din¬
ners, he got up balls. He played, he drank, he debauched
himself. Old age was artificially brought near; rosy youth
was counterfeited by medicaments; contagious diseases were
courted ; and, in short, all the appliances of science and art
were laid under contribution to the gratification of pleasure
or the production of pain. All moral law was set at
defiance, but Saint-Simon calmly took refuge in the plea,
that the end justifies the means. Could not a man be per¬
mitted any amount of self-indulgence when he kept his eye
steadily on the highest theoretical philosophy? Fora man
to seek self-indulgence through sheer love of pleasure, was
one thing; for a man to court self-indulgence through pure
love of experimental philosophy, was quite a different thing.
The one was simply another name for perdition ; the other
was the high road to virtue. So reasoned Saint-Simon.
He rose from the giddy whirl under which all this process of
experimentalism had submerged him, just in time to discover
that his money was all spent. He was now glad to accept
a clerkship at L.40 a year. Poverty stared him in the
face ; but the genius of his great mission beckoned him on.
In 1812, when he had reached at once the brink of starva¬
tion and of fifty-two, he gave to the w’orld his first publica¬
tion. It bore the name of Letters from an Inhabitant of
Geneva to his Contemporaries. In this work we discover
the germs of his social philosophy, which, to say the least,
were sufficiently shadowy. All men of thought were to
form the spiritual order, all men of action the temporal
order,—an adaptation to modern society of the mediaeval
distinction of the Romish Church. These Letters were
followed up by an Introduction to the Scientific Labours
of the Nineteenth Century. Startled by the novelty, and
excited by the original views of these works, a few ardent
youths began to gather round Saint-Simon, over whom the
master exercised the fascination of an enthusiast. There
were Olinde Rodrigues, Augustin Thierry, and Auguste
Comte the well-known author of the Philosophie Positive.
The Saint-Simonian school being thus inaugurated, the
pupils began their tasks under the eye of their master. The
Le-organization of European Society appeared in 1814, by
Saint-Simon and Thierry; and in 1819 a small pamphlet
ca ed the Parabole, by the same authors. The doctrines
pi omulgated in this brochure were subsequently elaborated
m more formal works, particularly in the Catechisrne des
Industnels. Next appeared the Systeme de Politique Po-
sUive o Auguste Cornte, afterwards developed into the
Lours de I hilosophie Pbsitive of the same author. In that
work Comte neglected too much the sentimental and reli¬
gious elements for the taste of his master. Saint-Simon’s
work of reform succeeded very slowly ; poverty still haunted
him in his obscurity ; the great master became tired of life,
and attempted suddenly to blow out his brains. He had
miscalculated upon his courage, for he only succeeded in
floo11® t™0 ,an ^e* lhls 0Ccurred on the 9th of March
1823. Whether he continued to instruct his servant as
SIMON.
to what he should call to his master each morning does not g .
appear. He was probably content when the menial had Simon
announced the simple “ Levez-vous.” He was evidently i ,r ^
much confused as to his own destiny; and indeed the
gradual approach of that life-long hallucination of which
8aint-Simon had been the dupe, now became more and
more apparent. Paris continued scantily to supply his
school with new pupils ; and Bazard and Enfantin now
sought the person of this industrious teacher. Whether or
not the ideas of Saint-Simon had gained clearness and
solidity by the recent opportunities which he had of gazing
into the world of spirits, he at all events now announced it
as his intention to leave his last bequest to the world in
the form of a new religion. I he Nouveau Christianisme,
in 1825, contained an exposition of his great religious maxim,
“ Love one another.” Everything both in substance and
form connected with Christianity was destined to a pro¬
gressive change; only this adage was to remain eternal and
immutable. First came Catholicism ; next came Protes¬
tantism ; and lastly, men were to enjoy the mild sway of
Saint-Simonianism. This revolution was to be effected by
two principles—an end and a means; first, “ The most
rapid possible amelioration, physical and moral, of the con¬
dition of the class the most numerous and poor;” and the
means of effecting this was, “ To each man a vocation ac¬
cording to his capacity, and to each capacity a recompense
according to its works.” The last act of Saint-Simon’s life
was the organization of Le Producteur. This journal,
afterwards to be conducted by Rodrigues, Bazard, and En¬
fantin, was to be the vehicle on which pure Saint-Simon¬
ianism was to be wheeled to the doors of the citizens of
Paris. The master now, after much experience of ill-health,
was to bestow his last instructions upon his pupils. They
gathered round the couch of the dying man, when he ad¬
dressed them as follows :—“ It has been imagined,” said he,
“ that all religion must disappear. But religion cannot dis¬
appear from the world; it can only change its form. Do
not forget this; and remember that, in order to do great
things, one must be enthusiastic.” Simple words, and yet
possessed of more truth than the speaker was aware of.
He died on the 19th of May 1825, aged sixtv-five years.
The subsequent history of Saint-Simonianism is curious.
On the death of the master, M. Bazard announced himself
as his successor, and began to lecture on his creed. Fresh
pupils flowed in, and in a short time they formed them¬
selves into a little church, which chose as its creed a mys¬
tical theosophy composed mainly of the more recondite
doctrines of their deceased master. They dwelt together
in the Rue Morsigny, and started a weekly journal called
the L’ Oryanisateur. On the establishment of the govern¬
ment of Louis Philippe, the sect made considerable pro¬
gress. They trained an able coadjutor in Pierre Leroux,
editor of Le Globe newspaper, by the conversion of whom
they gained over the influence of this important journal as
a vehicle for disseminating Saint-Simonianism. The result
was an immense increase in their numbers throughout all
parts of France, particularly among the young and well-
educated. A schism soon occurred, however, among their
leaders as to some peculiar points of doctrine, of which the
most important was “ the future of women.” Enfantin
wishing to proclaim the social equality of the sexes, the rest
of the fraternity formally seceded. A government prose¬
cution led to the dissolution of the Society of the Rue
Monsigny, and Le Globe newspaper became defunct. En¬
fantin could not brook the idea of allowing Saint-Simonianism
to die so cheaply; and he accordingly, with some forty ad¬
herents, retired to a country house in the neighbourhood of
Paris, and instituted a sort of monastery, in which the
duties of the devotees were divided between manual and
intellectual labour. This institution was broken up, and
Saint-Simonianism dispersed, by a public prosecution on the
S A I
Saint- 27th of August 1832. Since that time the creed has be-
Simon. come virtually extinct; but the Saint-Simonian notions still
—operate in French thought, and it is really astonishing to
observe how strong a hold the system must have taken
upon the minds of thinking men, when we find in so many
public departments of the French state, the outgrowths of
the industrialism taught by the descendant of the Ver-
mandois.
Saint-Simon, Louis de Rouvroy, Due de, author of the
celebrated Memoirs of the Court of France under L,ouis
XIV. and his Successors, was born at Paris, of a family
claiming kin with the old counts of Vermandois and the
Emperor Charlemagne, in 1675. From his earliest years
he was accustomed to the presence of royalty, having been
presented at the font by Louis XIV. and by Maria Theresa
of Austria. He embraced early the military professsion,
and served under the Marechal de Luxembourg in 1692,
when he signalized himself by his valour at the siege of
Namur and at the battles of Fleurus and of Nerwinden.
The following year he rose to be captain and colonel; but
was arrested in his military progress by the death of his
father in 1693, who left him heir to his titles and his estate.
Louis de Ilouvroy, now Due de Saint-Simon, exchanged
the military attire for the dress of the diplomatist. In this
new sphere he would have risen to distinction by the bril¬
liancy of his talents, had not the native independence of his
character interfered. The king, it is said, overlooked him ;
the royal councils were'filled by meaner men ; and the Due
de Saint-Simon occupied his time in secretly transferring to
paper the characters of the court. This staunch aristocrat
was a firm Jansenist, and looked with no favourable eye on
the rise of Madame de Maintenon. He opposed the schem¬
ing Jesuits; he warned the populace against the financial
projects of Law; he strongly advocated the claims of the
Due d’Orleans to the regency, and used all his efforts to
counteract Cardinal Dubois. Such measures were calcu¬
lated to elevate his name among the populace ; but he was
a French peer, and opposed to every plan of reform.
Though supporting the regent, he was too independent a
man to follow him servilely. In 1721 he performed a
fruitless embassy to the court of Spain in support of the
marriage of the Infanta with Louis XV., who was then a
minor. On the death of Orleans and the ascension of
Louis, this proud old aristocrat retired in disgust from the
court, and occupied his remaining years in writing his Me¬
moirs. He died at Paris on the 2d of March 1755.
These famous Memoirs, now known over the whole world,
consist of a curious compound of history and of biography,
written in a somewLat rough style, but with great honesty
of purpose, and with an exceedingly clear eye for truth.
His vivid perception of character, his stores of illustrative
anecdote, and his boundless detail of quaint and curious
allusion, despite the strong prejudice of the author, consti¬
tute his book the most invaluable record of the life and
manners of the age of Louis XIV. and of the regency.
The family of the author obtained after his decease a lettre
de cachet for the deposition of the original manuscript in the
national archives, not judging it prudent to publish it while
the characters it described were alive. After many in¬
effectual attempts to recover the MS., the Abbe Voisenon
was commissioned by Louis XVI. to examine it. The work
was retained; but the Abbe made large extracts and copies
from it, which were afterwards surreptitiously got hold of,
and printed in 7 vols. in 1788 and 1789. In 1791 Soulavie
issued another edition, but still incomplete, in 13 vols. 8vo.
In 1829-30, by order of Louis‘XVIII., the first com¬
plete edition was given to the world in 21 vols. 8vo. An¬
other edition, in 20 vols. of superb typography, by M. de
Cheruel, with an introductory notice by Sainte-Beuve of the
French Academy, was published in 1856-57. Since then
there have been numerous editions of this highly interest-
S A I 575
ing book. An English translation of select portions of St Andrews
the Memoirs, by Bayle St John, was published in 4 vols. II
in 1857. Sais-
ST ANDREWS. See Andrews, St.
St Antonio, one of the Cape de Verd Islands. (See
Verd, Cape.)
• St Catharines, a town of West Canada, in the county
of Lincoln, on a beautiful table-land above the valley
traversed by the Wellend Canal, 11 miles W. of Niagara,
the county town. The surrounding country is so fertile as
to have acquired the name of the Garden of West Canada,
and the town is much resorted to during the summer.
There are many elegantly fitted-up hotels here. Machinery
and farming implements are extensively manufactured.
Pop. about 6500.
St George, one of the Azores. See Azores.
St Hyacinth, a town of East Canada, in the county of
the same name, on the River Yamaska, 30 miles E. by N. of
Montreal, and 137 S.W. of Montreal. The Roman Ca¬
tholic college, founded in 1812, occupies a fine stone build¬
ing surmounted by a dome, and has beautiful grounds.
The number of professors and directors is 23, that of stu¬
dents 343 ; and there is an excellent library of7000 volumes.
There are also in the town an episcopal palace, court-house,
city-hall, and market. Public education and the relief of
the destitute sick are provided for by schools and hospitals.
Numerous manufactures are carried on, and the place is
one of the most thriving commercial towns of Canada.
Pop. about 5000.
St I ago, one of the Cape de Verd Islands. See Verd,
Cape.
St John’s, New Brunswick. See New Brunswick.
St John’s, Newfoundland. See Newfoundland.
St Michael’s, one of the Azores. See Azores.
St Nicholas, one of the Cape de Verd Islands. See
Verd, Cape.
SAINTES, a town of France, capital of an arrondisse-
ment in the department of Charente-Inferieure, on a hill on
the left bank of the Charente, here crossed by a stone bridge,
43 miles S.E. of Rochelle. From whatever side it is viewed
the town presents a very picturesque appearance. From
the south it is approached through a fine avenue of trees;
but in the interior it consists of irregularly-arranged, ill-
built houses. The cathedral occupies the site of a church
built by Charlemagne, and has an ancient portal and tower.
Another fine old edifice is the church of St Eutrope, which
dates from the eleventh century. It is remarkable for a
large and curious crypt. Two remains of the period of the
Romans are still to be seen here: the amphitheatre, equal
in size, but much inferior in beauty, to that of Nismes ; and
a triumphal arch of limestone, but of no great beauty, on
the bridge. The latter bears inscriptions, recording it to
have been built in honour of Germanicus, his father Drusus,
and his uncle the Emperor Tiberius. Saintes is the seat of
courts of law, a theatre, public library, college, museum,
&c. Woollen fabrics, hosiery, leather, earthenware, &c.,
are manufactured here; and some trade is carried on in
cognac brandy from the adjacent districts, as well as in com
and wool. Pop. (1856) 10,664.
SAINTONGE, an old province of France, of which
Saintes was the capital, bounded on the N. and N.E. by
Poitou, E. by Angoumois; S. by Guienne, and W. by
Aunis. It now forms a small portion of the department of
Charente, and the greater part of that of Charente-In¬
ferieure.
SAIS, an ancient city of Lower Egypt, capital of a dis¬
trict in the delta, on the right bank of the Canopic or Ro¬
setta arm of the Nile, in N. Lat. 31.4. It was built on
artificial mounds, so as to be out of the reach of the inun¬
dations of the Nile, and covered an extensive area, as it
was a place of great importance in ancient times. It was
«
576 SAL
Saladin especially famous as a sacred city, devoted to the worship
!l of Neith or Athene, and of Isis. The temple of the former
Salamanca, appears to iiave stood in a large inclosure surrounded
's—V—' by massive walls of brick. It had a portico erected by
Amasis, which was one of the most splendid in Egypt.
To the same monarch this temple owed several colossal
statues and sphynxes, as well as a large shrine made out of
a single block of granite. Sais also contained the tombs of
all the Saite kings of Egypt; that is, the single monarch of
the 24th, the six of the 26th, and the single one of the
28th dynasty. The reigns of these monarchs form one of
the most flourishing periods of Egyptian history, during
which Sais reached the acme of its prosperity. The place
was equally celebrated as a seat of learning and commerce,
and had many institutions that resembled those of Athens.
The remains of Sais consist of mounds of brick mingled
with fragments of marble and granite. Except that of the
temple of Neith, no site of any of the edifices in the town
has been discovered. There are some traces of the lake
where the annual mysteries of Isis were celebrated. (See
Egypt.)
SALADIN, or more properly Salah-ed-Deen, a cele¬
brated sultan of Egypt, who flourished between a.d. 1137
(a.h. 532) and a.d. 1192 (a.h. 589). (For further notice
of him, see Arabia.)
SALAHIEH, or Salhieh, a town of Lower Egypt, near
the Pelusiac arm of the Nile, 37 miles N.E. of Belbeis. It
is surrounded by palm trees, and contains a large mosque.
Near this are the ruins of Tahpanhes, mentioned in Scrip¬
ture as the seat of a palace of the Egyptian monarchs.
Pop. 6000.
SALAMANCA, a province of Spain, bounded on the
N. by those of Zamora and Valladolid, E. by that of
Avila, S. by that of Caceres, and W. by Portugal; area,
8158 square miles. It is for the most part mountainous;
but contains many fine plains and valleys, a large propor¬
tion of which, as well as the slopes of the mountains, is co¬
vered with forests of oaks and chestnuts. The River Tormes
enters the province in the south-east, flows first north and
then west into the Douro, which forms a portion of the
N.W. boundary of the province. The west part of the
country is watered by the Agueda, another affluent of the
Douro, and the south by the Alagon, which rises here, and
flows southwards to join the Tagus. The River Alagon
has in some places auriferous sands. The other important
minerals obtained here are iron, copper, lead, rock-crystal,
and saltpetre. Corn of various kinds, wine, oil, honey,
almonds, and other fruits, are among the productions of the
country. From the neighbourhood of Ciudad Rodrigo a
great quantity of madder is exported to Portugal. Besides
Salamanca the capital, the chief towns in the province are
Alba, Tormes, Barca, Salvatierra, and Ciudad Rodrigo.
Many important historical events have taken place here,
especially during the Peninsular war. Pop. (1857) 280,722.
Salamanca, the capital of the above province, on the
Tormes, 45 miles N.E. of Ciudad Rodrigo, and 120 N.W.
of Madrid. It is built on three hills, in the centre of a curve
formed by the river, which flows beneath the walls and domes
of the picturesque old town. Antique, venerable, and
stately, but desolate and dreary, are its narrow, steep streets
and palatial mansions. The glory of the place as a seat of
learning and religion is a thing of the past; younger uni¬
versities have robbed it of its pre-eminence, and the ravages
of war have laid in ruins the greater part of its academic
buildings. Still there are many noble architectural remains
to recall the time when its stately piles obtained for Sala¬
manca the title of the Little Rome {Roma la Chica). The
Plaza Mayer is the largest square in Spain, and can hold
on the occasion of a bull-fight from 16,000 to 20,000 spec¬
tators. It is surrounded by colonnades and public build¬
ings. The university was founded about 1200 by Alfonso
SAL
IX. of Leon, and enlarged by union with that of Palencia Salamis.
in 1239. It soon rose to eminence; and its professors
attained a European reputation before the revival of learn¬
ing, from their acquaintance with the Arabian writers, and
through them with the Greek. In the fourteenth century
it numbered 14,000 students; but soon afterwards it became
stationary, while the rest of Europe was rapidly advancing
in science and literature; and it was subsequently cele¬
brated only for medicine and theology. At the time of its
greatest prosperity there were four colegios mayores;
namely, San Bartolome (1410), Cuenca (1506), Santiago
(1521), and Del Rey, or King’s College (1625); and
twenty-one colegios menores. The former taught classics,
law, medicine, and theology; the latter grammar and rhe¬
toric. The greater colleges were aristocratic foundations,
possessing extensive privileges and patronage ; but these
were very much reduced in 1770. Among the university
buildings are the schools [escuelas) built in 1415, where de¬
grees were conferred, synods held, and disputations con¬
ducted. It has a fine library and chapel, lecture-rooms,
and spacious halls, now deserted. The university library
has a magnificent front, most delicately carved in the fine
cream-coloured stone so much used at Salamanca. It is
one of the finest works of the age of Ferdinand and Isa¬
bella. Of the four greater colleges which alone now re¬
main, San Bartolome is much admired; but it is heavy and
disfigured by modern additions; Cuenca was formerly the
gem of the place, and the little of it that has survived the
French invasion shows what it must have been; Santiago has
an exceedingly graceful and ornamental quadrangle ; and
King’s College is a simple Doric edifice. The other colle¬
giate edifices were ruthlessly destroyed by the French to
construct fortifications, which the British took in a few
hours. The whole number of students at the university in
1845 was 302. Salamanca has two cathedrals, an old and
a new: the former a massive strong edifice, much like a
fortress, and commanding from its tower a fine view; the
latter a beautiful specimen of Gothic of the age of Leo X.,
although some parts of it were not completed till as late as
1734. It has a nave and two aisles, and its principal di¬
mensions are as follows :—Length, 378 feet; breadth, 181 ;
height of the nave, 130 feet; of the aisles, 80. Besides these,
Salamanca contains twenty-five other churches and thirty-
three former convents, the greater part of which have been
much injured by the French. There are few manufactures
and no commerce in the town. On the adjacent plains was
fought the battle of Salamanca, July 22, 1812, when Wel¬
lington defeated the French under Marmont. Pop. (1849)
15,000.
SALAMIS, or Koluri, an island of Greece, in the
Saronic Gulf, oft’ the coast of the ancient Attica and Me-
garis. Its length is about 10 miles, and its greatest breadth
nearly the same; but owing to the irregularity of its out¬
line the entire area is not more than 50 square miles. A
deep bay indents its western coast, and thus gives the
island something like a semicircular form. Between the
island and the mainland lies the beautiful Bay of Eleusis,
communicating with the sea at either end by a narrow
strait. These channels are deep and not difficult of en¬
trance, and the bay within is very safe ; but in modern
times the Bay of Salamis, on the west coast, has been pre¬
ferred for a harbour. The island is rugged and barren,
but some portions of it produce vines and olives. At one
period it had large pine forests; whence its ancient name of
Pityussa. Salamis formed up to 620 B.c. an independent
state ; but about that period a contest arose for its posses¬
sion between Athens and Megara, which was at length
settled in favour of the former by the arbitration of Sparta.
The island continued under the Athenian dominion till
318 B.c., when it received a Macedonian garrison; and in
232 Athens regained possession of it by purchase. The
SAL
Salayer chief towns were Old and New Salamis, the former on the
li south and the latter on the north-east coast. Salamis is
Salem. chiefly remembered for the great naval battle fought here
in 480 B.c., which secured the independence of Greece. It
took place in the narrow channel to the east of the island;
the Greek fleet under Themistocles was posted in front of
New Salamis, the Persian armada was ranged along the
opposite coast, with the immense army drawn up on the
shore behind them, and King Xerxes enthroned on a lofty
promontory to view the anticipated victory. But the event
disappointed his expectations ; the vast numerical superiority
of the Persians was of no avail, for want of sea-room, against
the skill of their foes; the magnificent fleet was totally de¬
stroyed, and barely succeeded in conveying the monarch
home in safety. A trophy was erected on the most east¬
erly point of the island to commemorate the victory.
SALAYER, a group of islands in the Indian Ocean, off
the S.E. promontory of the island of Celebes, between S.
Lat. 5. 40. and 6. 20., E. Long. 120. and 121. The prin¬
cipal island Salayer is about 40 miles long by 8 broad on
an average. It is traversed from N. to S. by a ridge of
hills, densely wooded, and haunted by deer. The low land
at their foot is cultivated, and produces millet, the chief
food of the inhabitants, and cotton, which is made into
coarse cloth. The island is dependent on the Dutch, and
belongs to their province of Macassar. Pop. 20,000. The
other islands are small and mostly uninhabited.
SALE, George, a learned orientalist and translator of
the Koran, was born in the county of Kent 1680. Little is
known regarding his private life. He was educated at
King’s School, Canterbury. He followed the profession of a
lawyer, and was one of the founders of a society for the
encouragement of learning begun in 1736. He was a
valuable contributor to the Universal History of S win ton and
others, and one of the authors of the General Dictionary, to
which he contributed much of the translation from Bayle.
The work by which Sale is now alone remembered is his
English version of the Koran, translated from the original
Arabic, with notes and quotations from approved commen¬
tators, and a learned preliminary discourse, London, 1734,
4to. He died in London on the 14th November 1736.
Sale’s oriental manuscripts were purchased after his death
for the Radcliffe Library, Oxford, where they now lie.
SALEM, a district of British India, in the presidency of
Madras, bounded on the N. by the Rajah of Mysore’s do¬
minions and the northern division of Arcot, E. by the
southern division of Arcot, S.E. and S. by Trichinopoly,
S.W. and W. by Coimbatore and Mysore; and lying be¬
tween N. Lat. il. 2. and 12. 54., E. Long. 77. 32. and
79; area, 7499 square miles. The western part of the
district is mountainous, being occupied by several ranges,
some of which rise to a height between 5000 and 6000 feet
above the sea. The principal river is the Cauvery, which
flows along the western and south-western frontiers of Salem
for 140 miles. Another river is the Tyromany, which, like
the former, flows into the Bay of Bengal. There are no
lakes, but numerous tanks and ponds in the district. The
climate is various in different parts of the country, but in
general it is salubrious. Iron is the most important mineral
production; and cotton, coffee, indigo, sugar, and tobacco
are cultivated. Pop. 1,195,377.
Salem, the capital of the above district, in a valley formed
by the Sheevaroy Hills on the N., and a smaller ridge to
the S., on the Tyromany, 170 miles S.W. of Madras. The
valley is studded with tanks, as well as with a great num¬
ber of wells; and being thus plentifully irrigated, the soil
is highly cultivated. Salem itself is a fine specimen of a
native Indian town, having broad streets planted with rows
of cocoa-nut trees, and some of them lined with handsome
houses two storeys in height. Here is an old fort, a jail,
and many handsome inns. Salem is the principal seat of
VOL. XIX.
SAL 577
the Indian steel manufactory, which is carried on by a pro- Salem
cess of great ingenuity, proceeding upon a very recondite ||
theory. It appears to have been practised from a remote Salerno,
antiquity; and probably the hieroglyphic carvings on the
ancient Egyptian monuments were executed with Indian
steel, as no other nation at that period was acquainted with
the article. Pop. of the town (1843), 19,021.
Salem, a city and seaport of the United States of North
America, Massachusetts, on a projecting tongue of land,
14 miles N. by E. of Boston. The peninsula on which it
stands is about 2 miles in length and three-quarters of a mile
across; and its position is somewhat low. The streets are
irregular, but many of the buildings very handsome. Chest¬
nut Street, which is the finest, has a beautiful row of shady
elms; and Washington Square, a large public park, is also
planted with trees. The principal buildings of the place,
which are in general very handsome, are the city-hall,
court-house, custom-house, market-house, mechanic hall,
athenaeum, alms-house, and jail. There are many excel¬
lent public schools in the town; and in 1852 the total
number was 27. The manufactures of the place are very
important, and include a large cotton factory, and manu¬
factories of chemical substances, machinery, black and white
lead, sperm oil, candles, cordage, leather, and other articles.
There are many banks, insurance offices, and newspaper
offices in the town. The trade and navigation of the place
are still important, though not so extensive as they were at a
former period of its history. In December 1852 the ship¬
ping of the port had an aggregate tonnage of 50,455. The
number of vessels that entered from foreign ports in the
year ending June 30, 1852, was 448, tonnage 40,721 ; of
those that cleared for foreign ports the number was 437,
tonnage 40,084. Much of the trade of Salem has been
absorbed by the ports of Boston and New York. Next to
Plymouth, Salem is the oldest town in New England. It
was founded in 1626, and soon embarked in the fisheries
and coasting trade. Before the American revolution it
had acquired a high place among the commercial towns of
America; and it opened up the trade with many different
countries in all quarters of the globe. On the breaking
out of the war with the mother country, Salem eagerly
embraced the cause of liberty; and in the course of seven
years (1776-83) fitted out no fewer than 158 privateers,
many of which became the terror of the seas. After the
close of the war most of these vessels were turned into
Indiamen. Pop. (1850) 20,263 ; (1853) about 22,500.
SALEMI, a town of Sicily, occupying a beautiful situa¬
tion on a hill, in the province and 20 miles S.E. of Tra¬
pani. It is fortified, and has a large number of churches
and convents; but the inhabitants are chiefly distinguished
for laziness and dirt. There is no manufacture or com¬
merce here. Salemi is believed to occupy the site of the
ancient Halyciae. Pop. 8000.
SALEP, a sort of gum and starch extracted from the
bulbs of the orchis. It is imported from the Levant in con¬
siderable quantities, particularly from Smyrna and Constanti¬
nople, and large imports of it find their way into the Indian
bazaars from Affghanistan and Persia. This substance is
said to be particularly nourishing, and is more palatable
than sago or arrow-root. It is prepared by powdering the
salep in a brass mortar, and making a solution with hot
water.
SALERNO, a town of Naples, the seat of an archbishop,
and capital of the province of Principato Citra, in a beauti¬
ful country at the foot of a branch of the Apennines, at the
head of the Gulf of Salerno, 30 miles S.E. of Naples. The
older parts of the town are ill and irregularly built, with
narrow, dirty streets; but the Marina or quay, which was
built by the French, forms a fine promenade, extending
for about a mile along the shore. The principal edifice is
the cathedral, which has been so much repaired and
4 D
578 SAL
Sales, altered in modern times that it exhibits a most singular
^ combination of different styles of architecture, of the an¬
cient and of the modern. It was founded in 1084 by Ro¬
bert Guiscard, who did not hesitate to plunder the ruins of
Psestum in order to enrich it, nor to employ the heathen
sculptures to embellish this Christian fane. Hence the sin¬
gular appearance of the tombs of some of the archbishops,
adorned with the “ Triumphs” of Bacchus and Ariadne,
and the “ Rape of Proserpine.” In the crypt lies, ac¬
cording to the tradition of the church, the body of St
Matthew. Other celebrated and probably more authentic
tombs are also to be seen here,—of Hildebrand, Pope Gre¬
gory VII. (who died here in exile), of the second wife, the
son, and the grandson of Robert Guiscard. Of the many
other churches in Salerno none are very remarkable, nor
are there any other buildings of much interest. The lyceum
is said to be one of the best schools in the kingdom, and has
inherited from the former university the privilege of con¬
ferring degrees. The port was once very good ; and is well
sheltered, but now almost useless from the accumulation of
sand. A fair for cattle and other goods is held here an¬
nually in September; and is resorted to by great numbers
of the peasantry, exhibiting a most picturesque variety of
costumes. The ancient Salernum occupied the same site,
or rather stood on the hill behind the modern town, where
the ruins of the mediaeval citadel are still to be seen, and
where some antiquities have been dug up. A fort seems
to have stood here before it was colonized by the Romans,
194 b.c. ; but its previous history is unknown. Indeed,
the only notable circumstance in its ancient annals is its
capture during the Social War by the Samnite general
Papius. It was, however, a place of consequence under
the empire, and appears to have been frequented as a water¬
ing-place. But it was not till after the fall of the Western
Empire that Salerno rose to its height. It passed first into
the hands of the Goths, then into those of the Lombards,
from whom it was taken by the Saracens in 905 ; but fif¬
teen years after, it was recovered by the Greek emperor,
and subsequently reverted to the Lombards. In 1076
Salerno was taken, after a siege of eight months, by Robert
Guiscard; and thenceforward became the capital of the
Norman possessions south of the Apennines. It is described
at this period as remarkable for its amenity and its splendid
palaces, its fruits and its wine, the beauty of its women, and
the honesty of its men. The celebrated school of medicine,
the first that arose in the darkness of Europe, was then in
the zenith of its prosperity, under the patronage and pro¬
tection of the Norman dukes. The university existed till
1817, when it was replaced by the present lyceum. At
Salerno, in 1127, the kingdom of Naples was founded by
the election of Roger II. to the crown. In 1193 the town
was destroyed by the Emperor Henry VI.; but from this
blow it soon after recovered. Its course, however, has been
in modern times one of decline to its present condition.
Pop. (1848) 16,000.
SALES, Saint Francois de, Bishop of Geneva, and
son of F ranpois, Count of Sales, was born at the castle of
Sales, near Anneci in Savoy, on the 21st August 1567.
He had his early education at La Roche and Anneci, and
subsequently at the Jesuits’ college at Paris. Leaving
the capital in 1584, he went to Padua, to study civil law
under the eminent legal professor Guy Panciroli. Here
his progi ess was attended with the most marked success ;
and after spending some time in travel in Italy, he returned
to the old castle of Sales with a high reputation for learn¬
ing and piety. His father was induced by his kinsman,
Louis de Sales, canon of Geneva, to abandon a project
which he had formed of appointing him counsellor of
Chambery, and through that churchman’s mediation he
was permitted to become a preacher. The success of De
Sales in this sphere was quite astonishing. His strikingly
SAL
handsome figure, his powerful and pleasing voice, his Salford
modest and mild demeanour, combined with an earnestness ||
which thrilled and a vivacity which engaged his audience, Salieri,
proved how well he was adapted for the business of religious
conversion, and how deep had been his self-knowledge in
courting such a sphere of labour. He accordingly set
out with his clerical kinsman to convert the city of Geneva
from the faith of Calvinism to that of the Church of Rome.
By dint of eloquence and of gold, he is said to have suc¬
ceeded in three years in the conversion of no less than 800
persons. On the return of Franpois to Anneci in 1596, he
was made coadjutor to the Bishop of Geneva, with the
title of Bishop of Nicopolis in partibus infidelium. The
king, anxious to retain him in France, offered him the first
bishopric that might become vacant, but he politely re¬
fused. The death of the Bishop of Geneva raised him to
that important office on the 8th December 1602; and he
was no sooner consecrated than he made himself felt to the
remotest corner of his see, by the vigour of his reforms
and by the mild charity of his mandates. In 1605 he had
the honour of refusing a cardinal’s hat. His Introduction
to a Religious Life appeared in 1607. It will be seen
from this work that the man who is eloquent and per¬
suasive in speech is very likely to be neither when he as¬
sumes the pen. The work is characterised throughout,
however, by the most unaffected piety. In 1610 De Sales
founded the Order of the Visitation, and placed over it Ma¬
dame de Chantal, a particularly fervid lady, who was sister
to the Archbishop of Bourges. The work in which the
good Bishop of Geneva had been so long engaged was now
destined to pass into other hands. After preaching on the
Christmas Eve of 1622, he was seized with an attack of
paralysis, which closed his days on the 28th of December
1622.
We are indebted to Camus, Bishop of Bellay, for the
very interesting work The Spirit of Francois de Sales.
The best edition of his works is that of Paris, 1641,
2 vols. folio. He was canonized on the 29th of January
1665 by pope Alexander VII.
SALFORD. See Manchester.
SALIC or Salique Law {Lex Salica), an ancient and
fundamental law of the kingdom of France, usually sup¬
posed to have been made by Pharamond, or at least by
Clovis, in virtue of which males only are to inherit. Some,
as Postellus, would have it to have been called Salic, as if
Gallic, because peculiar to the Gauls. Montanus insists
that it was so named because Pharamond was at first called
Salicus. Others will have it to be so named as having
been made for the Salic lands. These were noble fiefs
which the first kings used to bestow on the Saliens ; that
is, the great lords of their salle or court, without any other
tenure than military service; and for this reason such fiefs
were not to descend to women, as being by nature unfit
for such a tenure. Some, with more probability, derive
the origin of this word from the Saliens, a tribe of
Franks that settled in Gaul in the reign of Julian, who
is said to have given them lands upon condition of their
personal service in war. He passed the conditions into
a law, which the new conquerors acquiesced in, and called
it salic, from the name of their former countrymen. (See
France.)
SALIERI, Antonio, a celebrated composer, was born
at Legnano, in the state of Venice, on 19th August 1750.
In his boyhood he was taught the violin by his elder
brother, a good pupil of Tartini, and the harpsichord by
Simoni, organist of the cathedral of Legnano. When
fifteen years old he lost his father, and repaired to Venice,
where one of the Mocenigo family patronised him. He
received lessons in composition from Pescetti of St Mark’s
cathedral, and lessons in singing from Pacini, one of the
chapel tenors. Gassmann, master of the imperial chapel at
SAL
Salii Vienna, came at that time to Venice, and accepted Salieri
as a pupil at the request of Giovanni Mocenigo. On loth
Sal ins. June 1766 Salieri followed Gassmann to Vienna. Gass-
mann treated him with great kindness and generosity, be¬
nefits which he was afterwards able to repay to Gassmann’s
two infant daughters when they were left destitute by their
father’s death. Under Gassmann Salieri made rapid pro¬
gress in composition. In 1770 he produced his first opera
Le donne letter ate, which was well received. Several
others followed with great success, especially the serious
opera Armida, vrhich delighted by the beauty of its melo¬
dies. Gassmann dying in 1774, Salieri, in 1775, succeeded
him as imperial chapel-master. At this time Salieri being
struck by Gluck’s compositions, began to study the works
of that great master, and also received instructions from
him. In 1778-1780 he composed operas for Milan, Ve¬
nice, and Rome. In 1781 Gluck having become aged and
infirm, and feeling unable to set to music the French
libretto of Les Dandides, for which he had been engaged
at Paris, entrusted the composition of the music to Salieri.
In 1784 Salieri carried Les Danaides with him to Paris,
where it was performed with the greatest applause as a
composition of Gluck until the thirteenth representation,
when Gluck publicly declared Salieri to be the sole com¬
poser of the music. Returning to Vienna, he composed
several operas between 1784 and 1787, and in the latter
year his opera of Tarare was performed at Paris with great
success. He was called upon the stage and crowned; the
first time that such an honour was bestowed on an operatic
composer. After his return to Vienna in that year he
composed fourteen operas, the last of which was performed
in 1804. Among his operas, Les Dandides and Tarare
are reckoned the finest. In some points he was pre-emi¬
nently skilful as a dramatic composer, so that such men as
Beethoven and Meyerbeer considered it an honour to re¬
ceive his advice. In 1824, aged seventy-three, he obtained
leave to retire from his avocations, and received a grant
of his entire salary for life. He died on the 12th May
1825. A requiem which he had composed for his own
death was performed on the occasion of his funeral. He
was married and left several daughters. He bore the titles
of Foreign Member of the French Institute, Member of
the Royal Academy of Fine Arts, Foreign Correspondent
of the Paris Conservatory, and Member of the Royal Aca¬
demy of Music at Stockholm. Interesting details regarding
Salieri’s private and artistic life are contained in Herr Edler
von Mosel’s work Ueber das Leben und die Werke des Anton
Salieri. ?Tien, 1827. Salieri’s compositions for the church
were five masses, one requiem, three Te Deum, and several
other pieces. He composed three oratorios and eight can¬
tatas ; forty-six operas, and a great number of detached
pieces of vocal music with accompaniments ; two collec¬
tions of fifty canons for voices alone, and one hundred and
fifty compositions of the same kind in MS; a book of
instruction in singing, one concerto for the organ, two do.
for piano, 1 do. lor flute and oboe; two symphonies,
several serenades and some ballet-music; twenty-four va¬
riations for orchestra upon the subject of the The Spanish
Folly. F' G‘)
SALII, priests of Mars, of which there were twelve,
corresponding to the twelve ancilia or shields of which
they had the care, were instituted by Numa, and wore
parti-coloured garments and high bonnets, with a steel
cuirass on the breast. They were called salii, from sal-
tare, to dance; because, after assisting at sacrifices, they
danced along the streets, with buckleis in their left hand
and a rod in their right, with which they struck on
one another’s bucklers, and sang hymns in honour of the
gods.
SALINS, a town of France, in the department of Jura,
picturesquely placed at the head of a beautiful valley, in a
SAL
579
gorge between two mountains, 26 miles N.E. of Lons-le- Salisbury.
Saulmer. It is encircled by walls, and defended by two
forts on adjacent heights. Most of the buildings are new
and substantial, as the town was almost wholly destroyed
by fire in 1825. There are many churches, a large college
theatre, barracks, and jail. But the largest establishment
in the town are the salt works {Saline Royales), which
give the place its name. These are about .300 yards long
by 100 broad, and are inclosed with an embattled wall.
The salt is obtained from springs, which are supposed to
have been used as early as the time of the Romans.
Brandy, leather, and sulphate of soda are also made here ;
and there is some trade in wine, brandy, cheese, honey,
salt, timber, gypsum, &c. Pop. 7481.
SALISBURY, or New Sarum, a municipal and parlia¬
mentary borough of England, capital of Wiltshire, in a
low, rich country, at the confluence of the Avon, Wily, and
Bourne rivers, 82 miles W.S.W. of London. It is very
regularly built, six principal streets stretching from N. to S.,
and as many others crossing them at right angles. Through
some of the streets streams of water from the Avon are
conducted in artificial channels. The houses, which are
large, and some of them very handsome, are generally built
of brick; but some, of a more ancient date, are of wood.
The chief building is the cathedral, which rises majestically
to the south of the town, from the close and beautiful mea¬
dow, about half a square mile in extent, planted with trees,
and entered by three antique gates. The building itself is
one of the finest and'most regular in England ; it is in the
form of a double cross, from the centre of which rises a
graceful spire, the loftiest in the country, being 404 feet,
equal to the height of the cross of St Paul’s, London.
Salisbury cathedral is in the early English style, and was
built, with the exception of the spire and west front, which
are later, between 1220 and 1258. It is very complete in
all its parts, having a nave and choir, with two aisles ; a lady
chapel, east of the choir; a larger and a smaller transept,
with one aisle each ; besides an octagonal chapter-house,
the roof supported by a single elegant pillar, and cloisters
181 feet square. Within the close stands also an extensive
episcopal palace, and a deanery with fine gardens. The
principal dimensions of the cathedral are as follows:—Ex¬
treme length, 474 feet; length of great transept, 230 feet;
of nave, 229 feet; height of the interior, 81 feet; of the
exterior, 115 feet. The west front is a very rich and fine
specimen of the pointed style, flanked by massive square
towers surmounted by pinnacles. According to an old
Latin epigram, the cathedral has as many wdndows as days
in the year, as many pillars as hours, and as many gates as
moons. Many of the monuments are interesting, and some
more ancient than the building itself, having been trans¬
ferred from the former cathedral at Old Sarum. Salisbury
has, besides the cathedral, two parish churches and a chapel
of ease ; also places of worship for Independents, Baptists,
Roman Catholics, W’esleyan and Primitive Methodists.
There is a grammar school attached to the cathedral for
the instruction of the choristers, and another founded by
Queen Elizabeth in the town. There are, besides, a
bishop’s school and various others of different kinds. In
the middle of the town is a large open market-place, at one
corner of which stands the council-house, a building of
brick with a handsome stone portico in the Grecian style.
Near this is the poultry market, containing a fine hexagonal
cross of the time of Edward III. Salisbury contains also
a county jail and bridewell, library and reading-room,
museum, assembly and concert rooms, a small theatre, and
several charitable institutions. Races are held annually in
August, on the downs near the town. No important
manufacture is carried on here. Much woollen cloth was
once made, but that branch of industry has become extinct;
the manufacture of cutlery is now the only one that is pur-
580 SAL
Sallee sued. There is some traffic in the produce of the sur-
I! . rounding country, which is disposed of at weekly markets
Sallustius antj annuai fajrSi The borough is governed by a mayor, six
aldermen, and eighteen councillors, and returns two mem-
^ v bers to Parliament. Salisbury owes its origin to a quarrel
which took place in the thirteenth century between the
bishop and canons of Old Sarum and the captain of the
castle, in consequence of which these ecclesiastical digni¬
taries left their former seat, about a mile and a half north
of Salisbury, and founded a new cathedral here. The
most of the townsmen followed them; and hence the name
of New Sarum applied to the town. A charter was
granted by Henry III., and the town was walled in 1315.
Salisbury has been honoured by several visits of royalty,
and more than one Parliament has been held here. Pop.
of the borough (1851), 11,657.
SALLEE, or Sla, a seaport of Morocco, on the
Atlantic coast, at the mouth of the Bu Regreb, on its
northern bank, opposite to Rabatt on the southern ; N.
Lat. 34. 3., W. Long. 6. 50. It is strongly fortified, but
not very well built; there are several batteries which com¬
mand the entrance to the river. It has a harbour, road¬
stead, magazines, and marine arsenal; and is the principal
station of the fleet of Morocco. As a commercial town, it
is still thriving, though a portion of the trade has been
transferred to Mogadore. Sallee was once notorious as a
haunt of pirates, but this is no longer the case. Carpets
are made here. In the vicinity are many fine gardens.
Pop. 25,000.
SALLUSTIUS CRISPUS, Caius, a celebrated Latin
historian, was born of a plebeian family of Amiternum, a
city of the Sabines, b.c. 86, the same year that Marius died.
We can have no doubt that the cultivation of his mental
powers must have been carefully attended to, though this
does not seem to have prevented him from falling into all
the extravagances and dissipation of a profligate age. His
intrigue with Fausta, daughter of Sulla, and wife of Milo,
became known to her husband, and was punished in a way
which made the two parties irreconcilable enemies. Sal¬
lust became quaestor at the age of twenty-seven, and tribune
of the people in the year b.c. 52. His profligacy, however,
became so notorious that the censors Appius Claudius and
L. Piso, b.c. 50, found it necessary to remove him from the
Senate, though his removal has been ascribed by others to
political reasons, as he was a warm supporter of Caesar. It
is supposed that he at this time wrote his account of the
conspiracy of Catiline. His absence from public affairs
continued only for a short time, as we find him praetor
B.c. 47, when he accompanied Caesar to Africa; and after
the battle of Thepsa he was appointed to the province of
Numidia, where he enriched himself by the most nefarious
means. He returned to Rome with immense wealth; and
after the murder of Caesar abstained from taking any part
in public affairs. He again devoted himself to a life of
pleasure, and constructed a magnificent palace on the
Quirinal, in the midst of gardens which were afterwards
known as the Horti Sallustiani. This palace was subse¬
quently occupied by Vespasian, Nerva, and many other
emperors, and was destroyed by fire when Rome was plun¬
dered by Alaric. According to Eusebius, Sallust was mar-
ned to Terentia, wife of Cicero; but this story is impro¬
bable. He died b.c. 35, in the fifty-first year of his age,
being not less distinguished for his talents than for his pro-
igacy. Of his historical works the following remain :—
ISeUum Catilinarium, a history of the conspiracy of Cati¬
line, B.c. 63, with a very beautiful introduction, in which
he laments, with much apparent feeling, the corruption of
the age, and the profligacy of his contemporaries; Bellum
Jugurthinum, a history of the wars carried on against Ju-
gurtha, King of Numidia, which he was probably induced
to write from his residence in that country; Historiarum
SAL
Libri Quinque, a work on the history of Rome, from the Salmasius.
consulship of M. dSmilius Lepidus and Q. Lutatius Catulus,
b.c. 78, to that of M. iEmilius Lepidus and L. Volcatius
Fullus, b.c. 66, with an introduction on the manners and
government of Rome, and a short summary of the wars of
Marius and Sulla. Of this work only a few fragments have
been preserved. Some other works, however, have come
down to us which are ascribed to Sallust, though without
sufficient reason; Duce Orationes deltespubiica Ordinanda,
addressed to Julius Caesar when he was proceeding against
Petreius and Afranius in Spain; and Declamoiio in Cice-
ronem, which is alluded to by Quintilian. The character
of Sallust as a historian stood high among the ancients, who
regarded him as the rival of Thucydides,, and in many
points he was certainly the imitator of that writer. Like
Thucydides, he endeavours to give the causes of the various
events which he is narrating; and if he more frequently
ascribes them to unworthy motives, we may readily discover
the reason of this in the corruption of the age in which he
lived. But they both show themselves profound thinkers,
and intimately acquainted with the springs of human action.
The first edition of the works of Sallust was published in
Rome in 1470, and in Venice the same year; but since
that time a variety of impressions have appeared. A very
excellent edition is that of C. H. Frotscher, giving the
notes and emendations of Cortius, 3 vols., Lips. 1830.
The translations are numerous. It has been done into
German by Gerlach (1827); into Spanish, by the son of the
king (1772); into Italian, by Alfieri; and into French, by De
Brosses. The oldest English version is by Barclay (1511),
and since his time no less than fourteen writers have exe¬
cuted translations of Sallust. The best are those of Gordon
(1774), Rose (1751), Murphy (1807), Peacock (1845), and
Watson (1852). Gerlach (1823), Kritz(1834), and Dietsch
(1846), have published the best texts of Sallust.
SALMASIUS, Claudius, the Latinized form of Claude
de Saumaise, a very learned man of the sixteenth century,
was born of a noble family at Semur in Auxois, on the
15th of April 1588. He received his early education in
Latin and Greek from his father, who had himself tran¬
slated the work of Dionysius of Alexandria into French
verse, Paris, 1597. At the age of ten he is reported by
his ancient eulogist, Antoine Clement, to have been able
to read Pindar with fluency and correctness. At the age
of sixteen he sought Paris, to complete his studies, where
he became acquainted with the celebrated Casaubon,
through whose influence, it is said, he was led to embrace
Protestantism. Young Saumaise now sought Heidelberg,
and was favoured with an introduction from his friend
Casaubon to the great jurist Denis Godefroy. He prose¬
cuted his studies with uncommon diligence during his stay
in Germany, and was exposed to a severe illness from over¬
exertion. For a considerable time he had been accus¬
tomed to devote every third night entirely to study. He
published in 1608 his first work, consisting of two books of
Nilus, Bishop of Thessalonica, and that of a monk Barlaam,
both on the supremacy of the Pope, enriched with correc¬
tions and notes. Next year he dedicated to the eminent
Latin scholar Gruter an edition of Florus. Shortly after
his return to France he published, in opposition to Sir-
mondus, De Suburbicariis Regionibus et Ecclesiis; in
1620 his Historice Augusta; Scriptores Sex appeared; and
two years afterward he published his edition of Tertullian’s
work De Pallio. In 1623 Salmasius married, and was
engaged for many years in the neighbourhood of Paris on
his great work, which first appeared in 1629, in 2 vols.,
under the title of Pliniance Exercitationes in Caii Julii
Solini Polyhistor. This was a work of astonishing erudi¬
tion, but written in a rambling, confused style. It pos¬
sessed all the blemishes and all the excellences of his pre¬
vious writings. It exhibited great carelessness as to the
SAL
SAL
581
Salmon correct statement of facts, and displayed much arrogance
Fishery and pretension. The publication of this work raised his
I!. reputation to its highest pitch ; and he received the solici-
Salonica. fatjons 0p vari0us European princes to settle in their domi-
nions. He finally retired to Leyden in 1632 to an hono¬
rary professorship. Salmasius had numerous tempting offers
from Cardinals Richelieu and Mazarin to return to France;
but he continued to reside in Leyden till 1650, when he
visited Queen Christina of Sweden, who is reported to have
written “she could not be happy without him.” The
climate of this northern kingdom not agreeing with him,
Salmasius returned to Holland, to comply with the request
of Charles II. of England to write a defence of his father
and of monarchy. Salmasius accordingly published his
Defensio Regio Carolo I. in 1649, but had not calculated
on so powerful a hand as John Milton’s being raised against
him. The Defensio pro Populo Anglicano entirely eclipsed
Salmasius in passionate logic, vehement rhetoric, and pro¬
found scholarship; and the unfortunate Frenchman, pam¬
pered by kings and fondled by princes, is said to have taken
this withering exposure so much to heart that it cost him
his life. He died in September 1653, while engaged on a
reply to Milton.
In addition to the works already mentioned, Salmasius
wrote and edited the following works:—Notee in Pervigi¬
lium Veneris, Ley. 1638; De Usuris, Ley. 1639; De
Modo TJsurarum. Ley. 1639; Dissertatio de Fcenore
Trapezetico, Ley. 1640; Commentarius in Simplicii En¬
chiridion Epicteti, Ley. 1640; Interpretatio Hippocratei
Aphorismi de Calculo, Ley. 1640; De Hellenistica Com¬
mentarius Controversiam de Lingua Hellenistica Decidens,
Ley. 1645 ; Ohservationes in Jus Atticum et Romanum,
Ley. 1645. Antoine Clement prefixed a Life of Salmasius
y to his Letters, which were published at Leyden in 1656.
SALMON FISHERY. See Fishery.
SALO, a town of Austrian Italy, Lombardy, in a beau¬
tiful region at the head ot a bay of the same name on the
west shore of the Lake of Garda, in the province and 15
miles E.N.E. of Brescia. It is well built, partly on piles,
and contains several churches, a nunnery, school, theatre,
and hospital. It is the seat of a court of justice, and has
manufactories of thread and of silk, which are considered
the best made in Italy. Groves of olives, oranges, citrons,
and mulberries encircle the town, and the heights of Mount
San Bartolomeo overhang it. Pop. (1846) 4531.
SALON, a town of France, in the department of Bou-
ches-du-Rhone, in a plain rendered luxuriantly fertile by
irrigation, 29 miles N.N.W. of Marseilles. There is a neat
modern quarter surrounding the old town in the centre,
and separated from it by a well-planted boulevard. Some
of the houses in the old town are good, and there are two
curious ancient churches, one of which contains the remains
of the celebrated Nostradamus. On a height at one end
of Salon stands the castle of this astrologer, now a barrack.
Silk, hats, soap, and olive oil are made here; and the trade
of the place is considerable. Pop. 5617.
SALO NIC A, or Saloniki (anc. Thessalonica), a town
of European Turkey, Macedonia, capital of an eyelet of the
same name, at the head of the Gulf of Salonica, the ancient
Thermaic Gulf, 315 miles W.S.W. of Constantinople.
From the noble and almost land-locked bay, up the side of
a steep hill, rises the town—domes, minarets, and cypress
trees,—encircled by lofty whitewashed walls, to the seven-
towered citadel on the summit. From this point two
ravines diverge in a semicircular direction, and stretch
down to the sea, inclosing the city between them. The
walls, which are built on ancient Cyclopean and Greek
foundations, are about five miles in circuit. 1 he interior
presents that wretched and irregular appearance that is
characteristic of Turkish towns; hovels of unburnt brick,
and bazaars consisting of long narrow streets, shaded with
vine-covered trellises and branches of trees, or obstructed Salonica.
with projecting wooden sheds, stand side by side with the
large and magnificent piles erected in ancient or mediaeval
times. A long street intersects the town from east to west,
spanned at either end by a triumphal arch. This is the
ancient Egnatian road, the highway between the western
and the eastern capitals. Some of the mosques are very
ancient, and have witnessed in successive ages the rites of
pagan, Christian, and moslem worship performed within the
same walls. One of these is circular, like the Pantheon at
Rome, and covered with mosaics on the inside. Another
was originally consecrated to the Thermaean Venus; and
did not the modern arrangement of the building somewhat
conceal and disfigure its beauty, it would stand out as one
of the most perfectly-preserved monuments of antiquity.
A Corinthian colonnade, surmounted with large and beau¬
tiful figures in high relief, is supposed to have been the
entrance to the hippodrome, and has received from Jewish
superstition the name of Las Incantadas, on the idea that
these are human figures magically turned to stone. The
hippodrome or race-course itself is a large area near the
middle of the town. Of mosques, originally Christian
churches, one bears the name, and is built after the model,
of St Sophia at Constantinople, though of smaller size ; and
another, the former metropolitan church, is lined in the in¬
terior with marble, and adorned with pillars of verd antique.
There are several Greek churches and convents, one Ro¬
man Catholic church, Jewish synagogues, baths, and khans.
Salonica is the seat of a general governor and of a Greek
archbishop. The manufactures of the town are of con¬
siderable importance, including weaving, dyeing, carpet¬
making, silk-spinning, the manufacture of hardware, &c.
But the introduction of European goods has proved detri¬
mental to the industry of the place. As a commercial
town, Salonica is, among Turkish ports in Europe, second
only to the capital. Corn, cotton, silk, and tobacco are
the principal articles exported. The following table exhi¬
bits the navigation and trade for each year from 1848 to
1851:—
1848
1849
1850
1851
Entered.
Vessels.
643
566
514
509
Tons.
70,565
65,103
62,964
59,756
Imports.
L.
332,782
345,638
318,879
427,920
Cleared.
Vessels.
578
548
550
522
Tons.
69.887
66,358
64,278
61,174
Exports.
L.
239,942
214,728
257,254
179,373
In 1856 the navigation and commerce of the port wras
thus divided among the various nations:—
Flags.
Vessels.
Tonnage.
Imports.
Exports.
Greek 
Turkish 
Austrian 
British 
French 
Sardinian...
Tuscan 
Dutch 
Russian 
Norwegian
Total..
266
150
90
62
46
31
7
3
2
2
659
15,067
11,528
32,098
21,078
11,922
5,682
2,668
543
656
438
101,680
L.
33,400
52,000
732,500
221,000
51,800
8,600
2,500
1,101,800
L.
27,200
46,500
398.800
640,500
241,000
27,000
2,500
5,300
9,000
2,900
1,400,700
The country about Salonica is exceedingly beautiful.
Amid groves of cypresses and other trees stand many
elegant residences of the consuls of foreign countries ; and
the view over the gulf is very fine, the snowy heights of
Olympus rising in the distant west. Near the town are
sulphurous springs. Salonica was very much injured by
conflagrations which took place in 1856 and 1857. Nearly
582
SAL
SAL
Salop
II
Salt.
half of the inhabitants are Turks, the rest of the population
being nearly equally divided between Greeks and Jews.
Pop. about 70,000. (See Thessalonica.)
J SALOP. See Shropshire.
SALSETTE, an island of British India, north of that of
Bombay, from which it is separated by a narrow strait,
between N. Lat. 19. and 19. 18., E. Long. 72.54. and 73. 3.:
length, from N.E. to S.W., 18 miles; breadth, about 10;
area, 150 square miles. It is a strikingly diversified and
very picturesque land, with woody hills, gray rocky moun¬
tains, and gloomy caves, the haunts of wild beasts; rich
valleys, broad rice-fields, tall graceful cocoa-nut palms, and
meadows on which cattle graze. In various parts of the
island, and especially at Keneri, near the centre, there are
ancient rock-cut caves. Salsette formed part of the pro¬
vince of Aurungabad under the Mogul emperors, but fell
into the hands of the Portuguese soon after their settlement
in India. In 1739 it was conquered by the Mahrattas, and
in 1774 came into the possession of the British. It forms
part of the district of Taunah, so called from the chief
town on the island. It is connected with Bombay island
by a causeway, and traversed by the Great Indian Penin¬
sular Railway, which crosses over on a viaduct to the main¬
land. Pop. estimated at 50,000.
SALT, a compound of chlorine and sodium, known in
chemical language as chloride of sodium. Its symbol is Na
Cl, and its equivalent 58'5. It is the only mineral food of
man, and forms an essential constituent of the blood, the
loss of saline particles therefrom by the secretions, the tears,
the bile, &c., being repaired by the use of common salt as
a condiment. The gastric juice of the stomach contains
free hydrochloric acid, which is doubtless derived from the
salt taken with food ; while the blood and some of the secre¬
tions contain soda, also referable to the same source. The
unwholesomeness of salted provisions is probably due rather
to their hardness and indigestible nature than to the salt
with which they are impregnated.
The use of salt must have been nearly coeval with man’s
existence on the earth, frequent references to it, or to cus¬
toms connected with it, occurring in the sacred writings.
All animals appear to be more or less fond of salt; even
bees will sip a solution of it with avidity. Mungo Park
says that in the interior of Africa, “ the greatest of all
luxuries is salt. It would appear strange to a European to
see a child suck a piece of rock-salt as if it were sujiar.
This, however, I have frequently seen ; although in the in¬
land parts the poorer class of inhabitants are so very rarely
indulged with this precious article, that to say a man eats
salt with his victuals is the same as saying he is a rich man.
I have myself suffered great inconvenience from the scarcity
of this article. The long use of vegetable food creates so
painful a longing for salt that no words can sufficiently de¬
scribe it.” {Travels, i. 280.) Burchell, in his Travels in
South Africa, states that he had to send 90 miles for a gal¬
lon of salt, which he and his party regarded as a “ valuable
and important acquisition.”
Salt exists in inexhaustible quantities in the waters of
the ocean, in the proportion of about 2'7 per cent., or nearly
4 oz. per gallon, or a bushel in from 300 to 350 gallons.
Salt is also found in immense masses of what is called rock-
salt, or sal gem, in rocks of all ages, but chiefly in the new
red sandstone, or saliferous formation, or the trias, where
it is associated v/ith a set of red sandstones and pebbly con-
glomeiates, yellow magnesian limestones, and variegated
shales and marls, which inclose irregular masses of rock-
salt and gypsum. The following section (fig. 1) represents
the deposit at Wimpfen in Wirtemberg, where the gypsum
is inclosed by a deep layer of shell limestone containing
r0J:7'sa. ^ as a seParate mass. There are considerable
difficulties in accounting for these deposits, but the discus¬
sion of them belongs to Geology.
The subterranean streams of water percolating through
saliferous strata become impregnated with salt, and give
fig. 1.
rise to brme springs, so abundant in the great plain of the
red marls and sandstones of Cheshire. The salt is not uni¬
form in extent, but occupies limited areas. The brine
springs occur at various depths. At Nantwich the brine is
met with about 10 or 12 yards from the surface; and in
sinking for fresh water, caution is required to avoid the
brine. At Winsford it is generally necessary to sink from
55 to 60 yards before it is met with, and it then rises to
within 12 yards of the surface. It occurs at other places
at various depths. Droitwich in Worcestershire furnished
salt from its brine springs in the time of the Romans; and
it is probable that the supply was procured from such springs
as found their way to the surface. In the time of Edward
the Confessor, as appears from Doomsday-Book, brine pits
were wrought at all the wiches in Cheshire. We read of
several attempts made to improve the manufacture; and
soon after the formation of the Royal Society reports of
the methods of manufacture were published by that body.
The salt made in England was long considered to be inferior
to foreign salt; but at the commencement of the eighteenth
century Parliament granted a reward to Mr Lowndes,
a Cheshire gentleman, for improvements in the manu¬
facture. In 1748 Dr Brownrigg published his Art of
Making Common Salt, and by this time the manufacture
had made some progress. The River Weaver was made
navigable for vessels of large size from Northwich and
Winsford to Liverpool, whereby means for distributing the
salt of Cheshire were increased, and the manufacture gra¬
dually became important, the salt being distributed through¬
out the country, and also exported. About the year 1670
the beds of rock-salf, whence the springs originated, were
discovered while searching for coal in Marbury, about a
mile to the north of Northwich. They were found about
34 yards from the surface, in a bed 30 yards thick, resting
on a stratum of indurated clay. It was afterwards found
that, on sinking a shaft at any point within half a mile of
Marbury, the salt was met with at the same depth. This
was the only deposit discovered until 1779, when, in search¬
ing for brine near Lawton, it was met with about 42 yards
from the surface in a stratum 4 feet in thickness ; but on
penetrating through the clay beneath it, a second stratum
of rock-salt, 12 feet in thickness, was found. On continu¬
ing the sinking through 15 yards of clay, a third stratum
of rock-salt was discovered, which was sunk into to the
depth of 24 yards, the lowest 14 of which were found to
be the purest. The existence of this pure salt at so great a
depth induced the Northwich owners to sink deeper, which
they had not hitherto done, for fear of meeting with fresh¬
water springs. Accordingly, in 1781, they passed through
the indurated clay below the rock-salt which had so long
been worked. Immediately below this clay, which was 10
or 11 yards in thickness, they came upon a second stratum
ot rock-salt, the upper portion of which was about equal in
purity to the higher stratum; but on penetrating to the
depth of about 25 yards it was found to be much more free
from earthy admixture. This increased purity, however,
only extended to 4 or 5 yards.
The strata passed through in sinking for brine or rock-
salt are usually clay and gypsum, mingled in various pro¬
portions, the latter predominating in nearing the brine or
SALT.
583
Salt. rock-salt. The miners (named wallers, from the bank or
wall which they raise round the pit with the rubbish of the
works) call the clay, according to its colour, red, brown,
or blue metal, and the gypsum they name plaster. The
strata are usually sufficiently compact to exclude fresh
water; but in some places are so broken and porous {shaggy
metal, as the wallers call it) as to lead to the discontinu¬
ance of the sinking. The use of the steam-engine in
pumping, and improved methods of sinking, have, however,
in modern times, obviated the difficulty. The accompany¬
ing section (fig. 2) of the Wharton salt-mine, on the River
Weaver, will further illustrate the nature of the workings.
Surface of soil ...
Water gallery ...
Rock head 
Rock salt 
Rock salt 
Fair rock 
Good rock ..
Inferior rock
Middling rock ...
Best rock 
Opening of top mine.
Flag.
Opening of lower mine.
Red marl.
Light gray and red metal.
Red shaly metal.
Blue flag.
Brown metal.
Blue.
Gray.
Red metal.
Gray metal.
Brown, with veins of flag.
Gray flag.
Brown metal.
Red.
Red mixed with blue.
Blue with plaster.
Hard blue flag, fast on rock-head.
Hard blue flag.
Fig. 2.
The different degrees of purity of the rock-salt are re¬
presented by a horizontal section of one of the beds, in
which various irregular circular, oval, or pentagonal figures,
varying from 2 or 3 to 10 or 12 feet in diameter, may be
seen. The boundary-lines of these figures are white, and
from 2 to 6 inches wide: they consist of pure rock-salt,
while the other portions are of salt mixed with earth in
varying proportions. In passing through the indurated clay
or stone, small veins of rock-salt are found running in va¬
rious directions ; and wherever a crevice occurs it is filled
up with rock-salt, to which the clay and oxide of iron have
given a deep red tinge.1
The rock-salt of Cheshire is obtained in masses of con¬
siderable size, differing in form and purity. They are sepa¬
rated by blasting, and with the aid of the usual tools. In
extending the workings, a good roofing is secured for the
intended cavity, and in doing this the men work horizontally
with common picks, so as to leave a roofing of the rock as
plane as possible. A few feet above the purer portion the
rock is of inferior quality, and is used in the refineries. Salt.
The purer rock is called Prussian rock, from its being
largely exported to the shores of the Baltic. The cavity
thus formed, when illuminated by candles, presents a strik¬
ing and brilliant appearance. In some cases pillars 8 or
10 yards square are left to support the roof; in others the
salt is worked out in aisles. The salt is raised to the sur¬
face by steam-power, but horses are employed under-ground
for conveying it to the bottom of the shaft. The shafts are
usually square, and constructed of timber.
When, from any circumstance, water has reached a de¬
posit of rock-salt, it forms a solution, and should the supply
of water be constant, we thus have a brine spring. In
order to reach it, a shaft is sunk down to a strong flag¬
stone over the brine; and in order to exclude fresh-water,
a second inner shaft is formed, and space between the two
filled with clay. When the clay puddle becomes solid the
flag is broken, and the brine usually flows up the shaft.
In Camden’s time the brine was raised by human labour.
He speaks of a “deep and plentiful brine-pit at Northwich,
with stairs about it, by which, when the people have drawn
the water in their leathern buckets, they ascend half-naked
to their troughs, and fill them, from whence it is conveyed
to the wich-houses.” In places where a stream of water
could be commanded, a water-wheel has been used for
working the pumps ; wind-mills and horse-power have been
employed ; but steam-power has now superseded all other
methods of pumping.
The writer of this article has lately visited the salt-mak¬
ing town of Droitwich in Worcestershire, and will now
describe the modes of manufacture adopted in that place,
as a type of this branch of industry. The brine containing
one-fourth of its weight of salt, rises from springs situated
about 150 feet below the surface. A steam-engine is em¬
ployed to pump it into reservoirs attached to each of the
salt-works of the town, of which there are about five, pro¬
ducing about 60,000 tons of salt per annum. The reser¬
voirs are large wooden cisterns, pitched within, or they
may be ponds formed in clay and lined with brick. In
Cheshire, where rock-salt is easily procured, a quantity is
kept in the reservoir in order to ensure the saturation of
the brine. The object of the manufacture is to evaporate
the liquid portion of the brine in such a manner as to pro¬
duce the variety of salt required. The different varieties
were named by our Droitwich informant as follows :—Fine
or square salt, the term square being due to the shape of
the moulds; Butter salt; brisk salt; basket salt; broad or
coarse salt; bough salt, made once a year in cold winter
weather, and sometimes crystallized on boughs of trees, or
on ornamental baskets, like alum baskets, for toys or pre¬
sents ; lastly, agricultural salt, consisting of the sweep¬
ings of the salt-works, and the deposit formed at the bottom
of the evaporating pan.
The pans (fig. 3) used for evaporating the brine are
made of wrought iron, and may contain from 600 to 1000
or more superficial feet: the usual form is that of an ob¬
long square, and the depth from 12 to 16 or 18 inches.
There are from two to four fires to each pan, according to
its size; and the furnace extends far beneath the pan, and
is so capacious as to require that iron supports should be
fixed within it, on which the bottom of the pan rests.
Thus, on looking into the furnace, the flames are seen to
play around a number of short columns, spreading out at
their bases and at their tops, so as to present a broad sur¬
face to the floor of the oven, and to the under part of the
pan respectively. A supply of coal is kept near the fur-
1 Engravings illustrative of the above descriptions are given in Mr Henry Holland’s General View of the Agriculture of Cheshire; but
the most complete and indeed the only separate work on salt is by Mr Charles Tomlinson, entitled The Natural History of Common Salt,
published by the Christian Knowledge Society, 1850.
584
SALT.
Salt.
nace doors, and a man works with long-handled iron tools
at feeding the fire, stirring and spreading the fuel, and
Tig. 3.
raking out the slag or clinkers. The fires are at one of the
narrower sides of the oblong pan, and the flues conveying
the heat into the drying-room (supposing the manufacture
to be fine salt) are at the other ; thus the two longer sides
of the pan are left free for the operations of the work¬
people. For their convenience, the floor is raised, and pre¬
sents a long walk on each side the pan, with a bench or a
floor, with apertures, along side of it, where the moulds are
set to drain. Standing on one of these raised walks, we
watched the boiling of a panful of brine, which had been
brought to the boil soon after daybreak, and was then
(ten o’clock) ready for the moulds. The steam rose in
dense white clouds to the roof, where it passed through
apertures left for its escape, and the manipulators (in this
case women) were bleached, by constantly living in an
atmosphere of steam, to salt-like whiteness, but declared
themselves to be perfectly healthy. The first step was
slightly to lower the temperature of the boiling brine.
This was effected by placing a wooden shoot beneath a tap
in connection with the reservoir, and thus conveying into
the pan a small quantity of cold brine, enough to check the
boiling. Each woman now took a long-handled tool, which
she called a rake, but which rather resembled the scrapers
with which mud is collected in roads; this she flung for¬
ward towards the middle of the pan, and then dragged to¬
wards her, thus collecting the salt in large white heaps at
the sides of the pan. The weight of the rake is so great
as to make this a laborious part of the woman’s work. At
the back of the workers, ranged along beneath the side
windows of the pan-room, stood a number of empty moulds
or tubs, as the work-people call them. These are made of
wood, and are of the well-known size and form of our
squares of salt, or rather parallelepipeds. One of these
moulds was now lifted into the pan, and set up on one of its
narrow ends, which was perforated, the other being open.
The woman now took a second long-handled tool called
the skimmer, being a large iron disk, also perforated, and
with which she lifted up masses of salt, and poured them
into the mould. A few of these ladiesful seemed to fill
the mould to the brim; but she took a short, thick stick,
called a rammer, and worked the salt within the mould
until it had subsided to half its former height, the brine
meanwhile gushing out at every crevice. More salt was
now poured into the mould, until a conical heap rose above
the top; this was beaten down by a flat wooden tool called
the beater, and was then lifted out of the pan and set aside
to drain and consolidate. When all the salt had been thus
removed from the pan and collected in moulds, fresh brine
was added to that which remained in the pan, the fires were
made up, and the boiling commenced anew. Such was the
simple process of making fine or square salt, repeated at
each pan about three times daily. The consolidation of the Salt,
salt was completed in a hot room, where the squares, re- y*
leased from their moulds, and trimmed by means of a
smooth piece of wood called the tapper, were arranged on
shelves, widi small spaces between each, that the air heated
by the flues might have free access to them. The quan¬
tity of salt made at one pan, and that not the largest,
amounted to about twenty tons per week.
The form of the salt-crystal obtained by slow spontaneous
evaporation is a solid cube; but when procured at a boiling
heat from the surface of the solution, the crystals are very
small, and collect together in groups in hollow four-sided
pyramids or hoppers, as the work-people call them, with
the sides graduated in steps (fig. 4), in consequence of the
small lines of cubical crystals gradually re¬
treating inwards. One of these groups, ac¬
cording to Regnault, is thus formed :—Sup¬
pose a small cubical crystal to be produced
at the surface of the solution, this crystal,
from its superior density, tends to sink, but
is prevented from doing so by capillary at¬
traction. Around this first crystal other crystals are quickly
formed, and become attached to its four upper edges, so as
to form a hollow four-sided frame above the first cube; the
group descending in the liquid, other crystals form along
the upper and outer edges of the first frame, so as to pre¬
sent a second hollow frame; another frame forms on the
second; and in this way the group enlarges, chiefly at the
surface, since the salt, being equally soluble in hot and cold
water, does not tend to deposit crystals on cooling, but only
by evaporation, which takes place at the surface alone.
The bases and altitudes of these little pyramids are gene¬
rally equal, thus showing the disposition of the salt to form
a cube. The cubes themselves, as obtained by slow eva¬
poration (fig. 5), are well described by Bergmann. He
says,—“ These cubes exhibit diagonal
markings or striae, but frequently on
each side produce squares parallel to the
external surface, gradually decreasing
inwards; circumstances which show the
vestiges of their internal structure, for
every cube is composed of six qua¬
drangular hollow pyramids, joined by
their apices and external surface : each
of these pyramids filled up by others similar, but gradually
decreasing, completes the form. By a due degree of eva¬
poration, it is no difficult matter to obtain these pyramids
separate and distinct, or six of such, either hollow or more
or less solid, joined together round a centre. It we further
examine the hollow pyramid of salt, we shall find it to be
composed offour triangles, each of which is formed of threads
parallel to the base, which threads, upon accurate examina¬
tion, are found to be nothing more than series of small
cubes.”
The brine is not a pure solution of chloride of sodium,
but is contaminated with carbonate of lime and sulphate
of lime, which, not being soluble, subside to the bottom
of the pan, and form an incrustation, called by the work¬
men pan scratch or scale. This gradually accumulates,
together with a portion of salt, and becoming thicker from
day to day, it is necessary every week, or, where the eva¬
poration is slower, once in three or four weeks, to clear it
away by means of sharp iron picks. Heaps of this sub¬
stance may be seen in the vicinity of the pan-house ready
to be mixed with refuse salt, and ground up as agricultural
salt. The larger fragments are sometimes given to cattle
to lick instead of rock-salt. This pan-scratch in appear¬
ance resembles a thick layer of opaque ice. According to
the analysis of Dr Henry, 480 parts of this substance con¬
tained 40 of chloride of sodium, 60 of carbonate of lime,
and 380 of sulphate of lime ; but the proportions vary in
Tig. 5.
SALT.
585
Salt. different brines. The greatest accumulation of pan-scratch
is towards the close of the evaporation, for when much salt
is deposited in the pan, it forms such a heavy mass at the
bottom that the water cannot penetrate it, and the scale or
deposit undergoes a kind of calcination and fusion which
makes it very hard, and causes it to adhere strongly to the
pan.
It was long supposed that the salt of Great Britain was
inferior as a preserver of food to the salt produced in
France, Spain, and Portugal, by the evaporation of sea¬
water, and hence we were accustomed to pay large sums of
money for an article which we possessed in boundless profu¬
sion. Many years ago Dr Henry made a careful inquiry
into the subject, in order to ascertain whether this prefer¬
ence of foreign salt was the result of accurate experience
or merely prejudice, and in the former case whether any
chemical difference could be detected to explain the supe¬
riority. The result of this investigation is given in an ad¬
mirable paper contained in the Philosophical Transactions,
vol. c.
Dr Henry found that the various descriptions of salt
might be divided into stoved or lump salt, common salt, the
large-grained flaky, and large-grained or fishery salt. In
making the stoved or lump salt, the brine is raised to the
temperature of boiling, or 225° F. When the water has
nearly all evaporated, the fires are slackened, the salt is
drawn to the sides of the pan, and placed in wicker baskets
or harrows (fig. 6), which are set aside to drain, and after¬
wards dried in stoves. It loses in dry¬
ing about one-seventh of its weight.
In making this salt, according to Dr
Henry’s observation, the pan is filled
twice in 24 hours, and for common
salt only once. In the latter case,
the brine is brought to a boiling heat
in order to get a state of saturation
as quickly as possible, and also to
throw down the earthy matters. The
fires are then slackened, and the crys¬
tallization is carried on at the tem¬
perature of from 160° to 170°. The
salt is in quadrangular pyramids of
close and compact texture. After it
is drained in baskets, it is carried to
the storehouse, and is not exposed to
heat. The large-grained flaky salt is formed at 130° or 140°.
It is somewhat harder than common salt, and approaches
nearer the natural form of the crystals of chloride of sodium.
The pan is filled once in 48 hours. Salt of this grain is some¬
times made by slackening the fires between Saturday and
Monday, and allowing the crystallization to proceed slowly
on Sunday, whence it has obtained the name of Sunday salt.
For the large-grained or fishery salt, the brine is heated
to 100° or 110°, at which temperature the evaporation is
comparatively slow, and as there is no agitation produced
in the brine, the salt forms in large cubical crystals. Five
or six days are required for the process.
Now it is on the difference in size and hardness of the
crystals that their adaptability to different uses depends,
and not on any differences in chemical composition, for
these are too minute to have any influence. The large¬
grained salt is peculiarly fitted for the packing of fish and
other provisions, a purpose to which the small-grained
salts are much less suitable. Their different powers of
preserving food depend on the size of the crystals and
their degrees of hardness. Quickness of solution, other
circumstances being equal, is nearly proportional to the
quantity of surface exposed ; and since the surfaces of cubes
are as the squares of their sides, it follows that a salt, the
crystals of which are of a given magnitude, will dissolve
four times more slowly than one whose cubes are only half
VOL. XIX.
the size. The kind of salt, then, which is distinguished
for hardness, compactness, and perfection of crystals, will be
best suited for packing fish and other provisions, since it
will remain permanently between the different layers, or will
be very gradually dissolved by the fluids that exude from the
provisions, thereby furnishing a slow but constant source of
saturated brine ; whereas for preparing the pickle or striking
meat, which is done by immersion in a saturated solution of
salt, the small-grained varieties answer equally well ; or, on
account of their greater solubility, even better. The spe¬
cific gravity of various samples of salt depending to a great
extent on hardness and compactness of crystal, was found
to be almost the same in the large-grained British salt as
in that of foreign manufacture. Dr Henry remarks that
“ if no superiority be claimed for British salt, as applicable
to economical purposes, on account of the greater degree
of chemical purity which unquestionably belongs to it, it
may safely, I believe, be asserted that the larger-grained
varieties are, as to their mechanical properties, fully equal
to the foreign bay salt.”
Before proceeding to notice foreign methods of manu¬
facture, we may give the following statistics of salt, derived
from the Mineral Statistics of the Museum of Practical
Geology:—
Tons.
Cheshire.—
The quantities of white salt carried on the j
River Weaver from the 5th April 1857 to l 647,437
5th April 1858, was J
Do. do. of rock-salt  65,773
Salt carried by railway from the districts of
Winsford and Northwich, estimated   525,000
Worcestershire.—
Stoke and Droitwich   196,500
Ireland.—
Duncone, near Carrickfergus, belonging to the
Belfast Mining Company, shipped   16,660
Do. do. used for manufacturing purposes .... 5,798
Do. do. white salt manufactured  4,877
Total produce
of the United Kingdom
1,462,045
Salt.
The quantities of salt exported from the United Kingdom
in the years 1855, 1856, and 1857, with the declared
values, were as follows:—
1855. 1856. 1857.
630,154 tons. 745,513 tons. 651,766 tons.
L.268,857 L.276,242 L.239,969
There was formerly a duty on salt, which originated as a
war-tax in the ninth year of the reign of William III., and
was not removed until the year 1823. The price of salt,
in consequence of the duty, was raised from 6d. a bushel to
more than 20s.
In countries situated near the sea-coast common salt is
frequently obtained by the evaporation of sea-water. There
is not more than from 3 to 4 per cent, of saline matter in
sea-water, and of this quantity common salt forms nearly
two-thirds. Dr Schweitzer found in 1000 grains of the
water of the English Channel, near Brighton :—
Grains.
Water 964-74372
Chloride of sodium  27 05948
Chloride of magnesium  3’66658
Chloride of potassium    0-76552
Bromide of magnesium  0-02929
Sulphate of magnesia  2-29578
Sulphate of lime  1-40662
Carbonate of lime   0 03301
The specific gravity of the water at the surface, and from
a depth of 10 fathoms, was 1*0274. A minute quantity of
iodine was also found; and Professor George Wilson has
discovered fluorine to be an element of sea-water. Dr
Forchammer has also detected minute quantities of manga¬
nese, ammonia, baryta, strontia, iron, and silica.
In the preparation of salt from sea-water the water is ex-
4 E
\
586 S A
Salt. posed in a series of shallow ponds, called salt-gardens or
salterns, to the action of the sun and air. The salterns are
laid out on a clay soil jn the sea-coast, and are protected
from the influence of the tides ; they are worked during the
warmer months, from March to September. They are
arranged in such a way that, as the salt is deposited in the
hindermost pools, the foremost ones receive constant supplies
of sea-water. In the first place a collecting pond A (fig. 7)
Fig. 7.
is filled at the flow of the tide by means of a flood-gate to
the depth of from 2 to 6 feet. In this pond the mud and
mechanically-suspended substances are deposited, while the
clear water is conveyed by means of a pipe to the front
pool B, which is divided by a central embankment and arms
proceeding alternately from it and the sides of the pool.
This pool is horizontal and very shallow, and the salt water
moves slowly through it in the direction of the arrows as
far as the pipe C, which conveys it into a channel running
along the four sides of the saltern. Arriving at the point
D, it enters the ponds E into a third series of ponds F,
and thence by channels h into the crystallizing ponds G.
During all this time the brine has become stronger by
evaporation of the water, so that when it reaches the
crystallizing ponds it is ready to deposit its salt. This is
indicated by a reddish tint on the brine. The ponds G are
filled from channels at the corners, which admit of being
closed with wooden plugs. The salt forms on the surface
of the water, and is collected by means of rakes into small
heaps i at the sides. Here the mother liquor flows off, and
is collected in proper channels; and when no more salt
separates by crystallization the spent liquor is allowed to
flow off through K into the sea. The salt thus collected is
contaminated with chloride of magnesium, so that the small
heaps i are made up into large ones j, and covered with
straw for keeping off the rain : the moisture of the air
liquifies the chloride of magnesium, which gradually be¬
comes separated from the saline mass. The process de¬
pends so much on the state of the weather that at the
beginning of the season eight days may be required for the
deposit of salt; but in fine dry weather salt may be col¬
lected two or three times a week, and in very favourable
cases every day.
Ihe repeal of the duty on salt enabled the Cheshire
manufacturers to sell the article at so low a rate that the
pioprietors of the salterns could not compete with them.
I his will readily be understood when it is considered that
the price of fuel, strength of brine, and facilities of car-
nage by river and canal, were all in favour of Cheshire,
ihere was a saltern at Lymington in Hampshire, in which
it was the practice to concentrate the sea-water to about
one-sixth of its bulk, and complete the operation in boilers.
Ihe chief variety of salt manufactured resembled in grain
the stoved salt of Cheshire. In preparing it, the salt was
L T.
not raked out of the boiler and grained, but the water
was entirely evaporated, and the salt taken out every
eight hours, and removed into perforated troughs, through
which the bittern, or mother-liquor, drained off. Below the
troughs, and in a line with the holes, were upright stakes,
on which a portion of the salt crystallized, and formed in
the course of ten or twelve days on each stake a mass
or lump, called a salt cat, weighing 60 or 80 lb. During
the winter, when the manufacture of salt could not be
carried on, sulphate of magnesia (Epsom salts) was manu¬
factured from the bittern.
Salterns can only flourish in countries which have no
natural deposits of salt or brine, and where foreign salt is
excluded by a high protective duty. The method of eva¬
porating the sea-water differs somewhat in different localities,
and attempts have even been made to increase the mineral
contents of sea-water before the process of evaporation is
commenced. A contrivance of this kind has been in use
in Lower Normandy from the ninth century, and it con¬
sists in allowing the sea-water to percolate through a filter
of sand collected on the sea shore after the tide has gone
out, by means of a long broad scoop drawn by a horse.
The strength of the sea-water is thus considerably in¬
creased, and the evaporation is conducted in leaden boilers
with wood fuel, the scum being removed during the boil¬
ing. The boiler is repeatedly filled up with sea-water dur¬
ing the evaporation, and the salt which forms is kept in
motion by means of long rakes, to prevent the lead from
fusing. When the whole of the water has been driven off
it is removed by means of a perforated tool (fig. 8), and
placed in baskets suspended over the boilers, the steam
from which in the next charge penetrates the baskets, and
removes much of the bitter deliquescent salts. The salt is
next taken to warehouses, and by means of the tool (fig. 9)
is piled up on the floor, which is made of hard cement.
The salt remains here for about two months, during which
time it loses from 20 to 28 per cent, of bittern. The salt is
now fine and pure, and quite white. According to Dumas,
from 700 to 800 litres of salt water are required to produce
from 150 to 225 kilogrammes of salt. According to Sir
Stamford Raffles a method of obtaining salt similar in prin¬
ciple to the above is adopted on the south coast of the
island of Java.
There are vast deposits of rock salt at Bochnia and Vie-
liczka in Galicia, and others equally important along each
side of the great Carpathian range, extending at various
intervals from Moldavia to Suabia. In this extensive tract
are the celebrated salt-mines of Wallachia, Transylvania,
Galicia, Upper Hungary, Upper Austria, Styria, Salzberg,
and the Tyrol. In some cases culinary salt is prepared
from brine, formed by letting down fresh water through a
bore to the middle of a salt-bed, and pumping it up as a
saturated solution, which may be treated in the manner
already described for the Droitwich works. In some inland
districts which are not so fortunate as to possess deposits
of salt, and where land carriage and fiscal regulations ren¬
der the imported article costly, advantage is taken of na¬
tural salt-wells where such occur. These are for the most
part but slightly impregnated with salt, arising probably
from their contact with fresh water after leaving the salt-
SALT.
Salt. bed. Some of these springs have only half the strength of
sea-water, and yet by judicious arrangements it has been
found profitable to work them. The method of evapora¬
tion by artificial heat is of course out of the question, even
supposing fuel to be abundant, which it is not. We will
first describe the method which has been in use, it is said,
from the year 1550 at Moutiers, the capital of the province
of larentaise in Sardinia, taking as our chief authority Mr
Bakewell’s Travels in the Tarentaise, published in 1823.
1 he method here adopted is based upon the physical
fact, that the rate of evaporation depends, other things be¬
ing equal, on the amount of surface exposed; and the
method practically consists in raising the weak brine to a
height, and allowing it to fall in the form of rain, the single
drops being retarded in their fall by a peculiar contrivance.
In this way 3,000,000 lb. of salt are produced every year,
from a source which in most other countries would scarcely
be noticed except for medicinal purposes. The salt-springs
rise at the base of a limestone rock, and are passed along
an open canal, through the distance of about a mile, to the
salt-works. In this canal the brine deposits a red ochreous
incrustation, and also gives off a mixture of carbonic acid
and sulphuretted hydrogen. The water has an acidulous
and slightly saline taste : its temperature at its rising is
99° F., and it contains only 1*83 per cent, of saline matter,
other springs only 1'50. In addition to common salt, the
water contains small proportions of sulphate of lime, sul¬
phate of soda, sulphate and muriate of magnesia, and oxide
of iron. Thus there is about 1^ lb. of common salt in 13
gallons of water. The first method of evaporating the water
was by allowing it to trickle repeatedly through pyramids
of rye-straw arranged in open galleries, A portion of the
sulphate of lime was deposited on the straw, and the water
attained a certain degree of concentration. The process
was then completed at a salt-pan with fuel. This plan con¬
tinued in operation for nearly two centuries. In 1730 the
modern plan came into use. There are four evaporating
houses, called maison d’epines or “ thorn-houses,” the first
two of which are 350 yards long, about 25 feet high, and
7 feet wide. They consist of frameworks of wood sup¬
ported on stone buttresses, and containing double rows
of fagots of black thorn, placed loosely so as to admit
the air, but supported firmly by transverse pieces of wood.
In the centre of each house is a stone building containing
the pumping apparatus, moved by a water-wheel. By this
means the water is raised to the top of the thorn-house,
and is received in channels on each side, extending the
whole length: these long channels distribute it to smaller
ones, from which it trickles through a multitude of small
holes in a very gentle shower upon the fagots, where it is
further divided into innumerable drops, falling from one
point to another, and is received in troughs below, from
which it is again pumped up, until by repeated exposure to
the air it is deemed sufficiently concentrated to be passed
to the evaporating house No. 2, where it undergoes similar
treatment. These thorn-houses are placed at different
angles, so as to catch the different currents of air that flow
down the valley. The sulphate of lime is deposited in in¬
crustations on the twigs. The thorn-house No. 3 is
covered to preserve the salt water from the rain: it is 370
yards in length, and has 12 pumps on each side to distri¬
bute the water more equally. After passing through No.
3, the water, reduced to one-seventh of its original bulk, is
conveyed along channels to the thorn-house No. 4, which is
70 yards in length, where it is concentrated to saturation.
The time occupied in obtaining this result, from the first
commencement, is in summer about one month; in wet sea¬
sons of course much longer. A good idea will be formed
of the quantity of water evaporated by the following state¬
ments :—8000 hogsheads, when received at the thorn-
houses Nos. 1 and 2, contain about lijr per cent, of salt, and
587
are reduced by evaporation to 4000 hogsheads ; 4000 hogs- Salt,
heads, when received at No. 3, contain about 3 per cent, of
salt, and are reduced to 1000 hogsheads; 1000 hogsheads,
when received at No. 4, contain about 12 per cent, of salt,
and are reduced to 550 hogsheads; 550 hogsheads re¬
ceived at the pans contain nearly 22 per cent of salt. The
process is completed in the usual way, and it is calculated
that only y^th part of the fuel is consumed that would be
required for evaporating the whole of the water by fire.
The fagots last from four to seven years, those in Nos.
1 and 2 decaying sooner than those in Nos. 3 and 4. The
chief deposit of sulphate of lime is in No. 3. Sulphate of
soda is also manufactured at the works, and the other alka¬
line refuse goes to the glass-maker.
The method of graduation invented at Moutiers was
introduced into Saxony in 1559, and has received consider¬
able attention on the part of modern chemists. In Knapp’s
Technology (translated by Ronalds) is an engraving of a
portion of one of the evaporating houses which we here
copy (fig. 10.) The weak brine is pumped up into a large
Fig. 10.
reservoir, from which it flows into the troughs h of the
thorn-house. From these troughs the brine is conveyed in
a thin stream to a perforated channel c, from which it falls
in drops on the wall of black-thorn fagots t. There is a
sloping board placed so as to prevent the wind from giving
a wrong direction to the drops, and the whole arrangement
is protected from the weather by a roof r, a portion of which
has been removed in our engraving to show the troughs.
The building is erected in an airy place, in a direction at
right angles to that of the prevailing wind ; but should the
wind blow slantingly upon one of the faces of the wall, so
as to dissipate the brine, certain channels are closed by
paeans of a lever, and others are opened, whereby the supply
of brine is carried to the opposite side of the wall. At
Schbnebeck the thorn wall exposes a surface of 390,000
square feet, and this evaporates on an average 3-j^ths cubic
feet of water from each square foot of wall per day, or nearly
a million and a quarter hogsheads of water in a year of 258
working days, which include the most favourable portion
of the year, frost being found to be injurious, for below 27°
Fahr. sulphate of magnesia, and a portion of chloride of
sodium, become converted into chloride of magnesium and
sulphate of soda, and this decomposition, once begun, is not
reversed when the weather becomes warmer; so that not
only is salt lost, but the quantity of chloride of magnesium,
which is injurious in the boiling process, is increased. Some
loss is also entailed by the evaporation of salt with the water,
an observation made in 1770 by Pallas, in the neighbour¬
hood of the salt lakes of Asiatic Russia, where he found the
dew to have a decidedly salt taste. The deposit upon the
thorns, known as thorn-stone, consists of the carbonates
of lime, magnesia, manganese, and iron, with traces of chlo-
588 SAL
Salt. rides. These deposits gradually fill up the interstices of
the thorn wall, and stop the draught; so that it is neces¬
sary to renew the wall every five, six, or eight years. In
the brine cisterns the deposit forms a fine mud, with a
greyish kind of scum filled with bubbles ; this consists
chiefly of living infusoria, evolving pure oxygen. The
brine "is generally considered fit for boiling when it contains
23 per cent, of salt. If the natural spring contain as much
as this, it is boiled down at once without being graduated.
After the brine has been graduated it is passed into vast
reservoirs of masonry covered over and protected from the
frost. Here the brine makes a further deposit of suspended
matters. The boiling is carried on in winter only, in flat
four-sided pans of sheet-iron, somewhat deepened towards
the middle. The bottom of each pan is supported by
brick-work (fig. 11), which contains the flues for distri-
Fig. 11.
buting the fires and heating the drying-chambers. The
pan is covered with a roof-shaped hooding of boards,
with a steam or vapour trunk s, furnished at the bottom
with wooden shutters d, which can be turned back so as
to allow free circulation of air over the surface of the
brine. The vapour is said to contain about 1 per cent, of
salt, so that means are taken for condensing it, or rather that
portion of it which trickles down the sides of the chimney,
at the bottom of which is fixed a sort of channel connected
with a tube t, leading into a tank. The process of boiling
consists of first, the schlotage, or the further purification and
evaporation of the brine, up to the point of saturation ; and
secondly, the soccage, or crystallization of the salt. During
the boiling the scum which rises to the surface is removed,
while the other impurities form pan-scale. A pan containing
1600 feet of brine, or 176 cwt. of salt, is re-filled as often as
one-fourth of the quantity is evaporated ; so that when, after
twenty or twenty-four hours, a pellicle of crystals begins to
form on the surface the fire is slackened until the tempera¬
ture of the brine falls to 194° Fahr,, and from that to 167°,
when with slow evaporation the soccage begins, and is con¬
tinued for several days. In this way salt of coarse grain is
produced. During the soccage the salt is raked to the
edge of the pan and placed in baskets of peeled willow, or
heaped upon boards to drain, after which it is dried and
packed for sale. The salt thus formed is not quite pure ;
it usually contains a minute portion of one or other of the
following salts :—Chloride of magnesium, chloride of cal¬
cium, sulphate of soda, sulphate of magnesia, and sulphate
of lime. The chloride of magnesium has the greatest in¬
fluence on the quantity of the salt, on account of its highly
saline taste and deliquescence in the air. Pure chloride
of sodium does not attract moisture, but if it contain only a
minute portion of chloride of magnesium, it becomes wet
in damp weather. I he greater pungency, however, of this
salt, causes it to be preferred in places where salt is costly,
as a smaller quantity of it will suffice. The chloride of
magnesium can be removed during the soccage by the ad¬
dition of slaked lime to the brine.
SAL
It is remarkable that in the neighbourhood of these in- Salta
land salt-works plants which usually grow on the sea-shore
are met with,—such as the Salicornia, the Salsola kali, the Salt fjake<
Aster tripolium, the Glaux maritima, &c.,—because in such
situations they find food adapted to their habits. Liebig
supposes that the seeds of these plants must have been
carried by the wind or by birds, and scattered over the
several hundred miles which separate the salt-works from
the sea, but that they only germinated in those places
where they found the conditions essential to their existence.
Small fishes (Gasterostens aculeatus) are found in the salt
reservoirs at Nidda in Hesse-Darmstadt.
There is yet another method of procuring salt, based
upon the remarkable property of ice to exclude foreign
substances from its composition, so that when brine is ex¬
posed to a low temperature it resolves itself into two por¬
tions,—one consisting of pure water, which crystallizes or
freezes, and can be removed in the form of ice; the other
portion or brine remaining liquid, and becoming intensely
salt by the removal of the fresh water. The salt can be
separated by the usual method of boiling. The product,
however, is very impure, since the effect of low tempera¬
ture, as already noticed, is to convert the sulphate of mag¬
nesia of the brine into sulphate of soda and chloride of
magnesium at the expense of the salt. A portion of the
brine formed in this way from the water of the sea of
Okhotsk was found by Hess to contain—
Common salt 77-60
Sulphate of soda 13-60
Chloride of aluminum  6-20
Chloride of calcium    0-94
Chloride of magnesium  1'66
10000
In places where the salt prepared from such brine is
used, the people are subject to scorbutic diseases, which
Hess attributes to the presence of these chlorides. Such
brines should therefore in all cases be purified by means of
lime. It is remarked by Dumas that this is the first analysis
of bay salt in which chloride of aluminum occurs, (c. T.)
SALTA. See Plata, La.
SALTASH, a market-town of England, in the county
of Cornwall, miles N.W. of Davenport. The houses
rise tier above tier on the steep bank of the Tamar,
and present striking and picturesque contrasts; some being
of brick, some of stone, some fronted with plaster, others
with slates. There is a town-hall, an old church, and a
grammar school. Most of the inhabitants are fishermen.
Saltash was formerly a parliamentary burgh, returning two
members, but was disfranchised by the Reform Act of
1832. Pop. 1621.
SALTCOATS, a seaport-town of Scotland, in the
county of Ayr, 24 miles S.W. of Glasgow. It is built on
the shore of the Bay of Ayr, and has some good houses,
but it is in general a mean-looking place. There is a town-
hall with an elegant spire, an Established church, a Free
church, two belonging to the United Presbyterians, and
one to the Roman Catholics. The inhabitants are sup¬
ported chiefly by the weaving and sewing of muslin for the
Glasgow market. Salt is manufactured, and at either end
of the town there are large chemical works. Ship-building,
which formerly formed an important branch of the industry
of the place, has of late years much declined. Large quanti¬
ties of coals are exported to Ireland. The harbour however
is not good, and inferior to that of Ardrossan. Pop. 4338.
SALT LAKE, Cixr of the Great, in the United
States of North America, capital of the territory of Utah,
in a beautiful and richly-cultivated plain, bounded on the
E. by a range of snowy mountains bearing the name of
Wahsatchan, and on the W. by the Jordan River, on the
right bank of which the city stands, about 22 miles S. of
the Great Salt Lake, and 4350 feet above the level of the
SAL
Saltillo sea ; N. Lat. 40. 46., W. Long. 112. 6. It is laid out on a
|| very regular and systematic plan, divided into 260 squares
Salvage. bv streets, 130 feet broad, crossing each other at right
^ angles. Each of these squares is 10 acres in extent, and
occupied by eight houses standing 20 feet back from the
street, and surrounded with extensive grounds planted with
trees and shrubbery. The houses are built of bricks dried
in the sun, and have in general only one storey. A per¬
ennial stream of water flows through the town, and is car¬
ried by channels to each house and garden. Of the pub¬
lic buildings the most important will be the great temple,
the foundations of which have been laid, and to the con¬
struction of which each ot the saints has to conti ibute his
tithe in money and labour. In the large square where it
stands are the house of the president or high priest, and
other public buildings. 1 he city has also a fine theatre,
which cost more than L.4000. Salt Lake City was laid out
in 1847 by a company of 143 Mormonites. (See Mormon-
ism and Utah.) Pop. (1853) estimated at 10,000.
SALTILLO. See Mexico.
SALTPETRE, Nitre, or nitrate of potash, a com¬
pound of nitric acid and potash. It is generally obtained
in the form of six-sided prismatic crystals, terminated by
six-sided pyramids, joined by their bases. Its specific gra¬
vity is P933. (See Chemistry.) It is used in the various
arts, and is the principal ingredient in the manufacture of
gunpowder. (See Gunpowder.)
SALUZZO, a town of Sardinia, Piedmont, capital of a
province of the same name, in the division of Coni, at the
foot of a branch of the Alps, which separates the valley of
the Po from that of the Vraita, 31 miles S. by W.of Turin.
It is a large cathedral town, consisting of two parts, an
upper and a lower ; the former, anciently fortified, has steep
streets and many good houses, though it is somewhat moie
ancient than the vvidely-extended lower town. The cathe¬
dral in one of the suburbs is surmounted by a tall, elegant
tower ; two of the other churches are more remarkable for
their monuments than for their architectural beauty, and
there are several convents in the town. 1 he ancient castle,
once the residence of the marquises of Saluzzo, is now used
as a prison. There are also an old town-house, a college
and several schools, a theatre, and other buildings. Iron¬
ware, jewellery, hats, leather, and silk aie manufactuicd
here; and there is a considerable trade in cattle, corn, and
wine. Chestnuts are grown in large quantities in the vici¬
nity. Saluzzo was once the capital of a marquisate, which
was for a long time in the possession of France. Pjip.
about 15,000." The province, which has an area of 511
square miles, is occupied in its western pait by the Alps,
the chief summit here being Monte Viso; and is watered
by the Po and its affluents the Maira and Vraita. The
soil being fertile, and the climate good, abundance of corn,
wine, fruit, hemp, and silk is produced. Iron, copper,
marble, and slate are the chief minerals obtained here.
Pop. 160,608.
SALVADOR, St. See San Salvador.
SALVAGE, an allowance made to those persons, other
than the crew, by whom ships or goods have been saved
from the sea, fire, pirates, or enemies. 1. In fixing the
rate of salvage upon losses by perils at sea, regaid is usually
had, not only to the labour and peril incurred by the salvors,
but also to the degree of relationship to the property saved,
the anxiety manifested bv them, the value ot the ship and
cargo, and the danger from which they were rescued.
Sometimes a half, sometimes a tenth of the piopertj saved
has gone to the salvors. 2. During a time of war, when
British war-ships re-capture British meichantmen fiom the
enemy, they are allowed a salvage of one-eighth part of the
re-captured ships and cargoes (stat. 43 Geo. III., c. 160),
and one-sixth part of their value on ships re-captured by
privateers. An act of her Majesty’s government (16 and
SAL 589
17 Viet., c. 131) lays down several regulations regarding Sahandy
the prosecution of such claims. (For further information gajzj[u
regarding salvage, see the works of Abbot, and of Maude v ^ f,
and Pollock, On the Law of Shipping ; and M‘Culloch s
Commercial Dictionary.)
SALVANDY, Narcisse Achille, Comte de, a French
writer and statesman, sprung from an Irish family, was born
at Condom, in the department of Gers, on the 11th of
June 1795. Having been sent at a very early age to Paris,
he received his education at the Lycee Napoleon. I he
needy youth enrolled himself in a volunteer corps in 1812,
and served with much distinction throughout the campaigns
of 1813-14, and had the honour to receive the decoration
of the Legion of Honour from the hands of the emperor on
the 6th of April 1814. On the restoration of the Bour¬
bons, Salvandy expressed his devotedness to the new re¬
gime in these words:—“ After having shed my blood in an
illegitimate cause,” he wrote to the Due d’Angouleme, “ I
would die for the Bourbons.” Having accompanied Louis
XVIII. to the Belgian frontier in 1815, he returned to
Paris, and published his pamphlets, Memoire sur les Griefs
et les Veeux de la France ; and Observations sur le Champ
de Mai. Next year he brought out La Coalition et la
France, which produced a considerable sensation in the
courts of Europe. In 1819 he was made a member of the
Council of State, and appointed Maitre des Requetes; but
the French cabinet not acting according to his liking in the
electoral system, he had the audacity, at the risk of place,
to defend that system in his clever brochures Vues Poli-
tiques and Dangers de la Situation presente. In 1820,
Salvandy having gone to Spain during the ministry of the
Due de Richelieu, studied with warm interest the liberal
movement in that country. In 1823 appeared his cele¬
brated romance Don Alonzo, on VFspagne, which has
been frequently reprinted. In 1824 began his connection
with the Journal des Debats, which was destined to con¬
tinue at intervals for the next twenty years. In his poli¬
tical articles he pursued a bold yet steady course, scorning
to fawn upon any potentate, and flattering no party. He
never abandoned his fundamental principle, that there was
no security for France but in constitutional monarchy a
maxim which he urged with all the warmth of language
and energy of style competent to a man of a lively imagi¬
nation and of perfect self-consciousness. Salvandy held the
position of councillor of state during the ministry of Mar-
tignac, but resigned on the subsequent dissolution of the
cabinet. During the reign of Louis Philippe, he continued
to pursue his liberal policy, both in political leader and in
pamphlet, with the same steady adherence which had
hitherto characterised him. He held several offices of
state, was made a member of the French Academy, and
was created a count. On the coup d'etat of December
1851, he went into retirement, and died on the 15ih De¬
cember 1856, in his sixty-second year.
SALWEEN, or Saluen, a large river of Further India,
rises on the eastern frontiers of Tibet, and flows southwards,
forming, for a great part of its course, the eastern boundary
of Burmah, and then entering the British dominions, and
separating Pegu from the Tenasserim provinces. It falls
into the Gulf of Mastaban by a broad mouth, between the
towns of Moulmein and Mastaban. The whole length is
estimated at 600 miles; and though the river has been
very little explored, it is believed to flow through a fertile,
well-wooded country, and to be navigable for a considerable
distance from the sea.
SALZBURG, Duchy of, a crown-land of the Austrian
empire, bounded on the N. and N.E. by Upper Austria,
E. by Upper Austria and Styria, S. by Carinthia and the
Tyrol, and W. by the Tyrol and Bavaria; area, 2757
square miles. It is almost entirely mountainous, being
occupied by that chain of the Alps called the Salzburg
590
SAL
Salzburg. Alps or the Tauern. These extend along the southern
frontier, and send off many branches, forming glens and
valleys of exquisite romantic beauty. The principal sum¬
mits are the Wiesbach or Krummhorn, 11,297 feet high ;
and the Kitzsteinhorn, 10,106 feet. The Salzach rises on
the borders of Tyrol, and flows at first eastwards down the
romantic valley called Pinzgau; then turns suddenly to the
north, and traversing the equally fine valley called by its
name, leaves Salzburg to join the Inn on the frontiers of
Bavaria and Upper Austria. Almost all the rivers of the
country discharge their waters into this, which is by far the
most important. There are a number of lakes and many
exceedingly beautiful waterfalls in Salzburg. Notwith¬
standing the mountainous nature of the surface, the valleys
are in general very fertile, and a large proportion of the soil
is productive. Corn is raised in considerable quantities,
and excellent vegetables may be grown in sheltered spots;
but it is the rearing of cattle that forms the chief support of
the inhabitants. Of minerals, gold, silver, copper, lead,
iron, manganese, and arsenic are obtained; salt, too, is ex¬
tensively worked, especially in the great salt-works at Hal-
iein. In many places there are mineral springs. The
manufacturing industry of the country is, on the whole, not
very highly developed. The present duchy of Salzburg
was formerly an archbishopric, immediately dependent on
the German empire. Christianity was introduced here
among the heathen inhabitants by a Scotchman named
Rupert, afterwards canonized, who found the land nearly a
desert, and became the first bishop of Salzburg in 716.
The see was afterwards raised to the rank of an arch¬
bishopric, and its occupant became primate of Germany,
and was the only archbishop, besides the spiritual electors,
who had a seat and voice in the diet. The privileges of
these prelates were numerous; their temporal possessions
gradually became extensive, and their revenues enormous.
The Reformed doctrines early found admission into Salz¬
burg, but the utmost severity was used to suppress them,
until at last, in 1732, the Protestant states obtained leave
for their fellow Protestants to leave the country, on which
more than 30,000 departed, and settled in Prussia, Wiir-
temberg, and in the North American colony of Georgia.
In 1801 the see was secularized, and given to the ex-Duke
of Tuscany, with the title of Elector; but by the peace of
Pressburg in 1806, it was annexed to Austria. From 1809
to 1815 Salzburg belonged to Bavaria; but in the latter
year, with the exception of a small portion, it was restored
to Austria. The inhabitants are almost all Germans, and
of the Roman Catholic religion. Pop. (1854) 154,379.
Salzburg, the capital of the above duchy, on both sides
of the Salzach or Salza, just at the entrance of the hill
country, where the river issues from its confined valley
into the Bavarian plain, 156 miles W.S.W. of Vienna. Few
German towns can rival this in the beauty of its situation:
the stream, with grayish-white water, telling of distant
glaciers, flows among meadows and waving corn-fields, be¬
tween two castle-crowned cliffs, at the foot of which clusters
the Italian-like town, with its flat roofs, numerous churches,
a'^.,narble edifices ; while in the background rise the slopes
of hills darkly clothed in wood, and the scene is closed in
by the snowy line of loftier mountains in the remote dis¬
tance. 1 he part of the town that lies to the left of the
nver is almost inclosed by the Castle Hill (Schloss-berg)
and the Monks Hill {Monch-berg)•, while a bridge 370 feet
long leads to the other portion, on the slope of the Capu-
c nn rim ^Capmmef-berg). On the summits of the two
latter hills there are extensive plateaus, laid out in fine
walks, and planted with trees. The ancient castle on the
i , to which it gives its name, has been long dismantled,
and is now only used for barracks. Its towers rise 400 feet
above the square below. Besides the natural strength of
its position, Salzburg is defended by fortifications, and en-
Samakov
SAM
tered by eight gates. One of the latter, called the New
Gate, is formed by a tunnel cut through the Monk’s Hill,
constructed by Archbishop Sigismund in 1767. The Samara,
cathedral is a large and splendid marble edifice in the
Italian style, built in the seventeenth century. Near it is
the former archbishop’s palace, now occupied by public
offices. In the square in front stands a beautiful marble
fountain and a statue of Mozart, who was born here in a
house that is still to be seen marked with an inscription.
Among the many churches of the town, that of St Peter
is i emarkable for its monuments, and for a curious old
churchyard attached to it. I here are numerous convents,
one of which, the Benedictine, is among the oldest in Ger¬
many, and has a fine librarv. The lyceum, formerly a
university, has also a library of 36,000 volumes and 300
MSS. There are other schools, a theatre, several hos¬
pitals, &c., in the towm. The manufactures comprise leather,
iron wire, and pottery ; the trade is considerable; and two
annual markets are held. Salzburg is still the seat of an
archbishop; also of the provincial government and courts of
law. Pop. (1851), exclusive of the military, 17.009.
SAMAKOV, a town of European Turkey, Bulgaria, at
the foot of the north slope of the Balkan hills, in the San-
jak, and 30 miles S.E. of Sophia. It is defended by an
embattled wall, flanked with towers ; and has manufactories
of heavy iron goods, the materials for which are obtained
from the mines in the vicinity. Pop. 5000.
SAMAR, one of the Philippine Islands, lying to the
S.E. of Luzon, separated from it by a strait 20"miles wide
between N. Lat. 11. and 12. 48., E. Long. 24. 25. and
25. 55. Its form is triangular, with the apex pointing
southwards : length, 150 miles ; greatest breadth, 80 ; area,
54/0 square miles. The northern position is occupied by
mountains; while the whole is densely wooded,
and watered by numerous rivers, large and small. The
climate is healthy, the soil moderately fertile, and the pro¬
ductions numerous, including many useful and valuable
woods, palm oil, cocoa, rice, Manilla hemp, &c. Samar is
inhabited by a mixed race, the offspring of Spaniards by
Indian mothers; they manufacture mats and other articles,
and carry on some trade. The island belongs to Spain ; and
the capital is Cabalunger, on the west coast. Pop. 99,635.
SAMARA, a government of European Russia, bounded
on the N. by that of Kasan, E. by Orenburg and the
Kirgheez territory, S. by Astrakhan, and W. by Saratov and
Simbirsk ; area, 51,588 square miles. It consists of a broad,
open, slightly undulating plain, lying between the rivers
Volga and Ural,—the former of which bounds the govern¬
ment on the west, and the latter on the east. By these
rivers and their affluents, especially those of the Volga, the
country is watered. The government was formed by an
ukase in December 1850, from portions of those of Oren-
burg, Saratov, and Simbirsk, in the following proportions:—
„ _ , „ . Sq. Miles. Pop. (1846).
From Orenburg, 3 districts  21,393 514,014
„ Saratov, parts of 2 districts.. 20,102 327,831
„ Simbirsk, 2 districts  10,093 274,118
Total  51,588 1,115,963
Thus, in the statistics given of these governments for
1849, those parts are included which now belong to Samara,
as the new government had not then been formed. The
great majority of the inhabitants belong to the Greek
Church ; but there were also, in 1851, 122,113 Mohamme¬
dans, 48,583 Protestants, 32,140 Roman Catholics, 3426
pagans, and a few Jews. The government is divided into
seven circles, as follows :—
Pop. (1851).
Samara   146,293
Stavropol  163,534
Nicolajevsk  250,585
Novyi Usen  133,984
Buguruslan  221,322
Pop. (1851).
Bugulma  146,880
Busuluk  257,510
Total 1,320,108
S A M
Samara Samara, the capital of the above government, at the
H. confluence of the river of the same name with the Volga,
Samaritans 550 miles E.S.ti. of Moscow. It was originally built in
's—^ 1591 as a defence against the incursions of the Bashkirs and
the Kalmucks, and for that purpose was surrounded by an
earthen wall and a deep moat. These fortifications were
destroyed in 1703, and a citadel built in their stead, but of
this only a few vestiges are now to be seen. The town
contains two cathedrals and three other churches, a gym¬
nasium and various other schools, several charitable insti¬
tutions, cloth and silk factories, &c. Near the confluence
of the rivers is a double row of warehouses built of pine
wood, and supported by tarred pillars. These, as well as
others in different parts of the town, are used in connection
with the great fairs held here twice a year,—one in the
second week of Lent, and the other on the 14th (26th)
September. Each of the warehouses can contain from
25,000 to 30,000 cwt. of corn. For a long time Samara
has been one of the principal markets for corn on the
Volga; and in 1852 there were sold here 631,412 quarters
of wheat, and 16,613 of lintseed. The value of goods
brought to the first fair is generally about L.41,000, of
which L.13,000 worth are sold; that of those brought to
the second about L.66,000, of which L.20,000 worth are
sold. Pop. 24,405.
SAMARANG, a seaport of Java, capital of a Dutch
province, at the mouth of a river of the same name, on the
north coast of the island, 240 E.S.E. of Batavia. It is
pretty well built, and encircled with a wall and moat, suffi¬
ciently strong to resist any attacks of the natives. The
river forms a harbour, which is rather shallow ; but about
2 miles off there is a roadstead commanded by a fort.
There are here a Protestant and a Roman Catholic church,
several mosques, a school, observatory, theatre, court-house,
town-hall, &c. Leather and cotton fabrics are manufac¬
tured, and an active trade with the interior is carried on,
coffee, pepper, and rice being exported. Pop. about 50,000.
SAMARCAND, a fortified city of Turkestan, in the
kingdom and 100 miles east of Bokhara, in the midst of a
country exceedingly beautiful and fertile, on the Soyd or
Zer Afshan, once the splendid seat of the triumphs of
Tamerlane, and inhabited then by 150,000 people. It is
now in a very decayed condition, and many of its former
streets are covered with ruins, or occupied by fields, gar¬
dens, or groves. The most conspicuous and interesting
building is the mausoleum of Tamerlane and his family, a
magnificently-ornamented octagonal building, surmounted
by a dome. In the citadel stands the palace of the Emir or
Khan of Bokhara. Under Tamerlane, Samarcand was a
great seat of Mohammedan learning, and contained no less
than forty medressas or colleges; but of these, three only
remain,—square buildings with porcelain mosaic on the walls
and minarets at the corners. Of the numerous mosques,
too, many are quite in ruins. The only important modern
buildings are the bazaar and caravansaries. Manufactures
of cotton and silk cloth, silk paper, and other articles are
carried on. The trade of the place has much declined,
having been nearly all transferred to Bokhara, and com¬
paratively little business is now done except when the
caravans from various quarters visit the town. Pop. about
10,000.
SAMARIA. See Palestine.
SAMARITANS. In the books of Kings there are
brief notices of the origin of the people called Samaritans.
The ten tribes which revolted from Rehoboam, son of
Solomon, chose Jeroboam for their king. After his eleva¬
tion to the throne he set up golden calves at Dan and
Bethel, lest repeated visits of his subjects to Jerusalem, for
the purpose of worshipping the true God, should w ithdraw
their allegiance from himself. Afterwards Samaria, built
by Omri, became the metropolis of Israel, and thus the
SAM 591
separation between Judah and Israel was rendered com- Samarrah.
plete. The people took the name Samaritans from the
capital city. In the ninth year of Hosea, Samaria was
taken by the Assyrians under Shalmaneser, who carried
away the inhabitants into captivity, and introduced colonies
into their place. The dregs of the populace, particularly
those who appeared incapable of active service, were not
taken away by the victors. With them, therefore, the
heathen colonists became incorporated. But the latter were
far more numerous than the former, and had all power in
their own hands. The remnant of the Israelites was so in¬
considerable and insignificant as not to affect, to any im¬
portant extent, the opinions of the new inhabitants. As
the people were a mixed race, their religion also assumed a
mixed character. In it the worship of idols was associated
with that of the true God. But apostacy from Jehovah
was not universal. On the return of the Jews from the
Babylonish captivity, the Samaritans wished to join them
in rebuilding the Temple, saying, “ Let us build with you;
for wre seek your God, as ye do ; and we do sacrifice unto
him since the days of Esarhaddon, king of Assur, which
brought us up hither” (Ezra iv. 2). But the Jews declined
the proffered assistance; and from this time the Samaritans
threw every obstacle in their way. Hence arose that in¬
veterate enmity between the two nations which afterwards
increased to such a height as to become proverbial. In
the reign of Darius Nothus, Manasses, son of the Jewish
high-priest, married the daughter of Sanballat the Samaritan
governor ; and to avoid the necessity of repudiating her, as
the law of Moses required, went over to the Samaritans,
and became high-priest in the temple which his father-in-
law built for him on Mount Gerizim. From this time
Samaria became a refuge for all malcontent Jews ; and the
very name of each people became odious to the other.
About the year b.c. 109 John Hyrcanus, high-priest of
the Jews, destroyed the city and temple of the Samaritans ;
but Herod rebuilt them at great expense b.c. 25. In their
new temple, however, the Samaritans could not be induced
to offer sacrifices, but still continued to worship on Gerizim.
At the present day they have dwindled down to a few
families. Shechem, now called Nabulus, is their place of
abode. They still possess a copy of the Mosaic law.
A different account of the origin of this people has been
given by Hengstenberg, whom Havernick and Robinson
follow. It has been ably combated by Kalkar (in Pelt’s
Mitarbeiten for 1840, driites Heft, p. 24, &c.), to whom the
reader is referred.
With the remnant above referred to, a correspondence
was formerly maintained by several learned Europeans, but
without leading to any important result. It was com¬
menced by Joseph Scaliger in 1559; and resumed, after a
century, by several learned men in England in 1675, and
by the great Ethiopic scholar, Job Ludolf, in 1684. The
illustrious orientalist De Sacy also held correspondence
with them. All their letters to England and France, and
all that was then known respecting them, he published in a
work entitled, “ Correspondance des Samaritains,” &c., in
Notices et Extr. des MSS. de la Biblioth.’du Hoi, tom. xii.
The best accounts of them given by modern travellers are
by Pliny Fisk {American Missionary Herald for 1824),
who visited them in 1823; and by Robinson and Smith,
who visited them in 1838 (see Biblical Researches and
Travels in Palestine, iii. 113-116).
SAMARRAH, a town of Asiatic Turkey, on a cliff
forming the left bank of the Tigris, in the pashalic and 65
miles N.N.W. of Bagdad. It is a miserable place, en¬
circled by a wall, and only remarkable for two beautiful
monuments to Moslem saints, both surmounted by domes,
one of which, once covered with gold, is now quite white ;
while the other is beautifully enamelled with white and
yellow flowers on a bluish ground. These attract pilgrims
592
S A M
Samos.
Sambas from all parts of Persia, to the number of 10,000 yearly ;
but the resident population does not exceed 1000.
SAMBAS, a town of Borneo, capital of a Mohammedan
state of the same name, on the River Sambas, about 30
miles from its mouth, on the west coast of the island, 72
miles north of Pontianak. . It lies in a low, swampy country,
and the houses are generally raised on piles. There is
here the residence of a native sultan, tributary to the
Dutch, and of a Dutch resident. Pop. 9400. The country
is fertile and populous, and contains the richest gold mines
in Borneo. These are worked by Chinese. The River
Sambas flows generally west, and after a course of 100
miles, falls into the Indian Ocean. It is navigable for
boats as far as Sambas, and has auriferous sands.
SAMBOR, a town of the Austrian empire, capital of a
circle of the same name in Galicia, on the left bank of the
Dniester, 46 miles S.W. of Lemberg. It contains an an¬
cient Bernardine convent, a gymnasium and normal school,
courts of justice, &c. Linen cloth is manufactured here ;
and an active trade is carried on. Pop. 10,682.
SAMNIUM, one of the principal districts of ancient
Central Italy. The name was sometimes used in a more
extensive, sometimes in a more restricted sense. In the
more usual sense of the term, Samnium was an inland dis¬
trict, bounded on the N. by the Mursi, Peligni, and Fren-
tani, E. by Apulia, S. by Lucania, S.W. and W. by Cam-
panium and Latium. The Samnites were a people of
Sabine origin, who migrated into this country at a compa¬
ratively late period. The date either of their earlier or
later migration is unknown. They became finally swallowed
up by the Roman people, after having engaged in a long
series of desperate struggles known as the Samnite Wars.
(See Roman History.)
SAMOS, an island of the Grecian Archipelago, lying off
the coast of Asia Minor, from which it is separated by the
strait of Little Boghaz, where narrowest, not more than a
mile wide. The Great Boghaz, which is about 10 miles
in width, separates the other extremity of the island from
Icaria. Samos is about 27 miles in length from E. to W.,
by about 12 in extreme breadth; and is between 37. 35.and
37. 48. N. Lat, and 26. 36. and 27- 8. E. Long. It is ele¬
vated and mountainous, being traversed by two lofty ranges
of mountains stretching from E. to W.; but there are also
many valleys of considerable size, especially towards the
south. The highest summit, called Kerkis, the ancient
Cercetius Mons, reaches the height of 4725 feet, and is
covered with perpetual snow. The mountains are in some
places steep and barren ; but for the most part they are at
present, as in the times of antiquity, covered with forests of
oaks and pines, with vineyards, and with olive-grounds. A
few small rivers water the island, and some traces have
been discovered of artificial irrigation. The rocks consist
mainly of white marble, which is the principal mineral pro¬
duction. Iron, lead, and silver are also obtained. In the
valleys the soil is very rich, and the scenery beautiful.
Celebrated in ancient times for its great fertility, Samos is
still one of the most productive islands of the Archipelago,
though it has not now the advantage of that careful system
of cultivation which made use of all the available ground
by means of terraces along the mountain-sides. Corn,
wine, oil, figs, cotton, and silk are the principal articles of
export. 1 he Samian wine, which is now much esteemed,
did not enjoy a favourable reputation in the ancient world.
1 he chief town in the island is Chora or Khora, which
stands near the site of Samos, the ancient capital, and has
a population of 1000. It is defended by a castle, and has
a good harbour. I here are other small ports on different
parts of the coast. Samos now belongs to the Turkish
empire; but has enjoyed since 1835 a position of virtual
independence, governed by a Greek with the title of
“ Prince of Samos, ’ and paying a fixed annual tribute to
S A M
tbe Porte. In the earliest times the island bore several
names besides the one which it ultimately retained, and
which was given to it most probably on account of its ele¬
vated character. The original inhabitants are said to have
been Carians and Leleges; but at the time of the Ionian
emigration to Asia, Greek settlers established themselves,
and Samos became an important member of the Ionian
league. It was chiefly distinguished for commercial and
maritime enterprise: its ships exhibited the earliest im¬
provements in naval architecture; and one of its citizens
was the first who passed the pillars of Hercules, and visited
Tartessus. Several colonies were founded by Samos on
the shores of the Aegean and the Propontis. During the
short but prosperous reign of Polycrates (b.c. 532-522),
the Samian navy was the most powerful in Greece; and
the island maintained its independence of the Persian em¬
pire, being in alliance at first with Amasis of Egypt, and
afterwards with his enemy Cambyses of Persia. The capital
was at that time one of the finest cities in the world, and
was encircled by many public works and buildings con¬
structed by the monarch. He resided in a fortified palace;
there w?as a large Ionic temple of Juno by a native archi¬
tect, a harbour inclosed by two artificial moles, and a tun¬
nel hew n out of the rock to convey water to the city. At
this period, too, Samos was distinguished as the birth-place
of Pythagoras; and Anacreon resided for some time at the
court of Polycrates. The reign of that monarch, however,
came to a disastrous end in 522, when he was treacherously
put to death by a Persian satrap. Darius then appointed
Sylosen, the brother of Polycrates, to succeed him ; but he
could only be placed on the throne after a general mas¬
sacre, which almost reduced the island to a desert. Samos
was now virtually subject to Persia, and continued to be so,
with a short interval at the time of the Ionian revolt, until
the victory of the Greeks at Mycale, b.c. 479, obtained its
freedom. It then became a member of the Athenian con¬
federacy ; but after a time revolted, and was in consequence
reduced to complete subjection by the Athenians. This
happened in 439, and from that period till 412 Samos had
neither a fleet nor any fortifications; but at the latter date
it became a place of importance, and was the head-quarters
of the Athenian fleet in their final contest with Sparta,
fc^fter this time few historical events are connected with
Samos. It was celebrated for its school of statuary; and
under the Roman empire was a free city, while the temple
of Juno enjoyed the privileges of a sanctuary. It is un¬
necessary to enter minutely into the history of Samos dur¬
ing the middle ages, during which, after having been held
for a long time by the Arabs, it was recovered by the Em¬
peror Leo in the thirteenth century, and then successively
fell into the hands of the Venetians, Genoese, and Turks.
At the time of the Greek insurrection the Samians zeal¬
ously embraced the side of liberty. They expelled the
Turks from the island, which they put into a state of de¬
fence, establishing an independent government. Various
attempts were made by the Turks to regain the island,
but they were all foiled by the courage of the people and
the vigilance of the Greek fleet. In the treaty, however,
which secured the independence and defined the limits of
Greece, Samos was still left to Turkey, and the subsequent
efforts that she has made have only secured a partial freedom.
The ancient remains in the island are very inconsiderable ;
they are all near the site of the capital, towards the S.W.,
and consist chiefly of some fragments of the city walls,
some traces of a theatre, a single column of the great
temple, and the moles of the harbour. 1 he present popu¬
lation of Samos is estimated at 50,000.
SAMOTHRACE, called by the modern Greeks Samo-
thraki, an island in the JEgean Sea, about 38 miles S. of
the coast of Thrace, and 40 N.W. of the mouth of the
flellespont. It is oval in form, about 8 miles in length by
SAM
Samoyedes 6 in breadth, and lias an area of 30 square miles. It is
|| very lofty, the highest point, Mount Fingaree (anciently
Samuel called Saoce), being the most conspicuous object, next to
°° S ° '/ Mount Athos, in this part of the sea, and, except Mount
Ida in Crete, the most elevated point in the whole Archi¬
pelago. Hence it is represented by Homer as the seat of
Neptune when viewing the plains of Troy ; and modern
travellers have confirmed the accuracy of his description by
observing from these plains the island towering up over the
low intervening surface of Imbros. Corn, oil, honey, and
wax are the principal productions of the island. It has no
good harbours, but some anchorages on its coast. Samo-
thrace was chiefly celebrated in ancient times as the seat of
the mysteries of the Cabiri, into which many celebrated
men were initiated. No important event, either in ancient
or in modern history, is connected with the island. Pop.
about 15,000, partly Greeks and partly Turks.
SAMOYEDES, a race of people in the Russian empire,
occupying the shores of the Arctic Ocean, from the penin¬
sula of Kamin, in the government of Archangel, to the Gulf
of Katanska, in the N.E. of that of Yeniseisk. Properly
speaking, they are a branch of the Finnic race, but are so
widely distinguished from that race that they may be con¬
sidered a separate one. They are divided into three parts,—
Samoyedes of the Great Land, inhabiting the country E.
of the Petchora; those of the Little Land, farther west;
and those of the Kamin peninsula, the most westerly of all.
Their numbers are not great, and they lead a wandering
life, subsisting chiefly by fishing and the chase.
SAMSOON, a seaport-town of Asiatic Turkey, pashalic
of Sivas, on the shore of the Black Sea, 166 miles W.N.W.
of Trebizond. It has mosques, khans, and a small bazaar ;
and is chiefly remarkable as a place of trade, whence the
copper, timber, wheat, &c^ of the surrounding country are
conveyed to Constantinople. The commercial activity of
the place received a great impulse during the Crimean war,
on the opposite coast of the Black Sea ; but after the peace
it relapsed into its old state, and the difficulty of internal
communication prevents anypermanentadvance. Pop.2000.
SAMUEL. (See Samuel, Books of.)
Name. Samuel, Books of. The two books of Samuel were
anciently reckoned as but one among the Jews. That
they form only one treatise is apparent from their struc¬
ture. The present division into two books, common in
our Hebrew Bibles since the editions of Bomberg, was
derived from the Septuagint and Vulgate, in both which
versions they are termed the First and Second Books of
Kings. Thus Origen (apud Euseb. Hist. Eccles. vi. 25),
in his famous catalogue of the Hebrew Scriptures, names
the books of Samuel; so also does Jerome. It was de¬
sirable to have short names for the books of Scripture;
and as Samuel was a prophet of such celebrity, and had
such influence in changing the form of government under
which the son of Kish and the son of Jesse became sove¬
reigns, it was natural to name after him the biographical
tracts in which the life and times of these royal chieftains
are briefly sketched, especially as they at the same time
contain striking descriptions of the miracle of his own birth,
the oracles of his youth, and the impressive actions of his
long career. The selection of this Jewish name might also
be strengthened by the national belief of the authorship of
a large portion of the work, founded on the language of
1 Chron. xxix. 29.
Contents. The contents of the books of Samuel belong to an inter¬
esting period of Jewish history. The first book of Samuel
gives an account of the birth and early call of that prophet
to the duties of a seer under Eli’s pontificate ; describes the
low and degraded condition of the people, oppressed by fo¬
reign enemies ; proceeds to narrate the election of Samuel as
judge; his prosperous regency; the degeneracy of his sons;
the clamour for a change in the civil constitution; theinstalla-
vou. XIX.
S A M 593
tion of Saul ; his rash and reckless character; his neglect of, Samuel,
or opposition to, the theocratic elements of the government. Books of.
Then the historian goes on to relate God’s choice of David
as king; his endurance of long and harassing persecution
from the reigning sovereign ; the melancholy defeat and
death of Saul on the field of Gilboa; the gradual elevation
of the man “according to God’s own heart” to universal
dominion j his earnest efforts to obey and follow out the
principles of the theocracy ; his formal establishment of re¬
ligious worship at Jerusalem, now the capital of the nation ;
and his series of victories overall the enemies of Judea that
were wont to molest its frontiers. The annalist records
David’s aberrations from the path of dutythe unnatural
rebellion of his son Absalom, and its suppression ; his carry¬
ing into effect a census of his dominions, and the Divine
punishment which this act incurred; and concludes with a
few characteristic sketches of his military staff. The second
book of Samuel, while it relates the last words of David,
yet stops short of his death. As David was the real
founder of the monarchy and arranger of the religious
economy; the great hero, legislator, and poet of his coun¬
try ; as his dynasty maintained itself on the throne of Judah
till the Babylonian invasion ; it is not a matter of wonder
that the description of his life and government occupies so
large a portion of early Jewish history. The books of
Samuel thus consist of three interlaced biographies,—those
of Samuel, Saul, and David.
The attempt to ascertain the authorship of this early his- Age and
tory is attended with difficulty. Ancient opinion is in favour authorship,
of the usual theory, that the first twenty-four chapters were
written by Samuel, and the rest by Nathan and Gad.
Abarbanel, however, and Grotius, suppose Jeremiah to be
the author (Grot. Prcef. in 1 Sam.) The peculiar theory
of Jahn is, that the four books of Samuel and Kings were
written by the same person, and at a date so recent as the
thirtieth year of the Babylonish captivity. His arguments,
however, are more ingenious than solid {Introduction,
Turner’s Translation, § 46). The fact of all the four trea¬
tises being named Books of Kings, Jahn insists upon as a
proof that they were originally undivided and formed a
single work—a mere hypothesis, since the similarity of their
contents might easily give rise to this general title, while
the more ancient appellation for the first two was The Books
of Samuel. Jahn also lays great stress on the uniformity
of method in all the books. But this uniformity by no
means amounts to any proof of identity of authorship. It
is nothing more than the same Hebrew historical style.
The more minute and distinctive features, so far from being
similar, are very different. The books of Samuel and Kings
may be contrasted in many of those peculiarities which
mark a different writer. The books of Samuel have an
authorship of their own—an authorship belonging to a very
early period. While their tone and style are very different
from the later records of Chronicles, they are also dissimilar
to the books of Kings. They bear the impress of a hoary
age in their language, allusions, and mode of composition.
The insertion of odes and snatches of poetry, to enliven and
verify the narrative, is common to them with the Penta¬
teuch. The minute sketches and vivid touches with which
they abound prove that their author “speaks what he
knows, and testifies what he has seen.” As if the chapters
had been extracted from a diary, some portions are more
fully detailed and warmly coloured than others, according
as the observer was himself impressed.
From public and acknowledged sources has the compiler
fetched his materials, in the shape of connected excerpts.
The last of the prophetic triumvirate might be the redactor
or editor of the work, and we would not date its publication
later than the death of Nathan, while the original biogra¬
phies may have been finished at the period of David’s de¬
cease. But certainty on such a subject is not to be attained.
4 F
594 SAN
Sana Probability is all that we dare assert. The compiler has in
I! all probability framed out of authoritative documents a con-
Sanadon. secutive history^ not dwelling on all events with ecjual intei-
est, but passing slightly over some, and formally detailing
others with national relish and delight.
Credibility The authenticity of the history found in the books of
Samuel rests on sufficient grounds. Portions of them are
quoted in the New Testament (2 Sam. vii. 14, in Heb. i. 5 ;
1 Sam. xiii. 14, in Acts xiii. 22). References to them occur
in other sections of Scripture, especially in the Psalms, to
which they often afford historic illustration. It has been
argued against them that they contain contradictory state¬
ments. The old objections of Hobbes, Spinoza, Simon, and
Le Clerc are well disposed of by Carpzovius (Introduction
p. 215). Some of these supposed contradictions we have
already referred to; and for a solution of others, especially
of seeming contrariety between the books of Samuel and
Chronicles, we refer with satisfaction to Davidson’s Sacred
Hermeneutics, p. 544, &c. Some ot the objections of Vatke,
in his Bill. TheoL, are summarily disposed of by Hengsten-
berg (Die Authentic des Pentat., vol. ii., p. 115), who
usually chastises such adversaries with a whip of scorpions.
Discrepancies in numbers, and sometimes in proper names,
are the most common ; and it is well known that textual
errors in numeration are both most frequently and most
easily committed.
Commen- Victorini Strigelii Comm, in quatuor Lihr. Beg. et Pa-
taries. ralipp., 1624, folio ; N. Serrarii Comm, in lihr. Josuce, Jud.,
Ruth, Reg., et Paralipp., 1609, folio: Seb. Schmidt, In
Lib. Sam. Comm., 1684-89, 4to ; Jac. Bonfrerii Comm, in
libr. quat. Reg., &c., 1643; Clerici Comm, in libr. Sam. ;
Opera, T. ii.; Jo. Drusii Annotat. in Locos dijfic. Jos.,
Jud., Sam., 1618 ; Hensler, Erlduterungen des I. B. Sam.
See., 1795; Maurer, Comment. Critic, p. 1 ; Exegetische
Handbuch des A. T., st. iv. v.; Chandler’s Critical History
of the Life of David, 2 vols., 1786.
SANA, a town of Arabia, the capital of Yemen or
Arabia Felix, 4000 feet above the sea, in a beautiful val¬
ley extending from N. to S., from 6 to 9 miles broad, and
bounded on either side by mountains and table-lands, 110
miles N.N.E. of Hodeida ; N. Lat. 15. 22., E. Long. 44. 31.
The streets are in general narrow, and the principal one is
crossed by a handsome bridge, as in rainy weather a stream
of water runs through it. The houses are large, and those
of the upper classes have windows filled with fine stained
glass. A wall, about 5^ miles in circuit, surrounds the
town, and has a few guns ; but it is in a very ruinous con¬
dition. There are about 20 mosques, in general very
splendid, and many of them surmounted by gilt domes.
Sana has also a bazaar, and baths similar to those of Egypt.
But the principal buildings are the two large palaces of the
imam, which have extensive gardens attached to them, the
whole being surrounded with fortifications. The architec¬
ture of these edifices is Saracenic, with an intermixture of
round and pointed arches, but they are devoid of all super¬
fluous ornaments. Most of the artizans in Sana are Jews,
who live in a separate quarter of the town, and are subject
to much oppression, paying heavy taxes for permission to
reside in the town, and for the possession of gardens or
vineyards. They, as well as the Banians, who form a large
proportion of the population, are obliged to conceal their
wealth, and they live by the sale of jewellery, gunpowder,
spirits, &c. The most important and wealthy class in Sana
are the merchants. The principal article of export is the
coffee grown in the vicinity ; while tobacco, thread, silk,
velvet, glass, dates, spices, sugar, &c., are imported. Sana
has been governed by an imam ever since the Turks were
expelled from this part of Arabia, in the reign of Solyman
the Magnificent. Some ancient inscriptions have been dis¬
covered here. Pop. about 40,000.
SANADON, Noel Etienne, a Jesuit, and professor of
SAN
humanity at Caen, was born at Rouen in 1676. He be- Sanchez
came acquainted with Huet, Bishop of Avranches, whose ||
taste for literature and poetry was similar to his own. Sanchunia-
Sanadon afterwards taught rhetoric at the university of ^ ^
Paris, and upon the death of Du Cerceau he was entrusted
with the education of the Prince of Conti. In 1728 he was
made librarian to Louis XIV., an office which he retained
to his death, which took place on the 21st of September
1733, in the fifty-seventh year of his age.
His works are, Poesies Latin, in 12mo, 1715, reprinted
by Barbou, in 8vo, 1754. These poems consist of odes,
elegies, and epigrams on various subjects. A translation
of Horace, with remarks, in two vols. 4to, printed at Paris
in 1727. The best edition of this work was printed at Am¬
sterdam in 1735 in 8 vols. 12mo, in which are also in¬
serted the versions and notes of Madame Dacier, whose
version of Horace is decidedly inferior to that of Sanadon,
although his version is rather a paraphrase than a faithful
translation, and possesses very few of the beauties of Ho¬
race. A collection of Discours, delivered at different times,
afford strong proofs of his knowledge of oratory and poetry.
A book entitled Prieres et Instructions Chretiennes, 1752,
gives good evidence of genuine piety.
SANCHEZ, Francisco, commonly called “El Bro-
cense,” the best classical scholar of his day in Spain, was
born at Las Brozas in Estremadura in 1523. After taking
his bachelor’s degree at Valladolid, he went to Salamanca,
where he obtained the chair of rhetoric in 1554. He like¬
wise taught Greek and Latin, and had the honour to be
spoken of in the highest terms by such learned men as
Justus Lipsius and Scioppius. Lipsius, after designating
him the “divine” and the “admirable,” calls him “the
Mercury and the Apollo of Spain.” Having edited several
classical authors, and having taken his doctor’s degree, he
devoted all his time to the great work Minerva, seu de
Causis Linguce Latince Commentarius, which appeared
in 1587, and which has frequently been reprinted. This
work raised the author’s reputation to the highest pitch.
He resigned his chair of rhetoric into the hands of his son-in-
law in 1593, and died on the 17th January 1601, aged 77.
Sanchez wrote a great many smaller works, which are
contained in the 4-vol. edition of his minor writings of
1766. Prefixed to the first volume is a Life of the author
by Mayans.
Sanchez, Francisco, a physician and sceptical philoso¬
pher, who is frequently confounded with the eminent classic
of the same name, was born of Jewish parents during the
latter half of the sixteenth century at Bracara, or, according
to others, at Tuy, on the frontiers of Portugal. He pursued
his studies for a time at Bordeaux, but his father having
been exiled while he was still young, he completed his me¬
dical education at Rome. In 1573 he graduated in medi¬
cine at Montpellier, took up his residence at Toulouse, and
professed philosophy for twenty-five years and medicine for
eleven with remarkable success. He died in 1632.
Sanchez has left the following philosophical work, which
assigns him a place beside his sceptical contemporaries,
Montaigne and Charron, viz., Tractatus de multum nobili
et prima universali, scientia, quod nihil scitur, 4to, Lyons,
1581 ; Franc. 1628; Rotterdam, 1649. A complete edi¬
tion of his writings, medical and philosophical, will be found
under the title Opera Medica, Toulouse, 1636. Refuta¬
tions of the scepticism of Sanchez were attempted by
Ulrich Wild, Leipsic, 1664, and by Daniel Gartmarck,
Stettin, 1665. (See Diet, des Phil. Sciences.)
SANCHUNIATHON (%*yxvvi<x6w), a Phoenician
philosopher and historian, who is said by some to have
flourished about the time of the Trojan war, and according
to others, about the time of Semiramis. Of this most
ancient writer the only remains extant are various frag¬
ments of cosmogony, and of the history of the gods and
S A N C II U N IA T H 0 N.
595
Sanchunia- first mortals, preserved by Eusebius apd Theodoret, both
thon. of whom speak of Sanchuniathon as an accurate and faithful
' historian ; and the former adds that his work, which was
translated by Philo-Byblius from the Phoenician into the
Greek language, contains many things relating to the his¬
tory of the Jews which deserve great credit, both because
they agree with the Jewish writers, and because the author
received these particulars from the annals of Hierombalus,
a priest of the god ’leuw (? Jehovah).
Several modern writers of great learning, however, have
called in question the very existence of Sanchuniathon,
and have contended, with much plausibility, that the frag¬
ments which Eusebius adopted as genuine upon the autho¬
rity of Porphyry were forged by that author or by the
pretended translator Philo, from enmity to the Christians,
and that the pagans might have something to show of equal
antiquity with the books of Moses. These opposite opinions
have produced a controversy that has filled volumes, and of
which our limits would hardly admit of an abstract. We
shall therefore in few words state what appears to us to be
the truth, and refer such of our readers as are desirous of
fuller information to the works of the authors mentioned
below.1
The controversy respecting Sanchuniathon resolves itself
into two questions ; first, Was there in reality such a writer ?
and, second, Was he of the very remote antiquity which his
translator claims for him ?
1. Now that there was really such a writer, and that the
fragments preserved by Eusebius are indeed parts of his
history, interpolated perhaps by the translator, we are com¬
pelled to believe.2 Eusebius, who admitted them into his
work as authentic, was one of the most learned men of his
age, and a diligent searcher into antiquity. Father Simon
of the oratory imagines {Bib. Grit., vol. i., p. 140) that the
purpose for which the history of Sanchuniathon was forged
was to support paganism by taking from it its mythology
and allegories, which were perpetually objected to it by the
Christian writers. But this learned man totally mistakes
the matter, The primitive Christians were too much at¬
tached to allegories themselves to rest their objections to
paganism on such a foundation. What they objected to in
that system was the immoral stories told of the priests. Is
it conceivable that a writer so acute as Porphyry, or indeed
that any man of common sense either in his age or in that
of Philo, would forge a book filled with such stories as these
in order to remove the Christian objections to the immoral
characters of the pagan divinities ? The very supposition
is impossible to be made. Nor let any one imagine that
Sanchuniathon is here writing allegorically, and by his
tales of Quranos, and Ge, and Kronus, is only personifying
the heaven, the earth, and time. On the contrary, he as¬
sures us that Quranos, or Epigeus, or Autochthon (for he
gives him all these names), was the son of one Eliaun or
Hypsistos, who dwelt about Byblus, and that from him the
element which is over us was called heaven on account of
its excellent beauty, as the earth was named Ge after his
sister and wife. And his translator is very angry3 with the
Neotoric Greeks, as he calls them, because that, “by a
great deal of force and straining, they laboured to turn all
the stories of the gods into allegories and physical dis¬
courses.” This proves unanswerably that the author of
this book, whoever he was, did not mean to veil the great
truths of religion under the cloak of mythological allegories ;
and therefore, if it was forged by Porphyry in support of
paganism, the forger so far mistook the state of the question
between him and his adversaries that he contrived a book, Sanchunia-
which, if admitted to be ancient, totally overthrew his own thon-
cause.
2. The next thing to be inquired into with respect to
Sanchuniathon is his antiquity. Did he really live and
write at so early a period as Porphyry and Philo pretend ?
We think he did not; and what contributes not a little to
confirm us in our opinion is that mark of national vanity
and partiality common to after-times, in making the sacred
mysteries of his own country original, and conveyed from
Phoenicia into Egypt. This, however, furnishes an addi¬
tional proof that Porphyry was not the forger of the work;
for he well knew that the mysteries had their origin in
Egypt (see Mysteries), and would not have fallen into
such a blunder. He is guilty, indeed, of a very great ana¬
chronism when he makes Sanchuniathon contemporary with
Semiramis, and yet pretends that what he writes of the
Jews is compiled from the records of Hierombalus the
priest of the god Jeuo ; for Bochart has made it appear in
the highest degree probable4 that Hierombalus or Jeromb-
baal is the Jerub-baal or Gideon of Scripture. Between
the reign of Semiramis and the Trojan war a period elapsed
of near eight hundred years, whereas Gideon flourished not
above seventy years before the destruction of Troy. But
supposing Sanchuniathon to have really consulted the re¬
cords of Gideon, it by no means follows that he flourished
at the same period with that judge of Israel. He speaks
of the building of Tyre as an ancient thing, while our best
chronologers5 place it in the time of Gideon. Indeed, were
we certain that any writings had been left by that holy
man, we should be obliged to conclude that a large tract
of time had intervened between the death of their author
and their falling into the hands of Sanchuniathon ; for
surely they could not in a short period have been so com¬
pletely corrupted as to give any countenance to his impious
absurdities. His atheistic cosmogony he does not indeed
pretend to have got from the annals of the priest of Jeuo,
but from records which were deposited in his own town of
Berytus by Thoth, a Phoenician philosopher, who was after¬
wards made king of Egypt. But surely the annals of
Gideon, if written by himself, and preserved pure to the
days of Sanchuniathon, must have contained so many truths
of the Mosaic religion as must have prevented any man of
sense from adopting so impossible a theory as Thoth’s, al¬
though sanctioned by the greatest name of profane anti¬
quity. Stillingfleet indeed thinks it most probable that
Sanchuniathon became acquainted with the most remark¬
able passages of the life of Jerub-baal from annals written
by a Phoenician pen. He observes, that immediately after
the death of Gideon, the Israelites, with their usual prone¬
ness to idolatry, worshipped Baal-berith, or the idol of
Berytus, the town in which Sanchuniathon lived ; and from
this circumstance he concludes that there must have been
such an intercourse between the Hebrews and the Berytians,
that in process of time the latter people might assume to
themselves the Jerub-baal of the former, and hand down
his actions to posterity as those of a priest instead of a great
commander. All this may be true ; but if so, it amounts
to a demonstration that the antiquity of Sanchuniathon is
not so high by many ages as that which is claimed for him
by Philo and Porphyry; though he may still be more
ancient, as we think Vossius has proved him to be, than
any other profane historian whose writings have come down
to us either entire or in fragments.
A useful edition of the fragments, said to be of Sanchu-
1 Bochart, Scaliger, Vossius, Cumberland, Dodwell, Stillingfleet, Mosheim’s Cudworth, and Warburton.
2 Of these indeed there are several proofs. Philo makes Sanchuniathon speak of Byblus as the most ancient city of Phoenicia, which,
in all probability, it was not. We read in the hook of Judges of Berith or Berytus, the city where Sanchuniathon himself lived; but
not of Byblus, which was the native city of Philo, and to which he is therefore partial. He makes him likewise talk of the Greeks at a
period long before any of the Grecian states were known or probably peopled.
3 Apud Busebium, Prasp. Evang., lib. i., cap. vi. 4 Geogr. Sac., p. 2, book ii., lib. 11., cap. xvli. 6 J. J. Scaliger.
596 SAN
Sancroft niathon, were published by J. C. Orelli, Leipzig, 1826;
!l and in 1835 an MS. was said to have been discovered in
Sanctorius. portugai 0f tjle nine books of Philo’s translation of that
ancient historian. This discovery caused immense squab¬
bling among the German critics. The majority of them
pronounced it to be spurious. Wagenfeld, the two Grote-
fends, Schmidt, and Movers, may be consulted regarding it.
On the general subject the reader may refer to J. A.
Fabricius, Biblioth. Grcec., vol. i. p. 222.
SANCROFT, William, archbishop of Canterbury,
was born at Fresingfield in Suffolk in 1616, and admitted
into Emanuel College, Cambridge, in 1633. In 1642 he
was elected a fellow ; but was ejected from his fellowship
for refusing to take the Solemn League and Covenant. In
1660 he was chosen one of the university preachers, and in
1663 was nominated to the deanery of York. In 1664 he
was installed dean of St Paul’s. In this situation he set
himself with unwearied diligence to repair the cathedral,
till the fire of London in 1666 employed his thoughts on
the more noble undertaking of rebuilding it, to which he
gave L.1400. He also rebuilt the deanery, and improved
its revenue. In 1668 he was admitted archdeacon of Can¬
terbury, upon the king’s presentation. In 1677, being now
prolocutor of the convocation, he was unexpectedly ad¬
vanced to the archbishopric of Canterbury. In 1687 he
was committed to the Tower, with six other bishops, for
presenting a petition to the king against reading the de¬
claration of indulgence. Upon King James II.’s with¬
drawing himself, he concurred with the lords in a declara¬
tion to the Prince of Orange for a free parliament, and due
indulgence to the Protestant dissenters. But when that
prince and his consort were declared king and queen, his
grace refused to take the oath to their majesties, and was
suspended and deprived. He retired to his birth-place,
where he lived in a very private manner till his death,
which took place in 1693. His learning, integrity, and
piety made him an exalted ornament of the church. He
published a volume in 12mo, entitled Modern Politics, taken
from Machiavelli and other authors ; and also Familiar Let¬
ters to Mr (afterwards Sir Henry) North. He is said by
Lord Macaulay to have been “an honest, pious, narrow¬
minded man.” (History of England, vol. ii. p. 7, 1858.)
SANCTORIUS, the ordinary name by which Santori
Santorio, a distinguished Italian physician is known, was
born at Capo d’Istria in 1561. Having taken his medical
degree at Padua, he subsequently settled at Venice, where
he practised his profession with the greatest success. His
reputation having travelled back to Padua, he was in 1611
recalled from Venice, and appointed professor of the tlieory
of medicine in his parent university. Sanctorius continued
to lecture here for the next thirteen years, but having been
frequently called to Venice on important medical business
during that time, and feeling the fatigue of travelling gra¬
dually become more and more irksome, he was induced to
resign his professorship, for which he continued however to
receive the salary. Settling in Venice, he continued his
medical practice till his death in 1636, in his seventy-fifth
year. He was interred in the cloister of the Servites,
where a marble statue marks his tomb.
1 he observations of Santorio on insensible perspiration
rendered his name famous throughout Europe. He was a
man of true genius, alike devoid of the pompous medical
ignorance of his co-temporaries, and of the blind reverence
for opinion peculiar to his century. He was author of six
separate works, some of them of great value, particularly
Methodus Vitandoruin Errorum omnium qui in Arte
Medico, contmgunt, Libri xv., Ven. 1602: Commentarius
in Artem Medicinalem Galeni, Venet. 1612; Ars de
Staticd Medicind, Venet. 1614. This work has been fre¬
quently translated. It has been done into Italian by Baglivi,
Rome, 1704; by Cogrossi, Padua, 1724; by Chiari, Venice,
SAN
1720; into French by Le Breton, Paris, 1722; into Ger- Sandbach
man by Timmius, Bremen, 1736 ; and into English by J. D., H
London, 1696, and by Dr Quincy, London, 1712. Com- Sanderson.
mentarius in Primam Fen primi libri canonis Avicennce,
Venet. 1626; another Commentarius, of little value, and
a Liber de Pemediorum Inventione, Venet. 1629, which
contains a curious account of some post mortem examina¬
tions. The life of Sanctorius was written in Latin by A.
Capelli, Venice, 1750; and his whole works appeared at
Venice in 1660, in 4 vols. 4to.
SANDBACH, a market-town of England, in Cheshire,
on a hill near the right bank of the Wheelock, 24 miles
E.S.E. of Chester. There is an old parish church in the
perpendicular style, which has been partially rebuilt; also
Methodist and Baptist churches ; a grammar-school founded
in 1577, national and other schools, &e. Shoes and silk are
manufactured here. Pop. (1851) 2752.
SANDBY, Paul, founder of the English school of
watei>colour painting, was sprung from a branch of the
Sandbys of Babworth, and was born at Nottingham in
1725. After commencing his artistic studies in London, in
1746 he was appointed by the Duke of Cumberland
draughtsman to the survey of the Highlands. His skill as
an engraver brought him under the notice of Sir Joseph
Banks, who gave him his patronage, and subsequently com¬
missioned him to bring out in aquatinta (a method of
engraving then peculiar to Sandby) forty-eight plates
drawn during a tour in Wales. Sandby displayed consi¬
derable power as a caricaturist in his attempt to ridicule
the opposition of Hogarth to the plan for creating a public
academy for the arts. Having been a member of various
artistic societies, he was chosen a foundation-member of
the Royal Academy in 1768, and during the same year was
appointed chief drawing-master to the Royal Military Aca¬
demy at Woolwich. He held this situation till his death,
and during that time he brought forth many artists, who
afterwards gained a name in their profession. Sandby will
be best remembered, however, by his water-colour paint¬
ing. While it wanted the richness and brilliancy of modern
water-colour, he nevertheless impressed upon his art the
originality of his mind ; and in his later pieces, in particu¬
lar, decided progress is observable in richness and in har¬
mony of tinting. His etchings, such as “ Cries of London”
and Ramsay’s “ Gentle Shepherd,” and his plates, such as
Tasso’s “Jerusalem Delivered,” are both numerous and
carefully executed. He died in London on the 9th No¬
vember 1809.
SANDEMANIANS. See Glassites.
SANDERSON, Robert, bishop of Lincoln, was born
at Rotherham, in Yorkshire, on the 19th of September
1587. He was descended of an ancient family, and at¬
tended the grammar-school at Rotherham, where he made
such wonderful proficiency in the languages that at thirteen
it was judged proper to send him to Lincoln College, Ox¬
ford. In 1608 he was ap|X)inted logic-reader in the same
college. He took orders in 1611, and was promoted suc¬
cessively to several benefices. Archbishop Laud recom¬
mended him to Charles I. as a profound casuist; and that
monarch, who seems to have been a great admirer of casu¬
istical learning, appointed him one of his chaplains in 1631.
The king regularly attended his sermons, and was wont to
say that he “ carried his ears to hear other preachers, but
his conscience to hear Mr Sanderson.” Chancing to be
with the king at Oxford in 1636 he was made a D.D. In
1642 Charles created him regius professor of divinity at
Oxford, with the canonry of Christ Church annexed. But
the civil wars prevented him until 1646 from entering on
the office; and in 1648 he was ejected by the visitors
which the Parliament had commissioned. When the
parliament proposed the abolition of the episcopal form
of church government, as incompatible with monarchy,
SAN
Sandoval. Charles desired him to take the subject under his consi-
deration, and deliver his opinion. He accordingly wrote a
treatise entitled Episcopacy, as established by Law in
England, not prejudicial to Regal Power, 1661. The
king afterwards advised him to publish cases of con¬
science. He replied that “ he was now grown old, and
unfit to write cases of conscience.” The king said, k‘ It
was the simplest thing he had ever heard from him ; for no
young man was fit to be a judge, or write cases of con¬
science.” Izaak Walton, who wrote the life of Dr Sander¬
son, informs us, that in one of these conferences the king
told Sanderson, or one of the rest who was then in com¬
pany, that “ the remembrance of two errors did much
affect him, which were his assent to the Earl of Strafford’s
death, and the abolishing of episcopacy in Scotland ; and
that if God ever restored him to the peaceable possession of
his crown, he would prove his repentance by a public con¬
fession and a voluntary penance, by walking barefoot from
the Tower of London, or Whitehall, to St Paul’s Church,
and would desire the people to intercede with God for his
pardon.” Boyle, having read a work of Dr Sanderson’s,
entitled De Juramenii Obligatione, 1661, was so much
pleased that he requested the author to write his Cases of
Conscience, with which Sanderson complied, 1678. When
Charles II. was reinstated on the throne, he recovered his
professorship and canonry, and soon afterwards was pro¬
moted to the bishopric of Lincoln. During the two years
and a half in which he possessed this new office, he spent a
considerable sum in augmenting poor vicarages, and in
repairing the palace at Budgen. He died on the 29th of
January 1662-63, in his seventy-sixth year. His works
not already mentioned are as follows:—In 1615 he pub-
ished Logicce Artis Compendium, which was the system
of lectures he had delivered in the university w hen he was
logic-reader ; Sermons, amounting in number to thirty-six,
printed in 1681, folio, with the author’s Life by Walton;
De Obligatione Conscientice ; Censure of Mr Antony As-
cham his book of the Confusions and Revolutions of Govern¬
ment; Pax Ecclesice, concerning Predestination, or the
five points. Besides these he wrote two Discourses in de¬
fence of Usher’s writings. (See The Marks of Robert
Sanderson, D.D., now first collected by Dr William Ja¬
cobson, in 6 vols., Oxford, 1854.)
SANDOVAL, Fkay Prudencio de, a bishop and his¬
torian of Spain of considerable merit, was born according
to some at Valladolid, according to others at Monterey, in
Galicia, in 1560. Having been educated for the church he
took monastic orders, and passed several years in the con¬
stant study of the antiquities of Spain. Sandoval was soon
after made abbot of San Isidore and historiographer to Philip
III., when he responded to a royal request to continue the
Cronica General of Morales, by carrying down that history
from 1037 to the death of Alfonso VII. in 1097, published
in 1600. But by far the most valuable work which San¬
doval wrote is his history of Charles V., entitled Historia
de la Vida y Hechos del Emperador Carlos V., Vallad.
1604 and 1605; Pamplona, 1614; Antw. 1681. Of this
wmrk there are two abridgments in English,—one by
James Wandsworth, London, 1652; the other by Captain
John Stevens, London, 1703. Sandoval was rewarded for
his labour by the bishopric of Tuy, and shortly after by
that of Pamplona in 1612. The whole of his life almost
was spent in the exploration of the public archives and
libraries of his native country. He died at Pamplona on
the 17th of March 1621, aged sixty-one years. Bishop
Sandoval, besides other works, edited a number of chro¬
nicles of the twelfth century, which will be found in Las
Cronicas de los Quatro Obispos, fol. 1615 and 1634.
Ticknor {History of Spanish Literature, vol. iii. 139,1849),
in speaking of the greatest work of Sandoval, characterizes
it as too long. “ It fills,” he says, “ as many pages as the
SAN 597
entire work of Mariana, and, though written with simplicity, Sandrart
is not attractive in its style. His prejudices are strong and II
obvious. Not only the monk, for he was a Benedictine, aandwich^
and enjoyed successively two very rich bishoprics, but the v
courtier of Philip III. is constantly apparent. . . . Still, the
history of Sandoval is a documentary work of authority
much relied on by Robertson, and one that, on the whole,
by its ample and minute details, gives a more satisfactory
account of the reign of Charles V. than any other single
history extant.”
SANDRART, Joachim von, a painter and artistic
biographer, was born of an ancient and noble family at
Franckfurt-on-the-Main in 1606. He devoted himself early
to the arts, and received his first lessons from 1 heodore de
Bry. At the age of fifteen he set out for Prague to learn
the art of engraving from Sadeler ; but that artist advising
him to apply himself to painting, he went to Utrecht, where
he entered the school of Gerhard Honthorst. Flere he
made rapid progress, and was soon able to assist his master
in his more important paintings. Descamps and Pilkington
both say that Sandrart accompanied his master to England,
but Bryan can find no evidence of this. At all events, he
proceeded to Italy in 1627, and spent some time at Venice,
copying the paintings of Titian and Paul Veronese. He
afterwards visited Bologna, Florence, and Rome, studying
as he went the works of the great Italian masters. Car¬
dinal Barberini was commissioned by the king of Spain to
procure for him twelve paintings by the best masters then
living, when Sandrart had the honour to be chosen, together
with Guido, Guercino, Dominichino, N. Poussin, &c., to
execute those pictures for the Escorial. After visiting
Naples, Sicily, and Malta, Sandrart returned to Germany,
whither his fame had preceded him. The plague which
then raged in that country drove him to seek an asylum
elsewhere, and he accordingly settled in Amsterdam, where
he executed many of his largest paintings, and among
others the entry of Mary de Medicis into that town. Sand¬
rart had held by heritage a piece of landed property at
Stockau, near Ingoldstadt, which had been much devastated
by the late wars. This circumstance led him to part with
his land, and settle at Augsburg. He established him¬
self at Niirnberg in 1672, where he was held in great
esteem by the emperor and many of the minor princes of
Germany. He was engaged on his picture of the “ Last
Judgment” when he died at Niirnberg in 1688. Here he
published five works in all, of which the best known and
most esteemed is his Academia Artis Pictomee, 1683. His
paintings are not now much sought after; but his Lives of
the Painters, ancient and modern, is still admired.
SANDUSKY, a town of the United States of North
America, capital of Erie county, Ohio, on the south shore
of Sandusky Bay, an inlet of Lake Erie, 110 miles N. by
E. of Columbus. It is built on ground rising gradually
from the bay, which forms an excellent harbour, 20 miles
long and 5 or 6 across. Close to the town are inexhaustible
quarries of the best limestone, of which many of the hand¬
some edifices that adorn the town are built. There are
numerous churches, banks, and newspaper offices, a court
house, jail, and several schools. The wharves of Sandusky
are commodious and well built, and during the most part of
the year they are thronged with vessels arriving and de¬
parting. Iron and machinery are the principal manufactures
of the place. It is also one of the chief emporiums for the
lake commerce, and has communication by railway both
with the west and the east. The imports in 1852 amounted
in value to L.8,520,014, and the exports to L.3,934,540;
while the shipping of the port in the same year had a ton¬
nage of 5887. Pop. (1850) 5087, (1853) about 10,000.
SANDWICH, a market-town, cinque port, municipal
and parliamentary borough of England, in the county of
Kent, on the right bank of the Stour, about 3 miles from
598 SAN
Sandwich the sea, 12 E. of Canterbury, and 68 E. by S. of London.
Islands It stands in a sandy, marshy region, occupied chiefly with
II market-gardens, and has narrow, well-paved streets, lined
^ Fe"P*- with old irregular houses. Part of the ancient town walls,
and one of the gates, still remain. There are several con¬
spicuous public buildings in the town. Among these is
the massive old church of St Clement, with a square Nor¬
man tower, the Elizabethan guild-hall, modern jail, alms¬
houses, national schools, hospitals, and places of worship,
besides three belonging to the Established church, for
Baptists, Independents, and Wesleyans. A grammar-
school was founded here in the time of Queen Elizabeth,
with exhibitions to Oxford, but it has at present no scholars.
Breweries, malt-houses, and tan-yards are the principal
manufacturing establishments; and felt, coarse towellings,
and sackcloth are also made. Sandwich was formerly an
important seaport, but has decayed since the harbour began
to be choked up with sand. There is still some trade with
Norway, Sweden, and the Baltic in timber and iron ; while
wool, malt, leather, and agricultural produce are like¬
wise exported. Only small vessels can now come up
to the town. Sandwich is governed by a mayor, four aider-
men, and twelve councillors ; and the borough, which in¬
cludes Deal and Walmer, returns two members to Parlia¬
ment, It was early a place of importance, and probably
rose after the decline of the Roman Rhutupium, or Rich-
borough. Several times Sandwich has been taken and
plundered by the French. In the reign of Elizabeth a
number of Flemish refugees settled here. Pop. (1851) of
the town 2966, of the parliamentary borough 12,710.
SANDWICH ISLANDS. See Polynesia.
SANDYS, George, an elegant English poet, the young-
“ est son of Dr Edwin Sandys (Sandes or Sands he also
wrote it), archbishop of York, was born at the palace of
Bishopsthorpe in 1577. In 1589, the year after his father’s
t death, he entered St Mary Hall, Oxford, and afterwards,
as Wood supposes, he became a member of Corpus Christi,
where his elder brother Edwin was educated under Dr
Hooker. Izaak Walton, in his life of Hooker, tells us that
“ this Edwin was afterwards Sir Edwin Sandys, and as
famous for his Speculum Europce as his brother George for
making posterity beholden to his pen by a learned relation
and comment on his dangerous and remarkable Travels,
and for his harmonious translation of the Psalms of David,
the Eook of Job, and other poetical parts of Holy Writ, into
most high and elegant verse.” His Travels,which, were pub¬
lished in 1615, were dedicated to Charles, Prince of Wales,
and bore the title of A Relation of a Journey begun in
1610, in Four Books, containing a Description of the Turkish
Empire, of Egypt, of the Holy Land, and of the remote
parts of Italy and Islands adjoining. Sandys appears to
have succeeded his brother as treasurer to the English
colony of Virginia, where he prepared his translation of the
Metamorphoses of Ovid. In 1636-8 appeared his poetical
version of the books of Psalms, Job, Ecclesiastes, &c.; and
in 1639 his Christ's Passion, a tragedy by Grotius. His
last work, the poetical translation of the Soiig of Solomon,
was published in 1642, He died at Braxley Abbey in
Kent, in March 1643-44.
1 he merits of George Sandys as a poetical translator
stand very high. Although now fallen considerably into
neglect, he seems to have been duly appreciated by the
more discerning of his contemporaries. Waller describes
him as having enriched our vulgar tongue ; and Dryden,
the best judge of his day in matters relating to poetry, pro¬
nounced him “ the best versifier of the former age.” This
judgment has been recently confirmed by Warton and
Lisle Bowles. Selections from Sandy’s Metrical Para¬
phrases have been published, with a Life of the Poet by the
Rev. H. J. Todd, London, 1839.
SAN FELIPE, a town of Venezuela, in the depart-
S A N
ment of Caraccas, near the left bank of the Yuracuy, 60 San Felipe
miles W.N.W. of Valencia. It is well built, but lies in a
low, unhealthy region, liable to inundations. Coffee, cacao, ®an. Fran-
and rice are produced here, and there is an active trade. v C1SC0'
Pop. 7000. ^ v-*-'
San Felipe de Aconcagua, capital of the province of
Aconcagua in Chili, on the right bank of the river of the
same name, 40 miles north of Santiago. It is well built,
and is considered one of the finest towns in the interior.
There are here three convents, and in the vicinity copper
and gold mines. Pop. 8000.
SAN FRANCISCO, the capital of a county of the same
name, and chief commercial city of California, in the United
States of North America, at the mouth of the splendid bay
of San Francisco, through which the river Sacramento
issues into the sea, N. Lat. 37. 48., W. Long. 122. 26. It
occupies the northern extremity of a tongue of land that
encloses the bay on the wrest; and its site consists of a
sandy plain, gently sloping from the hills behind down to
the bay. The city was originally built round a semi-circular
cove facing the north-east, but this is now covered with
warehouses erected on piles, and the rapidly increasing
buildings are extending backwards from the water and
climbing the hills behind, which are only about half a mile
from the shore. From Telegraph Hill to the north, a
magnificent view is obtained over the city and surrounding
country. To the west lies the ocean and the entrance of
the bay ; to the north its northern arm, leading up the
Sacramento river, and ever studded with steamers; to the
east, beyond the broad sheet of water, a panorama of
wooded hills, with the cone of Monte Diabolo in the dis¬
tance ; and to the south the city itself, with its perpetual
bustle and activity, its wharves crowded with shipping from
all parts of the world. The streets are all regularly laid
out, crossing one another at right angles ; but the buildings
exhibit the utmost variety in the form and materials of
their construction, though brick is now beginning to be
most generally used. Some of the public buildings, such
as the churches, schools, hospitals, theatres, &c., are equal
to any in the United States ; and many of the hotels and
shops are large and splendid. But the rapidity of the
changes that come over the appearance of San Francisco
renders it vain to give any detailed description. Many im¬
portant manufactures are carried on in the town. There
are two sugar-houses, a paper mill, two steam barrel fac¬
tories, oil-works, and shipbuilding yards ; while agricultural
implements, furniture, carriages, tubs, pails, musical instru¬
ments, &c., are also made here.
The history of the place, especially its recent rapid rise,
is not a little remarkable. Its original name was Yerba
Buena, and it first rose in connection with one of the
Spanish mission settlements, called San Francisco, founded
in 1776. From that period till 1831 the settlement con¬
tinued to flourish under the Spanish, and latterly under the
Mexican, government; but the disturbances which then
agitated the country drove away the Indians, and reduced
the settlement to ruins. A new city was founded in 1839,
but the population in 1845 did not exceed 150. Numerous
settlers from the United States began to flock hither, even
before California was ceded to that country in 1848. But
in the December of the previous year a new era opened
for San Francisco with the discovery of gold. No sooner
was the fact generally known, in the next spring, than the
city was almost deserted for the diggings ; trade was at an
end, and all business seemed to have ceased. But this did
not last long, for in the month of August eager crowds of
emigrants began to arrive, the harbour was thronged with
ships, and the city far more than before alive with bustle
and din. Building was soon commenced with vigour, the
value of property rose rapidly, and in little more than a
year the population had risen to more than 15,000. De-
599
SAN
San Fran- structive fires broke out on several occasions, and laid large
cisco. portions of the city in ashes; but these injuries were
speedily repaired. By these calamities, as well as by a
reckless expenditure, the financial affairs of the city were
reduced to a very low state; but by the imposition of
heavy taxes the credit was restored from a state of almost
hopeless bankruptcy. So much gold poured into the town
as to render it necessary in 1853 to establish a mint in San
Francisco. Its operations since it commenced in 1854
have been as follows:—
Years.
1854.
1855.
1856.
1857.
1858.
Total.
Gold.
Silver.
L.
1,187,811
681,371
634,790
170,058
2,674,030
Fine Bars
L.
1,232
18,493
25,442
45,167
Bars and Coin. Bars.
Total.
L.
2,027,408
4,366,303
5,899,066
2,602,081
4,015,849
18,910,707
L.
4915
4112
9027
34,180
41,793
10,416
30,728
117,117
There are, however, other articles besides gold received
from the interior of California, as is exhibited in the follow¬
ing table:—
Articles.
Aug. 1st 1855,
1 to July 1st
1856.
July 1st 1856,
to
July 1st 1857.
July 1st 1857,
to
July 1st 1858.
July 1st
to
Dec. 25th 1858.
Flour ....(sacks)
Wheat... „
Barley... „
Oats  ,,
Potatoes „
Corn  „
Rye  „
Buck wht. „
Beans ... „
Bran.... „
Hay  (bales)
178,644
463,672
297,599
148,906
390,759
7,142
770
1,662
30,976
31,951
152.509
340,030
455,823
157,344
343,681
10,821
3,526
1,536
55,286
38,169
95,185
141,825
243,052
667,568
186,039
330,307
9,096
2,899
2,635
65,076
36,044
70,361
179,690
337,179
576,219
241,328
159,280
3,430
1,191
1,738
43,037
30,690
53,554
The number of the vessels that entered the port in 1855
was 1520; tonnage, 517,919; in 1856, number 1455; ton¬
nage, 444,015 : in 1857, number 1583 ; tonnage, 427,566;
and in 1858, number 1441 ; tonnage, 467,529. The total
for the last year was made up as follows:—
From No.
United States on the Pacific Ocean... 988
„ „ „ Atlantic Ocean. 104
Panama 
    28
Vancouver’s Island  103
China   
Great Britain 
Chile    
Mexico    
Australia ,...., 
Sandwich Islands   
France   
Asiatic and American Russia.
Manilla    
Batavia   
Calcutta    
Siam (Bangkok).
. 26
. 18
. 18
. 48
, 15
. 22
9
9
4
5
4
4
Society Islands   10
Whale fishery   
Hamburg 
Callao 
Rio de Janeiro 
Central America 
Other ports 
Total  1441
Tonnage.
158,336
114,321
54,565
53,098
20,379
14,737
8,164
6,835
6,362
5,585
4,468
4,402
2,605
1,913
1,902
1,715
1,573
1,330
1,280
1,235
1,157
754
813
467,529
SAN
those from Vancouver’s Island have been almost entirely
created since the discovery of gold there. The imports
from foreign countries to San Francisco were in 1856
valued at L.1,520,795; in 1857 at L.1,903,624; and in
1858 at L.1,872,856. The most important articles of im¬
port are rice, coffee, sugar, wine and spirits, timber, and
coal. The following table exhibits the tonnage of vessels
that left San Francisco in the last three years for various
ports, exclusive of the Pacific states of the Union,
1856,
Tons.
1857,
Tons.
16,814
1858.
Tons.
Atlantic ports of the U. S  6,002
Europe  900
China  72,734 38,313
East Indies  46,425 23,361
South America   60,075 63,813
Mexico  8,373 23,977
Australia  12,588 10,188
Vancouver’s Island   638 2,032
Polynesia, ,  17,526 9,086
Whale fishery  3,855 1,333
The value of the exports for the same year is exhibited
in the following table
To
1856.
L.
Vancouver’s Island,  4,867
New York, &c  231,977
Mexico   162,829
Australia  234,031
Sandwich Islands   51,935
China  49,984
Chile  24,327
Peru  70,348
Asiatic and American Russia 26,646
Other countries  25,402
1857.
L.
6,278
449,581
154,010
65,539
61,497
65,391
32,850
29,101
21,904
20,222
New York 
England 
China 
New Orleans..,
Panama 
Sandwich Islands
Manilla  
Other ports ...,
Total.
L.
8,284,410
1,805.471
272,674
27,082
52.760
50,195
27.760
41,460
10,561,812
1857.
L.
7,351,615
1,947,443
623,591
50,832
85,608
18,081
58,102
68,179
10,203,451
1858,
L.
7,412,128
1,930,375
399,165
65,206
62,343
20,136
10,410
6,066
9,905,829
1859—up to
April 1st.
L.
1,515,704
458,083
178,028
44,998
14,703
8,507
2,222,023
The imports from different countries vary considerably
in different years: those from the whale fishery have regu¬
larly fallen off for the last four years; those from Austra¬
lia have remained stationary ; those from Mexico, China,
the East Indies, and South America have increased ; and
San Francisco is now rapidly rising above its former con¬
dition of being a mere landing-place for the gold-diggers ;
the population is becoming more settled; the turbulence and
reckless speculation of the first miners have given place to
order and security ; the agricultural wealth of the country
is being developed, and the trade in gold is every year
forming a smaller proportion of the whole trade of the
place. The population of San Francisco, which according
to the State census of 1852 was 34,776, was estimated in
1853 to be from 50,000 to 60,000.
SANGA, a town of Japan, in the island of Kioo Sioo,
in a fertile plain at the head of the bay of Simbara, 55 miles
N.E. of Nangasaki. It is large and populous, and en¬
circled by fortifications. Its broad, straight streets are tra¬
versed by streams and canals. There are here important
manufactures of porcelain.
SANGALLO, properly Giamberti, a family of distin¬
guished architects, of whom the eldest was Giuliano Giam¬
berti, who was born at Florence in 1443. Having been
early sent, with his brother Antonio, to an ingenious carver
Sanora
Sangallo.
12,456
3,248
48.809
19,241
28,347
31.809
20,733
65,120
27,387
2,076
1858.
L.
294,418
267,598
146,271
79,184
56,984
44,699
28,897
28,720
11,880
32,750
Total  882,346 906,383 991,401
In these numbers the quantity of gold exported is not
included, but the principal articles are timber, hides, wool,
quicksilver, and marble. The value of gold exported in
these years from San Francisco is as follows ?—•
V
600 S A N
Banger- in wood, he afterwards renounced this profession for that of
hausen, military engineer to Lorenzo de’ Medici. Giuliano nowre-
' solved to pursue architecture, and had an early opportunity
of displaying his skill on the cloister of the Church of
Santa Maddalena de’ Pazzi at Florence, which he orna¬
mented with a row of Ionic pillars of peculiar capitals, such
as were not then known. Being afterwards commissioned
by Lorenzo to erect a convent near the gate of San Gallo,
the architect received the title of Da San Gallo at first
in jest from his master, but subsequently he adopted it, to¬
gether with his whole family. Among his numerous works
was a palace erected at Savona, now the convent of Santa
Chiara, for his patron the Cardinal della Rovere. On the
death of Bramante, he was offered the appointment of
architect of St Peter’s, which he was obliged to decline
from growing infirmities. He died at Florence in 1517,
aged seventy-four.
Antonio, brother of Giuliano, attracted by his suc¬
cess, likewise became an architect. Besides converting
Hadrian’s mausoleum at Rome into its present form of the
Castle of St Angelo, and erecting several fortresses for
Pope Alexander VI., he likewise built several churches, of
which that of the Madonna at Montepulciano is considered
the best specimen of his art. He died in 1534, and was
interred beside his brother Giuliano, in the burying-ground
of the Giamberti family, in the church of .Santa Maria
Novella.
Antonio, the most noted architect of the family of San-
GALLO, was a nephew, on his mother’s side, to the two pre¬
ceding, but whose father was Bartolomeo Picconi, a cooper
of Mugello. He was born in 148-, but what precise year
in the decade cannot now be ascertained. Originally a car¬
penter, he was subsequently led to visit Rome, whither he
had been drawn by the fame of his uncles. As those
noted architects left the capital shortly after his arrival, he
had the good fortune to find a protector in Bramante, then
a man well advanced in years. He soon drew upon him¬
self the notice of Cardinal Farnese, afterwards Paul III.,
for whom he built a splendid mansion in the Campo de’
Fiori, which would have been sufficient to have established
his reputation. He subsequently erected numerous pri¬
vate palazzi, and among others his own house in the
Strada Giulia, now the Palazzo Sacchetti. He was em¬
ployed on military architecture for a number of years at
Civittl Vecchia, Parma, Piacenza, Ancona, &c.; when he
was, on the death of Peruzzi, chosen sole architect for the
completion of St Peter’s. He modelled a design of this
splendid edifice, nearly 20 English feet in length, which,
although broken into a multiplicity of parts, are yet agree¬
ably proportioned, and the tout ensemble is decidedly pic¬
turesque ; but the fabric of Sangallo was entirely abandoned
after his death. Letters of an Architect.) San-
gallo’s greatest work is undoubtedly the Palazzo Farnese;
but he must share the fame of the design with Michel An¬
gelo, who drew the magnificent and majestic cornice which
distinguishes this building from every other of the kind in
Rome. The style and manner of this ancient building has
been reproduced in the Reform Club-house, Pall Mall,
London. Antonio Sangallo died at Terni, in the month
of October 1546, leaving behind him a wide reputation of
having been, according to Vasari, “a most excellent archi¬
tect.” (Vasari’s Lives of Painters, Sculptors, and Archi¬
tects, by Mrs Foster, vol. iv., 1851.)
SANGERHAUSEN, a town of Prussia, province of
Saxony, circle and 33 miles W.N.W. of Merseburg, near
the foot of the Harz Mountains, and at the lower end of
the fertile valley called Goldene Aue. The church of St
Ulrich here is said to have been founded by Louis, Land¬
grave of Thuringia, in 1079. According to the legend,
when a prisoner in the castle of Giebichstein, near Halle,
he vowed a church to the saint, it he should escape, which
SAN
he did by a bold leap into the Saale. From this feat he Sangora
was known among men as Louis the Leaper. Sangerhausen ||
has two castles, churches, hospitals, law courts, and offices. Sanhedrim:
Woollen and linen cloth are manufactured, and many of
the people are employed in the neighbouring copper mines.
Pop. 6386.
SANGORA, a seaport-town of Siam, on the shore of a
bay on the east coast of the Malay peninsula, 90 miles S.E.
of Ligor ; N. Lat. 7. 15., E. Long. 101. It is partly built
of brick ; and on the heights around it stand many pagodas,
which have an imposing appearance. The town is divided
into several quarters, occupied by Siamese, Chinese, and
Malays respectively. The commerce of the port is chiefly
carried on by vessels trading between Siam and Singapore.
SANHEDRIM, or Sanhedrin (SvveSpiov, a council
or assembly of persons sitting together), was the name by
which the Jews called the great council of the nation, as¬
sembled in an apartment of the temple of Jerusalem to de¬
termine the most important affairs of their church and
state. This council consisted of seventy senators. The
room they met in was a rotunda, half of which was built
without the temple, and half within ; that is, one semicircle
was within the compass of the temple, the other semicircle
was built without, for the senators to sit in, it being unlaw¬
ful for any one to sit down in the temple. The Nasi, or
prince of the sanhedrim, sat upon a throne at the end of
the hall, having his deputy at his right hand, and his sub¬
deputy at his left. The other senators were ranged in
order on each side.
The rabbin pretend, that the sanhedrim has always sub¬
sisted in their nation from the time of Moses down to the
destruction of the temple by the Romans. They date the
establishment of it from what happened in the wilderness,
some time after the people departed from Sinai, in the year
of the world 2514. Moses, being discouraged by the con¬
tinual murmurings of the Israelites, addressed himself to
God, and desired to be relieved at least from some part of
the burden of the government. Then the Lord said to him,
“ Gather unto me seventy men of the elders of Israel, whom
thou knowest to be the elders of the people, and officers
over them ; and bring them unto the tabernacle of the con¬
gregation, that they may stand there with thee: And I will
come down and talk with thee there ; and I will take of the
spirit which is upon thee, and will put it upon them ; and
they shall bear the burden of the people with thee, that
thou bear it not thyself alone.” The Lord, therefore, poured
out his spirit upon these men, who began at that time to
prophesy, and have not ceased ever since. The sanhedrim
was composed of seventy councillors, or rather seventy-
two, being six out of each tribe ; and Moses, as president,
made up the number to seventy-three. To prove the un¬
interrupted succession of the judges of the sanhedrim, there
is nothing unattempted by the partisans of this opinion.
They find a proof where others cannot so much as perceive
any appearance or shadow of it. Grotius may be consulted
in many places of his commentaries, and in his first book
De jure belli etpacis (c.iii. art. 20), and Selden De Synedriis
veterum Hebrceorum ; also Calmet’s Dissertation concern¬
ing the Polity of the ancient Hebrews, printed before his
Commentary upon the Book of Numbers.
As to the personal qualifications of the judges of this
bench, their birth was to be untainted. They were often
taken from the race of the priests or Levites, or out of
the number of the inferior judges, or from the lesser
sanhedrim, which consisted only of twenty-three judges.
They were to be skilful in the law, as well traditional as
written. They were obliged to study magic, divination,
fortune-telling, physic, astrology, arithmetic, and languages.
The Jews say they were to know seventy tongues; that
is, they were to know all the tongues, for the Hebrews
acknowledged but seventy in all, and perhaps this is too
SAN
Sanhedrim, great a number. Eunuchs were excluded from the sanhe-
^ drim because of their cruelty, usurers, decrepid persons,
players at games of chance, such as had any bodily defor¬
mities, those that had brought up pigeons to decoy others
to their pigeon-houses, and those that made a gain of their
fruits in the sabbatical year. Some also exclude the high
priest and the king, because of their power ; but others will
have it that the kings always presided in the sanhedrim
whilst there were any kings in Israel. Lastly, it was re¬
quired that the members of the sanhedrim should be of a
mature age, of a handsome person, and of considerable
fortune. We speak now according to the notions of the
rabbin, without pretending to warrant their opinions.
The authority of the great sanhedrim was very extensive.
This council decided such causes as were brought before it
by way of appeal from the inferior courts. The king, the
high priest, and the prophets, were under its jurisdiction.
If the king olfended against the law, for example, if he
married above eighteen wives, if he kept too many horses,
if he hoarded up too much gold and silver, the sanhedrim
had him stripped and whipped in their presence. But whip¬
ping, they say, among the Hebrews was not at all ignomi¬
nious ; and the king bore this correction by way of penance,
and himself made choice of the person that was to exercise
this discipline over him. The general affairs of the nation
were also brought before the sanhedrim. The right of
judging in capital cases belonged to this court, and the sen¬
tence could not be pronounced in any other place, but in
the hall called Laschat-haggazitk, or the hall paved with
stones. Hence it came to pass, that the Jews were forced
to quit this hall when the power of life and death was taken
out of their hands, forty years before the destruction of
their temple, and three years before the death of Jesus
Christ. In the time of Moses this council was held at the
door of the tabernacle of the testimony. As soon as the
people were in possession of the -land of promise, the san¬
hedrim followed the tabernacle. It was kept successively
at Gilgal, at Shiloh, at Kirjath-jearim, at Nob, at Gibeon
in the house of Obed-edom ; and, lastly, it was settled at
Jerusalem until the Babylonish captivity. During the
captivity it was kept up at Babylon. After the return from
Babylon, it continued at Jerusalem until the time of the
Sicarii or Assassins. Then finding that these profligate
wretches, whose number increased every day, sometimes
escaped punishment by favour of the president or judges, it
was removed to Hanoth, which were certain abodes situ¬
ated, as the rabbin tell us, upon the mountain of the temple.
From thence they came down into the city of Jerusalem,
withdrawing themselves by degrees from the temple. Af¬
terwards they removed to Jamia, thence to Jericho, to
Uzzah, to Sepharvaim, to Bethsanim, to Sephoris, last of
all to Tiberias, where they continued till the time of their
utter extinction. And this is the account the Jews them¬
selves give us of the sanhedrim.
Father Petau fixes the beginning of the sanhedrim not till
Gabinius was governor of Judaea, who, according to Jose¬
phus, erected tribunals in the five principal cities of Judaea ;
at Jerusalem, at Gadara, at Amathus, at Jericho, and at
Sephora or Sephoris, a city of Galilee. Grotius places the
origin of the sanhedrim under Moses, as the rabbin do;
but he makes it terminate at the beginning of Herod’s
reign. Basnage at first thought that the sanhedrim began
under Gabinius; but afterwards he places it under Judas
Maccabjeus, or under his brother Jonathan. We see, in-
> S A N 601
deed, under Jonathan Maccabseus, in the year 3860, that Sanhedrim,
the senate, along with the high priest, sent an embassy to
the Romans. The rabbin say, that Alexander Jannaeus,
king of the Jews, of the race of the Asmonaeans, appeared
before tbe sanhedrim, and claimed a right of sitting there,
whether the senators would or not. Josephus informs us,
that when Herod was Rut yet governor of Galilee, he was
summoned before the senate, where he appeared. It must
be therefore acknowledged that the sanhedrim was in being
before the reign of Herod. It was probably in being after¬
wards, as we find from the Gospel, and from the Acts. Jesus
Christ, in St Matthew (v. 22), distinguishes two tribunals.
“ Whosoever is angry with his brother without a cause shall
be in danger of the judgmentthis, they say, is the tribunal
of the twenty-three judges. “ And whosoever shall say to
his brother, Raca, shall be in danger of the councilthat
is, of the great sanhedrim, which had the right of life and
death, at least generally', and before this right was taken
away by the Romans. Some think that the jurisdiction of
the council of twenty-three extended to life and death also ;
but it is certain that the sanhedrim was superior to this
council.
The Talmudical writers tell us, that besides the sanhe¬
drim, properly so called, there was in every town, contain¬
ing not fewer than one hundred and twenty inhabitants, a
smaller sanhedrim, consisting of twenty-three members,
before which lesser causes were tried, and from the deci¬
sions of which an appeal lay to the supreme council. Two
such smaller councils are said to have existed at Jerusalem.
It is to this class of tribunals that our Lord is supposed to
allude in the passage just quoted in Matthew v. 22. Where
the number of inhabitants was under one hundred and
twenty, a council of three adjudicated in all civil questions.
What brings insuperable doubt upon this tradition is, that
Josephus, who must from his position have been intimately
acquainted with all the judicial institutions of his nation,
not only does not mention these smaller councils, but says
that the court next below the sanhedrim was composed of
seven members. Attempts have been made to reconcile
the two accounts, but without success ; and it seems now
very generally agreed that the account of Josephus is to be
preferred to that of the Mischna, and that consequently it
is to the tribunal of the seven judges that our Lord applies
the term Kptcris in the passage referred to.
The origin of the sanhedrim is involved in uncertainty;
for the council of the seventy elders established by Moses
was not what the Hebrews understand by the name of san¬
hedrim. Besides, we cannot perceive that this establish¬
ment subsisted either under Joshua, the judges, or the
kings. We find nothing of it after the captivity till the
time of Jonathan Maccabaeus. The tribunals erected by
Gabinius were very different from the sanhedrim, which was
the supreme court of judicature, and fixed at Jerusalem,
whereas Gabinius established five at five different cities.
Lastly, it is certain that this tribunal of the judges was in
being in the time of Jesus Christ. A Jewish sanhedrim
is said to have been summoned by Napoleon at Paris, on
July 23, 1806, and it assembled on the 20th January 1807.
Compare Otho, Lexicon Habbinico- Philolog. in voce ; Sel-
den, De Synedriis Veterum Ebraiorum, ii. 95, sq. ; Reland,
Antiq. ii. 7; Jahn, Arch(Eologie,\\.2, § 186; Pareau, An-
tiq. Ileb. iii. I, 4.; Lightfoot, Works, plur. locis ; Hartmann,
Enge Verbindung des Alien Test, mit dem Neuen, s. 166,
ff., &c.; and Milman’s History of Latin Christianity, i.
VOL. XIX..
4o
602
History.
' v—'
SANITARY SCIENCE.
Sanitary Science is that department of human knowledge
which contemplates those laws of the human body, and of
the agents by which it is surrounded, which tend to preserve
life and ward off disease and death. The practical appli¬
cation of these laws results in the art of preserving health,
which is called hygiene. Hygiene is sometimes defined as
the art of preventing disease, in contradistinction to medi¬
cine, which is the art of curing disease. The general sub¬
ject of hygiene has been treated variously by different
writers. It is sometimes divided into public and private hy¬
giene, and this is a common division amongst French writers
on the subject. Public hygiene comprises the consideration
of the healthy conditions and arrangements of all places in
which human beings are collected together, as camps, bar¬
racks, ships, hospitals, prisons, workhouses, churches, manu¬
factories, schoolhouses, &c. Private hygiene embraces the
laws which regulate the health, life, and age of the individual.
We have divided the subject of sanitary science in this
article into general hygiene and special hygiene. These
divisions correspond in some measure to the above ; general
hygiene embracing the laws which regulate the health of the
human body and determine disease, whilst special hygiene
embraces the application of these laws to the sanitary wants
of a community and the hygienic demands of industry.
It was an early experience of mankind that certain ex¬
ternal agencies produce disease and death, and amongst the
earliest nations of antiquity certain practices were incul¬
cated for the prevention of disease, and securing health.
In the books of Moses we have a surprising instance of the
care which was taken to prevent disease by the inculcation
of hygienic precepts, and the adoption of sanitary laws.
Although these laws and precepts were part and parcel of
the great religious system under which the Jews lived, and
were superintended and enforced by the priests of that re¬
ligion, there can be no doubt that one great end which they
secured was the health of the people. Burdensome and un¬
necessary as some parts of the sanitary code of Moses might
be regarded in countries like our own, they nevertheless,
as a whole, comprise great principles of action, which it is
somewhat astonishing should have been so entirely over¬
looked by the modern nations of Europe, who have for
centuries regarded the mission and laws of Moses as divine.
In the distinction between clean and unclean beasts and
birds we see those selected for food whose flesh was less
likely to corrupt and putrefy, and thus to engender disease.
In the forbidding the eating of blood, the most putrescible
part of the animal was got rid of from the ordinary diet of
the people. The regulations with regard to those who had
leprosy and other cutaneous diseases were such as would
prevent the spread of many of the forms of contagious dis¬
ease with which we are acquainted at the present day.
These precautions extended to the clothes and houses of
those infected, and involve an amount of attention to the
spread of infectious diseases that, if adopted with the modi¬
fications necessary for climate, and in accordance with
modern science, would go far to suppress a large class of
our zymotic diseases. Even the distinctive religious ordi¬
nance of circumcision seems to have had reference to sani¬
tary requirements. In the practice inculcated of removing
human excretions on to the soil, and using them as manure,
we witness a procedure, and even obedience to a natural law,
the neglect of which is now visiting with disease every
city of Europe. I he practice of burying the dead away
from all human habitations, of embalming the body imme¬
diately after death, and even of burning, were all adopted
by the Jews, and is indicative of the sanitary law under
which those remarkable people lived.
Many of these practices, however, are not exclusively History.
Jewish, and many of the oriental nations have carried into
effect similar methods of securing the health of their teem¬
ing populations. We do not, however, find any sanitary
code equally explicit with that of Moses amongst the na¬
tions of antiquity, unless we except the laws of Lycurgus,
under which the Spartans lived, but which were peculiar,
and especially adapted to the development of the military
spirit amongst this nation of warriors.
The culture of the Greeks early led to the establishment of
medicine as an art in the hands of the Asclepiadae, who gave
general directions for the prevention of disease to all who
resorted to their temples of health for their advice. Amongst
this class of men arose the great Hippocrates, whose works
must be regarded as the first attempt to reduce to law the
facts on which the art of preventing disease is founded.
His great treatise on Airs, Waters, and Places embraces
a consideration of many of the questions which relate to
public health, and may be read with advantage even by
those who are acquainted with the facts and laws which
modern science has made known. Amongst the institu¬
tions of the Greeks which seem to have had the health and
strength of the community in view, we may specially refer
to their gymnastic exercises, which were practised in schools
especially devoted to the purpose.
Amongst Roman writers who referred to the subject of
public health, we may especially refer to Celsus, whose ex¬
cellent treatise on medicine contains a large number of
hygienic precepts, and a philosophical perception of the
importance of the subject. In the conduct of their great
armies, the Romans on some points paid great attention to
the rules of public health. The sites of their camps have
always been regarded as examples of the care that was
taken to secure localities free from the influence of inju¬
rious exhalations from the soil. They were also particular
about the supply of water to their soldiers, and inculcated
the practice of bathing.
The remains of Roman architecture also show that the
supply of pure water to towns was regarded as essential to
the welfare of their inhabitants. The practice of bathing
amongst them, which undoubtedly originated in the convic¬
tion of its value in relation to public health, became converted,
in the later periods of the empire, into a luxurious indul¬
gence, to which has been traced in some measure the effemi¬
nacy which characterised the race during its decadence.
Amongst modern European nations, the subject of public
health, as a branch of state action, sqems to have attracted
but little attention. When pestilences swept over the face
of the earth, efforts were occasionally made to prevent their
recurrence. The recognition and general spread of syphi¬
litic disease in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries led,
in many countries of Europe, to legal measures for its sup¬
pression and control. Most countries in Europe adopted
various quarantine regulations for the prevention of the
introduction of this and other diseases. But it is said, with
regard to the greater proportion of this kind of legislation,
that the lack of intelligence it displayed was frequently so
great as to lead to the doubt whether it did not do more
harm than good.
In the conduct of the ships, camps, prisons, and hospitals
in Europe, during the last century, many great and salutary
improvements have been made, depending on the applica¬
tion of the laws of sanitary science. Previous to the time
of the great circumnavigator Cook, the ships of Europe
were floating lazar-houses. The shortest voyage involved
a loss of life which, at the present moment, would be re¬
garded as frightful in the longest voyages. Captain Cook
SANITARY SCIENCE.
603
History, claims not so much the admiration of mankind for his bril-
liant geographical discoveries, as their gratitude for first ap¬
plying the knowledge of the laws of life to its preservation
on board his ships. He first demonstrated that a ship’s
crew might be taken round the world without the loss of a
single sailor. That curse of our navies, the scurvy, found
its remedy, at the latter end of the last century, in the ap¬
plication of a knowledge of the dietetical necessity of fresh
vegetables for its prevention. The diseases of our armies
attracted the attention of medical writers to their prevention
during the last century; whilst the exposure of the horrors
of prisons by John Howard led to the general introduction
of sanitary arrangements in their structure and discipline.
Moreover, we cannot deny to the municipalities of many
of the cities of Europe an anxiety to secure, in many of their
public arrangements, the health of the communities in which
they lived. Many instances might be given of great works
executed for the supply of water, the erection of markets,
the construction of sewers, &c., with the public health in
view. We owe it, however, more particularly to France
that the health of the people should become a part of the
care of the government. It is indeed wonderful that a sub¬
ject so truly within the sphere of civil government should
have been neglected so long, and that at the present no
government of Europe should be able to present a consis¬
tent code of legislation on this important subject. At the
latter end of the last century the Royal Society of Medicine
of Paris appointed a Committee of Health, to which was
referred certain subjects connected with injurious emana¬
tions from manufactories, the condition of hospitals, pri¬
sons, and other sanitary measures. In 1802 the govern¬
ment of France constituted a Council of Health, for the
purpose of superintending sanitary operations in Paris.
This council has had its numbers increased and its powers
extended, and at the present day consists of eighteen mem¬
bers. Its function is to inquire into all matters concerning
public health. It examines into the sanitary condition of
markets, cemeteries, slaughter-houses, sewers, dissecting-
rooms, water-closets, pumps, wells and fountains, public
baths, and prisons. It prepares tables of the statistics of
mortality, of the sanitary condition of workshops, &c.; and
suggests remedies for the prevention of inundations, and
the utilizing and deodorizing injurious industrial products.
It also undertakes the suppression of medical impositions
of all kinds, and the analysis of foods and drinks suspected
of adulteration or injurious properties. This body has pub¬
lished several volumes of valuable reports, which have been
edited by MM. Parent Du Chatelet and Marc. The
cities of Lyons, Marseilles, Lille, Rouen, Bourdeaux, and
Nantes followed the example of Paris, and had their coun¬
cils of public health. In 1851 a law was introduced by
which the whole of France was placed under the control
cils. This plan has not hitherto produced the results History,
hoped for, arising apparently from the too complicated na-
ture of the machinery.
We now turn to England, where both the government
and municipal bodies have been remarkably slow to re¬
cognise the importance of public measures for securing
public health. There are two causes for this : first, an ig¬
norance of the real causes of disease, and the means by
which they may be prevented ; and second, a religiousness
of feeling which ascribes disease and death to the hand of
Providence, and which leads to the impression, that human
efforts are unavailing against these decreed visitations of
the hand of God. It was not until the year 1831, when
the cholera visited this country, that the public mind be¬
came awakened to the fact, that much of its destructive
effect was the result of circumstances which could have
been prevented by human foresight; and that such pesti¬
lences could only be avoided in future by greater attention
to the conditions by which the life of the community is
regulated. It is to the writings and labours more espe¬
cially of Dr Southwood Smith that we are indebted to the
sanitary legislation which commenced in this country after
the first alarming outbreak of cholera in 1831. It was not,
however, till the history of this disease pointed to the pro¬
bability of its recurring again in this country that legisla¬
tion commenced. In the year 1845 the “Nuisances Re¬
moval Act” was passed. This was, however, only a tem¬
porary measure, and intended to meet the exigencies of an
immediate outbreak of cholera. This disease did not reach
England till 1848, and then the Nuisances Removal
Act became permanent. This act, although very defec¬
tive, acknowledged the right of the magistrate to interfere
in all cases where the circumstances of property or indivi¬
duals, either alone or combined, led to the development of
conditions which could produce disease. It awakened the
public mind to the fact, that there existed in all our large
towns preventible causes of disease; and much sanitary
activity was the result.
Between the temporary and permanent passing of the
Nuisances Removal Act, an act of great importance, in
a sanitary point of view, was passed, and this was the
Baths and Wash-houses Act. By this act vestries and
local boards were empowered to erect baths and wash-houses,
and to obtain funds for this purpose from puolic rates and
funds. The poor were by this means supplied with one of
the greatest necessities of our large towns,—water for
washing purposes at a rate which enabled them to use it as
extensively as their circumstances required. Upwards of
twenty institutions of this kind have been established in
London. The following table, drawn up for the use of
the vestry of St James’s, Westminster, will give an idea of
the extent to which these institutions have been employed,
and the sums received for their use :—
of the central Council of Health, with departmental coun-
Table showing the Bathing and Washing at the Establishments in London, which are conducted under or in accord
ance with the Acts 9 and 10 Viet., cap. 74, and 10 and 11 Viet, cap 61, for the Year 1858.
Number of
Baths taken.
184,700
136,381
124,693
100,133
90,471
89,524
68,023
82,882
81,943
42,291
1,001,041
Number ofj
times Women
have availed
themselves of
the Wash¬
houses.
58,042
24,045
38,680
40,900
24,577
27,063
48,795
27,424
22,503
9,449
321,474
Name and Title of the Establishment.
Receipts from
Bathers.
St George and St Giles, Bloomsbury  
St Mary-le-bone 
Goulston Square, Whitechapel 
St James, Westminster 
St Martin-in-the-Fields   
Bermondsey 
St Margaret and St John, Westminster 
St George, Hanover Square, Belgrave Place,
Do. Davies Street, Oxford Street 
All Saints, Poplar 
Totals.
L.2,423 2 11
1,883 4 8
1,670 0 0
1, i.50 1 10£
1,507 8 8
1,232 3 6
830 0 4
1,069 13 0
1,097 6 1
504 11 4
L.13,369 12 4
Receipts from
Washers.
L.1132 7
631 12
771 0
899 6
434 17
707 3
988 12 11
738 7 10
627 9 4
333 6 8
9
U
0
2*
1
Hi
L.7264 3 10
Gross Receipts.
L.3,555 10 8
2,514 16 9J
2,443 0 0
2,049 8 1
1,942 5 9
1,939 7 5i
1,818 13 3
1,808 0 10
1,724 15 5
837 18 0
L.20,633 16 2
604
SANITARY SCIENCE.
History. We may notice that the general conviction of the neces-
v——^ sity of sanitary measures increased, and led to the intro¬
duction of powers for making provision for public health
into acts which otherwise might have passed without these
provisions. Among the Consolidation Acts of 1847 was
the Towns Improvement Clauses Act, many of the provi¬
sions of which have since been embodied in other acts, and
which contain a variety of clauses relating to the sani¬
tary question. The great act, however, which forms the
most distinguishing feature of the sanitary legislation of
England, was the Public Health Act, which was passed
in 1848. By this act a General Board of Health was con¬
stituted, at the head of which was a president appointed by
the government. Under this act power was given to local
authorities to construct public works of various kinds, but
mere especially for improving the drainage and water
supply. Since the passing of this act, 236 towns have
placed themselves under its provisions. These towns con¬
tain populations varying from 500 to 200,000. These are
exclusive of places which have put in force various sani¬
tary regulations under powers given them by local acts.
The expenditure upon the works thus executed has been
calculated to be not less than L.3,500,000. Although this
statement shows that a vast amount of sanitary activity
has been called forth by the public health, it nevertheless
gives but an imperfect idea of the indirect benefits which
have resulted by the fixing public attention on the im¬
portance of the prevention of disease and death. The
diminution of the mortality consequent upon the introduc¬
tion of sanitary improvements in some of the towns of Eng¬
land will be seen from the following table :—
Names of Towns.
Death Rate in 1000.
Before
Sanitary
Measures.
After
Sanitary
Measures.
Number of
of lives
saved in
1000 per
annum.
Alnwick 
Barnard Castle.
Berwick 
Bangor 
Durham 
Ely 
Salisbury 
St Thoma.A 
35-2
33-3
28-5
35-1
26-0
25- 6
32'2
26- 9
28-3
25-9
21-2
309
22-7
19-3
27-0
230
6- 9
7- 4
7-3
4- 2
3-3
6-3
5- 2
3-9
It must not, however, be supposed that anything like a
perfect system of public sanitary exertion exists even in
the improved towns; and a large number of small towns
and villages exist where the prevalence of fever and the
high mortality indicates that little or nothing has been done
for the improvement of the public health.
After ten years of successful operation, the Public Health
Act was repealed in 1858, and the General Board of Health
abolished. This arose partly from the nature of its opera¬
tions being misunderstood, and partly from the activity of
the board offending those who wished things to remain as
they were, or wished to act for themselves. The Board of
Health was really a board of works ; and as they repudiated
interfering actively in matters relating exclusively to hy¬
gienic arrangements, the name misled. The powers, how-
evei, granted under this act are still continued by the
operation of the Local Government Act, and are still to be
exeicised by local bodies, and no cessation of the benefits
ot previous legislation is contemplated.
t was, however, considered necessary to give to some
central body power to act in cases where disease reached a
certain amount ot fatality, or where fevers or other conta¬
gious diseases broke out with great violence ; and a new
“Public Health Act” was passed in 1858, which placed
this power in the hands of the Privy Council. To this
office is now given the power possessed by the General
Board of Health under the act of 1848 and subsequent
acts. I his act, which was originally passed for one year,
was made permanent in 1859.
Besides this great sanitary act, other measures have
passed through the legislature which demand notice here.
The Common Lodging-Houses Acts were passed in 1851
and 1853. Under the Public Health Act powers were given
to local boards of health to register houses which were let
out as common lodgings, and to inspect them, and regulate
the number of their inhabitants. These powers soon brought
to light the existence of a state of filthiness, indecency, and
iniquity that led at once to the passing of the strongest
possible measures for suppressing such sources of disease
and moral degradation. Of the two measures referred to,
one relates to the regulation of common lodging-houses,
and the other is a permissive act, to enable public autho¬
rities to erect common lodging-houses. Under the first
act, the commissioners of police in towns, and the justices
of the peace in the country, have the power of regulating
these places. The good that has been effected under this
act has been very considerable in London and many large
towns, although it is to be feared that not sufficient attention
has yet been given to the overcrowding of private lodging-
houses as the result of the supervision of the common or
nightly lodging-houses.1 Some idea may be formed of the
magnitude of the evil which the act was intended to counter¬
act, when it is known that upwards of 100,000 people were
lodged in the common nightly lodging-houses of London
when the police first entered upon their duties under this
act. This act has only been enforced in a few towns in
the country ; but where it has been put in force, it has been
shown that, in proportion to their population, many of the
towns of England are quite as bad as London. It is, how¬
ever, an acknowledged fact, that wherever this act has been
put in force, a great and manifest improvement has taken
place in the character of the population affected by the pro¬
visions of this act.
The object of the second act, The Labouring Classes
Lodging-Houses Act, was to encourage the building and
establishment of lodging-houses properly constructed and
carried on for the accommodation of the working-classes.
This act was intended to supply decent and proper accom¬
modation for those who were displaced by the provisions of
the first act. At present, however, the local authorities
have not availed themselves of the provisions of this act,
except in a very few instances. It is to be hoped that this
will not long be the case, and that when it comes to be
better understood how much more expensive to the com¬
munity are dirt, squalor, and moral degradation, than clean¬
liness, health, and morality, that the provisions of this act
will be extensively put in force.
The next sanitary acts in point of date are those relating
to the burial of the dead. In 1851 and 1852 acts were
passed, the object of which was to prevent the burial of the
dead in churches and chapels, and in burial-grounds sur¬
rounded by a dense population. The Metropolitan Inter¬
ments Act, which not only interdicted interment in London,
but provided a complicated system for the removal of the
dead, and their burial in a large cemetery in the neighbour¬
hood of London, was never carried into effect. But the
evils of burying the dead in the midst of the living had be¬
come so notorious, and the practices of extortion on the
n e ci y o . on on the powers given to the Commissioners of Sewers for the regulation of common and nightly lodging-houses
are very extensive; or by the Sewers Acts of 1848 and 1851, the commissioners have control over all houses occupied by more than
one tamily, any room of which is let for less than 3s. 6d. per week. This, indeed, is the definition of a common lodging-house in the
City Acts of Parliament, r > > a o
History.
SANITARY SCIENCE.
605
History, part of those who undertook the management of funerals,
that the Burial Act, simply forbidding the burial in towns
and places of worship, has led to the most extensive re¬
forms. Within the last ten years upwards of ten new
cemeteries have been opened in the neighbourhood ot
London; and in almost every large town in the country
similar provision has been made for the interment of the
dead.
Amongst the individual sanitary evils against which the
sanitary legislation of England has been directed is that of
smoke. It is well known that smoke is composed of un¬
consumed particles of carbon,^which, entering the atmo¬
sphere, fall down again, producing great uncleanliness, and
leading to a practice of closing doors and windows, to the
injury of health. Power was given to local bodies to dimi¬
nish this evil in large towns under the I owns Improvement
Clauses Consolidation Act. In some towns this power has
been taken advantage of, whilst in others the principal
manufacturers and producers ol smoke have adopted the
practical methods suggested for abating this nuisance. In
1813 a special act was passed, under the title of the Smoke
Nuisance Abatement Act, in which powers were given to
magistrates to fine those whose manufactories ivere com-
plained of as producing smoke amounting to a nuisance.
The application ot this act to London has been attended
with an immense improvement, although the smoke gene¬
rated in private houses still produces a comparatively impuie
and murky atmosphere. Under the Local Goveinment
Act, it is competent for the local authorities in any town
to introduce the Smoke Nuisance Abatement Act. ^ A
general introduction of this act, and thep extension of its
powers to the construction of fireplaces in private dwellings
and workshops in towns, would be undoubtedly attended
with increased cleanliness, and a greater attention to the
ventilation of houses.
In 1855 the Nuisances Removal Acts of 1845 and 1848
were repealed, and the Nuisances Removal and Diseases
Prevention Act was passed. 4 his act, which is now in
force, gives a legal definition of nuisances, which is as fol¬
lows t—tfi Any premises in such a state as to be a nuisance
or injurious to health.” “Any pool, ditch, gutter, watei-
course, privy, urinal cesspool, drain, or ashpit, so foul as to
be a nuisance or injurious to health.” “Any animal so
kept as to be a nuisance or injurious to health.” “ Any
accumulation or deposit which is a nuisance or injuiious to
health.” . r
By means of these stringent definitions, a variety ot
causes of diseases are brought within the operation ot the
law. The local authorities can give notices tor the removal
of any nuisance; and if this is not attended to, a summons
can be issued, and the offending parties brought belore a
magistrate. In certain cases also, where works are neces¬
sary to be done, the local bodies can do the work, and
charge the person on whose premises the nuisance has
existed. The duties of a medical officer ot health and ot a
sanitary officer are also recognised ; and these officeis have
power given them to inspect premises in cases where they
suspect a nuisance to exist. rlhe medical officers ot health
and sanitary inspectors have also powers given them under
this act to inspect all articles of food exposed tor sale which
are suspected to be unfit for use as human food, and to
seize the same, and bring the offender before the magis¬
trate, who has power to inflict a fine upon the owner of the
provisions thus seized.
A clause also, in the same act, gives power to the sanitary
officers to inspect the premises of persons carrying on
offensive and noxious trades, and to point out the hes^
means of preventing any injurious influence being exeicised
upon the neighbourhood, and of appealing to the magistrate
if their suggestions are not carried into effect.
A clause in this act goes so far to avert the evils which
might arise from the operation of the Common Lodging- History.
House‘Act, in driving people to private houses for their v'**"'
nightly lodging, as it regards the overcrowding of dwelling-
rooms as a nuisance. In many parts of London, any room
not allowing a space of 400 cubic feet to each individual
habitually residing or sleeping in it is regarded as a nuisance,
and brought under the operation of this act.
This act also contemplates the suppression of the un¬
healthy practice of dwelling in cellars or kitchens, and
defines the conditions on which any room under the ground
shall be allowed to be let as a residence. Ibis act, though
occasionally found too slow in its operations to remove an
immediate and pressing cause of disease, has been found
one of the most effectual of the various measures of Eng¬
lish sanitary legislation for the permanent improvement of
the health of towns. When it is considered that it deals
with all those small causes of disease which are so con¬
stantly occurring in a civilized community, it is wonderful
that its provisions are not more generally enforced. In
any town or country district it would only be an act of
benevolence on the part of the clergyman, the magistrate,
the lawyer, or the medical man, to insist on its provisions
being carried out in all cases where the manifest causes of
disease exist.
Comprehensive and sufficient as the preceding legislative
measures may appear to be, they are not based upon any
comprehensive principle, and are deficient of any common
basis of action. There are consequently constantly aris¬
ing cases which require special legislation. London is an
instance of this. I he entire management ot the sanitary
condition of the city is confided to the corporation, whose
acts date back to 1848; but as the city includes not more
than a twentieth part of the metropolis, the health of the
surrounding population had to be cared for in veiy various
ways. It is not necessary here to enter into any account
of the sanitary measures adopted in the metropolis under
the various local boards and vestries. It will be sufficient
to allude to the fact, that the city of London possesses local
sanitary powers, which were put in force, under the control
of a medical officer of health and sanitary inspectors, seve¬
ral years before the rest of London.
In 1857 the Metropolis Local Management Act was
passed, which gave to all the parishes of London, with the
exception of the City, the power ot action in relation to
sanitary matters. The management of the sewers, and^
various other powers in relation to the general condition of
the metropolis, was vested in a metropolitan board of
works, whose members were elected by the various vestries
or local boards to whom the parochial management was
confided. To the vestries or local boards are given powers
to enforce all regulations connected with sanitary matters.
One of the most important provisions ot this act is the ap¬
pointment of medical officers ot health. Each vestry or
board is required to appoint a duly-qualified medical man^
to fill this office. It is his duty to direct the operations of
an inspector or inspectors of nuisances, who visit houses,
workshops, manufactories, and other places where nui¬
sances are either reported or suspected to exist. He sees
to the ventilation of public buildings, as churches, chapels,
theatres, courts of law,—and obtains the sanction of the
local board for all proceedings connected with the removal
of nuisances. He receives"from the registrar-general the
weekly report of births and deaths in his parish ; and by the
latter he is guided to the existence of disease in his locality,
which may require on that account special attention, ihe
improvement that has taken place in London under the
powers of this act has been very great; and the amount ot
negligence, with regard to the sources of disease, that has
thus been revealed, is perfectly astonishing. At the same
time, the local boards are not yet alive to the immense ad¬
vantages to be derived from carrying out the provisions o
tJ06 S A N I T A K Y
History, this act. In many instances the medical officer of health
meets with no encouragement in the performance* of his
duties, and no regular system of inspection is prescribed to
the inspectors of nuisances.
In this bill, no provision was made for dealing with the
sanitary condition of the Thames. This great river, like
other rivers flowing through towns, had been used from
time immemorial as a receptacle for the refuse of the in¬
habitants on its banks. Moved by the daily access of
the tide from the sea, and receiving upwards of 100
millions of gallons of water daily, for centuries the re¬
fuse poured into it produced little effect upon its purity.
It was not till the extensive introduction of the water-
closet system in London, and the abolition of cess-pools,
with also the increase of gas and other manufactories
on its banks, that the river began to give indications
that it was receiving a larger quantity of decomposing
matter than it could purify, or get rid of by its tidal move¬
ments. In 1856 it became apparent in the summer months
that the river emitted a disagreable stench. This became
still more evident in 1857, and was obviously dependent on
increased attention paid to the removal of all refuse from
houses by the aid of drainage. In 1858 the stench again
appeared with increased intensity, and was especially nau¬
seous in the neighbourhood of the new houses of Parlia¬
ment. Every one felt that special legislation was necessary
to meet so gigantic an evil. This great river had be¬
come an elongated cess-pool, and the effect upon the teem¬
ing population of its banks might be, in the course of a
short time, of the most disastrous kind. Accordingly, an
act was passed in 1858, giving power to the Metropolitan
Board of Works to commence works for the main drain¬
age of the metropolis, and for preventing, as far as practi¬
cable, the sewage from passing into the Thames within
the metropolis. It also gives them power to construct
works on the shores and bed of the Thames; and em¬
powers them to borrow for these purposes a sum of money
not exceeding three millions. The works thus sanctioned
are now in the progress of construction, and comprehend
the complete drainage of an area of 117 square miles, and
of houses calculated for the residence of a population of
3,500,000 people. These works are intended to carry
separately the sewage of London down to a point of the
Thames so far below the metropolis as not to interfere
with the health or comfort of its inhabitants. The ques¬
tions of deodorizing the sewage, or utilizing it, are pur¬
posely left open for the present. This improvement of the
condition of the river will necessarily be followed by other
arrangements. One of these is the embankment of the
1 hames, by which the scour of the river will be increased
through London, a very necessary plan when it is re¬
membered that 80,000,000 of gallons of sewage, which is
now poured into the Thames above Blackwall, will be
emptied into it at a much lower point. In connection with
the completion of the system of main drainage, a plan has
been proposed by Captain Fowke, by which any regurgi¬
tation of the sewage into the Thames passing through
London would be effectually prevented. This consists in
throwing a weir over the Thames below Greenwich, and
cutting a canal with locks through the Isle of Dogs, so as
to enable the traffic above the river to be carried on. This
wou d relieve London of all difficulties from the tide, and
give it a river of pure water, constantly at high-tide mark.
such a plan is not really open to objection, it would re¬
store to London the river in more than its ancient purity,
an w nc i for bathing purposes and aquatic amusements
would contribute greatly to the health of the metropolis.
Before closing this sketch of the sanitary legislation of
SCIENCE.
England, we would refer to some of the minor acts which History,
have been passed on subjects involving the public health.
From the time of the first discovery of vaccination, as a
means of preventing small-pox, enactments have been
passed to secure the extension of the practice of vaccina¬
tion. Obvious as is the benefit to be derived from this
practice it has been greatly neglected, and recently a
Vaccination Extension Act has been passed. By this
act, all persons are required to have their children vacci¬
nated within three months of their birth, under a penalty
of ten pounds for neglect. It is, nevertheless, found that
large numbers of persons qlow their children to grow up
without vaccination; and the result is, that there is always
a fraction of the people susceptible of the ravages of this
disease, and sufficient to keep it always smouldering and
ready to break forth into a flame in all our city populations.
The slaughtering of animals in private houses, where
there exists little or no proper accommodation, has always
been regarded as a great nuisance, and an act has been
passed for the better regulation of slaughter-houses, by
which the local magistracy have power to refuse a license
to persons slaughtering on their own premises. Although
under this act licenses have been refused by the magis¬
trates, yet, such is its deficiency, that it is well known in
London that slaughtering takes place extensively without
the granting of any license. It is hoped, however, that
this act will lead local authorities to see the propriety of
erecting abattoirs, or public slaughter-houses, for the ac¬
commodation of butchers, in which neither the food thus
prepared nor the population of the neighbourhood will be in
any wav injured.
There are many other measures which have been adopted
from time to time with a sanitary object in view; such as
the introduction of lemon-juice into the navy as a preven¬
tive of scurvy, and the requiring the captains of merchant
ships undertaking voyages of a certain length to have this
article of diet on board for the use of the sailors. Since
the revelations made by the Crimean war of the utter de¬
ficiency of all our military arrangements to secure the pro¬
per health of our soldiers, the whole subject of the sanitary
condition of the army has been inquired into by a commission
appointed by Parliament, whose report has revealed a defi¬
ciency of sanitary arrangements in our barracks, and in the
management of our soldiers, that could be equalled only in
the most neglected and miserable parts of the population of
our large towns. The same evils have been found to exist
in our Indian army, and amongst the regiments in our
colonies. Almost all arrangements, whether of food, cloth¬
ing, or shelter, have been found to have been made in igno¬
rance of vital laws, and in defiance of the experience of
civilians.
In this brief sketch of English legislation in relation to
sanitary science it will be seen that, although much has been
done, much more remains to be done. The subject of
public health has been treated piecemeal, and no general
organization for sanitary purposes exists. The subject,
though one lying at the very foundation of human society,
has not attracted public attention to the extent which its
importance demands. Neither the legislator nor the lawyer,
the magistrate nor the medical man, are instructed in the
principles of sanitary science. Although professorships of
hygiene exist in the universities of the Continent, no public
recognition of this subject as a branch of education has
taken place in Great Britain. It is still an object worthy
the attention of our legislature, to place sanitary science in
such a position that it may confer on the community all the
advantages which a knowledge of its principles, and their
practical application in daily life, is calculated to confer.
SANITARY SCIENCE.
General
Hygiene. Part I.—GENERAL HYGIENE.
^ The department of general hygiene embraces a know¬
ledge of the laws which regulate the existence of the
human being, and maybe divided into three sections: first,
the consideration of individual differences and peculiarities ;
second, of those external agents and internal functions on
which the life of the individual depends ; and third, the
influence of especial morbific agents, as the poisons of in¬
fectious and contagious diseases.
1. Individual Peculiarity.
When mankind is regarded as a whole, we find that
the external agents by which man is surrounded act very
differently on different groups of the human family ; and oij
a closer investigation of the causes of this difference, we
find it can be referred to individual peculiarity. In any
application of hygienic rules, it is of the utmost importance
to keep these peculiarities and differences in view. The
conditions which would ensure the health of the English¬
man are not applicable to the Esquimaux or the Hindu;
and the varying temperaments, ages, idiosyncrasies, here¬
ditary tendencies, habits, and constitutions of individuals
must always be considered.
Race.— The question of whether the races of men have
been produced as the result of circumstances, or whether
they have been born with their peculiarities stamped upon
them, is still perhaps an open one with ethnologists; but
for the hygaeologist the great fact is evident, that there are
different races of men, on whom external agents act very
differently. This is a question of considerable importance,
and has not hitherto obtained the attention to which it is
entitled. The races inhabiting the central and northern
parts of Europe will not bear the heat of tropical climates
with the same impunity as the Asiatic and African races,
born and nurtured within the tropics ; whilst the inhabi¬
tants of these countries require much warmer clothing for
their health when in the temperate or colder regions of the
earth than the natives of the same districts. How far this
is connected with the special susceptibilities of particular
tribes is a matter of highly interesting inquiry.
Temperament.—Next to race, we may reckon the influ¬
ence of what is called temperament. Three well-marked
forms of temperament have been recognised by all medical
and physiological writers. These are respectively called
the nervous, the sanguine, and the lymphatic. To these
some add a bilious or melancholic temperament; whilst
medical writers recognise diatheses as the scrofulous and
rheumatic. At any rate, persons with the distinguishing
features of these temperaments exhibit very different tend¬
encies with respect to disease. The circumstances that
would quickly produce special forms of disease in one class
will not affect another at all. Thus, taking the two latter
conditions of the system, the scrofulous and rheumatic, as
examples, it is found that a variety of circumstances will
produce an outbreak of scrofula or rheumatism in these
two general conditions of the system which will not in those
conditions of the system where their signs are not present.
In the application,*then, of hygienic rules, it should always
be remembered that what will produce disease in persons
of one temperament will not in another. And, again, the
same cause may in two persons of different temperaments
produce different kinds of disease.
Idiosyncrasy.—Persons of all temperaments may have
peculiar relations to external circumstances. 1 hus, where
the tendency is to the production of the same disease
under the same circumstances, it is called an idiosyncrasy.
Some persons faint at the sight of blood. Others vomit
under peculiar odours. Some contract febrile disorders
wherever exposed to their special contagions. These cases
607
require consideration in the application of hygienic rules, General
and care should be taken not to draw a general inference Hygiene,
from the experience of individuals thus constituted.
Age.—This is a most important element in all hygienic
considerations. The infant is much more susceptible of
injurious agencies than the youth or the adult. Nearly
half the population of our large towns dies before it is five
years old. This death is, however, unnatural. Much of
it might be prevented by a knowledge on the part of the
community of the laws which regulate the life of children,
as compared with that of adults. Children are improperly
fed, nursed, housed, and clothed; and the consequence is,
they die. They require different food from adults; they
are more susceptible of cold, of the action of poisons, and
of a variety of morbid agencies; and until greater attention
is paid to their special relations to external agencies, the
sad tale of our annual bills of mortality will be told. The
injurious effect of this mortality is not limited to the de¬
struction of life. Where one child dies, ten are taken ill
from the same causes, and recover. The cost of illness is
thus added to that of death. But the evil does not end
here. Half of the life thus lost is lost before it is twelve
months old. The mother, instead of healthfully nursing
her offspring, becomes again pregnant; and in this way a
permanent effect is produced on the age of the whole popu¬
lation, as those who struggle through become a younger
population than if their elder brothers and sisters had lived.
Where the mortality amongst children is greatest, there
the average age of the population is least. This reduces
the working power of a population, and renders it less able
to enter upon those occupations by which food is produced,
money realized, and wealth accumulated.
What is true of infancy is also true to a limited extent
of childhood and youth. In the period from three to fifteen
and twenty years of age, young persons are not able to
resist the causes of disease so well as those who are older.
The young men in our armies suffer more than the middle-
aged from exposure and fatigue.
Whilst the young from twenty to the middle age at
forty-five are best able to resist the external causes of
disease, it should be remembered that the poison of typhus
and typhoid fevers seems to act more vigorously on those of
middle age than at any other period of life.
The peculiarities of old age are almost as marked as
those of infancy. Diseases of deficient or decayed nutri¬
tion come on ; and the circumstances of the aged requite
especial consideration in the adaptation of hygienic rules.
In the special applications of the laws of sanitary science
to the prevention of disease, sex, hereditary tendencies,
acquired habits, and morbid dispositions, must always enter
into consideration.
2. Agents Influencing Life.
(A.) External Agents.
The distinction between external agents which influence
life, and the organs by which the functions of life are
performed, is not easily made. When we examine a vege¬
table or animal body, with a view to ascertain the nature
of its vital processes, it is difficult to say where the chemical
and physical forces end, and the vital ones commence.
For practical purposes, however, we may speak of certain
chemical and physical agencies as external to the human
body, as the air, the soil, and water; and of certain others
as acting more intimately on the organs of the body, and
undergoing changes in them as internal agencies, as the
food from which is formed the blood, and of the secretions
which are got rid of from the blood by the aid of the
various glands of the body. It is obvious that the con¬
sideration of these subjects belongs to physiology; and all
that the writer on hygiene has to do is to point out the
608
SANITARY SCIENCE.
General practical bearing of these subjects on the preservation of
Hygiene, health.
'N—Liqhi.—Of the great forces which are continually in
action in nature, light is one of the most important. By
its chemical action on the vegetable cell, it converts the
elements of carbonic acid and ammonia into the various
compounds which form the great variety of vegetable pro¬
ducts, and more especially those which yield food to man
and the animal kingdom. In proportion as light is with¬
drawn, vegetation dwindles; and as light acts, it is pro¬
fusely developed. This is seen as we proceed from the
poles" to the equator on the surface of the earth. The
direct action of light on man and animals has not been so
well ascertained. There can be no doubt, however, that
light exercises a favourable action on human health. We
may, indeed, infer that, to a limited extent, the same
changes go on in certain of the animal tissues which are so
characteristic of the vegetable, and that these may contri¬
bute to the healthy development of the organs of the body.
No definite conclusions can be arrived at from the expe¬
rience of those who live in mines and caverns, away from
the light of day, as so many other unhealthy circumstances
prevail in such places. But of the cheerful influence of
light on the mind there can be no doubt; and in all cases
as much light should be admitted into buildings as should
enable persons to feel its exhilarating influence.
Heat.—This force, which in a large number of instances
is co-existent with light, exerts a powerful influence on
vegetation, but is still more remarkable in its effects on
animals and man. Without heat, light would not act bene¬
ficially on plants. Without certain degrees of heat, animals
and man cannot exist. The tissues of most plants are
destroyed at a temperature below 32° Fahr.; and although
the germs of both plants and animals will for a certain time
resist a temperature much below this, no growth takes place
at such temperature. The vegetable world disappears as
it were as the temperature passes from below 60° to the
freezing-point. This also is the case with the great mass
of the lower animals. But in the higher animals, provision
is made for the maintenance of their temperature inde¬
pendent of that of the atmosphere. Thus man, under all
circumstances, has a temperature of 98°. It is the due
maintenance of this temperature that makes his relation to
external heat an object of hygienic rules. If the external
temperature is low, then the object must be to prevent
such an amount of diminution of the internal heat as would
lead to disease. This is done in two ways : first, by increas¬
ing the heat-producing food which is daily consumed; and
second, by diminishing the loss of heat from the surface by
warm clothing or the production of an artificially-warmed
atmosphere. It is not often that the external temperature
rises to the height of that of the body ; but in proportion as
it rises above 60° or 65° an impression of warmth is pro¬
duced on the body, and the necessity for cooling processes
is produced. Clothing needs to be reduced in quantity ; a
moving atmosphere must be substituted for an artificially-
warmed one; and as the heat increases, the application of
cold to the surface should be had recourse to. This latter
object is best effected by means of cold bathing.
Electricity.—The electrical force is frequently disturbed
in the atmosphere and on the surface of the earth. Plants
and animals partake of this disturbance, and in the case of
the manifestation of free electricity, present the usual signs
of positive or negative electricity. Although many elabo¬
rate efforts have been made to connect morbid tendencies,
diseases, and even the outbreak of epidemic diseases, to
the action of electricity, at present the evidence is wanting
to show that any condition of terrestrial electricity acts as
a cause of general disease. In those states of the atmo¬
sphere where electricity is developed, other phenomena are
generally present, to which may be ascribed the effects
usually attributed to electricity. It is sufficient to say here,
that at present we know little or nothing of the agency of
electricity in the production of disease. The only subject
in connection with electricity which demands attention on
the ground of public safety is that of preserving life and pro¬
perty from destruction by the aid of lightning-conductors, i
The Atmosphere.—The great aerial ocean which sur¬
rounds the world is necessary to the existence of both ani¬
mals and plants. It is subject to considerable chemical
and physical variations, which affect more or less the health
of man. It is also the medium for the diffusion of those
poisons which, either arising from decomposing animal or
vegetable matter, or the diseased body of man, produce
those forms of zymotic disease which are most destructive
of human life.
* Atmospheric air consists principally of oxygen and nitro¬
gen ; with these are mixed aqueous vapour and carbonic
acid. Of these constituents, oxygen is the most important,
as by its agency many of the functions of animal life are
carried on. The oxygen unites with the carbon of the food
in the blood of animals, and the result is the formation of
carbonic acid and the evolution of heat. Where atmo¬
spheres have their composition altered by artificial means,
as in overcrowded rooms, the reduction of the quantity of
oxygen acts injuriously on the system, by diminishing the
oxidating processes which are going on in the system.
Oxygen assumes two forms in the atmosphere, one ot
which is called ozone. This latter form, of ozone, is not
always present, but is sometimes very abundant. Ozone
is a more active form of oxygen gas. It readily unites
with the combustible elements, and appears to be the great
agent for reducing those compounds arising from decom¬
posing vegetable and animal matters in the air which would
otherwise be injurious to health. In the same way, it acts
beneficially on the human system, by quickening those pro¬
cesses of oxidation which are essential to health.
Ozone is tested for by the property it possesses of de¬
composing iodide of potassium, xmiting with the potassium
and setting free the iodine, the presence of which may be
detected by the agency of starch. Thus, test-papers satu¬
rated with a solution of iodide of potassium and starch are
employed to denote the presence of ozone. Ozone is
found abundantly in air coming from the ocean, and in
mountainous and rural districts free from vegetable and
animal decomposition. It is seldom found in the air of
London or our large towns. When found, it is in the
suburbs, and when the wind is blowing from the sea or the
country towards the city. The consideration of the
presence and agency of ozone is one demanding further
consideration.
The quantity of moisture contained in the atmosphere
varies, and exercises an important influence on the functions
of life. The quantity of moisture that can be taken up
into the atmosphere depends upon the temperature. As a
rule, the higher the temperature the larger the quantity of
moisture. At the same time, the quantity of moisture in
the atmosphere varies with a number of circumstances, as
the time of the day and the year, height above the sea-
level, prevailing winds, &c. The quantity of moisture in
the air affects considerably the transpiration of water from
the human body through the skin and lungs. When the
atmosphere is moist, the rapidity with which transpiration
is performed in the human body is much less than in a dry
atmosphere.
The quantity of moisture in the atmosphere differs much
in different places; and it becomes frequently a matter of
practical importance, in the location of houses, for families
to ascertain what is the prevailing amount of moisture in
the atmosphere. There is abundant evidence to show that
an excess of moisture in the atmosphere above the average
is injurious to health. It diminishes the changes which go
General
Hygiene.
SANITARY SCIENCE.
609
General on in the body, and leads to diseases of low vitality. On
Hygiene, the other hand, a very dry atmosphere is found to stimulate
the action of the skin and lungs, and to bring with it a
train of disorders, which are removed or relieved by a
change to a humid atmosphere.
I he influence or heat and moisture combined requires
consideration ; a moist atmosphere with a low temperature
produces different effects from a moist atmosphere with a
high heat. The latter conditions are especially productive
of disease amongst the European nations, whilst the former
conditions are destructive of the life of those races of
people who live in tropical climates.
In England the hottest months of the year are the most
unhealthy, and this unhealthiness is increased if the atmo¬
sphere is unusually moist. The next most unhealthy portion
of the year is the cold months ; and the public health suffers
more if an unusually moist atmosphere prevails.
The carbonic acid naturally contained in the atmosphere
is the result of the oxidating processes that go on on the
earth’s surface, as the respiration of animals, the decom¬
position of dead animal and vegetable tissues, the com¬
bustion of carbon, and the evolution of gases from springs
and volcanoes in the bowels of the earth. In this
quantity it is the food of plants, and is perfectly uninjurious
to man and the animal kingdom. This gas, however, is
constantly liable to increase in the atmosphere, when the
products of combustion or respiration are prevented from
finding their way into the great bulk of the air. This is
the case in houses and places of public assemblage, render¬
ing ventilation necessary. The evidence of the injurious
effects of an increased quantity of carbonic acid in the
atmosphere is very decisive. Not only have we proof that
life may be destroyed by its presence, as in the case of the
prisoners in the Black Hole of Calcutta, but also proof that
an atmosphere vitiated with it to an extent in which no
immediate injurious effects are produced will produce the
most destructive effects on the system. A large amount of
scrofula and phthisis is dependent simply on the depressing
agency of this gas in sleeping and other apartments, where
people spend a great portion of their lives. A great social
sanitary work has yet to be done, in calling the attention of
the public to the danger of living in rooms in which the
carbonic acid from respiration and combustion is not freely
got rid of.
The pressure of the atmosphere exercises an influence
on the life and health of man. The dwellers in valleys, or
in districts on a level with the sea, experience a greater
amount of atmospheric pressure than those who live on
hills and mountains, or at heights above the level of the
sea. The pressure of the atmosphere differs also in the
same place, and at different seasons of the year and times
of the day. It has been observed that epidemic and pes¬
tilential diseases are connected with an unusually dense
condition of the atmosphere. During the prevalence of
cholera in this country in 1832, in 1849, and 1854, the
barometer indicated the highest amount of pressure in the
atmosphere during the period.
A diminution in the pressure of the atmosphere is at¬
tended with congestion of the capillaries, and copious per¬
spiration and apoplectic seizures; and sudden deaths occur
as the result of this condition of the capillary circulation.
A rapid movement of the atmosphere is attended with a
diminution of its pressure. In this way, winds act mecha¬
nically on the health.
Winds also act on the health according to the direction
in which they blow. They are hot and cold, moist and
dry. In this country they exercise a very marked influence
on health and life. The north is dry and cold, and prevails
in the middle of winter. Wet northerly winds give rise to
diarrhoea and disturbance of the digestive organs. The
north-east wind is cold, and sharp, and dry. It is attended
VOL. XIX.
with little moisture in the atmosphere, and accompanies the
driest weather. The east wind is dry and cold. The pre¬
valence of these winds produces great fatality amongst
phthisical patients. They are accompanied with a peculiar
form of dyspepsia, which tends to develop rheumatism and
gout. The east wind seldom gives any indications of the
presence of ozone.
The south-east wind is a moist and cold wind, and is
almost invariably accompanied with rain in this climate.
It contains a considerable amount of ozone. Diarrhoea,
cholera, cynanche, dysentery, and bronchitis prevail with
this wind.
The south wind is generally accompanied with rain and
an elevated temperature. It affords the greatest quantity
of ozone; and although highly favourable to the longevity
of phthisical persons, produces catarrhs and bronchitis.
The south-west, west, and north-west winds are all more
or less favourable to health. They come to this country
more or less charged with the pure air of the Atlantic; and
although accompanied with rains and storms, do not appear
to act injuriously on man.
It will be seen that it is an important thing, in fixing on
the localities of towns and houses, to regard protection from
prevailing winds. In other parts of the world particular
winds prevail, as the simoom and the sirocco, whose effects
on life and health are very destructive.
An absence of wind is a state of the atmosphere in which
the greatest pressure of the barometer is likely to occur,
and in which the influence of corrupting and putrefying
agents in the atmosphere is most likely to be felt. During
the prevalence and preceding the breaking out of great
epidemics, unusual stillness of the atmosphere has prevailed.
This was observed in the great plague of London in 1665,
and also during the prevalence of the three great cholera
epidemics in England.
The atmosphere also requires study from the sanitarian,
on account of its being the medium through which poisons
are frequently introduced to the human body. Mineral
particles of all kinds may be conveyed through the air.
Thus, in trades producing dense powders, such substances
are conveyed through the air, and introduced into the
lungs, thus becoming sources of disease; as in the steel-
dust of the knife-grinder, the coal-dust of the miner, &c.
The fumes of mercury, phosphorus, sulphur, arsenic, and
other substances used in the arts, are thus conveyed to the
artisan; so also injurious gases, as sulphuretted hydrogen,
carbonic acid, carbonic oxide, &c. It is the law of vege¬
table and animal compounds that their elements shall return
to their simpler compounds by putrescence and decay.
The elements thus combining and forming compounds
which escape into the atmosphere are carbon, hydrogen,
nitrogen, oxygen, sulphur, and phosphorus. Many of the
gases thus formed are very injurious to human health.
The form, however, in which animal and vegetable matters
appear to be most injurious in the atmosphere is that of a
tendency to change before the ultimate compounds are
formed. In this state vegetable and animal matter is capable
of establishing in living bodies states of change in their
tissues similar to that in which they themselves are.
These bodies thus act as ferments. In some states of the
atmosphere these substances, of whatever nature they may
be, are much more readily conveyed than in others. As a
rule, hot, moist, and still conditions of the atmosphere
favour the conveyance of these particles of matter. Hence
it is, when all these conditions combine, that zymotic dis¬
eases prevail most.
Water.—In the form of vapour, water has most important
relations to life, as we have seen in the preceding section;
but in the condition of liquid water it sustains other rela¬
tions of equal importance. Water is necessary to man as
a civilized being, but naturally he uses it for cleaning and
4 H
General
Hygiene.
510 SANITARY
General washing, and takes it internally with his food. In all these
Hygiene, relations it is of great importance that the water he uses
v—V—' should be free from impurities which are likely to engen¬
der disease. The first great source of water is the ocean,
which being carried into the air in the form of vapour, is
acrain precipitated on the earth in the form of snow, or rain,
or dew. The water that falls on the earth is, part of it,
carried off in the form of rivers back to the sea, and another
portion enters the earth, and comes again to the surface in
the form of springs. Thus we have naturally sea-water,
river-water, and spring-water. The latter is constantly
impregnated with mineral constituents ; and when these are
very obvious, the waters are called mineral. If the water
comes to the surface of the earth with a greater heat than
natural, it is called thermal. Sea-water is unfitted for die-
tetical purposes, on account of the large quantity of salt it
contains. This does not, however, prevent its being used
for the purpose of bathing, in which the object is the appli¬
cation of cold to the skin. The exercise of swimming is
more easily performed in salt than fresh water, and the
stimulant effect of the salt appears to exercise a healthy in¬
fluence on the capillary circulation. In cases where it is
desirable, it should be known that pure water can be ob¬
tained from the distillation of sea-water.
River and spring waters are those which are mostly em¬
ployed for washing and dietetical purposes. These waters
seldom contain so large a quantity of saline matter as sea¬
water. The saline matters may, however, be in quantities
to render them unfitted for either washing or drinking.
Where the saline constituents interfere with the action of
soap, they are objectionable for washing purposes. When
the saline constituents are similar to those found in the
blood, they do not appear to exercise an injurious influ¬
ence for dietetical purposes, unless they are in great excess.
All waters are liable to contamination, from the presence
of decomposing animal and vegetable matters. I he exist¬
ence of large bodies of water containing such matters is
frequently prejudicial to health. Lakes, ponds, bogs, and
stagnant waters generally, are liable to this contamination,
and the effluvia they give off produce diseases of various
kinds, more especially intermittent and remittent fevers.
Rivers into which the refuse of towns is poured are liable
to this contamination, and are thus not only rendered inju¬
rious for drinking purposes, but detrimental to those who
live on their banks.
Spring or well waters are exposed to these contamina¬
tions. In towns, where the soil is permeated with the con¬
tents of cesspools or the leakage of drains, the wells may
be contaminated, and the water thus rendered entirely un¬
fit for use. Extensive evidence has been brought forward
to show that attacks of epidemic cholera have been con¬
nected with the contamination of well and river waters used
for dietetical purposes. Such waters may be rendered
comparatively sweet by boiling, filtering, and other clean¬
sing processes.
Soil.—The geological strata under the soil exercise a
considerable influence on the life of plants and animals.
These strata frequently determine the composition of the
waters which are drunk and used. They vary in chemical
composition and physical properties, and have varying re¬
lations to heat and moisture. Some soils absorb heat, and
keep up the temperature of a district. This is the case
more or less with sandy, gravelly soils. Such soils do not
retain moisture ; and as moisture is necessary to animal and
vegetable growth and decomposition, they are more free
from malarious and continued fevers, and neuralgiae, than
other soils.
A clay soil retains moisture, and is always damp. On
this account it encourages animal and vegetable growth and
decomposition. It is drained with difficulty, and is ren¬
dered colder by the amount of moisture it contains. Mists
SCIENCE.
and fogs are more likely to occur on moist clay soils than General
on dry gravelly ones. Hygiene.
Limestone and sandstone soils heat or cool very rapidly.
At the same time, they do not allow water to pass off’ very
rapidly ; and by retaining animal and vegetable matter,
they are liable to generate poisonous miasmata during the
heat of summer.
Chalk, like gravel, allows the free percolation of water,
and does not rapidly absorb heat. It absorbs moisture, and
the atmosphere is dry over it. Next to a gravelly soil, a
chalk soil may be regarded as most healthy. There are
many combinations of soil which need to be looked to in
providing for the sanitary welfare of those who live upon
them.
(13.) Internal Agents.
Another set of agencies are those which act more directly
on the functions of the body, and which may be generally
included under the heads of food, clothing, exercise, and
mental and moral culture.
Food.—The human body, like other organisms, h com¬
posed of material elements. These are about eighteen in
number. Four of these—carbon, hydrogen, nitrogen, and
oxygen—are called organic elements, on account of their
universal presence in living organized bodies. Two—sul¬
phur and phosphorus—are very generally present, and are
called pseudorganic elements. The rest are inorganic,
elements, and consist of the non-metallic elements, chlorine,
iodine, and silicon; and the metals, potassium, calcium,
sodium, magnesium, iron, and three or four others occasion¬
ally present.
These elements exist in compounds which form the tis¬
sues of the body. They are generally introduced into the
body in the form in which they are found there. These
compounds are found in the mineral, vegetable, and ani¬
mal world ; and when consumed by the animal, are called
food. Food subserves two principal purposes in the sys¬
tem of animals: 1. It builds up the fabric of the body; 2.
It maintains its special animal heat.
For the performance of these two great functions, special
compounds are adapted. Thus, water, the compounds of
the inorganic elements, and the nitrogenous compounds of
plants, are employed for the performance of the first func¬
tion ; and starch, oils, and sugar for the second. There are,
however, certain compounds consumed especially by man
which act more particularly on the nervous system, as tea,
coffee, alcohol, and tobacco, which may be called medicinal
or auxiliary food. The food of man, with the exception of
water and salt, is mostly derived from the vegetable king¬
dom. It is the plant which acts upon the organic elements
in such a manner as to form fit compounds for the tissues
of animals. The following outline of the food of man will
afford an idea of its nature and relations to his life :—
I. Alimentary or necessary, which may be divided into three prin¬
cipal groups.
1. Mineral.
a. Water. Taken pure and in various beverages, and also con¬
tained largely in solid food.
b. Salts. Found largely in the ashes of all vegetable and ani¬
mal food, and includes also common salt.
2. Nitrogenous : nutritious or flesh-forming food.
а. Albumen. Found in eggs, blood, and nervous tissue of
animals, and in the juices of many plants.
б. Fibrine, also known as gluten. Found in the muscles of
animals, and in the grains of the various cereal plants, as
wheat, barley, maize, rice, &c.
e. Caseine or legumine. Found in the milk of the Mammalia, and
separated as cheese, and also in the seeds of leguminous
plants.
3. Carbonaceous: respiratory or combustible foods.
a. Starch. Found in almost all vegetable foods ; and is pure
in sago, tapioca, and arrow-root.
SANITARY
General b. Sugar. Found in the milk and liver of animals, and in the
Hygiene. juices an fruits of plants.
i ° j c. Oil. Found in the milk and fat of all animals, and in the
- v seeds of many plants.
II. Medicinal and Auxiliary Foods.
4. Accessory Foods. These, though constantly taken, are not di¬
gested, or appropriated, as,—
a. Gum. Found extensively in vegetable food.
b. Cellulose. The substance from which the walls of vege¬
table cells are formed.
c. Gelatine. The substance from which animal cells are formed,
and constituting the basis of all animal soups and jellies.
5. Alteratives. To this group are assigned—
a. Acids, as vinegar, citric, malic, tartaric, and oxalic acids.
b. Alkaloids. The active principles of tea, coffee, and choco¬
late.
6. Stimidants. These act on the nervous system.
a. Alcohol. The active agent in beers, wines, and spirits.
b. Volatile oils. These give flavour to condiments and spices,
as mustard, horse-radish, pepper, nutmegs, cinnamon,
cloves, &c.
7. Narcotics. To this category is referred tobacco, opium, Indian
hemp, and other narcotics indulged in by man.
The influence of food on health is most important. Man,
left to himself, instinctively discovers what and how much
he ought to take. But he is constantly placed in circum¬
stances in which one group of these foods is abundant, and
another is deficient. He is also, especially in childhood,
dependent on others; and it is only by a knowledge of
the requirements of the system that disease and death can
be prevented. Food requires to be adapted to age, to sea¬
sons, to employment, to habits and conditions of the system.
The child, the youth, the adult, and the aged, all demand
modifications of the diet. In hot countries and hot seasons,
the heat-giving food, in proportion to the nutritious, requires
to be diminished; whilst in cold climates and seasons, it
needs to be increased. The hard-working man requires
more nutrition than the man whose pursuits are sedentary.
Some foods are particularly adapted to states of the system ;
thus oils and fats are beneficial in those conditions where
there is a tendency to wasting from an undue absorption of
fatty matter, or an insufficient supply of it. Water in
large quantities frequently acts as a depurant, and its
beneficial effects in certain states of the system have led to
the folly of administering it in large quantities in all cases
of disease.
The saline matters of the food may be deficient in the
blood, and can be supplied by the administration of fresh
vegetables, as seen in the case of scurvy. The alkaloids
of tea and coffee act manifestly as retarders of the wasting
processes of the body. Alcohol, in all its forms, produces
most pernicious effects upon the body when taken in ex-
cesS)—in fact, is the greatest dietetical curse of man; but
in small quantities it excites the languid heart to action, and
suspends those changes which might go on to the destruc¬
tion oflife and health.
Closely connected with the subject of food is that of
cookery. Not only should food be of a proper kind, and
given in due quantities, but it should be cooked in such a
way as to insure its digestion and its ultimate action on the
system. How little this is attended to, the least inquiry
will make manifest. Those who professionally prepare or
vend food know little of its properties and qualities; and
the wealthy only secure a due supply of sustenance by
an expenditure which is in the highest degree wasteful to
themselves and injurious to the community in which they
live. Our army, navy, schools, workhouses, prisons, and
hospitals are supplied with food on no principle whatever;
and disease and death are frequently the result.
The question of the relative digestibility of food, the ac¬
tion of the bile and the pancreatic fluid, the secretion from
the mucous membranes of the intestines, and the evacua¬
tion of the undigested mass after the chyle is absorbed,—all
demand study, in order to secure the sanitary action of food.
SCIENCE. 611
Another important practical question in relation to public General
health is the adulteration and sale of impure food. This Hygiene,
question has recently received the attention of the legisla-
ture, and more stringent measures are likely to be taken
for the suppression of these practices. That the adultera¬
tion of food is carried to an injurious extent has been
sufficiently proved; whilst through ignorance persons fre¬
quently sell food in a state likely to produce disease.
Clothing.—In a civilized state, man clothes himself, and
by this means saves a large amount of wear and tear in the
system. In cold and temperate climates, exposure naked
to cold would destroy a vast amount of young life at once,
and lead to the early destruction of mature life. At the
same time, the surface of the body requires a certain amount
of cooling in the hotter seasons of the year; so that the
subject of clothing is one of considerable importance in a
sanitary point of view.
Children are more influenced by cold than adults, and
should be warmly clothed whenever the temperature is be¬
low 60° Fahrenheit. To a neglect of this rule may be
traced the destruction of a large amount of infant life in
this country. Neither the chest nor the legs of young
children are sufficiently clothed in winter. Women also
dress too lightly about the chest in the winter of these cli¬
mates. Hence their liability to bronchitic attacks. In
dressing, it should be remembered that all clothing made of
animal substances is warmer than that made of vegetable
fabrics. The head is naturally clothed, and needs perhaps
less attention than it receives. If warm clothing is needed
in cold climates and weather, it becomes oppressive in hot
climates and weather. As the temperature rises above 65°,
woollen clothing of all kinds may be exchanged for cotton
and linen. The custom of clothing European troops in
their woollen dresses, and hot and heavy head-dresses, in
hot and tropical climates, is opposed to reason, and exceed¬
ingly destructive of health. The colour of clothes is also
of importance. Economy dictates dark colours as showing
the dirt less; but dark colours absorb heat in the summer
when it is not wanted, and radiate heat in the winter when
it needs to be husbanded. White and light-coloured cloth¬
ing is that which is best adapted for clothing at all seasons
and in all climates of the world.
Exercise.—The calling into play the action of the vo¬
luntary is called exercise. The contraction of the muscular
tissue is attended with the destruction of a certain amount
of the particles of which it is composed. This renders a
restorative necessary, the blood is drawn upon for new
matters, the capillary circulation is increased in the muscles
moving, a corresponding increase of action takes place in
the capillaries of the lungs, the inspiration becomes deeper
and more frequent, the heart is stimulated to action, and
the circulation of the blood is more rapid in every part of
the body; the secreting surfaces are more active, the
skin perspires, the exhalation of carbonic acid and moisture
from the lungs is greater, and the whole system sustains an
increase of activity. Of course such effects are more or
less extensive according to the nature of the exercise.
It may be of so violent a kind as to embarrass the heart
and lungs, and where these organs are weak or damaged
death may ensue. Health is, however, connected with a
due exercise of all the muscles. In many trades, particular
sets of muscles are called into action to the exclusion of
others. The want of exercise in the latter may be pro¬
ductive of disease. The excessive exertion of the volun¬
tary muscles in laborious occupations tends to waste the
system and destroy life ; whilst a life of freedom from
muscular exertion permits the degradation of the tissues of
the body, and an accumulation of fatty matter, which in¬
vites the attacks of disease or ends in sudden death.
To diminish the destruction oflife by over-exertion, and
to supply such exercises as will maintain health, are the
612
SANITARY SCIENCE.
General objects of the sanitarian. When the occupation does not
Hygiene, involve a sufficient amount of exercise, the movements of
the body involved in walking, running, jumping, riding,
driving, rowing, swimming, fencing, declaiming, and read¬
ing aloud, may be recommended. A regular system of
gymnastic exercises may be adopted with advantage in
schools. For the sedentary classes of our artisans and
commercial population public play-grounds are strongly to
be recommended, in which games and exercises might be
engaged in and adapted to the special wants of those using
them
Connected with exercise is the subject of rest. The
voluntary muscular system, and the nervous system through
which it acts, need rest. Continuous voluntary exertion
exhausts more than the same amount of labour with rest.
Periods of hard work and exercise should be intermitted
with periods of cessation from exertion. This applies also
to mental labour. Nature secures a certain amount of
rest during meals; but the grand rest of the system is
sleep. During the period of infantile and youthful excita¬
bility, sleep needs to be of longer duration than with the
adult. For man in his vigour a certain amount of sleep is
essential to his well-being. Thousands die for want of
sleep, produced either by anxiety or a determination to
shorten the hours of repose. As a rule, it may be said that
the healthy hard-working man requires, in every twenty-
four hours, eight hours in bed. Many can do with less,
but none will ever repent securing this amount of rest.
Some even require nine. Persons may go on for years
despising this rule, but in the end the nervous system
exacts from those who over-work it a fearful penalty.
Mental and Moral Culture.— The special functions of
the brain and nervous system require attention from those
who would preserve the health of the human body. What
is true of any other general function is true here; a partial
or excessive culture of the functions of the nervous system
is likely to engender disease. Unless there is a harmonious
development of the perceptive and reflective powers, and a
proper development of the will, the human being is subject
to the control of passions and feelings which lead to the
most destructive effects upon the rest of the system. The
neglect of the rules of sanitary science, seen in the de¬
struction of thousands and tens of thousands of lives an¬
nually, points to the necessity of intellectual culture for
the safety of the race; whilst the records of insanity and
crime show how painfully society pays for the neglect of a
proper culture of the moral and emotional nature of man.
3. SPECIAL MORBID AGENCIES.
The human body is liable to certain specific forms of
disease, arising from the introduction into the blood from
without of certain substances which act as poisons. As a
rule, mineral substances, which are not naturally contained
in the human body, act as poisons. These substances are
often used for the purposes of suicide and murder. They
aie not, however, placed in the category of substances pro-
c ucing specific diseases. Such substances are produced
ei er in the living tissues of plants and animals, or result
•r^m leU ^ecomPosi,:‘on- Such poisons may be divided
in o lose generated in the bodies of living animals and
p an s, an those produced by vegetable and animal decom-
posi ion. lose generated in the living animal body may
.if 1VKe1 in^°. ^10se produced in the human body, and
se pro ucec in the lower animals. Amongst the latter
p isons may e enumerated those produced in the dog in
hydrophobia, and in the horse in glanders.
mongst the poisons generated in the human body may
be mentioned those of syphilis, small-pox, scarlet fever,
measles, diphtheria typhus fever, typhoid fever, plague,
looping-cough, and cholera. In these instances the system
has the power of generating a poison which, when brought
in contact with another human body, is capable of inducing
in it the same form of disease as that in which itself was
produced.
We may here pass over the consideration of poisons pro¬
duced in living plants, as they are only accidentally or de¬
signedly introduced into the system.
Dead animal and vegetable matters are capable of en-
teiing into a state of decomposition, in which they may be
taken into the body as food, or in which their particles may
be diffused through the air, and thus introduced by the
agency of the lungs into the blood. Such poisons, under
the names of malaria and miasmata, are known to be capable
of inducing disease in the human body.
All these poisons are more or less under the control of
human agency. WTere the poisons generated in the
human body prevail, there strict quarantine, or measures
for diluting the poison, do not fail to prevent the spread of
disease. In the case of the putrid poisons, the removal of
the cause, or the removal of persons from their influence, is
known to avert disease.
In considering the action of these poisons, and the best
means of rendering them inert, three things should be
borne in mind : 1. The body attacked, or likely to be
attacked; 2. The medium through which the poison is
transmitted; 3. The poison itself.
With regard to the human being, it should always be
recollected, with regard to all these poisons, that some
persons are highly susceptible of their action, or predisposed
to receive them, whilst others present none of this suscep¬
tibility or predisposition. A person vaccinated, or who has
had the small-pox, will not contract small-pox on exposure
to^ the contagion. It is no proof of the non-contagiousness
of a disease that all persons exposed to its action do not
acquire the disease. I he subject of the causes that render
some persons liable to take certain diseases, and others not,
is worthy all attention, as tending to throw light on
the spread and propagation of contagious diseases. Some
of the diseases referred to are only propagated by con¬
tact with the diseased body, as syphilis and hydrophobia;
but the majority of them are propagated by the poisonous
matters passing through the atmosphere. This is a point of
great practical importance. Still and moist states of the
atmosphere are those which most favour the passage of
poisonous gases. Currents of air will, however, convey the
poison to a distance. The more concentrated the poison is
in the atmosphere, the more likely it is to communicate dis¬
ease. Infection may be avoided by the current being car¬
ried away from an exposed body ; and the poison may be
so diluted as not to produce an impression on even a pre¬
disposed body.
The nature of the poison differs. In some instances
it is so intense that a small quantity will reproduce the
disease in a predisposed body, whilst in others free ex¬
posure is required. As instances of intense poison, those
of scarlet fever and small-pox may be given; whilst the
poison of cholera and typhoid fever are of a much less in¬
tense kind.
Poisons seem to differ at different times and seasons.
They are much more vigorous at the breaking out of an
epidemic than at its close. They sometimes are so feeble
that individual cases occur, and no spread of the disease re¬
sults ; at other times it would appear that diseases become
epidemic from assuming a poisonous activity that ordinarily
do not present this phenomenon. Thus, under some cir¬
cumstances erysipelas and dysentery become highly conta¬
gious, whilst in their ordinary forms they exhibit no tendency
to spread. It would even appear that diseased germs are
susceptible of transformation; that at one period they shall
produce one form of disease, and at another time another.
These points are most important to bear in mind in dealing
General
Hygiene.
SANITARY SCIENCE.
613
Special with the outbreak of various forms of contagious and epi*
Hygiene, demic diseases.
Part IL—SPECIAL OR PARTICULAR
HYGIENE.
It is not enough to inquire into the general laws of vitality,
or to ascertain what are the necessary conditions of health
and comfort, but an application of this knowledge must be
made to the various sanitary wants of a community, and to
the hygienic demands of industry. This is the aim of prac¬
tical and especial hygiene. It has for its objects a minute
acquaintance with the habits and occupations of the people,
a particular knowledge of all the circumstances affecting the
health of a community, and the application of rules and
remedies to the many unwholesome influences that spring
out of a social existence. It takes cognisance of the geo¬
graphical situation of towns, the arrangement of streets, the
construction of houses, the cleansing of the public way, the
supply of pure water, the burial of the dead, and the re¬
moval of all corrupting refuse. It also concerns itself with
the adulterations of food, the unwholesome influences of
trade, and the injuries to which labour is exposed. All
these, therefore, will form the subjects of consideration.
CHAP. I.—THE SITUATION AND CONSTRUCTION OP HOUSES.
Although these are matters of great importance, in a sani¬
tary point of view, yet they receive but little attention
from builders and architects; in fact, the condition of our
towns, and the way in which cities are enlarged and re¬
modelled, show that hardly a thought is bestowed on the
advantages of situation, or on the general arrangement of
streets ; and in respect of the houses themselves, they are
characterised by a showy exterior rather than by any design
for internal comfort. In most cases the rooms are low and
badly constructed for warmth and ventilation ; the walls
are composed of materials that offer but slight resistance to
damp and cold ; the windows are small, and so badly situated
as to give no facilities for the admission of light and air;
the passages are dark and narrow ; and the whole fabric is
cheerless and uncomfortable. Besides which, the houses
are crowded together, and tower up to an unnecessary
height. They thus darken the narrow and crooked thorough¬
fares ; and are arranged without regard to the direction of
the light or the course of the wind : in fact, it would almost
seem as if every effort had been made to bar out the whole¬
some influences of nature. All this tells upon the vigour
of the population ; for it not only shortens life and en¬
genders diseases of a low type, but it also saps the strength
of the community, and more than decimates the infant
population.
Again, it too often happens that the poor are lodged in
the dilapidated houses of the rich, where it is impossible to
secure for them the appliances which are necessary for
health and comfort. A large share of the immorality and
disease of our large cities is due to this, and to the indis¬
criminate association of the sexes which such a condition
of things is sure to encourage.
It is not possible, however, to discuss in this place the
several details of such an inquiry; and therefore we must
be content with an exposition of the general principles of
the subject. That which should be aimed at in the con¬
struction of our dwellings is—
1. The selection of a locality which is not in itself un¬
wholesome, as from the proximity of marshy ground or stag¬
nant water. It should not be so elevated as to be exposed
to undue cold, nor so low as to be deprived of the salutary
influences of a dry and bracing atmosphere.
2. The ground should be firm, dry, and porous ; and
it should permit of easy and natural drainage. A damp clay
soil is especially objectionable, and so also is a wet and
peaty humus; for both of them provoke diseases of a ma¬
larious type.
3. The aspect of the building should allow a free access
of air and light; and the principal windows should be so
placed as to receive the direct rays of the sun, and to trans¬
mit a current of air that may sweep through the house when
it is needed.
4. The walls should be constructed of materials that do
not retain damp or organic impurity.
5. 1 he houses should stand apart whenever it is possible.
And
Special
Hygiene.
6. The streets should be arranged so as to receive the
sun’s light, and be open to a free current of air.
CHAP. II.—ON THE WARMING OF BUILDINGS, &C.
Warming of Buildings.—As the ventilation of buildings
will be found treated in another place in this work (see Ven¬
tilation), nothing requires to be said of it here. This chap¬
ter shall therefore be devoted to the warming of buildings,
&c. The circumstances which render this necessary are the
entrance of cold air by the doors and windows, the con¬
ducting power of the walls, and the radiation of heat from
the glass of the windows. The walls are generally from
two to four degrees below the mean temperature of the
room, and they absorb and conduct a large amount of heat.
The cooling effect of glass is also very great; for a square
foot of glass will generally cool about LS cubic feet of air
per minute from the mean temperature of the room to that
of the external air, and the cooling effect of metal or cor¬
rugated iron is nearly the same. Taking these facts into
consideration, the rule which is generally adopted for main¬
taining the warmth of a room or public building at a genial
temperature of from 60° to 65° is, that the supply in cubic
feet of warm air at this temperature should be equal to four
times the number of people the room is intended to con¬
tain, added to eleven times the number of external doors and
windows, added to LS times the area of the exposed glass.
If the windows are double, the radiations may be neglected ;
and if they are tight, there is no necessity to multiply them
by eleven; for in these cases the provision or supply is
simply for ventilation.
The means which have been adopted for effecting this
are the open fire, the close stove, the system of flues for hot
air, and the closed pipes for a current of steam or hot water.
Although the open fire is not an economical way of
warming a room, yet it is generally adopted in this country
because of its cheerful appearance and because of the
abundance of fuel. In early times the fire was placed in
the centre of the room, and there was a hole in the roof
above to let out the smoke. Then came the first improve¬
ment of setting the fire against the wall, and of ornament¬
ing the outlet with a turret and with louvre openings.
After a time there was a further improvement of stone-
screens over the fire to shut out the smoke; and in the
fourteenth century the channel for the smoke was entirely
enclosed; and thus were chimneys first designed. But for
more than 200 years they were not generally used except
in the houses of the wealthy ; and even there the large fire¬
place, with its cramped seats within the chimney breast,
and the high-back settle which acted as a screen to keep off
the wind, were but imperfect methods of warming. As
soon, however, as coal began to be used as the common
fuel, attention was directed to the discharge of the offen¬
sive smoke from it, and the best means of economizing the
heat. Then it was that the great improvements began to
be effected in the construction of fire-places. The earliest
of these were by Keslar of Frankfort (1614), Savot
(1625), Glauber (1669), Delesme (1686), and the Car¬
dinal de Polignac (1715). The last-named writer, under
614
SANITARY
Special the name of M. Gauger, published the first philosophical
Hygiene, treatise on the subject, and it contains the germs of almost
every modern improvement. He showed the advantage of
having the sides and back of the stove placed at such an
ancle as to reflect the radiant heat into the 100m, and he
also recommended that the chimney should be contracted
immediately over the fire, so as to prevent the too rapid
ascent of the heated air. These suggestions were still
further improved by Franklin (1774), and by Count Rum-
ford (1796); and since then the chief improvements have
been hi the methods of supplying the fuel, as from below
or at the sides of the fire, and in directing the current of
air upon it or through it. These improvements are count¬
less, but the rules to be deduced from them are,—
1. That the fire-place should be in the situation which
commands all parts of the room, and is as nearly as
possible at equal distances from the confines of it; so
that the radiant heat may be equally diffused.
2. It should be raised to about 10 inches from the floor,
so that the feet may be warmed and the face not
scorched.
3. The grate should have a large frontage, of a semicircular
form.
4. The back and sides should be composed of bad conduc¬
tors (as of fire-brick), so that the heat may be stored
as well as steadily radiated.
5. The bars should be as small as possible, in order that the
fire may burn clear, and the heat be freely radiated.
6. The aperture for carrying off the smoke should be nar¬
rowed to the minimum size, in order that the heat may
be retained, and the fire made to burn steadily.
7. The chimney should be as perpendicular as possible
beyond the gathering.
8. The coverings or sides of the grate should be placed
obliquely at an angle of 45° to the front, and they
should be well polished.
9. The distribution of warm air into the apartment should
be promoted by air chambers around the grate and
flues, and the supply of air to the grate should be under
the floor, as in the contrivances of Mr Boyd.
With all these arrangements, however, there is a great
loss of heat, and there are many strong objections to the
open fire-place. Thus :—
The waste of fuel and of heat is enormous, for at least
seven-eighths of the heat of the fire passes up the chimney,
and is lost (Dr Arnott). Count Rumford estimated it at
fourteen-fifteenths. Then, again, there is a very unequal
effect in the distribution of the heat. Those who are near
to the fire are too warm, and those who are away from it
are not warmed at all; the law of radiation being, that
the effects are inversely as the squares of the distances.
Another objection is, that the fire causes an uncomfort¬
able draught along the floor of the room, and does not
ventilate those parts which are above the level of the
chimney breast.
And, lastly, there is a great deal of dirt and smoke, and
there is danger of fire.
With all these disadvantages, however, our national
habits have confirmed us in the choice of an open fire.
The close stove is used where fuel is scarce, or where the
open fire is not admissible. It is a very ancient mode of
warming, and is still commonly practised on the Continent.
The several varieties of stoves are,—Those which warm
the air of the room by simple contact with the heated sur¬
face of the stove; those which supply a continuous cur¬
rent of hot air into the room ; and those which deliver the
warm products of combustion into the apartment. Of all
these, the two former alone deserve consideration ; for the
latter are dangerous and unwholesome. Of the first, the
simplest is the Dutch stove, which consists of an iron
SCIENCE.
chamber in which the fuel is burnt. The stove is raised a Special
little above the floor, and the products of combustion are Hygiene,
carried off by a flue. In France, Germany, Sweden, and
Russia, the stove is made of brick-tiles or porcelain. The
fire-place is small, but there is a circuitous disposition of
the flue, and this makes the stove a large and inelegant
structure. The materials, however, retain the heat for a
long time, and therefore the stove requires but little atten¬
tion, and is very economical.
When the warm products of combustion are conveyed
into the room, as is the case with the common brazier, with
Harper and Joyce’s stoves, and with the various gas fur¬
naces which have lately been contrived, there is great
danger to health; for not only is the atmosphere rmide dry
and hot, but it contains the poisonous products of com¬
bustion, which have on several occasions been fatal : in
fact, the objections to most of the close stoves, whether
they throw the products into the room or not, are, that they
burn or overheat the atmosphere, and make it dry and un¬
comfortable. Besides which, they do not generally permit
of a very complete renovation of the air, but merely cause
a continual circulation of it within the room. To guard
against these objections, the stove should be constructed so
as to deliver the products of combustion entirely out of the
room, and it should not be composed of materials that will
soon become hot. The fire should never be so intense as
to scorch the air, for that will produce a sensation of
dryness and oppression. The supply of fresh air should be
continuous, and the vitiated atmosphere should be re¬
moved by special contrivances at a higher level. A proper
degree of humidity should be given to the air by means of
evaporating vessels or wet surfaces, and there should be
perfect and easy control over all the arrangements. When
this is the case, the close stove has advantages over the
open fire, in the circumstance of its being more economical
and more uniform in its action.
A system of flues for hot air has been a common mode
of warming among the wealthy from very early times.
The Roman hypocaustum was but a set of flues running
beneath the flooring, and conveying the smoke and hot
air from a furnace outside the room. Exactly the same
kind of arrangement is the ancient hang of the Chinese ;
and the modern invention of Mr Beaumont is also an
example of it. Judging from the effects of these stoves,
and the economy with which they may be maintained, they
appear to have many advantages ; but they require especial
attention, and are not always under control ; besides which,
there is danger of the soot firing in the flues, and so be¬
coming unmanageable; and, above all, they cannot be
made the means of constant ventilation.
A closed pipe conveying steam or hot water is a modern
invention. The effects are much more genial than those
produced by a higher temperature, but the apparatus is
expensive, and in the case of steam it requires constant
attention ; nevertheless, it is used with advantage in large
public buildings, as in hospitals, prisons, barracks, &c.
The hot-water apparatus, in its simplest form (Kewley’s),
is on the principle of a syphon. It consists of a long pipe
coiled about in the rooms to be heated, and having two
legs of unequal length passing down into an open kitchen
boiler; the short leg dips just under the surface of the
water, and the long leg passes to the bottom of the boiler.
As the water becomes hot, it rises in the short leg and cir¬
culates to the coils in the upper level, where it parts with
its heat, and then descends in the long leg to the boiler.
The apparatus is not adapted for any great height (not
above 14 feet), and the water cannot be heated above 180
because of the tendency to a vacuum.
The second form of the apparatus is that contrived
by the Marquis de Chabannes. It consists of a closed
boiler, with the two legs of the syphon communica-
SANITARY SCIENCE. 615
Special ting with a cistern at a high level. These are filled with
Hygiene, water, and when the fire heats the contents of the boiler,
the hot water rises at once to the cistern, whence it is dis¬
tributed by coils to the rooms to be heated, and then it de¬
scends to the boiler. By this arrangement the temperature
may be raised to 212°, and the water conveyed to any
distance.
The third and only other form of the apparatus is the
invention of Mr Perkins. It is a closed circuit of com¬
paratively small pipes filled with water. About one-
eleventh part of the whole tube is coiled in a suitable
manner, and placed in a furnace at the lowest level. From
this a straight tube passes to the top of the building, and
thence the pipe descends to the several rooms to be
warmed, where it is coiled so as to expose a large radiating
surface ; from these it returns to the coil in the furnace.
An expansion or safety tube is placed at the uppermost
part of the apparatus, to guard against danger from the too
great expansion of the heated water. ^The/^mperature of
the water in the furnace coil may be raisec^to 400°, but the
circulation and cooling in the return coils is so great that
the water soon falls to 200° ; in fact, when the return coils
have a radiating surface about ten times as great as that of
the furnace coil, it is hardly possible to maintain a tem¬
perature above 200°. >
The quantity of heat given out by these contrivances is
somewhat variable ; but a cubic foot of steam at 212°
ought to give out enough heat to raise 130 cubic feet of Special
air 10°, and a cubic foot of water will raise the tempera- Hygiene,
ture of about 3000 cubic feet of air one degree for every
degree of heat it loses. Tredgold, Hood, and others, have
given the rules for ascertaining the length and surface-
measurement of pipe which is necessary for heating given
quantities of air, and have also determined the amounts of
the different kinds of fuel which are required for the pur¬
pose ; but this is not the place for the consideration of
such facts.
Artificial Illumination.—In a sanitary point of view, this
is a subject of great importance, for all the combustible
bodies employed for the production of artificial light ap¬
propriate the oxygen of the air and form carbonic acid.
They therefore vitiate the atmosphere to a large extent,
and some of them also produce sulphurous acid, which by
subsequent oxidation becomes sulphuric acid, and this
exerts a corrosive action on metals and textile fabrics.
The principal illuminating agents are oil, tallow, stearic
acid, spermaceti, wax, camphine, benzole, and coal-gas.
The extent to which these several agents appropriate the
atmospheric oxygen, evolve heat, and vitiate the air for the
same amount of light, may be seen in the following table.
The light evolved in each case is that of 26 sperm candles,
each burning at the rate of 120 grains per hour; and the
vitiating effect is calculated at the rate of 3 parts of car¬
bonic acid in 1000 of air.
Illuminating Agent.
Consumption of
each Burner or
Candle per hour.
Number of
Burners or
Candles
required.
Heating Power
in Cubic Feet of
Air raised 10
Degrees.
Quantity of
Oxygen con¬
sumed in
cubic feet.
Quantity of
Carbonic
Acid pro¬
duced in
cubic feet.
Quantity of Air
vitiated and
consumed per
hour in
cubic feet.
Cannel gas 
Benzole 
Camphine 
Common coal-gas 
Sperm-oil in Argand  
Colza-oil in Do  
Sperm-candles, 6 to the lb.
Oil in a common lamp ...
Wax candles, 6 to the lb 
Stearic acid, do.
Yellow moulds, do.  
3-5 cub. ft.
285 grs.
376 „
5 cub. ft.
686 grs.
756 „
136 „
133 „
168 „
140 „
143 „
2
5
4
2
3
3
23
27
21
26
30
22,500
19,340
20,530
32,400
31.200
27,150
37.800
43,600
40.800
44,100
44.200
7-92
7- 35
8- 37
12-87
10-10
11-08
16- 29
17- 62
17- 91
18- 00
21-05
3-91
589
6-02
6- 40
7- 10
7-80
11- 40
12- 39
12-60
12-92
15-27
1307
1970
2016
2146
2371
2608
3811
4142
4212
4318
5108
From this it will be seen that, for the same amount of
light obtained, the heating and vitiating effects of tallow
candles are nearly four times as great as those of cannel gas ;
but then gas is not consumed economically; for the light
is placed at a great altitude, and more gas is therefore burnt
than is necessary to produce the required amount of illu¬
mination. This it is which has created so great a prejudice
against gas, and which has caused it to be consumed in a
wasteful manner, so as to heat and vitiate the atmosphere to
a serious extent. In every case, however, it is manifest
that the products of combustion should be discharged from
the room, and that there should be a large supply of at¬
mospheric air to provide for the heating effects of the
illuminating agent.
The difference in the illuminating power and the vitia¬
ting effects of the same body (sperm-oil for example) is
dependent on the way in which it is burnt, and it shows
how necessary it is that combustion should always be main¬
tained at the fullest point; indeed, the differences in the
vitiating effects of the several fatty bodies are caused, not
so much by differences of chemical composition, as by the
vigour with which the combustion is maintained. It is
therefore advisable that the supply of air to the combustible
should be such as to maintain it in the most active state of
combustion. This is the object of glass chimneys, of the
various contrivances named oxydaters, of the thin and
plaited wicks of candles, and of the expanded or sheet¬
like flames of gas. When the combustion is very feeble,
a number of acrid compounds are produced which are very
offensive. The fatty bodies, for example, when burnt with
aj smouldering wick, or a large snuff, produce acrolein,
empyreumatic vapour, and irritating fatty acids; coal-gas,
when slowly burning, produces aldehyde, formic acid, &c. ;
and the half-burnt vapours of turpentine and benzole are
equally offensive.
Coal-gas is a very complex mixture ; it consists of about
40 per cent, of hydrogen, nearly the same quantity of light
carbonetted hydrogen, from 5 to 10 per cent, of condensible
hydro-carbons, with variable proportions of carbonic oxide,
carbonic acid, bisulphuret of carbon, nitrogen, ammonia,
and sometimes traces of sulphuretted hydrogen. Many of
these gases are poisonous; and therefore it is that coal-gas
exerts an injurious action on the animal economy. If it is
inhaled in a concentrated state, it quickly produces insensi¬
bility, which is followed by coma and death. An atmo¬
sphere containing from 7 to 12 per cent, of coal-gas will
kill small animals in a very short time ; and this proportion
acting on man, causes headache and nausea, with great de¬
pression of the vital powers.
A mixture of gas and atmospheric air is explosive ; and it
would seem from experiment that the greatest danger is
when there is 1 part of common gas to from 6 to 7 of air,
or 1 part of cannel gas to about 10 of air. The force of the
explosion under these circumstances is equal to that of about
30 atmospheres. These circumstances call for especial care
in the use of gas, and in many continental cities there are
616
SANITARY SCIENCE.
Special authorized rules for the management of it. In Hamburg,
Hygiene, for example, the gas-fitters are obliged to perform their work
}n an appointed manner. They must use tubes of wrought
iron, or of brass, or copper; and in cases where these are
not easily adapted, tubes of drawn tin must be employed.
The joining must be made in a durable and solid way,
either by means of sockets ground in and cemented with
iron cement, or by screwing up, or by^ soldering. Any
other kind of connection is forbidden. The tubes must be
placed in localities where they are accessible, so that in case
of leakage the mischief may be easily repaired. The cock
must be constructed so as to make only a fourth part of a
turn, and they must be fixed so as not to be removable from
the tubes. All the pipes of one inch or more in diameter
must be provided with stop-cocks, so as to shut off the
gas in case of fire; and no one is permitted to use or
alter the fittings without having them tested by means of
a pressure of 1 inch of mercury or 14 inches of water.
All the gas-fitters are sworn to adhere to these instruc¬
tions; and in case of any damage from negligence, com¬
pensation can be claimed from the gas-fitter in a civil court
of justice.
The sulphur which is contained in coal-gas is objection¬
able, because of its forming sulphurous acid, which soon
absorbs oxygen from the air, and becomes sulphuric acid.
This exerts a corrosive action on all kinds of textile fabrics,
and has caused much mischief in libraries and warehouses ;
in fact, the amount of sulphur in 100 cubic feet of coal-gas
is sufficient to produce from 30 to 50 grains of sulphuric
acid. It is proper, therefore, to guard against the destruc¬
tive effects of this acid by burning the gas in a closed
chamber, so that the products of combustion may be carried
entirely away ; and there are many contrivances for accom¬
plishing this.
A dangerous compound, called water-gas, has on several
occasions been proposed for illuminating purposes. It con¬
sists of hydrogen, carbonic oxide, and carbonic acid, in
various proportions; and to give it an illuminating power,
it is naphthalized with benzole, or the volatile hydro-carbons
of coal-tar. The gas is obtained by passing steam over
ignited carbon, and the carbonic oxide which is so produced
is a deadly poison ; so much so, that the governments
of France and Germany have interdicted its use.
There are two illuminating agents—namely, the oxy-
hydrogen, or Drummond light, and the electric light—
which do not vitiate the atmosphere; but they are so
costly, and are so difficult to manage, that they are not
used for domestic purposes.
Water Supply.—An abundant supply of wholesome
water is one of the first essentials of health and comfort.
Pure water cannot be obtained from natural sources;
even that which distils from the earth, and falls as rain or
snow, is charged with volatile matters which are often
highly offensive; and the water which flows from the soil
contains saline impurities which have been derived from
the strata through which it has percolated. These are the
earthy carbonates of lime and magnesia, the chlorides of
the alkalies, the earthy and alkaline sulphates, with silica,
alumina, organic matter, and frequently the nitrates of
potash, soda, and lime. The proportions of these con¬
stituents vary with the nature of the soil through which the
water has filtered; for example, the amount of carbonate
of lime and magnesia may range from less than a grain per
gallon to more than 20 grains, the former being the pro¬
portion in the water from the shallow sands of the tertiary
strata, and the latter in the water from the chalk formation,
bo also with respect to sulphate of lime: in most of the
streams of England, and in the water-bearing strata, the
proportion does not exceed 5 grains per gallon ; but in the
hard selenitic waters of the London clay the proportion is
from 20 to 30 grains. The existence of nitrates in water
is generally a sign of putrid contamination. All the shal¬
low wells of our large towns and cities are charged to
a considerable extent with this salt, the acid of which is
produced by the oxidation of organic matters which have
drained from the sewers, and cesspools, and graveyards, and
from the soakage of surface filth. While the soil is capable
of producing this salutary kind of oxidation, the danger is
kept in abeyance; but no one can say when this power
may cease or be overtaxed, and then the danger is immi¬
nent. Water which has flowed from well-manured land is
charged in the same way with alkaline nitrates; and that
which has drained from a soil covered with peat, or has
stood upon decaying vegetable matter, as the water of
ponds and marshes, is commonly impregnated with organic
compounds to a serious extent. As a rule, it is found
that the water from the surface of the soil is not wholesome
unless it has been collected in a sandy district which is not
in cultivation. Those from the upper sands of the tertiary
strata are generally excessively hard, from the presence of
sulphate of lime. Those from the lowermost sands of that
strata, as the deep well waters of London, are free from
this impurity, and are frequently alkaline, from the presence
of carbonate of soda. The water from the upper and middle
layers of chalk is characterised by the existence of much
carbonate of lime; and that from the upper greensands
which lie upon the gault is not much charged with calcareous
salts, but contains a rather large proportion of alkaline
nitrates, with traces of phosphates. In the summer-time
such water is soon covered with Conferva and Diatomacese,
which feed upon the nitro-phosphates, and form a thick
scum upon its surface. The water from the sands below
the gault is commonly the purest of all ; but even this is
occasionally impregnated with sulphate of iron that has
been produced by the oxidation of iron pyrites. River
waters have generally lost a great portion of their calcareous
matter, from the escape of carbonic acid. A water which
contains about 20 grains of saline matter in the gallon, of
which about 12 or 13 are carbonate of lime, from 2 to 3
sulphate of lime, from 2 to 3 common salt, and with not
more than 2 grains of organic matter, is generally well
suited for domestic purposes. If it contain a larger propor¬
tion of carbonate of lime, it is unpleasantly hard, and causes
a waste of soap, besides depositing a crust upon the interior
of the vessels in which it is boiled. Every grain of car¬
bonate of lime that remains in solution in the water destroys
about 10 grains of soap; and therefore a calcareous water
is wasteful for domestic purposes. When the calcareous
salt is in the form of sulphate of lime, it is still more objec¬
tionable, because this salt is not precipitated from the water
by boiling or by the addition of an alkali. The hardness
is therefore said to be permanent, in contradistinction of
the fugitive hardness of a carbonated salt. Such water not
only destroys soap to the extent of about 7^ times the
weight of the sulphate contained in it, but it is unfit for
vegetable infusions, and for extracting albuminous matters.
There are occasions, however, when this is desirable, as in
the brewing of pale ales, when the object is to extract the
saccharine matter of the malt, without much of the colour
or the albumen. The water of Burton-upon-Trent, for
example, which is so celebrated for the production of pale
ale, contains about 28 grains of sulphate of lime in the
gallon.
In consequence of the objections which have been raised
to the hardness of calcareous waters, several processes have
been suggested for the purpose of softening them. None
of these processes, however, are applicable to the selenitic
waters, which derive their hardness from sulphate of lime.
In other cases they owe their action to the removal of the
carbonic acid which holds the carbonate of lime in solution.
Exposure to the air in a running stream, or boiling the
water for a few minutes, or the addition of caustic lime,
Special
Hygiene.
SANITARY SCIENCE.
Special which is Dr Clark’s process, will have this effect, and then
Hygiene, the carbonate of lime is thrown down as a white insoluble
1 ^ v * powder. The latter process, which was suggested by Dr
Clark in 1841, is generally thought to be the most effec¬
tual, but it has not yet been practised with success; for
there is much difficulty in removing the precipitate from
the water, and the suspended lime is apt to form con¬
cretions in the service-pipes. The quantity of lime which
is necessary for the purpose will depend upon the hardness
of the water; but it rarely exceeds 10 grains per gallon,
and with this proportion the hardness of a chalk water may
be reduced from 19 or 20 degrees to 6 or 7.
A water which contains but little carbonate or sulphate
of lime, although soft and agreeable for domestic purposes,
is apt to be dangerous, from its action on the lead of the
cisterns or service-pipes. Experiments have shown that
pure distilled water rapidly corrodes lead, and so does rain
and snow water, and the water which has fallen upon sandy
districts, and has not received much mineral impregnation.
1 lie corrosion of the lead, which is due to the combined
influence of water and atmospheric oxygen, leads to the
formation of the white hydrated oxide of the metal; and
this, by combining with carbonic acid, becomes a hydrated
caibonate. Part of this is thrown down as a white preci¬
pitate ; part of it is also suspended in the water, and gives
it a milky appearance; and a still smaller part, amounting
to about 7 grains in the gallon in the case of the hydrated
oxide, and 1-1 grain in the gallon with the hydrated car¬
bonate, are dissolved. These proportions of lead are quite
sufficient to give to the water a poisonous action: indeed,
as little as 1 grain of oxide of lead in 7 gallons of water
has been known to act injuriously (Herepath); and 1
grain in the gallon has often produced lead-poisoning.
The proportion which is thought to be harmless is 1
grain of lead in 20 gallons of water (Smith) ; and when
it rises to about 1 grain in 10 gallons, it is approaching a
dangerous quantity.
ihe facts which have been made out in respect of the
action of water on lead are these :—That water which con¬
tains less than 2 grains of saline matter in the gallon cannot
be safely stored in lead vessels or distributed through lead
pipes. 1 hat a proportion of 6 grains of saline matter
(chiefly carbonate and sulphate) may be distributed through
lead pipes, but cannot be stored in lead vessels ; and that
when the proportion of sulphates and carbonates amounts to
from 10 to 20 grains per gallon, the water is not affected by
the lead to any appreciable extent. These facts show that
there is danger in seeking for a too pure supply, or in soft¬
ening the water to a very great extent.
Again, the presence of nitrates or chlorides, or an excess
of carbonic acid, will also cause an injurious action on lead ;
and so will the falling in of leaves or dirt into a lead
cistern, or the joining of iron pipes to the lead. The
former in their decay produce a vegetable acid which dis¬
solves the lead, and the latter sets up galvanic action,
which corrodes it. Cases of lead-poisoning have occurred
where lead pipes have been joined to iron ones; and it
has sometimes happened, that although the water which
flows through the pipe is wholesome, that which has stood
in it for some hours is poisonous. This explains the fact,
that in a large household the domestics who make their
morning tea of the water which has stood in the pipes all
night, will show symptoms of lead-poisoning, while the rest
of the family are free from them.
In seeking for a supply of water, therefore, it is necessary
to guard, on the one hand, against the existence of too
large a quantity of saline matter, and on the other, to avoid
that degree of sof tness or purity which will lead to an inju¬
rious action on the lead of the cistern or service-pipe.
Water which contains nitrate or chloride in excess or solid
vegetable matter, should always be rejected.
VOL. XIX.
The mode of supply is likewise a matter of importance.
Whenever it is practicable, the water should be conveyed
to the storing places in covered channels, so as to prevent
as far as possible the contamination of the water with filth.
1 he reservoirs should also be covered; and the water
should remain in them a sufficient time to deposit the
grosser impurities. It should then be filtered through sand-
beds into the reservoirs from which it is supplied to the
public. As to the question of an intermittent or constant
supply, there are many arguments of great weight which
bear upon both sides of it. The advantages of a constant
supply are, that the necessity for large cisterns, and the
consequent exposure of the water to fouling, is greatly di¬
minished ; the water comes to the house cool and well
aeiated; and it is always ready for use. The disadvantages
are, that the necessity for cisterns cannot be entirely ob¬
viated ; that there is a great waste of water in the conti¬
nuous flow of it; that it is delivered at so slow a rate that
there is a needless loss of time in collecting it; that it
cannot be supplied at a high pressure ; that the pipes are
apt to freeze; that when repairs are going on there is a
total shutting off of the supply ; and that the continuous
flow is never sufficient to clean the drains or to flush the
sewers. Besides which, in almost every case where the
constant supply has been generally used, there have been
practical difficulties, chiefly on the score of excessive waste,
which have interfered with its continual action. The truth
is, that in the houses of the wealthy and the careful it is a
matter of little or no importance whether the supply is con¬
stant or intermittent; for, with proper attention to the
state of the cistern, the supply is always sufficient and
unpolluted ; but in the dwellings of the poor, where the re¬
ceptacle for the water is generally an open butt, receiving
all the chance filth which may drop into it, and becomin0-
tainted with the disgusting exhalations from the neigh¬
bouring closet, to say nothing of the insufficient capacity of
the receptacle, it is a matter of serious moment whether there
cannot be a perpetual flow. At any rate, there is some
better system required than that which prevails in all the
crowded localities of our great cities, where it is hard for
the poor to obtain even that modicum of water which is
required for their physiological wants, and where it is vain
to expect from them those habits of cleanliness which are
necessary for health, and for their social advancement.
As to the quantity of supply, it is manifest that it should
be sufficient not only for the domestic wants of a popula¬
tion, but also for the purposes of trade and luxury. In the
city of London it amounts to nearly 25 gallons per head
per day; and in the cities and towns of Glasgow, Aber¬
deen, Nottingham, Preston, Oldham, Liverpool, Paisley,
and some other places which are regarded as models in this
respect, the daily supply is from 15 to 20 gallons per head.
Looking, therefore, at the requirements of a population, and
at the practical facts which have been ascertained concern¬
ing them, it may be concluded that a supply of from 12 to
15 gallons per head is required for purely domestic pur¬
poses, and that an addition of from 5 to 8 gallons per head
is required for the purposes of trade and general cleanli¬
ness. This makes a total daily supply of 20 gallons per
head ; and this may be regarded as sufficient for domestic
wants, for public baths and wash-houses, for the flushing of
sewers, for the cleansing and watering of streets, for die
extinction of fires, and for the supply of trades and manu¬
factures.
The chief conditions of a water supply are :—
That the water should be of such purity and quality as to
be fit for domestic purposes, without, on the one hand, being
wasteful on the score of hardness, and on the other dan¬
gerous from its softness.
That it should be conveyed from its source in covered
channels.
4 i
617
Special
Hygiene.
618
Special
Hygiene.
SANITARY SCIENCE
That it should be stored in reservoirs that will permit of
sedimentation, and be filtered through fine sand.
That the daily supply should be not less than 20 gallons
per head of the population.
That it should be supplied at high pressure, so as to
reach the uppermost storeys of the houses.
That the cisterns of every house should be constructed
of harmless and durable materials ; that they should be co¬
vered so as to exclude dirt and other impurities ; and that
they should have a capacity of at least 12 gallons per head,
or 24 gallons per room.
That every closet should have a distinct supply, so as to
guard against offensive impregnation.
That every court should have a separate stand-cock that
may be used for flushing and cleansing.
That there should be a street supply sufficient for the
accidents and emergencies of fire.
And lastly, that there should be a proper distribution for
street fountains, for public urinals, and for the flushing and
cleansing of sewers.
Cleansing, Draining, and Sewering.—In providing for
the sanitary wants of a community, it is not sufficient
merely to procure and distribute an adequate supply of
good and wholesome water, but means must be taken for
the removal of that water after it has become foul in the
services of life and industry. Provision must also be
made for the drainage of the soil, and for the quick dis¬
posal of all the refuse matters which are apt to accumulate
in every large city. The cleansing of the streets, and the
removal of common refuse, are usually provided for in every
town and hamlet, and are generally enforced with the ut¬
most care and regularity; but the drainage of the soil, and
the disposal of sewage and liquid waste, have yet to be dealt
with, so as to be inoffensive and technically useful. This
is a problem which has hitherto baffled the science of the
chemist and the skill of the engineer ; and the experience
of the past, as well as the lamentable errors of the present,
have left it doubtful whether the old system of cesspools,
with the appliances of modern science, would not have
been preferable to the wasteful and dangerous methods
of modern sewerage; for the fact is dawning upon us,
that every river in the country is being fouled by the
reckless discharge into it of matters which are due to the
soil. Not that we can go back to the careless habits of our
forefathers, when every house incorporated its own stink,
and stood upon an oozing cesspool; but it is a question ot
serious importance, whether, if as much attention and en¬
gineering skill had been bestowed upon the improvement of
that system, and the perfection of the cesspool arrange¬
ments, a more profitable result would not have been ob¬
tained than the present; for, however great may appear to
be the improvement of the public health through the adop¬
tion of the modern system of sewerage, we must not forget
that the experiment is only in the first stage of its develop¬
ment, and that we have yet to learn what will be the
ultimate effect of the pollution of every watercourse in the
kingdom.
Judging from the facts which are before us, it appears
evident that the surface and subsoil drainage of every town
and city should be altogether distinct from the sewers and
cesspools, and that while the drainage may be safely dis¬
charged into the nearest stream, the sewage of the popula¬
tion must be dealt with in an independent manner. That
which must be provided for is the collection and disposal
of about 40 ounces of excrementatious matter daily for each
member of the community. Of this from 2 to 2\ ounces
are dry solid, and wfith the present arrangements it is mixed
with from 20 to 25 gallons of water, and is thus rendered
unfit for every useful purpose ; in fact, the matters contained
in the public sewers consist not only of the solid and liquid
ejecta of the population, but also of the fluid refuse of
every branch of industry. They are composed of the Special
filth of kitchens, laundries, and dye-houses; the drainage Hygiene,
of stables, slaughter-houses, and the public markets; the
various liquid impurities of trade and manufacture ; the
washings of streets and alleys ; and the whole water
supply of the district. Each of these constituents has an
influence pn the composition of the general mass of sewage,
and on the putrefaction to which it is subject. Analysis
shows that the sewage of large towns contains from 15 to
80 grains per gallon of suspended matter, and from 35 to
76 of dissolved. Of the former about 35 per cent, is or¬
ganic, and of the latter about 28 per cent. The mineral
constituents are chiefly carbonate of lime and common salt,
with small proportions of alkaline sulphate and earthy phos¬
phate, together with the insoluble debris of the roads and
the detritus of wheels and horse-shoes. The organic matter
consists of the remains of vegetable and animal fibre, with a
soluble extractive in a high state of decomposition. None
of these can be utilized; and the organic constituents give
off such an abundance of foul gases that they are a constant
source of annoyance. The gases consist of about 73 per
cent, of light carburetted hydrogen, 16 per cent, of carbonic
acid, 10 of nitrogen, and traces of sulphuretted hydrogen,
ammonia, and a putrid organic vapour that is in the highest
degree offensive. Every gallon of sewage will discharge
from Ij to 1^ cubic inch of the gas every hour, and the
fermentation continues for weeks. The effect of this in
the atmosphere of the sewer is extremely dangerous, for
wheresoever it escapes, like the emanations from cesspools
and privies, it causes disease; in fact, it lowers the vital
powers, produces nausea or actual sickness, and at length
sets up a putrid form of fever which is exceedingly fatal. To
prevent the escape of these gases the openings from the
drains and gullies are trapped, and every effort is made to
prevent the diffusion of the foetid gases into the houses and
public way. But still the sewers must be ventilated ; and
to accomplish this, openings are left in the middle of the
streets, out of which the gases pass without hindrance.
It has been tried to ventilate the sewers by means of the
rain-water pipes, or by tubes to the tops of the houses;
but the foul gases diffuse themselves into the upper
windows, and are offensive. It has also been proposed
that the sewers should be ventilated by the street lamps,
or by the church towers ; but the only practical means
of disposing of the gases is by the aid of charcoal placed
in the course of the outlet channels. The efforts made to
destroy the gases by means of furnace fires placed in
special ventilating shafts have not been successful, partly
because of the difficulty of effecting any large amount of
ventilation in this manner, and partly because of the enor¬
mous expense which it involves.
Attempts have been made to diminish these evils by
the use of small drainage pipes, instead of the large brick
sewers which are commonly employed. It has been thought
that, with a good arrangement of such pipes, the sew¬
age would be quickly discharged, and would not have time
to undergo the decomposition to which it is subject in the
larger channels; that foul gases would not therefore be
evolved from it; and that it could be more easily utilized
than the putrid liquid matters of the common sewers. But
these expectations have not been realized. In the towns
of Croydon, Rugby, Tottenham, Uxbridge, and elsewhere,
the system has failed; and experience has shown that it
is not only an expensive system, but it is also a danger¬
ous one, because of the mischief occasioned by the escape
of foul gases when by accident a stoppage occurs in any
of the pipes; for as there are no special contrivances for
the outlet of the gases, they are forced through the traps
and openings into the houses, and are thus a cause of an¬
noyance and disease. Experience has also shown that
the solid excreta which is thus collected cannot be utilized
SANITARY SCIENCE.
619
Special with profit, and that the liquid refuse is as offensive, and
Hygiene. js as difficult to dispose of, as the worst kinds of ordinary
sewage.
I hat much has yet to be accomplished in respect of this
matter, there can be no doubt; and in the meantime the
objects to be kept in view are,—
The construction of special drains for the discharge of the
surface and subsoil drainage, and for disposal of the less of¬
fensive sullage from the domestic use of the water supply.
I he formation of special drains and receptacles for the
removal of the animal excreta.
I he construction of the sewage-channels and the cess¬
pools of impervious materials.
1 he occlusion, by means of traps, &c., of the sewer-
gases from the houses and public way; and the providing
of distinct ventilating channels with deodorizing trays of
powdered charcoal.
The existence of proper regulations for cleansing the
public way, and for removing the house refuse.
And the adoption of some profitable and inoffensive
means of utilizing the sewage and waste products.
Offensive or Injurious Trades.—All pursuits and oc¬
cupations have their influence on the health of those
who are engaged in them: even the luxurious habits of
the wealthy affect the condition of the body, and mark
the evils of a too artificial state of existence. But this
is not the place to discuss the special effects or particu¬
lar maladies of each occupation, but rather to lay down
such general rules for the management of offensive trades
as may be applicable to the purposes of hygiene. And,
in the first place, there are certain manufacturing pro¬
cesses which ought not to be conducted within the con¬
fines of a city ; for they are either dangerous on account of
the poisonous matters they discharge into the air or soil, or
they are insufferably offensive. To the first of these belong
the trades and occupations that deal with corrupting organic
matter, and which poison the atmosphere with the products
of putrid decomposition : among these are slaughterers and
knackers, bone-boilers and catgut-spinners, tanners, and the
makers of artificial manure. Nearly akin to these are the
different processes of manufacturing chemists, as the making
of mineral acids, the assaying and dissolving of metals, the
roasting and smelting of ores, the preparing of lead and
arsenical pigments, the distilling of crude pyroligneous acid,
and the treatment of the various products of gas-making,
as coal-tar and ammoniacal liquor. To the second belong
the trades of tallow-melting, soap-boiling, tripe-dressing,
gas-making, varnish-making, bleaching, &c., &c; but in all
cases, whether the offensive operations are conducted
within the confines of a town or not, it is proper that every
care should be taken to prevent the escape of offensive
effluvia; and this is necessary, not merely because of the
nuisance occasioned by it, but also because of the fact that
every particle of matter escaping from the domain of art is
a loss to the manufacturer. Every effort should therefore
be made to collect the volatile and waste products, so that
they may be hereafter utilized ; and if it so happens that the
volatile product is not of sufficient value to pay for the cost
of its collection, it should be destroyed or rendered inno¬
cuous by some special contrivance, as by conveying it
through a flue into the furnace fire. In this manner the
disgusting fumes from melting tallow, from boiling bones,
or tripe, or whalebone, and from the making of varnishes,
manures, and other such like offensive operations, may be
consumed and rendered harmless.
Again, when it is necessary to collect or store materials
that are apt to undergo decomposition, they should be
placed in air-tight receptacles and treated with disinfec¬
tants ; and when the storage of such materials is large,
the chamber containing them should be ventilated by a
fanner, and the offensive effluvia conveyed into a furnace
fire. All liquid products of a volatile q,j' noxious character
should be transported in casks or close barges, and should
be stored in air-tight tanks. Nor should there be a larger
stock of such materials than is necessary for the immediate
requirements of trade.
And lastly, in every establishment where liquid organic
substances are likely to soak into the soil and be offensive,
the pavement should be impervious, and it should be laid
upon a proper incline, so that the waste liquors may run off
and be collected in a covered tank, or discharged into a
public sewer. All the sinks and gullies should be effectively
trapped, and there should be an abundant supply of water
to ensure the needful cleansing. In addition to which, the
business of the factory should be under such regulations as
will prevent unnecessary annoyance.
There are some trades which are so dangerous and un¬
wholesome as to require particular care on the part of the
operatives. This is so in the manufacture of lead and
arsenical pigments, in the making of lucifer-matches, and
in the dry grinding of steel, &c. All these demand espe¬
cial precautions. The buildings should be well ventilated ;
the operations should be conducted in a cleanly manner;
there should be no waste of the dangerous products; the
working clothes should not be worn out of the factory, and
they should be frequently cleansed. Those who work in
lead should drink a lemonade acidulated with sulphuric
acid, and the lucifer-makers should use an alkaline bever¬
age. Under all circumstances, the action of the dangerous
matter should be checked as much as possible by cleanli¬
ness, by proper prophylactics, and by effective ventilation.
The discharge of opaque smoke into the atmosphere is
nearly always a wasteful nuisance ; for the evidence of those
who are best able to judge of the matter is to the effect that
it may be easily prevented, and that it ought not to be
allowed. The mischief of it is, that it obscures the atmo¬
sphere, interferes with domestic cleanliness, begrimes the
architecture of a city, and causes the inhabitants to shut out
the air which is necessary to ventilation. The remedy is
a little attention to the manner of supplying the fuel to the
fire, or the employment of one of the countless contrivances
which have lately been invented for the consumption of
smoke.
The Burial of the Bead.—This has been a subject
of sanitary regulation from the earliest times. The cere¬
monials of the Jews and ancient Egyptians, the pro¬
cesses of embalming which were practised by the Egyp¬
tians and Peruvians, and the burning of the dead by the
Greeks, the Romans, and the Ethiopians, were but the
means of preventing danger from putrefaction. And even
in later times, when the Romans practised interment in
the soil, it was performed in an allotted space beyond
the walls of the city. Gradually, however, the custom of
burying the dead within cities, and even within the temples
of religion, was adopted, and at last it was learned how dan¬
gerous the practice was. As far back as the sixth century
the mischief of it was anticipated, and edict after edict was
promulgated by the church against it, but with little or no
effect until the legislative enactments of different countries
put a final check upon it. In France, Germany, America,
and, lastly, in the metropolis of this country, the practice of
intramural interment has been prohibited, but not until it
was shown that the emanations from the dead were a fruit¬
ful source of danger to the living. It is a serious matter,
that close beneath the feet of those who attend the services
of the church, and all around the sacred edifice, there are
heaps of human remains undergoing putrefactive decay, and
evolving foul gases which are known to be a cause of dis¬
ease. Instances are not rare where these gases have sud¬
denly gushed forth, and have killed with the energy of a
thunder-stroke ; and often have they spread a pestilence that
has decimated the neighbouring population. All this, with
Special
Hygiene.
620
SANITARY SCIENCE.
Special
Hygiene.
the knowledge that the gaseous emanations of animal cor¬
ruption are among the most deadly poisons with which we
are acquainted, has led to the condemnation of intramural
interment.
The questions which present themselves in respect of
this matter are,"““the situation of the place where the dead
should be buried; the character of the soil which is best
suited for the promotion of animal decay ; the space which
should be allotted for each interment; and the time which
should elapse before a grave is disturbed. Add to these the
treatment of the body before it is interred, and the manner
of dealing with the present churchyards and overcrowded
vaults.
The situation of a public cemetery is not an unimportant
question ; for it involves considerations of economy, of con¬
venience, of reverence for the dead, as well as care for the
living. It should be accessible by easy carriage-roads ; and
better still if it can also be approached by a railway; for
this secures economy in the transport of the coffin and
mourners, and does away with that worst of all necessities,
the conveyance of the dead in cabs and other public vehicles.
If the site be upon the side of a hill,—a situation which
is always in harmony with the feelings of the sorrowful,
and encourages that reverence for the dead to which all
consideration is due,—it should be carefully ascertained that
the drainage of the soil is not downwards into localities
where the water is used for domestic purposes. The
proximity to a well-wooded district, and a situation which
will permit of complete isolation from dwellings, are always
to be preferred.
The character of the soil which experience has proved is
best suited for animal decay is a light porous soil, which
will permit of atmospheric diffusion. A stratum of wet clay
is most objectionable, and a peaty soil will have the effect
of preserving the body for an indefinite time.
The graves should never be so close as to prevent the
free access of air through the porous soil to the body, and
the earth should never be saturated with that unctuous cor¬
ruption which is characteristic of the overcharged grave¬
yards of the metropolis. It must not be forgotten that the
object of interment is to effect the complete decay of the
body; and every facility should be offered for this purpose.
The rich and the poor are nowise different when they meet
in the grave, and both should be subject to the same regu¬
lations, for both are liable to the same changes in death, and
have to pass through the same processes of decay, in order
that the elements of their bodies may be restored to the
living world, and may circulate in accordance with the law
and economy of nature. We may endeavour to gratify
our selfish feelings, and try to keep together the frail fabric
of the cherished dead ; we may swathe it in cerements, con¬
fine it in metal, or wood, or stone, and build it into vaults,
and heap pyramids upon it; but all is in vain : the law of
nature is, that it shall decay, and its elements pass again into
the living world, and so circulate for ever. Our efforts,
therefore, should be to expedite the processes of nature, and
not to check them. There should be no burying in metal
and building into vaults, but all our dead should find a
common resting-place in the soil.
The superficial space which should be allotted to each
grave should not be less than 20 feet. The largest coffin
is about 6 feet long and 2 feet wide ; and if such coffins,
with a superficial area of 12 feet, were packed side by side,
without earth between them, as many as 3620 could be
disposed of in an acre; but such an arrangement would be
manifestly improper, and therefore it has been decided that
a sufficient layer of earth should be placed between the
coffins, to enable the physical and chemical powers of the
soil to perform their appointed duties. What the space for
a coffin should be, is still a matter of uncertainty. It varies
in different countries, from a superficial area of 30 to 90 feet.
The former will permit of 1452 graves in an acre, the latter Special
of 484. In the resolutions which were issued from the Hygiene.
Home Office, in accordance with the Burials Acts of from “V—
the 15th to the 19th of the present reign, it is ordered that
the grave spaces for the burial of persons above 12 years of
age shall be at least 9 feet by 4, and those for the burial
of children under 12 years of age, 6 feet by 3. The former
(36 square feet) will permit of 1210 burials in an acre ;
and the latter (18 square feet) 2420; the average of both
being 27 square feet for each grave, or 1815 burials to the
acre; but as the number of children buried is generally
twice as great as that of adults, it would give an average of
24 square feet for each grave, or 2017 graves to an acre.
Mr Chadwick says that the well-considered regulations for
burials in towns give about 1452 common graves per acre.
From all of which it may be concluded that a superficial
space of about 30 square feet should be allotted to each
grave. And it is also necessary that space should be al¬
lowed for the gravel walks in a cemetery, and for the or¬
namental culture of trees; for nothing is so salutary as the
growth of vegetation in the organic soil of a burial-ground.
Another regulation from the Home Office is, that not less
than 4 feet of earth shall be placed over the coffin, or rather
that the coffin shall not be within 4 feet of the ordinary
level of the ground, unless it contains the body of a child
under 12 years of age, when it shall not be less than 3 feet
below the level.
Lastly, it is recommended that only one body shall be
buried in a grave at one time, unless the bodies be those of
members of the same family; but although this regulation
is a very salutary one, it is not observed in any cemetery
or burial-ground in England, except in the burial-places
belonging to the Jews, amongst whom the custom has pre¬
vailed from an early date.
The practice of burying the dead in vaults or catacombs
or brick graves is fundamentally wrong, but still it prevails
to a large extent in this and other countries; and the re¬
gulations which have been made in respect of it are, that
the coffin shall be of lead, and that it shall be entombed in
an air-tight manner in stone or brick-work, with proper
cement. The space which is allotted to them is generally
9 feet by 5, or rather 9 feet by 4 and 9 feet by 6 alter¬
nately, and sometimes there is a channel along the head of
the vault for ventilation. The notions which prevail in
respect of the protective power of lead coffins and brick
vaults are very erroneous. If the coffins are made so tight
as to prevent the gradual escape of the pent-up gases, they
will sooner or later explode ; but commonly the lead is
purposely left with small fissures and holes lor the outlet of
the gases. A time also comes when the outer wood coffin
decays, and then the weight of the lead and its superin¬
cumbent tier of coffins flattens the metal case, and the or¬
ganic remains are squeezed out, or are crushed by the
heavy pressure. The lead also corrodes and becomes con¬
verted into white lead, by which means the coffins are
pierced with myriads of small holes. These changes may
be seen in almost every church vault in the kingdom, and
they illustrate the absurdity and danger of such a mode of
burial.
As to the time which should elapse before a grave is dis¬
turbed for a new tenant, it will vary with the character of
the soil, the distance of the body from the surface, and the
number of coffins in the grave. In a good soil, and under
favourable circumstances, an adult coffin with its contents
will have disappeared in 8 or 10 years; whereas in a clay
or peaty soil it will remain for a century. It is generally
assumed, that in a moderately good soil a period of 14
years is sufficient for the decay of an adult; that for young
persons between the ages of 5 and 16 a period of 10 years
is sufficient; and for infants under 5 years about half the
time. But long before this the soft parts of the body will
SANITARY SCIENCE. 621
Special have decomposed, and the skeleton alone will remain.
Hygiene. This, however, at last decays, and crumbles into dust,
^ which blends with the neighbouring soil. Not until this
has taken place can it be said that the grave is ready for
another tenant; for the return of dust to dust, and the
total dissolution of the body, is alike required for the pur¬
poses of hygiene and for the respect which is due to piety
and affection.
The delay which occurs in the burial of the dead has
often suggested the necessity for providing some means for
the preservation or custody of the body before interment,
so as to prevent the mischief which is too often occasioned
by putrefaction. In the houses of the poor this is espe¬
cially needful, for it commonly happens that the dead
are kept in the rooms which are occupied by the living;
and many days may elapse before the necessary arrange¬
ments can be made for the burial: during the whole of
this time, the occupants of the room are exposed to
the foetid emanations from the putrid and sometimes in¬
fectious body. To guard against this, it has been pro¬
posed that there should be houses of reception for the dead,
where the corpse might be detained in decent and respect¬
ful custody until the appointed time for its burial. These
houses might also be used for the reception of bodies found
dead in the public way; and means might be taken to pre¬
vent putrefaction until the period for interment. Provision
has been made for this in most of the local sanitary acts,
but it has not yet been put into practice, partly because of
a fear that it would violate the feelings and domestic affec¬
tions of the poor, and partly because it might be abused
by those who are too eager to get rid of their dead ;
for if the body were once deposited in the reception-
house, the further cost of its removal and interment
might fall upon the local authorities. Altogether, the
subject is beset with difficulties, but it is clearly one that
requires consideration, for it might be developed so as to
be of great advantage to the community.
The treatment of the existing evils which arise out of the
present overcrowded state of the church vaults and grave¬
yards is a matter of some importance. In the city of Lon¬
don, where this state of things has called for a remedy, it
has been found that the most effectual way of dealing with
the mischief is the following:—After a sanitary inspection
by the government officer, an order in Council is issued for
the final closing of the vaults. This is done under the
supervision of the sanitary officer for the district; the coffins
are arranged in order, and filled in with dry earth. They
are covered to the depth of from 18 inches to 2 feet, with
the same sort of earth ; and over this is laid a stratum of
coarsely-powdered vegetable charcoal to the depth of 3 or
4 inches. A ventilator or two should be carried from the
vaults to the top of the church, and the ventilator need
only be a pipe of about 4 inches in diameter. The vaults
are then built in, and permanently closed with brick-work.
In the case of the grave-yards, they are levelled and covered
with a stratum of fresh earth, in which trees and shrubs are
planted, and the whole is neatly laid out with grass. Vege¬
tation acts as a salutary agent by absorbing the liquid
humours from the soil, and by appropriating the organic
vapours which may escape from the ground.
Disinfectants and Antiseptics.—It may not be out of
' place to refer in a very general way to the operation of
these agents, and to their value as disinfectants ; for putre¬
faction in one form or another is the chief cause of the un¬
healthiness of towns.
There are two classes of these correctives,—namely, those
which check putrefaction by giving stability to the organic
compound, and those which appropriate or absorb the
foetid products. The first of these are properly called anti¬
septics or antiputrescents, and the second deodorizers or
disinfectants. The antiseptics are common salt, vinegar,
sugar, alcohol, creosote, the empyreumatic oils of wood or Special
peat or coal, and the metallic salts, as chloride of zinc, cor- Hygiene,
rosive sublimate, sulphate of copper, muriate of iron, alum,
&c. None of these agents entirely prevent putrefac¬
tion ; they merely check it by combining with the animal
matter, and forming compounds which are not prone to
decay. They are employed in many operations of the
arts, and in some cases are the popular means of preserving
food.
The deodorizers act in one of two ways,—they either
absorb and fix the foetid gases, or they utterly destroy
them. Those which operate in the first way are the vola¬
tile acids, as vinegar, sulphurous acid, nitrous acid, and
spirit of salts ; the mineral compounds, as the salts of lead,
iron, zinc, and manganese, all of which latter unite with
ammonia and sulphuretted hydrogen, which are two of the
most offensive constituents of almost every putrid vapour.
Those which act in the second way are chlorine, hypo-
chlorous acid, the manganates and permanganates of the
alkalies, powdered charcoal, and fresh earth. The modus
operandi of these is nearly always alike ; they give oxygen
to the putrid matter, and so destroy it. Where it is ne¬
cessary to act upon organic vapours and putrid miasm, the
volatile disinfectants, as chlorine or hypochlorous acid, should
be employed ; but where the putrid substance is in a solid
or liquid form, the other agents may be used: of these, the
manganate or permanganate of soda or potash (Condy7s
fluid) is the most rapid and safe ; chloride of lime is also
effective, and so is charcoal or dry earth, both of which
absorb the foul gases, and bring them into chemical con¬
tact with atmospheric oxygen. Both of these agents there¬
fore require free access of air. Practically, it will be
found that Condy’s fluid acts most freely on liquid pro¬
ducts : it disinfects sewage, putrid water, and foul sores,
almost immediately ; solid substances, as animal remains,
and the semifluid matter of cesspools, are best treated with
a layer of charcoal or dry earth. A good deodorizer for the
preservation of dead bodies during the time which elapses
before burial can take place, is sawdust charged with a
solution of sulphate of zinc and dried; it may be scented
with a little camphor, to take off the cadaverous smell.
Game also may be packed in it, when it is to be sent to a
distance; and animal matters generally are well preserved
by it. None of these agents, however, are applicable to
the deodorization of sewage on a large scale, because of
their cost. It has been calculated that the cheapest of
them (chloride of lime), even when used in the proportions *
of only twelve grains per gallon, would cost nearly L.240,000
per annum to deodorize the sewage of London. Quick¬
lime, therefore, is generally employed in these cases ; but it
is not a perfect deodorizer, for it merely absorbs the sul¬
phuretted hydrogen of the putrid compound, and casts down
a part of the organic matter which is in solution ; but if the
precipitate is not quickly removed from the supernatant
fluid, it passes into a state of decomposition, which is not
less offensive than the original sewage. At Leicester and
Tottenham, this process is used on a rather large scale, and
with some success in a sanitary point of view, but with
none in a commercial.
Fire is a powerful and complete disinfectant: it is there
used in many processes of the arts where offensive vapours
are evolved.
There are many other practical questions which the limits
of this article will not embrace, as the economy and adulter¬
ation of food, the purity of medicines, the action of poisons
and antidotes, the specific and general causes of endemic dis¬
eases, the origin and spread of epidemics, the importance of
quarantine, &c.; but the facts which have been discussed
will illustrate the leading principles of hygiene, and will
suggest the rules which should be adopted for the protection
of life and the preservation of health. (e. l., h. l.)
622 SAN
San Jose SAN JOSE, the capital of the republic of Costa Rica,
|| in Central America, on the river Cartago, 248 miles W. by
Sannazaro. n. 0f Panama; N. Lat. 9. 46., W. Long. 84. It is quite
Vs—‘v'*"'-'' a modern town, and though the seat of the government,
legislature, and law courts, and containing a cathedral and
episcopal palace, has few remarkable buildings. There is
here a large tobacco factory; and an active trade is carried
on. Pop. 30.000.
SAN-JUAN-DE-LA-FRONTERA. See Plata, La.
SAN LUCAR, a town of Spain in the province and
17 miles N. of Cadiz, in a bare, sandy, undulating country,
on the left bank of the Guadalquiver, not far from its mouth.
It stands partly on the flat bank of the river, and partly on
the rising ground behind; its white glittering houses rising
one above the other, up to an old Moorish castle on the
summit. There are here 3 churches, 4 hospitals, one of
them founded by Henry VIII. for English sailors, and the
deserted buildings of several suppressed convents. The
place is, however, dull and lifeless; having fallen off very
much from its ancient commercial importance. It is now
chiefly dependent on the wine trade, and is the mart of
the inferior vintages sent to England as sherry. Many of
the people are also employed in agriculture and fishing.
The climate is hot, but not unhealthy. It was from San
Lucar, in 1519, that the first voyage round the globe was
begun by Magellan, who never returned, having been slain
by the savages of the Philippines. Pop. 16,861.
SAN LUIS. See Plata, La.
SAN LUIS POTOSI. See Mexico.
SAN LUSSURGUI, a town of the Island of Sardinia,
in the division of Sassari, in a valley inclosed by mountains,
8 miles VV.S.W. of Cagliari. Its narrow winding streets
are lined with good houses ; and there are several churches,
a convent, and a school. Woollen and linen cloth are
manufactured; and there is some trade in cattle, wool, &c.
Pop. 4460.
SAN MARINO. See Marino, San.
SAN MICHELI, Michele, an Italian architect of
considerable celebrity, was born at Verona in 1484. He
acquired his art under the eye of his father Giovanni and
his uncle Bartolomeo, who were both architects of distinc¬
tion. The ancient amphitheatre of his native town was a
constant object of interest for the young architect, and his
future designs are much indebted for their massive rusti¬
cated work to this period of youthful study. He went to
Rome about 1500, where he was fortunate enough to gain
the intimacy of all the famous artists of the day, Bramante,
Michael Angelo, and the Sangalli. While in the ecclesi¬
astical states, he constructed many buildings of celebrity,
among others the cathedral of Montefiascone. On his re¬
turn to the Venetian Republic, in 1525, he was engaged in
erecting the new fortifications of Verona. Here he intro¬
duced, for the first time, the use of triangular and hept-
angular bastions, since so much employed by military
engineers. Lie was subsequently engaged in fortifying many
places in Cyprus, Candia, Istria, and Dalmatia, someof which
were confided to his nephew, Gian-Girolamo. Bothuncleand
nephew had pressing offers from Francis I. and the Emperor
Charles V. to enter their service, but to all such flattering
proposals they gave an emphatic refusal. The palazzi or
mansion-houses of San Mieheli are many of them not to be
imitated, abounding, as they do, in irregularities of design,
and in a curious mixture of highly ornamented work, with de¬
cidedly bald construction. San Micheli enjoyed an honour¬
able old age, and died in 1559 in his seventy-fifth year.
SAN MIGUEL, a town of Central America, in the
republic and 45 miles E.S.E. of San Salvador, on the na¬
vigable river Lempa, 20 miles above its mouth in the
Pacific. It contains a church and convents; and the peo¬
ple are mostly employed in agriculture. Pop. 6000.
SANNAZARO, Jacopo, an elegant Italian poet, was
SAN
born at Naples on the 28th of July 1458, of a noble family San Paulo,
of Spanish origin, who dwelt at San Nazaro, a mansion-
house situated near Pavia. He began his studies at Naples,
under Giuniano Maggio, but was very early interrupted by
an unfortunate love affair, which drove him to travel. Some
say he went to France, where he wrote his first poem,
Arcadia, in 1502, an Italian pastoral, in which he describes,
in alternate prose and verse, the scenes and occupations
of pastoral life, intermingling them with adventures which
really occurred to himself. The poem has been greatly
admired for the elegance and purity of its diction ; and the
author has been generally ranked with the best poets of his
country. The success of this work was early extended to
Spain. Ticknor, in his History of Spanish Literature, vol.
hi., p.38, says, that “ Spain was the first foreign country where
the Arcadia was imitated, and was afterwards the only one
where such works appeared in large numbers, and estab¬
lished a lasting influence.” In 1526 appeared the work
which gained him the name of the “ Christian Virgil,” He
Partu Virginis. This poem, which was written in Latin,
was much applauded, and the author gained the sanction
of Popes Leo X. and of Clement VII. to his production.
This work, and his Sonetti e Canzoni, 1530, gained for
their author a very wide reputation. He received great
honours on his return to Naples from King Ferdinand I.,
and subsequently from Frederic, the last Neapolitan king,
who assigned him a residence on the beautiful slope of
Mont Posilipo. Sannazaro accompanied the latter king
in his exile to France, where he remained while that mo¬
narch lived. On his return to Italy, it is said, he was told
one day that the Prince of Orange had been slain in battle,
who, among other indignities, had recently demolished the
peet’s country-house ; when Sannazaro called out, “ I shall
die contented since Mars has punished this barbarous enemy
of the Muses.” He died soon after, on the 27th of April
1530.
SAN PAULO, a province of Brazil, lying between S.
Lat. 20. and 24. 30., W. Long. 44. 30. and 53 ; bounded
on the N. by the provinces of Goyaz and Minas Geraes,
N.E. by that of Rio de Janeiro, S.E. by the Atlantic, S.
by Curitiba, and W. by Parana. Area, 170,615 square
miles. The coast line is about 400 miles in length, and
stretches from N.W. to S.E.; along the shore is a narrow
strip of low land, and beyond it rises a ridge of mountains
extending in a parallel direction. These form the water¬
shed of the province, dividing it into tw7o very unequal
portions ; the rivers of the eastern part flowing directly into
the Atlantic, and those on the other side reaching the same
destination through the Parana, which forms part of the
northern and the whole of the western boundary of the
province. The mountains are for the most part of granite
formation, and their upper parts are covered with dense
forests of valuable timber, especially cedar and pine. Their
lower slopes, and the country as far as the Parana, are
almost all exceedingly fertile. The principal affluent of
the Parana in this province is the Tiete, which flows from
east to west very nearly in the centre of the country.
Grain, rice, and manise, are the principal crops raised in
the interior. Along the coast, tobacco, sugar, and cotton
are cultivated. Horses and cattle are reared in great
numbers on the tablelands in the central parts of the pro¬
vince. The extreme portion is still occupied by aborigi¬
nal tribes. There are several seaports along the coast, by
means of which a considerable trade is carried on with
Rio Janeiro. San Paulo is divided into 7 comarcas ; and
represented in the legislature of Brazil by four senators
and nine deputies. Pop. (1856) 500,000.
San Paulo, the capital of the above province, on a lofty
uneven piece of ground, between two small streams, 32
miles from the sea, and 220 miles W. by S. of Rio de
Janeiro. It has narrow, well-paved streets, lined with
SAN
Sanquhar earthen tiled houses, generally two storeys high, and fre¬
quently provided with balconies. There are here a cathe-
San Salva- ^ra} 0f ]arge size but no great beauty, 7 other churches,
v 01\j ■*> convents, a splendid episcopal palace, theatre, public
library, several schools, an imperial manufactory of arms,
woollen and cotton factories, and gold refineries. It is the
central point of the Brazilian mining operations; and in
the vicinity are valuable gold mines. San Paulo is the
seat of the provincial assembly, courts of law, and public
offices. Pop. 25,000.
SANQUHAR, a royal and parliamentary burgh of Scot¬
land, in Dumfriesshire, near the left bank of the Nith, 27
miles N.W. of Dumfries, and 56 S.E. of Glasgow. It has
one long principal street, neither very regular nor clean.
The chief buildings are the town-hall, parish church, Free
Church, 2 United Presbyterian, and a Reformed Presby¬
terian Church, several schools, &c. Weaving, muslin-sew¬
ing, and carpet-making are the chief employments of the
people. The burgh is governed by a provost and nine
councillors; and represented in Parliament by one mem¬
ber. Pop. (1851) of the parish, 4071; of the parliament¬
ary burgh, 2381 ; of the town, 1884.
SAN SALVADOR, a state of Central America, lying
between N. Lat. 13. 7. and 14. 24., W. Long. 87. 37. and
90. 2., bounded on the N. and E. by Honduras, S. by the
Pacific, and W. by Guatemala. Its length is 165 miles,
its mean breadth 69, and its area 11,392 square miles.
There are two lines of water-parting in San Salvador, one
extending from E. to W. parallel to the Pacific coast,
separating the waters that flow directly into the Pacific
from the affluents of the Lempa ; and the other further in¬
land, having a parallel direction, with the Sumpul and To-
rola on its N. side, and the Lempa (except for a short dis¬
tance where it pierces through the chain) on the S. This
watershed forms the chain of the Cordilleras, but consists
rather of isolated hills, or groups of hills with their offshoots,
than of a continuous range. Along the shore of the Pacific
stretches a low tract of rich alluvial land, varying from 10
to 20 miles in breadth. Beyond this the ground rises
abruptly to the height of 2000 feet, forming a broad table¬
land, above which tower many lofty volcanic peaks. From
the highest portion, which forms the lower watershed of San
Salvador and the southern edge of this plateau, to the chain
of the Cordilleras, stretches the broad valley of the Lempa,
about 100 miles in length, and from 20 to 30 across. The
ground slopes very gradually from the south for some dis¬
tance, and then descends abruptly to the proper valley of
the river; on the other side it rises with a more uniform
ascent, though broken and rugged, to the foot of the moun¬
tains that form the upper watershed of the country, and
tower over it at a height of 6000 or 8000 feet. The Lempa
rises in the N.W. of the state, and flows for the most part
of its course towards the S.E., then turns suddenly to the
S., and falls into the Pacific. The whole length of its
course is 150 miles, but it is navigable only for 27 miles.
The chief affluents of this river are the Sumpul, which forms
the northern boundary of the state throughout its course,
and the Torola, both from the left. Besides the Lempa,
San Salvador is watered by the Rio Paza in the west, sepa¬
rating it from Guatemala, and by the San Miguel in the E.
There are two lakes of some size in the country, that of
Guija in the N.W., discharging its waters by the Quesalapa
into the Lempa, and that of Uopango, near the centre. The
latter of these, as well as many others of inferior size, is
of volcanic origin. Indeed the whole of the country is re¬
markable for its volcanic character, and for the number of
burning mountains, both active and extinct, which it con¬
tains. A line of eleven great volcanoes extends along the
crest of the table-land, between the shore and the Lempa.
These are in their order, beginning at the N.W. extremity,
Apeneca, Santa Anna, Izalco, San Salvador, San Vicente,
SAN 623
Tecapa, Usulutan, Sacatecoiuca, Chinemeca, San Miguel, San Salva*
and Conchagua. Of these only Izalco and San Miguel are dor.
now active. The former has been entirely formed, since the
discovery of the country, from the stones and ashes emitted
by the crater, which first opened in 1770. Its height is now
about 2500 feet. San Miguel is a cone about 6000 feet
above the plain, its lower portion covered with dark green
forests, and the lighter verdure of the meadows above them ;
its summit tinted by the dark brown scorice and the silvery
hue of the ashes from the crater, and surmounted by clouds
of smoke ceaselessly rolling up from the interior. Probably
no region in the world of equal extent contains so many
volcanoes, or traces of volcanic action, as this little state,
where for days the traveller’s road lies over beds of lava and
similar substances. A consequence of this is the great fer¬
tility of the soil, and the luxuriant vegetation that covers
the mountains up to their very summits. The entire soil
of San Salvador is either volcanic or alluvial. The ground
of the latter sort has been gradually formed, in the lapse of
ages, from the ashes and stones ejected by volcanoes now
extinct. It occurs for the most part in small patches, scat¬
tered over different parts of the country ; the most exten¬
sive tract of alluvial ground being in the district of Gotera,
in the department of San Miguel. In other places, the ac¬
tion of volcanic forces is most strikingly apparent, from the
confused assemblage of abrupt cliffs, deep ravines, moun¬
tains, valleys, and plains indiscriminately mixed together.
The country is essentially an agricultural one, and well
cultivated, the low land yielding tropical produce, and the
upper regions the crops of northern climes. Indigo is the
plant raised in the largest quantities. Sugar, cacao, coftee,
and tobacco are also grown. Almost all the land is culti¬
vated, very little remains unclaimed, and there are few
large estates belonging to individuals. The rural popula¬
tion consists mostly of Indians, and the lands which they
have been allowed to retain have tended to their encour¬
agement in industrious habits. For the most part they
live in villages, which stud the country in great numbers;
going in the morning to and returning at night from their
little patches of ground in the vicinity. Roads have been
constructed throughout the most of the country. The
mineral resources of San Salvador include the silver mines
of Tabanco in the N.E. of the state, which are easily
worked, and yield from 47 to 2537oz. per ton; and the iron
mines of Petapa in the W. It is also believed that exten¬
sive beds of coal exist throughout the valley of the Lempa.
A certain part of the coast of San Salvador, about 50 miles
in length by 20 or 25 in breadth, betw een La Libertad and
Acajutla, is called the Balsam Coast, because it produces
what is erroneously called the balsam of Peru. This is
obtained from the juice of a tree; the whole region as far
inland as the mountains being covered with dense forests
occupied by Indians, who make their living by selling this
balsam and planks of cedar-w'ood.
The seaports of the country are La Union, on the Gulf of
Fonseca; Libertad and Acajutla further west, along the
shore. Of these, the first only is properly a harbour, the
others being merely open roadsteads. The number of
vessels that entered and cleared in 1858 was 156 each way;
tonnage, 55,163. In 1857 the total value of the exports
was L.260,820, being an increase of L.3723 over the
preceding year; and the imports amounted in value to
L.172,021, showing a decrease of L.37,323. The value
of the chief articles exported was:—Indigo, L.230,751 ;
sugar, L.14,011 ; hides, L.12,961 ; tobacco, L.3920; bal¬
sam, L.1437. Very few manufactures are carried on here,
and these are chiefly articles for domestic use, such as
coarse cotton cloth and hardware. The great majority of
the people are Indians, belonging, in all probability, to the
Nahual or Aztec race, who inhabited Mexico before the
Spanish invasion. Their language is very similar to that
624
SAN
SAN
San Salva- spoken by the natives of Mexico, and they .seem from the
dor. ancient traditions to have come from Nicaragua, which was
occupied by an offshoot of the Nahual race. In most parts
of the country they have become assimilated, more or less,
to the Spaniards, and have adopted their manners, but in
the Balsam Coast they have preserved the purity of their
blood and language, as well as in some measure the mode
of living of their ancestors. This part of the country is
very difficult of access, being traversed only by intricate
footpaths, and they have a great dislike to the intrusion of
white men. In this district the ancient language is retained,
which has almost entirely fallen out of use in other parts of
the country. The towns in San Salvador are generally in¬
habited by white men and those of mixed blood (ladinos),
the former being generally merchants or proprietors of
estates (haciendas), and the latter employed in mechani¬
cal pursuits. The Indians in the villages and country dis¬
tricts are engaged in agricultural labour.
The government of the country is republican : the exe¬
cutive power is in the hands of a president, elected for two
years ; and the legislature consists ofa chamber of twenty-
five members. The army consists of 1000 regular troops,
all infantry, and a militia of 4000 men, infantry, cavalry,
and artillery. The public revenue in 18.55 amounted in all
to L.89,360; and in 1856 to L.105,520. The provisory
seat of the government is Cojutepec; the former capital,
San Salvador, having been destroyed by an earthquake on
the night of the 16th of April .1854. It was a place of
25,000 inhabitants, and had a very picturesque and beauti¬
ful appearance, being planted in many parts with palm-trees
and shaded with evergreens. The buildings were generally
low, but there was a fine cathedral, a large university, and
other handsome edifices. But the whole was destroyed in
a few moments. It was the evening of Easter Sunday,
about half-past nine, when the inhabitants were first warned
of their danger by a slight shock, and at ten minutes to
eleven the ground began to heave and tremble with such
force that in ten seconds the entire city was a mass of ruins.
Churches and houses fell with a tremendous crash to the
ground ; terror and dismay seized all the inhabitants that
death had not overtaken ; and a dense black cloud of dust
hung over the whole scene. The loss of life, however, was
afterwards ascertained to be less than was at first supposed.
The first European who invaded San Salvador was Alva¬
rado, one of the officers under Cortez, in the conquest of
Mexico. After having conquered the country now called
Guatemala, he was informed of the existence of a powerful
nation to the south-east, which he resolved also to conquer.
He met with an obstinate resistance, but succeeded in pene¬
trating as far as the capital, Cuscatlan, where, however, he
only remained a few days. The country was then one of
the best peopled in America, and contained many large
towns as well built as those of Mexico. For a long time
the inhabitants resisted the invaders; and it was only by
the advantages of cavalry and fire-arms that the conquest
was consummated. The country afterwards formed part of
the general captaincy of Guatemala, and remained under
the Spanish government till 1821, when, by a bloodless re¬
volution, the province regained its independence. Until
1823 San Salvador, along with the other ports of the
Spanish Guatemala, was united to Mexico ; but in that year
a confederation was formed by the five states of Guatemala,
Honduras, San Salvador, Nicaragua, and Costa Rica, under
the name of the Confederation of Central America. This
anangement continued until 1840, after which the com¬
ponent parts of the confederation became entirely indepen¬
dent, as they have since continued to be. San Salvador is
the best peopled, as well as the first in industry and com¬
merce, of all the states of Central America, and indeed of
all Spanish America; and the people are superior in in¬
telligence, industry, and enterprise to those of the neigh¬
bouring countries. It is divided into six departments, as Sansandinp
follows:— [I
Pop.
San Miguel   80,000
San Vicente 56,000
San Salvador 80,000
Total
Pop.
Sonsonate 75,000
La Paz 28,000
Cuscatlan 75,000
394,000
Sanson.
But more recent returns bring the entire population to
580,000.
SANSANDING, a town of north-western Africa, in the
kingdom of Bambarra, on the right bank of the Joliba or
Quorra, 20 miles N.E. of Sego, N. Lat. 13. 40., W. Long.
6. 9. It is an extensive town, and has an active trade with
Timbuctoo, carried on by means of the river, which is navi¬
gable between these two places. Salt from the Sahara,
coral and beads from the Mediterranean, are all conveyed
to western Soodan through this town, and exchanged for
gold, ivory, slaves, wax, honey, &c. Pop. 11,000.
SANSCRIT. See Language and Philology.
SAN SEBASTIAN, a seaport of Spain, capital of Gui-
puzcoa, one of the Basque provinces, on the shore of the
Bay of Biscay, 42 miles N.N.W. of Pampeluna. It occu¬
pies a narrow isthmus, terminated towards the north by a
conical rock 400 feet high, called Urgull or Orgollo, and
flanked on one side by the river Urumea, which is crossed
by a bridge, and on the other by a bay, which forms the
harbour. The summit of the hill is occupied by a fort,
with five fronts, and the landward side of the town is de¬
fended by solid ramparts, with a bastion in the centre.
The houses are almost all modern, built uniformly in
straight streets and regular squares, so as to present an
appearance quite unlike most Spanish towns. There are
two large irregular churches, a handsome court-house, a
nunnery, theatre, hospitals, barracks, &c. The manufac¬
tures of the place are insignificant; and the harbour is
small, and not easily accessible, though well protected by a
mole and small island. There is a considerable trade in
English and French goods, corn and other articles being
exported. From its position and strength, San Sebastian
has been long a place of much importance, and has sus¬
tained several sieges. The most memorable of these was
in 1813, when the British, under Wellington, took it by
storm. Pop. 10,036.
SAN SEVERO, a town of Naples, capital of a district
in the province of Capitanata, on the northern edge of the
Tavoliere di Puglia, or great pastoral plain of Apulia, at
the foot of Monte Gargano, 20 miles N. by W. of Foggia.
It is walled, but outside of the fortifications a new town
and extensive suburbs have sprung up. In this portion
stand many handsome residences of the more wealthy
citizens. The inhabitants in 1799 made a gallant but vain
resistance to the French under Duhesme, in revenge for
which an indiscriminate slaughter was begun, and the town
was only saved from total destruction by the heroism of the
women, who threw themselves between the victorious sol¬
diery and their victims. Pop. 19,000.
SANSON, Nicolas, said to be the creator of French
geography, was born at Abbeville, December the 20th, 1600.
He was educated at the Jesuits’ College at Amiens, and
afterwards devoted much of his attention to the study of
geography, a pursuit of which his father is said to have
been particularly fond. At the age of sixteen, young San¬
son laid down a map of ancient Gaul, said to be superior to
those of Ortelius and Mercator. Having married early, he
applied himself to commerce; but, devoting too much at¬
tention to his favourite pursuits, Ids affairs soon became
embarrassed, and he gave up his ledgers for ever. Visiting
Paris in 1627, and taking with him his map of Gaul, he
had the good fortune to attract the notice of Louis XIII.,
who not only took lessons from him in geography, but
made him engineer of Picardy. His duties in the latter
SAN
Sansovino position did not interfere with his zeal for geography. He
II settled in Paris in 1640, where he published numerous
Catharina.niaps’ tooether with illustrative volumes. Sanson was made
v '[ / geographer to the king, received a royal pension, and was
chosen a councillor ot state; but did not assume the rank,
lest, it is said, his children should abandon the favourite
pursuit of their father. His death, which happened at
Paiis on July 7, 1667, was induced by the incessant labours
to which his devotion to geographical science subjected him.
Sanson, although a zealous geographer, is said by Lan-
guerue to have constructed very indifferent maps, and it is
well known he was but an indifferent critic; but he had
the merit of originating the art, and left subsequent geo¬
graphers to carry out that which he had so well begun.
SANSOVINO, Jacopo Tatti, was a distinguished
Italian sculptor and architect, and was born at Florence in
the month of January 1477, and not in 1479, as Temanza
would have it. Tatti was born in the same street (Via
Santa Maria) with Michael Angelo, who was then rising to
the zenith of his fame; and it is said the mother of the
youth, whom he strongly resembled, caused him to be
secretly taught drawing, for which he had shown great
aptitude, with the ultimate design that her son should rival
the glory of his townsman, Michael Angelo. He assumed
the name of Sansovino, out of compliment to his generous
master, Andrea Contucci of Monte Sansovino, with whom
he had learned the rudiments of his art. He seems like¬
wise to have profited much by a very close intimacy with
Andrea del Sarto. Sansovino becoming acquainted with
Guiliano Sangalio, the architect, this artist took Sansovino to
Rome, where he procured for him the friendship of Bramante
and of Pope Julius II. On his return to Florence, he
executed his celebrated statue of Bacchus, which was de¬
stroyed by fire in 1762.. During his residence in his native
city he tried his hand at architecture, and designed several
triumphal arches of great beauty, to celebrate the public
entry of Leo X. in 1515. He returned to Rome, only to
leave it in 1527, when it was taken and sacked by the im¬
perial troops of Charles V. of Spain. Having sought Venice
on his way to France, whither he had been solicited by the
court, he was induced to take up his abode in that city,
where he afterwards spent his life in the enjoyment of much
honour and fame. He began his labours in Venice by
repairing the dome of St Mark’s, and subsequently erected
numerous structures for private individuals and for the
Venetian republic. Among his works of this class are the
unrivalled Library, opposite the Public Palace; La Zecca
or the Mint (his finest work), the Loggia del Campanile,
San Geminiano, the Palazzo Cornaro a San Maurizio (one of
this artist’s most excellent works), San Giorgio de’ Greci,
La Scuola della Misericordia, San Francesco della Vigna,
Palazzo Deifino, Fabbriche Nuove di Rialto, &c. Sanso¬
vino did not neglect his sculpture while he raised his repu¬
tation as an architect. Three of the most beautiful statues
in Venice, according to Vasari, a Laocoon, a Venus, and a
Madonna surrounded by angels, are from Sansovino’s hand.
In addition to these, he executed two colossal figures of
Mars and Neptune, which adorn the Giants’ Staircase, in
the ducal palace, when considerably upwards of seventy
years. In his draperies,” says Vasari, “ his children, and
the expression which he gave to his women, Jacopo never
had an equal.” He died at the ripe old age of ninety-three,
on the 2d of November 1570.
SANTA ANNA, a town in the republic of San Salva¬
dor, in the department and .12 miles N.E. of Sonsonate. It
has many distilleries, and a large trade in. indigo, tobacco,
and sugar, which are raised in the vicinity. Pop. estimated
at 10,000.
SANTA CATHARINA, a maritime province of
Brazil, lying between S. Lat. 26. and 29. 30., W. Long.
48. 30. and 52., bounded on the E. by the Atlantic, N.W.
VOL. xix.
SAN 025
by the province of Sao Paulo, S.W. by that of Rio Grande Santa
do Sul. Length from north to south about 230 miles ; <-,'ruz
breadth varying from 60 to 200 ; area, 14,707 square miles. I
I he coast is low, but the inland part of the province is 1^a"ta
hilly, being traversed by the mountain range of Santa v <Uj
Catharina, from which numerous offsets stretch towards the
sea. Down the valleys thus formed flow many rivers, such
as the Sao Francisco, Aracary, Tapecu, Tijnea, and others,
discharging their waters into the Atlantic; while on the
other side of the mountain, the Uruguay, one of the afflu¬
ents of the La Plata, has its source within the limits of this
province. The soil is for the most part fertile, and the
chmate mild; and, owing to the variety of elevation in dif¬
ferent parts of the country, the productions of European
countries are raised here, as well as those of more tropical
lands. 1 he extensive forests of the country abound in
valuable timber ; but many of them are infested with wild
animals, who dispute their possession with the native Indian
tribes. Indigo and cochineal grow without culture. Sugar,
rice, millet, beans, onions, and garlic, are used in large quanti¬
ties, and exported to Rio Janeiro. Some of the rivers are na¬
vigable, and there are a few good harbours along the coast;
but the principal is that formed by the island of Santa
Catharina. This island, upwards of 30 miles in length, by
about 10 in breadth, is separated from the mainland by a
stiait about t miles broad at the widest, but narrowing at
one place to less than a mile across. This narrow part is
formed by two projecting capes, which thus divide the strait
into two safe and capacious harbours. The surface of the
island is undulating, and well wooded ; it has many fine
lakes and rivers, and enjoys a mild and salubrious climate.
The capital of the province, Nossa Senhora do Desterro,
stands on the west coast of the island, which contains also
some of the other principal towns. The province of Santa
Catharina returns one senator and one deputy to the Lems-
lative Assembly of Brazil. Pop. (1856) 105,000..
SANTA CRUZ. See Canary Islands.
Santa Cruz de la Sierra, the largest and most
easterly department of Bolivia, bounded on the N. by that
of Beni and by Brazil, E.. by Brazil and Paraguay, S. by
the Argentine Confederation, and W. by Tarija, Chuquisaca,
and Cochabamba. It lies between S. Lat. 15. and 22.,
W. Long. 57. and 65., and has an area of 136,235 square
miles. The surface is level or undulating, and covered
with extensive and hitherto unexplored forests.. Here
occurs the watershed between the affluents of the Amazon
and those of the La Plata; the Rio Grande and Rio Blanco
belonging to the former, and the Pilcomayo and Paraguay
to the latter, watering the department. The last-mentioned
river, however, only forms the eastern boundary of the
country for some distance- Minerals are believed to exist
in large quantities here, and the soil produces sugar, coffee,
cacao, rice, cotton, indigo,. &c. The greater part of Santa
Cruz is still occupied by native tribes of Indians, and very
few settlements have been. made. Pop. 69,000.
SANTA F'E, a department of the Argentine Confede¬
ration. See Plata, La.
Santa Fe, the capital of the territory of New Mexico,
in the United States of North America, in a wide plain,
barren and sandy, surrounded by lofty mountains, about 20
miles E. of the Rio Grande. I he streets are narrow and
crooked, and the houses, built of sun-dried bricks, have
generally but one storey, and an open, court in the middle.
The most conspicuous buildings are two Roman Catholic
churches, with spires. The inhabitants are mostly Spa^
niards and Indians. Santa Fe- is a place of considerable
trade. Pop. 7000.
SAN 1A MARIA, or Martha, a seaport of New
Granada, capital of a province in the department of Mag¬
dalena, on the east shore of a bay of the same name, on the
Caribbean Sea, 40 miles N.E. of the mouth of the Mag-
4 K
626 SAN
Santa dalena. It has many well-built houses, a cathedral, and a
Maura safe harbour, defended by a citadel and battery. Here are
II some of the most important mercantile houses in the
Santander. country5 anti a company for the steam navigation of the
Magdalena. The transit trade of the place is very con¬
siderable. Pop. 8000.
SANTA MAURA. See Ionian Islands and Leu-
CADIA.
SANTANDER, a province of Spain, bounded on the
N. by the Bay of Biscay, E. by the province of Biscay, S.
by that of Burgos, S.W. by Palencia, and W. by Oviedo.
Area 3434 square miles. It is almost entirely occupied
with lofty mountains, for the Cantabrian chain traverses the
south of the province, and sends oft' numerous branches
towards the sea. Between these there are deep narrow
valleys and glens, watered by the rivers that take their rise
in the mountains ; such as the Deva, Nansa, Besaya, Miera.
and others. The loftier regions of the province contain
much fine pasture-ground, and are clothed with extensive
forests, affording good timber for various purposes. The
most pi’evalent tree in these woods is the lime; but oaks,
firs, walnuts, chestnuts, plum-trees, fig-trees, and some
apple-trees, are also grown in the province. Maize, wheat,
wine of inferior quality, vegetables, and fruit, form the
principal produce of the valleys; and maize bread is the
chief article of food among the peasantry. Iron, argen¬
tiferous lead, and other metals, are obtained here; and
there are quarries of limestone, marble, gypsum, and beds
of potters’ clay. Leather, woollen and cotton cloth, agri¬
cultural implements, and other articles, are jpnanufactured ;
and many of the people live by fishing and fish-curing;
but trade of all kinds is much impeded by the deficiency
in the means of communication. The only important sea¬
port in the province is Santander, the capital, through which
the foreign trade is carried on. The people of the pro¬
vince are quiet, sober, and industrious, and education is
more attended to here than in most parts of Spain. Pop.
(1857) 232,523.
Santander, the capital of the above province, on the
shore of the Bay of Biscay, at the mouth of the rivers
Cubas and Fijeros, 85 miles N. of Burgos, and 207 N. of
Madrid. It stands on the north side of a large open har¬
bour, and is sheltered towards the north by a small ridge
of hills, beginning at the entrance of the harbour, and
stretching westwards. The town was once surrounded by
walls, of which scarcely a trace now remains, as the build¬
ings have extended far beyond its original limits. There
is a cathedral here, not very remarkable for architectural
merit, and disfigured by a tasteless modern cupola; several
other churches, hospitals, a town-hall, theatre, custom-house,
college, and several schools. A cigar manufactory occupies
the precincts of a suppressed nunnery; tanneries, breweries,
sugar-houses, candle factories, cooperages, &c., are also
among the manufactories of the place. The harbour is
large, deep, and safe, affording good anchorage, and easy
of access. There are fine quays, always busy and crowded.
The number of vessels that entered in 1856 was 447, ton¬
nage, 51,788: that of those that cleared in the same year
408 ; tonnage, 56,375. Santander carries on a considerable
trade, almost entirely with Cuba, to which island it exports
the flour of Castille, receiving in return sugar, coffee, and
rum. Cacao is also brought from La Guayra, and small
quantities of fish from Norway, Shetland, and Newfound¬
land, in exchange for timber, hides, oil, and rice from Spain.
The total value of the imports in 1856 was L.976,611, and
that of the exports L.363,353. The custom returns for
1855 amounted to L.184,047. Santander is joined by rail¬
way with Alar del Rey, about 70 miles off in the interior,
and steamers ply regularly between this port and Nantes,
Bayonne, Liverpool, and Hamburg. Several improvements
are being carried out in the harbour, by increasing its
SAN
depth, and erecting a mole and a lighthouse. Santander Santarem
(called by the Romans Portus Blendium) was, at an early ||
period, an important seaport; but afterwards fell into decay, Santiago,
and only recovered its position after the discovery of Ame-
rica, when it was licensed to trade with that continent.
Charles V. landed here in 1522, to take possession of the
Spanish crown; and Charles I. of England re-embarked
here in 1623 after his visit to Spain. Pop. about 20,000.
SANTAREM, a town of Portugal, capital of a district
of the same name, in the province of Estremadura, on a
rocky hill on the right bank of the Tagus, 50 miles N.N.E.
of Lisbon. It is in general well built, although many of
its splendid mansions are in a ruinous condition. Some
remains still exist of the ancient walls, which in the time
of the Moors gave the place such strength, that it was con¬
sidered almost impregnable. The town is remarkable for
the number and antiquity of its ecclesiastical buildings.
One edifice, originally a mosque, and thereafter a church,
is now used as a theatre, and much defaced. Besides
churches and convents, the town contains also schools and
hospitals. The surrounding country is very rich, and San¬
tarem carries on an active trade with Lisbon by means of
the river, especially in corn, wine, and oil. Pop. 8000.
SANTEUL, Jean Baptiste de, an excellent Latin
poet, was born at Paris in the year 1630. Having finished
his studies, he applied himself entirely to poetry, and cele¬
brated in his verse the praises of several great men, by
which he acquired universal applause. He enriched Paris
with a great number of inscriptions, which are to be seen
on the public fountains and monuments of the city. At
length, some new hymns being required for the Bre¬
viary of Paris, Claude Santeul his brother, and M.
Bossuet, persuaded him to undertake that work. San¬
teul was intimate with all the learned men of his time,
and had as his admirers the two Princes of Conde, father
and son, from whom he frequently received favours. Louis
XIV. also gave him a proof of his esteem by bestowing
upon him a pension. Lie attended the Duke of Bourbon
to Dijon, and died there in 1697, as he was preparing to
return to Paris. Besides his Latin hymns, he wrote a
great number of Latin poems, which have all the marks of
genius discoverable in the works of true poets. The best
collected edition of the (Euvres of Santeul is that in 3
vols., Paris, 1729.
SANTIAGO, the largest of the Cape Verd Islands,
and in position one of the most southerly of the group, N.
Lat. 14. 54., W. Long. 23. 40. Length 35 miles, breadth
12; area 360 square miles. In its general character it is
mountainous, being traversed by a ridge which divides the
two conselhos of Villa Praia and Santa Catarina, and at¬
tains near the centre, in a cone-shaped summit called
Antonia, the height of 4,500 feet above the sea. There
are, however, a number of fertile and well-watered valleys
which stretch towards the coasts, and open out into wide
plains and gentle slopes. The geological formation of the
mountains is basaltic, with extensive layers of clay, and
deposits of chalk and lava. The valleys are mostly occu¬
pied with gardens and plantations of coffee and sugar,
separated by purgueira hedges. In the more level parts,
the better land is planted with cotton, anise, and purgueira,
whose oil forms an important article of export, while the
inferior soil is used for pasture ; but no trees can be grown
on account of the violent hurricanes to which the island is
liable. The average produce of the island is 542 pipes of
brandy, 97,000 lbs. of sugar, 14,800 qrs. of maize, about
as much of beans, and 22,200 qrs. of purgueira seed.
Santiago has seven harbours for large vessels, the largest,
deepest, and safest of which is Praia, on the south coast.
It is divided into two conselhos and eleven parishes, and
has a population of 31,103, of whom 28,137 are free and
2866 slaves.
SAN
Santiago Santiago de Chili, the capital of the republic of Chili,
de Chili, and of the province of the same name, on the Mapocho,
an affluent of the Maypu, 90 miles E.S.E. of Valdivia, at
an elevation of 1836 feet above the level of the sea, cal¬
culated from the marble fountain in the plaza. S. Lat.
33. 26., W. Long. 70. 38. The plain in which it stands
is too lofty to exhibit much natural verdure or luxuriant
vegetation, except along the banks of the rivers and arti¬
ficial canals which water the soil. Still the situation of the
city is exceedingly fine, and its scenery very beautiful ; the
majestic ridge of the Andes towers with its snowy sum¬
mits to the east, while a lower ridge bounds the plain on
the west. Careful irrigation has converted large portions
of this plain into a very rich expanse, productive especially
of wheat, which yields on an average twentyfold. The
climate is salubrious, the thermometer ranging between
70° and 75° ; and there is no rain and little wind. The
rate of mortality fluctuates between 9 and 11 per cent.
Among children, however, from 1 to 7 years old, the mor¬
tality is much greater, since of these it may be considered
that 2590 die annually ; while of adults from 25 to 35, the
number of deaths is only about 148. This circumstance
is to be ascribed to the abundance of unripe and unwhole¬
some fruit, which is greedily devoured, especially by the
poorer children. The annual number of births averages
about 2300 males and 2690 females. Of the former rather
more than half, and of the latter about the half, die. Santiago,
like all other Spanish-American cities, is laid out in squares ;
the streets, which are broad, but not very well paved,
crossing each other at right angles. A beautiful avenue,
consisting of four rows of stately poplars, with streams of
water between them, and a beautiful fountain at one end,
divides the city into two parts. The private houses were
for a long time low and mean-looking ; but within the last
ten years great and rapid improvements have been made
in the style of house architecture. There are now many
handsomely-built and equally well-furnished mansions, most
of which have cost not less than L.20,000 for their erec¬
tion. Near the centre of the town is the great square or
plaza, with a marble fountain in the middle. Round it
stand some of the public buildings of the city. These
have in general nothing remarkable about them. The
most noteworthy are the mint, the Camara de Deputados,
or hall of deputies, and the theatre, which accommodates
1500 persons. The churches are very plain ; the best are
the Compahia, the cathedral, and Santo Domingo. Santi¬
ago possesses a national public library, containing 23,000
volumes, and a library of the tribunals with 1600 volumes;
a museum ; an observatory ; a university ; two hospitals;
and a proportionate number of asylums, convents, nun¬
neries, and schools of various descriptions. There are no
manufactories worth noticing; a pottery has been lately
established, and is now struggling into existence ; and a
coarse cloth factory has long existed in a very languishing
condition. The city is lighted with gas; and an attempt
has been made to introduce water in pipes, but this has
been as yet only partially successful, and the inhabitants
still receive their water in barrels brought on the backs of
horses from the public fountains. Tolerable carriage-roads
connect Santiago with the coast, and with the far-off
northern and southern extremities of the wide-spread
republic of which it is the capital; while at present a
railroad to Valparaiso and another to Talca are in progress,
the former connecting it with the vast Pacific, and the
latter with a long series of agricultural provinces. There
is a considerable trade carried on, chiefly through Valpa¬
raiso. Fruit, hides, salt beef, and the produce of the
mines are exported ; while sugar, cacao, and other articles
are imported from Peru and Central America. Some
commercial intercourse also subsists between Santiago and
Mendoza, on the other side of the Andes, across which
SAN 627
there are here two passes, lofty but practicable, for mules. Santiago
The city was founded by Pedro de Valdivia, on the 24th de Cora"
of February 1541, on property belonging to the Cacique ^Postella^
Huelen-Guala, surrounding the little hill or rather rock of
Huelen, now called Santa Lucia. This hill is now crowned
with a fort, which is frequently visited by strangers for the
sake of the fine view it commands. Valdivia portioned
out the city into lots, in squares of 150 Spanish or 138
English feet, which he divided into fourths, called solares,
or building sites. Each of his followers received one
of these, on which he built his wooden, straw-thatched
house. Each received likewise a piece of enclosed land,
for the cultivation of wheat and vegetables. Thus the city
rose, and soon became rich and populous. But many
barriers were opposed to the advancement of its prosperity
by the restrictive policy of Spain, as long as Chili remained
subject to that country. When the colonies achieved their
independence, Santiago sprang into new life and activity,
and made such rapid progress in size, wealth, and civiliza¬
tion, that it may now be ranked among the most flourishing
and important cities of South America. Besides natives, it
is inhabited in a large proportion by foreigners. Of these
the most numerous are the Germans; then Americans and
English conjointly, who, till the railway and gas-works were
commenced, were the scarcest; next to them, French and
Italians. The population is 107,000, in the proportion of
1 unmarried man to 3 unmarried women ; 14,420 married
men to 14,570 married women.—The province of Santiago
comprises the departments of Santiago, Victoria, Melipilla,
and Rancagua, and is bounded on the north by the pro¬
vinces of Aconcagua and Valparaiso, south by that of
Colchagua, while the Argentine Republic lies to the east
and the Pacific to the west. Its length is about 120, and
its breadth 114 miles. Along its eastern border stretch
the Andes from north to south ; and in this part of the
range stands their highest summit within the dominions of
Chili, Tupungato, 22,015 feet high ; for Aconcagua, which
attains the height of 22,300 feet, belongs to the Argentine
Republic. Between the mountains and the sea, this province
contains some of the richest valleys in Chili. It is well
watered, and enjoys a fine climate. Santiago is conse¬
quently almost exclusively an agricultural country, and its
principal production is grain ; but it also yields silver and
copper to a considerable value. The great mass of the
people are farm-labourers, of whom there are 24,000 ; then
farmers, of whom there are 11,400 ; of sempstresses, there
are 10,011; of washerwomen, 4585; of cooks (chiefly
women), 4206 ; of spinners, 5493 ; of servants, 9618 ; of
shopkeepers, 2501 ; shoemakers, 4204 ; weavers (chiefly
women), 1777; miners, 1036; priests, 321 ; teachers, 170 ;
doctors (M.D.), 39; advocates, 150; wet nurses, 350;
dentists, 5 ; dressmakers, 22 ; tailors, 870 ; butchers, 80;
bakers, 600; jewellers, 35. The whole population amounts
to 280,000, of whom 16,000 males and 13,000 females are
able to read and write.
Santiago de Compostella, a town of Spain, Ga¬
licia, in the province and 32 miles S. of Corunna, occupying
an uneven irregular situation, encircled by hills, from which
may be obtained picturesque views over the town and
neighbourhood. The climate of the place is cold and damp,
and the weather almost invariably rainy ; but this humidity
favours the vegetation of the country, so that the place is
well supplied with fruit and vegetables. The town is mostly
built of granite, and has a sombre appearance; the public
places are embellished with numerous fountains. Many of
the streets radiate in different directions from the cathedral,
while those of a better class run parallel to one another.
The most important building in the place is the cathedral,
built about 1082, on the site of a former one. The external
appearance has been injured by subsequent additions,
which have been built against the outer walls, but which
628 S A N
Santiago },.lVe served to protect them from the effects of the damp
«ie Cuba c]jmate. On each of its sides is a square formed by various
Ji rin ecclesiastical edifices. The interior is impressive, with its
an °tm' long lofty naves, its dim religious light, heightening the
effect of the illuminated high altar, surmounted by the
image of St James. This image, no way remarkable for
beauty, is an object of great reverence, and its back between
the shoulders is kissed by all the pilgrims to the shrine.
The most remarkable objects in the cathedral are the fine
dome, two bronze pulpits in the choir, and the numerous
monuments, some of them much defaced. Some of the
other churches in the town are handsome; the ancient
large and wealthy Benedictine convent of St Martin is now
a barrack; the university, founded in 1532, and having
1030 students in 1845, has a heavy Ionic front and a hand¬
some Doric quadrangle. The principal manufactures of
Santiago are those of linen cloth and silk stockings; there
is an active trade in rosaries and saints’ images. The city
owes its origin and importance entirely to the saint whose
name it bears. He, according to the legend, after his deca¬
pitation at Jerusalem, conveyed himself into a boat and
made a remarkably quick passage in seven days to Padron,
a small seaport near Santiago. The body, however, lay
unnoticed and unknown! for nearly 800 years, until the ap¬
pearance of heavenly lights over the spot pointed out its
resting-place. Hence the epithet of Composteila {Campus
stellce), added to the name of the town. The bones were
removed to Santiago in 829 ; and the first cathedral built
over it in 874 became a great centre of pilgrimage, as the
Spaniards were forbidden by the Pope to go as crusaders
to Jerusalem as long as the Moors were in their own land.
In 997, A1 Mansur penetrated as far as Santiago, and
destroyed the whole place except the saint’s tomb ; and
when the new cathedral was erected, the sacred bones were
for security built into the foundation. After the time of
the Reformation, the pilgrimages to Santiago diminished
very much in number, and the town fell into decay. It now
presents a very melancholy appearance ; its numerous con¬
vents suppressed and fast falling into ruins. Pop. 22,729.
Santiago de Cuba, the oldest eity and formerly the
capital of Cuba, on the river Santiago, about 6 miles above
its month, on the S.E. coast of the island, N. Lat. 20.; W.
Long. 76. It is well built, chiefly of stone, with straight
regular streets, and a handsome public square, with an
equestrian statue in bronze of Ferdinand VII. Among
the more important buildings are a cathedral and other
churches ; and the town contains a theological seminary,
several learned societies, schools, a theatre, &c. Santiago
is the seat of an archbishop, and of the governor of the
eastern intendency of Cuba. The harbour, though difficult
of entrance, is large, deep, and well defended by several
torts. In the extent of its trade it ranks next highest to
Havannah and Matanzas among the ports of Cuba ; the
imports for 1855 amounting in value to L.500,878, and the
exports to L.506,208. The climate, however, is very un¬
healthy, and yellow fever is very destructive here. The
town is surrounded by mountains, which are not insalu¬
brious. Pop. (1850) 24*005, of whom 9610 were white
people, 9396 free coloured people, and 4999 slaves.
Santiago del Estero. See Plata, La.
SAN TON A, a town of Spain, in the province and 16
miles E. of Santander, on the north side of a fine bay, on
the opposite shore of which stands Laredo. It occupies a
rock somewhat resembling that of Gibraltar, and, like it,
joined to the mainland by a low isthmus, and it is fortified,
containing barracks, arsenals, and magazines. Pop. 934.
SAN IORIN, or Thera, an island in the iEgean Sea
belonging to Greece, the most southerly of the Cyclades,
13 miles S. of Nio, and about 60 N. of Crete. It is of the
form of a horse-shoe or crescent, about 30 miles in circum¬
ference, and nowhere more than 3 miles across. This
S A O
island was formerly united with Therasia, and formed a Santos
complete circle, having in the centre the deep crater of a II
submarine volcano, the rim of which may still be traced by Saone.
the islands of Santorin, Therasia, and Aspronisi. The water
in the inside is of great depth, though not, as was at one
time supposed, unfathomable ; and near the middle are
three islets which have been thrown up by the volcano, twro
of them in ancient times, and the other, which is the
largest, as late as 1707. The whole of the islands are of
volcanic origin, except the southern part of Santorin, which
is of limestone formation. In this portion, Mount Elias, the
highest point, reaches an altitude of 1887 feet. The inner
edge of the crescent formed by the island consists of rugged
and steep precipices, from 500 to 1200 feet above the sea,
and at the foot of these stand Epanomeria, Merovouli, and
Thera, the chief towns ; many of the houses nestling among
the cliffs and accessible only by stairs cut in the rock. The
other side of the island presents an agreeable contrast to
these bare cliffs. It sloj>es gradually to the sea, and is
entirely covered with vines, from among which numerous
wdiite villages rise. Barley, vetches, beans, figs, &c., are
also raised ; but the chief product of the island is its wine,
which is of good quality, and the total value of which is
upwards of L. 16,000 yearly. The whole annual produce
of the island is about L.24,000. Santorin contains thermal
and mineral springs, but there is some scarcity of fresh
water, and the inhabitants, though in other respects indus¬
trious, have done little to secure the small supplies they
possess. Some ancient remains have been found, and there
are numerous churches and convents belonging to the
Greek and Roman Catholics. The only important cir¬
cumstance connected with Santorin in ancient history is its
having founded the celebrated colony of Cyrene, in Africa.
Pop. (1848) about 14,380.
SANTOS, a town of Brazil, in the province and 34
miles S.S.E. of San Paulo, on the north side of the island
of San Vincente, in the bay of Santos, which forms an
excellent harbour. It is built for the most part of stone,
and contains a town-hall, arsenal, churches, convents, and
hospitals. Santos is the port of San Paulo, and connected
with that town by a good road. Almost all the exports of
the province are shipped here, especially sugar, rice, coffee,
tobacco, and cotton cloth. Pop. 8000.
SAN VICENTE, a town of Spain, Estremadura, in the
province and 33 miles N. of Badajoz. It contains a parish
church, several schools, a town-hall, prison, &c. The houses
are for the most part well built, and the streets clean. Ma¬
nufactures of hats, leather, linen, &c., are carried on, and
there is some trade in cattle, hides, dried figs, and other
fruit. Pop. 6888.
S AONE, (anc. Avar), a river of France, rises near Vio-
menil, in the department of Vosges, and flows first south¬
west and afterw'ards directly south, till it joins the Rhone at
Lyons. Besides the department in which it has its source,
the Saone traverses those of Haute Saone, Cote-d’Or, and
Saone-et-Loire; while in the lower part of its course it se¬
parates that of Rhone on the right from Ain on the left.
Its most important affluent is the Doubs from the N.E.;
and among the towms on its banks are Gray, Auxonne,
Chalon, and Macon. It whole length is about 280 miles ;
and it is navigable as far as Gray, 190 miles above its con¬
fluence with the Rhone. By means of canals the Saone is
connected with the Rhine, the Loire, and the Seine.
Saone, Haute, a department of France, bounded on the
N. by that of Vosges, E. by Haut-Rhin, S. by those of
Doubs and Jura, W. by Cote-d’Or. and N.W. by Haute
Marne. Length from N.E. to S.W. 70 miles, greatest
breadth 38 ; area 2064 square miles. The eastern part is
occupied by the Vosges Mountains and their branches ; the
main ridge forms for a short distance the N.E. boundary,
and has two principal summits here, the Ballon de Ser-
SAG
SAG
629
vance, 3967 feet, and the Ballon de Lare, 3718 feet high.
This portion of the department is nigged and barren ; but
not so the remainder, whieh occupies the centre of the
wide basin of the Saone. This basin is enclosed on the
north and north-west by the Faucilles, the chain of Langres,
and the Cote-cTOr; on the south-east by the hills of Lau-
mont, a branch of the Jura Mountains. All these ranges
are outside the limits of the department, but some of their
offshoots extend into it; its surface, however, except in the
north-east, is not mountainous, but consists of gentle slopes
and level plains. Through the centre of the country flows
the sluggish stream of the Saone, into which flow all the
rivers that water the department. The Oignon rises among
the Vosges on the N.E. frontier of Haute Saone, and flows
south-west, separating for the greater part of its course this
department from Doubs and Jura. It joins the Saone at
Pontaillier in the department of Cote-d’Or. In its geolo¬
gical character, Haute Saone is not uniform. The eastern
portion consists of the primitive rocks of the Vosges; to
the south and west of this lie beds of sandstone, and beyond
these again there are strata of the various kinds that lie be¬
tween the sandstone and the chalk formation. Iron, coal,
granite, porphyry, and freestone are the most valuable
minerals obtained in the country. Mineral and saline
springs exist at various places. The climate is more mo¬
derate than in the surrounding departments, being neither
so hot in summer nor so cold in winter. The autumns are
very fine, but sudden changes of weather are not uncom¬
mon in spring. The soil in the loftier regions is not very
good, and the mountains are almost all covered with forests;
but the more level districts are of great fertility. Fine
meadows occupy the plains; and the sloping hills are
covered with vines and corn-fields. Although agriculture
is not very far advanced, the produce of the country in corn
and wine is more than sufficient for the consumption.
About half of the area consists of arable land, and about a
fourth is occupied by wood—oak, beech, and fir being
abundant. About 150,000 acres are occupied by meadows
and pasture-land, and 55,000 by moors and heaths. The
vineyards, which cover an area of 30,000 acres, produce
wine of a very ordinary quality. Wolves, foxes, squirrels,
and otters, are among the wild animals of the country.
Game is plentiful, and the rivers abound in fish. The
rearing of cattle is much attended to, as well as of horses
and pigs, and the breeds of all these animals are good; but
sheep are neglected. It is calculated that the department
contains 150,000 horned cattle, 32,000 horses, 110,000
sheep, 80,000 pigs, and 12,000 goats. The manufactures
comprise iron, for which there are from 35 to 40 furnaces,
60 foundries, and 2 steel manufactories, ironmongery of all
kinds, glass, pottery, leather, cotton thread and cloth, paper,
oil, brandy, &c. Some trade is carried on in wine, corn,
and other rural produce, horses, cattle, timber, and iron.
Large quantities of the produce are floated on rafts of
timber down the Saone, which forms one of the principal
means of internal communication. There are numerous
reads throughout the department; and a railway is in course
of construction, which will traverse the country. Haute
Saone belongs to the diocese of Besanyon, and, besides
Roman Catholic churches, contains 4 Protestant ones, and
3 synagogues. It has law-courts, subject to the Court of
Appeal at Besan^on, a normal school, 4 colleges, 7 upper,
and 1100 elementary schools. There are three arrondisse-
ments, subdivided as follows :—
Cantons. Communes. Pop. (1856).
Vesoul   10 215 102,228
Gray     8 165 81,301
Lure  10 203 128,868
Total  28 583 312,397
The capital of the department is Vesoul.
SAONE-ET-LOI RE, a department of France, bounded
on the N. by that of Cote-d’Or, E. by Doubs, S. by those Saone-et-
of Ain, Rhone, and Loire, W. by Allier, and N.W. by Loire.
Nievre. Length from E. to W. 85 miles, greatest breadth
68; area 3305 square miles. It is traversed from north to
south, in the centre, by the Charolais and Maconnais Hills,
which form a northern prolongation of the Cevennes, con¬
necting that range with the Cote-d’Or, the Faucilles, and
ultimately with the Vosges. The southern portion of these
hills consists of several parallel ridges, with valleys between
them, down which rivers flow either to the Saone on the
one side, or to the Loire on the other. Towards the north,
the breadth of ground occupied by the hills diminishes;
and the number of separate ranges is reduced to two, with
a valley between, opening at either end to the level ground
on different sides, so as to permit a communication; and
this has afforded a passage for the canal that connects the
Saone and the Loire. The highest summit of these hills
is Mount Blauvray, 3280 feet above the sea. The ground
on either side slopes gradually down to a level surface—that
on the east side belonging to the basin of the Saone, and
that on the west to the Loire. These rivers flow in oppo¬
site directions, the former towards the south, and the
latter towards the north ; and they, with their affluents, are
the principal streams that water the department. Both
are navigable through their whole course in Saone-et-
Loire, and the Saone receives the Doubs and the Seille,
the Loire, the Arconce, Arroux, and others, within its
limits. The department has also some small lakes. Granite
is the prevailing rock in the hills and western plain, while
the geological structure of the Saone basin is oolitic.
Along the banks of both the great rivers, however, there
are tertiary deposits. The climate is in general temperate;
among the hills it is cold and variable; but much more
genial weather prevails in the lower ground. The soil is
in general extremely fertile, and the surface is varied with
rich corn-fields, green meadows, and vineyards, covering
the hills and dales of the country. Corn is chiefly grown
to the east of the Saone; the central portion between that
and the hills is the vine-growing part of the country; and
the western slope is chiefly occupied with pasture-land.
Of the whole area, about 1,632,000 acres are occupied by
cultivated land, 417,000 acres by wood, and 87,000 by heaths
and waste lands. The corn produced is, on the whole,
more than sufficient to supply the demand; for although
some parts of the department import it, this is made up for
by the exportation from other districts. The wines pro¬
duced here are in considerable repute, though not esteemed
of first-rate quality. A great number of cattle, and espe¬
cially of sheep and pigs, are raised here; and the oxen of
the Charolais have a reputation little inferior to the best
Swiss breeds. It is calculated that there are in the depart¬
ment more than 240,000 horned cattle, 150,000 pigs, and
370,000 sheep. Wolves and wild boars are found in the
mountains. The minerals of the country contribute in no
small degree to its wealth. The coal-fields in the valley of
the Arroux are among the richest in France; iron is also
obtained in great abundance; and at Romaneche there is
a rich mine of manganese, which yields annually about
80,000 tons of that mineral. There are, too, in the de¬
partment quarries of marble, alabaster, and freestone. Be¬
sides the mining operations, various branches of industry
are carried on. The most important of these is the manu¬
facture of iron, and next to that those of glass, pottery,
leather, cotton cloth, paper, hats, &c. The principal articles
of trade are iron, coal, leather, corn, and wine. The in¬
ternal means of communication are numerous, as there are
two navigable rivers, joined by the Canal du Centre,
numerous roads, and a railway which traverses the valley
of the Saone. The department forms the diocese of Autun,
and has several courts of law under that at Dijon. It con¬
tains also a lyceum, normal school, 5 colleges, 7 upper, and
/
630 S A O
Sao Sebas- 670 elementary schools. The capital is Macon, and there
are 5 arrondissements, as follows :—
Sappho.
Cantons. Communes. Pop. (1856.)
Macon  9 131 120,297
Autun    9 85 104,59o
Chalon-sur-Sa6ne  10 152 134,480
Charolles  13 136 129,911
Louhans  3 81 85,735
Total  48 585 575,018
SAO SEBASTIAO, a seaport of Brazil, on the Atlantic
coast, opposite an island of the same name, in the province
of San Paulo, and 65 miles E.N.E. of Santos. It is wretch¬
edly built, with mean houses and unpaved streets, but
contains a church, convent, and schools. The harbour is
large, and the trade of the place considerable. Pop. of the
district 6000.
SAPPERS AND MINERS, Roval. See Army.
SAPPHIRE. See Mineralogy*.
SAPPHO (Scwnpcn, Aeolic 'PctTr^a), a very celebrated
Grecian poetess, was a native of the island of Lesbos, and
was nearly contemporary with her countryman Alcaeus, with
whom she divided the leadership of the /Eolic school of lyric
poetry. She must have been younger than that poet, as
she was still alive in 568 B.c. It cannot now be ascertained
whether she was a native of Eresos or of Mitylene ; but the
supposition of K. O. Muller [Hist, of Greek Lit., vol. i. p.
172), may perhaps bear some degree of plausibility, that at
the time of her greatest celebrity she passed from the lesser
city to the greater. Few circumstances relating to this illus¬
trious woman can now be ascertained. About 596 b.c.,
while still in the bloom of youth, she sailed from her native
island to take refuge in Sicily; and at a much later period
she produced the ode alluded to by Herodotus (ii. 135), in
which she reproached her brother Charaxus for purchasing
Rhodopis or Doricha of Naucratis in Egypt,—a beautiful
courtezan, with whom he had fallen desperately in love.
The severity with which the censure is laid on has in¬
duced the majority of the later critics to treat as a libel the
current charge of Sappho having herself occasionally sacri¬
ficed to the goddess of love. It was formerly a pretty com¬
mon belief that Sappho took a violent leap into the sea
from the Leucadian rock, because her love was not re¬
quited by a youth named Phaon, to whom it had been
addressed. It is true a youth is frequently mentioned, but
never by name, in her odes; and it is just possible she may
have alluded in some of her verses to Adonis, the favourite
of Aphrodite, who in some legends is called Phaon and
Phaethon. But the whole story is likely to have originated
in some highly poetical expression used by the author. Be¬
sides, as Welcker and others have remarked, it is not told
by any of the preservers of the legend whether Sappho
survived the leap or perished by it. Sappho, like all the
early lyric poets, sang the praises of Love and Marriage.
She sang them with simplicity and directness, and with a
warmth of poetic fire which emanated from uncommon
poetic endowments. In the remains of her lyrics which
survive, there is no line calculated to cloud her fame, as
there is none to cloud her genius. They contain passages
in which the poetess repels with dignity the least transgres¬
sion of the bounds of social intercourse as understood by
the -Eolians; but it is precisely because the manners of
that race are so little understood, that men have chosen
freely to calumniate the name of this great poetess. Muller
justly remarks, that at the time at which Sappho wrote, the
line had not been drawn with any degree of exactness be¬
tween sensual and sentimental love. The Attic comic
poets could neither understand the simplicity of that simple
time, nor could they indeed comprehend it at all. They
accordingly made short work of it, by introducing Sappho
into their licentious dramas as a common courtezan.
1 hose who wish to see the character of the poetess vindi-
S A R
cated from the numerous charges which have been brought Saraband
against it, may read the little work of Welcker, Sappho ||
von einem herrschenden Vorurtheil befreyt, Gottingen, Saragossa.
1816; and the writings of K. O. Muller, Neue, Ulrici,
Bode, &c. To form a true estimate of the erotic poetry
of Sappho, one must have recourse to the few fragments
of it which now remain. Of the nine books of erotic
odes, epithalamia, hymns to the gods, and other poems
which Sappho originally left, only one complete ode and
a number of short fragments are now left. Judging
from the very scanty material at our disposal, it is not diffi¬
cult to justify the admiration of the ancients. In purity
and fervour, in delicacy and sweetness, in grace of diction
and in harmony of construction, Sappho may be fairly pro¬
nounced equal to the greatest lyric poet of any age or
country. The editio princeps of the hymn to Aphrodite
was published by H. Stephens in his edition of Anacreon,
with whom Sappho’s poems have been usually printed, in
1554. Since then there have been countless editions of
her fragments, from the simple text up to the most cum¬
brous elaboration of annotation. In the latter respect Vol-
ger, Leipzig, 1810, decidedly bears away the palm ; while
the edition of Neue is regarded as the first in point of ex¬
cellence. It bears the name of Sapphonis Mytilenaece
Fragmenta, Specimen Operce in omnibus Artis Grcecorum
ly/ricce Reliquiis, excepto Pindaro collocandce, proposuit,
C. F. Neue, Berlin, 1827. Sappho has been frequently
translated into all the European languages. What is called
the Sapphic measure is the most important of all the Sapphic
metres. It corresponds very closely to the measure em¬
ployed by Alcaeus. That used by Sappho, and which bears
her name, has a short syllable at the end of the verse, while
in the Alcaic measure the syllable begins the line. Accord¬
ing to the improved scansion of Professor Key [Journal of
Education, vol. iv.), the Sapphic measure is as follows:—
Grandinis misit pater et rubente.
The Sapphic and Alcaic are most probably the favourite
measures of iEolian lyric poetry. The near resemblance
of the two verses, as well as their frequent employment by
the poets of Lesbos, and in the odes of Horace and Catullus,
afford good evidence of this proposition.
SARABAND, in Spanish zarabanda, a Spanish dance
in f time, formerly danced with castanets. The move¬
ment is rather slow. In the music of Corelli and other old
masters, sarabands are of frequent occurrence.
SARAGOSSA (Sp. Zaragoza), a province of Spain,
bounded on the N.E. and E. by that of Huesca, S. by that
of Teruel, S.W. by that of Guadalajara, W. by that of
Soria, and N.W. by that of Navarre ; area 11,783 square
miles. It is not so mountainous as the other portions of
Aragon, of which ancient kingdom it once formed a part,
lying principally in the valley of the Ebro, which traverses
the province from N.W. to S.E. This valley, from 70 to
80 miles broad, is enclosed on the S.W. by the Sierra de
Moncayo, the highest hills in the province, and on the
N.W. by the Sierra de Sobrarbe. The latter separates
from the valley of the Ebro that of its affluent the Aragon.
Several other rivers water the country, all flowing into the
Ebro ; the Jalon, Huerba, and Aquas from the right; the
Arva and Galleogo from the left, being the largest of these.
The soil is in the level portions pretty fertile, and agricul¬
ture is the principal occupation of the people. Wheat, rye,
barley, oats, hemp, flax, oil, and wine are the chief produc¬
tions ; silk-worms are also bred; and there are extensive
forests which yield wood for charcoal. There are no im¬
portant manufactures, silk and soap being the only articles
which were formerly made to a considerable extent, and
even these branches of industry have now much fallen off.
Pop. (1851) 297,336.
Saragossa, the capital of the above province, and for-
S A R
Saragossa, merly of the kingdom of Aragon, in a rich plain on the
> Ebro, just above its confluence with the small river Huerba,
180 miles N.E. of Madrid. It is built on the south side of
the river, which is crossed by a fine stone bridge erected
in 1437. Encircled by walls, and substantially built, with
numerous domes, towers, and spires, it looks very imposing
from a distance, but has a dull and gloomy appearance on
a nearer approach. The streets are narrow, crooked, and
ill-paved, the grand old mansions deserted or in ruins, and
the whole town crowded with beggars and lumbering rustic
waggons. Along the river’s side there are fine public
walks and avenues of poplar-trees. The chief buildings of
the town are the two cathedrals, in each of which the
chapter resides alternately for six months. They present
in almost all respects a complete contrast,—the one ancient
and stately, in the Gothic style; the other like an oriental
building, with multitudinous domes and variegated tiles.
The interior of the former is very fine, and has many in¬
teresting monuments. The latter is quadrangular, with
three naves, and is entirely dedicated to the worship of the
Virgin, the chief object of adoration being a pillar of ala¬
baster, on which she is said to have alighted. This relic is
enclosed in a small chapel inside the cathedral, and a hollow
has been worn in it by the lips of the worshippers. The
new tower, or tower of San Felipe, like the celebrated one
of Pisa, diverges about 9 feet from the perpendicular, a
defect caused by the sinking of the foundation. It is built
of brick, richly ornamented, and is lofty enough to com¬
mand a fine view of the city and environs. Among the
eighteen churches of the town, that of San Pablo is remark¬
able for its grand architecture ; and that of Santiago is said
to cover the site of the lodging place of the apostle to
whom it is dedicated. Saragossa contains one of the largest
hospitals in Spain, and a Casa de Misericordia, or poor-
house, with accommodation for 600 or 700 inmates. The
university, which was founded in 1474, had, in 1841, 1100
students. It formerly possessed a fine building and valu¬
able library, but these were destroyed by the French, and
a new edifice, with a handsome quadrangle, has been par¬
tially erected. Another remarkable building of the town is
the Aljaferia, or old citadel, an irregular pile, standing out¬
side the N.W. gate. It was originally built as a palace by
the Moors; subsequently occupied by the Inquisition; after-
terwards used in succession as a barrack, military hospital,
and prison. It is now unoccupied and falling into decay,
although it contains a splendid staircase and many magni¬
ficent halls. Besides the establishments already mentioned,
Saragossa contains various schools and convents, a museum,
public library, botanic garden, theatre, baths, &c. Leather,
silk, and woollen cloth are manufactured, and there is some
trade in agricultural produce carried on by the Ebro. The
most ancient name of the town was Salduba, or Saldyva,
which was given to it by the Celtiberians, who originally
inhabited this country. After the Cantabrian war it was
colonized by Augustus, b.c. 25, who gave to the place his
own name, calling it Csesar Augusta, or Caesarea Augusta.
It early renounced the pagan religion, and is said to have
been the birth-place of Prudentius, the earliest Christian
poet. No remains of the ancient city have been preserved.
About 470 a.d. it was taken by the Goths, and in 712 by
the Moors, who corrupted the Roman name into that which
it now bears. In 1118 Alonzo, surnamed el Batallador,
wrested Saragossa from the Moors after a siege of five
years, during which the defenders were reduced by famine
to the utmost straits. In 1710 the British general, Stan¬
hope, defeated the French under Philip V., not far from
the town. But the most memorable events in connection
with Saragossa are those which took place during the French
invasion of Spain. In 1808 the citizens rose against the
invaders, and, under the command of Palafox, defended the
town for two months, favoured by the strength of the place
s A R 631
and their own obstinate courage. The first siege was raised Saraisk
August loth, 1808; but the respite thus gained was not Sarj[tov
made use of to strengthen the defences; and when the ^
French attacked the place again in greater force, it was com-
pelled to surrender, February 20th, 1809, having lost in all
nearly 60,000 men. Pop. 82,189.
SARAISK, a town of European Russia, capital of a
circle in the government and 35 miles W.N.W. of Riazan,
on the Osetr. It has eight churches, five of stone and
three of wood; two schools, two charitable institutions, an
old stone citadel, and numerous gardens. Carpentry is
carried on here, as well as the manufacture of tar and rosin;
and there is an active trade in cattle. Pop. 6332.
SARANSK, a town of European Russia, capital of a
circle in the government and 70 miles N. of Pensa, at the
confluence of the Insara and Saranka, in a very fertile
country. It is an irregular place, with crooked, ill-paved
lanes; and contains numerous churches, a school, and
an hospital. Here are salt magazines, and manufactures
of soap, sail-cloth, &c. Some trade is carried on. Pop. 5443.
SARAPUL, a town of European Russia, capital of a
circle of the same name in the government of Viatka, on
the Kama, 195 miles S.E. of Viatka. It is commanded
by a fort on an adjacent hill; and contains a cathedral and
other churches, besides various schools and hospitals. There
are here manufactures of soap, jewellery, and cloth ; some
river navigation, and an active trade in corn and salt. Pop.
7668.
SARATOGA SPRINGS, the most fashionable water¬
ing place in America, in the state of New York, 38 miles
N. of Albany. It is only celebrated for its mineral waters,
as the scenery in the neighbourhood has not many attrac¬
tions ; but it is resorted to by multitudes of all classes for
the sake of health or pleasure. There are numerous large
and splendid hotels here ; as well as churches, academies, &c.
The number who visited the place in the summer of 1853
is estimated at 30,000. Near this, in 1777, the British
troops under Burgoyne surrendered to General Gates. Pop.
4650.
SARATOV, a government of European Russia, lying
between N. Lat. 48. and 53., E. Long. 42. 20. and 48.;
bounded on the W. by the government of Voronetz and
Tambov, N. by those of Pensa and Simbirsk, E. by that
of Samara, S. by that of Astrakhan, and S.W. by the land
of the Don Cossacks. Area 54,797 square miles. A chain
of hills, pretty high in the southern portion, stretches from
S. to N. through the western part of the country, and
divides the waters of the Don from those of the Volga.
From these heights eastward to the Volga, which flows
southwards, and forms the eastern boundary of the govern¬
ment, the country is hilly and undulating. That river re¬
ceives no important tributaries in the government, and a
large portion of the country in the S. and W. is watered
by affluents of the Don; the principal of which are the
Choper and Medveditza. The hills are composed of slate
and limestone rocks; and the soil of the lower ground is
for the most part fertile, especially in the N.W. portion,
where no manure is needed to render the ground produc¬
tive. Further south the soil is somewhat stony and barren.
In the forests, which lie chiefly in the N.W. of the govern¬
ment, oaks, pines, poplars, and maple, are the principal
growth. Agriculture is the chief occupation of the inhabi¬
tants. Saratov contained in 1849, 7,202,282 acres of
arable land ; 15,892,868 acres of meadows ; 3,249,129 acres
of wood ; and 21,437,864 acres of waste land. The pro¬
duce of corn in the same year was 55,276,886 bushels, and
that of potatoes 896,290 bushels. These numbers, how¬
ever, include part of what now forms the new government
of Samara, which had not been constituted at that date.
The number of horses within the old limits in 1849 was
861,008; of horned cattle, 839,526; of sheep, 1,756,450;
632
S A R
S A R
of swine, 257,216; and of goats, 22,896. The principal
crops raised are rye, wheat, oats, millet, hemp, and flax ;
tobacco and hops have been introduced ; and in some places
mulberries and even vines are cultivated. The fisheries on
the Volga are productive. Iron, salt, and millstones, are
the only important mineral productions. The manufactures
are chiefly carried on by the foreign settlers, who were
introduced into the country in great numbers from Ger¬
many and Switzerland by Catherine II. The number of
establishments in 1849 was 140, employing 1449 hands.
The most important factories were 37 tanneries, 25 tallow-
houses, and 14 tile-works. The country is well situated for
trade, communicating by means of the Volga with the west
of Russia and the Caspian ; and by the affluents of the
Don with the Black Sea. Besides the foreign settlers, the
population consists of Russians, Tartars, and Cossacks. The
majority belong to the Greek Church ; but there are 81,753
Protestants, 18,672 Roman Catholics, 42,571 Mohamme¬
dans, and 529 Pagans. Education is generally in a low
condition in the country. For administrative purposes,
Saratov is divided into ten circles, as follows:—
Saratov ..
Zaritzin..
Volsk 
Kusnetzk,
Petrovsk.
Pop. (1851.)
...204,339
... 53,688
...122,047
...117,255
...157,287
Kamyschin
Atharsk ....
Balaschov..
Chvalynsk ,
Serdobsk...
Pop. (1851.)
...152,166
...180,149
...185,253
...125,005
...141,893
1,439,182
Astrakhan Cossacks  5,314
Total 1,444,496
Saratov, the capital of the above government, on the
right bank of the Volga, 386 miles N. of Astrakhan, and
as far W. of Orenburg. It stands in a valley between the
river and a wooded limestone hill, and is neither hand¬
somely nor regularly built, for the most part only of wood.
It contains several Greek churches, some of them built of
stone; as well as others belonging to the Protestants and
Roman Catholics, a mosque, and two monasteries. Saratov
is the seat of a Greek archbishop, and of a Protestant
consistory ; it has also government offices, a college, and
various schools, hospitals, &c. There are large salt maga¬
zines, a botanic garden, and a bazaar or market-place,
where a large annual fair is held. The principal articles
manufactured here are leather, sail-cloth, cotton stuffs,
cordage and hats. An active trade is carried on by the
Volga. Pop. 61,610.
SARAWAK. See Borneo.
SARAWAN, a province of Beloochistan, lying between
N. Lat. 27. 53. and 30. 20., E. Long. 64. and 67. 40.;
bounded on the W. and N. by Afghanistan, E. by Afghan¬
istan and the province of Cutch-Gundava, and S. by those
of Jhalawan, Kelat, and Mekran. Length from N.E. to
S.W. about 250 miles, greatest breadth 80; area about
15,000 square miles. It is a very mountainous and rugged Sarcopha-
country, and is enclosed by mountain ranges on the E., N., gus.
and W. Ihose on the E. are traversed by the Bolan Pass, I!
leading into Cutch-Gundava; and those on the northern Sardinia,
frontier contain the lofty summit of Tukatoo, estimated at
11,000 or 12,000 feet high. There are some very fertile
valleys and plains in Sarawan, especially the valley of Shawl
in the N., and that of Musturg, separated from it by a
barren plain, 20 miles broad; but in general the country
is very dry, having no large stream except the Bolan, which
flows through the pass of that name. The population is esti¬
mated at 50,000; and the chief town is Sarawan, a collec¬
tion of mud houses, with a wall of the same material, and
4000 inhabitants.
SARCOPHAGUS {crdp^Jleshj and (payelvto eat), a sort
of stone coffin or grave, in which the ancients deposited
the bodies of the dead which were not intended to be burned.
It is supposed to be derived from the Lapis Assius, a stone
much used among the Greeks in their sepultures, recorded
to have always perfectly consumed in forty days the flesh of
human bodies buried in it. There was also another fabulous
quality assigned to it—namely, its power of turning into
stone anything put into vessels made of it. One of the most
celebrated specimens of antiquity is the great sarcophagus,
which is commonly called the tomb of Alexander the Great.
It fell into the hands of the British at the capitulation of
Alexandria in Egypt in 1801, and is now deposited in the
British Museum.
SARD ANAPALUS, the last King of the Assyrians, ac¬
cording to the Greek and Roman writers, was the thir¬
tieth from Ninus, of whom Herodotus merely mentions
that he concealed his treasure in subterranean vaults. The
character usually ascribed to him is that of a luxurious and
slothful prince, who spent the greater part of his time in
the harem among his women. But it is difficult to recon¬
cile this statement with the brave and obstinate resistance
he made to the attack of the rebel Arbaces, prince of Me¬
dia. Fie defeated Arbaces twdce, but at last was shut up
within Ninus (Nineveh), where he destroyed himself with
all his women and his treasures on a funeral pile. There
would seem, however, to have been another Sardanapalus,
the son of Anacyndaraxes, who is said to have founded
Tarsus and Anchiale in one day, and whose epitaph is fre¬
quently quoted; and it is not unlikely that Ctesias, from
whom Diodorus quotes, has mixed up the events that hap¬
pened to these two. The second is thought to be the
Esarhaddon of the Scriptures, and the first to be the Saracus
of Abydenus. But regarding the whole matter there seems
to be very much doubt. The late excavations at Nimrud
have brought to light several particulars not very recon¬
cilable as to the existence and reign of Sardanapalus. His
annals are proposed to be published by Sir H. Rawlinson
and E. Norris-.
SARDINIA.
4 he dominions of the House of Savoy, called in Italian
the Regno Sardo, have an area of 29,075 English square
miles, with a population (in December 1857) of 5,172,283
inhabitants. 1 hey are composed of two separate parts—•
j1.e,Eon^nenta^ terr'tories, which in Italian are styled Stati
di Terra Ferma, and the islands of Capraia and Sardinia,
the latter of which gives the title of King to the head of
the state.
The continental possessions, consisting of what formerly
were the piincipality of Piedmont, the duchies of Savoy,
Genoa, and Montferrat, the counties of Nice and Asti, the
marquisates of Susa, Ivrca, Salluzzo, and Ceva, &c«, have
an area of 19,774 square miles, with a population of
4,590,206 inhabitants, and extend in N. Lat. from 43. 30.
to 46. 27., and in E. Long, from 5. 35. to 10. 9. With the
exception of the southern portion of the Lunigiana, lying
east of the Magra, they comprise the country extending
between that river and the Var, the Ticino and the Rhone ;
and are bounded on the N. by Switzerland, on the W. by
France, on the S. by the Mediterranean Sea, and on the
E. by the grand duchy of Tuscany, the duchy of Parma,
and the Lombardo-Venetian kingdom.
The island of Sardinia, with the adjoining small islands of
St Antioco, San Pietro, Asinara, Maddalena, and several
SARD
Sardinia, smaller ones, has an area of 9301 square miles, with a po-
pulation of (in December 1857) 577,282. It lies north¬
west of Sicily, north of Africa, and south of Corsica, from
which it is separated by a narrow strait called Bocche di
Bonifacio, and extends in N. Lat. from 38. 52. to 41. 16.,
and in E. Long, from 8.10. to 9. 50. Sardinia is the largest
and, next to Sicily, the most important island in the Medi¬
terranean Sea. Capraia, which has only 15 miles in cir¬
cumference, and 4741 inhabitants, is situated east of the
northern extremity of Corsica, north-west of Elba, and
west of the Tuscan coast.
The surface of the Stati di Terra Ferma presents the
greatest possible variety. On the north and west it is
covered by the Alps, and on the south by the Apennines ;
and between these two great mountain chains lies the most
fertile and valuable portion of the kingdom, consisting of
the slopes, valleys, and plains that form the upper basin of
the Po, from its source to its junction with the Ticino be¬
low Pavia.
The two divisions of Chambery and Annecy, to the north¬
west, including what formerly was the duchy of Savoy, are
in physical aspect, as well as in the general character and
language of their inhabitants, more a part of Switzerland
than of Italy. They are an alpine land separated from the
plains of the peninsula by an enormous chain of mountains
known as the Graian Alps. Its lofty mountains covered with
eternal snow and glaciers, its long and deep valleys, its nu¬
merous cascades, the raging winds and violent storms of
rain, hail, and snow, which occur with frequency in the
elevated regions, give Savoy a peculiar and lasting in¬
terest. In ancient times it formed part of the country of
the Allobroges.
The three divisions of Nice, Savona, and Genoa, for¬
merly the county of Nice and the territories of the
Genoese republic, and known by the general name of
the Riviera, surround the Gulf of Genoa, and include
all the sea-shore of the continental possessions from the
Var to the Magra. They are the ancient Liguria, which,
according to the division of Augustus, constituted the
9th region of Italy, and are poetically pointed out by
Dante as the rugged country, “ Tra Lerici e Turbia.”
It is a narrow strip of land, bordered along its whole
extent by the ranges of the Maritime Alps and the
Apennines, and cut everywhere by narrow valleys and deep
ravines. In some places the mountains rise so abruptly
from the sea-shore as to render any passage impossible ex¬
cept by means of galleries cut through their projecting
spurs. The chief ports, in the order of their importance, are
Spezia, the ancient Lunce, placed at the eastern ex¬
tremity, one of the most spacious and safe harbours in the
Mediterranean Sea, and which of late has been made the
principal station of the Sardinian fleet; Genoa; Villafranca ;
Savona; Nice; Porto-Maurizio ; and Mentone. The tract
from Savona to Sestri di Levante is more thickly inhabited
than any other part of the kingdom, with the exception of
the neighbourhood of Turin.
The remaining six divisions of Turin, Ivrea, Cuneo,
Vercelli, Novara, and Alessandria, comprise the fertile
region extending downwards from the Alps and the Apen¬
nines, and forming part of a vast valley, or rather plain,
which begins at the foot of the Monviso, and only termi¬
nates on the easternmost frontier of Italy, at the Adriatic
Sea. The River Po divides this valley into two nearly
equal portions. Its northern side, which in ancient times
formed part of Gallia Trampadana, or the 11th region of
Augustus’ division, extends to the foot of the Alps, some
great projections of which enter it in the provinces of Os-
sola and Aosta. The southern side, which was part of
ancient Gallia Cispadana, or the 8th region, is bordered in
its whole length by the ranges of the Maritime Alps and the
Apennines. Piedmont, the name given in a large sense
VOL. XIX.
I IN I A. 633
to the whole of this country, is divided from Switzerland Sardinia,
and Savoy by the Helvetic and the Graian Alps, from France v ^ >
by the Cottian Alps, and from the Riviera by the Maritime
Alps and the Apennines.
The mountains of the continental states have already
been fully described in this work under the general articles
Alps and Apennines. The principal rivers are the Po,
the largest river of Italy, which has its source in two springs
on the eastern slope of Monteviso, at a height of 6562 feet
above the level of the sea; the Ticino, which forms the
boundary between Lombardy and Piedmont; the Sesia, the
Dora Baltea, and the Dora, all tributaries of the Po on its
northern side ; the Tanaro and the Bormida, which join at
Alexandria, and flow into the Po on its southern side ; the
Var, which constitutes the boundary between the province
of Nice and France ; and the Magra, which flows into the
Mediterranean, outside the Gulf of Spezia.
The larger lakes of the Alps belong only in part to this
kingdom. The Leman, or Lake of Geneva, is divided be¬
tween Sardinia and Switzerland, the southern bank of it
only belonging to the kingdom. The Lago Maggiore or
of Locarno ( Verbanus)—for a description of which see Lom¬
bardy—has also only its western shores within the Sardinian
dominions, the eastern side belonging to the Lombardo-
Venetian kingdom, and the upper part forming a portion of
Switzerland. The lakes exclusively Sardinian are of much
smaller extent. The Lake of Orta is a long narrow sheet
of water by the side of Lake Maggiore, into which its sur¬
plus water is discharged. The Lake of Annecy, in Savoy,
is 1350 feet above the level of the sea, and 180 feet in
depth. It has an outlet by the rivers Thor and Fior into
the Rhone. The Lake of Bourget, near Aix-le-Bains,
scarcely exceeds 100,000 acres in extent, but is about 240
feet in depth, and by means of the canal of Savieres, dis¬
charges much water into the same river. There are some
smaller lakes, a few of which are dried up in the summer ;
others of them are on elevations of great height, the most
remarkable of which isoneon Mont Cenis, 5740 feet above
the level of the sea.
The several states abound in mineral springs; those that
have attained greater celebrity are the hot springs of Acqui
in Montferrat, which are impregnated with sulphuretted
hydrogen ; the medicinal springs of St Vincenzio, in the
valley of Aosta ; and in Savoy the warm baths of Aix, and
the sulphureous wells of Bonneval.
A more detailed geographical description of each of the
great divisions of the continental territories is given in this
work under Genoa, Piedmont, and Savoy.
The climate of the Stati di Terra Ferma varies excessively
in the different provinces. In Savoy, in the valleys of Aosta
and Ossola, and among the Alps of Piedmont, a real Swiss
climate prevails. The air in these districts, though change¬
able, is on the whole pure and healthful, but is too raw
to bring forth the fruits of Italy ; in favoured spots, how¬
ever, the grapes ripen, and the sides of the hills are covered
with chestnut-trees. In the upper valley of Piedmont the
thermometer falls below 10 degrees in winter, and in the
neighbourhood of the mountains it is not unusual to see the
ground covered with snow during twelve days or a fortnight.
Night frosts, which begin in November, continue till April ;
and even in the midst of summer, cold winds occasionally de¬
scend from the heights. The mulberry-trees, the vines, and
the maize flourish; and the air, when not in the vicinity of rice-
fields, is remarkably pure, and has a balmy fragrance. Along
the whole coast from Nice to the Magra, which is protected
by the mountains from the cold winds, the climate is much
milder and more agreeable. In some favourite spots which
are entirely sheltered from the north and north-east winds,
the thermometer rarely, if ever, falls below' the freezing-
point; and the vegetation, combining the botany of Southern
Europe and Northern Africa with those of the tropics, is of
4 L
634 S A E D
Sardinia, singular beauty. The mountains are clothed with sweet
V»'/ chestnuts, their slopes with olive-trees, and figs and orange-
trees grow luxuriantly along the sea-shore.
The chief occupation of the inhabitants of this kingdom
consists in the cultivation of the land, and is accordingly as
varied as the surface of the soil and as the climate, which de¬
pends on the elevation. Under the head of Lombardy
will be found a detailed account of the agriculture of that
district, the greater part of which may be adverted to as a
description of what takes place in the richer portion of Sar¬
dinia, which belongs to the basin of the River Po, compre¬
hending the greater part of the provinces of Turin, Cuneo,
and Alessandria. Here we shall only add that the most im¬
portant article of cultivation is the mulberry-tree, the pro¬
duce from which, and the price it fetched in the market for
the last six years, was,—
Cocoons. Price.
1853  1,025,287 lb. L.373,987
1854  1,410,454 „ 529,523
1855  1,830,353 „ 706,398
1856  4,535,346 „ 853,306
1857  1,001,811 „ 824,900
1858   724,332 „ 30,256
In Savoy generally the cultivation is badly conducted. The
cultivable land is divided into large portions, belonging to
a few great proprietors, and is subdivided into smaller por¬
tions to tenants, who, without leases, transmit their lots
from one generation to another, paying neither money-
rent nor labour to their superiors, but delivering to them or
their agents one-half of the produce of the fields, whatever
it may be, in its several kinds. The cattle on these lands
are commonly the property of the lord, and are maintained
on the produce of the soil, before the division is made of
what it yields. The power of the tenants to transmit the
land to their successors is combined with the power of sub¬
dividing it among their several children ; and this is carried
to such an extent that it has led, and is leading, to such a
subdivision that a great number of the farms barely raise
sufficient food for the occupants, though their provisions are
of the most humble and penurious kind. Savoy is annually
deficient in corn to the extent of nearly one-third of its con¬
sumption. This is in some measure made up by using chest¬
nuts and potatoes as substitutes for bread. In Aosta and in
some other parts the potato is little cultivated, and corn is
supplied to them from the neighbouring districts. Along
the Riviera the land consists chiefly of narrow strips of val¬
ley, which in the greater portion is composed of sand, and
is not very appropriate for the growth of grain, though a
little is grown in some of the more fertile valleys. The
common people derive part of their subsistence from chest¬
nuts, other fresh and dried fruit, fish (especially Sardines,
which at some seasons are very abundant), and from an in¬
ferior kind of cheese made by themselves; and oil, a useful
accompaniment, is at a very moderate price.
The Regno Sardo cannot be considered as a manufac¬
turing country, except for the purposes of domestic consump¬
tion. Before the seventeenth century, Genoa was the centre
or channel of all the supply of manufactured silks and velvets
to the other parts of Europe ; but at present the manufac¬
turing industry, as regards silk, is reduced almost to the
point which the internal consumption demands, or to the
process of preparing the raw material for the manufacturers
of France, England, Holland, Germany, and Russia. Their
silks are handsome and strong, especially the stockings;
but, in the absence of the best descriptions of machinery,
they are dearer than elsewhere. Silk stuffs, velvets, paper,
musical instruments, and some kinds of jewellery, principally
manufactured at Genoa, are almost the only articles of
export.
The physical aspect of the island of Sardinia is greatly
diversified, and more than eight-tenths of its surface are
covered with mountains, of which the main chain extends
I N I A.
along the whole eastern side, from the headland called Sardinia.
Cape Lurgo Sardo, opposite Corsica, to Cape Carbonara in
the south ; none, however, of these mountains reach such an
elevation as to be covered with perpetual snow. The loftiest
range is that of Genargentu in the Barbagia district, in
the middle of the island. Its highest summit, the Punta
Brunei! Spina, is 6293 feet above the level of the sea. Next
in importance is the granitic chain of Mount Limbara,
which covers the district of Gallura in the north ; its highest
peaks attain an elevation of more than 4000 feet. The
mountains in the centre and the south of the island, in¬
cluding the Genargentu, chiefly belong to the palaeozoic
formations, through which arose at different ages the nu¬
merous extinct volcanoes that render the island so interest¬
ing to the geologist. The most important volcanic tract is
north of the River Tirsi, between the Gulf of Oristano and
Sassari, where the highest lip of the crater of Monte Urticu,
near Milis, reaches 3440 feet above the sea-level. Between
the Gulfs of Cagliari and Oristano is the extensive plain of
the Campidano, scattered with many populous and flourish¬
ing villages. Next in extent to the Campidano is the
Campo d’Ozieri in the north of the island, south of the
Limbara Mountains. The principal rivers are,—the Flu-
mendosa, which springs from the Genargentu Mountains,
waters the Barbagia district, and falls into the sea near
Muravera on the eastern coast; the Coghinas, which has
its sources in the Limbara group, and falls into the Gulf of
Torres on the north; the Mannu, which waters the Cam¬
pidano, and joins the sea in the Gulf of Cagliari; the Tirsi,
which has the longest course of all, and after traversing
most of the island from N.E. to S.W., flows into the Gulf
of Oristano; and the Flumenbosa, which rises among the
volcanic range on the W., and empties itself into the sea
below Bosa.
Mineral springs are numerous, but are for the most part
neglected. The principal are those of Sardara, Villa Cidro,
and Fordongianus, those at the foot of Castel Doria, at
Codrongianus, and the Benetutti springs of the Goceana
Mountains. They are all on the W. side of the island.
In a secondary rank may be noticed the thermal waters of
Marrubin, of Iglesias, and of St Antonio. Aqua Cotta, at
the eastern base of an insulated hillock near Villa Cidro, is
a small but constantly limpid spring, of about 105° of Fahr.,
close by a stream of potable water having a tempera¬
ture of 60°, whilst that of the atmosphere is 64°. Here
most of the cloth of the Campidano is fulled, the makers
of it paying to the proprietor for the use of the water.
The situation and the soil of the island are favourable to
the cultivation of all those trees and plants which grow in
Spain, in Italy, and in Sicily. Its mountains are clothed
almost to their summits with forests of cork, green oak,
common oak, pine, sweet chestnut, and other trees. The
wild olive covers extensive tracts in the hilly districts.
Figs, vines, and pomegranates thrive wonderfully, with
scarcely any cultivation. The madder and liquorice roots
grow wild in some districts. The orange forest of Milis, on
the western coast, shows no appearance of cultivation, and
has trees compared with which the finest orange-trees in
Portugal would seem dwarfs. Lemons, apple, pear, wal¬
nut, carrouba, almond, peach, and mulberry trees; flax,
hemp, saffron, and every variety of grain, are among its pro¬
ductions. Corn, even under the present system of agricul¬
ture, gives a return of 7 or 8 for one, and in some districts
the average is said to amount from 16 to 20 fold. 1 here
are no wolves. The “ moufflon,” a ruminating animal,
frequenting only the highest and most secluded woods, is a
native of the island. Deer, wild boar, and a variety of
game abound in the forests; so that there are annually ex¬
ported about 60,000 skins of hares and rabbits, 5000 of
foxes, and 2000 of martins.
With all these natural advantages, this island, which
SARDINIA.
635
Sardinia, in ancient times was reckoned with Sicily a granary of
Rome, was sadly neglected, and remained till very recently
in a semi-barbarous state. The Yandalic invasion ; the
anarchy into which it fell during the middle ages ; the
establishment of the feudal system in a most vexatious and
oppressive form; its having long been a dependency of
Spain, and for centuries misruled worse than Spain it¬
self ; its partition into vast estates, many of which belonged
to distant Spanish grandees;1 and the numerous restrictions
upon industry and commerce, were some of the most pro¬
minent causes that paralysed the industry of its inhabitants,
diminished their number, and changed its fertile plains and
valleys into unoccupied and marshy wastes. In the year
1836, however, most important changes were introduced,
which will conspire with the wise and stringent measures
passed by the present constitutional government to raise
this fine island from the abyss into which bad government
and worse laws had plunged it.
Feudal tenure and feudal jurisdiction have entirely been
abolished ; and lands have been declared to be the free
property of individual owners, communes, or the crown.
The latter is become the possessor of all waste lands, or such
lands as neither individuals nor communes couldshowany title
to. These crown-lands are sold or granted in emphytheosis
by the government at a very low price, with a view of attract¬
ing population, capital, and industry into the island. There
are, scattered over various districts of the island, nearly
510,800 hectares (1,262,200 English acres) of public
lands to be sold, of which only 80,000 hectares (197,690
English acres) have some appearance of cultivation. There
are, besides, 430,000 hectares (1,062,590 English acres) of
communal lands not cultivated, most of which are also
offered for sale. The government are empowered to sell
80 hectares (197 English acres) without any auction ; but
when a greater extent is demanded by a single person or a
company, the formality of a public auction must be gone
through. The average price at which these lands are being
sold varies from 20s. to 32s. a hectare. So that land
is to be obtained in an island of proverbial fertility in
the Mediterranean Sea at the same price that lands sell in
Australia.
Its insular position gives Sardinia some advantages in
point of climate over the opposite coasts of Italy. The
heat in summer is not so overpowering, and the winter is very
mild, snow being rarely seen, except in the elevated dis¬
tricts. December and January are the finest months of the
year, and February the most disagreeable. Spring bursts
out in great luxuriance towards the end of March. But
the great disadvantage of the Sardinian climate, in ancient
as well as in modern times, is the unhealthiness of the
lower regions in summer. The intemperie, as the malaria
is called in the island, is somewhat different from the mala¬
ria of Italy and Greece; for although equally or more acri¬
monious in effect, it does not produce the swelled bodies
and sallow skins which are the pathognomonic symptoms of
the latter. Both diseases usually commence when the sum¬
mer heat, assisted by slight showers, disengages the impure
gases from the low grounds, and continue till the beginning
of November, when the heavy rains have precipitated the
miasma, and purified the air. But they differ, inasmuch
as malaria is generally supposed to be weak in its effects
unless imbibed during sleep; whereas imtemperie, though
worst at night, is dangerous at all times. Instances have
been known of strangers landing for a few hours only, from
Italian coasters, who were almost immediately carried off
by its virulence ; indeed, the very breathing of the air by a
foreigner at night, or in the cool of the evening, is con¬
sidered as certain a death in some parts as if he had swal¬
lowed some poisonous drug. While the atmosphere is in
this state, the natives never move abroad until an hour
after sunrise ; and they hasten home before sunset, carefully
closing every door and window, or, if obliged to go out,
carefully holding a handkerchief before the mouth. The
extreme heat of the day is also carefully avoided, for they
are apprehensive of the colpo di sole, or stroke of the sun,
attributing its frequency and fatal effects to the malignancy
of the intemperie.
It is agreed on all sides that fire is an excellent antidote
to this evil; and it is recorded that the lords of Oristano
were wont, during the unhealthy season, to burn large fires
around the town every night, to rarefy the mephitic exha¬
lations. Most of the people remove from the plains to the
higher grounds on St John’s day in June, when the air be¬
gins to be unsafe, although it does not become dangerous
before August. Those who, from their circumstances, are
obliged to remain, keep themselves well clad in thick wool¬
lens, to avert the ardent rays of the sun. Exertion, expo¬
sure to summer showers, and fatigue of every kind, are
studiously avoided; and a spare but nourishing diet is
adopted, with cool acidulated drinks.
It is remarkable that adults who have been accustomed
to the insalubrious districts can remain during the summer
with comparative impunity, whilst children and new comers
are more likely to fall victims to the intemperie. As it is
chiefly owing to the extensive marshes and lagoons at the
mouths of the rivers, and in all the low coasts or level
tracts, there can be no doubt whatever that its ravages will
disappear in proportion as marshy districts are drained,
the beds of rivers and torrents embanked, and cultivation
extended in the island.
The manufactures in the island are in so rude a state
that in a commercial view they scarcely require to be
noticed.
The foreign trade of the kingdom, both by land and by
sea, is yearly increasing. The following table of the num¬
ber and tonnage of the mercantile navy shows that every
year, from 1853 to 1856, there has been an increase in the
size of the vessels, and in the number of sailors engaged in
trade:—
On the 31st Dec. 1853.
,, ,, 1854.
., „ 1855.
„ „ 1856.
Ships. Tons. Sailors.
3222 168,585 28,746
3174 175.744 30,782
2962 184,860 31,987
2924 197,924 33,370
Sardinia.
It is remarkable that, whilst in 1855 the building of ships,
as compared with the previous year, shows an increase of
9116 tons, in 1856 the difference reaches 13,064 tons. Of
the total number of sailors employed in 1854, 11,398 were
furnished by Genoa, 5936 by Chiavari, 4384 by Savona,
4011 by Spezia, 1619 by Oneglia, 1529 by Cagliari, and
1405 by Nice. The great emporium of the trade of the
state is Genoa. The number of vessels, national and of
other countries, which entered its port from 1850 to 1854
was as follows :—
Number and Tonnage of Vessels which entered the Port
Genoa, 1850-54.
Foreign.
1850.
1851.
1852.
1853.
1854.
Ships.
5782
5937
5886
5681
5544
Tons.
278,113
301,463
332,792
307,626
349,918
Ships.
1603
2175
1830
2152
2349
Tons.
205,752
231,528
239,758
467,905
301,598
The other four tables here below annexed will give an
1 So late as 1820 the whole island was divided into 376 fiefs, of which 188 belonged to six Spanish noblemen, who never visited the
island.
636
SARDINIA.
Sardinia, idea of the state of trade in the kingdom. They come only
's—■V*-'’ so far down as 1856, as there are no later official returns
published. The first of them, marked “ General Trade,”
shows the amount of all imports and exports, whether for
internal consumption or re-exportation, whether of national
or foreign production. The second, marked “Special Trade,”
gives the amount of imports and exports merely for home
consumption and of home produce. The third table shows
the various articles of import and export, with their offi¬
cial valuation ; and the fourth points out the different
countries with which the Sardinian trade is carried on, and
the respective degree of importance with regard to each
country. It will be seen that the chief articles of importa¬
tion are cotton (raw and manufactured), sugar, coffee, spices,
and other colonial productions ; wool (raw and manufac¬
tured), wheat (chit fly from the Black Sea), common metals
(such as iron., steel, lead and copper), mercery, cheese and
butter, salt fish, and tobacco. The most valuable article of
exportation is silk, but it has little connection with mari¬
time commerce. The greater part of it, which goes to
other countries, is transported by land-carriage, in order to
supply the manufacturers of France, Prussia, Belgium,
Holland, and in some measure of England; for even
to the latter country much is now sent by land through
France, or by the Rhine. Oil is one of the greater pro¬
ductions exported from Genoa, after being collected there
by means of the numerous coasting vessels with which the
shores abound. The larger portion of this article is sent
to England, where it is used by the wool-combers in the
manufacture of cloth ; but a considerable cpiantity of it is
sent to Holland, and to the interior of Germany, where it
is applied to the same purposes. The other chief articles
of export are wine, brandy, oxen, cows, swine, mules, fruit,
seeds, and vegetables. The commerce in grain is casual,
depending in a great degree on the productiveness of the
harvests at home and in Switzerland, to which latter coun¬
try, when the domestic supply is insufficient, the corn from
the ports of Odessa and Taganrog is transmitted through
Piedmont. The countries with which the most important
trade is carried on stand in the following order:—France,
England, Lombardo-Venetian kingdom, Switzerland,
United States, and Parma, Modena, and Tuscany. On the
whole, the trade of Sardinia may be considered to be in a
prosperous and thriving state.
General Trade, 1852-56.
Years.
Imports.
Value
declared.
1852.. .
1853..
1854.. .
1855.. .
1856.. .
L.
10,637,237
11,199,467
11,728,380
12,493,931
15,693.997
Official
Valuation.
13,189,807
13,240,615
12,387,841
13,165,521
15,445,366
Exports.
Val ue
declared.
L.
7,968,592
8,012,322
8,043,478
9,061,462
12,413,582
Official
Valuation.
I,.
9,381,945
8,747,994
8,520,134
9,727,493
11,503,704
Special Trade, 1852-56.
Years.
1852.
1853.
1854.
1855.
1856
Imports.
Value
declared.
Official
Valuation.
L.
5,407,757
6,668,174
7,974,343
8,345,049
10,599,051
L.
6,605,874
7,455,013
7,904,323
8,205,820
9,710,477
Exports.
Value
declared.
Official
Valuation.
L.
3,384,578
4,007,432
4,542,543
5,327,191
7,633,152
L.
3,543,769
3,747.314
4,348,017
5,232,723
6,193,170
Imports.
Articles.
Wine, brandy, other drinks, oil  L.284,692
Coffee, sugar, other colonial and chemi¬
cal productions   1,256,215
Fruit, seeds, vegetables   86,327
Cheese, butter, eggs, tallow, &c  184,709
Fish .
58,958
Oxen, cows, swine, horses, mules, &c  167,094
Skins and furs  140,246
Hemp and flax, raw and manufactured... 254,038
Cotton, raw and manufactured  1,724,319
Wool, do. do.   842,626
Silk, do. do  1,795,619
Wheat, maize, rice, paste, chestnuts, &c.. 1,035,958
Timber, wood, furniture, charcoal  132,631
Paper and books   59,859
Mercery     446,968
Common metals    634,547
Gold, silver, precious stones   95,485
Marble, alabaster,coal, building-stone, &c. 252,476
Glass, china, earthenware, &c  86,293
Tobacco  166,617
Sardinia.
Value of Imports and Exports during the year 1856.
Exports.
L.571,246
169,228
195,704
94,601
4,104
283,242
86,930
255,102
357,983
55.862
3,016,764
509,068
118,220
115,015
129,645
97,428
18,347
104.482
8,254
1,945
Total L.9,710,677 L.6,193,170
Table of Imports and Exports.
Countries.
Imports.
Degree of
Import¬
ance.
Official Value.
Duties Levied.
Exports.
Degree of
Import-
Official Value.
Duties
Levied.
France    
Algeria 
Zollverein States   
Holland   
Belgium  
England 
Portugal 
Spain 
Lombardo-Venetian kingdom 
Parma, Modena, Tuscany 
Naples 
Papal States 
Switzerland  
Turkey 
Egypt 
Tunis and Tripoli 
Morocco 
United States 
Brazils  
South American republics 
Central America and the Antilles.
1
28
20
9
15
2
22
13
3
6
7
14
4
10
21
19
23
5
16
11
12
L.2,620,685
3,739
16,548
311,512
126,809
1,568,039
12,268
141,420
1,274,533
563,324
356,863
136,481
915,697
201,706
14,189
18,842
9,235
668,991
54,816
141,573
140,711
L.206,734
658
1,111
71,410
7,802
104,176
1,676
47,905
18,329
12,429
5,988
338
73,091
1,701
405
422
2,153
9,301
10,515
28.490
1
22
6
14
15
5
23
11
2
7
7
13
3
8
24
20
28
12
21
4
25
Carry forward.
L.9,297,981
L.604,634
L.2,997,608
9,527
275,551
24,138
26,148
303,904
8,939
56,400
849,251
168,149
78.280
28,802
624,922
84,520
5,262
12,940
30,256
10,956
442,408
4.843
L.6,042.804
L.2,533
25
43
47
247
"'77
16,041
1.876
5
4
1,024
55
425
1
1,994
L.24,399
Sardinia.
S A E D I N I A.
637
Table of Imports and Exports—Continued.
Countries.
Brought forward....
Mexico  
Russia 
Sweden, Norway, Denmark
Anseatic towns 
Greece 
East Indies 
Other countries  
Total
Degree of
Import¬
ance.
Official Value.
27
8
18
26
25
17
24
L.9,297,981
4,693
312,984
31,082
5,633
5,152
46.125
8,030
L.9,711,680
Duties Levied.
Degree of
import¬
ance.
L.604,634
54
1£9
1,528
201
49
177
556
L.607,358
19
10
17
18
16
26
27
Official Value.
L.6,042,804
14,814
75,749
17,862
17,509
20,234
4,198
Duties
Levied.
L.24,399
61
35
13
24
L.6,193,170 L.24,534
Sardinia.
Tlie internal commerce of the country, as well as its
land trade with the neighbouring states, has been greatly
favoured by the excellent carriage roads and the railways
opened within these few years. Two magnificent roads,
passing over Mount Simplon and Mount Cenis, and well
known to tourists, connect Turin with Switzerland ; a road
over the Maritime Alps, by the Col de Tende, connects it
with Nice; and two roads over the Apennines w ith
Genoa and Savona. Several high roads open communica¬
tions between Sardinia, Lombardy, and the duchies of
Parma and Piacenza; and a beautiful road along the
shore from the Var to Sarzana, places all the cities of the
Riviera in communication with each other, with the capi¬
tal, with Milan, and with France and Tuscany. In Janu¬
ary 1859 there were open for the public traffic the follow¬
ing railways:—From Turin to—Genoa, 167kilometres long;
Pinerolo, *38 kil.; Cuneo, 87 kil.; Susa, 53 kil. ; Ticino,
109 kil.; from Genoa to Voltri, 15 kil.; from Alessandria
to—Arona, 102 kil.; Stradella, 59 kil.; Acqui, 34 kil.; from
Mortara to Vigevano, 13 kil.; from Tortona to Novi, 16
kil.; from Savigliano to Saluzzo, 15 kil.; from Culoz to St
Jean de Maurienne, 106 kil.; from Chivasso to Ivrea,
32 kil.; from Santhia to Biella, 30 kil.; from Vercelli to
Valenza, 42 kil.: in all 918 kil., or 570 English miles.
From the reign of Duke Emmanuel Philibert (1553-
80), who abolished the political rights of the great feudal
vassals, the government of the states of the House of Savoy
became a purely absolute monarchy. The head of the
state being the only source of law, not only all laws ema¬
nated from him, and were promulgated in his name, but he
also abrogated them at his will, as well as all judgments and
decisions of any judicial body. He had an unrestrained
authority of imposing taxes, and the uncontrolled adminis¬
tration of the revenue. Even in the island of Sardinia,
though the form of convoking its national assembly, com¬
posed of the three Stamenti, or orders—of the clergy, the
nobles, and the representatives of the town—from the trans¬
fer of the island to the House of Savoy was sometimes re¬
sorted to for an augmentation of the taxes, yet the powers
of the Stamenti had gradually been limited to objects only
of a local and insignificant nature, and the government was
as absolute as in the continental states.
In 1848, however, the unlimited powers of the sovereign
were placed under proper restraints by a constitutional
charter {Slatuto Fondamentale del Regno) freely granted
by the late King Charles Albert on the 4th of March of
that year.
By this new constitution, whilst the executive power be¬
longs exclusively to the king, the legislative power is col¬
lectively exercised by the king and by two chambers, an
upper one, called Senato, and a lower one, called Camera
de Deputati. The upper chamber or Senate is composed
of an unlimited number of members nominated by the
king for life, from among persons at least forty years old,
and belonging to one of the twenty-one categories spe¬
cified by the charter. The princes of the royal family sit
by right in the Senate at twenty-one, but do not vote till
they are twenty-five years old. The number of senators
at present is ninety-eight.
The Lower House, or Chamber of Deputies, is elective.
A deputy must be thirty years old, and have the requi¬
sites established by the electoral law. The Chamber con¬
sists of 204 deputies, who are returned by a correspond¬
ing number of electoral colleges or districts, into which
the kingdom is divided. Neither senators nor deputies
receive any salary or indemnity. The duration of Parlia¬
ment, unless a dissolution takes place before, is five years.
The chambers meet annually, and in case of a dissolution
of the Lower House, a new chamber must be summoned
within four months. No tax can be imposed or levied
which has not previously been assented toby the Chambers
and sanctioned by the king. Each of the three powers of
the state has the right of introducing bills, but all money
bills must be introduced first in the Chamber of Deputies.
The sittings of the Chambers are public. No sitting is
valid unless an absolute majority of the members are pre¬
sent: the debates must be in Italian. The ministers of
the crown are entitled to attend the debates and to address
the houses whenever they deem it expedient; but they
have no vote unless they are members of either house.
The charter also declares the throne hereditary accord¬
ing to the Salic law; guarantees individual liberty and the
liberty of the press,—the latter, however, subject to a re¬
pressive law ; and establishes that judges, except those of
Mandamenti, are irremovable after having exercised their
functions for a period of three years.
The king’s ministry consists of eight departments:—
Presidency of the council; Foreign Affairs ; Home ; Grace
and Justice; War and Navy; Finances and Commerce;
Public Instruction; and Public Works. The public ad¬
ministration is carried out by an Intendente Generale and a
Council in the capital of every division, an Intendente and
provincial council in every province, and a Sindaco or
mayor in every commune. A Council of state residing at
Turin takes cognizance of appeals in all questions relating
to administrative matters.
Justice is imparted according to the Codice pel Regno
Sardo (which in substance is the Code Napoleon), and is
administered by means of—1. Justices of the peace esta¬
blished in the Mandamenti. 2. Provincial tribunals resid¬
ing in the capital of every province. 3. Several tribunals
of commerce, residing at Turin, Genoa, Savona, Nice, and
other cities. 4. Six courts of appeal, residing at Turin,
Chambery, Nice, Genoa, Casale, and Cagliari; each court
has two chambers, one for civil, and the other for criminal
matters. A branch of the court of appeal of Cagliari re¬
sides at Sassari. 5. A court of cassation residing at Turin,
which revises the judgments of the courts of appeal, and in
case of a violation of the law, annuls them, and sends the
parties before another court of appeal for a new trial. 6. A
638
SARDINIA.
Sardinia,
Regia Camera de 'Conti, or audit court, at Turin, with juris-
'' diction over all the accountable in the kingdom. 7. An
Admiralty court at Genoa.
For military purposes the Sardinian states are divided
into the five divisions of Turin, Genoa, Alessandria, Savov,
and Sardinia; and the two sub-divisions of Novara and
Nice. The army bears a very high character, and by her
gallant conduct in 1855 and 1856 earned praise from high
military authority in our country. It is recruited yearly,
in the continental possessions by means of a conscription,
and in the island of Sardinia, which is exempt from it, by
means of voluntary enlistment. Every conscript who does
not avoid service by providing a substitute, or every volun¬
teer who has enlisted, is bound to serve eight years, after
which, on retiring, he is enrolled in the provincial battalion
of his respective district, and for another period of eight
years is liable to be called into active service in case of
war. Without including the provincial battalions, the
whole regular force of the kingdom in 1854, whilst on peace
footing, numbered 47,524 men and 7602 horses. It was
raised to more than 60,000 in 1855, when Sardinia, having
joined England and France against Russia, sent 15,000 men
to the Crimea as her contingent. In 1858 it numbered
altogether 53,330 men, and was composed as follows :—
Infantry  20 regiments
Sharp-shooters (bersaglieri).... 11 battalions
Chasseurs (irregulars)  1 battalion
Cavalry  9 regiments
Carabineers, engineers, artil¬
lery, bodyguards, &c 
No. of Men.
28,000
6,600
780
5,715
12,235
Total  53,330
There were also twelve battalions of the National Guards.
The carabineers answer to the French gensdarmes, and per¬
form the service of the police.
I he fleet in 1858 consisted of four sailing frigates, four
steam frigates, four corvettes, three brigs, a schooner, ten
steamers, and other small craft; in all, forty ships, carrying
900 guns, and manned by about 3000 sailors and marines.
4 he stations were, Spezia, Genoa, Villafranca, and Cagliari.
According to the budget voted by the Chambers for the
present year 1859, the revenue of the kingdom is set at
L.5,816,430, 11s. 9d.; expenditure L.6,012,598, 16s. 6d.;
thereby showing a deficit of L.196,168, 4s. 9d. Of late
years there has always been an annual deficit, which has
chiefly been caused by the outlay for the army, the forma¬
tion of the naval station at Spezia, the repairs of the fortress
of Alessandria, and the construction of railways and other
public works ; and has been met by an increase of the tax¬
ation. The national debt, which in 1847 was only of
L.4,000,000 sterling, in 1856 had swelled to the sum of
L.27,240,000, bearing interest for L.2,000,000 at 4 per
cent., and for the remaining 25,240,000 at 5 per cent.
Such a great increase in the course of less than nine years
was brought on by an expense of nearly L.6,000,000, in¬
curred by the state for the construction of the railways from
jenoa to Turin, and from Alessandria to Arona; by the ex¬
traordinarily heavy expenses entailed by the war with
Austria in 1848-49; and by a loan of L.2,000,000, con¬
tracted in 1856 to meet the expenses of the Crimean ex-
pe ition. ie subjoined table will give an idea of the
various items of the revenue and expenditure. Here we
n°uC? t^lat a^)0)lt L. 1,341,997, or more than one-
i o 0 e expenditure, and nearly one-fourth of the
revenue o t le ingdom, is absorbed by the payment of the
interest on the national debt; and yet, on the whole, the
finances of Sardinia may be considered to be in a satisfac¬
tory state; for though the expenditure has been steadily
and yearly increasing since the establishment of a consti¬
tutional government, the revenue has equally increased in
proportion; and the country, owing to a much greater Sardinia,
amount of production and a considerable development of
commerce, caused by the liberal commercial policy of the
present administration, has scarcely felt the corresponding
increase of taxation.
Estimated Amount of the Pu1)hc Revenue and Expenditure
for 1859.
Revenue—Ordinary and Extraordinary.
Customs and excise  l.2 166 495
Direct taxes and domains  2 IGo'lSQ
Railways and other public works  563'361
Post-office
Consular offices 
Ministry of the interior 
Ministry of public instruction
Mint 
General treasury  
160,586
109,417
44,939
1,644
9,237
108,328
Total  L.5,765,671
Expenditure—Ordinary and Extraordinary.
Finances  L.3,124,172
  54,411
Foreign affairs
Grace and justice.
Public instruction
Interior 
Public works 
War  
Navy 
209,579
89 982
285,003
577,268
1,381,838
237,869
Total   L.5,960,222
Revenae  5,765,671
deficit  L.194,551
By the constitutional charter, the Roman Catholic reli¬
gion is the religion of the state, but perfect freedom of con¬
science is guaranteed to all existing dissenters. With the
exception, however, of some 25,000 Protestants, well known
by the name of \\ aldenses, and about 40,000 Jews, the inha¬
bitants of the Sardinian kingdom all adhere to the Roman
Catholic Church. The Waldenses, who have wonderfully
withstood long, frequent, and cruel persecutions, are settled
in the valleys of Luserna, Perosa, and San Martino, on the
eastern slope of the Alps in the western part of Piedmont,
between Susa and Nice. 1 hey have fifteen parishes, be¬
sides churches at Pinerolo, Turin, Alessandria, Genoa, and
Nice; and a college of the Holy Trinity at Torre, near Pine¬
rolo, in which their youths receive literary and theological
education. The Jews are scattered over all the continental
Italian states, and have twenty universities or syna°'o<Tues
of their own. * 0
I he Roman Catholic establishment is very extensive,
comprehending no less than seven archbishoprics,—Turin*
Chambery, Genoa, and Vercelli, on the continent; andCag-
liaii, Sassari, and Oristano, in the island ; and thirty-five
bishoprics, of which nine are in the island,—Galtelli Nuovo,
Iglesias, Ogliastra, Alghero, Ales, Ampurias, Tempio,
Bosa, and Bisarcio; and twenty-six on the continent,—
Maurienne, I arantaise, Annecy, Aosta, Susa, Pinerolo,
Acqui, Alba, Asti, Cuneo, Fossano, Ivrea, Mondovi, Sa-
luzzo, Alessandria, Biella, Casale, Novara, Vigevano, Al-
bena, Nizza, Bobbio, Sarzana, Savona, Tortona, and Ven¬
timiglia. Besides the chapter of ecclesiastics attached to
each cathedra], there are seventy-six collegiate churches with
their respective chapters. Every see has a seminary for
the education of the ecclesiastics. The island of Sardinia is
divided into 381, and the continental possessions into 3872
parishes. The number of monks and nuns was very large;
but by a law passed by the Chambers in May 1855 all re¬
ligious and monastic orders were suppressed, with the ex¬
ception of those actually employed in preaching, teaching,
or tending the sick.” On the carrying out of this law, it
was found that the various religious orders affected by it
were as follows :—
SARDINIA.
639
Sardinia.
Continental States.
Nuns.
Mendi¬
cants.
Total
Island.
Monks
and
Nuns.
Mendi- Total
cants.
Religious orders..
Houses 
14
66
11
46
136
248
40
47 335
Priests and sisters
Lay brothers and 1
sisters... J
Novices and ser- l
vants  |
557
215
Total.
781
814
265
1085
2306
4172
Gross income
Charges 
L.
26,512
8,587
Nett income.
17,925
L.
20,402
5,019
15,383
Average Income.
Per
House.
L.208
Per
Head.
L.20
A commission appointed to take possession of and admin¬
ister the estates of the suppressed orders published the
following returns of the income derived from them :—
From the cloisters  L.9,264
Other establishments  12,005
Landed property  41,290
Capitals  11,497
Various sources  28,908
Gross income  L.102,964
Passive  26,005
Nett income  L.76,959
The education of the people, which formerly was little
attended to, has of late attracted the attention of the govern¬
ment, and thereby made considerable progress. The king¬
dom is divided into the four academical districts of Turin,
Genoa, Cagliari, and Sassari, with a university in each of
those cities for the attainment of the higher branches of
knowledge. The university of Turin, the most important
of them, was founded in 1412, and is now very flourishing.
It consists of five faculties: theology, with eight chairs;
law, with fourteen ; medicine and surgery, with fourteen;
humanities, with twelve; and natural philosophy and mathe¬
matics, with fourteen. In each faculty there is a council
of doctors, by w hom the academical degrees are conferred.
The number of young men who attended the various facul¬
ties in 1858 was reckoned at about 1300. In the pro¬
vinces there are colleges and schools, in which young men
are prepared for the university degrees ; technical schools
for artizans ; and the seminaries already noticed, in which
those intended for the church receive their education. By
a law passed under the constitutional regime, every com¬
mune must provide teachers for the elementary education
of both sexes ; and the tables here annexed show the num¬
ber of these elementary schools, the attendance at them,
the total expenses for their support, as well as their steady
increase from 1854 to 1857. They also show the number
of private schools, and their decrease in proportion as public
schools increased. It will be seen that in 1857 there still
were 126 communes without any elementary schools for
boys, and 1019 communes that had no schools for girls.
Number of Public and Private Elementary Schools, and of
Communes without them, from 1854 to 1857.
Year.
1854
1855
1556
1857
Public Schools for Boys.
Higher.
221
234
254
280
Lower.
5066
5332
5672
5792
Com.
without
223
207
145
126
Public Schools for Girls,
Higher.
58
59
68
88
Lower.
2413
2604
2833
3158
Com.
without
1422
1289
1171
1019
Private Schools.
For
Boys.
605
557
477
429
For
Girls.
797
760
759
859
Number of Children attending Public and Private Ele- Sardinia.
mentary Schools, in each of the years 1855, 1856, and
1857.— The Population in 1848 was 4,916,087, and the
estimated number of Children from 6 to 12 years of age
702,433.
Public
Private
Males
Fem..
Males
Fem..
Winter.
Sum¬
mer.
233-983jl23,266
131,060
13,250
21,361
68,806
8,968
16,795
Winter.
244,390
141,287
9,827
18,819
Winter.
Sum¬
mer.
121,720 244,649
79,125 150,225
8,022
16,605
8,424
18,166
Sum
mer.
144,510
88,086
6,120
14,749
Salaries and other Expenses for the Support of Public
Elementary Schools from 1854 to 1857 ; with the sources
whence they are derived.
Years.
1854
1855
1856
1857
Amount of Salaries.
Males.
L.
83,178
88,981
92,894
98,579
Females.
L.
31,936
36,230
40,326
40,877
Total
Expenses.
L.
120,297
132,948
142,610
154,218
Sources whence Derived.
Cora- Legacies. nPriv,ate State,
" Donations.
L.
95,134
103,764
112,562
119,688
L.
16.669
18,009
20,375
19,986
L.
5447
7847
6451
7477
L.
3047
3328
3222
7067
The salaries of the teachers average—to men L.16, to women
L.13 per annum.
Of the teachers at all these schools, 2854 were in 1854
ecclesiastics, and 2510 laymen ; and in 1857, 3055 be¬
longed to the former, and 3917 to the latter class. In
1848, out of a population of 4,916,087, there were able to
write and read 754,309 men and 323,535 women ; and
able only to read 195,504 men, and 230,899 women. The
lowest state of education was in the island of Sardinia, in
which, out of 547,112 inhabitants, there were able to write
and read 68,484 men and 4238 women ; and only to read,
2928 men, and 3082 women. The returns of the last
census, when published, will no doubt show a very con¬
siderable improvement, especially in the continental pos¬
sessions ; for in the town of Turin alone, which in .1848-49
had only 22 public elementary schools, with a yearly ex¬
pense of 43,362 francs (L.1734, 10s.), in 1857-58 there
existed 174 schools, the support of which cost altogether
275,000 francs (L.l 1,000). Such are some of the bless¬
ings that a constitutional government has bestowed upon
Sardinia.
The kingdom is divided into fourteen administrative
Divisions, of which eleven include the continental posses¬
sions, and three the island of Sardinia. Each division is
divided into Provinces, each province into districts called
Mandamenti, and each mandamento into Communes; a
commune sometimes consists of several villages. There
are altogether 50 provinces, 502 mandamenti, and 3088
communes. There is a regular census taken every tenth
year on the 31st of December. As the detailed official
returns of the last census, taken on the 31st December
1857, have not yet been published, the following table will
show the extent of each province, its population, and that
of its chief town, the number of mandamenti into which it
is divided, and of the communes in each mandamento,
according to the returns of the census taken in December
1847. It will also show the population of each administrative
division as returned in December 1857. Of the island of
Sardinia, which has not yet been regularly surveyed, there
is only given the supposed area of the whole, with the de¬
pendent smaller islands. The name of the capital, when it
differs from that of the province is also given, as well as the
names of the other towns in the kingdom with a population
of more than 6000 inhabitants.
SARDINIA
640
Sardinia.
Administrative
Divisions.
Area in Square
Miles.
Population in 1848.
Turin
Genoa.
Savona.
Nizza.
CUNEO.
Alessandria ...
Novara
Ivrea 
Vercelli .
ClIAMBERY.
Annecy.
1.
2.
3.
4.
5.
6.
7.
8.
9.
10.
11.
12.
13.
14.
15.
16.
17.
18.
19.
20.
21.
22.
23.
24.
25.
26.
27.
28.
29
30.
31.
32.
33.
34.
35.
36.
37.
38.
39.
Torino .......
Pinerolo 
Susa 
Genoa 
Chiavari 
Novi 
Levante 
Savona 
Acqui 
Albenga  
Nizza 
Oneglia 
San Remo ...
Cuneo  
Mondovi 
Alba 
Saluzzo 
Alessandria..
Asti 
Voghera  
Tortona 
Bobbio 
Novara 
Lomellina 
Pallanza  
Ossola  
Valsesia  
Ivrea 
Aosta 
Vercelli 
Biella  
Casale 
Chambery ...
Alta Savoia.
Moriana  
Tarantasia ..,
Genevese ....
Paucigny 
Chablais 
Total .
1,117
593
539
358
354
289
261
311
445
263
1,180
175
265
1,003
679
408
622
332
351
308
257
269
533
480
312
521
292
562
1,233
473
377
335
634
377
798
706
620
786
356
19,774
411,959
133,233
81,834
285,230
116.077
65,016
78,859
78,906
101,202
59,993
118,377
60,072
64,541
179,636
148,450
118,844
153,942
117,870
136,065
101,695
58,853.
37,833
178,069
139,649
64,030
36,331
35,879
168,561
81,232
121,806
130,691
120,428
152,468
50,872
64,239
45,723
107.474
105.474
57,562
Divisions.
Capitals.
627,026
545,182
240,101
242,990
600,872
452,316
j 453,958
j 249,793
372,925
313,3q2
270,510
   143,157
  14,259
  3,270
  100,382
  10,915
  10,772
(Spezia) 10,558
  18,068
4,358,975
8,254
4,410
36,804
5,867
10,252
20,564
17,370
8,577
14,438
41,653
24,146
11,454
12,383
4,090
  21,725
 (Mortara) 5,68^
   2,435
(Domodossola) 2,089
 (Varallo) 3,318
f   9,570
\  6,770
18,353
8,302
22,203
16,169
..(Albertville) 3,804
 (St Jean) 3,098
...(Moutiers) 2.072
 (Annecy) 9,074
(Bonneville) 2,168
....(Thonon) 4,488
Pop. in 1858.
680,868
570,332
244,949
256,603
618,813
496,946
480,836
257,507
401,573
313,891
267,942
4,590,260
Island of Sardinia.
Cagliari 
N uoro.
Sassari
40. Cagliari .
41. Jglesias..
42. Isili 
43. Oiistano.
44 Nuoro....
45. Lanusei..
46. Cuglieri ,
47. Sassari ..
48. Alghero .
49. Ozieri ...
50. Tempio .,
Sardinia 
Continental States
Capraia  
Total
9,301
19,774
29,075
106,388
42,598
48,958
78,189
58,882
27,530
37,522
65,821
34,108
24,456
22,660
276,133
123,934
147,045
547,112
4,368,975
4,640
4,920,627*
27,140
4,800
2,276
5,745
4,769
2,005
4.133
21,853
8,716
7,481
8,577
300,134
127,328
149,820
577,282
4,590,260
4,741
5,172,283
Sardinia.
* Of the total 4,920,627, 2,484,059 were men, and 2,436,568 were women.
The following is a List of the other Towns vnth more than 6000 Inhabitants :—
Fossano 
Vigevano ...
Savigliano .
Chieri  
Carmagnola
Itapallo 
Racconigi ..
Voltri 
Cherasco ....
Boves 
16,423
14,530
.14,447
.13,920
12,958
.10,522
.10,343
.10,005
. 9,982
. 9,713
l Barge   9,694
Busca   9,375
Moncalieri  9,334
Sarzana   9.130
S. Pier d-Arena... 9,078
Villafranca  8,820
Valenza   8,735
Chivasso  8,477
Sestri a Levante... 8,468
Varazze  8,451
Trino  8,217
Dronero  7,890
Carignano  7,804
Oleggio  7,746
San Damiano  7,396
Demonte   7,364
Porto Maurizio ... 7,040
Cavour   6.911
Varese  6,906
Lavagna  6,890
Paesana  6,806
S. Salvatore  6,751
Castelnuovo Scri-
via  6,730
Ventimiglia  6,595
Rivarolo   6,592
Vigone  6.551
Ovada  6,497
Caraglio  6,471
Peveragno  6,458
Sta. Margherita.. .
Galliata 
Quarto 
Poirino  
Garesio  
Chiusa 
Stradella 
Bena  
Corio 
6,421
6,361
6,322
6,320
6,202
6,046
6,044
6,039
6,027
SARDINIA.
641
Sardinia. The population for the last thirty years has steadily
l''—though slowly increased. Thus the Stati di Terra Ferma,
which in 1838 had 4,125,735 inhabitants, in 1848 had
4,368,975, and 4,590,260 in December 1857. The varia¬
tions in the population of the island of Sardinia were greater.
In 1775, 426,375; in 1800, 361,445; in 1809, 359,344;
in 1815, 362,405 ; in 1828, 436,357; in 1838, 496,205;
in 1848, 547,112 ; and in 1858, 577,282. The great fall
of the population from 1775 to 1800 has never been well
accounted for; and it is remarkable that the decrease con¬
tinued even after the island had become the residence of
the royal family, on the occupation of the continental pos¬
sessions by the French. According to the census of 1838,
which is taken in preference, as its returns were not in any
way affected by revolutions or wars, the Stati di Terra
Ferma, on the 31st December 1837, were inhabited by
2,072,707 men and 2,053,028 women. In the course of
that year there had been 306,902 marriages, 1,303,250
deaths, and 1,457,493 births, of which 30,474 illegitimate,
—the average of illegitimate being 2’09, and that of legi¬
timate births 97'91 per cent. The maximum of natural
children is of 3 per cent, at Turin, and the minimum is of
1’03 per cent, in the province of Alessandria. The maxi¬
mum of births takes place in the following order :—March,
April, January, October ; the minimum in June and De¬
cember. The greatest number of marriages take place in
February, January, April, November; and the smallest
number in December and March. Out of their total number
in 1837 there had been in February, 62,188; January,
47,022; April, 32,108 ; November, 26,131; March, 13,053;
December, 10,054. With regard to age, the greatest
number marry from 20 to 25 years old. In 1837, 23
men and 288 women had married from 12 to 14, and 4052
men and 949 women more than 56 years old. The maxi¬
mum of deaths occurs in February and August; the mini¬
mum in June and October. An idea of the longevity in
the continental possessions may be formed from the follow¬
ing numbers:—Out of 1,303,250 deaths that occurred in
1837, 15,734 were still-born; 158,542 died before they
were a month old; 152,843 from 1 month to 1 year old;
95,333 from 1 to 2 years old; and so on, decreasing to
the minimum of 5130 from 12 to 13 years old; 92,956
had died from 50 to 60; 121,665 from 60 to 70; 100,614
from 70 to 80; 39,274 from 80 to 100, and 362 more
than 100 years old.
Little is known of the early history of the various states
which now form the continental possessions of Sardinia be¬
fore they fell under the Roman power. From that time
they followed the fate of Rome, and eventually were over¬
run by the various northern nations that overthrew the
empire. Most of the territories south of the Alps, in the
sixth century, fell under the Longobards, in whose history
the' dukes of Ivrea, of Asti, of Aosta, of Turin, &c., play
an important part. When Charlemagne put an end to the
Longobard kingdom the country fell under the sway of
several small counts, dukes, and marquises, who, sometimes
as vassals of the empire, sometimes asserting their inde¬
pendence, succeeded in holding possession of it till they
were gradually swept away by a more able, more power¬
ful, or more fortunate one of their number, and their petty
states absorbed into a monarchy.
The House of Savoy is one of the most ancient sovereign
families in Europe. Its earliest historical progenitor, and
the founder of its power, was Umberto Biancamano, or
Whitehand (flour. 1003-1045), a liege baron of the Bur¬
gundian kings, and a descendant, according to some genea¬
logists, of Berengarius II., Marquis of Ivrea and King of
Italy ; and according to others, of Louis the Blind, King of
Provence and Italy, and emperor. Umberto’s original pos¬
sessions seem to have been the county of Salmonrec in the
Viennois, to which eventually he added the counties of
VOL. XIX.
Noyon and Bellay, the Chablais, the Maurienne, the Ta-
rantaise, Savoy, and Aosta. Rudolph III., at his death
without issue in 1032, having appointed his joint heirs his
widow Ermengarda and Conrad the Salique, the Burgun¬
dian Barons refused to comply with his will, and asserted
their independence. Umberto alone remained faithful, and
having led an army by the valley of Aosta across the Alps,
enforced obedience to the widow and to Conrad. This
act of chivalry strengthened the foundation of his power.
His son Odo, by marrying Adelaid, only offspring of the
royal family of jthe Harduins, added the county of Turin
and great part of the surrounding country to his paternal
states. The power of the House of Savoy was established.
Ever since, through the course of eight centuries—through
many vicissitudes of fortune, such as at times had nearly
brought it to its total ruin—the House of Savoy has gone
on slowly, but steadily gaining power and influence; and
whilst all the other great mediaeval Italian families, such as
the Estes, the Gonzagas, the Viscontis, the Sforzas, the
Carraras, the Medicis, have disappeared, the descendants
of Umberto Biancamano are still powerful and flourishing.
As it is not consistent with the plan of this work to give
a regular history of the Sardinian states, we shall confine
ourselves to a short notice of the principal events by which
they were gradually brought together into a monarchy.
The reign of Charles III., in the beginning of the six¬
teenth century, was a period of great misfortunes for the
House of Savoy. The progress of the new religious opi¬
nions tore away from his possessions the Canton de Vaud,
Geneva, and the lower Valais, and deprived him of the
alliance of Berne and Fribourg. During the contests be¬
tween Francis I. of France and the Emperor Charles V.,
Duke Charles III. having attended the coronation of the
emperor at Bologna, Francis invaded Piedmont, and, by a
royal edict of February 1537, declared it a French pro¬
vince, which had been unlawfully detached from the king¬
dom. Charles died in misery at Vercelli, attended only
by his barber, in 1553. Emmanuel Philibert (1553-80),
the heir to the ducal crown of Savoy, was living in poverty
at the court of Charles V.; but he was a man of great
energy of character, of an iron will, and of remarkable mili¬
tary talent. The battle of St Quintin is well known in
history. By the treaty of Chateau Cambresis that fol¬
lowed it, Emmanuel Philibert, to whose wisdom and valour
the Spaniards chiefly owed their victory, recovered all the
possessions of his ancestors, and was the second real founder
of the greatness of his house. One of his most important
measures was that of abolishing political feudality, and, by
substituting a fixed annual payment in money instead of
the military service of the great vassals, forming a stipen¬
diary regular infantry, which enabled him to restore order
in the country, and to defend it from foreign enemies. His
successors in the dukedom were Charles Emmanuel I.
(1580-1630), Victor Amadeus I. (1630-37), Francis Hya¬
cinth (1637), Charles Emmanuel II. (1638-74), and Victor
Amadeus II. (1675).
The latter sovereign, who during his long reign (1675-
1730) was almost constantly at war with France or Spain,
was the first king of Sardinia. On the breaking out of the
war of the Spanish succession in 1700, at first he followed
the part of the French; but, indignant at the treatment he
met with from Louis XIV. and his generals, for a whole
year he took no part in the war. But at length, tempted
by the offers of the allied powers, Austria, Holland, and
England, in 1703 he declared himself against France. After
many reverses, which had nearly deprived him of all his
possessions, finally the battle of Turin, won by the imperial
army under the command of Prince Eugene of Savoy on
the 7th September 1706, compelled the French to raise
the siege of his capital and retire from Italy. By the treaty
of Turin of March 13, 1707, all the possessions which the
Sardinia.
642 SARD
Sardinia. French held by virtue of the rights and in the name of
/ Spain Italy, were surrendered to Austria; and the latter
power ceded to Victor Amadeus, as the price of his co¬
operation, the Lomellina, the Montferrat, the district of
Alessandria, and the Valsesia. The power of the House of
Savoy was thus extended into Lombardy, which Victor
Amadeus used to compare to an artichoke that was to be
eaten leaf by leaf. At the final end of the war, by the
peace of Utrecht in April 1713, and the treaties of Rastadt
and Basle in March and September 1714, Spain gave up
the island of Sardinia to the emperor, and the island of
Sicily to Victor Amadeus, who thereupon assumed the
name of King of Sicily. This arrangement, favourable 10
the House of Savoy, was due chiefly to the influence of
• England.
But at the death of Louis XIV., Spain, which was then
governed by Cardinal Alberoni, tried by going to war to
recover her losses, and at once re-took possession of Sicily
and Sardinia. The quadruple alliance formed against
her compelled her in 1720 to a peace, by which the House
of Austria retained Naples, and had Sicily added to it, and
the island of Sardinia was given to the House of Savoy, to
make up for the loss of Sicily. From that time the dukes
of Savoy became kings of Sardinia.
The early history of this island is wrapped up in dark¬
ness, and the accounts that the ancient writers have left us
of the origin of its first settlers are extremely various and
conflicting. But whatever may be thought of them, the
high antiquity of its settlement is attested by durable mo¬
numents, the materials, height, and construction of which
are different from almost any other that are to be found.
These Cyclopean structures are very numerous, more than
twelve hundred of them having been found and recorded
in the island. They are called Nuraggis both by ancients
and moderns, being in height about 50 feet, and in diameter
at the base about 90 feet. They are strong buildings, in
the form of a truncated cone, composed of masses of stone
from 2 to o or 6 feet square, arranged in layers without
cement. The materials are lava, freestone, porphyry, or
such other substances as the respective sites afford; and
they generally crown the summits of hills commanding
plains, where they are seen in every state, some being
nearly complete, and others a mere heap of rubbish. On
entering these edifices, which is effected by a low door, the
structure is found to, extend below the surface of the sur¬
rounding earth. The interior space is almost invariably
divided into two floors, each consisting of a vaulted room,
to which access is gained from a ramp between two con¬
centric walls, and leading to the summit, where a flight of
steps completes the ascent. The nuraggis are of two dis¬
tinct kinds. Those which are the most common have no
marks of the chisel, and are constructed of massive blocks
with irregular faces, and smaller stones in the interstices;
the materials of the others exhibit exteriors formed by tools,
though the stones are not exactly square, but are placed
with a stricter regard to keeping the horizontal layers, and
gradually diminish in size towards the summit.
There have been various conjectures respecting the pro¬
bable object of these buildings. The darkness of their in¬
terior, and the fragments of terra-cotta found in them, would
indicate their having been monuments for the dead ; a belief
so general that they have obtained in their neighbourhood
the name of Domu de Orcu, or the house of death; but
the pottery being evidently Roman, and in some instances
accompanied by coins of the lower empire, indicates only
that such was the use made of them at a late period. Cap¬
tain Smyth, who examined these ancient monuments, says,
“ From their laborious construction, their number, and
their general situation on curcureddus, or eminences, more
or less distant from each other, I cannot but suppose they
were designed to answer the double purpose of mausolea
I N I A.
for the eminent dead, and as asyla for the living, especially Sardinia,
as many of them are flanked with smaller nuraggis having
a subterraneous communication. But the mystery in which
they are involved will probably remain impenetrable, since
none of them exhibit the least trace of either literal or
symbolical characters.”
At whatever periods these remarkable works were erected,
a long time elapsed before any precise notice is to be dis¬
covered of the history of Sardinia, until about the year 500
before Christ, when the Carthaginians under Malchus, after
a victorious campaign in Sicily, attempted the conquest of
the island. They were repulsed with such loss, however,
as left it in repose for some time ; but at length the Cartha¬
ginians succeeded in gaining a footing and maintaining
themselves in the island, till they surrendered their claims
over it to the Romans, b.c. 238. The latter, however, did
not effect its subjugation till after several campaigns.
At the fall of the Roman empire, Sardinia, by successive
conquests, passed into the hands of the Vandals, the Sara¬
cens, and the Spaniards, in whose power it remained from
1324 till they lost it, as has already been noticed, during
the war of the Spanish succession.
The war of the Polish succession (1733-38), which
caused important changes in Italy, brought to the House
of Savoy Tortona and Novara; and by the war of the
Austrian succession, on the death of the Emperor Charles
VI., Sardinia gained the districts of Vigevano and
Bobbio, which Maria Theresa ceded to Charles Emmanuel
in reward for his services.
Such was the state of Sardinia when the French attached
it in 1792. In 1798 their successes were such as to com¬
pel the king, Charles Emmanuel IV., to abandon the
capital, Turin, and the whole of his continental dominions.
He withdrew to Leghorn, where he received with delight
deputies from the Stamenti of the island of Sardinia,
assuring him of the entire devotion of the people to his
person and government. Satisfied with these assurances
he embarked, and, escorted by an English frigate, arrived
at Cagliari on the 3d of March 1799, where he was en¬
thusiastically welcomed.
The successes of the Russian general Suwarof induced
his majesty to return to the Continent, till, hearing while in
Tuscany of the battle of Marengo, and being inconsolable
for the death of his wife, the sister of Louis XVI., he abdi¬
cated in favour of the Duke of Aosta in March 1802, and
resided in privacy at Rome, where he died in 1819. His
successor, Victor Emmanuel, remained some time in Italy,
in the hope of gaining his continental dominions ; but see¬
ing little prospect of succeeding, he left Naples, at which
place he had resided since his accession, and arrived in
Sardinia on the 17th of February 1806, where he remained
secure under the protection of England.
The son of Charles Emmanuel followed the footsteps of
his father in opposing the principles of the French revolu¬
tion, which was then spreading its effects over all Europe,
and nowhere more generally than in the continental part
of the kingdom of Sardinia. The events of that period are
to be found narrated in this work in the historical part
of the article France. We need only state here,
therefore, that the King of Sardinia returned to his conti¬
nental capital in 1814, and by the treaty of Vienna the
duchy or ancient republic of Genoa was added to his do¬
minions. By the same treaty he ceded to the state of
Geneva the circles of Carouge and Chesne, containing
12,700 inhabitants.
Victor Emmanuel on his restoration re-established, as far
as could be done, the old order of things, except that he
confirmed the purchases of confiscated property made under
the French, restored to the former owners only the few
estates that had not been sold, and allotted an annual sum
of L.16,000 as some compensation to those whose property
SARD
►Sardinia, had been plundered. But he became a zealous member of
^ the Holy Alliance, again introduced the Jesuits, established
a very severe censorship of the press, and introduced such
restrictions on the process of education in the universities
and the colleges and seminaries as he judged advisable to
check the prevailing tendency to infidelity and immorality.
These measures, combined with the general state of Italy,
caused in 1821 an insurrection, the particulars of which, as
well as a summary of the events of 1848, and the esta¬
blishment of a liberal constitutional government in the
country, are given in this work under Italy.
The liberal institutions granted by the late King Charles
Albert in 1848, have been maintained by his son and suc¬
cessor, the present King Victor Emmanuel; and during
the last seven years the country, under a wise and enlight¬
ened administration, has made great progress in agricultural
improvements, in commerce, in general wealth, and in
education.
Such was the state of Sardinia in January 1859. Since
that time important events have happened, which seemed
to endanger, not only her constitutional liberties, but
even her very existence as an independent power. The
gigantic struggle that for two months strewed the plains of
Northern Italy with human bodies, has just come to an
end ; but its results being dependent upon a peace, the real
terms of which are still wrapped up in mystery, and are at
this moment being arranged at Zurich, we shall only give
here a very rapid sketch of the causes and the course of the
war we have recently witnessed.
Ever since the conclusion of the disastrous war with
Austria in 1848 and 1849, the relations between Sardinia
and that country, far from being on a friendly footing, had
been such as to lead at last to an interruption of diplomatic
relations. For an explanation of their hostile attitude, we
must go back, at least, to 1815; since which time, when¬
ever an attempt was made on the part of any of the Italian
States for freedom—as in 1820 at Naples, and in Piedmont;
and in 1830 in the Legations and the Duchy of Modena—the
iron hand of Austria interposed, and re-established the
stringent despotism of previous governments. It was either
at the direct bidding of Austria—as in Tuscany, Parma,
and Modena; or by Austrian counsel, countenance, and
support—as in Naples and the Papal dominions,—that the
constitutional charters, granted in 1848, were, in the course
of 1849 and 1850, suppressed, and a despotic and reaction¬
ary policy resorted to.
Sardinia alone, after 1848, preserved her liberal institu¬
tions, and fairly worked out a regular constitutional go¬
vernment. Hence her very position as a free state, in
direct antagonism to the military despotism by which the
Lombardo-Venetian kingdom was swayed, became a stand¬
ing menace to Austria. The feeling of nationality, and
the liberal aspirations of the Italian subjects of the latter
power, not only were kept alive by the constitutional liber¬
ties thriving in a neighbour Italian state, but found expres¬
sion and sympathy, and were constantly fanned by the free
Sardinian press, which never failed to register and expose
any general act of despotism, or any instance of individual
wrong and oppression, exercised by the Austrian rulers of
Lombardy and Venice. For the attacks by the press
Austria often demanded redress from Sardinia; and was
uniformly answered, that the press being free by the con¬
stitution, the government had no control over it; but if the
newspapers made false statements, they might be prose¬
cuted for libel. Many Lombards and Venetians, to escape
persecution after 1849, availing themselves of the permis¬
sion to expatriate given by the Austrian laws, had estab¬
lished themselves in Sardinia, where some of them even
sat in the Chambers, or filled high official situations. It
was in the nature of things, that as Austria was the coun-
tenancer and supporter of the despotic rulers, so the con-
I N I A. 643
stitutional party, all over Italy, should look up to Sardinia Sardinia,
as their representative and leader, and the power by which
they might expect a voice to be raised in their behalf.
Under such circumstances it was evident that Austria
would never have a peaceful supremacy in Italy, so long
as a constitutional government existed in Sardinia; and
that, on the other hand, the liberal institutions of the latter
country were constantly in danger of being trampled upon
by the former, whenever a favourable opportunity occurred.
This state of things had almost daily been growing worse,
when a few significant words of menace offered by the
French emperor to the Austrian ambassador, at Paris, on
New Year’s day, 1859, accelerated a crisis, which other¬
wise wrould have been only delayed, not avoided. Austria,
suspecting the existence of an accord against her between
France and Sardinia, poured a formidable force into Italy,
and assumed a threatening attitude towards the latter
power, by bringing a division of her army up to the fron¬
tier, on the Ticino, and by strongly fortifying and garri¬
soning Piacenza, in the duchy of Parma.
Sardinia protested against the Austrian movements,
especially against the fortification and occupation of Pia¬
cenza, contrary to the treaties of 1815. At the same time
she made preparations for defence, and applied to France
and England for assistance, in case of attack. The rela¬
tions between France and Sardinia grew at this time closer,
by means of a marriage between Princess Clotilde, a daugh¬
ter of King Victor Immanuel, and Prince Louis Napo¬
leon.
Our government, under Lord Derby’s administration,
endeavoured to bring the parties to an understanding ; and
to that effect Lord Cowley, from the embassy at Paris, was
sent by Lord Malmesbury on a special, but, as it turned
out, fruitless mission to Vienna. It was proposed that
Austria should give up the separate treaties she had made,
since 1815, with the smaller Italian powers, and should
withdraw from the Duchies and the Legations. The
efforts of England were, in a certain way, thwarted by the
proposal of a congress by Russia. But the rather too
favourable attitude we assumed towards Austria, by raising
a hope, that, in case of war, we would eventually join her,
may possibly have tended to induce her to take the step
which finally led to the rupture of peace. For w’hilst
arrangements for a pacific solution of the difficulties were
still going on, Austria addressed to Sardinia a peremptory
summons to disarm within three days. The Sardinian
government having answered, that though it was unreason¬
able for the strong to ask the weak to disarm, yet they
would abide by the decision of France and England.
After a few days, at the end of April, the Austrian army,
in three bodies, crossed the Ticino, and invaded the Sar¬
dinian territory.
Had Count Gyulai, the Austrian commander-in-chief,
pushed on with the greatly superior force he had, the Sar¬
dinians would scarcely have been able to cover Turin ; and
they were so much prepared to give it up, if necessary,
that the state archives had been removed to Chamberg.
But before the arrival of the French, the Austrians lost an
invaluable time in comparative inaction, and in exacting
heavy, and almost marauding, requisitions of provisions of
every kind, and money, in the provinces of Lomellina, Ver-
celli, and Novara.
Meanwhile a large French force, which was sent on the
first news of the Austrian summons, began to pour its
numbers into Italy, across the Mont Cenis and the Mont
Genevre, and by Genoa, in aid of the Sardinians; and, on
the 12th of May, the French emperor himself landed at
the latter place, and assumed the command-in-chief of the
French and Sardinian armies.
An imperial manifesto promised the independence of
Italy, from the Mediterranean to the Adriatic Sea; and for
6M SARDINIA.
Sardinia, a time it seemed as if the promise was to be fulfilled. In
wv-ras”'' less than two months from the commencement of hostili¬
ties, the Austrians, beaten in every encounter, were driven
back from the Sesia and the Po, beyond the Mincio.
The main body of the French army assembled at first
round Alessandria. Large forces were afterwards concen¬
trated on the right, and seemed to aim at Piacenza, and
forcing a passage of the Po, between that fortress and
Pavia. An endeavour of the Austrians to dislodge them
from their position led, on the 20th, to the battle of Mon-
tabello. The French were reposing within their lines,
when, at 11 A.M., the Piedmontese outposts gave the alarm.
A Sardinian cavalier, covered with blood and dust, galloped
into the French camp, calling out, “ To arms! the Aus¬
trians!” A detachment of Sardinian cavalry, under General
Sonnaz, and two French battalions of the line, commanded
by General Forey, had to sustain for hours an unequal
combat against overwhelming forces. At length, strong
French reinforcements having been brought up from
Voghera, the head-quarters of Marshal Paraguay D’Hillier’s
division, the Austrians, after a sanguinary struggle of six
hours’ duration, were repulsed, driven out of Montabello,
and, fairly beaten, retreated to Casteggio.
After several skirmishes on the 31st, the main body of
the French army crossed the Po at Casale, and took the
road to Yercelli, where the passage of the Sesia was car¬
ried out by the successful action of Palestro, to cover their
rapid march on Novara. At the same time, two actions,
gallantly fought by the Sardinians, made the Austrians be¬
lieve that the French were marching on Mortara, in the
centre of their line.
By these strategic movements the allies outflanked the
right wing of the Austrian army. On the 2d of June,
General M‘Mahon, with his division, threw a bridge over
and crossed the Ticino at Turbigo, and marched towards
Magenta, on the road to Milan; whilst the emperor, with
other army corps, advanced towards the bridge of Buf-
falora.
The Austrians having learned, on the night of the 2d,
the passage of the Ticino at Turbigo, rapidly sent across
that river, at Vigerano, three army corps, and on the 4th
opposed at once the passage at Buffalora, and attacked
MdMahon’s division at Magenta. A fearful struggle took
place, in which the troops on each side engaged in the
action exceeded 100,000 men. After a sanguinary con¬
flict, which lasted more than eight hours, during which the
Imperial and Sardinian guards took and retook the position
six times, at half-past eight p.m. the allies remained masters
of the field of battle; and the Austrians, who, according to
the French accounts, had 15,000 killed and wounded, with¬
drew, leaving 4 guns, 2 flags, 5000 prisoners, 12,000 mus¬
kets, and 30,000 knapsacks. The loss of the allies was put
down at 4000. Two French and one Austrian general fell
in battle. General McMahon, to whom the victory was
chiefly owed, was created a field-marshal and Duke of
Magenta.
This victory was followed up by another signal success
at Melegnano, from which place Marshal Paraguay D’Hil-
liers, on the 8th, dislodged bodies of Austrian troops that
had entrenched themselves. The Austrian loss was esti¬
mated at nearly 2000; the French at 943, among whom
were 69 officers.
I he Austrian accounts, which admitted a loss only of
5000 men at Magenta, greatly deprived the action of its
former proportions, and represented it more like a drawn
battle than a victory. Its great importance, however, was
proved by its practical results. In conjunction with the
brilliant action of Melegnano, not only it opened the way to
Milan to the allies, but it cleared Lombardy of the Aus¬
trians; at first, as far as the Adda, and afterwards the
Mincio. Pavia, Brescello, Pizzighettone, and Piacenza,
were hastily evacuated ; and the great fortifications, con- Sardinia,
structed at the latter place with so much labour and ex-
pense, which gave one of the pretexts for the present war,
were destroyed. In every direction the Austrians fell back
upon their reserves in the fortresses beyond the Mincio.
They precipitately retired even from Ancona and Bologna,
in the Papal States, which they had occupied since 1849.
On the 8th of June, the day of the battle of Melegnano,
Napoleon III. and Victor Emmanuel entered Milan, among
the enthusiastic greetings of the inhabitants.
On the same day, by a proclamation to the Italians, Na¬
poleon III., after disclaiming any view of personal ambition,
or enlargement of the territory of France, and only claiming
the moral influence of contributing to render free one of the
most beautiful parts of Europe, invited them all to unite in
one sole object, the enfranchisement of their own country.
“ Form a military organization,” he continued ; “hasten all
of you to place yourselves under the flag of King Victor
Emmanuel, who has already so nobly shown you the path
of honour. Remember, that without discipline there is no
army; and, animated with the sacred fire of justice, be no¬
thing to-day but soldiers. To-morrow you will be free
citizens of a great country.”
The Austrians, under General Count Schlick, the suc¬
cessor of Gyulai, who was deposed in consequence of the
defeat of Magenta, continued their retreat along the north
bank of the Po, within the quadrangle of the fortresses of
Peschiera, Verona, Mantua, and Legnano; and the allies,
keeping the northerly road, crossed the Adda and the Oglio
without opposition.
On the 22d of June, the hostile armies had come so
nearly face to face, as to make it evident that a great battle
was imminent. The allies were encamped between the
Chiese and the Mincio, occupying Lenato, Castigliona, and
Montechiaro; and having their left wing resting on the high
ground near Brescia and the southern end of the lake of
Garda. At their extreme left was General Garibaldi, who,
with the Cacciatori della Alpi, a body of volunteers, after a
most daring and brilliant series of manoeuvres round the
extreme northern frontiers of Lombardy, had come down on
the Lake of Garda. The Austrian forces were on the left
bank of the Mincio, resting with their right on Peschiera
and Verona, and with their left wing on Mantua.
On the 23d, the Austrians poured out their numbers
from Mantua, Verona, and Peschiera; and, led by their
young emperor, Francis-Joseph, who had assumed the
command-in-chief, in the course of the evening crossed the
Mincio at four different places, confident of defeating the
allies, and driving them beyond the Chiese.
On the 24th, one of the bloodiest battles on record took
place. The Austrians began the attack at daylight; and
at 10 a.m. the whole of the two armies had come into col¬
lision. The battle lasted fifteen hours, and extended along
a line of nearly 18 miles, from the neighbourhood of Brescia
down towards Mantua. The right wing of the Austrians
occupied Pozzolengo, where they met the Sardinians; their
centre was at Caviana and Solferino, whilst their left wing
marched on Guidinolo and Castel Goffredo, and for a time
succeeded in repulsing the French.
The day was decided by a concentrated attack, made
about three o’clock p.m., by the French Emperor on Sol¬
ferino, a village in a commanding situation, where the Aus¬
trians had fortified themselves. After several hours of
desperate fighting, the place was carried by the French,
who, thereby breaking the Austrian centre, moved large
masses against their left wing, which, having pushed on
almost to the Chiese, was in danger of being surrounded
and cut out. Late in the evening, the young Emperor of
Austria, with tears in his eyes, saw that the day was irre*
coverably lost, and gave the order for the retreat beyond
the Mincio, which was accomplished under the protection
S A R
S A R
645
Sardis, of a violent storm, that had begun to rage since three o’clock
in the afternoon.
Few battles, in modern history, have been marked
with more slaughter and horror. More than 300,000 hu-
. man beings were brought into a close fight, and at night
35,000 of them, at least, were dead or dying. The French,
according to their own statement, had 12,720 killed and
wounded, and the Sardinians 5525. The Austrian loss,
which was put by them at 11,213, is generally asserted to
have exceeded 18,000. Numerous prisoners, 13 pieces of
cannon, 2 flags, and large quantities of arms and ammuni¬
tions, fell into the hands of the allies; and Napoleon III.
slept at Solferino, in the very apartment which, the pre¬
vious night, had been occupied by Francis-Joseph.
After the battle of Solferino, the command-in-chief of
the Austrian army was given to Baron Hess, who offered
no opposition to the passage of the Mincio by the allies.
On the 1st of July, the latter received a reinforcement of
35,000 men, brought by Prince Napoleon through Florence
and Modena.
Whilst the Sardinians were investing Peschiera, a French
division was at Goito to watch Mantua; Garibaldi’s Cac-
ciatori delli Alpi, supported by General Cialdine’s division,
were moving to close up the valley of the Adige; and the
emperor, with the main body of the army, was approaching
Verona,—the startling news was received that Napoleon had
sent an aide-de-camp to ask for an armistice; and that, on
the 7th July, an armistice was actually concluded between
him and Francis-Joseph, and commissioners already ap¬
pointed to agree upon its terms. Events took at once a
pacific turn. On the 11th, the two emperors met at Villa-
franca, and signed a peace, the basis of which were thus
vaguely announced:—
“ Italian Confederation under the honorary presidency of
the Pope.
“ The Emperor of Austria cedes his rights to Lombardy
to the Emperor of the French, who transfers them to the
King of Sardinia.
“ The Emperor of Austria preserves Venice ; but she
will form an integral part of the Italian Confederation.
“ General amnesty.”
The intelligence of the peace, and its terms, were re¬
ceived with bitter disappointment in Italy; and no where
more, perhaps, than in Tuscany, Parma, Modena, and the
Legations. From the beginning of the war those states
had overthrown their despotic governments; and, encou¬
raged by the French Emperor’s proclamations, had de¬
clared their wish of joining in the war against Austria,
and uniting themselves to Sardinia. The peace of Villa-
franca threatened them with a restoration of their despotic
rulers.
As it has already been stated, the real terms of the peace
are at this moment being settled at Zurich, among the
envoys of Austria, France, and Sardinia. In the mean¬
time, at Parma, at Modena, at Bologna, and at Florence,
representative assemblies have been summoned, which have
expressed the national wish of resisting any attempt to re¬
establish their previous governments, and of placing them¬
selves under Victor Emmanuel. On the 3d September, a
Tuscan deputation presented to Victor Emmanuel, at
Turin, an address, stating the unanimous proclamation by
the Tuscan Assembly of the will of Tuscany to form part
of an Italian kingdom under his constitutional sceptre.
The king replied, that the accomplishment of their wish
could only take place by negotiations, which were about to
begin, on the affairs of Italy; that he would second their
desire, and support it before the European powers, espe¬
cially before the French Emperor, who had done so much
for the Italian nation.
Whether, and on what terms and conditions, Lombardy
will really be annexed to Sardinia; and whether Tuscany,
Parma, and Modena, will eventually form part of the con¬
stitutional kingdom of the descendant of Umberto Bianca-
mano, the lapse, possibly, only of a few months will show.
At the present moment (September 1859), everything is
in a state of great confusion and uncertainty. (***)
Sardonic
Laughter
I!
Sari.
SARDIS, or Sardes, anciently the capital of Lydia, in
Asia Minor, stood at the foot of Mount Tmolus, now called
Bozdag, in a beautiful plain, about 50 miles N.E. of
Smyrna. It was an ancient town, and built at first in a
rude manner, so as to be very liable to conflagrations ; but
the citadel on a steep rock was almost impregnable, being
fortified by three walls. It was thus enabled to hold out
when the lower town was taken by the Cimmerians in the
reign of Ardys. Under Croesus, the last of the Lydian
monarchs, Sardis rose to a high degree of prosperity ; and
after his fall in 546 b.c., it was the residence of the Per¬
sian satraps of Western Asia. During the Ionian revolt,
B.c. 501, the insurgents, aided by the Athenians, took the
city ; and on that occasion it was accidentally set on fire
and burned to the ground. Sardis was rebuilt; but its
burning was the chief event that called down the indigna¬
tion of the Persians against Athens, and led to the Persian
wars with Greece. The city remained under the Persian
empire till the time of Alexander the Great, to whom it
opened its gates after his victory at the Granicus. After
the battle of Ipsus, b.c. 301, Sardis fell to the kingdom of
Syria; and when the two Scipios conquered Antiochus at
Magnesia, B.C. 190, it became a part of the Roman empire.
As we learn from the Book of Revelation, a Christian
church was early founded at Sardis, and was one of the
seven to which that book was addressed. 1 he city conti¬
nued wealthy and powerful till the fall of the Byzantine
empire ; it was taken by the I urks in the eleventh cen¬
tury, but suffered a severer blow from Tamerlane, who
almost entirely destroyed it about 200 years later. The
ruins, though covering a large space ot ground, are not
very interesting; in the middle of them stands the modern
village of Sart.
SARDONIC LAUGHTER, a peculiar convulsive ac¬
tion of the diaphragm, giving the appearance of ghastly
and unnatural laughter, and which is the closing symptom
of several fatal diseases, is said to have been first observed
in those who ate the herb Sardonia, a plant said to belong
to Sardinia.
SARDONYX, a precious stone, consisting of a mixture
of the chalcedony and carnelian, sometimes in strata, but at
other times blended together.
SAREPTA, a fortified town of European Russia, in the
government of Saratov, near the confluence of the Sarpa
and the Volga, 15 miles S. of Tzaritzin. It was founded
in 1765 by a colony of the Moravian brethren, and con¬
trasts favourably with most of the Russian towns in this
region, having straight streets, lined with neat white houses,
and meeting in the centre in a fine market-place, adorned
with a fountain. Cotton, silk, and woollen fabrics are ma¬
nufactured here, as well as hosiery, tobacco, and snuff.
The surrounding country has been brought by the labours
of the settlers into a most flourishing condition, with rich
fields, gardens, and meadows. Pop. about 4000.
SARI, or Saree, a town of Persia, capital of the pro¬
vince of Mazanderan, about 11 miles from the shore of the
Caspian, and 115 N.E. of Teheran. N. Lat. 36. 30.; E.
Long. 53. 10. It is about 2 miles in circuit, surrounded by
a mud wall and moat, with brick towers. There are seve¬
ral gates, but most of them have fallen down, and roads
have been made through the wall at various other places.
The houses are of brick, neatly tiled, and some of the
646 S A R
Sarlat streets are good, though others are unpaved and very
muddy. Everywhere marks of ruin and neglect are appa-
Sarno. rent:> 'phg most remarkable building is a hollow tower of
brick, with a conical roof, 100 feet high. There are also a
mosque, palace, five colleges, several Parsee temples, baths,
and a mean bazaar, where there is some trade in the pro¬
duce of the country. The surrounding region is fertile,
and contains many saints’ tombs. Pop. 30,000.
SARLAT, a town of France, capital of an arrondisse-
ment in the department of Dordogne, in the valley of the
Sarlat, amid steep barren hills, 32 miles S.E. of Perigueux.
It is encircled by old walls, and consists for the most part
of narrow streets, lined with old ill-built houses. The best
of the edifices are the ancient parish church, the college,
and the hospital. Sarlat is the seat of law-courts, and has
manufactures of paper and walnut oil. It was formerly a
place of some strength, and has sustained several sieges.
Pop. (1856) 6223.
S ARM ATI A, the name given by the ancients to an
extensive tract of country lying to the east of the ancient
Germania, bounded on the N. by the Baltic and the un¬
known country to the E. of that sea, E. by the Volga
(Rha) from its confluence with the Kama to its mouth, and
by the Caspian Sea, S. by Mount Caucasus, the Euxine
Sea, and Dacia, and W. by the Vistula. It thus included
eastern Prussia, parts of Poland and Galicia, and the whole
centre and south of European Russia. All this country is
now included within the limits of Europe; but as in an¬
cient times the arbitrary boundary between the two conti¬
nents was formed by the river Don {Tatiais), Sarmatia was
divided into European and Asiatic; the former lying to
the west, and the latter to the east of that river. This vast
region was occupied by a great number of warlike nomadic
tribes, whose names are given by ancient writers, but
whose respective localities are for the most part merely
matters of conjecture. The history of Sarmatia presents us
with no event of any importance. Its wild and fierce
tribes were not subdued by any of the great empires of
antiquity, and are only known to us by the incursions that
they made into the more civilized countries to the south.
The Romans frequently encountered them on the borders
of Pannonia and Mcesia, and after the conquest of Dacia,
also in that province. But they never inflicted any serious
damage on the empire ; and in later times, when the people
of these countries came into historical prominence, the
name of Sarmatians had disappeared, superseded by the
better known appellation of Vandals and Huns. It is to
be observed, that the people described by Herodotus under
the name of Sauromatae, which is merely a different form
of Sarmatae, did not occupy the whole of the country known
in the time of Ptolemy as Sarmatia, but only that portion
of it which lies between the Don, the Volga, and Mount
Caucasus; the rest being inhabited by the Scythians.
Whether or not the Sarmatians were a distinct people from
the Scythians, is a somewhat doubtful point; but it is pro¬
bable that the two were distinct, and that the former be¬
longed to the Slavonic and Lithuanic, the latter to the
1 urkish races. See Scythia. The Sarmatians wandered
about in large waggons, surmounted by tents, and drawn
by oxen, wherever their pastoral avocations, the pursuit of
game, or their warlike passions, might direct their move¬
ments. A vivid description of these savage barbarians is
given in the poetical epistles, which were written by
Ovid fiom his place of banishment, near the mouth of the
Danube; where he was exposed to the assaults, probably,
of the Jazygae, one ot the fiercest and most powerful of
these tribes.
SARNO, a town of Naples, in the province of Princi-
pato Citra, near the source of the Sarno, at the foot of the
Apennines, 12 miles N.N.W. of Salerno. It has an old
castle, a fine cathedial, with some good paintings, several
S A R
other churches and convents, and an hospital. About the Saros-Pa-
middle of the town there are mineral springs, which are tak
much resorted to. Paper-mills, iron, and copper foundries II
are the chief manufacturing establishments in the place. Sarthe'
Silk is produced in abundance in the neighbourhood. Not ^
far off are some remains of an ancient aqueduct. Pop.
12,000. r
SAROS-PA 1 AK, a town of Hungary, in the county,
and 15 miles S.W. of Zemplin. It stands on the Bodrog,
and contains a once famous but now ruined castle, a large
protestant seminary, a Roman Catholic upper school, &c.
Cloth is made here, and wine raised in the vicinity. Pop.
(1846) 5480. ^
SARREGUEMINES, or Saargemdnd, a town of
France, capital of an arrondissement in the department of
Moselle, at the confluence of the Saar and the Belise, 42
miles E. of Metz. The most notable buildings are the
prison and a former convent, now divided between the
court-house, the sub-prefect’s residence, and the lecture-
rooms of the college. The town has manufactures of
leather, silk, earthenware, &c.; and is the centre of a con¬
siderable trade in snuff-boxes, which are made in large
numbers in the vicinity. Pop. (1856) 4918.
SARSAPARILLA (Smilax Sarsaparilla), a plant
growing in Russia, Central and South America, and the
West Indies, the roots of which have long had celebrity in
the cure of certain cutaneous diseases. The best mode of
using it is in decoction, of which half-a-pint may be taken
daily, or half-an-ounce of the powder. In 1857 there was
imported into Britain of this plant 205,392 lbs., at a total
cost of L.l 1,184.
SARTHE, a department of France, bounded on the N.
by that of Orne, E. by those of Eure-et-Loir and Loir-et-
Cher, S. by those of Indre-et-Loire and Maine-et-Loire,
and W. by that of Mayenne. Its length from N. to S. is
about 62 miles; greatest breadth, 58; area, 2395 square
miles. It is very compact, and nearly circular in form.
1 he surface is almost unbroken, sloping very gradually from
the north-west, where the highest elevations in the depart¬
ment occur. It belongs entirely to the valley of the Loire,
and the principal river is that from which the department
takes its name. It enters the country from the north,
forms for some distance the north-western boundary, and
then flows generally southwards through the centre of the
department. Its principal affluents here join it from the
left, the Orne, Huisne, and Loir watering the eastern por¬
tion of Sarthe. Of all these rivers only two, the Sarthe
and the Loir, are navigable, the former up to Le Mans,
and the latter to Chateau-du-Loir, giving a total length of
254 miles of river navigation within the department. Be¬
sides those mentioned, various smaller streams traverse the
country; these, as well as the others, abounding in fish.
The geological structure of the land exhibits a considerable
variety ; in the north-west, granite is the prevailing rock, as
a portion of the department here belongs to the great pri¬
mitive formation of Bretagne. As we proceed south-east,
across the country, we come upon new red sandstone, and
afterwards, in succession, the various formations between
this and the chalk group ; the extreme south-east of the de¬
partment being entirely cretaceous. The mineral wealth
of the country is very considerable. There are coal-pits
in the western portion ; iron is also obtained, as well as
marble, slate, paving-stone, mill-stones, fuller’s earth, potter’s
clay, &c. The department throughout’ is an agricultural
country. Its plains and gentle slopes have a fertile soil, and
are generally well cultivated ; the waste land in the depart¬
ment is continually diminishing in extent. The quantity
of corn produced is more than sufficient to supply the de¬
mand. Besides wheat, there is grown here, maize, buck¬
wheat, potatoes, and pulse of various kinds ; wine is pro¬
duced, but of an inferior quality; fruit-trees are carefully
S A R
Sarti. cultivated ; and much cider is made. Of the entire area of
the department, about 804,150 acres are occupied by
arable land ; 145,000 by meadows ; 25,000 by vineyards;
170,000 by wood; 112,500 by waste land. On the ex¬
tensive and rich tracts of pasture land, both natural and
artificial, large numbers of live stock are raised; the cattle
are of good breed, the horses much esteemed for carriages ;
and a considerable amount of profit is derived from the sale
of poultry. It is calculated that there are in the depart¬
ment 123,000 head of horned cattle, 122,000 sheep, 76,000
pigs, 20,000 goats, and 56,000 horses. Honey, chestnuts,
dried and preserved fruit, form some of the articles of trade.
There is not much manufacturing industry ; cloth of various
qualities is the principal article made ; there are also bleach-
fields and manufactories of wax-candles. Some trade is
carried on in the mineral and agricultural produce of the
country. _ Internal communication is facilitated by the
rivers, by numerous roads, and by four railways, diverging
from Le Mans in different directions. The department
forms, along with that of Mayenne, the diocese of Le Mans ;
it contains law courts, subordinate to the imperial court at
Angers, 5 colleges, a normal school, 8 upper and 609 ele¬
mentary schools. The capital is Le Mans ; and the de¬
partment is divided into four arrondissements, as follows:—
Cantons. Communes. Pop. (1856.)
Le Mans....  10 116 173,458
Mainers    10 143 125,758
Saint-Calais  6 56 66,850
La-Fleche  7 80 101,127
Total.....  33 395 467,193
SARTI, Giuseppe, an excellent Italian composer, was
born at Faenza, in the Papal States, on 28th December 1729.
He studied composition under Padre Martini, at Bologna,
and in 1752 produced his first opera, II lie pastore,
which was performed at Faenza with the greatest success.
Several other operas which he composed soon afterwards
added to his high reputation. In 1756 he was called to
Copenhagen as chapel-master and professor of singing to
the hereditary prince. Several operas which he composed
there were coldly received; and, in disgust, he resigned
his employments and returned to Italy in 1765. His
countrymen had half-forgotten him, and the operas which
he composed for Rome, Venice, &c., had no great success.
In 1769 he visited London, but could not get any of his
operas performed there, and was obliged to give lessons in
singing and on the harpsichord. He published, at London,
six sonatas for the harpsichord, which are highly valued by
professional musicians. Returning to Italy in 1770, he ac¬
cepted the office of master of the Conservatory of the Ospe-
daletto, left vacant by Sacchini’s visit to England. This
was the beginning of Sard’s most brilliant career, from 1771
to 1784, during which he composed his best operas,—among
these, Le gelosie Villane, Giulio Sabino, and Le nozze di
Dorina. In 1779 he was appointed chapel-master of the
Duomo at Milan, having proved his superiority over the
many eminent competitors opposed to him. The hymn,
psalm, and mass for six and eight real voices, which he
wrote for that competition, afford evidence of his profound
skill and learning. Between 1779 and 1784 he wrote a
great deal of church music, besides operas. In July 1784
he was called to St Petersburg as director of court music,
and was received with great favour by the Empress Catha¬
rine II. In a Te Deum which he composed at this time,
he thought to add to the solemnity of effect by introducing
cannon, to be fired at certain intervals. By the intrigues of
the celebrated singer, Signora Todi, the empress was per¬
suaded to dismiss Sarti, who then found a protector in
Prince Potemkin, and employment as master of a singing
school in the Ukraine, in a village presented to him by the
prince. After the death of Potemkin, Sarti found means
to regain the favour of the empress, who not only restored
S A R 647
to him his former appointments, but fixed his salary at Sarto.
35,000 roubles, with apartments in the palace. By her —r-/
orders he formed a conservatory of music ; and when the
pupils gave their first concert in 1795, the empress was so
much pleased that she raised Sarti to the highest rank of
nobility, and bestowed a considerable territory upon him.
Flis strength failing, he attempted to return to Italy in
1802, but was unable to proceed further than Berlin, where
he died, on 28th July, aged 73. The most distinguished
of Sarti’s pupils was the celebrated Cherubini, who, in his
work on Counterpoint and Fugue (French edit., pp. 188-
195), gives, as a model, a Real Fugue, in eight parts, for two
choirs, by Sarti.
Sarti was one of the most learned and skilful composers
of the last century. He had the rare gift of inventing beau¬
tiful and appropriate melodies. William Shield, in his
Introduction to Harmony, pp. 92-94, gave a charming
vocal Terzetto by Sarti. Sarti’s dramatic compositions
amounted to forty-two ; and his compositions for the church
were numerous, including a Miserere, four Masses, and the
Te Deum before mentioned. He constructed an apparatus
for counting the number of vibrations made by any given
sound in a second of time. Sauveur had experimented on
that subject in the latter part of the seventeenth century.
Sarti wrote a severe criticism upon the harmony of two
passages in the introductory movement to Mozart’s Quartet
in C, and in the first movement of that in D minor, for two
violins, viola, and violoncello. Certainly the eftect of those
passages is highly unsatisfactory. (g. f. g.)
SARTO, Andrea d’Agnolo Vannucchio, called del,
from his father’s occupation of a tailor, was born in Florence
in 1488. At the early age of seven years he was placed
with a goldsmith, but he showed a much greater liking for
the pencil than the burin at that early age. A painter
named Barile, more noted for his generosity than for his
knowledge of the art, took the young Sarto to instruct him
in painting. The lad made great progress, and was soon
transferred to the school of Pietro Cosimo, then considered
one of the best painters in Italy. Sarto continued to make
very steady progress ; and formed an intimacy with Francio
Bigio, with whom he executed numerous paintings for the
public buildings of Florence. He painted a fine fresco for
the ducal palace at Poggio a Caiano, and an excellent
“ Pieta” for the nuns of Lugo. On his return from Rome,
whither he had lately gone, he painted a “ Holy Family in
Repose,” a work of great merit; and executed his “ De¬
scent of the Holy Ghost,” the “ Birth of the Virgin,” and
“ Last Supper,” for the monastery of Salvi. The story told
by Lanzi, of the soldiers being astounded by the latter
painting at the siege of Florence in 1529, need not be
repeated in the artist’s favour. A band of wild soldiers,
bent on plunder, could scarcely be expected to have either
the patience or taste necessary for estimating such a sub¬
lime wrork of art. Yet painting, probably, like the music
which Orpheus drew from his lyre, has charms capable of
fascinating alike the wild savage and the lettered Roman.
Sarto was afterwards engaged on a “ Dead Christ” for
Francis L, King of France, when that monarch gave him
a most regal invitation to his court. Andrea went to Paris,
and was feasted and robed in great magnificence, when sud¬
denly, on the receipt of a letter from his wife, a woman who
possessed the single merit of great personal attractions, he
immediately left for Florence, with the intention of pro¬
curing pictures for the king, by whom he was entrusted
with a considerable sum for that purpose. Notwithstand¬
ing his solemn pledge to return again to Paris, the artist
spent his time and squandered away the king’s money.
Sunk in poverty and despondency, filled with public and
domestic wretchedness, abandoned by his wife and all his
former associates, he died of the plague in 1530, in his
forty-second year. Bryan makes his death occur much
648 S A R
Sarum later. Thus ended the career of one who was, in the words
I! of his pupil Vasari, “ the most faultless painter of the
Sassari. Florentines, for perfectly understanding the principles of
“v-—^ chiaroscuro, for representing the indistinctness of objects in
shadow, and for painting with a sweetness truly natural.”
SARUM, Old, was formerly a parliamentary borough
of England, in Wiltshire, 2 miles N. of Salisbury ; return¬
in'1- two members to parliament, though without a single
house or inhabitant. It was thus, before the Reform Act
* of 1832, by which it was disfranchised, the most complete
instance of a rotten borough. The place is, however, of
^reat antiquity, having existed, under the name of Sorbio-
dunum, in the time of the Romans. It was fortified by
Alfred, and after the Norman Conquest was made the seat
of a bishop. The cathedral was removed in 1220, in con¬
sequence of a quarrel between the bishop and the people,
to Salisbury, or New Sarum; and from that time Old
Sarum began to decline. Some remains of walls and
ditches still exist.
SARUN, a district of British India, under the lieutenant-
governor of Bengal, lying between N. Lat. 25. 40. and
27. 29., E. Long. 83.55. and 85. 30.; bounded on the N.
by the kingdom of Nepaul, E. by the district of Tirhoot,
S. by those of Patna, Shahabad, and Ghazeepoor, and W.
by that of Goruckpoor. Length about 115 miles from
north to south ; breadth, 90; area, 6394 square miles. It
is almost entirely even, with no mountains or hills ; and has
a general slope towards the south-east, in which direction
the most of the rivers flow. The southern border of the
district is washed by the Ganges, between the points where
it receives the Ghaghra and the Gunduk; the former of
which forms the south-western, and the latter the eastern,
boundary of Sarun. The Ganges and the Ghaghra are
both navigable here. Of the numerous other rivers the
most important is the Bagmuttee. The soil is exceedingly
fertile, and produces wheat, barley, rice, maize, millet, and
pulse of various kinds, besides opium, tobacco, indigo,
cotton, &c. There are, especially in the north of the dis¬
trict, large and valuable forests of saul and other timber.
The manufactures are few and unimportant; and the trade
consists chiefly in the exportation of raw produce, and the
importation of silk, broadcloth, salt, &c. Sarun once be¬
longed to the powerful kingdom of Magadha; and subse¬
quently formed part of the province of Behar, which was
granted to the East India Company in 1765 by the Mogul.
Pop. 1,700,000.
SARZEAU, a town of France in the department of
Morbihan, on the peninsula of Ruis, which forms the south
shore of the bay of Morbihan, 14 miles S. of Vannes. The
principal building is a church with a lofty tower; and an¬
other object, so conspicuous as to form a sea-mark for
coasting vessels, is a high conical tumulus, the largest in
France. The town is chiefly inhabited by sailors, and has
some trade in salt and in the indifferent wine of the vicinity.
Sarzeau was the birthplace of Le Sage, the well-known
author of Gil Bias. Pop. 7425.
SASSARI, a town of Sardinia, capital of the division of
the same name, forming the northern part of the island,
stands on a hill near the Turritano, about 9 miles above its
mouth at Porto Torres, and 105 N.N.W. of Cagliari.
Around it lies a rich and beautiful tract of gardens, orchards,
vineyards, and well cultivated fields. The town is encircled
by walls, outside of which are shady promenades; and the
houses, especially in the main street, are substantial and
handsome. Among its twenty-five churches, the most re¬
markable are the large massive cathedral and a fine Mino¬
rite church. There are, too, a castle ; numerous convents ; a
university, founded in 1766, and attended in 1842 by 240
students; two colleges ; an ecclesiastical seminary; three
palaces, that of the governor, of the archbishop, and of the
Duke of Asinara; a small public library; and a fine theatre.
SAT
Sassari is the seat of several courts of law and public offices, gasseram
The only important manufacture is that of tobacco, for ||
which there is here the largest establishment in the island. Sattara.
The trade, carried on through Porto Torres, consists chiefly
in the exportation of articles of domestic produce; grain,
oil, cheese, and skins. The ancient town, Turris Libys-
sonis, which occupied the site of Porto Torres, was one of
the most important in the island; but about the eleventh
century a.d. the whole population migrated inland to Sas¬
sari, which from that period began to rise into importance.
Some remains of antiquity are still to be seen at Porto
Torres. Pop. 23,000.
SASSERAM, a town of British India, in the district of
Shahabad, 72 miles S.E. of Benares, and 117 N.W. of Ha-
zareebagh. It Is extensive, but chiefly occupied by ruined
Mohammedan mosques and tombs. There is a bazaar; and
a few manufactures of hardware and jewellery are carried
on. Pop. estimated at 10,000.
SATALIAH, or Adalia, a town of Asiatic Turkey, at
the head of the bay of the same name, on the Mediterranean,
50 miles N.E. of Cape Khelidonia. It occupies a fine po¬
sition, on a cliff rising steeply from the sea to the height of
70 or 80 feet, and encircled on the landward side by vine¬
yards and orchards. The houses rise one above the other
up the hill; and the view from the more lofty points of the
bay and the mountains that skirt its shores is exceedingly
beautiful. On the summit of the hill stands a castle; and
in other parts of the town there are churches, mosques,
baths, caravanserais, and many ancient remains. The port,
which is formed by two moles, is of considerable size, but
now only frequented by a few small vessels. Pop. 8000.
SATORALLYA-UJHELY, or simply Ujhely, a
market-town of Hungary, capital of the county of Zemplin,
on the Hegyallya Hills, which are celebrated for their wines,
46 miles S.S.E. of Eperies, and 138 N.E. of Pesth. It
contains several churches, belonging to various religious
bodies, a Piarist college, and a gymnasium. Pop. 7200.
SATTARA, a province of British India, in the presi¬
dency of Bombay, lying between N. Lat. 16. 22. and 18.
32., E. Long. 73. 24. and 76. 25.; bounded on the N. by
the collectorate of Poona, N.E. and E. by that of Shola-
pore, S. by that of Belgaum, the southern Mahratta jag-
hires, and the native state of Colapore, and W. by the col-
lectorates of Rutnagherry and Tannah. Length from N.W.
to S.E. about 215 miles, breadth about 90; area 11,000
square miles. The western frontier of the province is
skirted by the Siadri Mountains, or Western Ghauts, which
separate it from the Concan ; and though very precipitous
on the W. side, have a more gradual slope within the limits
of Sattara, sinking towards the plains of Hyderabad to the
S.E. The surface is, however, for the most part rugged,
and broken by high ridges and isolated hills, and the soil is
in general barren. All the rivers follow in their course the
general declivity of the country, and discharge their waters
finally into the Kistna, which has its source and the upper
part of its course within the province. Besides this, Sat¬
tara is watered by the Neera, and other rivers of smaller
size. In the loftier districts of the country the climate is
extremely moist; and in some parts of the Ghauts the
annual fall of rain is sometimes nearly as much as 300
inches. In these districts the heat is alleviated by the
great elevation of the country, and the mean annual tem¬
perature is about 66°. The lower parts of the province
have a much greater degree of heat, and suffer greatly
from want of rain ; for sometimes not more than 23^ inches
fall during the whole year. Sattara, however, enjoys a
healthy climate; and, considering the mountainous and
barren nature of the country, the population is pretty dense,
being in the ratio of about 100 per square mile. The great
majority of the people belong to the Mahratta race, which
has had from the most remote antiquity its head-quarters in
Saturnus.
SAT
Sattara this part of India. From the period of the rise of their
power Tinder Sevajee, onwards until it had begun to de-
^ cline, Sattara formed part of the Mahratta empire; and in
1818, when the rajah was delivered by the British from the
durance in which he had been held by his peishwa or
prime minister, the territory was assigned to him, along
with several jaghires or feudal grants. The administration
of the government was carried on for four years by a British
agent, but after that time by the rajah himself. Disputes,
however, arose between him and the Bombay government,
which ended in his deposition and the elevation of his
brother in 1839. This rajah died in 1848, leaving no
issue; and as the line of Sevajee thus became extinct, the
territory lapsed to the East India Company. During the
reign of the last rajah a good road had been constructed
from Sattara to Mahabulishwar, and another to complete
the communication between Sattara and Poona. Since the
accession of the British to power, these improvements have
been diligently carried forward by the addition of several
other roads throughout the country. The net revenue of
the province for 1855-56 was L. 132,587. Pop. 1,319,673.
Sattara, the capital of the above province, in a valley
betw'een two ranges of hills on the E. and W., 55 miles
S. of Poona, and 115 S.E. of Bombay. It has a strong
fort, erected on the summit of a hill, about 1100 yards
long by 500 across, and 800 feet in height. It is defended
by the steepness of the rock, which at the N.E. corner has
quite the appearance of a tower, having a perpendicular
scarp of 42 feet, above which is a wall with an additional
height of 25 feet. In 1700 this fort offered a vigorous re¬
sistance for two months to Aurungzebe, who besieged it in
person, but it was reduced by blockade; and in 1818 a few
bombshells procured its surrender to the British. The fort
contains the old palace and numerous temples. It com¬
mands a fine view over the numerous hills of the surround¬
ing country, many of them crowned with picturesque old
forts. There is another palace in the town, a large but not
very handsome edifice. In it is preserved, among other
relics, the sword of Sevajee, a long, straight blade of fine
polished steel.
SATURDAY, the seventh and last day of the week, so
called from the idol Seater, worshipped on this day by the
ancient Saxons, and thought to be the same as the Saturn
of the Latins.
SATURN. See Astronomy.
SATURNUS, a fabulous king or god of Italy, to whom
was ascribed the introduction of agriculture and the arts of
civilized life. Saturn, like the Greek Kronos, was regarded
by the Romans as their most ancient deity; but here the
identity of the two fabled gods ceases, as there was no re¬
semblance, even such as the ancients alleged, between their
several attributes. The name is said to be derived from
sero, sevi, satum,. to sow ; and the deity is supposed to pre¬
side over everything which promotes the growth of vegeta¬
tion. To his reign is ascribed the golden age of Italy,
which disappeared with his disappearance. The country
received his name, and was denominated Saturnia,,or the
land of plenty. He is reported to have come to Italy with
his wife Ops, in the reign of Janus, and to have formed a
settlement on the Capitoline hill. Like other mythical
dignitaries, he suddenly disappeared from the eyes of’ man,
and withdrew into godlike seclusion ; whence, according to
some, the name of Latium, from lateo, I lie hid. Janus is
said to have erected an altar to his honour in the Roman
forum; and the rustic population, in the month of December,
instituted at Rome the festival of the Saturnalia, to cele¬
brate in unrestrained merriment the memory of the founder
of their peculiar industry, and the author of the golden age
among men. The statue of the god was hollow and filled
w’ith oil, in his hand w'as placed a crooked pruning knife,
and his feet w ere surrounded with a riband of wool.
VOL. XIX.
S A U
He is sometimes represented, also, as an old man with a
scythe, a sand-glass, and wings; and occasionally as a ser¬
pent, with its tail in its mouth. This is supposed to shadow
forth the seasons in their perpetual succession, and is most
probably borrowed from the emblematical representations
of the Greek god Kronos.
SATYRS. See Bacchus.
SAUGOR’and Nerbudda Territories, an extensive
tract of India, forming the S.W. portion of the presidency
of Bengal, lying between N. Lat. 21. 16. and 25. 15., E.
Long. 76. 53. and 82. 51.; bounded on the N. by Bundel-
cund and the British districts of Banda, Allahabad, and
Mirzapore ; E. by Mirzapore and the native state of Korea;
S.by the dominions of the Rajah ofBerar, and of the Nizam;
and W. by those of the Rajah of Bhopal and of the Scindia
family. Length from E. to W. 380 miles, breadth 190,
area 27,632 square miles. The greater part of these ex¬
tensive territories is governed directly by the British ; but
there are also comprised within their limits the indepen¬
dent allied state of Rewah, and the petty states of Kotee,
Myhir, Docheyra, and Sohawul, feudatory to the British
government. The territories are subdivided as follows :—
British Districts. Area in
Sq. Miles.
Saugor   1857
Jubblepore     6237
Hoshungabad  1916
Seonee  1459
Dumoh*.  2428
Nursingpore  501
Baitool  990
Total of British districts 15,388
Native states.. 12,244
Total  27,632
Pop. (1855.)
305,594
442,771
242,641
227,070
363,584
254,486
93,441
1.929.587
1,560,000
3.489.587
The country is elevated and mountainous. Its eastern por¬
tion is occupied by a tableland, which rises in the summit
of Amarakantak, at the extreme S.E., to the height of 3463
feet above the sea, but gradually slopes westwards to the
valley of the Nerbudda, which flows through the middle of
the territories from E. to W. This valley is inclosed on
the N. by the Vindhya range, which is not very high, few
summits exceeding the height of 2000 feet;, and on the S.
by the Mahadeo mountains, which have an average height of
2000 feet, and in some places are believed to attain to 2500
feet, or even higher- These ranges separate the waters of
the Nerbudda from the affluents of the Ganges and Jumna
on the one side, as* well as from those of the Godavery on
the other. Among the mineral productions of the land, iron
and coal are the most important, and they are found in
great abundance in various places. Good sandstone and
limestone are also quarried in different parts of the terri¬
tories. As to the soil, it is in the greater part of Saugor
and Nerbudda productive of cotton ;. but some portions of
the surface are covered with dense and gloomy forests, oc¬
cupied by savage Indians of the Ghond tribes. There are
few important events connected with the history of these
territories. Ruled originally by Ghond princes, they were
conquered by Akbar about 1599, and thus annexed to the
empire of Delhi. On the fall of that empire, the peishwa
obtained a nominal supremacy over these lands ; but they
were afterwards conquered by the Rajah of Berar, and
finally ceded to the British in *1818.
Saugor, the capital of the British district of the same
name, in a hilly region, 185 miles N. of Nagpore, 223 S.W.
of Allahabad, and 500 N.E. of Bombay. It is built on
three sides of a small lake, lying in a valley near the river
Bessi or Bes, which is crossed by a fine suspension bridge
200 feet in span. The military cantonments are extensive,
but occupy a low, swampy, and unhealthy situation. There
is a large fort, used as an ordnance depot; and the mint,
4 N
650 S A U
Saul which formerly occupied a very handsome building, has
II been removed' to Calcutta. Saugor has a Gothic church,
Saumarez. recentlv erected ; and a collegiate school, where both Eng-
lish and the vernacular languages are taught. It is the
seat of the civil establishment, and has several hundred
European inhabitants. The whole population, chiefly Mah-
rattas, is estimated at 50,000.
SAUL, the son of Kish, of the tribe of Benjamin, was
the first king of the Israelites; and, on account of his dis¬
obedient conduct, the kingdom was taken from his family
and given to David.
SAUMAREZ, James, Baron de, Admiral, was born
at St Peter Port, in the island of Guernsey, on the 11th of
March 1757. He was descended from an old family winch
had originally come from France, and which had held a
prominent place for centuries among the gentry of the
Channel Islands. The family name, originally Sausmarez,
was changed about 1700 to Saumarez. Not a few of his
kin had already distinguished themselves in the naval ser¬
vice, and this circumstance probably fired the lad’s ambi¬
tion early to run the career peculiar to his house. At the
age of thirteen, he accordingly entered the navy as mid¬
shipman, and served successively in the Montreal, Win-
chelsea, and Levant frigates. He distinguished himself at
the attack on Charleston, in America, in 1775, on board
the Bristol, for which he was raised to the rank of lieu¬
tenant. He rose successively under Lord Cornwallis, and
Admiral Sir Hyde Parker, until he was promoted to the rank
of commander for his gallant services off the Dogger Bank,
on the 5th of August 1781. Captain Saumarez now placed
himself under Admiral Kempenfeldt, and he subsequently,
while commanding the Russell, a ship of the line, gained
great distinction by his conduct at the battle of the 12th
of August 1782. A lull of peace succeeded, and for the
next ten years he enjoyed the society of his friends in the
Channel Isles. On the breaking out of the war with
France in January 1793, Saumarez captured La Reunion,
a French frigate, for which he received the honour of
knighthood. In the month of November following, Sir
James received the comnland of a small squadron, which,
on the 5th of June 1794, was attacked by a very superior
French force on the way from Plymouth to Guernsey.
But so great was the commander’s knowledge of the sound¬
ings of the Guernsey coast, and so cool was his intrepidity,
that he succeeded in gaining a safe anchorage in the har¬
bour of that island, to the great chagrin of the French
fleet.
Sir James Saumarez was promoted in 1795 to the Orion,
of 74 guns, and engaged in a series of memorable victories
under Lord Bridport, Sir John Jervis, and Sir Horatio
Nelson. On his return from the battle of the Nile, where
he was severely wounded, he received the command of
the Csesar, 84 guns, with orders to watch the French fleet
in Brest, during the winters of 1799 and 1800. In 1801
he was raised to the rank of rear-admiral of the blue, was
created a baronet, and received the command of a small
squadron which was destined to watch the movements of
the Spanish fleet at Cadiz. In the month of July, Admiral
Saumarez had the satisfaction of preserving a fleet of
British merchantmen from falling into the hands of the
French. To effect this object he had to engage in two
sharp contests with the French and Spanish fleets off Al-
geziras, which caused the enemy a loss of 3000 men in
blown up, killed, and taken prisoners. This Saumarez
effected with a small squadron, not half equal in size to the
enemy’s fleet. Of this contest Lord Nelson remarked that
“a greater action was never fought.” The admiral was
rewarded by the Order of the Bath, and the freedom of the
city of London was voted to him, together with a magnifi¬
cent sword. In 1803 Sir James received a pension of
L.1200 a year, and on the breaking out of hostilities with
S A U
Russia, he was intrusted with the command of the Baltic Saumur
fleet, where he had to bring into play all his diplomatic II
talent. Charles XIII. of Sweden bestowed upon him the 8aun(lerson
Grand Cross of the Military Order of the Sword, as an ex-
pression of gratitude for his services. At the peace of
1814 he was made full admiral, in 1819 rear-admiral, and
in 1821 vice-admiral of Great Britain. He struck his flag
for the last time on the 10th of May 1827. He was raised
to the peerage as Baron de Saumarez in 1831. The re¬
mainder of his life was spent in peaceful retirement on his
estate at Guernsey, where he died on the 9th of October
1836. (See Memoirs, fyc., of Admiral Lord de Saumarez,
by Sir John Ross, 2 vols., 1838.)
SAUMUR, a town of France, capital of an arrondisse-
ment in the department of Maine-et-Loire, on the left bank
of the Loire, 25 miles S.S.E. of Angers. It is a pictu¬
resque, cheerful, white town, occupying the side and foot
of a hill by the river’s side. The upper portion, called the
high town, is very irregular, overhung by the old castle,
with its tall donjon and terraced bastions, looking out on
the rich flat country through which the Loire flows. The
low town is more imposing in its architecture, and contains
a good quay, and a quaint old town-hall, with high sloping
roof and embattled walls. On the other side of the river
stands a suburb, to which access is gained by a very fine
stone bridge of twelve arches. The streets of Saumur are
in general crooked, and many of them steep. Besides
those already mentioned, the principal buildings are two
churches, that of St Pierre, in the pointed style, but dis¬
figured by a modern Italian front; and that of Notre Dame
de Nantilly, which has some portions as old as the eleventh
century, and is hung with curious antique tapestry from the
Flemish looms. There are here a public library, museum,
theatre, baths, courts of law, a college, riding-school, &c.
Linen, cambric, glass, enamelled articles, leather, and salt¬
petre, are produced here; and there is some trade in corn,
flour, wine, hemp, &c. During the reign of Henri IV.,
Saumur wras a flourishing town of 25,000 inhabitants, and a
stronghold of the Protestant interest; but after the revoca¬
tion of the Edict of Nantes, its population dwindled to one-
fourth of its previous amount, by the loss of its most indus¬
trious inhabitants. During the revolutionary war, it was
the scene of one of the most brilliant exploits of the Ven-
deans, under Larochejacquelin. With a very small force he
stormed the heights, which were defended by a republican
army of 15,000 men with 100 guns, and afterwards drove
the enemy from the town, and compelled the castle to
surrender. This took place in June 1793. Pop. (1856)
13,073.
SAUNDERSON, Dr Nicholas, was born at Thurl-
stone, in Yorkshire, in 1682, and may be considered as a
prodigy for his application and success in mathematical
literature, in circumstances apparently the most unfavour¬
able. He lost his sight by the small-pox before he was a
year old. But this disaster did not prevent him from
searching after that knowledge for which nature had given
him so ardent a desire. He was initiated into the Greek
and Roman authors at a free school at Penniston. After
spending some years in the study of the languages, his
father, who had a place in the excise, began to teach him
the common rules of arithmetic. But he soon surpassed
his father, and could make long and difficult calculations
without having any sensible marks to assist his memory.
At eighteen he was taught the principles of algebra and of
geometry by Mr tlichard Westof Undoorbank, who, though
a gentleman of fortune, yet, being strongly attached to
mathematical learning, readily undertook the education of
so uncommon a genius. Saunderson was also assisted in
his mathematical studies by Dr Nettleton. These two
gentlemen read books to him, and explained them. He
was next sent to a private academy at Attercliff, near Shef-
S A U
Snunderson field, where logic and metaphysics were chiefly taught.
But these sciences not suiting his turn of mind, he soon
left the academy. He lived for some time in the country
without any instructor; but such was the vigour of his own
mind, that few instructions were necessary. He only re¬
quired books and a reader.
His father, besides the place he had in the excise, pos¬
sessed also a small estate ; but having a numerous family to
support, he was unable to give him a liberal education at
one of the universities. Some of his friends, who had
remarked his perspicuous and interesting manner of com¬
municating his ideas, proposed that he should attend the
university of Cambridge as a teacher of mathematics. This
proposal was immediately put in execution, and he was
accordingly conducted to Cambridge in his twenty-fifth
year by Mr Joshua Dunn, a fellow-commoner of Christ’s
College. Though he was not received as a member of the
college, he was treated with great attention and respect.
He was allowed a chamber, and had free access to the library.
Whiston was at that time professor of mathematics, and as
he read lectures in the way that Saunderson intended, it
was naturally to be supposed he would view his project as
an invasion of his office. But, instead of meditating any
opposition, the plan was no sooner mentioned to him than
he gave his consent to it. Saunderson’s reputation was soon
spread throughout the university. When his lectures were
announced, a general curiosity was excited to hear such
intricate mathematical subjects explained by a man who
had been blind from his infancy. The subject of his lec¬
tures was the Principia Mathematical the Optics, and the
Arithmetica Universalis, of Sir Isaac Newton. He was
accordingly attended by a very numerous audience. It
will appear at first incredible to many that a blind man
should be capable of explaining optics, which requires an
accurate knowledge of the nature of light and colours ; but
we must recollect that the theory of vision is taught entirely
by lines, and is subject to he rules of geometry.
While thus employed in explaining the principles of the
Newtonian philosophy, he became known to its illustrious
author. He was also intimately acquainted with Halley,
Cotes, Demoivre, and other eminent mathematicians. When
Whiston was removed from his professorship, Saunderson
was universally allowed to be the man best qualified to
succeed him. But to enjoy this office it was necessary, as
the statutes direct, that he should be promoted to a degree.
To obtain this privilege, the heads of the university applied
to their chancellor, the Duke of Somerset, who procured
the royal mandate to confer upon him the degree of master
of arts. He was then elected Lucasian professor of mathe¬
matics in November 1711. His inauguration speech was
composed in classical Latin, and in the style of Cicero,
with whose works he had been much conversant. He now
devoted his whole time to his lectures and the instruction
of his pupils. In 1728, when George II. visited the uni¬
versity of Cambridge, he expressed a desire to see Professor
Saunderson. In compliance with this desire, he waited
upon his majesty in the senate-house, and was there, by the
king’s command, created doctor of laws. He was admitted
a member of the Royal Society in 1736.
Saunderson was naturally of a vigorous constitution, but
having confined himself to a sedentary life, he at length
became scorbutic. For several years he felt a numbness
in his limbs, which, in the spring of 1739, brought on a
mortification in his foot; and, unfortunately, his blood was
so vitiated by the scurvy, that assistance from medicine
was not to be expected. When he was informed that his
death was near, he remained for a little space calm and
silent; but he soon recovered his former vivacity, and con¬
versed with his usual ease. He died on the 19th of April
1739, in the fifty-seventh year of his age, and was buried,
at his own request, in the chancel at Boxworth. He mar-
S A U 651
ried the daughter of Mr Dickens, rector of Boxworth, in Saurat
Cambridgeshire, and by her had a son and a daughter. I!
Dr Saunderson was rather to be admired as a man of Saurin.
wonderful genius and assiduity, than to be loved for his
amiable qualities. He spoke his sentiments freely of cha¬
racters, and praised or condemned his friends as well as his
enemies without reserve. This has been ascribed by some
to a love of defamation; but it has with more propriety
been attributed by others to an inflexible love of truth,
which urged him upon all occasions to speak the sentiments
of his mind without disguise, and without considering whe¬
ther this conduct would please, or the reverse. His senti¬
ments were supposed to be unfavourable to revealed reli¬
gion. It is said that he alleged he could not know God,
because he was blind, and could not see his works; and
that upon this Dr Holmes replied, “ Lay your hand upon
yourself, and the organization which you will feel in your
own body will dissipate so gross an error.” On the other
hand, we are informed that he had desired the sacrament
to be given him on the evening before his death. He was,
however, seized with a delirium, which rendered this im¬
possible.
He wrote a system of algebra, which was published in
two volumes 4to, at London, after his death, in the year
1740, at the expense of the university of Cambridge.
Dr Saunderson had invented for his own use a palpable
Arithmetic; that is, a method of performing operations in
arithmetic solely by the sense of touch. It consisted of a
table raised upon a small frame, so that he could apply his
hands with equal ease above and below. On this table
were drawn a great number of parallel lines, which were
crossed by others at right angles; the edges of the table
were divided by notches half an inch distant from one an¬
other, and between each notch there were five parallels,
so that every square inch was divided into a hundred little
squares. At each angle of the squares where the parallels
intersected one another, a hole was made quite through the
table; and in each hole were placed two pins, a large and a
small one. It was by the various arrangements of the pins
that Saunderson performed his operations.
His sense of touch was so perfect, that he could discover
with the greatest exactness the slightest inequality of sur¬
face, and could distinguish in the most finished works the
smallest oversight in the polish. In the cabinet of medals
at Cambridge he could single out the Roman medals with
the utmost correctness; and he could also perceive the
slightest variation in the atmosphere. One day, while
some gentlemen were making observations on the sun, he
took notice of every little cloud that passed over his disk,
and served to interrupt their labours. When any object
passed before his face, even though at some distance, he
discovered it, and could guess its size with considerable
accuracy. When he walked, he knew when he passed by
a tree, a wall, ora house. He had made these distinctions
from the different ways his face was affected by the motion
of the air.
His musical ear was so remarkably acute, that he could
distinguish accurately to the fifth of a note. In his youth
he had been a performer on the flute, and he had made
such proficiency, that if he had cultivated his talents in this
way, he would probably have been as eminent in music as
he was in mathematics. He recognized not only his friends,
but even those with whom he was slightly acquainted, by
the tone of their voice ; and he could judge with wonderful
exactness of the size of any apartment into which he was
casually conducted.
SAURAT, a village of France, in the department of
Ariege, 7 miles S.S.W. of Foix. It has an old church,
iron-works, saw-mills, and slate-quarries. Pop. 4456.
SAURIN, Jacques, a celebrated preacher, was the son
of a Protestant lawyer, and was born at Nismes in 1677.
652 S A U
Saurin. He applied to his studies with gre jl success ; but being
 ' captivated with a military life, he relinquished them for the
profession of arms. In 1-694 he made a campaign as a
cadet in Lord Galloway’s company, and soon afterwards
obtained a pair of colours in the regiment of Colonel Re¬
nault, which served in Piedmont. But the Duke of Savoy
having made peace with France, he returned to Geneva,
and resumed the study of philosophy and theology under
Turretin and other professors. In 1700 he visited Holland,
then went to England, where he remained for several years,
and married. In 1705 he returned to the Hague, where
he fixed his residence, and preached with the most un¬
bounded applause. To an exterior appearance highly pre¬
possessing, he added a strong and harmonious voice. The
sublime prayer which he recited before his sermon was
uttered in a manner highly affecting. Nor was the atten¬
tion excited by the prayer, dissipated by the sermon. All
who heard it were charmed; and those who came with an
intention to criticise, were carried along with the preacher
and forgot their design. Saurin had, however, one fault in
his delivery.; he did not manage his voice with sufficient
skill. He exhausted himself so much in his prayer and the
beginning of his sermon, that his voice grew feeble towards
the end of the service. His sermons, especially those which
were published during his life, are distinguished for just¬
ness of thought, force of reasoning, and an eloquent, unaf¬
fected style. Saurin died on the 30th of December 1730,
aged fifty-three years.
He wrote, first, Sermons, which were published in 12
vols. 8vo and 12mo, some of which display great genius
and eloquence, and others are composed with negligence.
One may observe in them the imprecations and the aver¬
sion which the Calvinists of that age were wont to utter
against the Roman Catholics. Saurin was, notwithstanding,
a lover of toleration; and his sentiments on this subject
gave great offence to some of his fanatical brethren, who
attempted to obscure his merit and embitter-his life. They
found fault with him because he did not nail the pope
Antichrist, and the Church of Rome the whore of Babylon.
Secondly, he published Discours, historical, critical,
and moral, on the most memorable events of the Old and
New Testament. This is his greatest and most valuable
work. It was first printed in 2 vols. folio. As it was left
unfinished, Beausobre and Roques undertook a continuation
of it, and increased it to four volumes. Heialso published
L’Etat du Christianisme en France, 1725, 8vo, in which
he discusses many important points of controversy, and
calls in question the truth of the miracle said to have been
performed on La Fosse at Paris; and an Abrege of Chris¬
tian theology and morality, in the form of a catechism,
1722, 8vo.
A Dissertation which he published on the Expediency
of sometimes Disguising the Truth raised a multitude of
enemies against him. He was immediately attacked by
several adversaries, and a long controversy ensued; but his
doctrines and opinions were at length publicly approved of
by the synods of Campen and the Hague. This work was
translated into English by Chamberlayne, London, 1723.
Five volumes of his Sermons were likewise translated by
R. Robinson, 1775.
Saurin, Joseph, a geometrician and member of the Aca¬
demy of Sciences at Paris, was born at Courtaison, in the
principality of Orange, in the year 1659. His father, who
was a minister at Grenoble, was his first preceptor. He
made rapid progress in his studies, and, when very young,
was admitted minister of Eure in Dauphine; but having
made use of some violent expressions in one of his sermons,
he was obliged to quit France in the year 1683. He retired
to Geneva, and thence to Berne, where he obtained a con¬
siderable living. Scarcely was he settled in his new habi¬
tation, however, when some theologians raised a persecution
S A U
against him. Saurin, hating controversy, and disgusted Saussure.
with Switzerland, where his talents were entirely concealed,
repaired to Holland. He returned soon afterwards to
France, and surrendered himself into the hands of Bossuet,
the bishop of Meaux, who obliged him to make a recanta¬
tion of his errors. This event took place in 1690. His
enemies, however, suspected his sincerity in the abjuration
which he had made. It was a general opinion, that the
desire of cultivating science in the capital of France had a
greater effect in producing this change than religion.
Saurin, however, speaks of the Reformers with great aspe¬
rity, and condemns them for going too far. It is said, also,
that Saurin appeased his conscience by reading Poiret’s
Cogitationes Rationales. This book is written with a view
to vindicate the Church of Rome from the charge of ido¬
latry. If it was the love of distinction that induced Saurin
to return to the Church of Rome, he was not disappointed;
for he there met with protection and support. He was
favourably received by Louis XIV., obtained a pension
from him, and was treated by the Academy of Sciences
with the most flattering respect. At that time (1717)
geometry formed his principal occupation. He enriched
the Journal des Savans with many excellent treatises;
and he added to the memoirs of the academy many in¬
teresting papers. These are the only works which he has
left behind him. He died at Paris, of a fever, on the 29th
of December 1737, in his seventy-eighth year. He mar¬
ried a wife of the family of Crousas, in Switzerland, who
bore him a son, Bernard Joseph, distinguished as a writer
for the theatre.
Saurin was of a bold anJ impetuous spirit. He had that
lofty deportment which is generally mistaken for pride.
His philosophy was austere; his opinions of men were not
very favourable; and he often delivered them in their pre¬
sence. This created him many enemies. His memory was
attacked after his decease. A letter was printed in the
Mercure Suisse, said to be written by Saurin from Paris, in
which he acknowledges that he had committed several
crimes which deserved death. Some Calvinist ministers
published, in 175.7, two or three pamphlets to prove the
authenticity of that letter; but Voltaire, in his Histoire
Generate, made diligent inquiry, not only at the place
where Saurin had been discharging the sacerdotal office,
but at the deans-of the clergy of that department. They
all exclaimed against an imputation so opprobrious. It
must not, however, be concealed, that Voltaire, in the de¬
fence which he has published in his general history of
Saurin’s conduct, leaves some unfavourable impressions upon
the reader’s mind. He insinuated that Saurin sacrificed his
religion to his interest, and that he played upon Bossuet,
“ who believed he had converted a clergyman, when he had
only given a little fortune to a philosopher.”
SAUSSURE, Horace Benedict de, a celebrated na¬
turalist, was a native of Geneva, and born in the year 1740.
His father was an intelligent farmer, who lived at Conches,
about half a league from Geneva, and the youth seems
early to have taken to the study of natural history. Bo¬
tany, which was his favourite study, was the means of in¬
troducing him to the acquaintance of the great Haller, to
whom he paid a visit in 1764, and who was astonished at
his intimate acquaintance with every branch of the natural
sciences. Llis attachment to the study of the vegetable
kingdom was also increased by his connection with Charles
Bonnet, who had married his aunt, and who put a proper
estimate on the talents of his nephew. Fie was at that
time engaged in the examination of the leaves of plants, to
which Saussure was also induced to turn his attention, and
published the result of his researches, under the title of
Observatiotis sur Vecorce des Feuilles et des Petales, in 1762.
About this time the philosophical chair at Geneva became
vacant, and was given to Saussure, at the age ol twenty-
S A U
Sauveur. one. During the first fifteen years of his professorship he
was alternately engaged in discharging the duties of his
office and in traversing the mountains in the vicinity of
Geneva; and in this period his talents as a great philosopher
were fully displayed. He extended his researches on one
side to the banks of the Rhine, and on the other to the
country of Piedmont. He travelled to Auvergne to exa¬
mine the extinguished volcanoes, going afterwards to Paris,
England, Holland, Italy, and Sicily. The first volume of
his travels through the Alps, which was published in 1779,
contains a circumstantial description of the environs of
Geneva, and an excursion as far as Chamouni, a village at
the foot of Mont Blanc. It contains a description of his
magnetometer. In proportion as he examined the moun¬
tains, the more was he persuaded of the importance of mi¬
neralogy ; and that he might study it with advantage, he
acquired a knowledge of the German language.
During the troubles which agitated Geneva in 1782, he
made his beautiful and interesting experiments on Hygro-
metry, which he published in 1783. This has been pro¬
nounced the best work that ever came from his pen, and
completely established his reputation as a philosopher. De
Saussure resigned his chair to his pupil and fellow-labourer,
Pictet, who discharged the duties of his office with reputa¬
tion. In 1786, he published his second volume of travels,
containing a description of the Alps around Mont Blanc,
the whole having been examined with the eye of a minera¬
logist, geologist, and philosopher. It contains some valu¬
able experiments on electricity, and a description of his own
electrometer. To him we are indebted for the cyanometer,
for measuring the degree of blueness of the heavens, which
is found to vary according to the height of the observer;
his diaphanometer, for measuring the transparency of the
atmosphere ; and his anemometer, for ascertaining the force
of the winds. He founded the Society of Arts, to the
operations of which Geneva is very much indebted for its
continued prosperity. Over that society he presided to the
day of his death, and the preservation of it in prosperity
constituted one of his fondest wishes.
In 1794, the health of this eminent man began rapidly
to decline, and a severe stroke of the palsy almost deprived
him of the use of his limbs. His intellect still preserved
its original activity, and he prepared for the press the last
two volumes of his travels, which appeared in 1796, under
the title of Voyages dans les Alpes. They contain a great
mass of new facts and observations, of the last importance
to physical science. He was in general a Neptunian, as¬
cribing the revolutions of the globe to water, and admit¬
ting the possibility of mountains having been thrown up
by elastic fluids disengaged from the cavities of the earth.
In the midst of his rapid decline he cherished the hopes of
recovery; but his strength was exhausted. He tried in
vain to procure the re-establishment of his health ; for all
the remedies prescribed by the ablest physicians were
wholly ineffectual. His mind afterwards lost its activity;
and on the 22d of March 1799, he finished his mortal
career, in the fifty-ninth year of his age. His life has been
written by Jean Senebier, entitled Memoirs Historique sur
la vie et les ecrils d’Horace Benedict de Saussure, Geneva,
1801 ; and his Eloge by Cuvier for the Institute in 1810,
and for the Biographic Universelle.
SAUVEUR, Joseph, an eminent French mathemati¬
cian, born at La Fleche in 1653. He was absolutely dumb
until he was seven years of age ; and even then his organs
of speech were not so fully developed as to permit him to
speak without great deliberation. Mathematics were the
only studies he had any relish for, and these he cultivated
with extraordinary success; so that he commenced teacher
at twenty years of age, and rose so rapidly into vogue, that
he had Prince Eugene for his scholar. He became mathe¬
matical professor in the royal college in 1686; and ten years
S A V 653
afterwards was admitted a member of the Academy of Savagp.
Sciences. He died in 1716 ; and his writings, which con- i v — >
sist rather of detached papers than of connected treatises,
are all inserted in the Memoirs of the Academy of Sciences.
He was twice married; and by the last wife he had a son, who,
like himself, was dumb for the first seven years of his life.
SAVAGE, Richard, a man rendered famous by the
singularity of his misfortunes, and by the elaborate life
which Dr Johnson has written of him, was the son of Anne
Countess of Macclesfield and of the Earl of Rivers, and
was born on the 16th of January 1696—97. His mother,
after a strenuous defence by her counsel, was convicted of
adultery, and having thus separated herself from her hus¬
band the Earl of Macclesfield, she resolved to disown her
unfortunate offspring, and treated him ever after with the
most unnatural cruelty. (See Cunningham’s edition of
Johnson’s Lives of the Poets.) She delivered him to a
poor woman to educate as her own, and after a vain endea¬
vour to send him secretly to the plantations, she had him
apprenticed to a shoemaker. Savage having discovered
some letters which revealed to him his birth and the cause
of its concealment, he became suddenly dissatisfied with
the situation of a shoemaker, and resolved to solicit his un¬
natural parent for the means of pursuing a more distin¬
guished career than had hitherto been afforded him. But
he could neither soften the heart of this woman nor open
her hand. Having received a tolerably good education,
and being endowed by nature with a turn for poetry, he
wrote Woman's Riddle and Love in a Veil, which, if they
did not bring him much money, at least brought him friends.
He next wrote the tragedy of Sir Thomas Overbury, which
brought him in a sum of L.200. But Savage was a bad
manager, and was ever in distress. He next published a
volume of Miscellanies, and was on the fair way to fame,
when he was suddenly condemned to be hanged for having
killed a man in a drunken frolic. Despite his mother’s
anxiety to have the sentence of the law carried into effect,
he was at last pardoned by the intercession of the Countess
of Hertford. He now had his revenge upon his mother,
by publishing his poem of the Bastard, 1728, which dis¬
plays such an exalted tone of thought, an energy of expres¬
sion, and a refined severity of sarcasm, which places it con¬
siderably ahead of his other writings. At last interest
prevailed over maternal affection, and she resolved to allow
him a pension of L.200 a year. He was taken into the
family of Lord Tyrconnel, with whom he lived for some
time in the greatest amity. He wrote a poem entitled the
Temple of Health and Mirth, in 1730, on the recovery of
Lady Tyrconnel from a languishing illness; he dedicated,
in strains of the highest panegyric, a poem called the Wan¬
derer, in 1729, to his noble benefactor. A poem on the
birthday of the Queen, entitled the Volunteer-Laureate,
and written in 1731-32, brought him a pension of L.50 a
year, but her death, on the 20th November 1737, deprived
him of all hopes from the court. But the friendships of
Savage were not generally of very long duration. He sud¬
denly quarrelled with Lord Tyrconnel in 1735, which again
set him adrift penniless upon the world. His friends nowr
resolved to procure him permanent relief, and he was ac¬
cordingly despatched into Wales, where he was to live the
rest of his life in quiet retirement, at the rate of L.50 a
year. Whether it was that the destitute and profligate life
which he had lately led had unconsciously enchanted him, or,
what is more probable, that he entertained secret longings
after that distinction to which he felt his birth entitled him,
he, at all events, resolved to deceive his friends, by simply
retiring to write another tragedy, and again return to
London to bring it upon the stage. He at length reached
Swansea, where, after living about a year, he returned to
Bristol, on his way to London. While in Bristol he was
feasted and caressed for a time, and money was even raised
654 S A V
Savaii to carry him to London, but Savage had the misfortune to
II weary out his Bristol friends. His clothes were worn out:
Savannah, appearance was shabby: his presence was disgustful.
's—He was at last thrown into prison for a debt of L.8, which
he owed to the mistress of a coffee-house. Here, notwith¬
standing much kindness, he chafed and pined away, till at
last, being seized with a fever, he expired on the 31st of
July 1743, in the forty-sixth year of his age. He was
buried on the 2d of August, in the churchyard of St Peter,
Bristol, adjoining the gaol, where his remains rest without
any external mark to indicate them.
SAVAII, an island in the South Pacific, the largest of
the Navigator’s or Samoan group. S. Lat. (of the southern
point) 13. 49., W. Long. 172. 29. Its length is about 50
miles, and its breadth varies from 20 to 30. The structure
is volcanic ; and the surface rises gradually from the shore
to the peaks, thrown up by extinct craters. One of these,
near the centre, rises to the height of 4000 feet, and is
conspicuous to a wide distance round about. The in¬
terior has never been explored. Savaii enjoys a very
fertile soil, which produces, without culture, coffee, sugar,
indigo, and other plants. There is one safe harbour on
the north shore. Pop. estimated at 20,000.
SAVAN DROOG, a strong hill fort of India, in the
territory of Mysore, 19 miles W. of Bangalore, and 53
N.E. of Seringapatam. It occupies a bare granite rock,
4004 feet above the sea, in the midst of dense forest, and
cleft into two distinct summits at the top. It is about 8
miles round, and the sides are very steep. It was stormed
by the British in 1791 ; and after the fall of Tippoo Sultan
in 1799, was garrisoned by a native force, but this was
withdrawn on account of the unhealthiness of the place.
SAVANNAH, the largest town in the state of Georgia,
United States of North America, on the right bank of the
river of the same name, about 18 miles above its mouth
and 90 W.S.W. of Charleston. It occupies a perfectly
level site, on a bluff about 40 feet above the river, and
consequently does not present, when viewed externally, a
very striking appearance. The town, however, is one of
the finest and best laid out in the southern States. Broad
streets intersect each other at right angles, and at every
alternate corner there is a public place, circular or oval in
form. These, as well as the streets, are lined with shady
rows of Pride of India trees, which give the town an ex¬
ceedingly beautiful appearance, and have procured for it
the title of the Forest City. Many of the houses are built
of wood, but in others brick is employed. The public
buildings are not very remarkable, the finest being a
Presbyterian and an Episcopal church. A plain monu¬
ment has been erected to General Green, and another of a
very splendid appearance to Pulaski, who were both dis¬
tinguished, while the latter fell, in the attack on the place
when held by the British in 1779. Savannah has an
exchange, theatre, court-house, jail, arsenal, market-house,
and custom-house. There are also several academies,
hospitals, banking establishments, and insurance offices.
No important manufactures are carried on, but the com¬
merce is much greater than the appearance and size of the
town would lead the stranger to expect. The reason of
this is to be found in the number and extent of lines of
communication which centre at Savannah, and convey to
it the produce of the inland country. Besides the river
there, are 1053 miles of railways in various directions,
bringing down from the interior cotton and other goods;
while steamers ply regularly to New York, Philadelphia,
Beimudas, the British West Indies, &c. Savannah ex-
poits to the Northern States, Great Britain, and France,
cotton, rice, and naval stores ; to the Gulf ports, rice ; and
to Cuba and San Francisco, timber and rice; while it im¬
ports from England railway iron, hardware, salt, &c.; from
the Northern States, groceries and dry goods ; and from
SAY
New Orleans and the West Indies, molasses, sugar, Savary
whisky, fruits, &c. Between September 1st 1851 and |)
September 1st 1852 the receipts of cotton at Savannah ®av*gliano-
were 351,566 bales, and the exports 353,068 bales. In
the same year there were exported 39,929 casks of rice,
and 25,508,500 feet of timber. The harbour of the town
is not equal to the accommodation of its rapidly-increasing
business; and the river is obstructed about a mile below
by some sunken wrecks. But great efforts are being made
by the citizens, with some assistance from the United
States government, for the improvement of the river. The
shipping of the port, June 30th 1852, had an aggregate
tonnage of 13,053 registered, and 10,909 enrolled and
licensed. During the year ending on that day there
arrived from foreign ports 11 7 vessels ; tonnage, 49,270 :
and their cleared for foreign ports 147; tonnage, 61,516.
Pop. (1850) 16,060; (1853) 23,458, of whom 13,714
were free, and 9744 slaves.
SAVARY, Nicolas, a French traveller, was born at
Yitre, in Bretagne, in 1750. He studied with distinction
at Rennes, and in 1776 travelled into Egypt, where he
remained nearly three years. During this period he was
wholly engaged in the study of the Arabian language, in
searching out ancient monuments, and in examining the
national manners. After making himself acquainted with
the antiquities of Egypt, he visited the islands in the
Archipelago, wdiere he spent eighteen months. On his
return to France in the year 1780, he published A Trans¬
lation of the Koran, with a short Life of Mohammed, in
1783, 2 vols. 8vo ; The Morality of the Koran, or a Col¬
lection of the most excellent Maxims in the Koran, 1784 ;
and Letters on Egypt, in 3 vols. 8vo, in 1785. The Arabic
grammar of Savary will not bear comparison with that of
De Sacy. Savary’s descriptions are in general faithful, but
are in some instances too much ornamented. He has been
justly censured for painting modern Egypt and its inhabi¬
tants in too high colours. He died on the 4th of February
1788.
SAVE (anc. Savus, Germ. Sau), a river of the Austrian
empire, rises in Carniola, near Laibach, on the eastern
slope of the Carnic or Julian Alps; and flows eastward,
separating for some distance Carniola from Styria, then
traversing Croatia, and finally separating the Austrian
Military Frontier from the Turkish provinces of Bosnia and
Servia. It falls into the Danube at Belgrade, after a
course of 550 miles. Its chief affluents, which all join it
from the south, are the Kulpa, at its junction with which
it becomes navigable for vessels of 150 tons, the Unna,
Verbas, Bosna, Dvina, and Morava. The Save forms an
important means of communication to the countries which
it waters, and by it their agricultural productions are easily
and cheaply conveyed to their proper markets.
S A VERNE (anc. Taberna, Germ. Zaberri), a town of
France, in the department of Bas-Rhin, on the Zorn, 19
miles N.W. of Strasburg. It stands on the east slope of
the Vosges, where the Paris road descends the hill in zig¬
zags. 1 he town is irregularly built and in no way re¬
markable, the principal building being the large castle of
red sandstone, formerly a residence of the bishops of
Strasburg, and now partly used for barracks; the old
parish church ; and the chdteau, converted in 1852 into
an hospital for widows. Woollen cloth, hosiery, leather,
hardware, bricks, tiles, &c., are made here ; and there is
some trade in timber from the Vosges. Saverne is an
ancient place, and was formerly fortified. It suffered very
much during the Thirty Years’ War; and its fortifications
were destroyed in 1696. Pop. 6407.
SAVIGLIANO, a town of the kingdom of Sardinia,
in the province and 8 miles E. of Saluzzo, in a fertile and
beautiful region, watered by the Maira and other affluents
of the Po. It is for the most part well built, and has a
SAY
SAY
655
fine market-place, lined with colonnades, and another very
handsome public square. There are four good churches,
a very beautiful oratory, several convents, a college and
various schools, an infirmary, foundling hospital, and
other benevolent institutions. There are also here a theatre
and large cavalry barracks. The manufactures of the town
consist of woollen cloth, linen, silk, leather, candles, See.,
and these articles, along with cattle, form the staple of the
trade. Savigliano is a favourite place of residence of the
nobility and gentry of the vicinity. It was formerly forti¬
fied, and has still some remains of the ancient walls.
Here was fought a battle in 1799, in which the Austrians
were defeated by the French. Pop. 16,500.
SAVILE, George, Marquis of Halifax, one of the
greatest statesmen of his time, was born in 1630. Some
time after his return from his travels he was created a peer,
in consideration of his own and his father’s merits. He
was a strenuous opposer of the bill of exclusion, but pro¬
posed such limitations of the Duke of York’s authority as
should disable him from doing any harm either to church
or state ; as the taking out of his hands all power in
ecclesiastical matters, the disposal of the public money,
and the power of making peace and war, and lodging these
in the two houses of parliament. After that bill was re¬
jected in the House of Lords, he pressed them, though
without success, to proceed to the limitation of the duke’s
power, and began with moving that, during the king’s life,
he might be obliged to live 500 miles out of England.
In August 1682 he was created a marquis, and soon after
made privy-seal. Upon King James’s accession he was
made president of the council; but on his refusal to con¬
sent to the repeal of the test act, he was dismissed from all
public employments. In that assembly of the Lords which
met after King James’s withdrawing himself the first time
from Whitehall, the marquis was chosen their president;
and upon the king’s return from Feversham he was sent,
together with the Earl of Shrewsbury and Lord Dela-
mere, from the Prince of Orange to order his majesty
to quit the palace. In the convention of parliament he
was chosen speaker of the House of Lords, and strenuously
supported the motion for the vacancy of the throne, and
the conjunctive sovereignty of the prince and princess,
upon whose accession he was again made privy-seal. Yet,
in 1689, he quitted the court, and became a zealous oppo¬
nent of the measures of government till his death, which
happened in April 1695. Grainger observes that “he was
a person of unsettled principles and of a lively imagination,
which sometimes got the better of his judgment. Lie
would never lose his jest, though it spoiled his argument,
or brought his sincerity or even his religion in question.
He was deservedly celebrated for his parliamentary talents;
and in the famous contest relating to the bill of exclusion,
was thought to be a match for his uncle Shaftesbury. The
pieces he has left us show him to have been an ingenious,
if not a masterly writer; and his Advice to a Daughter
contains more good sense in few words than is perhaps
to be found in any of his contemporary authors.” His
lordship also wrote the Character of a Trimmer; Anatomy
of an Equivalent; A Letter to a Dissenter; A Rough
Draught of a New Model at Sea ; and Maxims of State ;
all which were printed together in 1 vol. 8vo. Since these
there were also published under his name, The Character
of King Charles II., 8vo.; The Character of Bishop
Burnet; and Historical Observations upon the Reigns of
Edward I., Edward II., Edward III., and Richard 11.,
with Remarks upon their Faithful Counsellors and False
Favourites.
Savile, Sir Henry, a learned Englishman, was the
second son of Llenry Savile, and was born at Over
Bradley, near Llalifax, in Yorkshire, on the 30th of
November 1549. He entered Merton College, Oxford,
in 1561, where he took the degrees in arts, and was Savile.
chosen fellow. When he took his degree of master of
arts in 1570, he read for that honour in the Almagest of
Ptolemy, which procured him the reputation of a man
eminently skilled in the mathematics and the Greek lan¬
guage, in the former of which he voluntarily read a public
lecture in the university for some time. In 1578 he
travelled into France and other countries, where, diligently
improving himself in all useful learning, he returned a
most accomplished gentleman. On his return he wTas
made tutor in the Greek tongue to Queen Elizabeth, who
had a great esteem for him.
In 1585 he was made warden of Merton College, which
he governed thiry-six years with great honour, and im¬
proved it by all the means in his power. In 1596 he was
chosen provost of Eton College. James I., upon his ac¬
cession to the crown of England, expressed a great regard
for him, and would have preferred him either in church or
state ; but Savile declined it, and only accepted the cere¬
mony of knighthood from the king at Windsor, in 1604.
His only son Henry dying about that time, he thenceforth
devoted his fortune to the promotion of learning. In 1619
he founded two lectures or professorships in Oxford, one
in geometry and the other in astronomy, which he endowed
with a salary of L.160 a year each, besides a legacy of
L.600 to purchase more lands for the same use. He also
furnished a library with mathematical books, near the
mathematical school, for the use of his professors. He
gave besides several rare manuscripts and printed books to
the Bodleian Library, and a quantity of Greek types to
the printing press at Oxford. After a life thus spent in
the encouragement and promotion of science and literature,
he died at Eton College on the 19th of February 1622, in
the seventy-third year of his age, and was buried in the
chapel there. On this occasion the university of Oxford
paid him the greatest honours, by having a public speech
and verses made in his praise, which were soon afterwards
published in quarto, under the title of Ultima Linea
Savilii.
The highest encomiums were bestowed on Savile by all
the learned of his time ; by Casaubon, Mercerus, Mei-
bomius, Joseph Scaliger, and especially the learned Bishop
Montague, who, in his Diatribce upon Selden’s History of
Tythes, styles him “ that magazine of learning, whose
memory shall be honourable amongst not only the learned
but the righteous for ever.” His works are Four Books
of the Histories of Cornelius Tacitus, and the Life of
Agricola, with Notes upon them, in folio, dedicated to
Queen Elizabeth, 1581 ; A Vieiv of certain Military
Matters, or Commentaries concerning Roman Warfare,
1598 ; Rerum Anglicarum Scriptores post Bedam, 1596,
$ collection of the best writers of our English history ;
The Works of St Chrysostom, in Greek, in 8 vols. folio,
1613. This is a very fine edition, and composed with
great cost and labour. In 1618 he published a Latin
work, written by Thomas Bradwardin, archbishop of
Canterbury, against Pelagius, entitled De Causa Dei
contra Pelagium et de virtute Causarum, to which he
prefixed the life of Bradwardin. In 1621 he published a
collection of his own Mathematical Lectures on Euclid's
Elements, in 4to; Oratio coram Elizabetha Regina
Oxonice habita, anno 1592, printed at Oxford in 1658, in
4to. He translated into Latin King James’s Apology for
the Oath of Allegiance. He also left several manuscripts,
written by order of King James, all which are in the
Bodleian Library. He wrote notes likewise upon the
margin of many books in his library, particularly Eusebius’s
Ecclesiastical History, which were afterwards used by
Valesius in his edition of that work in 1659. Four of his
letters to Camden are published by Smith, among Camden’s
Letters, 1691, 4to.
656
SAVINGS BANKS.
Introduc- A SAYINGS bank may be defined as an institution for the
tory Re- recejpt of small sums of money, to be placed at compound
marks. jnterestj an(j returned on demand. It may, and in practice
^it frequently does, embrace other and collateral objects—
such, for example, as the granting of annuities—but its
primary characteristics are (1), the capitalization of interest
on the sums deposited; (2), the holding of those sums at
call—whether with or without notice, as the specific rules
may prescribe.
Pithy sayings about the universal duties of frugality and
foresight are much older than the earliest attempts to broaden
the path of their performance by giving increased facilities
of access to the multitude. The first essays of this kind,
when at length they were made, seem always to have con¬
nected themselves with ideas of compulsion rather than of
persuasion. In England, in the first half of the eighteenth
century, for instance, the most favourite project was to
effect a legislative substitution of savings for poor’s-rates;
by passing “ acts of Parliament which,” as Defoe says,
“ shall make drunkards take care of wife and children ;
spendthrifts lay up for a wet day ; lazy fellows diligent; and
thoughtless, sottish men careful and provident.”1 Francis
Maseres, in 1771, took a somewhat wiser course when he
proposed to give powers to incorporate the ratepayers of
any parish for the purpose of receiving “ some part of the
money people could save out of their wages,” of investing
this money in stock, and of granting deferred annuities to
the depositors. A bill based on this proposal, open as it
was to grave objections of detail, passed the Commons, but
was rejected by the Lords. Precisely the same fate attended
another, but compulsory, scheme advocated a few years later
by the Rev. John Acland, of Exeter, for establishing a
great “ Provident Society,” to which all persons between
twenty-one and thirty years of age, not being landowners,
were by law to belong.
The earliest “ savings banks,” properly so called, with
which we are acquainted are those of Hamburg, founded
in 1778, and of Berne, about nine years later in date. Both
were restricted, more or less closely, to the use of domestic
servants, handicraftsmen, and the like. The Hamburg
bank, too, formed part of a general scheme for the admin¬
istration of poor’s funds. Neither of them appears to have
attracted any attention in England.
For the first British savings bank we must look to the
suburban village of Tottenham, near London, where a
“children’s bank” was begun by Priscilla Wakefield, in
1798, followed by one for adults in 1804. The first in
Scotland was established by the Rev. John Muckersy, of
West-Calder in Mid-Lothian, in October 1807, under the
title of “ West-Calder Friendly Bank.” But the virtual
founder of savings banks in the British empire was Dr
Henry Duncan, minister of Ruthwell, in Dumfriesshire,
whose attention was first attracted to the subject in reading
one of the many tracts on matters of social economy written
by John Bone.
I. HISTORY AND STATISTICS OP THE SAVINGS BANKS OP
GREAT BRITAIN AND IRELAND.
Savings Between the little experiment for children at Tottenham
banks of in 1798, and that decisive experiment at Ruthwell, in Dum-
Great Bri- friesshire, in 1810, which placed the value and success of
tain and savings banks beyond question, the only very noticeable
Ireland. institution of this kind was that founded at Bath, exclusively
for domestic servants, in 1808. The originator was Lady
Isabella Douglas. The sums receivable from any one de¬
positor were limited to L.50. On the attainment of that
sum facilities were offered for its investment in the public
funds, so that a new account might be immediately opened.
Interest was allowed at the rate of 4 per cent, per annum.
The scheme was for a time so prosperous that, in 1813, an
endeavour was made to convert the “ servants’ bank” into
a general bank for savings, but the attempt did not then
succeed, apparently from the want of satisfactory channels
for investment. It was not until 1815 that the “ Provident
Institution of Bath,” afterwards designated the “ Bath Sav¬
ings Bank,” was effectively established.
When Dr Duncan began his enterprise at Ruthwell he
had for his encouragement the general good character and
industrious habits of the people amongst whom he laboured.
On the adverse side was the want of resident heritors to
support the scheme at its outset, and also the circumstance
that a majority of the best parishioners were already mem¬
bers of friendly societies, the obligations of which they were
barely able to meet. In about four years, however, the
benevolent and energetic founder had the satisfaction of
seeing in his bank a fund amounting to L.1160, and bear¬
ing interest at 5 per cent. Dr Duncan started with the
wise axioms that “ the very prejudices of the people should
be carefully consulted, and treated with tenderness and de¬
licacy,” and that they should themselves take a share in the
management. As to the time and amounts of the deposits,
his first intention was to leave them to the depositors, and
to avoid any fines or forfeitures, such as were imposed by
the Friendly Societies; but eventually he found it desir¬
able to make a regulation, that upon any account being
once opened with the bank, there must be a deposit of at
least four shillings annually, under the penalty of forfeiting
one shilling. At Ruthwell, as at most other places in which
savings banks were established at an early period, there
were many considerable deposits in single sums, which had
been long hoarded, without interest and without security.
Edinburgh followed in December 1813, but, curiously
enough, without knowing what had been done at Ruth¬
well, although the proceedings there had already attracted
attention in many other parts of the United Kingdom.
The chief mover in the matter at Edinburgh, Mr J. H.
Forbes, was familiar with the experiments at Tottenham
and at Bath many years before, but knew nothing of Dr
Duncan’s exertions in Dumfriesshire, just as Dr Duncan
himself was unacquainted (until after the first appearance
of his Essay on Parish Banks) with the little bank at
West-Calder, established by the Rev. John Muckersy three
years earlier. Within the first nine months, the Edinburgh
bank—which, for a considerable period, continued to be a
branch or section of the “ Society for the Suppression of
Beggars”—numbered 106 depositors. Within three years,
it had received savings from 1837 several depositors,
amounting in the whole to L.8316, 14s., of which sum
L.1460 had been exchanged for interest notes of L.10
each, on the bank of Sir William Forbes and Company.
During the first year, 4 per cent., but afterwards 5 per
cent., was the rate of interest both on current accounts
and on the notes. No deposit of less than one shilling was
received. The transfer to Messrs Forbes’ bank, or with¬
drawal by the depositor, became necessary as soon as the
amount standing to the credit of any account reached L.10.
The yearly summary for this initiative period ran thus:—
History
and Statis¬
tics.
Bank for
servants at
Bath.
The Ruth-
well sav¬
ings bank.
Founda¬
tion of the
Edinburgh
savings
bank.
1 Giving Alms no Charity, 1704.
History
and Statis¬
tics.
Savings
banks of
various
English
towns.
Early his¬
tory of the
Hertford
savings
bank.
SAVINGS
New
Depo¬
sitors.
Amount of
Deposits.
Amount of
Repayments.
Jan. 1 to Oct. 1, 1814 
Oct. 1, 1814, to Oct. 1, 1815..
Oct. 1, 1815, to Oct. 1, 1816..
Oct. 1,1816, to Jan. 1, 1817 1
three months only.] j
106
643
915
173
L. s. d.
221 6 6
2202 11 6
4677 3 0
1215 13 0
L. s. d,
101 9 0
993 0 6
3582 1 6
1239 13 6
Total of three years  1837
8316 14 0
5916 4 6
The banks of Bath (on the establishment of its “ Provi¬
dent Institution” in January 1815), Southampton (in No¬
vember of the same year), Exeter (in February 1816), and
Hertford (in the following March), rank at once amongst the
earliest and amongst the most successful of those which were
established in English towns prior to the legislative regula¬
tion of savings banks. The early experience of all of them
presents matter which has still its interest; but we restrict
ourselves to the two latter. The rules adopted at Exeter
limited the sums to be paid in by any one depositor during
the first year to L.50; to the like amount during the
second year; and to L.25 in each succeeding year. It
allowed 4 per cent, interest. But its characteristic
feature was the establishment of about sixty receiving offices
in all parts of Devonshire, on a plan which entailed little
expense—the only item of charge being for printing and
postage or porterage—and which largely increased the
business of the parent institution in the county town.
Most of the receivers were clergymen. The expenses
were defrayed out of a fund which had been raised by vo¬
luntary subscription. Within two years this bank had
received 1380 deposits from 946 depositors, amounting in
the aggregate to L.14,525, and bearing interest amounting
to L.246. It had repaid the sum of L.984 to 73 depositors,
leaving a balance to depositors’ credit of L.13,709, in addi¬
tion to a surplus of L.372 on the establishment and expenses
fund. The bank at Hertford had been preceded by one
of a peculiar kind, called “ The Sunday Bank,” which had
been established by a benevolent vicar—the Rev. Thomas
Lloyd—some two or three years earlier. Sums from six¬
pence to two shillings, paid by parishioners, chiefly of the
labouring class, to the vicar, after morning service on Sun¬
days, amounted for several years to upwards of L.300 a
year; but these sums (prior to March 1816) were always
returned to the depositors every New Year’s Day, with
interest, usually at the rate of twelve 'per cent., a rate arising,
not of course from profitable investment exclusively, but
from the addition of certain benefactions to the legitimate
interest. On the establishment of the savings bank, the
“ Sunday Bank” became, so to speak, a feeder to it. In the
evidence given by Mr Lloyd before the Lords’ Committee
on the Poor Laws of 1817, he assigned, as one of the
causes which had promoted the success of the banks, the
evils arising from Benefit Clubs or Friendly Societies as
then constituted:—“For there is almost always,” he said,
“ a regulation that when two-thirds of the members chose
to assemble and unanimously agree to break up the clubs,
they can ; the consequence is, that the other third, the old
members, who ought to be deriving an assistance during
the last period of their lives from these clubs, are deprived
of it. We have had ... six clubs broken up within these
two years in the neighbourhood of Hertford.” He also
stated, as one of the difficulties he had to contend with, a
very general fear on the part of the labourers “ of the per¬
sons employing them knowing what they can save; that is,
what they can live upon. There certainly always has been
a fear that, if it were known, their masters and employers
would reduce their wages. ... It almost invariably hap¬
pens that, when a deposit is made by a labourer, the great
anxiety is, that nobody should know it; and . . . one or
VOL. XIX.
BANKS. 657
our regulations is . . secrecy. The man at the next door History
does not know that his neighbour puts into the savings bank. an<i Snuis-
. . . The labourers bring their book on Sunday instead of tics*
Saturday ; they bolt the door regularly, and bring the book
out with great secrecy, for the entry to be made in it.”
The first savings bank established (in March 1815) in Foundation
Ireland was that of Stillorgan, called the “ Parochial Bank,” of savings
and was due to the exertions of the Rev. John Reade,
who, on removing shortly afterwards to Clondalkin, estab¬
lished a second bank there. In both places the small
deposits of the peasantry were kept in the bank, each de¬
positor having his special receptacle,—(“ the poor,” wrote
Mr Reade, “are always pleased to see their money at
every period they make their deposit”)—until they
amounted to L.l, when they were invested in stock.
Both these original banks, like the earliest banks of
England and of Scotland, have long since been absorbed
in larger institutions of later date. The third Irish bank,
that of Belfast, was opened in January 1816, and received,
within the first year and three-quarters, 3428 deposits from
646 depositors, amounting in the aggregate to L.4416.
The sums withdrawn during this period amounted but to
L.1518. “ The class of people,” says the first report,
“ who generally deposit money in this bank is that of ser¬
vants ; there were a great many spinners at the com¬
mencement, but the misfortunes of their trade obliged
them to desist.” The Belfast bank continues to flourish.
At the end of the year 1816, there w'ere in England
and Wales 74, and in Ireland 4 savings banks, each
managed according to its particular rules, and all resting,
as respects the security of the deposits, upon personal
knowledge and confidence between depositors and mana¬
gers. In July 1817, the first parliamentary enactments for Parlicamen-
the regulation of savings banks were passed, the one being tary regu-
57 Geo. III., c. 130, intituled “An Act to Encourage the lat\on of
Establishment of Banks for Savings in England;” the ^ank's^n
other, 57 Geo. III., c. 105, intituled “An Act to £11-1817(57
courage the Establishment of Savings Banks in Ireland.” Geo. HI.,
Both measures required that the rules of every savings c. 105 and
bank should be deposited with the clerk of the peace. In 130)*
England, every depositor was restricted to the investment
of sums not exceeding L.l00 in the first year, and L.50
in each succeeding year ; in Ireland, the limit w7as L.50 in
any year. The trustees and managers of the banks were
prohibited from receiving any profits, and were empowered
to pay over the monies received from depositors into the
Bank of England or of Ireland respectively (in sums not less
than L.50 in England, or L.100 in Ireland), to the account
of the Commissioners for the reduction of the National
Debt, and as “ the fund of the banks for savings.” The
Commissioners were to invest the monies so received in 3
per cent, bank annuities, and were to issue debentures
bearing interest at 3d. per cent, per diem (L.4, 1 Is. 3d. per
annum), payable twice a year, in May and November, and
were to lay annually before Parliament an account of all
monies received and stock purchased. Finally, in Ireland,
the trustees might place a portion of their deposits on
interest with bankers, provided the sums so placed did not
exceed one-fifth of the whole amount of deposits, but no
similar power was given by the English act.
The next session brought its “Act to amend an Act 58 Geo.
passed in the last Session of Parliament to Encourage the c- 48.
Establishment of Banks for Savings in England” (58 Geo.
III., c. 48), by which the forms of the debentures were
altered; power was given to the justices at sessions to
reject the rules deposited with the clerk of the peace; and
the payment into any savings bank by ticket or number,
without disclosing the name of the depositor, of any sums
exceeding L.10 in the year, was prohibited.
In March 1818, 164 banks in England and Wales had
4 o
658
History
and Statis¬
tics.
State of the
savings
banks in
England
and Wales
in 1818.
Further
alterations
of the law.
Statistics
of savings
banks in
Great Bri¬
tain and
Ireland,
Nov. 20,
1821.
The “ Go¬
verning
Statutes”-
9 Geo. IV.,
c. 92.
SAVINGS BANKS.
paid to the account of the National Debt Commissioners
sums amounting in the aggregate to L.65/,187, with
which stock had been purchased to the amount of
L.816,547. The largest payment—viz., L.32,000—was
that of the Exeter Bank ; the smallest—viz., L. 160—that
of the bank at St John’s, Wapping, near London Two
months later, the number of banks in England and Wales
had increased to 227, the amount of payments to L.949,835,
bearing an annual interest of L.43,336, and the stock pur¬
chased to L.1,182,385. The sums similarly invested by
seven Irish banks amounted in March 1818 to L. 12,553,
producing in stock L.l 3,322. In the year ending 5th
January 1819, the payments from Irish banks, the num¬
ber of which is not stated in the parliamentary return,
amounted to L.50,030, producing in stock L.55,304.
An act of 1820 (1 Geo. IV., c. 83) repealed so much
of the preceding acts as related to the issuing of deben¬
tures ; directed that interest should be calculated twice in
the year, and carried to account as additional principal ;
and enabled charitable societies to deposit with the Com¬
missioners either the whole or any portion of their funds.
The Iris/i banks continued to be regulated by 57 Geo.
III., c. 105, until, in 1824, one act, for the first time, com¬
prised both kingdoms. This act (5 Geo. IV., c. 62) ex¬
tended to Ireland the main provisions of the act last
mentioned. It repealed so much of the 57 Geo. III., c.
105, as limited the deposits to L.50 in one year, and per¬
mitted trustees to place any portion of their funds, not
exceeding a fifth, in the hands of a banker. It also
repealed so much of the 57 Geo. III., c. 130, as provided
that deposits should not exceed L.100 in the first year,
and L.50 in any succeeding year ; and also so much of
the 58 Geo. III., c. 48, as allowed deposits by ticket or
number to the amount of L.10 a year, and enacted that in
future no anonymous deposits should be made. The de¬
posits of any one depositor, either in England or in
Ireland, were thenceforth restricted to L.50 in the first
year, and to L.30 in any year afterwards ; and it was pro¬
vided that the whole should not exceed L.200, exclusive
of interest. This act further repealed that recent pro-
vision"of 1 Geo. IV., c. 83, which authorized charitable
societies to deposit their funds.
The new law came into force on the 20th November 1824.
The aggregate investments of each depositor were then
first subjected to legal restriction. At that date there had
been received by the National Debt Commissioners, from
the trustees of savings banks and friendly societies (during
a period of seven years and a quarter), a total sum of
L.12,361,919, 6s. 4d.—viz., in Great Britain, L.l 1,636,271,
4s. 4d.; in Ireland, L.725,648, 2s. The repayments, dur¬
ing the same period, interest included, amounted to
L.632,670, 18s. The total amount of stock standing to
savings bank account in the Commissioners’ names was
L.l3,384,350, 17s. 7d., the actual cost of which had been
L.l 1,544,017, 8s. 2d.; the gross amount of interest re¬
ceived thereon by the Commissioners was L.l ,317,382, 3s.
10d., and the gross amount of interest paid or credited by
the Commissioners to savings banks and friendly societies
was L.l,540,557, 4s. lid.
We now arrive at the first of the present “governing
statutes” of savings banks, viz., the 9 Geo. IV., c. 92,
-passed on the 28th July 1828, and intituled, “An Act
’ to Consolidate and Amend the Laws relating to Savings
Banks,” which repealed all the statutes previously in force.
This act then provided that the rules of every savings
bank should be entered in a book, be deposited with the
clerk of the peace for the county in which such bank was
held, and be then submitted to a barrister appointed by the
Commissioners, to be by him certified and laid before the
justices in quarter-sessions, who might reject the same or
any part thereof. If admitted, the rules became binding on
tics.
depositors and officers. Such of its minor enactments (still History-
in force) as appear to be important, will be mentioned in and Statis-
a subsequent section of this article.
The following table will show the progress of the banks
(exclusive of friendly societies) under the working of the
legislation of 1824 and 1828, until the period (1833) of the
passing of the important act of 3 Will. IV., c. 14 :—
Year ending
20th Nov.
1817-1824...
1825.. .
1826.. .
1827.. .
1828.. .
1829.. .
1830.. .
1831.. .
1832.. .
1833.. .
Total of 17
years...
Amount
received
by the
Commis¬
sioners
from Sav¬
ings Banks.
Interest
Paid or
Credited
to Savings
Banks
L.
10,814,379
1,207,229
539,268
859,734
1,058,621
396,159
501,105
487,512
556,355
894,493
17,314,855
L.
1,538,456
562,759
592,390
615.516
675,753
563,983
555,478
550,116
543,013
554,257
6,751,721
Total
Amount
Credited to
Savings
Banks in
the Year.
Total
Amount
of Repay¬
ments dur¬
ing the
Year.
L.
12,352,836
1,769,988
1,131,659
1,475,250
1,734,374
960,142
1,056,584
1,037,629
1,099,368
1,448,751
L.
632,208
232,909
1,254,149
421,759
564,579
1,527,151
987,890
1,199,182
1,381,118
540,842
Balance
to Credit
of Savings
Bank at
close of
each Year.
24,066,581 Js, 741,787
L.
11,720,629
13.257.708
13,135,218
14.188.708
15,358,504
14,791,495
14,860,188
14,698,635
14,416,885
15,324,794
A more striking illustration of the value of the savings
bank system can hardly be conceived than that which is
afforded by the figures of the memorable years 1826 and
1829-32, as they stand in this table. These are the only
years in which the nett funds of savings banks decreased,
until we reach the commercial crisis of 1847.
The salient provisions of the act of 1833, intituled, “ An 3 will. IV.,
Act to enable depositors in Savings Banks and others to c. 14
purchase Government Annuities through the medium of (1833).
Savings Banks,” &c., are—(1.) The powers given to the
National Debt Commissioners for the purchase of govern¬
ment annuities, not exceeding L.20 per annum, nor to be
granted on the life of any nominee under fifteen years of
age, on depositors’ account. This portion of the act occu¬
pies clauses 1 to 24 inclusive, and clauses 26 and 27, and
has since been repealed. (2.) The obligation imposed on
all executors, administrators, and assignees of savings bank
officers to pay any money owing by such officers to any
savings bank before any other debt. (3.) The repeal of
so much of the 9 Geo. IV., c. 92, as relates to the with¬
drawing of deposits and re-depositing; and the enactment
in lieu thereof, that no sums exceeding L.30 in the aggre¬
gate shall be deposited in any one year. (4, and finally.)
The enactment, in clause 25, “ That it shall be lawful for
the said Commissioners .... from time to time, and as they
shall think fit, to sell and dispose of the bank annuities and
Exchequer bills, or any part thereof which may be now
standing, or may hereafter stand in their names, . . . . in
pursuance of the said act, .... and with the proceeds
thereof to purchase in lieu thereof any other description of
Bank annuities, or annuities for terms of years, or Ex¬
chequer bills.” Another act, 5 and 6 Will. IV., c. 57,
intituled, “ An Act to extend to Scotland certain provi- 5 and 6
sions of an Act of His late Majesty to consolidate and Will. IV.
amend the Laws relating to Savings Banks,” &c., repealed c. 57
the 59 Geo. III., c. 62, except in relation to such savings (J83o).
banks as had been established under it, and had not con¬
formed to the provisions of 9 Geo. IV., c. 92. With
respect to such banks, the former act was to continue in
force until the time of such conformation.
In each year, from 1834 to 1841 (which year completed
the first quarter of a century from their legal establishment),
the nett amount of the deposits in savings banks continued
to increase, as will be seen if we resume the table of their
transactions with the Commissioners for the reduction of
the National Debt, in similar form :—
History
and Statis¬
tics.
Statistics
of the sav¬
ings banks,
1834-41.
Circum¬
stances
.vhich qua¬
lified the
success of
the savings
banks.
SAVINGS BANKS. 659
Kingdom at this date (20th November 1841) was 555, History
viz., in England (including Guernsey and Jersey), 428; and Statis-
in Wales, 23; in Scotland, 28; in Ireland, 76. The v tics‘ ,
total number of current accounts in these banks was ^
841,204; of which 824,162 belonged to individual depo¬
sitors, 8778 to charitable institutions, and 8624 to friendly
societies. The aggregate amount of the deposits, with in¬
terest, in 554 of these banks (the remaining bank hav¬
ing made no return), was L.24,474,680, of which sum
L.22,915,940 stood to the account of individual deposi¬
tors, L.478,096 to that of charitable institutions, and
L. 1,080,653 to that of friendly societies. The average
amount standing to the credit of each individual deposi¬
tor was L.28; to that of each charitable society, L.54;
to that of each friendly society, L.131. The details for
the respective portions of the United Kingdom were as
The total number of savings banks in the United follows
Year
ending 20th
Nov.
Amount
received
by the
Commis¬
sioners
from Sav¬
ings Banks.
Interest
paid or
Credited to
Savings
Banks.
Total
Amount
Credited to
Savings
Banks
during the
Year.
Total
Amount
of Repay¬
ments dur¬
ing the
Year.
Balance to
credit of
Savings
Banks at
close of the
Year.
1817-1833...
1834.. .
1835.. .
1836.. .
1837.. .
1838.. .
1839.. .
1840.. .
1841.. .
L.
17,314.855
982,928
1.024,017
1,324,297
929,212
1,433,717
1,310,885
1,086,937
1,053,194
L.
6,751,721
592,087
630,878
682,291
720,479
766,946
826,617
862,189
897,557
L.
24,066,581
1,575,016
1,654,896
2,006,588
1,649,691
2,200,663
2,137,502
1,949,126
1,950,751
L.
8,741,787
513,775
571,314
541,615
872,485
466,119
1,097,290
885,963
963,496
L.
15,324,794
16,386,035
17,469,617
18,934,591
19,711,797
21,446,341
22,486,553
23,549,716
24,536,971
Totals of 25
years 
26,460,042
12,730,765
39,190,814
14,653,844
Class.
Number of Depositors in each Class.
In In In In
England. Wales. Scotland. Ireland.
Total Amount of Deposits in each Class.
England. Wales. Scotland. Ireland
Average Amnt. held by each Depositor.
England. Wales. Scotland. Ireland.
Depositors not exceeding
L.20 each 
„ 50 „  
„ 100 ,  
„ 150 ,  
„ 200 „  
of 200 & upwards-
384,634
175,697
76,498
26,483
14,849
2,836
8186
4835
1769
545
236
54
41,045
7,127
1,578
226
42
36,537
28,196
9,042
2,531
1,094
122
L.
2,528,654
5,438,897
5,283,164
3,191,335
2,533,055
681,028
L.
64,183
149,576
122,307
65,278
40,062
12,888
L.
203,155
217,019
107,918
27,063
6,932
none
L.
271,676
860,823
606,923
295,364
180,853
27,787
L.
6
30
69
116
170
240
L.
7
30
69
119
161
238
L.
5
30
68
120
165
none.
L.
7
31
67
117
165
228
Total number of De- 1
positors J
Do., Friendly Societies...
Do., Charitable Institu- )
tions )
Total number of Ac¬
counts 
680,997
7,225
7,569
695,791
15,625
419
176
16,220
50,018
225
376
50,619
77,522
395
657
78,574
19,656,133
967,414
412,643
454,294
62,525
10,869
21,036,1901 527,688
562,087
30,923
15,499
608,509
2,243,426
19,791
39,085
2,302,302
28
130
54
29
149
62
11
82
41
29
50
61
The Depositors of the whole United Kingdom, collectively,
at the end of 1841, may be classified thus :—
Depositors.
Number of
Depositors.
Amount of
Deposits.
Average held
by each
Depositor in
each class
respectively.
1. Not exceeding L.20 each
2. ,, „ SO }>
3. „ ,, 100 ,,
4. „ „ 150 „
5. „ „ 200 „
6. Exceeding 200 „
470,402
215,855.
88,887
29,785
16,221
3,012
L.
3,067,668
6,666,315
6,120,312
3,579,040
2,760,902
721,703
L.
7
31
69
120
170
240
Total 
Friendly Societies 
Charitable Institutions.
824,162
8,264
8,778
22,915,940
1,080,653
478,096
28
54
131
Total number of accounts... 841,204 24,474,689
29*
* Mean average.
As compared with the population, there was at this
period, in England, 1 depositor to every 22 inhabitants ; in
Wales, 1 to 58; in Scotland, 1 to 52; in Ireland, 1 to 105.
The remarkable success of the savings bank system, so
greatly beyond any the most sanguine expectations that
could have been preconceived of it, had of course its alloy.
There had been several instances of defalcation by actu¬
aries of the banks. Although not covered by the guarantee
bonds exacted by law, the amount of these defalcations was
inconsiderable. But it was none the less obviously impor¬
tant that effective precautions should be taken to preclude
their recurrence. Other points of anxiety presented them¬
selves in respect to the exercise of the powers vested in or
assumed by the National Debt Commissioners of varying,
for other than savings bank purposes, the securities held
in trust by them on savings banks account; and also in
respect to the considerable and increasing difference between
the total amount of the debt owing by the Commissioners
to the savings banks, and that of the securities in which
that debt was invested. In the course of the eager con¬
troversy which was then carried on, it was alleged, on the
one hand, that the deficit was the inevitable consequence
of the parliamentary enactments as to the interest to be
allowed by the Commissioners to the banks; and, on the
other, that no deficiency would have existed had there
been no trafficking for extraneous purposes in the securities
in which the money of depositors was invested.
It is obvious that the immediate, or almost immediate,
investment of the deposits as they are received by the
Commissioners—which investment is the fundamental prin¬
ciple of our savings banksj legislation—entails the frequent
purchase of stock at high prices in prosperous times, when
deposits are pouring in ; and that immediate repayment of
deposits on demand—which repayment is also and equally
fundamental—must, conversely, involve the frequent sale of
stock at low prices in times of depression, when deposits
fall off and withdrawals are numerous.
The following table exhibits (1) the amount of interest
received by the National Debt Commissioners on account
of the investments made for savings banks in each year
from 1817 to 1843 inclusive; and (2) the amount of in¬
terest paid and credited by the Commissioners to the
trustees of savings banks during the same period, at the
parliamentary rate of L.4, 11s. 3d. per cent., until the year
1828 inclusive; and at that of L.3, 16s. 0£d. from 1829 to
1843 inclusive:—
660
SAVINGS BANKS.
Compara¬
tive state¬
ment of the
lividends
received by
the Com¬
missioners,
and the in¬
terest paid
by them to
the banks,
1817-43.
Tear endins:
November 20.
Dividends on
Savings Bank
Stock, and other
Securities, received
by the Commis
sioners.
1817 and 1818
1819  
1820  
1821 
1822  
1823  
1824  
1825  
1826  
1827 
1823 
1829  
1830  
1831  
1832  
1833  
1834  
1835  
1836  
1837  
1838   
1839  
1840  
1841   
1842  
1843  
L.
32,071
92.865
124,278
163,631
225,252
298,270
379,411
450,027
478,286
480,851
515,569
514,094
492,403
455,541
440,677
544,216
454.788
538,984
596,934
654,835
688,211
731.230
762,607
791,654
804,273
853,184
1
6
10 1
6 7
13 0
5 3
13 0
9 4
16 3
12 6
0 6
8 0
6 3
15 10
7 5
0 11
2 7
9 6
8 4
18 10
5 11
4 5
8 8
12,564,152 13 6
Interest Paid or
Credited by
Commissioners to
Savings Banks.
L.
44,909
106,763
141,488
182,649
253,629
340,757
468,261
562,759
592,390
615,516
675.753
563,983
555.478
550,116
543,013
554,257
592,087
630,878
682,291
720.479
766,946
826.617
862,189
897,557
929,446
982,188
s. d.
5 1
4 9
1 3
13 3
4 11
0 2
12 1
6 4
18 11
1 7
16 7
11 2
17 1
8 10
13 8
17 11
19 11
10 7
18 7
16 11
6 6
16 9
8 10
4 5
12 2
6 11
14,642,412 15 2
Excess of In¬
terest Paid to
Savings Banks.
L.
12,838
13,897
17,209
19,018
28,376
42,486
88,850
112,731
114,104
134,664
160,184
49,888
63,075
94,575
102,336
10,041
137,299
91,894
85,357
65,644
78,734
95,387
99.581
105,902
125,173
129,003
s. d.
3 8
11 2
13 1
12 2
18 10
10 1
5 6
13 4
13 8
8 7
7 3
14 11
4 7
8 4
5 8
11 8
4 1
3 2
17 8
14 4
17 0
8 5
10 0
18 6
7 9
18 3
2,078,260 1 8
The total excess paid to the banks under the L.4, 11s.
3d. per cent, rate was L.744,362, 17s. 4d.; that paid under
the L.3. 16s. 0£d. rate, to the year 1843 inclusive, was
L.1.333,897, 4s. 4d. In 1844, Mr Goulburn’s Act (7 and
8 Viet., c. 83), reduced the rate of interest to be allowed
to the trustees, from the close of the then current year, to
L.3, 5s. per cent.; and enacted that the rate to be allowed
to depositors should not exceed L.3, Os. lOd. per cent, per
annum. As that act was at first framed, it proposed to
reduce the interest to trustees to L.3, Is. 4d. per cent., and
the maximum interest to depositors to L.2, 13s. 9d. per
cent.; but the opposition of the principal banks led to a
compromise.
The excess of interest paid to the banks during the last
year of the old rate (ending 20th November 1844) was
L. 101,673, 7s. 3d., making the total excess up to that date
L.2,179,933, 8s. lid. The like excess paid during the
first year of the new rate (ending 20th November 1845)
was L.20,185, 4s. 3d.
Provisions Another important alteration in the law of savings banks,
of 7 and 8 introduced by the Act of 1844, was that relating to the
c‘83> responsibilities of trustees and managers. The Act of
spect tore- 1828 declared that no such officer “should be personally
sponsibi- liable, except for his own acts or deeds, or for anything
lityoftrus- done by him ... in cases where he should be guilty of
tees. toilful neglect or default. Prior to that Act of 1828, it had
been judicially declared that “ deposits are made by parties,
not on the faith of the person acting as actuary or cashier,
but upon the faith of the gentlemen who act as trustees.
• . . If, therefore, the clerk or other person employed by
them is guilty of peculation, they are themselves liable for
any defalcation which may ensue.” The Act of 1844 pro-
vuies “ that no trustee or manager of any savings bank
shall be liable to make good any deficiency which may
hereafter arise in the funds of any savings bank, unless such
persons shall have respectively declared, by writing under
their hands, and deposited with the Commissioners for the
reduction of the National Debt, that they are willing so to be
ansiverable ; and it shall be lawful for each of such persons,
or lor such persons collectively, to limit his or their respon¬
sibility to such sum as shall be specified in any such instru¬
ment. Provided always that the trustee or manager of any
such institution shall be, and is hereby declared to be, per- History
sonally responsible and liable for all monies actually received and Statis-
by him on account of, or to and for the use of such insti- tics-
tution, and not paid over or disposed of in the manner
directed by the rules of the institution; and an abstract of
the above provisions shall be enrolled as one of the rules
of the institution.” This change also was opposed—but
apparently on insufficient grounds—by some of the leading
banks. It was further enacted that deposits not exceeding
L.50, exclusive of interest, belonging to persons dying in¬
testate, and to whom no letters of administration shall be
taken out within one month of decease, may be paid to
the widow or other person entitled; and that disputes
arising between any bank and a depositor, or the represen¬
tatives of a depositor, shall be referred to the barrister ap¬
pointed under the act.
As far as relates to Ireland, the provision of 7 and 8
Viet., c. 83, which we have just recited, with respect to
the responsibility of trustees and managers, was repealed,
four years afterwards, by the 11 and 12 Viet, c. 133, for n an(j 12
the purpose of enacting in lieu thereof, “that after the Viet., c.
20th November 1848, any trustee or manager of a savings 133.
bank in Ireland who has declared or shall declare, in writing
under his hand, deposited with the Commissioners for the
reduction of the National Debt, that he is willing to be
answerable for a specific amount only, such amount being
in no case less than L.100, shall not be liable to make
good any deficiency which may thereafter arise in the funds
of such savings bank, beyond the amount specified in such
writing:” with a like proviso to that contained in the pre¬
ceding act with respect to monies actually received by any
individual trustee. This act of the 11 and 12 Viet, also
provided that the rules of every savings bank in Ireland
shall specify certain days, not less than two in every year,
for the production at the bank of the pass-book of every
depositor, subject to the penalty of the surceasing of interest
in case of failure ; and it further enacted, “ that if it shall
appear to the satisfaction of the Commissioners that the
clauses of the said recited act and of this act, or the
orders, directions, and regulations of the said Commissioners,
signified by the comptroller-general to the trustees of any
savings bank in Ireland, have not been complied with . . .
it shall be lawful for the Commissioners to close the account
of such savings bank, and to discontinue the keeping any
further account with the trustees thereof,” until they shall
see cause to determine otherwise.
The latest enactment bearing upon the law of savings 16 and 17
banks is the 16 and 17 Viet., c. 45, intituled “ An Act Viet., c. 45.
to Consolidate and Amend the laws, and to grant addi¬
tional facilities in relation to the Purchase of Government
Annuities through the medium of Savings Banks, and to
make other provisions in respect thereof. This act permits
contracts to continue to be made by depositors for the pur¬
chase of annuities through the medium of savings banks,
but practically it severs such contracts from the ordinary
business of those institutions, and makes them a special
section of that of the National Debt Commission. Summ<
The extensivfe discussions to which the introduction of0f traasa(._
the act of 1844 gave rise, have had very important conse- tions in
quences. Until the date of those discussions, no account savings
of savings banks’ transactions had ever been rendered by bank stock,
the Commissioners in detail, either to Parliament or to the i828-44.
public. It then, for the first time, appeared by papers laid
before the House of Commons by Mr Goulburn (then Chan¬
cellor of the Exchequer), that transactions in stock, to the
amount of several millions, had been effected, not for sav¬
ings bank purposes, but for the general financial purposes
of the State. Thus, it was shown, that in the years 1828-
44, savings bank stock, amounting to L.8,166,551, was sold,
and other stock, amounting to L.8,557,000, was purchased
Of the stock sold, considerably more than half (viz.
History
and Statis¬
tics.
Statistics
of savings
banks,
1841-57.
Compari¬
son of ag¬
gregate de¬
posits with
aggregate
withdraw¬
als, 1841-
57.
SAVINGS BANKS.
661
L.4,156,901 three per cent?.) was sold at prices ranging
from 86 to 90. Of the stock bought, one-sixth (viz.,
L.1,420,000 three per cents.) was bought at prices ranging
from 96f to lOOf, and nearly two-sevenths more (viz.,
L.2,379.900 three per cents.) at prices ranging from 92£
to 98. The details, as laid before the House of Commons,
are as follows :—
History
and Statis¬
tics.
Stock Sold, 1828-44.
Three per Cents.
Prices.
Three and a
half per Cents.
Prices.
Stock Pcrchased, 1828-44.
Three per Cents.
L.
572,000
4,156,901
2,426,150
80 to 95
86 to 90
90 to 94
L.
1,011,500
L.
720,400
399,300
593,500
666,700
1,420,000
519,600
92|- to 95(1838)
Do. do. (1839)
88f to 95
94J- to 98
93f to lOOf
L.
587,500
2,871,600
697,300
81,100
89 to 95
96 to 100
101 to 103
Total...7,155,051
1,011,500
4,319,500
4,237,500
During the same period, about L.19,888,100 exchequer
bills were held, of which about L.l 3,041,550 were disposed
of. Both stock and cash-balances were frequently em¬
ployed in the purchase of exchequer bills when at a dis¬
count ; and it is shown by the returns that such purchases
were continued daily for considerable periods of time. We
have here a serious element imported into savings bank
finance, as heretofore managed, which stands wholly apart
from those contingencies of investment and repayment that
are inseparable from the savings bank system.
In 1842, the total amount which had been paid by the
banks to the National Debt Commission was L.26,460,042/
and the total amount of interest paid or credited to the
banks, L.12,730,765, making,in the aggregate, L.39,190,814.
The total repayments made by the Commission to the
banks amounted to L.14,653,844, and the total balance
standing to the credit of the banks was L.24,536,791. At
this period the number of savings banks in the United
Kingdom was 555, and the aggregate number of their de¬
positors 824,162, exclusive of 17,402 societies. The pro¬
gress from 1842 to 1857 may be thus epitomized:—
1817-1841
1842
1843
1844
1845
1846
1847
1848
1849
1850
1851
1852
1853
1854
1855
1856
1857
L
26,460,042
1,045,267
1,591,753
1,988,875
1,503,931
1,211,050
632,124
465,139
843,296
936,057
1,108.370
1,106,980
1,346,437
747,085
659,053
897,303
741,053
43,283,815
L.
12,730,765
929,446
982,188
1,073,004
971,282
999,685
1,002,362
922,909
905,654
919,301
953,005
995,438
1,053,959
1,078,106
1,091,226
1,109,502
1,134,161
28,851,993
Total
Amount
Credited to
Savings
Banks dur¬
ing the
Year.
L.
39,190,814
1,974.713
2,573,941
3,061,879
2.475.213
2,210.735
1,634,487
1,388,048
1,748,950
1,855,358
2,061,375
2,102,418
2,400,396
1,825,291
1,750,279
2,006,805
1.875.214
72,135,916
Total re¬
payments
during the
Year.
L.
14,653,844
1,105,042
736,317
652,966
1,177,411
1,310,480
3,249,093
3,391,648
1,282,433
1,425,703
745,012
635.573
802,038
1,426,759
1,248,887
1,297,914
1,739,077
36,880,197
Balance
to Credit
of Savings
Banks at
Close
of the
Year.
L.
24,536,971
25,406,642
27,244,266
29,653.180
30,950,983
31,851,238
30,236,632
28,233,032
28,699,550
29,129,205
30,445,568
31,912,413
33,5)0,771
33,909,302
34,'410,694
35,119,585
35,255,722
Total...
During the seventeen years, 1841 to 1857 inclusive, there
have been nine years (viz., 1841 to 1846 inclusive, and
1851-53 inclusive), in which the sums deposited with the
savings banks have exceeded the sums withdrawn ; and
eight years (viz., 1847 to 1850 inclusive, and 1854-57 in¬
clusive), in which the sums withdrawn have exceeded the
sums deposited. In the two years, 1847-48, the amount of
the withdrawals was more than five millions (L.5,201,433)
in excess of the amount of the deposits. Nor has the state
of affairs in this respect at any subsequent period at all ap¬
proached that which existed prior to 1846. So that, on
the whole seventeen years there has been a nett excess of
withdrawals over deposits, amounting to L.3,114,436; the
aggregate deposits having been but L.l 16,159,005, against
an aggregate of L.119,273,441, deposits and interest with¬
drawn. No better exemplification of the power of com¬
pound interest need be desired than that which results from
the juxtaposition of these figures, with those which indi¬
cate the comparative balances held by the National Debt
Commissioners to the credit of the savings banks, at the
beginning and end of the period referred to. That balance,
at the close of the year 1843, was L.24.536,971 ; at the
close of the year 1857 it was L.35,255,722.
The specific progress of the interest on the savings Continua-
banks’ fund has been shown in detail up to the close of the tion of
year 1843 inclusive, at which period an excess of the cpmPara-
interest credited to the banks beyond that realized by
the Commissioners had accumulated to the amount of terest on
L.2,078,260, Is. 8d. We now resume that account to savings
the close of the year 1857:— banks secu¬
rities re¬
ceived and
credited by
the Com¬
missioners.
Year ending
20th Nov.
Dividends on
Savings Banks’
Stock and other
Securities received
by the Com¬
missioners.
1817-1843...
1844.. .
1845.. .
1846.. .
1847.. .
1848.. .
1849.. .
1850.. .
1851..
1852..
1853..
1854..
1855..
1856..
1857..
L.
12,564,152
971,331
951,097
982,408
984,698
893,658
868,797
882,617
909,856
949,211
995,862
1,051,743
989,407
1,008,711
1,074,406
s. d.
13 6
3 5
12 5
10 11
2 2
14 1
1 1
Total... 26,077,961 19 2
Interest Paid or
Credited by Com¬
missioners to Sav¬
ings Banks.
L.
14,642,412
1,073,004
971,282
999,685
1,002,362
922,909
905,654
919,301
953,005
995,438
1,053,959
1,078,106
1,091.226
1,109,502
1,134,161
s. d.
15 2
10 8
16 8
15 3
16 6
13 7
14 0
2 5
12 11
4 3
5 10
6 4
3 7
4 4
6 11
28,852,013 8 5
Excess of
Interest Paid to
the Banks.
L.
2,078.260
101,673
20,185
17.277
17,664
29,250
36,856
36,683
43,149
46.226
58,096
26,363
101.818
100,790
59,754
16 11
14 6
8 0
3 5
12 3
16 5
2,774,051 9 3
The following official table will exhibit in detail the
transactions, during the seventeen years 1841-57, of the
depositors with the banks on the one hand, and of the
banks with the Commissioners on the other :—
1 Disregarding the fractions of a pound, which, here and elsewhere, occasion a trivial difference between the sums severally and their
aggregate as stated in the text and tables.
662
SAVINGS BANKS.
History
and Statis¬
tics.
Compara¬
tive state¬
ment of the
accounts of
savings
banks—
(1) with de¬
positors ;
(2) with Na¬
tional Debt
Commis¬
sion.
Tbustees of Savings Banks.
Year ending
20th Nov.
1841
1842
1843
1844
1845
1846
1847
1848
1849
1850
1851
1852
1853
1854
1855
1856
1857
Received from
Depositors.
Total of 17 years.
L.
5,694,908
5,789,203
6,327,125
7,166,465
7,153,176
7,300,367
6,649,008
5,862,742
6,196,883
6,363,690
6,782,059
7,281,178
7,659,390
7,400,141
7,209,802
7,741,453
7,581,415
Paid to
Depositors.
L.
5,487,723
5.656.160
5,333,015
5,716,275
6,697,042
7,255,654
9,060,075
8,653,108
6,522,760
6,760,328
6,305,566
6,684,908
7,120,642
7,956,347
7.665.160
8,023,583
8,375,095
116,159,005 119,273,441
Received.
L.
207,185
133,043
994,110
1,450,190
456,134
44,713
476,493
596,270
538,748
4,896,886
Paid.
2,411,067
2,790,366
325,877
396,638
556,206
455,358
282,130
793,680
8,011,322
Commissioners.
Received from
Trustees.
L.
1,053,194
1,045,267
1,591,753
1,988,875
1,503,931
1,211,050
632,124
465,139
843,296
936,057
1,108,370
1,106,980
1,346,437
747,185
659,053
897,303
741,053
17,877,067
Paid to
Trustees.
L.
934,960
1,080,532
712,468
637,216
1,151,140
1,290,258
3,209,033
3,349,958
1,255,062
1,396,404
725,863
617,393
786,192
1,410,390
1,234,123
1,282,784
1,717,529
22,791,305
Excess.
Received.
L
118,234
879,285
1,351,659
352,791
382,507
489,587
560,245
4,134,308
Paid.
L.
35,265
79,208
2,576.909
2,884.819
411,766
460,347
663,205
575,070
385,481
976,476
9,048,546
History
and Statis¬
tics.
“ Separate
surplus
fund” ac¬
count.
Classifica¬
tion of de¬
posits in
the United
Kingdom,
according
to amount.
The amount standing to the credit of the “ separate
surplus fund” appears (by a return dated 16th March
1857) to have reached, at the close of the year 1855,
L.335,598, 10s. 2d., of which sum L.322,288, 17s. lOd.
belonged to the English and Welsh banks; L.318, Is. 9d.
to Scottish banks; L.10,691, 10s. 7d. to Irish banks ; and
L.2300 to banks in the smaller islands of the British seas.
On this surplus account no interest is paid by the National
Debt Commissioners.
In 1857 the total number of banks in the United
Kingdom was 597, with 1,341,752 depositors, of whom
1,139,919 had sums not exceeding L.50—viz., in the
aggregate, L. 13,960,203, being on the average L.12, 4s.
lid. for each depositor; 130,204 had sums exceeding
L.50, but under L.100—namely, in the aggregate,
L.8,982,919, being on the average L.68, 19s. 9d. for each
depositor; 70,159 had sums exceeding L.100, but under
L.200—viz., in the aggregate, L.9,719,339, being on
the average L.138, 10s. 8d. for each depositor; and 1470
had sums exceeding L.200—viz., in the aggregate,
L.321,562, being on the average L.218, 15s. for each
depositor. The average deposit for the whole number of
depositors was L.24, 11s. 7d. The details stood thus:—
Class of Depositors in the order of their respective
amounts.
1. Not exceeding L.20 
2. Exceeding L.20, but not exceeding L.50  
3. Exceeding L.50, but not exceeding L.100..
4. Exceeding L.100, but not exceeding L.150.
5. Exceeding L.150, but not exceeding L.200.
6. L.200 and upwards 
Totals  1,341,752
No. of Depo¬
sitors in each
Class,
846.203
293,716
130.204
44,339
25,820
1,470
Amount Depo¬
sited in each
Class.
L.
4,848,447
9,111,756
8,982,919
5,330,002
4,389,337
321,562
32,984,023
Average Depo¬
sit in each
Class.
L.
5729
31-022
68-991
120-210
169-997
218-750
24-582
Proportion per
cent, of Depo¬
sitors in each
Class.
63-067
21-890
9-704
3-304
1-924
•109
Social
classifica¬
tion of de¬
positors.
Proportion per
cent, of Depo¬
sits in each
Class.
14-699
27-624
27-234
16-158
13-307
•974
On the interesting point of the social classification of
depositors, the attainable information is but partial. A
return of this kind was made to the House of Commons in
1853, but out of the whole number of savings banks then
existing in the United Kingdom—namely, 576—172 failed
to make the return required. It appears, however, that
the returns made by the other 404 banks embrace not only
70 per cent, of the whole number of savings banks, but
78f per cent, of the whole deposits in savings banks in the
United Kingdom, and 7% per cent, of the whole number
of individual depositors. These returns may be thus
epitomized:—
I.—Number of Depositors in each Class.
Social Classification of Depositors in 404 Savings Banks
of the United Kingdom.
1. Persons of independent means 
2. Professional men and their wives... . .
3. Persons engaged in education
4. Tradesmen and their assistants, small farm-
ers, clerks, mechanics and artizans not de- l
scribed as journeymen, and their wives... /
5. Soldiers, mariners, fishermen, and their wives,
Carry forward 
In England.
(1.) Metro¬
politan
Counties.
4,402
1,996
3,350
55,707
2,018
67,473
(2.) Agricul¬
tural Coun¬
ties.
4,134
1,536
2,975
70,758
8,893
88,296
(3.) Manu¬
facturing
and Mixed
Counties.
381
485
1,396
63,090
1,966
67,318
Total.
8,917
4,017
7,721
189,555
12,877
223,087
In
Wales.
344
137
2
4,373
300
5,156
In
Scotland.
1,096
750
59
23,541
413
25,859
In
Ireland.
1,347
346
675
17,864
1,283
21,515
Total in
the United
Kingdom
11,704
5,250
8,457
235,333
14,873
275,617
«
History
and Statis¬
tics.
SAVINGS BANKS.
I.—Number of Depositors in each Class—Continued.
Social Classification of Depositors in 404 Savings Banks
of the United Kingdom.
Brought forward  
6. Policemen, letter-carriers, revenue-officers,
pensioners, railway men, and their wives
7. Labourers, farm-servants, journeymen me- 1
chanics and their wives j
8. Domestic servants, charwomen, nurses, and \
laundresses j
9. Dressmakers, milliners, shopwomen, and 1
female artizans J
10. Females described only as married women, 1
widows, or spinsters  j
11. Minors having accounts in their own names, \
including apprentices  |
12. Trust accounts, principally for minors, in- 1
eluding all joint accounts J
13. Miscellaneous, and persons undescribed 
Total.
In England.
(1.) Metro¬
politan
Counties.
67,473
704
12,447
60,357
9,223
19,179
25,936
3,413
21,519
220,251
(2.) Agricul¬
tural Coun
ties.
88,296
660
54,375
81,076
7,087
45,879
72,283
9,168
10,395
369,219
(3.) Manu¬
facturing
and Mixed
Counties.
67,318
546
32,743
35,589
2,862
23,126
30,927
4,304
8,449
205,864
223,087
1,910
99,565
177,022
19,172
88,184
129,146
16,885
40,363
795,334
In
Wales.
5,156
3
2,100
2,778
17
1,893
1,363
180
300
13,790
In
Scotland.
25,859
75
14,809
19,379
338
12,193
10,533
122
7,627
In
Ireland.
21,515
279
3,231
6,602
499
8,131
3,720
461
252
90,935 44,690
Total in
the United
Kingdom.
275,617
2,267
119,705
205,781
20,026
110,401
144,762
17,648
48,542
944,749
663
History
and Statis¬
tics.
II.—Amount of Deposits in each Class.
Social Classification of the Depositors in 404 Savings
Banks of the United Kingdom.
In England.
(1.) Metro¬
politan
Counties.
(2.) Agricul¬
tural
Counties.
(3.) Manu¬
facturing
and Mixed
Counties.
Total.
In
Wales.
In Scot¬
land.
In
Ireland.
Total of
the United
Kingdom.
1. Persons of independent means  
2. Professional men and their wives 
3. Persons engaged in education 
4. Tradesmen and their assistants, small farm- "]
ers, clerks, mechanics and artisans not >
described as journeymen, and their wives J
5. Soldiers, mariners, fishermen, and their wives
6. Policemen, letter-carriers, revenue officers, "I
pensioners, railwaymen, and their wives J
7. Labourers, farm-servants, journeymen me- 1
chanics, and their wives  J
8. Domestic servants, charwomen, nurses, and 1
laundresses    J
9. Dressmakers, milliners, shopwomen, and 1
female artisans J
10. Females described only as married women, 1
widows, or spinsters    J
11. Minors having accounts in their own names, 1
including apprentices  j
12. Trust accounts, principally for minors, in- )
eluding all joint accounts J
13. Miscellaneous, and persons undescribed  
L.
89,869
54,527
97,038
1,242,136
70,931
21,538
279,094
1,594,011
197,333
550,212
304,760
67,744
328,401
L.
145,349
43,929
95,038
2,244,538
301,537
23,166
1,704,938
2,446,485
169,496
1,488,364
972,023
163,377
339,128
L.
14,651
17,609
49,867
1,839,353
74,933
18,999
1,067,309
963,028
81,660
676,069
422,538
74,460
278,470
L.
249,869
116,065
241,943
5,326,027
447,401
63,703
3,051,341
5,003,524
448,489
2,714,645
1,699,321
300,581
945,999
L.
8,285
3,516
87
150,161
8,853
112
54,619
71,214
433
57,588
22,171
7,386
12,352
L.
12,967
18,504
902
382,556
7,271
998
219,393
267,194
5,056
180,222
87,551
1,390
136,906
L.
44,683
12,943
18,269
535,335
46,380
10,907
59,024
134,321
8,257
234,173
101,573
12,960
6,747
L.
315,804
151,028
261,201
6,394,079
509,905
75,720
3,384,377
5,476,253
462,235
3,186,628
1,910,616
327,317
1,102,004
Total.
4,897,594
10,137,368
5,578,946
20,613,908
396,777
1,320,910
1,225,572 23,557,167
Unquestionably valuable as is this classification of the
social position and employment of depositors, it would ab¬
sorb too much of our space to pursue it into further detail.
In the Deport of the Select Committee on Savings Banks
of 1858, the tables we have quoted are supplemented
by a calculated abstract of the depositors and the de¬
posits in the 172 banks which omitted to make returns
on this point, on the basis of those made by the other
banks; and also by a general summary, comprehending
alike the returns actually made and those so calculated.
To these we must refer the reader who may be desirous of
pursuing the inquiry.
During the last few years the expenses of local manage¬
ment have varied from an average of 6s. 6d. to one of
6s. 8d. per cent, throughout the United Kingdom. Thus,
in 1852, there were 479 banks in England and Wales, Expenses
with an aggregate expenditure of L.91,800, or, on the aver- of local
age of the whole, at the rate of 6s. 6d. per cent. In Scot- manage-
land, 43 banks expended L.5500, or at the rate, over the ment-
whole, of 6s. 8d. per cent. In Ireland, the expenditure of
51 banks amounted to L.7200, or on the average, 9s. lid.
per cent. For the whole United Kingdom there were then
575 banks, expending L.104,500, or on the average 6s. 8d.
per cent. In 1856, when the banks of England and Wales
numbered 498, instead of 479, their aggregate expenses
amounted to L.101,800 (against L.91,800 in 1852), being
at the rate of 6s. 7d. per cent. In Scotland, 46 banks ex¬
pended L.7400, being at the rate of 7s. 8d. per cent.; and.
in Ireland, 51 banks expended L.7600, being at the rate of
9s. per cent. The details are as follow :—
*
664
SAVINGS BANKS.
History
and Statis¬
tics.
England and Wales 
Scotland 
Ireland  
Islands in the British Seas.
Total of United Kingdom
No of
Banks,
Nov. '20,
1856.
498
46
51
2
597
No. of Officers.
Paid. Unpa d.
1020
106
131
4
1261
525
46
45
2
618
Amount of Security given.
Bv Paid
Officers.
L.285,500
32,450
34,810
1,300
By Unpaid
Officers.
Salaries and
Allowances
of the Paid
Officers, year
ended Nov.
20,1856.
L.346,670
15,800
9,500
1,400
L.354,060 L.373,370
L.74,598
5,320
5,671
860
86,449
Total
Expenses of
Management,
year ended
"Nov. 20,
1856.
L.101,802
7,420
7,683
1,049
L.117,954
No. of Open
Accounts,
Nov. 20,
1858.
1,140,551
119,281
57,050
14,487
Total Amount
due to
Depositors,
Nov. 2,1856,
(disregarding
fractions of L.l).
L.30,725,782
1,936,495
1,710,179
388,475
1,331,369 L.34,760,931
Per
Cent-
age
of Ex¬
penses.
s. d.
6 7
7 8
9 0
5 5
6 9|
Defalca- The many defalcations from the funds of savings banks
tions from by t]ie frauds of their officers, sometimes followed by the
the funds of fin]ure and dissolution of the banks concerned, have been
banks’3 attended with an amount of public mischief which cannot
be estimated by the mere sums of money that have been
actually lost to the depositors. These, if compared with
the aggregate of savings bank transactions, will seem of
small amount; and in most instances vigorous exertion has
been used, by trustees and others, to lighten the burden to
the shoulders least capable of sustaining it. But the suffer¬
ing thus occasioned to individuals and to families has still
been great, and the hindrance to the good working of the
system yet greater and more lasting. In some districts the
discouragement thus given to provident frugality will out¬
live the existing generation.
We believe that a review of all the cases of defalcation
that have occurred since the commencement of savings
banks would lead to the conclusion that, in nearly every
instance, the most common and obvious precautions against
fraud have been disregarded. The necessary limits of this
article will not admit of such a review, even in its briefest
form. But we may glance at a few of the more conspi¬
cuous cases.
Failure of ]\j0 case jn the annals of savings banks is more deplor-
cUle^Bark a^e t'ian fa’lure ^le Rochdale Bank in 1849, through
1849 ai ’ frauck °f George Howarth, who had been its actuary
from 1822 until 1849, and died in that office, without any
suspicion of his malpractices having been excited. Here
(it has been proved in evidence before a parliamentary
committee) the sole control of the bank was left to its
actuary (“ who represented himself,” said one witness, “ as
filling the office really as a matter of charity,” and who
“ managed to deceive every body by an appearance of
wealth”) for a period of at least twelve years, and the
official returns to the National Debt Commissioners were
sometimes signed by men u who did not know that they
were managers” until the actuary assured them they were
so at the moment that they were asked to sign. No
real audit of the accounts ever took place. When Howarth
died the liabilities of the bank to depositors were L.100,403 ;
its deposits with the National Debt Commissioners were
L.26,898 ; its cash in hand, L.l788 ; making the total assets
L.28,686, and leaving a deficit of L.71,717. Ultimately
the trustees and managers raised by subscription a sum of
about L.l7,000 ; and the sale of the actuary’s property pro¬
duced about L.l7,000 more,—raising the total assets to
nearly L.63,000, which paid the depositors 12s. 6d. in the
pound.
Between 1851 and 1857, inclusive, defalcations occurred
in the savings banks of the following towns:—Bradford
(Wilts), Bromley, Dunmow, Leicester, Ongar, Newport
(Isle ol Wight)* Rugby, Runcorn, Southport, West Lon¬
don, and Yoxall. In all these cases an investigation was
instituted,—in the majority of them by the employment of
Mr W. H. Grey, an accountant very conversant with the
business of savings banks, and recommended for the task
by the National Debt Commissioners. The general result
of these inquiries is quite in harmony with the obvious con¬
clusions from the Rochdale case. Great laxitv of book¬
Other de-
fhlcations
in savings
banks,
1851-57.
keeping; absence of any effective audit; signature of the
annual returns without even cursory examination,—these are
the common features of almost every case. At Dunmow Dunmow
(where the defalcations were small and much more than savings
covered by the surplus fund), reports Mr Grey, “ I find that bank,
in one instance a balance of about L.80 stood for several
years in duplicate in the books, and must therefore have
been counted twice over in the classified lists of those years;
.... and the required total must, on these occasions, also
have been made up fictitiously.” .... “For several years
most of the ledger entries were made with pencil only ; and
although the accounts so posted which remained open were
afterwards copied with ink into another book, yet those which
were closed during that period still remain only in pencil.”
At Newport, Isle of Wight (where the deficiency amounted Newport
to L.8156), “ Fictitious documents, purporting to be signed savings
by depositors, giving notice of their intention to withdraw a bank*
part, or the whole of their deposits, have been produced by
the secretary, on the faith of which cheques have been signed
by the attending director without seeing the pass-book, and
without ascertaining whether such sums were really stand¬
ing in the ledger or not. These cheques have been en¬
trusted to the secretary for delivery to the depositors at any
time they might call for them, instead of insisting on per¬
sonal attendance during bank hours  Some of the
sums for which cheques were thus obtained were not stand¬
ing at all in the bank books; or, having formerly stood
there, had already been withdrawn ; others were standing
there, but no real notice of withdrawal had been given by
the depositors, who never received the cheques so obtained.
 In some cases fictitious accounts have been raised in
the ledgers, and closed again immediately with fraudulent
repayments, and in other cases, in which the amounts had
been previously withdrawn, the dates of the real with¬
drawals have been altered into those of the fraudulent
ones.” After illustrating other fraudulent practices at this
bank, Mr Grey adds that no comparison of the cash-book
and the ledgers had ever been instituted, and that “ the
system pursued has practically left the whole control of
the receipt and payment of about L.30,000 a year to one
individual.” But in 1849, when the failure of the Rochdale Effect
bank, and several frauds in other banks, aroused the closer
attention of the National Debt Commissioners and of their ure on the I
comptroller to the methods pursued in the transaction of frauciuient
the local business, it was suggested to all the trustees of methods
savings banks throughout the kingdom that depositors’ pass- pursued at
books should be called in and compared with the bank Newport. 1
ledgers. The trustees at Newport speedily adopted this
suggestion, and established the practice of having the
“ balance-book” (i.e., the list of balances due to depositors
prepared at close of each year) always on the table when
the bank was open, and of comparing it with every pass¬
book that came in, marking both pass-book and balance-
book with the attending manager’s initials. 1 his made it
necessary that the balance-book should contain all the
open accounts, which it had never done before. Mr Grey
thus explains the new deception that was adopted to con¬
ceal the deficiency in the funds:—“ At the annual exam¬
ination both ledger and balance-book were duly placed in
SAYINGS BANKS.
665
History the hands of the trustees or directors; but when they had
and Statis-satisfied themselves that all the balances had been correctly
ties. transferred, they shrank from the laborious task of adding
“ v^ together two or three thousand amounts, and invariably left
that duty to the secretary .... trusting to the correctness
of his addition  In point of fact the addition of each
page was correct, but the total of each page was brought
into a summary-page at the end; and in doing so L.1000 was
dropt in one place, L.1000 in another, in the capital column,
and L.20 here and L.30 there, in the interest column,
with some odd money to make up the required difference,
and thus the total amount was made to agree with the ac¬
tual assets of the bank. In 1852 a still bolder step was
taken. Instead of altering the sums brought forward in so
many different places, only two sums were reduced by
L.1000 each, but L.6000 was miscast in the addition of
one of the columns of the summary-sheet, and the total
amount was thus kept down to the required sum. From
these practices it will be perceived how imperfect a system
has been pursued, and how little it was calculated to pre¬
vent or discover fraud.” In this Newport case the amount
received from the surety of the late actuary was but L.100.
The assets of the bank were L.58,622, its liabilities
L.66,773. No subscription appears to have been made
towards supplying the deficiency. The depositors received
a dividend of 17s. 6d. in the pound.
As to the Rugby Bank, Mr Grey reported that the former
bank. actuary “annually fabricated the classified statement of ba¬
lances required by the National Debt Office, so as to make
it appear that the liabilities of the bank corresponded ex-
Farrir„-- actly with its assets;” and as to the Farringdon Street, or
don-street “ West London” Bank, that “ there is no sign whatever that
bank, Lon- the ledger entries have ever been called over with the cash-
don. journal. The consequence is, that the ledgers are full of
errors;”.... and added that “ the scattered manner in
which about 5000 open accounts are mixed with more than
18,000 closed ones, in twelve large volumes,” increased the
difficulty of investigating them. In this case, in fact, the
investigation was never fully carried out. The amount
due to depositors on the 20th November 1855, appeared to
be L.96,577, and the total amount of assets L.95,024, leav¬
ing a gross deficiency of L.1553, a portion of which was
known to exist independently of the fraud which had been
committed. The reporter had good reason to tell the
trustees : “ You may congratulate yourselves that the defi¬
ciency is not greater than it appears to be; with the oppor¬
tunities which have been afforded, and with so large a fund
to work on, a great deal more mischief might as easily have
been done ; that which has been accomplished is not irre¬
mediable.”
This, indeed, as respects the actual magnitude of the
losses, might be alleged of nearly all the cases of savings
bank defalcation. The trustees and managers of the S
Martin’s Bank, accordingly, in their petition to the House
of Commons against the proposed bill of 1853, said that
“ out of the 522 savings banks then established in Great
Britain, there have been only six at which any loss whatever
has been sustained by depositors since the year 1844 (com¬
prising the entire period within which all the much-talked-
of failures, with the exception of the more recent case in
the Isle of Wight, have occurred ;)” and proceeded to show
that the amount of loss sustained by the depositors of those
six banks amounted in the aggregate to but L.49,373,—viz.
Rochdale, L.37,433; St Helens, 4000;. Spilsby, L.2436;
Reeth, L.147 ; Poole, L.5176; Newtown (Wales), L.180;
that in 14 other cases of default occurring during the like
period, “ all the depositors are stated to have been paid in
full, either out of the assets of the banks, or by subscription
raised amongst the trustees and managers, or the inhabi¬
tants of the neighbourhood where the banks were located;”
and, finally, that “ the percentage of these losses, when
taken upon the gross total of sums received and paid by
the savings banks in Great Britain, including interest cre¬
dited, since their first establishment in 1817 (amounting to
upwards of L.73,000,000), will be found not to exceed ls.4d.
upon every L.100;” and they add the inquiry,—“ Where,
in this or in any other country, in any public or commer¬
cial institutions, involving money transactions of equal num¬
ber and extent, can so just and satisfactory account of a
stewardship be rendered, as is here shown ?” But it must
not be forgotten, that it would be at least equally difficult
to produce an analogous series of defalcations so largely
facilitated, if not absolutely caused, by the neglect of ele¬
mentary principles of precaution and supervision. And
pecuniary loss (we repeat) is not, in this matter, the just
measure of public injury. Nor can it be very difficult to
do in all savings banks (with more or less of completeness)
what has already been so effectively done in the best of
them. Improved organization and methods of working
need to be diffused, not invented. To this part of the sub¬
ject we have now to turn.1 * * * * * *
Organiza¬
tion and
Manage¬
ment.
II. ORGANIZATION AND MANAGEMENT OF THE SAYINGS BANKS
OF GREAT BRITAIN AND IRELAND.
The legislation which at present governs the savings
banks of the United Kingdom is contained, or chiefly con¬
tained, in the several statutes, 9 Geo. IV., c. 92; 3 Will.
IV., c. 14; 5 and 6 Will. IV., c. 57 ; 7 and 8 Viet., c. 83;
11 and 12 Viet., c. 133; and 16 and 17 Viet., e. 45. The
main provisions, and the immediate circumstances of each
of these acts of Parliament, have been recited in the course
of our historical summary. No consolidated statute as yet
exists. It is necessary, therefore, to give a connected view
of these various and scattered enactments, in their direct
bearings upon the daily business of a savings bank.
I. Formation,—Savings Banks are only to be established Formation
with the approval of the Commissioners for the reduction ofpf a S!lv-
the National Debt, or, on their behalf, of the comptroller- “’S8
general, or assistant-comptroller, acting under the said com¬
missioners. The proposed rules of the bank to be established
are to be submitted, in duplicate, to the consulting barrister
appointed by such Commissioners, who, on approval, is to re¬
turn one copy to the originators, and to transmit the other
to the Commissioners. A fee of one guinea is payable to 9 Gpo. IV.,
the barrister. The rules are then to be filed in the National 'u 92 ; and
Debt Office, and to be preserved in a book at the bank.;irid 8
The trustees are to forward a certificate of their own ap- ^ ict-’ c' o0'
1 John Bone, Outline of a Plan for reducing the Poor's Rate, &c. (1805) ; The Principles and Regulations of “ Tranquillity f &c. (180B);
The Wants of the People and the Means of the Oovernment (1807) ; The Friend of the People, &c. (1807) ; Hansard’s Parliamentary History
and Debates, 1808-1857 ; Duncan, An Essay on the Nature and Advantages of Parish Banks (Edinb. 1815, and 2d edit., 1816) ; A Short
Account of the Edinburgh Savings Bank (3d edit., 1815); Reports of the Society for Bettering the Condition of the Poor, No. 59, et seq.;
Beaumont, An Essay on Provident or Parish Banks (1816); Rose, Observations on Banks for Savings (1816); Charles Taylor. A Summary
Account of the London Savings Bank (1816) ; Horace Twiss, A Tract on Savings Banks (1816); Bowles, Reasons for the Establishment,
and Suggestions for the Formation and Management of Banks for Savings (1817); Wm. Davis, Friendly Advice to Industrious and Frugal
Persons (4th edit., 1817); Annals of Banks for Savings (1818) ; Woodrow, Remarks on Banks for Savings (1818); Parliamentary Returns
relating to Savings Banks, 1818-1857; Statutes at large (1817, 1818, 1824, 1828, 1833, 1835, 1844, 1848, 1853); Pratt, History of Sav¬
ings Banks in England, kc. (1842). [In an appendix to this volume, the Parliamentary returns from 1818 to 1841 are reprinted.] Re¬
port from. the Select Committee on Savings Banks; together with the Proceedings of the Committee, Minutes of Evidence, and Appendix, 19th
July 1858 ; various Reports and other papers of the savings banks specifically referred to.
vol. xix. , 4 r
666
Manage*
meat.
9 Geo. IV.,
c. 92;
7 and 8
Viet., c. 83.
11 and 12
Viet., c.
133.
Investment
of deposits.
9 Geo. IV.,
c. 92, §§ 11
to 15.
Methods,
limitations,
&c., of de¬
posits.
9 Geo. IV.,
c. 92.
Form of
depositor’s
declara¬
tion.
SAVINGS
pointment, together with their signatures duly authenticated.
They have then to apply for the form of instructions with
respect to their appointment of a London agent, who alone
is to transact their pecuniary business with the Commis¬
sioners, both in the payment and the withdrawal of deposits
into or from the Bank of England.
II. Management.—Savings banks are usually governed by
trustees and managers, at first elected by the founders, and
duly registered in the Office of the National Debt Com¬
missioners ; and empowered to fill up vacancies in their
own body from time to time, subject to like registration.
In some banks the managers are styled a “ committee,”
and are elected annually by the founders and other “ pa¬
trons” of the bank. Such trustees and managers are not
to have any salary or benefit whatever from the bank they
administer. They may appoint and dismiss all needful
officers for the transaction of the business, and may fix
their respective salaries or other remuneration. All paid
officers so appointed and all treasurers must give security
to the comptroller-general of the National Debt Commis¬
sion for the just execution of their respective trusts, on a
form of bond furnished to the trustees by the Commissioners,
and to such amount as may be determined by not less than
two trustees and three managers, which determination shall
be recorded on the minutes of the acting committee, and
the bond be lodged with the comptroller-general. But
neither Commissioners nor comptroller have any power to
question the validity or adequacy of the security offered.
It has been—as we have shown in our historical retrospect
—expressly enacted that no trustee or manager shall incut-
personal responsibility, otherwise than for acts of personal
and wilful neglect or default, unless he shall have declared
in writing, under his own hand, to the National Debt Com¬
missioners his willingness to be so responsible, which re¬
sponsibility he may limit to a certain amount. This is the
present state (1859) of the lawas respects England and Scot¬
land ; but, in Ireland, every trustee and manager is liable, ex
officio, and indefinitely, for any deficiency that may occur in
the funds of his bank, unless he shall have signed a docu¬
ment limiting his liability to any sum not less than L.100.
\\\. Investment of Deposits.—Monies deposited in savings
banks are to be invested, to the credit of the Commissioners
for the reduction of the National Debt, in the Bank of Eng¬
land or Bank of Ireland exclusively. Trustees are em¬
powered to make their investments with the Commissioners
in any sums not less than LAO, after notice signed by two
trustees, and to retain in their hands such sums only as may
from time to time be required to meet withdrawals and
other exigencies. The Commissioners are empowered to
invest the monies paid to their account either in bank an¬
nuities or in exchequer bills.
IV. Methods, Limitations, and Conditions of Deposits,
and of their Withdrawal.—All persons who are about to
become depositors in a savings bank must state their names
and residences, together with their respective profession,
business, occupation, or calling; and must sign a declara¬
tion of the following purport:—
“ In pursuance of an Act of Parliament of the 9 Geo.
IV., c. 92, § 34, I, A B , of , do hereby de¬
clare to the Irustees and Managers of the Savings Bank
established at , that I am desirous, on my own behalf,
to become a depositor in the said savings bank, and that
I am not, directly or indirectly, entitled to any deposit in,
or benefit from, the funds of this or of any other savings
bank in Great Britain or Ireland, nor to any sum or sums
standing in the name or names of any other person or per¬
sons in the books of the said savings bank above men¬
tioned. [If the depositor belong to any friendly society,
he must then add: “ Save and except such benefit as I
may be entitled to from being a member of a friendly so¬
ciety, legally established.”] Witness my hand this day
BANKS.
of 18 . Signed by the said A B in pre- Organiza-
sence of me .” tion and
If the declaration so made shall be false, or if the depo- Manage-
sitor shall afterwards place money in more than one savings ment-
bank at a time, the whole of his deposits become forfeited.
The minimum deposit is not fixed by law, but ranges in ^ Geo.IV.,
the various banks from Is. to 5s., according to their respec- 35^3’g^
tive regulations. 1 he maximum of the deposits of any one 3 (ym ’jy
year is L.30 (exclusive of interest thereon, and irrespective! v c. 14, § 29.'
of any withdrawals during the year); and that of the total
sums receivable from any one depositor (inclusive of inte¬
rest) is L.150. When, by the addition of compound inte¬
rest thereto, such maximum sum shall have reached L.200,
interest thereon shall cease. In respect, however, of
accounts which, prior to the passing of the act of 9 Geo. IV.,
c. 92, viz., on the 28th July 1828, already amounted to
or exceeded the sum of L.200 in the whole, interest and
compound interest are still payable. Every depositor, on
making his or her first deposit, is to receive a copy of the
rules, and a depositor’s book or pass-book, in which shall
be entered such first deposit, and all subsequent deposits;
all notices of withdrawal, and sums withdrawn. The pass¬
book must be produced at the bank whenever any business
is transacted, and must also be exhibited once at least in
every year for the purpose of being examined. This book
is the depositor’s receipt and voucher; and its production by 7 and 8
the depositor, or by any person authorized by the depositor, Viet., c.
is at all times, in the absence of any previous claim to the 83> § 5-
deposit-money made in writing, a sufficient authority for
the repayment of money, notwithstanding the bankruptcy,
insolvency, or other legal disability of such depositor. On
the closing of the account, the book is to be re-delivered to
the bank. Persons under twenty-one years of age are
empowered to make and withdraw deposits in the same 9 Geo. IV.
manner as if they were of full age. Any married woman c. 92, § 25.
may receive money in respect of any deposit made by her, 7 and 8
unless her husband shall have given notice in writing of Viet., c.
the marriage, and shall claim payment to himself. Trust-83, § 12-
deposits are to be invested, jointly, in the name of the
trustee and of the person interested; and the receipts, or
joint-receipt, of both must be given in order to the validity
of a repayment, except in case of the insanity or imbecility
of the person on whose behalf the deposit shall have been
made ; upon proof of which, repayment may be made to the
trustee. Friendly societies, legally established, may invest
their funds in savings banks to any amount; and charitable 9 Geo. TV.,
societies or institutions may deposit to the amount of L.100 c. 92, §§
in any one year, and to the amount of L.300 in the whole, 28-
exclusive of interest. Disputes between the trustees of a
savings bank and any depositor, or any executor, admini¬
strator, next of kin, or creditor or assignee, of a depositor,
who may have become bankrupt, are to be referred in writ- 7 and 8
ingto the barrister appointed under the acts of Parliament Viet., c. 83,
to certify the rules of savings banks; who, on such refer-§
ence, may inspect books and documents, and administer an
oath to witnesses ; and whose decision shall be final. De¬
posits may be transferred to or from other savings banks
upon due notice.' The regulations applicable to the with¬
drawal of deposits differ, more or less, in the various banks.
At Glasgow, for example, no notice is required. But usually
a notice of from seven to twenty-one days, according to the
amount involved, must be given of the claim to repayment.
V. Interest on Deposits.—Since the 20th of November
1844, the rate of interest payable by the Commissioners for
the reduction of the National Debt to the trustees of savings interest on
banks has been fixed at L.3, 5s. per cent, per annum, and deposits,
the maximum rate to be paid by the banks to depositors at
L.3, Os. lOd. per cent, per annum. The precise rate per cent,
assigned to depositors depends, therefore, on the rules of each 7 and 8
bank respectively, provided always that it shall not exceed Viet., e. 83,
L.3,Os.lOd.on deposits invested with the NationalDebt Com- § 2.
SAVINGS BANKS.
computa-
tinn of in¬
terest.
Organic- missioners; and the precise rate actually reeezweifiy depositors
lion and depends on the methods of calculation, which in various banks
Mmente' -laVe a wide ran^e of (,ifft-Jrence- At Edinburgh, for instance,
^ , interest at L2, 17s. 9d. per cent, is allowed on sums of Is.,
2s., 3s., 4s., and os., and on multiples of 5s., not only by
Diverse months and weeks, but by portions of a week. Thus, the
different°f (kte of “ Tuesday” in each week is used for Monday, Tues*
banks as to ^ and Wednesday ; and that of “ Friday” for Thursday,
rate and Friday, and Saturday; and interest is credited wherever
it amounts to the tenth of a penny. On Mondays or
Thursdays the depositor of course loses one day’s interest;
on Wednesdays or Saturdays he gains one day’s interest.
At Cork, again, interest at the rate of L.2, iTs.Ofd. is cal¬
culated every four days on all deposits of 5s. and upwards; no
sum less than 5s. being received at that bank. At Man¬
chester, depositors receive L.3 per cent, per annum on
every entire sum of 10s. sterling, calculated only by calen¬
dar months, and from the 20th day of each month ; no in¬
terest being allowed on any less sum than 10s., or on any
fractional part of 10s., or for any less period than one
month. Finally, the Perth savings bank—a quite excep¬
tional instance—paid interest to most of its depositors, in
the year 1857, at the rate of L.4, 5s. per cent, per annum,
having transferred more than four-fifths of its capital from
the National Debt Commissioners to the Union and Central
Banks of Scotland, under the powers of a special proviso
introduced into its rules in the year 1847 (at which period
a very high rate of interest was given by the Scottish joint-
stock banks), in these terms:—“ It shall be lawful for the
trustees of this bank, at the request of any depositor or de¬
positors, to invest the monies deposited, or to be deposited,
by them, in any of the banks of Scotland, incorporated by
statute or royal charter, for the benefit of the several depo¬
sitors, under the powers contained in the 12th section of the
Act of the 9 Geo. IV., c. 92; and the interest to be paid
on the deposits so invested will be fixed from time to time
by resolutions of the committee of management, and which
will be binding on the depositors without the necessity of
the rate of interest being entered in their pass-books. The
interest fixed by the committee of management will be
computed yearly, up to the 20th day of November in each
year, and added to the principal; the whole sum bearing
interest thereafter.” The average rate of interest paid by
English and Welsh banks to their depositors is L.2, 18s. 9d.;
that paid by Scottish banks, L.2, 17s. 9d.; and that paid by
Irish banks, L.2, 16s. 5d.; the average of the United King¬
dom being L.2, 18s. 8d.
VI. Annuities.— The trustees and managers of savings
banks may receive from depositors, or from any other per¬
sons, any sum or sums of money (subject to the limitations
hereafter mentioned), for the purchase of government an¬
nuities, immediate or deferred. All suchTsums received
shall be entered in a book provided for that purpose, in the
presence of the payer, who shall sign a declaration, in the
form directed by the Commissioners for the reduction of
the National Debt, that he or she neither possesses nor is
entitled to any annuity or annuities under the statutes 3
3 Will. IV., Will. IV., c. 14, and 7 and 8 Viet., c. 83, exceeding in the
c. 14; whole, with the annuity now applied for, the sum of L.30
/and 8 per annum. The purchaser shall then receive a book con-
ict., c.83, tajning an abstract of the rules, with a certificate of the
contract for the annuity, signed by two trustees or mana¬
gers, and also an account of the money paid, attested by
the signature of the actuary. No annuity can be contracted
for upon the life of any person who is under the age of
fifteen; and no annuity or annuities can be possessed by
any one individual exceeding, in the whole, the sum of
L.30 per annum ; nor can any annuity be granted of less
amount than L.4 per annum. Should any individual be¬
come possessed at any one time of annuities granted under
the provisions of the Acts of 3 Will. IV., c. 14, or 7 and
667
Annuities.
8 Viet., c. 83, exceeding in the whole the sum of L.30 per Organiza-
annum, such annuities will immediately cease and be for- tion and
feited. Provided, nevertheless, that any married person i’anage-
may purchase or be possessed of an annuity not exceeding; nient-
the amount last named, although an annuity of like amount
may have been granted to or may be possessed by the wife
or husband of such person. All contracts for annuities
must be sanctioned by the National Debt Commissioners,
for which purpose proof of age must be furnished to the
managers of the savings bank contracted with. The money
received for annuities must be paid to the Commissioners,
to whom, fourteen days previous to the demand for payment
of any life annuity, proof must be afforded of the existence
and identity of the annuitant. All annuities when due are
payable by two equal half-yearly payments ; namely, on the
5th of January and 5th of July, in respect of all purchases
which were completed at any time during the quarter end¬
ing on the 10th of the preceding October; and on the 5th
April and 10th October, in respect of all purchases which
were completed at any time during the quarter ending
on the 5th of the preceding January ; and so, conversely,
with respect to purchases completed during the other
quarters of the year. No annuity thus purchased can be
transferred or assigned by the purchaser, so as to enable
the assignee to receive the same during the purchaser’s
lifetime. If the intending purchaser of a deferred annuity,
having made one or more payments on account, shall give
due notice of his inability to continue such payments, the
amount of the payments actually made shall (but without
interest) be returned to such intending purchaser; and, in
like manner, if any person who shall have contracted for
the purchase of a deferred annuity shall die before the said
annuity shall have become payable, the amount of his pre¬
vious payments shall be repaid to his executors or admini¬
strators without interest. The acts recited, together with
that of 10 Geo. IV., c. 24, §§ 40-44, impose heavy penalties
for false statements, or for receiving annuities after the
death of the person entitled.
VII. Bookkeeping.—The bookkeeping of savings banks Bookkeep-
will be best illustrated by describing seriatim the systems ing-
severally pursued at some of the principal banks of the
United Kingdom :—
(1.) &t Martini s Place Savings Bank, London.—Three St Martin’
distinct sets of journals or day-books are kept: the first, that bank> Lon"
of the auditors; the second, that of the cashiers; the third, don‘
that of the ledger-clerks; each of which sets records the
entire business of the day, and all of which are compared
at its close. In addition to his specific journal, each clerk
has a certain number of ledgers, each of them correspond¬
ing with a certain numerical series of depositors’ books.
No other clerk is allowed to make any entry in these, with¬
out the express permission of the comptroller or weekly
auditor. All “cash transactions with depositors,” proceed
the rules relating to bookkeeping (as given in evidence by
Mr Boodle, the comptroller, before the Commons’ Com¬
mittee of 1858), “shall be first entered in the clerks’jour¬
nals, cash-books, and managers’ [elsewhere called auditors’]
journals; and such books at the close of the business of
each day shall be called over, and compared with each
other by the weekly auditors and clerks, and all variations
be rectified before the clerks be dismissed; and after the
depositor’s book has left the office, no alteration shall be
permitted in the clerks’journals or cashiers’ books, without
reference to the managers’ journal, and a careful examina¬
tion of the number, name, and amount. Any alteration
required to be made in a depositor’s book is to be referred
back to tne ledger-clerk, to make the necessary correction
in his journal. I he ledger-clerks shall post the several
entries from their respective journals into their ledgers,
carefully examining the name as well as the number of
each account, inserting at the same time in the ‘ ledgers’
v
6GS
Orcr^niza
tion and
Manage¬
ment.
.Edinburgh
Savings
bank.
SAVINGS BANKS.
check journal’ the number of each account in which the
transaction is so posted. I lie cashiers, each taking an¬
other’s division, shall enter from the ledgers into the sepa¬
rate ledgers’ check journals, against the number of each
account, the amount so posted, whether receipts or pay¬
ments, checking the accuracy of the additions or subtrac¬
tions; such entries in the check journals being first care¬
fully examined, both as to the numbers and the amounts,
with the corresponding entries in the cashiers’ journals,
and then cast, and the castings checked; the officers ex¬
amining such entries and checking the castings signing
their initials in the check journal; every variation either in
numbers or amounts, before correction, being carefully ex¬
amined with the managers’ [elsewhere called auditors’]
journals, and all errors being noted in a separate ‘ error-
book,’ kept for each division, and weekly examined and
checked by the chief cashier and accountant. The total
of the entries so made from the ledgers into the separate
ledgers’check journals shall be collected by the comptroller,
and ascertained, by a weekly examination, to agree with
the total amounts of each week’s receipts and payments.”
Further, with respect to the comparison from time to time
of depositors’ books with the ledgers, another rule—the
twenty-fourth—directs, “ That in all cases, when a deposi¬
tor’s book shall be first brought to the office after each
20th of November, the balance standing in the depositor’s
book on such 20th of November shall be ascertained by a
careful examination, and by a separate addition of the in¬
terest extracted from the ledger account, to agree with the
checked balance in the ledger to such period; and to cer¬
tify to such correctness, and to record the date of the pro¬
duction of the depositor’s book, the ledger-clerk examining
the same shall sign his initials against such balance in the
depositor’s book, and also in the ledger.” And the 25th
rule directs, “ That upon any variance, occasioned either
by an error of commission or omission being found to exist
between the balance in a deposit-book and the ledger, the
same be at once reported to the comptroller, or in his ab¬
sence to the chief cashier and accountant, before the deposit-
book be returned to the depositor ; and if the error shall be
found to be in the ledger, a record shall be kept of the same,
explaining the nature and particulars of the error occasioning
such variance.” It must be added, however, that no means
are taken to ensure the production from time to time of the de¬
positors' books, and that, in fact, a very large number re¬
main unexamined, uncompared, and unseen for many years.
(2.) Edinburgh Savings Bank.—The bookkeeping of
the admirably managed bank at Edinburgh was thus de¬
scribed to the Commons’ Committee of 1858 by Mr Mait¬
land, its honorary treasurer, and the author of an excellent
tract on the accounts of savings banks, published in 1841:—
Depositors are received by (1) the actuary or his assistant,
who, having obtained satisfactory answers to the needlul
inquiries, makes the requisite entry in the depositor’s book,
and passes it on to (2) the accountant, or his assistant, who
makes the new entry in the appropriate ledger account,
with the interest—to credit for a deposit, or to debit for
repayment—to the 20th November next following, puts
the check mark, and passes the book on to (3) the cashier,
who has before him “ two cash-books, one for division No.
1; the other for No. 2 of the ledgers,” makes the new entry
in his cash-book, initials the depositor’s book, and passes it
on to (4) the teller, who enters the number and sum—
debtor or creditor—in his cash jotting-book, announces the
depositor’s name and the new-made entry, initials or gets
initialed, receives or pays the amount accordingly, and re¬
turns the depositor’s book to the depositor. Thus far, it
will be seen, the entries in the bank’s books have all been
made from the depositor’s book: that book has been con-
fronted with its duplicate in the ledger, and the depositor
has approved of the last entry by acting on it. No money
can be received or paid until these entries are so made. Organizt,-
Mr Maitland adds, that about 250 depositors can be thus tion and
disposed of in one hour. Then, when the bank-door is iIanage-
shut to the public for the day: ls£, The cash is counted ; ^ 111 en[. t
the cash-book-keeper and the teller balance with each other, "
and each signs his own book; 2dly, The accountant dis¬
perses to their proper sections the reference numbers or
accounts that day operated upon; and by these, from the
ledgers (which are all kept in sections of thousands), ob¬
tains the individual sums ; these sums he transfers to the
section check-sheets, and thus has obtained in sections,
from the ledgers, a balance with the cash-book to the close
of that day. On each Saturday this result is recorded by
sections, in a formal way, for the weekly report; in the
ledgers, however, an error of one kind—namely, of addi¬
tion or subtraction—might escape this check, as well as
the daily check, by direct inspection ; therefore, 'Mly, The
ledgers are brought, once in every quarter, to a general
trial balance ; and \thly, comes the general annual balance
at the 20th of each November for the annual return.
The reader will perceive that the Edinburgh system bases
the bank accounts upon the pass-books; ensures the reci¬
procal check of four several officers in the record of each
transaction; and provides, first, a weekly summary; secondly,
a quarterly trial balance ; thirdly, a general annual balance.
Nor have the benefits of this system been confined to the
place of its birth. The improvements made at Edinburgh
have been copied by other savings banks, and sometimes
with modifications which have been themselves further steps
in advance.
(3.) Manchester Savings Bank.—At Manchester the Manchester
depositor’s pass-book goes through the hands oifive several savings
clerks on the receipt of each deposit, and offour on occa-bank*
sion of each repayment; the receipt of the deposit-money
occurs at the first manipulation of the pass-book instead of
the last, as at Edinburgh ; the receiving-clerk and the pay-
clerk are always different officers; and a monthly audit is
made by a professional accountant, not attached to the staff
of the bank. The routine of receiving runs thus :—(1) The
counter or receiving clerk takes from the depositor the
money to be deposited and also his pass-book, in which he
enters the amount both in figures and in words, and then
hands the book and the money to (2) the cashier, who
receives deposits, but makes no repayments. This officer
enters the amount and the depositor’s progressive number
in the actuary’s cash-book, signs the pass-book with his
name in full, and then transmits it to (3) that particular
ledger-clerk within whose section of progressive numbers it
falls, who, first, posts the entry from it into the sectional
ledger, and initials the pass-book to indicate such posting;
and, secondly, enters in the ledger the amount of interest
which will have accrued on this deposit up to the 20th of
the following November. The pass-book proceeds (4) to
the cash-book-keeper, who enters in the cash-book the de¬
positor’s number and name, and the amount of the deposit;
he also writes his initials in the pass-book, and then hands
it (5) to the pay-clerk, who calls out the name and the
amount deposited, and returns the book to the responding
depositor. The routine of repayment runs thus:—(l) The
counter or receiving clerk takes from the depositor his
pass-book, writes in it the date and the sum to be repaid,
and hands it to (2) the ledger-clerk (as above), wdio deducts
that sum from the depositor’s ledger-account, and writes
beneath it the balance, if any, remaining in the bank ;
sending on the pass-book (after attaching his initials to
the entry) to (3) the cash-book-keeper, who enters in the
cash-book the amount to be repaid, and adds his initials in
the pass-book, which is then handed to (4) the pay-clerk,
who takes a receipt from the depositor in a book kept on
the counter for that purpose, pays the amount, signs the
pass-book, and returns it to the depositor.
SAVINGS BANKS.
Organiza- As soon as the bank has closed its doors to the public, a
tion and daily balance is taken by the following process:—The de-
Manage- posits and the repayments of the day are entered on prepared
-- “ sectional slips,” at present forty-two in number (the num-
ber of open accounts at the date of the last return having
been 41,398),—each representing a section of the accounts
in sequent thousands of their progressive numbers, and a
certain group of them corresponding precisely with each of
the “sectional ledgers.” These prepared slips—each hav¬
ing its column for receipts, its column for repayments, and
its initial thousand printed upon it—are distributed amongst
the clerks, to whom the actuary calls over from the cash¬
book the whole of the transactions of the day. When, for
example, he calls over the deposit made by a depositor
whose pass-book is numbered 21,225, the clerk who has
the slip headed “21,000” writes down “225” in the mar¬
gin, and so with the remainder of the numbers, as respects
both the receipts and the repayments of the day. When
these have been wholly called over each clerk takes his
group of slips to the corresponding sectional ledger, and
copies therefrom, upon the slips, each amount therein entered
against its appropriate progressive number, using of course
the deposit-column for sums received, and the repayment-
column for sums repaid. The total of each column upon
each slip is then handed to the actuary, and is proved to be
correct when it agrees with the aggregates of deposits and
repayments of the day, as recorded in the cash-book.
Each day’s account being added to the aggregate of all
the preceding days in the current financial year, every
sectional slip shows the total amount deposited and the total
amount repaid upon its specific thousand of sequent accounts
during the year. It is, therefore, a cheque both on the ac¬
curacy of the daily posting and on the periodical balance-
sheets, and is so taken that, whilst every clerk works in its
preparation, no clerk reviews his own entries. In addition
to these precautions, an independent monthly audit is made
by a professional accountant, who examines every cash
transaction between the depositors and the bank, and be¬
tween the bank and its treasurer, and every payment for
expenses, and makes a monthly report to the trustees.
Cork sav- (4.) Cork Savings Bank.—The banks of Cork, Limerick,
ings bank, and Carlisle have a method of bookkeeping which differs
in some important particulars from those which have been
mentioned, and is known as the “ Craig system,” having
been devised by Mr John Craig, manager of the Cork
Branch of the Bank of Ireland, and treasurer of the savings
bank there. Mr Craig’s own account of it is as follows
“ The first and distinguishing feature upon which all the
others depend .... is, that we amalgamate the interest with
the principal, besides calculating it in the prospective form ;
we amalgamate the interest with the principal on every oc¬
casion either of a receipt or a payment. That is one point.
The second point is, that each separate sum received is,
with its interest, at once added to the balance which stands
in the pass-book, and each repayment, with interest thereon,
is deducted  Further, we have duplicate or ‘check-
ledgers,’ posted entirely by the auditor; no other person is
ever permitted to make a figure in them. They are kept
in a very concise manner, occasioning very little trouble, . . .
from a check-journal also kept by himself. By the keeping
that check-ledger, after the balance of the 20th November
has been abstracted by the bookkeepers and clerks from
the deposit-ledgers, the auditor is able to make a balance of
all the accounts in the bank, and to make out a book show¬
ing the amount due upon each account, which book is laid
upon a table in the hall, and every depositor that enters
the bank has nothing to do but to look at that book, refer
to his number, and see whether his balance is accurate or
not. That has the advantage of being a double balance,
and made from other materials  Then, besides that,
there is a ‘ separate ledger balance-book’ kept .... not
669
made up directly from the cash paid and received, but Organiza-
always by the difference between the past and the present tion and
balance ; . . . . the auditor’s book consists of two columns,—■ Manage-
in the first he enters the past balance, and in the next the nient-
present balance  I have also to state that the check
which is kept upon the cashier consists of a book which has
four columns. In the book he enters the past balance, the
cash, the interest, and the present balance; at the end of
the day every page is toted up. If you add the receipts
of cash and the interest to the past balance, that will make
the present balance; if it be repayments, then if you add
the cash and interest to the present balance, it will be the
past balance.” Such is Mr Craig’s exposition of his methods,
as given to the Select Committee of 1858.
VIII. Accounts and Returns to National Debt Commis- Accounts
sioners.—At the close of every four weeks the trustees ofan(ire*urns
every savings bank have to return to the Commissioners for
the reduction of the National Debt the receipts and pay- misgioners>
ments of each week severally, the expenses of management, 9 Qe0 jy
and the certified balances. Complete annual accounts are c. 92, § 46;
also to be rendered, made up to the 20th of November in 7 and 8
each year, and transmitted to the Commissioners within nine Viet., c. 83.
weeks next thereafter. If the trustees neglect to render
such accounts within the prescribed term, the Commissioners
are empowered to close their account, and also (by another 3 Will. IV.,
enactment) to publish the name of the defaulting savings c-14*
bank in the London Gazette. A copy of the annual ac¬
count is to be affixed in the savings bank office, and every
depositor is entitled to receive a printed copy on payment
of one penny. The Commissioners are to lay an abstract
of the accounts rendered annually before Parliament; and
they or their comptroller may require from trustees a de¬
tailed statement of all the expenses whatsoever which shall
have been incurred in the management of any bank. In
1858 the annual accounts for the preceding financial year
were due by law, on or before the 22d of January. On that
day 502 banks had duly lodged them at the National Debt
Office, and 102 banks had yet to furnish them. Of these,
45 were furnished during the remaining days of January;
49 others between the 1st and 22d of February; and, at
the last-named date, 8 were still outstanding.
IX. Dormant Deposit Accounts.—There is no provision Dormant
in the law of savings banks of the United Kingdom for the deposit
extinction of accounts lying dormant, however long the in- acc°ullts.
terval which may have elapsed since the last operation upon
them, or however small the balances which they may respec¬
tively show. No complete returns, with respect to such ac¬
counts, have ever been prepared; but in 1851 Sir A. Y.
Spearman, comptroller-general, called for a partial return of
this kind, selecting 47 of the larger banks for the purpose,
by which it appeared that in those 47 banks only there were
about 52,000 accounts, which had been neither increased
(otherwise than by accretion of interest) nor diminished
during the five years ending on the 20th November 1850,
and that the amount standing at the credit of those accounts
was L.665,000.
X. Separate Surplus Funds.—Prior to the passing of the Surplus
Govei'ning Statute of 1828, the trustees of savings banks funds.
were authorized to make rules for the application of in- 1 Geo. IV.,
creased stock or property ; but no application of such sur- c- 83 5 and
plus funds was to be made until ten years had elapsed ^ IV,>
from the establishment of the bank to which they belonged ; c‘
one-half of such surplus was always to be reserved to
answer deficiencies, and thirty days’ notice was to be given
to the Commissioners of any intended appropriation. The
statute of 1828 directed that, within six weeks after the 9 Geo. IV.,
20th November next following, the trustees should ascer- c. 92.
tain the amounts of their respective surplus funds, and ap¬
propriate the same in the manner provided for by their
respective rules ; and in the event of there being no such
provision, then according to the judgment of the trustees
670
SAVINGS BANKS.
(1.) Conso¬
lidation of
the savings
bank sta¬
tutes.
Improve- jn general meeting assembled ; and it was then enacted that
ments in from 20th November 1828 the surplus was to be paid over
tion arid* annua^y to ^ie Commissioners, and that trustees and man-
Manage- agers might claim and receive from the Commissioners, for
ment. the purposes of the institution, upon such certificate as the
^ Commissioners should appoint, any sum of money equal to
the whole, or to any part of the principal monies which
might have been discharged from the account of the savings
bank concerned, as surplus.1
III. SUGGESTED IMPROVEMENTS IN THE ORGANIZATION
AND MANAGEMENT OF THE SAVINGS BANKS OP GREAT
BRITAIN AND IRELAND.
The elaborate inquiries of the Commons’ Committee of
1858, although they have not as yet led to any amended legis¬
lation, appear sufficiently to have established certain facts and
principles which may usefully govern such legislation, when¬
ever the subject shall be fairly grappled with by Parliament
hereafter. Amongst all the varieties of opinion which the
recent inquiry elicited, no one will be found to have affirmed
the advantage of leaving the law of savings banks scattered,
as it is at present, in a multitude of statutes, many of them
partially repealed, and some of them conflicting. It may
he taken, therefore, as admitted on all hands, that, as a first
point of improvement, the law of savings banks should he
consolidated into a single act for the whole kingdom.
Again, however opinions may differ on the question,
whether the terms of the existing statutes do or do not
really confer on the Commissioners for the reduction of
the National Debt, or on the Chancellor of the Exchequer
as chief acting Commissioner, that large control over the
investments of savings banks, which it has been in practice,
for more than thirty years past, assumed that they confer,
there is small likelihood of disagreement on the recom¬
mendation of the Select Committee of 18-58, that, for the
future, the powrers and duties of the Commissioners—be
they whom they may—entrusted with the superintendence
of savings banks and the investment of their funds, shall
be strictly and accurately defined in the consolidated sta¬
tute ; and that no sale, transfer, or conversion of savings
bank stock shall thereafter be permitted, except for sav¬
ings bank purposes, nor any addition he made to the
funded national debt, without the sanction of Parliament.
It may he true that in 1835, by Lord Althorp, and again
in 1844, by Mr Goulburn, the sale of savings bank stock
provided a fund “ under the safeguard of which great re¬
ductions were made in the interest of the national debt,
and the nation was relieved of an annual charge of many
thousand pounds.” It may also be true that, at a much
more recent period, the purchase of exchequer bills on sav¬
ings bank account furnished the government with necessary
supplies at a critical moment—the commencement of the
Crimean war—when a loan could net have been obtained,
except at a serious discount. But it is equally true that
the power of thus relieving the exchequer “ withdraws from
the cognizance of Parliament large financial transactions
during the time when they are in a course of being accom¬
plished ; and also occasions discredit to savings banks by
putting them in the light of institutions burdensome to the
country, when, in truth, it is plain that if their money were
duly invested in consols and bills as it accrued, little or no
deficiency would now exist.2 The Committee recommends
that for the future the National Debt Commissioners shall
be relieved from the office of investing the monies of sav¬
ings banks, and that this duty shall be confided to a new
(2.) Crea¬
tion of a
special
commission
for the ge¬
neral con¬
trol of
savings
banks.
commission of five members, of whom the Chancellor of Improve-
the Exchequer and the Governor of the Bank of England ments in
shall always be two; the other three being nominated by
the crowm, and one of them being a paid member ; that the !l°n and
expenses of the commission shall be paid out of the surplus 1 j^ent6*
funds belonging to the banks, that fund being invested in i n
public securities, and the interest carried to its account.
The Committee further recommends that three members
of this commission shall be a quorum; that its ordinary
meetings shall be held at fixed intervals; that all rules and
regulations relating to the receipt and payment of monies,
and the purchase and sale of stocks and other securities,
shall be framed at meetings specially convened, and be sub¬
ject to the approval of the Lords of the Treasury; that no (3.) prohi.
sale, purchase, or variation of securities shall be made except bition of
when required for the purposes of the savings banks; and that any sale or
no exchequer bills held by the commission shall be funded variation
without the special authority of an act of Parliament.3 of stock for
The amount due to the trustees of savings banks on the savings^5111
20th November 1857 was L.35,255,722; the amount ofbankpur-
the securities held by the National Debt Commissioners, at poses,
the same date, was L.34,399,082, Os. 3d., in addition to which
they held an uninvested balance of L.53,200, 2s., making
an aggregate of assets amounting to L.34,452,282, 2s. 3d.,
against an aggregate of claims amounting to L.35,255,722,
which leaves a deficiency of L.803,439, 17s. 9d.4 Whilst,
on the other hand, it has been shown, by the figures which
we have already had occasion to quote in a preceding sec¬
tion of this article, that an excess of interest has been paid
or credited by the Commissioners to the banks, beyond that
received by the Commissioners upon their own investments,
an excess amounting, in theaggregate, toL.2,774,051,9s. 3d.
On this point, the Committee expresses its opinion that the
payment of interest and expenses of management ought
not to be the source of annual loss to the State, and that
by investing a portion of the capital of the savings banks Invest
in such parliamentary securities as will yield a larger re- ment of^ "
turn than 3 per cent., and by applying to the purpose of portion of
a “ management fund” the interest of the present unappro- savings
priated surplus, and of all dormant claims after the expira- ban|t ^P*-
tion of ten pears, the present rate of interest (viz. L.3, 5s.) ,t.al in Par'
might be provided, all expenses of the commission be de- Se^rities^
frayed, and even “ a balance put by yearly, towards liquida- yielding8
ting the deficiency arising from the transactions of former higher in-
57ears.'’ Be this as it may, a review of all the circumstances terest than
of the case will, we think, go far to justify the claim ad- consols, &c.
vanced on the part of the banks to a parliamentary liquida- (5 ) Trans-
tion of that deficiency, irrespectively of mere expedients fer of dor*
andposslb.llt.es. countsnfter
I he question as to the parliamentary replacement of the ten years’
money of depositors in cases of defalcation is a widely dif- lapse,
ferent one. However generally the impression may have Opinions
prevailed that government is in some way bound to make expressed
good such losses, it is an impression unwarranted by the a® t0 re"
existing law. On this point, however, says the Committee o/defhtea
of 1858, “ It is difficult to maintain that Parliament having tions and"
released local trustees from their liahilitg, should not be a “ Parlia-
bound to provide some other guarantee lor the money of mentary
depositors who have no share themselves in the manage- guarantee,
ment of their bank ;” and it then adds the opinion that
“ an alternative ought to be given and freely offered to
the choice of trustees, either to secure the guarantee of
Parliament upon such conditions as the commission shall
prescribe, or themselves to undergo the same liability in
regard to savings banks as was enacted in the 9 Geo. IV.,
c. 92, § 9.”
^ Rules, Regulations, and Reports of the principal banks; Minutes of Evidence taken before the Select Committee of 1858, passim.
2 Report from the Select Committee on Savings Banks, p. ix. 3 Ibid.
4 The Commons Committee states this deficiency at L 856,642 (Report, &c., p. ix.), but that statement overlooks the uninvested
balance. Compare the stock accounts printed in Appendix to Report, p. 349.
SAVINGS BANKS.
Improve¬
ments in
Organiza¬
tion and
Manage¬
ment.
Proposed
re-enact¬
ment of
liability-
clause, 9
Geo. IV.,
c. 92, § 9.
This proposition does not go far. The Act of the 9th of
Geo. IV. simply declares that no trustee or manager shall
be personally liable, except for his own acts and deeds, and
not then, except in cases of wilful neglect or default.” This
enactment it was which limited the responsibility of trus-
- tees, although neither it nor any subsequent enactment can
be truly said to have ^released local trustees from their
liability. Mr I idd Pratt’s definition of the existing law,
as given in evidence before the Committee, was thus ex-
piessed : u In the case of an English trustee or manager,
he is not liable to make good any deficiency, unless he has
signed a paper limiting the amount; and he may limit the
amount. In Ireland, every trustee and manager is liable
for any deficiency, except he has signed a document limiting
his liability, and which limit must not be less than L.100.”
1 hese words can have no reference whatever to cases of
“wilful neglect or default.” To revert to the enactment
of 1828 (9 Geo. IV., c. 92, § 9) would, of course, remove
the anomaly, whatever its extent, between the law for Eng¬
lish and that for Irish banks, but would in no way impose
on^ trustees that personal liability for the default of their
officers, which was asserted from the bench of the Bank¬
ruptcy Court in 1826. That the existing law is doubtful
and confused, the evidence of the consulting barrister under
the acts abundantly proves.1 That to return to the liability
clause of the 9th Geo. IV., c. 92, would not, of itself, have
the effect the Committee attributes to it will, we think,
become equally obvious on closer examination.
The evidence given by the actuaries of the principal
banks of the United Kingdom, however it may differ on minor
points, entirely accords on the fact that the receipt and
payment of deposits may be so regulated both in large and
small banks as to make fraud exceedingly difficult, even in
isolated cases, and impossible in systematic continuance.
(6.) Legal The regulations by which this high degree of security has
prescrip- been here and there attained should be universally pre-
rules^ scr'bed by law, and enforced by an official inspection and
(7.)6Officialaudit’ whol,y independent of the individual banks. On
inspection. tlie report of the inspectors and the effectual audit of the
(8.) Parlia- accounts by the Commissioners, each bank should receive
mentary a special parliamentary guarantee for the whole amount of
guarantee. jts deposits.
Prescribed rules for the receipt and payment of deposits
to be uniformly observed, under penalty; frequent inde¬
pendent inspection and audit of banks by officers of the
Savings Bank Commission; such an appropriation of sur¬
plus income as may, in course of time, form a guarantee
fund against casual and unavoidable losses ; publication and
diffusion of full and distinct accounts of the progress of
savings banks ;—these are measures which will go far to pre-
(9.) Prohi- elude malversation, and to maintain the invaluable public
bition of advantages of savings banks in their integrity. It will also
authorized ke des’ra^e to include in the new act an express prohibi-
use of1 the t‘on dle use ^le terrn “ Savings Bank” by any banking
title “ sav- partnership, or other persons, not embodied under the act.
It was shown in the evidence of 1858 that banking con¬
cerns in Scotland—of unhappy celebrity—were in the habit
of designating their branches as “ savings banks,” and did
actually receive deposits from persons, who believed that
they were dealing with establishments legally authorized to
671
Savings
Banks in
Foreign
Countries.
mgs
bank
receive them. The Western Bank of Scotland went to the
length of issuing pass-books, which bore the name, “Na¬
tional Security Savings Bank.”2
If^ we include the funds of friendly societies, a sum of
L.37,000,000 is already so invested, that any portion of it
may be demanded from the State at any moment of pres- (10-)Powf“r
sure. Ihe possibility of public inconvenience thus arising ^ ( on,1*
was one of the points which came before the recent Com- to'purchase
mittee. Its deliberations on that topic resulted in the re- stock on
commendation to Parliament, that whenever any deposit depositors’
shall amount to L.150, the Commissioners may, with the account>
consent of the depositor, invest a portion of that deposit in WIth con'
the purchase, on his behalf, of L.100 stock, the interest on ent-
which shall be received by the Commissioners, and be
placed to the depositor’s account.
IV. SAVINGS BANKS OF FOREIGN COUNTRIES.
In the brief space which remains for this concluding sec¬
tion of our article, our summary notices of foreign savings
banks must needs be restricted to those countries only in
which they have attained a wide development; and, even of
these, a prominent part must sometimes be allowed to stand
for the whole. Thus New York must represent the United
States, and Prussia must almost suffice for Germany at large.
America possessed savings banks within a very few years United
of their solid establishment in Great Britain. The earliest States of
for example, of the sixteen banks which now exist in the ^meri5a’ *
city of New York dates from 1819. The aggregate amount ^ew ^ 0I^’
of the 223,860 deposits paid into these banks during the
year 1856 was L.3,465,512 sterling. The withdrawals
during the same period amounted to L.2,707,261, showing
an^ excess of payments over repayments amounting to
L.758,251. The total amount of the accumulated deposits
of 167,250 depositors, at the close of that year, was
L.7,564,569; which, taking the population at that date to
have been 850,000 persons, gives an average deposit of
L.8,17s. lOd. to each head of population, and of L.45,4s. 6 Jd.
to each depositor: the depositors being nearly as one in
five of the entire population. In New York the annual
expenses were L.30,957; being 17s. 7d. per cent, on the
receipts of the year, and 8s. 2d. per cent, on the aggregate
of the deposits held at its close.
The rates of interest allowed by these New York banks
to depositors vary. Ihe largest banks allow 5 percent, to
depositors on sums not exceeding 500 dollars, and 4 per
cent, on larger sums. Some banks allow 6 per cent, and 5
per cent, respectively, on like sums. The rate is by law
determinable according to the actual profits upon the in¬
vestments of each bank, which must be made either (1) in
the public stocks (of the Union, of the respective States of
the Union, or of the incorporated cities of the State of New
York); or, (2) in bonds and mortgages on real estate,
worth double the amount lent upon them. Investments of
the latter class usually realize from 6 to 7 per cent, per an¬
num. Most of the savings banks, it is stated, restrict their
investments on bond and mortgage to one-half of their
aggiegate deposits. As the law does not permit a greater
accumulation of surplus than 10 per cent., some Btinks pay
extra interest to their depositors from time to time, as their
1 e. “ 69. Chairman. Therefore, am I to understand that every Irish trustee is liable to an unlimited extent, unless he has limited
it voluntarily to the sum of L.100 ? Yes.
y “ 70- Whereas, in England and in Scotland, no trustee is liable, unless he has signed a paper declaring that he is willing to be so?
prev
“72.
71. That is the state of the law ? Yes ; I have put it shortly thus: in Ireland, the liability of trustees and managers for deficiencies
Piously to the 28th July 1828 is unlimited, unless by the rules the trustees and managers had limited their liability
72. . . . For deficiencies in Ireland between the 28th July 1828 (which is the date of the Act of 9 Geo. IV.) and the 9th August
1844, the liability is limited by the 9 Geo. IV., c. 92, § 9. Since the 9th August 1844 until 20th November 1848 the liability is the same
as in England. Since the 20th November 1848 the liability is under the 9th Geo. IV., c. 32, § 9, except the trustee or manager has
availed himself of the power to limit his liability under the 11th and 12th Viet., c. 133.”
2 Minutes qf Evidence before Select Committee on Savings Banks (Mr W. Meikle), 2412-2436.
672
Savings
Banks in
Foreign
Countries.
France.
Early his¬
tory of
French
savings
hanks.
Statistics.
Effects of
the Re¬
volution o
1848.
SAVINGS BANKS.
profits augment. Xlio amount of doposits is not ordinal ily
restricted ; but in some of the New York banks any one
account is limited to L.200, depositors being free to open
as many accounts as they please, either in one bank, or in
more banks than one. . . c
According to a report presented to the Legislature of
New York in 1858, the total amount of deposits in all the
savings banks of the State, on the 1st of January of that
year, was L.8,284,534, and the total amount of their assets
L.8,777,198, showing an aggregate surplus of L.492,664.
Of the collective assets, L.4,046,917 was invested in free¬
hold securities, and L.3,901,838 in stocks ; L.657,488 was
cash deposited, by way of reserve, in various joint-stock
banks; and L.170,954 was cash in the hands of the respec¬
tive treasurers.
In drawing the attention of the recent Committee on
savings banks to these statistics of the New York banks,
Mr C. W. Sikes, of Huddersfield, added, that during the
severe commercial crisis of 1857, “the savings banks wea¬
thered the storm without one single suspension ; and that,
in consequence of their having invested their money judi¬
ciously and safely, they were enabled to realize sufficient,
without any sacrifice of principal, to meet every claim made
upon them.” 1
The earliest French savings bank is that of Paris, which
was incorporated on the 29th July 1818; Bordeaux lol-
lowred the example in 1819, and Marseilles in 1821. All
these banks were founded as joint-stock companies, and
came, consequently, under the supervision ot the Council
of State. That body, however, having repeatedly expressed
the opinion that a municipal organization was better suited
to the character and objects of the new institutions, the
fourth (in order of date) of the French sayings banks was
established by the town council of Troyes in August 1821.
This plan has since been very generally followed ; and for
many years past it has been the only legal one. I hree
several banks—those, namely, of Avignon, Metz, and Nancy,
and those only—have been formed upon a third method,
being made branches ol the Monts-de-Piete, or public
pawnbroking establishments.
Until the commencement of the year 1834, the progress
of savings banks in France was slow. They were then
(after the lapse of sixteen years) only twenty-seven in
number; but during that year the number was raised to
seventy-five. Early in the following year (1835) the legis¬
lation affecting them wras revised and codified; and, in its
course, eighty-three new banks were founded, making the
total number 158, with 121,527 depositors, and an aggre¬
gate deposit of 62,185,676 francs (L.2,48/,427).
The nine years which succeeded the improved legisla¬
tion of 1835 carried up the total number of banks to 347 ;
that of depositors to 638,984 ; and the aggregate deposits to
392,552,467 francs (L.l 5,702,098). This very rapid growth
was thought to need some legislative check; the maximum
of deposits, on any one account, w7as therefore lowered, by
a law of the 22d June 1845, from 3000 francs to 1500;
the holding of more accounts than one was prohibited, atid
increased facilities were given for the conversion of depo¬
sits into stock, for the individual account of the depositor.
On this last-named head, the desired result was speedily in
course of attainment. At the close of 1848, the Paris bank
alone had so invested L.102,392. At the eve of the Re-
^ volution of 1848, the banks were 354 in number, with 175
branch banks; the depositors were 636,951; and their de¬
posits 358,405,924 francs (L.14,336,237). The “ Days of
February” brought a run upon the savings banks, and in¬
duced, on the 9th March, a decree of the Provisional Go¬
vernment, raising the interest from 4 to 5 per cent., and Saving
declaring the banks to be placed “under the guarantee of Banks m
national faith.” But the run continued. Two days later
another decree suspended cash payments, as respected all ^ ^ '
accounts exceeding 100 francs; and offered, instead, one ^
moiety of the amount in treasury bonds, at four or six
months’ date, and the other moiety in 5 per cent, stock at
par. The bonds at this time were at a discount of from 30
to 40 per cent.; the 5 per cents, were quoted at 73, and
were rapidly declining. The Constituent Assembly, in
July, decreed the total and immediate conversion into stock
of all deposits anterior to 24th February, and exceeding 80
francs, the price at which the conversion was to be effected.
In November, another decree opened a special “ compen¬
sation account” for every depositor concerned, which cre¬
dited him with the difference between the price fixed in
July, and the average market price {i.e., 71 francs 60 cents)
of the three preceding months. “ This measure,” said M.
Francois Delessert, president of the Paris bank, “ was not
merelv an act of reparation; it was the salvation of the
savings banks.”
The immediate operation of these various enactments Subsequent
cannot be precisely shown. The ordinary returns for 1848 progress,
were never published. Those for 1848 and 1849, to¬
gether, did not appear until 1853, and then only in a mo¬
dified and incomplete form. But we gather from those
returns, that during the two years above named, the ac¬
counts of 340,677 depositors were closed, and that 189,528
new accounts were opened. The aggregate amount of
deposits converted into stock in the course of 1848 was
211.426,336 francs (L.8,457,053) ; in 1849, 101,813,184
francs (L.4,072,527). The aggregate of deposits in the
savings banks at the end of 1849 was 73,917,556 francs
(L.2,956,702). It appears that at this date, twenty banks
only had yet to complete their funding operations under
the law of July 1848. When these were finally completed,
the stock account stood thus :—1
Savings Banks of
Paris   
Departments.
Total.
No. of Stock
Accounts
Opened.
107,899
386,490
494,389
Amount of
Capital
Funded.
L.2,687,054
9,855,305
L.12,542,359
Amount of
the Annual
Dividends.
L.167,916
615,956
L.783,872
It deserves remark, that at the periods of greatest excite¬
ment, even during the terrific combats of June 1848, the
deposit-receiving business of the savings banks was never
really at a stand-still. The smallest sum ever received by
the Paris bank on a deposit day, from the date of its first
establishment, was that which came in on the 2d July 1848,
immediately after the great struggle. But even on that
day 123 depositors made small payments, which amounted,
in the aggregate, to 12,749 francs (L.510). 1 he year 1850
witnessed a rapid progress throughout the country, or
nearly throughout it,—tor twenty-five of the banks are not
included in the official accounts. The total deposits of the
340 banks which made returns amounted at the close of
1850 to L.5,396,680. In 1851, the whole legislation of the
subject came under the review of the Assembly, and a
law was passed which enacted, (1) That no new deposit
shall be received on any account already amounting to
1000 francs, interest included; (2) That whenever by ac¬
cretion of interest any account shall exceed that maximum,
it shall be reduced, if not by the depositor himself, then by
an investment in stock on his account; and, (3) I hat the
interest should be reduced from 5 to 4£ per cent. In May
1853, a further reduction of interest was made to 3J per
1 Letter of Mr A. Warner to Mr C. W. Sikes, printed in Appendix to the Report on Savings Banks of 1858, pp- 384, 385 ; Evidence of
C. W. Sikes, Esq., in Minutes of Evidence, 2717-2797.
Savings
lianks in
Foreign
Countries.
Statistics
of 1855-56.
Organiza¬
tion and
manage¬
ment of the
French
banks.
SAVING
cent., subject, as before, to an obligatory reserve of one-
fourth per cent., and to an optional one of another fourth,
if needed.
Under the operation of this law very large sums were
funded on depositors’ account. The total number of banks
in activity throughout France, at the end of 1855, was 368 ;
that of their depositors, 893,750; and the aggregate of depo¬
sits, 272,182,542 francs (L. 10,887,301). At the end of 1856
the banks had increased to 373 ; the depositors to 936,188 ;
and the deposits to 275,342,913 francs (L.l 1,013,716).
The population of France at this date was 35,781,628.
The depositors, therefore, were as 1 in 38. Locally, the ex¬
tremes are widely apart. In the metropolitan departments
the depositors are 1 in 14; in the department of the Allege
they are 1 in 478. The average amount of deposits ranges
between 504 francs (L.20) in the department of the Var,
and 190 francs (L.7, 12s. 6d.) in the department of the
Vosges. The accounts not exceeding 500 francs formed,
in 1856, nearly 76|- per cent, of the whole number of ac¬
counts, and 37 per cent of their sum-total; those from 500
to 1000 francs were 19J per cent, of the number, and 48
per cent, of the sum ; the accounts of 1001 francs and up¬
wards were as 4^ and 15 per cent, respectively. Of these
only one-half per cent, in number, and 2§ per cent, in
amount, were legally exempt from compulsory conversion
into stock.
The main points of organization and working may be
briefly indicated thus:—(1.) Formation.—The initiative
belongs to the municipal councils. An imperial decree
establishes the new bank, on advice of the Council of State,
and invests it with the power of receiving gifts and be¬
quests. (2.) Management.—The board is chosen bv the
town-council, includes a certain proportion of councillors,
and is renewable by thirds annually. (3.) Expenses.—The
expenses are defrayed from reserve of interest; from mu¬
nicipal or other grants; from unclaimed or lapsed accounts;
from interest of endowment funds, if any, and from surplus,
if any. (4.) Deposits.—No sum less than a franc ; no ag¬
gregation of sums exceeding L.12 in a week, or L.40 in
the whole, are receivable from individual depositors (with
certain exceptions in favour of soldiers and sailors). Friendly
societies may invest up to L.320. (5.) Interest.—The usual
net rate of interest is 3f per cent.; in a few instances
it is 3f per cent. (6.) Investments.—All savings banks
(the three attached to Monts-de-Piete excepted) are bound
to pay over, within twenty-four hours, to the public depart¬
ment called Caisse des Depots, all deposits received, re¬
taining such a balance only as maybe indispensable for the
ordinary service until next”receipt-day. (7.) Withdrawals.
—Deposits are repayable at a fortnight’s notice; they may
be converted into stock free of charge ; they may be trans¬
ferred (in totality) to any other bank. (8.) Unclaimed Ac¬
counts.—Accounts neither claimed nor operated upon dur¬
ing thirty years pass in stock to the Caisse des Depots, and
the savings bank is released from all responsibility in respect
of them. (9.) Superintendence.—All savings banks in the
departments are under the review of inspectors, who report
both to the Minister of Finance and to the Minister of Agri¬
culture and Commerce. An inspection and audit must be
made at least once in every three months. Full accounts
must be transmitted through the prefects, to the Minister of
Agriculture, &c., annually, jpjd be officially distributed.
The Paris bank is under the direct control of the Minister
of Finance.1
S BANKS. 673
The Swiss banks date from 1787. The example set by Savinffs
Berne was followed by Geneva in 1789, and by Basel in ForeiVn
1793. But in all these cantons the operations of the first Countries,
twenty or twenty-five years were inconsiderable. In 1815 's v-».-
or 1816, they began to be importantly developed. In 1835 gwitzer-
there were in the whole of Switzerland 100 banks, with 65 land,
branches, or dependent “ receiving-houses,” and 60,028
depositors, to whose credit there stood, in the aggregate, a
sum of 11,513,712 Swiss livres (L.537,306). At the end
of 1852 the banks had increased to 167, exclusive of
branches; the depositors to 181,172; the deposits to
60,368,759 francs (L.2,414,745). In 1835 the Swiss popu-
lation appears to have been 2,179,526. At the end of
1852, it was 2,392,000. The depositors, therefore, were,
in 1835, as 1 in 36; in 1852, as 1 in 13. The average
amount to each depositor was, in 1835, L.l 1, 10s. 7d.; m
1852, L.l3, 6s. 6d. Finally, the aggregate deposits gave
a sum of 6s.6d. per head of population in 1835, and a sum
of L.l per head in 1852.
The management of the Swiss banks seems to be in
some points lax, as compared with the prevalent systems of
England and France, but the chief point of difference lies
in the investments. Most of the cantons have no public
debt worthy of mention. None of them, save Neufchatel,
permits a savings bank to invest money in foreign funds,
i essin and Claris admit of government investments; but
in all the other cantons the deposits are used in the way of
loan upon mortgages, and in the discounting of mercantile
bills. M. de Candolle, who, some years since, examined the
Swiss system very elaborately, thus sums up his opinion as
to its working:—“ Throughout all the changes of govern¬
ment the savings banks have continued their useful career.
Whatever the extent to which the government were com¬
promised, private persons continued to find in those insti¬
tutions a safe provision against; all contingencies. Losses
arising from the difficulty of recovering debts in disturbed
times were met by the reserve funds previously created.”2
The earliest savings banks of Germany were, as such, rrussia-
on a very narrow scale. Usually, they were directly con¬
nected with the administration of poor’s funds. Often thev
were also loan banks. The Berlin bank, founded in 1818,
gave an impulse to the improvement and diffusion of a
better system, although it has itself suffered many modifi¬
cations. Its original regulations guaranteed to the depo¬
sitors interest at the rate of 4£ per cent, on ordinary de¬
posits, a rate which was reduced to 3£ in 1827. In 1829, Sta,!stics
its aggregate deposits amounted to 1,229,413 thalers °f the !!er'
(L.179,289). In 1837, the amount of individual deposits bank?1D^
was limited to 20 thalers (L.2, 18s. 4d.) in any one month,
and to 300 (L.43, 15s.) in the whole. Eighteen months
later, the existing bank was wound up, and a new one
established in its place. At the close of the year 1839,
the new bank held deposits amounting to 469,354 thalers
(L.68,447). At the close of 1840, the amount was 576,528
thalers (L.84,077). Although seven years elapsed before
the aggregate deposits in the new bank attained the sum
held by the old bank in 1829, it appeared that investments
by a plurality of accounts continued to be made by persons
of a class different from that for which the bank was de¬
signed ; and, to check this practice, another dissolution and
re-organization was determined on in August 1850. The
minimum deposit was now reduced to sixpence (5 silber-
groschen), and the maximum deposits to L.l, 9s. 2d. (10
,??’De^S®ert and,*/^dessert, Comptes rendus des operations de la Caisse d'Epargne de Paris, 1819-1857, passim; Lefort, art.
aisscs d Ijpargne, in the Dicttonnaire de l Administration Franeaise, passim ; Auguste de Boudard, Institutions de prhoyance: Les
arR.iW^aTV r .to{l?«%(Valence, 1858), passim; C. A. von Malchus, Die Sparkassen in Europa, 315-329,
97-109 276?282 9 5 Economists*, xvm. 170-177; xxvii. 374-385 ; xxxvi. 282-291, 436-450 ; 2eme serie, i. 423-428 ; iv!
, Les Caisses d'Epargne de la Suisse passim; C. A. von Malchus, Die Sparkassen, &c., 251-300 ; De Boudard, Les Insti¬
tutions, &c., 29, 30; Appendices to the Comptes rendus, &c., ut supra.
VOL. XIX. . ^
4 Q
674
Savona.
Savings
banks of
Prussia
generally,
S A V
thalers) in any one month, and L.14, 11s. 8d. (100 thalers)
in the whole. If any person shall open more accounts
than one, the first account only beais inteiest. 1 he de¬
posits paid into the new bank during 1851 amounted to
351,765 thalers (L.51,299); the transfers from the old bank
to 510,846 thalers (L.74,498) ; whilst the withdrawals were
104,384 thalers (L.15,222); leaving an aggregate sum to
depositors’ credit, at the close of the yeai, of 901,289
thalers (L.131,438). At the close of 1852, this aggregate
capital stood at 1,076,000 thalers (L. 156,916), and belonged
to 30,929 depositors. At the close of 1853, it had increased
to 1,230,000 thalers (L.l 79,375), and the number of depo¬
sitors to 34,842. On the 1st January 1855, the depositors
were 35,590, and the total amount at their credit 1,249,000
thalers (L.182,145). On the 1st January 1857, the depo¬
sitors were 40,700, and their aggregate deposits 1,424,000
thalers (L.207,666). At this date, therefore, the average
sum possessed by each depositor was somewhat more than
L.5, 2s., and the depositors were as 1 in 11 of the whole
population of Berlin.
Throughout the Prussian dominions there were founded,
during the first decade from the beginning of the Berlin
hank (1818-27), 31 savings banks; during the next
(1828-37), 37; and during the third (1838-47), 123.
Even in the disturbed years 1848 and 1849, 20 new banks
came into being. The total number on the 1st January
1850 was 211, to which 4 more were added during the
year. At its close, these 215 banks comprised 278,147
depositors, holding an aggregate deposit of 18,119,851 dol¬
lars, or L.2,642,464. The relative proportion of banks to
population varied from 1 in 502,984 in the circle of Dussel-
dorf, to 1 in 25,207 in the circle of Arnsberg; the mean
proportion for the whole of the kingdom being 1 in 10,091,
and that of depositors 1 in 59. The average amount held
by each depositor throughout the kingdom was, in 1849,
L.9, 3s. 9d.; in 1850, L.10, 4s. 2d. The rates of interest
varied considerably. In 23 banks it was 2^- per cent.; in
35 other banks, 3 per cent.; in about 150 others, 3£ per
cent.; whilst in 5 banks it ranged from 4 to 5 per cent.
SAY
In some banks the rate varies with the amount of the Savonaro-
deposit. la-
In the German provinces of Austria, the proportion of other
depositors to population was, according to the latest returns States of
to which we have access, 1 in 49; in Hanover, 1 in 42; Germauy,
in Bavaria, 1 in 18; in Saxony, 1 in 16; in Frankfort-on-&c*
the-Maine, 1 in 1T4; in Hamburg, 1 in 7-8; in Altona,
1 in 2'6. In Austria, the average aggregate deposit was,
to each depositor, L.19, 6s. 9d.; and to each inhabitant
7s. lOd. In Bavaria, it was, respectively, L.5, 18s., and
(nearly) 6s. 8d.; in Hanover, L.9, 10s., and 4s. 5d. The
savings bank statistics of the last-named country are re¬
markable for the rapid growth they indicate of the aggre¬
gate deposits since 1848.1
In most of those parts of Europe which are yet unno¬
ticed, the development of savings banks is comparatively
recent and immature. This cannot, however, be said of
Italy. In Piedmont and in Lombardy, for example, they
have long formed an important feature of the economical
condition of the country. But the institution which in
Italy is called Cassa di risparmi differs materially from
those which elsewhere bear that name. Its regulations
attract the investments of persons of a much higher class
than those for whom savings banks are usually intended.
There are some exceptions to this rule ; but, on the aver¬
age, it has been estimated that hardly more than one-fourth
of the deposits in Italian savings banks are held by depo¬
sitors who would be ranked, socially, with those of the
United Kingdom, of France, or of Germany. In Spain
and Portugal, these institutions are yet in the cradle. In
Russia, they have scarcely advanced beyond St Petersburg
and Moscow. A wider intercommunication of the progress
and results of the savings banks of different countries
would doubtless give an increased impulse to the diffusion
of establishments which have proved themselves to be
powerful agents in the social elevation of the masses, even
when very imperfectly organized and worked. Taken as a
whole, their past history warrants high anticipations of the
future. (E* E0
SAVONA, a town of the kingdom of Sardinia, capital
of a division of the same name, on the shore of the Me¬
diterranean, 25 miles S.W. of Genoa. It stands at the
foot of a hill to the W., and is partially surrounded by
ancient walls, and defended by a citadel of no great
strength. The town itself has some good houses; but,
for the most part, it is not well built, and has extremely
narrow streets. There is a fine cathedral, built in 1604,
when the former one was removed to make room for the
citadel. Many valuable works of art adorn the present
edifice. The Sistine chapel was erected by Pope Sixtus
IV. as a burial-place for his family. The Dominican
church contains paintings by Albert Durer and Antonio
Semini; and the church of San Giacomo contains the
tomb of Chiabrera, a celebrated lyric poet, and a native
of this place. Savona has several convents, an episcopal
seminary, two colleges, hospitals, and other charitable in¬
stitutions. The harbour, which was once very good, was
partially filled up by the Genoese, out of jealousy of the
commerce of Savona. It is still safe, though only acces¬
sible to small vessels. A considerable trade is carried on
in silk, wine, and fruit. Savona is the seat of a bishop,
public offices, and law courts, and many of the nobility
have fine palaces in the town. Pop. 17,000.
The administrative division of Savona comprises the
three provinces of Acqui, Savona, and Albenga, the first
lying inland, and the other two along the coast. The
principal mountains are the Apennines, which have in this
division a considerably lower altitude than in the other
parts of the range. They stretch nearly parallel to the
coast, at no great distance from it, and send down numer¬
ous small streams and torrents to the sea. The northern
part of Savona is occupied with ramifications of the Apen¬
nines, and watered by many small affluents of the Po.
The whole division is very fertile, especially the valley of
Albenga, producing corn, wine, oil, fruit, hemp, &c. The
division is subdivided as follow's:—
Province. Area in Square Miles. Pop. (1857.)
Savona  311   79,643
Acqui....'.  444  1(16,819
Albenga  263   58,485
Total  1018  244,947
SAVONAROLA, Girolamo, a famous Italian monk,
wTas born at Ferrara in 1452, being descended of a noble
family. At the age of tw'enty-two he assumed the habit of
a Dominican friar, without the knowledge of his parents,
and distinguished himself in that order by his piety and
ability as a preacher. Florence was the theatre where he
chose to appear, and where he preached, confessed, and
wrote. He had address enough to place himself at the
head of the faction which opposed the family of the Medici.
He explained the Apocalypse, and there found a prophecy
1 Art. “ Sparkassen,” in the Supplement to Meyer’s Conversations-Lexicon, v. 882-8b9 ; l)e Boud u d, Institutions de prtvoyance, &c , ut
supra, 30-33 ; Appendices to the Paris Reports.
SAY
SAY
Savoy, which foretold the destruction of his opponents. He pre-
—dieted a renovation of the church, and declaimed with much
severity against the clergy and the court of Rome. Alex¬
ander VI. excommunicated him, and prohibited him from
preaching. He derided the anathemas of the Pope; yet
he forbore for some time from preaching, and then resumed
his employment with more applause than before. The
Pope and the Medici family then thought of attacking him
with his own weapons. Savonarola having posted up a
thesis as a subject of disputation, a Franciscan, at their
instigation, offered to prove it heretical. The Franciscan
was seconded by his brother friars, and Savonarola by his;
and thus the two orders were at open war with each other.
To settle the dispute, and to convince their antagonists of
the superior sanctity of Savonarola, one of the Dominicans
offered to walk through a fire; and in order to prove his
wickedness, a Franciscan agreed to the same experiment.
The multitude, eager to witness so extraordinary a spec¬
tacle, urged both parties to come to a decision; and the
magistrates were constrained to give their consent. Ac¬
cordingly, Saturday the 7th of April 1498 being fixed for
the trial, the Dominican pretended he could not enter the
flames without the host in his hand. This the magistrates
obstinately refused to allow ; and the Dominican’s fortitude
was not put to the test. The Franciscans incited the mul¬
titude against their opponents, who accordingly assaulted
their monastery, broke open the gates, which were shut
against them, and entered by force. Upon this, the ma¬
gistrates thought it necessary to bring Savonarola to trial
as an impostor. He was put to the torture and examined,
and the answers which he gave fully evinced that he was
both a cheat and a fanatic. He boasted of having frequent
conversations with God, and he found his brother friars
credulous enough to believe him. One of the Dominicans
who had shared in his sufferings, affirmed that he saw the
Holy Ghost in the shape of a dove, with feathers of gold
and silver, twice in one day alight on the shoulder of Savo¬
narola and peck his ear; and he pretended also that he had
violent combats with demons. John Francis Picus, count
of Mirandola, who wrote his life, assures us that the devils
which infested the convent of the Dominicans trembled at
the sight of Friar Jerome, and that out of vexation they
always suppressed some letters of his name in pronouncing
it. At length the Pope, Alexander VI., sent the chief of
the Dominicans, with Bishop Romolino, to degrade him
from holy orders, and to deliver him up to the secular
judges, with his two fanatical associates. They were con¬
demned to be hanged and burned on the 23d of May 1498.
According to some accounts, Savonarola submitted to the
execution of the sentence with great firmness and devotion,
and without uttering a word respecting his guilt or his in¬
nocence ; but others say his firmness failed him, and he
acknowledged the falsehood of his pretensions to super¬
natural powers. He was in the forty-sixth year of his age.
H is works have been published at Leyden in six vols. 12mo.
SAVOY (Ital. Savoja, Fr. Savoie), Duchy of, a por¬
tion of the kingdom of Sardinia, lying between N. Lat. 45.
4. and 46. 24., E. Long. 5. 37- and 7., bounded on the
N. and N.E. by Switzerland, E. and S.E. by Piedmont,
5. W. and W. by France. Length from N. to S. 92 miles,
breadth 66; area 4197 square miles. Geographicallv,
Savoy belongs rather to Switzerland than to Italy; as it is
separated from the latter country by the Graian and Pen¬
nine Alps, the loftiest chains of those mountains, while all
the rivers that water the country discharge their waters ul¬
timately or immediately into the Rhone. From Switzer¬
land it is only separated by the lake of Geneva; from
France on the W. by the Rhone, and on the S.W. by the
Maurienne Alps, an off-set of the Cottian Alps, extending
westwards from Mont Cenis. The country thus inclosed
is one of the most mountainous in Europe; for the moun¬
tains which border it send out numerous ramifications,
which make the whole surface a continual series of lofty
elevations and deep valleys. The Graian Alps extend
from Mont Cenis to Mont Blanc, forming a curve with the
convex side towards Piedmont. They contain not only
the highest peaks, but the most gigantic glaciers and the
wildest passes that are to be found in the whole of the
Alps. The summits of Mont Iseran and the Little St
Bernard, the glaciers of Mont Iseran, of Clou, of Ruitors,
and the passes of Galesia, Galetta, and Little St Bernard,
are among the most important. The mountains which
border upon Savoy consist, as we have seen, of the main
ridge, and one large ramification of the Alps; those which
occupy the centre of the country, consist of three important
branches of the same great mountain system. Furthest
south, the mountains of La Vanoise diverge from the main
ridge at Mont Iseran, and occupy the whole region be¬
tween the Isere and its affluent the Arc, curving to the
southwards, along the banks of the latter river, and forming
by their off-sets to the north the valleys of the upper tri¬
butaries of the Isere. From the Little St Bernard ex¬
tends another great branch, called the Alps of Savoy,
which covers with its ramifications all the country between
the Arve, the Rhone, and the Isere. This chain extends
for some distance to the W. and N.W., till at a point called
Grande Crete, S.W. of Sallenches, it divides into two
branches, the one continuing a N.W. course, till it ter¬
minates at the Rhone opposite the end of the Jura on the
French side; the other and more important branch turns to
the S.W., and, after a zigzag course along the lake of
Annecy, skirts the Isere, and terminates in the Gmnde
Chartreuse in France. The third branch, called the Alps
of Savoy and Valais, diverges from the Pennine Alps at
Mont Crapillon, and stretches N.W. to the lake of Geneva,
occupying, with its offshoots, the country between that lake,
the Arve, and the Rhone. This is the most northerly of
the mountain-chains that traverse Savoy. The principal
valleys in the country are those traversed by the rivers
already mentioned; but there are innumerable others, down
which flow streams of less size and importance. There
are only two lakes of any size in Savoy, those of Bourget
and Annecy, neither of which are to be compared with
that of Geneva. 4 he former discharges its w'aters by a
canal into the Rhone, the latter into the Fier, an affluent
of that river. From the natural character of the surface,
the amount of arable land in Savoy is necessarily very
limited; but the insufficiency of the grain raised is in a
large measure supplied by chestnuts, which form an im¬
portant article of food for the lower classes. Vines are
cultivated in a few places, in the lower valleys and slopes.
Cattle and dairy produce, however, form the principal
riches of the country, along with the timber which clothes
the lower portions of many of the mountains. Some
minerals are found, but not anywhere in large quantities.
The only articles manufactured are coarse woollen stuffs,
leather, and hardware. The produce of the country is ex¬
ported ; and there is a considerable transit trade carried on
through Savoy between France and Italy, chiefly by way
of Mont Cenis. Savoy forms in the kingdom of Sardinia
the divisions of Annecy and Chambery, and is subdivided
into provinces as follows :—
Provinces. Area in Sq. Miles. Pop. (1857.)
Annecy  620 103,763
Faucigny   786 103,986
Chablais   326 60,193
I ^vision of Annecy    1722 -  267 942
Chambery  633 155,916
Upper Savoy  346 49’276
Maurienne  798 64,063
Tarantaise   698 44,636
Division of Chambery    2475 —  313,891
Total of Savoy
581,833
675
Savoy.
4197
S A W.
The leading events in the history of Savoy are men¬
tioned in the Article Sardinia.
SAW, a well-known instrument for cutting asunder.
The saw is of unknown antiquity, being figured on the
ancient monuments of Egypt and Babylon. It is probable
that saws were first made of copper, hardened by the ad-
mixture of a little tin. But after the invention of steel that
substance has come, almost exclusively, to be used in their
manufacture. . ~ , ,
The common saw consists of a steel plate, on tlie eti^e
of which teeth are formed: these teeth, when drawn over
a piece of timber, act as a succession of chisels, and so
make a cut or saw-draft. When the teeth are left in the
plane of the plate, and when the saw has entered a little
way into the timber, the sides of the cut come to rub against
the plate, thus causing a friction, which soon arrests the
operation. There are two ways in which this evil is
remedied : the one is by making the plate thin towards the
back, as in the key-hole saw ; the other is by bending
some of the teeth to the one side, some to the other side
of the saw-plate, so that they make a draft considerably
wider than the thickness of the plate. This bending is
called the set of the saw. It is obvious that the best method
is to set the teeth alternately to the right and to the left;
but in the East, where ancient practices are scrupulously
adhered to, the teeth of the large saws are bent aside in
groups of perhaps a dozen each. The quantity of set is
regulated by the nature of the material to be cut; for soft
and fibrous woods, more set is needed than for hard woods.
Since the labour of cutting and the waste of material are
increased by the set and consequent width of the saw-draft,
it is an object to give to the saw as little set as possible, and
the friction is reduced in some cases by bending the halves
of the log asunder by means of wedges ; in other cases by
the use of soap, tallow, or oil, to lubricate the sides of the
saw.
Although it seems to be a very simple affair, the sharpen¬
ing and setting of a saw require considerable skill of hand
and accuracy of eye, for if any one of the teeth project,
either edgewise or sidewise, beyond the general line, it
takes hold of the wood and renders the sawing harsh and
difficult. The form of the tooth, also, is a matter of some
importance. When the teeth of the saw become blunted
by use, they are sharpened by means of a file, which is
three-sided, or, as the workmen call it, three square. This
is the most economical form of saw-file, because all its
edges and faces are equally available. The angles of a
four-sided file are too great, and an isosceles three-sided
one would, although the angle might suit better for some
purposes, have only one or at most two edges available.
Hence for common use we are compelled to adopt the or¬
dinary equilateral three-sided file, and, in consequence, the
angle of the saw-tooth is sixty degrees.
Let ABCDEFGHI represent part of the edge of a saw,
of which the notches BCD, DEE, &c., have been made by
a three-cornered file; then if the sides AB, BC of the
tooth be equally inclined (as in fig. 1) to the general line of
B D F h
Fig. 1.
the edge, the instrument acts equally well in either direc¬
tion ; but in this case the teeth can hardly be said to cut,
they only scrape away the material. Saws of this kinds
are used in cross-cutting, being worked by two men—one
at each end; but as the teeth are large, they are punched
out at the fly-press, and are made deeper than an equilateral
trgon.
In order that the tooth have a proper cutting edge, the
front BC must be (as in fig. 2) at least perpendicular to the
B d f H
Fig. 2.
line of the cut, and therefore the back AB must, at most,
make an angle of thirty degrees with that line. For many
kinds of timber it would be advantageous to have the front
of the tooth leaning forward (as in fig. 3), but this form
Fig. 3.
allows little room for the saw-dust, and is accompanied by
a tendency to drag the tool in upon the wood, thus causing
the strain to be too great for the hand-saw ; nevertheless, a
slight inclination forward is, in certain cases, advantageous.
When a saw is to be sharpened, it is convenient to draw
the file gently along the tops of the teeth, and so reduce
them all to an even line : we then take care, in filing out
the notches, to do no more than remove the bright surfaces
thus exposed : by this precaution we secure the even lining
of the teeth edgewise. The setting is a more difficult
affair ; it is done sometimes by the hammer and sometimes
by a saw-key. When the hammer is to be used, the saw is
laid upon an iron plate, so that the teeth may project over
its chamfered edge. Each alternate tooth is lightly struck
by a hammer, the weight of which must be adapted to the
size of the teeth ; the saw is turned over and the inter¬
mediate teeth struck on the other side ; the lining is ex¬
amined by the eye, and any errors are corrected. The
setting key is a piece of steel, having notches of various
widths cut in it to suit the different thicknesses of saw-
plates ; by means of these notches the teeth can be bent
to the required degree. It has been proposed to fix a stop
upon the set-key, which stop, coming against the plate of
the saw, may regulate the degree of bending ; but the elas¬
ticity of the steel carries the tooth back somewhat from the
extreme angle of flexure, so that the residual set depends
partly upon the temper of the steel; thus, after all, the eye
becomes the ultimate judge.
In filing the teeth we must pay attention to the set;
thus, if the tooth B be bent to the left, the left edge of the
face BC shoidd be made acute, as should also the right
edge of DE. Hence the alternate spaces BCD, FGH,
&c., should be filed out from the right, and the intermedi¬
ate spaces, DEF, &c., from the left, the point of the file
being, in both cases, inclined a little forward.
The saw-plate should be left as hard as is consistent with
its being bent; if it be too hard, the teeth are apt to break
off in being set; if it be soft, the teeth are rapidly blunted.
To the one end of the saw-plate a handle is fixed, by
means of which it can be moved backwards and forwards.
In this country it is usual to make the saw cut when being
thrust forward; in other words, the teeth look from the
handle ; but the modern artificers in Greece and other
eastern countries make the cut in pulling, as also (lid the
ancients; the teeth look towards the hand. Ihere is
something to be said in favour of and against both methods.
The cut, in pushing, enables us to apply greater muscular
energy, and the entrance of the saw being towards the eye,
we can readily follow the line ; but, on the other hand, any
S A W.
677
sudden jerk or unskilful holding of the tool is apt to bend
or buckle it. The cut, in pulling, again, tends to straighten
the saw, so that a very thin plate may be used, requiring
less labour and causing less waste of material ; it is pecu¬
liarly suitable for workmen, who hold by their toes; but
then the saw-dust is heaped upon the line and has often to
be swept or blown away.
The advantages of both of these methods are obtained
by stretching the saw tightly in a frame ; and even more
than these advantages, because we can use saw-webs much
narrower and much thinner than when the plate is to be
held by one end. The narrowness of the web allows it to
be turned considerably within the saw-cut, so that it may
follow a curved line, whereas the hand-saw is almost re¬
stricted to a straight cut. Saw-webs for frames are made
of great minuteness, the breadth even so little as the fiftieth
of an inch, and the width of the draft not perhaps the third
of that. These hair saw's are extensively used for inlaying
woods, ivory, and shell, as they can follow the most delicate
outlines ; they are also used by gold and silver smiths, on
account of the smallness of the waste which they occasion.
Saws for cutting bone, ivory, or brass, require very little
set; it is sufficient to have the web somewhat thinner to¬
ward the back. For these saws the steel is left pretty hard,
as much so, indeed, as is consistent with their being readily
filed. The preparation of saws for cutting iron or steel is
a matter of considerable nicety ; they must be very hard in
order to resist the oxides and silicates which are to be found
in the most carefully prepared iron, and yet they must be so
soft as to be filed, although with difficulty ; hence really
good iron-ivebs, as they are called, are somewhat scarce.
The teeth of large saws, such as those used in the saw-
pit or in the saw-mill, are cut out by means of a fly-press,
in which a punch and socket exactly of the form of the
notch are fixed. The edges are afterwards dressed by the
file. Hence they are shaped more in accordance with the
principles of cutting tools. The front of the tooth is hooked
forward by even so much as forty or forty-five degrees, and
the back is relieved only by an angle of eight or ten de-
orees. But if lines wdth these inclinations were continued
to meet each other (as shown in fig. 4), there would be no
Fig. 4.
room left for the dust, and the saw would be immediately
clogged; wherefore a large hollow space is scooped out (as
sho^vvn in fig. 5), giving to the •‘teeth a very formidable ap¬
pearance. These saws are sharpened by filing the parts
marked A B ; and when the teeth become too shallow, they
are again deepened at the fly-press, or, if no fly-press be at
hand, by means of round files applied to the hollows.
Circular Saws.—The straight saw must necessarily have
a reciprocating motion ; but when teeth are formed on the
edge of a circular disc, the motion is continued in one di¬
rection, and great velocity can be obtained. Circular saws
are now so very generally used that every one at all in¬
terested in mechanical affairs must be familiar with their
general appearance and mode of operation.
Fig. 6.
in the table D E. The piece of timber to be cut is laid
on the table, and carefully brought up to the descending
part of the saw at C ; the saw being made to revolve with
great velocity. When slices of a given thickness have to
be cut off a log, a fence is placed on the table at E, parallel
to and at the proper distance from the plane of the saw:
the log is laid against this fence, and is pushed forward
either by hand or by help of the machinery.
This is a dangerous instrument, not to be approached
without caution, and, above all, not to be tampered with by
foolish meddlers. If a lump of wood were presented at the
rising part A, it would be caught by the hooked teeth,
hurried over towards C and thrown off, to the great danger
of those around, as well as of the saw itself.
Small circular saws have their teeth shaped by the tri¬
angular file: the fronts of them should point to the centre.
Veneer Saws.—The veneer saw is contrived for the pur¬
pose of cutting finely variegated woods into thin broad slices.
The veneer varies from a 24th to a 30th of an inch in
thickness, so that if the saw-draft be one 24th of an inch
wide, half of the timber is cut into saw-dust. Now, the
wood of which veneers are made is almost always very
valuable, and hence it is of great importance to have the
saw extremely thin.
The body of the veneer-saw consists of a lenticular piece
of cast-iron, having the meniscus form—that is, hollow on
the one side and round on the other. A section of it is
given in fig. 7. The hollow part at B is made sufficiently
deep to receive the bush which carries one end of the axle,
and which rests on an overhanging support. Part of the
edge AC is turned flat, and to this flat part the steel saw is
screwed in segments—the screw heads being countersunk
so as not to project beyond the outer face of the segments.
These segments are ground away toward the edge, as
shown in the section K L, and are thus made to form the
rim of a very thin circular saw. The grinding and adjust¬
ment of these segments require great care.
The log to be cut into veneer is secured to a frame F,
which can be moved by screws G, transversely upon a
carriage E. This carriage moves upon two long iron slides
or rails, laid exactly at right angles to the axis of the saw
678
SAW
S A W
Saw-Mill. The screws G serve to regulate the thickness of the suc-
cessive slices. When the log is advanced upon the saw in
the direction of the arrow, the thin veneer, which has been
separated at the edge /, is bent away over the back of the
saw, either by the workman’s hand or by a small guide set
up for the purpose. When one cut has been made, the
carriage is returned, the log moved transversely by means
of the screws G, and then advanced again to meet the saw.
Veneer saws are made from 5 to 20 feet in diameter, ac¬
cording to the breadths of the logs which they may have to
cut, and from 12 to 18 slices are made in each inch of
thickness.
Cylindric Saws.—The cylindric saw is formed by mak¬
ing teeth on the end of a thin tube of steel, and are useful
for cutting circular holes in valuable material, as ivory or
tortoise-shell, without destroying the interior part. As there
is no way for the escape of the cuttings, they have to be
withdrawn now and then from the cut.
Ribbon Saxes.—The latest novelty in the formation of
saws is the ribbon-saw, which is formed of a long, thin web
of steel united at the two ends, or, it may be, of a con¬
tinuous web rolled from a steel ring. This web, having
teeth cut in one of its edges, is passed over two large
pulleys, which are put in rapid motion ; the descending
free part of the web acts as a straight frame-saw, with this
difference, that the motion is continuous, and that the ac¬
tion is very rapid.
Lapidary’s Saws.—For cutting slate and other soft stones
saws of steel are used; but for harder stones, webs of
soft iron or copper, primed with sand and water, are em¬
ployed. It is by means of such a tool that marble is sawn
into slabs. When the plate of iron, stretched in a proper
frame, is moved backwards and forwards upon the stone,
the sharp fragments of the sand imbed themselves in it
and act as saw'-teeth, but they are so soon rubbed out that
the action partakes greatly of the nature of grinding.
For very hard stones emery and corundum powders are
used, and for extremely hard stones pounded diamond is
employed; the circular form of the saw being generally
adopted. The diamond-wheel is truly a saw, for the frag¬
ments of diamond stick w ith great pertinacity into the iron,
and act exactly as saw-teeth.
Lapidary’s saws w ere w’ell known to the ancients: some
of the sarcophagi retain the marks of the tools by which
they vvere scooped out. A tube of iron or of copper, primed
with sand and water, wras turned round upon the stone, and
thus caused to make a cylindric cut; when this cut was
sufficiently deep, the central cylinder of stone was broken
over. Another and another hole of this kind was made
until the required hollow was roughly formed ; the inter¬
mediate triangular pieces were broken away, and the inside
of the chest was then finished by the chisel and smoothing
tools. This is exactly the process which is followed at the
present day in doing the like kind of work. (e. s.)
SAW-MILL, a place in which sawing is carried on by
help of wind, water, or steam power.
The principal part of the saw-mill is the frame-saw used
for cutting up logs, represented in figures 8 and 9. It con¬
sists of a frame A A moving between two vertical cheeks.
In this frame the saw-webs are stretched according to the
nature of the work to be done ; these must be fitted truly
parallel to the line of motion, and at such distances from
each other as to produce planks of the desired thickness.
1 his frame A A is moved upwards and downwards by
means of a crank attached to the machinery, and acting
through the connecting rod B ; the saws cut while descend¬
ing. I he log to be operated on is fixed in a long frame
CC, which is brought forward by means of a pinion fixed
to the axis of the ratchet-wheel D. The feed, as it is called,
is obtained in this way ; the end E of the lever EFG is at¬
tached to the saw-frame, so as to oscillate with it, thus
causing the arm FG to oscillate also ; this arm FG has a Sawunt
row of holes in it for attaching the hook H, which, acting Warree.
on the ratchet-wheel, brings it round by the distance of
one or more teeth at each descent of the saw ; the number
Fig. 8.
of teeth and consequent feed being regulated by the effec¬
tive length of the arm FG.
The log passes over a support K as close to the saws as
possible, and is kept in its place by fences or rollers LL
acting on its sides ; it is also prevented from rising by two
struts, M and N, hanging from the frame-work.
Circular, veneer, and ribbon saws belong naturally
to the saw-mill; they have been sufficiently described in
the preceding article.
In the saw-mill we often find other kinds of work carried
on. Flooring deals and lining boards, after having been
roughly shaped by the saw', are dressed to the required
breadth and thickness, planed smooth, feathered and
grooved on a machine in which planes, saws, and adzes
are combined. Battens, too, have their tenons and mortices
dressed by appropriate machinery, and the naves of cart¬
wheels have their spoke-holes neatly cut out by a combina¬
tion of augers and chisels ; but these are additions to the
saw-mill proper. (e. s.)
SAWUNT WARREE, a native state of India, under
the political management of the British, in the presidency
of Bombay, lying between N. Lat. 15. 38. and 16. 15., E.
Long. 73. 40. and 74. 22.; bounded on the N. and W. by
the British collectorate of Rutnastheriah, S. by the Portu-
SAX
SAX
679
guese territory of Goa, and E. by the native state of Kola-
poor. Length from N. to S. 50 miles ; greatest breadth
about 30 ; area, 800 square miles. It is an exceedingly
rugged and mountainous country, consisting mainly of a
slip of land on the summit and western declivity of the
Ghauts, and in some places extending over the ridge into
the Deccan. The scenery is very remarkable and romantic ;
huge masses of mountain rise to the height of 3000 or 4000
feet, and, except a few patches of bare black rock, are en¬
tirely covered with forests of teak and other trees. Numer¬
ous rivers, large and small, flow down from the mountains
and intersect the jungles which occupy the lower ground.
The soil thus watered gives rise to a luxuriant vegetation,
but the superior kinds of crops cannot be raised, such as
cotton, sugar, &c.; and the staple produce of the country
is wheat, rice, pulse of various kinds, and esculent vege¬
tables. The climate is moist; and the rain which falls
among the mountains during the monsoons are probably
more excessive than in any other part of the world. The
principal articles manufactured here are gold and silver em¬
broidery, saddlery, guns, swords, and other arms. Cocoa-
nuts are the most important article of exportation. The
annual revenue of Sawunt Warree is about L.20,000, and
the expenditure somewhat less. The military force consists
of a local corps of infantry, under European officers,
amounting to 611 men. The city and territory of Warree
derived the title of Sawunt from a Mahratta family of that
name, who governed them as chieftain under the monarchs
of Beejapoor. In 1659 the reigning chieftain formed an
alliance with Sevajee, and though this was soon broken, the
Mahratta chief in 1662 conquered the country, and after¬
wards restored the Sawunt family to the position of de¬
pendent chieftains. The first treaty between Sawunt
Warree and the British took place in 1730, and had for its
object to suppress the piracies of the Angria family in the
island of Kolabah. But the chieftains of Sawunt Warree
being themselves addicted to piracy, drew upon them the
hostility of the British in 1765. A series of wars, treaties,
and negotiations ensued, which ended in the subjugation of
the state in 1819 by a British force. The sea-coast was
then ceded to the British, and the native government re¬
stored. Rebellions were raised against the chiefs in 1828,
1832, and 1838. On the two former occasions the British
restored their authority; on the last it was deemed necessary
to effect a change, and the country was placed under British
management, as it has since remained. The most important
event that has since occurred was the dangerous rebellion
which began in the autumn of 1844, and was put down after
some months of hard fighting by Lieutenant-Colonel Out-
ram in the beginning of the following year. Since then
peace and tranquillity have reigned, suttee has been
abolished, and many other improvements introduced. Pop.
120,000.
SAXE, Maurice, Count of, was born on the 19th of
October 1696. He was the natural son of Frederick Au¬
gustus II., Elector of Saxony and King of Poland, and of the
Countess of Konigsmarck, a Swedish lady, celebrated both
for her wit and her beauty. He was educated along with
Frederick Augustus, the electoral prince, afterwards King
of Poland. His infancy announced the future warrior.
Nothing could prevail on him to apply to his studies but
the promise of being allowed, after he had finished his task,
to mount on horseback, or exercise himself in arms. He
served his first campaign in the army commanded by Prince
Eugene and the Duke of Marlborough, when only twelve
years old. He signalized himself at the sieges of Tournay
and Mons, and particularly at the battle of Malplaquet. In
the evening of that memorable day, he was heard to say,
“ I’m content with my day’s work.” Next year the young
count accompanied the King of Poland to the siege of Stral-
sund, the strongest place in Pomerania, and displayed the
greatest intrepidity, swimming across the river in sight of Saxe,
the enemy, with a pistol in his hand. His valour shone no v—y—
less conspicuously on the bloody day of Gadebusch, where
he commanded a regiment of cavalry. He had a horse
killed under him, after he had three times rallied his regi¬
ment, and led them to the charge. Soon after that cam¬
paign his mother prevailed on him to marry the Countess
of Lubin, a lady both rich and beautiful. This union lasted
but a short time. In 1721 the count procured a dissolu¬
tion of the marriage ; a step of which he afterwards re¬
pented. The countess left him with regret; but this did
not prevent her from marrying soon afterwards. The
Count of Saxe was too fond of variety to submit to the
duties which marriage imposes. In the midst, however, of
the pleasures in which he sometimes indulged, he never lost
sight of his profession. He carried along with him wher¬
ever he went a library of military books ; and even when he
seemed most occupied with his pleasures, he never failed to
spend an hour or two in private study. In 1717 he went
to Hungary, where the emperor had an army of 15,000
men commanded by Prince Eugene. Count Saxe was pre¬
sent at the siege of Belgrade, and at a battle which the
prince gained over the Turks. On his return to Poland in
1718, he was made a knight of the Golden Eagle. The
wars in Europe being concluded by the treaties of Utrecht
and Passarowitz, Count Saxe went to France. He had
always professed a partiality for that country. French, in¬
deed, was the only foreign language which during his in¬
fancy he was willing to learn. He spent his whole time
during the peace in studying mathematics, fortification, and
mechanics, sciences which exactly suited his genius. The
mode of exercising troops had taken his attention when very
young. At sixteen he invented a new exercise, which was
taught in Saxony with the greatest success. Having ob¬
tained a regiment in France in 1722, he formed it himself
according to his new plan. From that moment the Che¬
valier Folard, an excellent judge of military talents, pre¬
dicted that he would be a great man. His personal size
was extraordinary, and he is said to have possessed great
bodily strength. In 1726 the states of Courland chose him
for their sovereign, but both Poland and Russia rose in
arms to oppose the election. The Czarina wished to
bestow' the duchy on Mentschikoff, a happy adventurer,
who from a pastry-cook’s boy became a general and a prince.
Mentschikoff sent eight hundred Russians to Milan, where
they besieged the newly chosen duke in his palace. Count
Saxe, who had only sixty men, defended himself with as¬
tonishing intrepidity. The siege was raised, and the Rus¬
sians were obliged to retreat. Soon afterwards he retired
to Usmaiz, and prepared to defend his people against the
two hostile nations. Here he remained with only three
hundred men, until the Russian general approached to force
his retreat, at the head of four thousand. That general in¬
vited the count to a conference, during which he intended
to surprise him, and take him prisoner. The count, in¬
formed of the plot, reproached him for his baseness, and
broke up the conference. About this time he wrote to
France for men and money. Mademoiselle le Couvreur, a
celebrated actress, pawned her jewels and plate, and sent
him the sum of forty thousand livres. This actress had
formed his mind for the fine arts. She had made him read
the greater part of the French poets, and given him a taste
for the theatre, which he retained even in the camp. The
count, unable to defend himself against Russia and Poland,
was obliged, in the year 1729, to leave his new dominions,
and retire into France. It is said that Anne Iwanowa,
Duchess-dowager of Courland, and second'daughter of the
Czar Iwan Alexiowitz, had given him hopes of marriage,
and abandoned him at that time because she despaired of
fixing his wavering passion. This inconstancy lost him
not only Courland, but the throne of Russia itself, which
680 . SAX
SAX
Saxe, that princess afterwards filled. Count Saxe, thus stripped
of his territories, devoted himself for some time to the
study of mathematics. He composed also, in thirteen
nights, and during the intervals of an ague, Mes Reveries,
which he afterwards corrected. This book is written in
an incorrect but forcible style; it is full of remarks both
new and profound, and is equally useful to the soldier and
the general.
The death of the King of Poland, his father, in 1733,
kindled a new war in Europe. His brother, the Elector of
Saxony, offered him the command of all his forces ; but he
preferred the French service, and repaired to Marshal Ber¬
wick’s army, which was encamped on the Rhine. “ Count,”
said that general, who was preparing to attack the enemy’s
entrenchments at Etlinghen, “ I was going to send for three
thousand men, but your arrival is of more value than theirs.”
When the attack began, the count, at the head of a regi¬
ment of grenadiers, forced the enemy’s lines, and by his
bravery decided the victory. He behaved with no less in¬
trepidity at the siege of Philipsburg. For these services
he was, in 1734, rewarded with the rank of lieutenant-
general. Peace was concluded in 1736; but the death of
Charles VI., the Emperor of Germany, almost immediately
kindled a new war. Prague was besieged by the Count of
Saxe in 1741, near the end of November, and was taken
the same month by assault. The conquest of Egra followed
that of Prague. It was taken a few days after the trenches
were opened. This success gave so much joy to the Em¬
peror Charles VIE, that he wrote with his own hands a con¬
gratulatory letter to the conqueror. In 1744 he was made
marshal of France, and commanded a part of the French
army in Flanders. During that campaign he displayed the
greatest military conduct. Though the enemy was supe¬
rior in number, he observed their motions so skilfully that
they could do nothing. In January 1745, an alliance was
concluded at Warsaw between the Queen of Hungary, the
King of England, and the states of Holland. The ambas¬
sador of the states-general, meeting Marshal Saxe one day
at Versailles, asked his opinion of that treaty. “I think,”
said he, “ that if the king my master would give me an un¬
limited commission, I would read the original at the Hague
before the end of the year.” This answer was not a bra¬
vado ; the marshal was capable of performing it. He went
soon afterwards, though exceedingly ill, to take the com¬
mand of the French army in the Low Countries. A gentle¬
man, seeing the feeble condition in which he left Paris, asked
him how he could in that situation undertake so great an
enterprise. “The question,” replied he, “is not about
living, but setting out.” Soon after the opening of the
campaign, the battle of Fontenoy was fought. Marshal
Saxe was at the point of death, yet he caused himself to be
put into a litter, and carried round all the posts. During
the action he mounted on horseback, though he was so very
weak that his attendants dreaded every moment to see him
expire. The victory of Fontenoy, which was owing entirely
to his vigilance and capacity, was followed by the reduction
of Tournay, Bruges, Ghent, Oudenard, Ostend, Ath, and
Brussels. This last city was taken on the 28th of February
1746 ; and very soon afterwards the king sent to the mar¬
shal a letter of naturalization, conceived in the most flatter¬
ing terms. The succeeding campaigns gained him addi¬
tional honours. After the victory of Raucoux, which he
gained on the 11th of October 1746, the King of France
made him a present of six pieces of cannon. He was, on
the 12th of January of the following year, created marshal
of all the French armies, and, in 1748, commander-general
of all those parts of the Netherlands which were lately con¬
quered. Holland now began to tremble for her safety.
Maestricht and Bergen-op-Zoom had already fallen, and
nothing but misfortunes seemed to attend the further pro¬
secution of the war. The states-general, therefore, offered
terms of peace, which were accepted, and a treaty con- Saxe-Al-
eluded on the 18th of October 1748. tenburg.
Marshal Saxe retired to Chambord, a country-seat which
the King of France had given him. Some time after¬
wards he went to Berlin, where the King of Prussia re¬
ceived him as Alexander would have received Caesar. On
his return to France, he spent his time among men of
learning, artists, and philosophers. He died of a fever, on
the 30th of November 1750, at the age of fifty-four.
The best edition of his Reveries was printed at Paris,
1757, in five volumes 4to. It was compared with the
greatest attention with the original manuscript in the king’s
library. It is accompanied with many designs exactly
engraved, and a life of the author written in the pane¬
gyrical style. There is an English translation of it, by Sir
William Fawcett, 1757.
SAXE-ALTENBURG (Germ. Sachsen-Altenburg), a
small duchy of Germany, consisting of two separate parts,
divided from one another by portions of Reuss and Saxe-
Weimar, and lying between N. Lat. 50. 43. and 51. 10.; E.
Long. 10. 50. and 11. 53.; the eastern part being bounded
on the N.E. and S. by the kingdom of Saxony, W. by
Reuss and Saxe-Weimar; and the western, W. and N. by
Saxe-Weimar and Prussia; E. and S. by Reuss, Saxe-
Weimar, Saxe-Meiningen, and Schwartzburg. These two
portions form the two circles of the duchy ; the former that
of Altenburg, and the latter that of Saal-Eisenberg; and
their area and population are as follows:—
Sq. miles. Pop. (1857.)
Altenburg 244 87,091
Saal-Eisenberg  278 46,502
Total 522 133,593
The eastern portion, lying on the northern slope of the
Saxon mountains, has a smooth or gently undulating sur¬
face, and a very fertile soil; the western portion is less fer¬
tile, but abounds in mountains and forests, lying partly
among the Saxon and partly among the Thuringian hills.
Dollenstein, near Kahla, the loftiest point in the country,
does not exceed 1000 feet in height. The principal river
in this part is the Saale, an affluent of the Elbe, which re¬
ceives here the Orla and the Roda; the eastern part of the
duchy being watered by the Pleisse, which afterwards
unites with the Saale. The climate is temperate, pleasant,
and healthy. There are mineral springs at Ronneburg and
other places. With the exception of minerals, which are
few, Saxe-Altenburg has all the ordinary natural produc¬
tions. Agriculture is, especially in the eastern part, carried
on with diligence and success. The quantity of arable
land in the country is 213,982 acres; of wood, 66,838 ; of
meadows, 24,200; of gardens, 10,822 ; and of pasture land,
7030. The quantity of corn raised is more than sufficient
for domestic consumption. Pulse, potatoes, and other vege¬
tables, are also grown. Cattle are raised in large numbers,
and of a good breed; the horses and sheep are also excel¬
lent. The duchy contains 6200 horses; 56,000 horned
cattle; 75,000 sheep; and 25,000 pigs. Deer and wild
boars are found in the woods, and fish in the streams.
Coal, building-stone, and porcelain-clay, are the most im¬
portant minerals. Manufactures are not very extensively
carried on in Altenburg: woollen, cotton, and linen cloth ;
wooden articles; beer, brandy, and vinegar, are among the
articles produced; and there are also tanneries and dye-
works. The trade is of some importance, and is facilitated
by the good roads and railways. Corn, cattle, butter,
cheese, wool, and timber, are among the principal exports.
The educational establishments of the duchy include a
gymnasium at Altenburg, with 10 teachers and 140 scho¬
lars, in 1854-5 ; a lyceum ; normal seminary ; a school ot
art and industry; 192 elementary schools, &c. The go¬
vernment is a limited monarchy ; the dukedom is hereditary
Saxe-
Coburg-
Gotha.
SAX
in the male line. The legislature consists of the estates of
the land (Landstande), who assemble in one chamber.
This chamber is composed of 24 deputies; 8 from the
^ owners of manors, 8 irom the cities, and 8 from the pea¬
santry. A diet must be held every three years; and it is
called, adjourned, and dissolved by the duke. The high¬
est judicial tribunal for Saxe-Altenburg is the upper court
of appeal, at Jena, in Saxe-Weimar; below this is the court
of appeal at Altenburg; and in the third rank a court of
justice in that town ; and eight others in other parts of the
duchy. 1 he established church is the evangelical Pro¬
testant. Most of the inhabitants are Lutherans ; and there
are about 800 Roman Catholics and 1400 Jews. The
military force consists of an infantry regiment, 1474 strong,
which also forms the contingent to the federal army of
Germany. The public revenue for 1856-8 amounted to
L.107,943, and the expenditure to L.107,218. Altenburg
belonged originally to the Osterland, which included all the
country between the Saale and the Mulde; and it was go¬
verned by the margraves of Meissen, whose lands were
purchased by the Elector of Saxony in 1428. It fell to the
Albertine, or younger line of Saxony, by the compact of
Leipzig in 1485, and remained in this branch of the family
till 1554, when it was transferred to the descendants of
John Frederick, the deposed elector of the elder or Ernes¬
tine line. But it was not till 1603 that Altenburg became
a separate state, under the sons of Frederick William I., a
grandson of the deposed elector; but this line becoming
extinct in 1672, the most of their possessions fell to Ernest
of Gotha ; and from that time till 1826, formed a part of
the duchy of Gotha. In the latter year, Frederick, pre¬
viously Duke of Hildburghausen, obtained this duchy in
exchange for his own, and founded the new Altenburg line.
Some revolutionary disturbances took place here in 1830,
but these were only transient; and in the following year a
reform in the constitution was effected, which prepared the
way for further improvements in various departments of the
state. Another outbreak took place in 1848, when the
revolutionary party attempted, but without success, to make
Altenburg a republic.
S AXE-COBURG-GOTH A (Germ. Sachsen-Koburg-
Gothd), a small duchy of Germany, comprising, besides
several smaller portions, two separate districts, forming the
duchies of Coburg and Gotha respectively, lying between
N. Lat. 50. 8. and 51. 20.; E. Long. 10. 15. and 11. 14.
The duchy of Gotha, which forms the northern portion, is
bounded by Prussia on the N.; by Saxe-Weimar on the E.
and W.; by Saxe-Meiningen, Hesse-Cassel, Prussia, and
Schwartzburg, on the S.; while that of Coburg is bounded
on the W. and N. by Saxe-Meiningen; E. and S. by Ba¬
varia. The area and population are as follows::—
Sq. miles. Pop. (1855.)
Coburg    212 44,467
Gotha 547 106,411
Total 75& 150,878
The surface is in both the duchies partly occupied with
mountains; that of Gotha lies on the northern slope of the
Thuringian Forest, which extends along its south-western
frontier ; while the rest of this duchy consists of low, undu¬
lating, and very fertile land. The loftiest summits of the
Thuringian chain are Schneekopf, 3119 feet high; Beer-
berg, 3140 feet; and Inselsberg, 2909 feet. In the duchy
of Coburg there are extensive forests, and many beautiful
valleys among the hills. The slope here is towards the
south; and the chief river is the Itz, which flows in that
direction, and falls into the Main. In Gotha, the Werra,
an affluent of the Weser, takes its rise, and flows N.W.;
and the Unstrut forms the eastern boundary, and flows
northwards to join the Saale. The extent of arable land
in the duchy is 1,139,819 acres ; of wood, 600,569 acres;
VOL. XIX.
SAX
of meadows, 147,598 acres; of gardens, 31,766; and of
waste land, 143,637 acres. Agriculture is carried on with
much care, and is the chief occupation of the people- Corn
and flax are the crops most generally raised; also pulse,
potatoes, and other vegetables, are cultivated. The soil is
very rich and fertile in the valleys and plains; and the cli¬
mate is throughout the country healthy. In Coburg it is
very mild; but in the mountainous parts of Gotha of a
more inclement character. Pastoral employments are
actively pursued by many of the inhabitants; the sheep
especially are of an excellent breed, and. the horses and
cattle are not bad. There were, in 1852, 7063 horses;
56,20/ horned cattle; 120,693 sheep; 18,266 goats; and
36,207 pigs. Fish abound in the rivers, and wild animals
in the forests of the country.. The German mole infests
the land in vast numbers. Among the minerals, iron, coal,
cobalt, and manganese, are worked; marble, alabaster, rock-
salt, porcelain-clay, &c., are also found. The manufactures,
especially of the duchy of Gotha, are of some importance,
I he weaving of linen, woollen, and cotton fabrics; paper¬
making ; the manufacture of iron, copper, and steel; of che¬
mical products, tobacco, beer, brandy, and vinegar, are ex¬
tensively carried on ; while much potash, tar, pitch, &c., are
prepared in the woods. The trade of the country is consi¬
derable. Among the exports are corn, wool, salt, timber,
metallic and wooden wares, porcelain, marble, lamp-black,
&c. There is also a considerable transit trade, as the duchy
of Gotha is traversed by a line of railway which communi¬
cates with Leipzig on the one side, and with Frankfort on
the other. The educational establishments include 3 gym¬
nasia, a progymnasium, 2 normal seminaries, numerous in¬
dustrial and other schools, and upwards of 300 elementary
schools. The form of government in Saxe-Coburg-Gotha
is monarchical. The highest office, which is hereditary in
the male line, is occupied by the duke, who exercises the
executive power; and in the legislature is limited by a diet.
Each of the duchies has a separate diet, that of Coburg
consisting of 11, and that of Gotha of 19 members; but,
besides these, there is one general diet for the whole state,
to which the Coburg diet appoints 7, and that of Gotha 14
members. The elections to the separate diets take place
by means of electors equal in number to the members to
be chosen, each appointed by a certain district of the coun-
try. The duration of a diet is four years, and it must meet
at least in the first and last of these, while not more than
six months must intervene between two diets. The duke
has the power of summoning, adjourning, and dissolving
the diets. Under the upper court of appeal at Jena, the
judicial authority in the duchy is exercised by two colleges
of justice, beneath which there are several inferior courts.
There is no established form of religion ; but all alike enjoy
the protection of the law. The duke, and the great majo¬
rity of his subjects, belong to the Lutheran Church ; while
there are about 2300 Roman Catholics, and 1200 Jews, in
the country. The annual revenue of Coburg for the finan¬
cial period 1858-61 is estimated at L.34,725, and the
annual expenditure (including L.5581 interest of the debt)
at L.34,342. In the administration of the public lands the
annual receipts for 1855-61, were estimated at L.15,118,
and the expenditure at L. 10,486. As to the duchy of
Gotha, the public revenue for the period 1858-61 was esti¬
mated at L.83,478 annually; and the expenditure (in¬
cluding L. 13,303 interest on the debt) at L.83,913. The
public debt amounts to L.l57,346, including L.60,000 of
paper money., I he annual receipts of the public lands in
this duchy are L.80,724, and the annual expenditure
L.5o,802. Ihe military force of the country amounts to
one regiment of 1860 men. Coburg, which, in the earliest
times, was immediately dependent on the emperor, came,
in 1348, to the house of Meissen, and through it, in 1428,
to that of Saxony. By the treaty of Leipzig, in 1485, it
4 K
681
Saxe-
Coburg-
Gotlm.
682
SAX
Saxe- fell to the Ernestine line of the latter house; and, in 1542,
Meiningen. \vas made a separate duchy under John Ernest, brother of
the elector, John Frederick, who regained it in 1554, after
his brother’s death. Meanwhile this prince had been de¬
prived, in 1547, by the emperor of his electoral lands and
dignity, but received as a compensation several lands,
among which was the present duchy oi Gotha. Vaiious
and continually changing divisions of the country among
the descendants of John Frederick I. took place, during
which Coburg and Gotha, which then formed a part of
Weimar, were assigned now to one and now to another
branch of the family. Gotha first became an independent
state in 1640, under Duke Ernest the Pious; and was
afterwards increased by the gradual addition of other lands,
until it included all the territory of the Ernestine house,
with the exception of Weimar. Ernest, however, died in
1675, leaving seven sons; who, after reigning jointly for
five years, proceeded to a partition of the country, and
founded seven new lines, viz., Gotha, Coburg, Meiningen,
Ramhild, Eisenberg, Hildburghausen, and Saalfeld. Of
these the second was the first to expire, in 1699, when
the district of Coburg was annexed to Saalfeld. Gotha
obtained, in 1707, the possessions of the extinct line of
Eisenberg; and, in 1710, only the four lines of Gotha,
Meiningen, Hildburghausen, and Saalfeld, remained.
Frederick IL, grandson of Ernest the Pious, introduced the
right of primogeniture into Gotha; and the duchy has not
since been divided. His family, however, became extinct
in 1825. Meanwhile the house of Saalfeld, which, in 1745,
assumed the title of Coburg-Saalfeld, obtained several
accessions of land at the congress of Vienna; and, in 1826,
a new division of the country was adopted. Gotha was
then joined to Coburg, while Saalfeld and other districts
were transferred to Meiningen. The ducal family of Saxe-
Coburg-Gotha, formerly of Saalfeld, descending from the
youngest son of Ernest the Pious, has been rendered illus¬
trious by its connection with several of the royal families of
Europe. The prince-consort of this country is the brother
and heir-apparent of the reigning duke; the father of the
present king of Portugal is his cousin; and another of his
cousins is married to a daughter of Louis Philippe of
France; while one of his uncles is king of Belgium. Im¬
portant reforms in the constitution were introduced in 1846,
and consequently no serious revolutionary outbreak took
place in 1848.
SAXE-MEININGEN (Germ. Sachsen-Meiningen), a
duchy of Germany, lying between N. Lat. 50. 13. and 50.
58.; E. Long. 9/28. and 11. 25.; bounded on the N. by
parts of Hesse-Cassel, Prussia, Gotha, Weimar, and Alten-
burg; E. by Schwartzburg and Ileuss; S. by Bavaria and
Coburg; and W. by Weimar. It has the form of a semi¬
circle or bow, curving towards the south; and its area is
981 square miles. The surface is throughout hilly, and in
some parts mountainous. It is divided into the upper and
the lower land; the former occupying the eastern part of
the duchy, which is traversed by the range of the Thurin-
gian Forest; the latter in the west, being occupied by the
south-western slope of these mountains, and by the eastern
part of the Rhon range. About the middle, between the
two, lies the principality of Hildburghausen; and to the
north-east of the high land that of Saalfeld ; both of which
are now included in the duchy of Meiningen. The prin¬
cipal summits are Kieferle, in the Thuringian range, 2786
feet high; and Gebaberg, in the Rhon mountains, 2378
feet high. The principal river in the duchy is the Werra,
which is formed by the union of two small streams, and
flows in a north-west direction. The Saale crosses the
north-east of the country ; and the Milz, Steinach, and
Itz, which all flow into the Main, take their rise in Saxe-
Meiningen. There are several lakes in the country; and
mineral springs at Salzungen and Liebenstein. With the
SAX
varying altitude of the ground, the character of the climate
varies; in the lowland regions it is much milder than in
the highland, where frost and snow sometimes occur as
early as September. In many natural productions the
territory of Meiningen is very rich. The extent of arable
land in the country is about 243,700 aci'es; of wood,
224,900 acres; of meadow land, 42,500 acres; of gardens
and vineyards, 12,600 acres; and of waste land nearly
90,000 acres. Agriculture is actively carried on, though
not in all parts of the country, on account of its mountain¬
ous character. Besides wheat, which is cultivated chiefly
in the lowland region, potatoes and other vegetables, as well
as hemp, flax, tobacco, &c., are raised. The forests fur¬
nish an important article of export; the amount of wood
exported annually being more than 12,000,000 cubic feet.
The live stock of the country in 1849 included 4060
horses, 68,464 horned cattle, 107,355 sheep, 19,673 goats,
and 49,598 pigs. The mineral produce is also consider¬
able. Iron, pure and argentiferous copper, cobalt, coal,
porcelain earth, sulphur, marble, and salt, are obtained ; and
the working of the various mines employed, in 1852, 3820
hands. Manufactures are actively carried on in the coun¬
try. Iron is worked; glass and porcelain are made; wool¬
len, cotton, and linen fabrics are woven ; paper is manufac¬
tured ; brewing, distilling, and various other branches of
industry are carried on. The trade of the duchy is consi¬
derable. The principal exports are timber, which is gene¬
rally floated down the Werra; iron, hardware, glass, por¬
celain, paper, &c., which are conveyed to various countries,
especially to America. The education of the people is
well attended to in Saxe-Meiningen. There were, in 1853,
294 elementary schools, 2 gymnasia, a normal school, and
various other institutions. The constitution of the state is
monarchical; at the head of it stands the duke, who exer¬
cises the executive power ; and is limited in his legislative
functions by a diet. This assembly consists of 24 depu¬
ties ; two appointed by the duke, six by the landowners,
eight by the inhabitants of the towns, and eight by those
of the country. The duke, and the majority of the people,
belong to the Lutheran religion; and there are only about
1000 Roman Catholics, 1550 Jews, and 80 Mennonites.
The judicial establishments consist of a court of appeal at
Hildburghausen, subordinate to that of Jena, and several
inferior tribunals. The army consists of a regiment of in¬
fantry, 1726 strong. For the pei'iod 1856-59, the annual
public revenue is estimated at L. 137,026, and the expen¬
diture at L. 134,993. The amount of debt on the 31st of
March 1857 was L.302,607. Pop. (1857) 165,662. The
present ducal family of Meiningen is descended from Bern-
liard, the third son of Ernest the Pious, of Gotha, who
received, in the partition of 1680, the duchy of Meiningen,
comprising the greater part of the county of Henneberg,
which had fallen, in 1583, to the Saxon states. When the
line of Coburg became extinct in 1699, Meiningen entered
into a protracted contest with Gotha, Hildburghausen, and
Saalfeld, for the possession of its territories; which were at
last, in 1723, adjudged by the Aulic Council to Meiningen,
Hildburghausen, and Saalfeld, in equal portions. Similar
disputes arose on the extinction, in 1710, of the line ot
Romhild, part of whose possessions were adjudged, in 1714,
to Meiningen. The most important changes of territory
in subsequent times occurred in 1826. In the partition
which then took place, Meiningen received nearly the
whole duchy of Plildburghausen, whose duke obtained
Altenburg in exchange; the principality of Saalfeld, and^
other districts, from Coburg ; from Gotha, the portion of
Romhild which had previously belonged to that duchy ; and
from Altenburg some small districts. Since that period, no
alterations of territory have taken place.
SAXE-WEIMAR-EISENACH (Germ. Sachsen-Wei-
mar-Eise7iacJi), a grand duchy of Germany, lying between
SAX
Saxe- N. Lat. 50. 25. and 51. 27.; E. Long. 9. 24. and 11. 49.,
Weimar- consists of three principal portions, besides other smaller
Eisenach, districts. The most westerly of the three, the principality
'"-“'v'—^ of Eisenach, is bounded on the N. by Prussia; E. by Saxe-
Coburg-Gotha and Saxe-Meiningen ; S. by Bavaria; and
W. by Hesse-Casse!: the central and largest portion, on
the W., N., and N.E. by Prussia; S.W. and S. by Alten-
burgand Schwartzburg: and the third portion lies between
the larger part of Reuss on the S., and Altenburg, with a
smaller part of Reuss, on the N.; and between Saxony on
the E., and Schwartzburg on the W. The area and po¬
pulation of the various parts are as follows :—
Principalities.
Circles.
Sq. miles. Pop. (1855.)
Eisenach Eisenach 466
Weimar  f ^ei“a.r; 
1 Neustadt  241
Total 1398
80,551
135,178
48,026
263,755
The surface is generally undulating; and in some parts,
especially in Eisenach, rises into mountains: there are also
level tracts of land along the banks of the rivers. In a
small separate portion of the grand duchy, the district of
Ilmenau, near the S.E. extremity of the Thuringian Forest,
rises Hinkelhahn, the highest summit in the country, to the
height of nearly 2700 feet. Eisenach is occupied in the
north by the Thuringian Mountains, more than 1300 feet
high; and in the south by those of Rhon, whose highest
point, that of Ellenbogenberg, has an altitude of about
2500 feet. The circle of Neustadt is traversed by several
offsets of the Erz Mountains, stretching from S.E. to N.W.
Among the rivers which water the grand duchy is the
Saale, traversing the E. of Weimar, and receiving the Ilm,
which rises in Ilmenau, and traverses the circle of Weimar.
The Saale also receives the Elster and the Orla, which are
the chief rivers in the circle of Neustadt. The principality
of Eisenach is watered by the Werra, and by its affluents,
the Fulda, Ulster, Suhl, and Orsel. In most parts of the
country the climate is temperate, and the air pure and
healthy. Cold and raw weather frequently occurs in the
mountainous regions; while in the valley of the Saale it is
extremely pleasant. In spite of many difficulties which
the nature of the soil offers to the cultivator, farming is
carried on with much diligence and success. The quantity
of corn raised frequently exceeds the demand; potatoes,
pulse, hemp, flax, hops; and on the banks of the Saale,
vines are also grown. A valuable article of produce is
timber. The amount of arable land in the country is
about 495,300 acres; of meadow land, 81,400 acres; of
gardens and vineyards, 18,750 acres; and of forests, 225,250
acres. Among the live stock of the country, the chief are
sheep, of a good breed, especially in the circle of Weimar,
and horned cattle, in those of Neustadt and Eisenach.
In all, the grand duchy contains more than 12,000 horses,
112,000 horned cattle, 236,000 sheep, 60,000 swine, and
13,000 goats. Of the mineral produce of the land, coal,
iron, copper, cobalt, and marble, are the most important
articles. The chief manufactures of the country are those
of woollen, linen, and cotton cloth; dyeing, and the working
of metals. The greatest amount of manufacturing industry
exists in the circle of Eisenach, though Neustadt is the
principal seat of the wool-manufacture. Wool and grain
form the staple of a trade which is actively carried on.
The chief of the educational establishments in the grand
duchy is the University of Jena, which belongs equally to
the other Saxon duchies. (See Jena.) Besides this there
are 2 gymnasia, 2 normal seminaries, and, in addition to
various other establishments, 460 elementary schools. The
constitution is a limited monarchy, hereditary in the male
line. The executive power is in the hands of the grand
duke, and the legislative is shared with a diet, consisting of
SAX
31 deputies; of whom 21 are elected by universal suffrage,
4 by those who possess landed property of the annual value
of L.145, 5 by those who have a revenue of the same
amount from other sources, and 1 by the nobility who pos¬
sess estates. Justice is administered by an upper court of
appeal at Jena, whose authority extends over all the Saxon
duchies, the principalities of Reuss and Schwartzburg, and
the duchy of Anhalt-Dessau-Cothen. Beneath this there
is an appeal court at Eisenach, and various subordinate
tribunals. The grand duke, and the majority of his sub¬
jects, belong to the Evangelical Church ; but there are also
about 10,000 Roman Catholics, and 1430 Jews, in the
country. For the financial period, 1857-59, the annual
revenue of the state was estimated at L.224,757, and the
expenditure at L.223,902 ; while the public debt, Jan. 1,
1855, amounted to L.916,259. The territories of this
state, which formerly belonged to the electorate of Saxony,
fell to the lot of the Ernestine line at the partition in 1485.
After the deposition of John Frederick I. in 1547, nume¬
rous divisions took place among the different branches of
the family; the right of primogeniture having been only
introduced at a later period among these states. At the
first of these divisions, in 1566, Weimar, with Gotha for its
capital, was given to John Frederick II., eldest son of the
deposed elector; and the rest of the country, under the
name of Thuringia, to John William, his second son. The
latter, however, after his brother had, by attempting to re¬
gain the dignity, incurred the fate of his father, obtained
possession of Weimar, leaving Coburg and Eisenach to his
two nephews, whose families became extinct in 1638.
John William left twro sons, the elder of whom founded the
old Altenburg line; while the younger, John, had eleven
sons, among whom were William, the immediate ancestor
of the present family of Weimar, and Ernest, of all the
other ducal houses. After this period the line of Weimar
was not mixed up in the various divisions that took place
among the other duchies, though it was itself once more
subdivided, in 1672, into Weimar, Eisenach, and Jena.
But these were reunited by the extinction of the line of
Jena in 1690, and of that of Eisenach in 1741 ; while, in
1719, the right of primogeniture was introduced, which put
an end to all further subdivisions. The most celebrated
duke of Saxe-Weimar, in recent times, \yas Charles Au¬
gustus (1758-1828), who acted the part of a Maecenas to¬
wards the science, art, and literature of Germany, took part
in the contest against Napoleon, and received at the
congress of Vienna, in 1815, along with the title of grand
duke, several additions to his dominions.
SAXO, or as he is generally called, Saxo Grammaticus,
or the Grammarian, was descended from an illustrious
Danish family, and was born about the middle of the twelfth
century. Stephens, in his edition of Saxo Grammaticus,
printed at Soroe, indubitably proves that he must have been
alive in 1156; but he cannot ascertain the exact place and
time of his birth. On account of his uncommon learning,
Saxo was distinguished by the name of Grammaticus. He
was provost of the cathedral church of Roskild, and warmly
patronized by the learned and warlike Absalon, the cele¬
brated archbishop of Lunden, at whose instigation he wrote
the History of Denmark. His epitaph, which is a dry
panegyric in bad Latin verses, gives no account of the era
of his death, which happened, according to Stephens, in
1204. His history, consisting of sixteen books, begins
from the earliest account of the Danish annals, and con¬
cludes with the year 1186. It bears the title, Historia
Regum Heroumque Danorum, and first gives the history of
King Hamlet. According to the opinion of an accurate
writer, the first part, which relates to the origin of the
Danes, and the reigns of the ancient kings, is full of fables;
but the eight last books, and particularly those which re¬
gard the events of his own times, deserve the utmost credit.
683
Saxo.
684
SAX
SAX
Saxoi y. He wrote in Latin ; and the style, if we consider the bar-
v—barons age in which he flourished, is in general extremely
elegant, but rather too poetical for history. Mallet, in his
Histoire de Daniicmarc (vol. i., p. 182), says that “Sperl¬
ing, a writer of great erudition, has proved, in contradiction
to the assertions of Stephens and others, that Saxo Gram¬
maticus was secretary to Absalon, and that the Saxo, pro¬
vost. of Roskild, was another person, and lived earlier.”
SAXONY (Germ. Sachsen, Fr. Saxe), a kingdom of
Germany, lying between N. Lat. 50. 10. and 51. 23., E.
Long. 11. 23. and 14.34.; bounded on the N. and N.E. by
the Prussian provinces of Saxony and Silesia, S.E. and S. by
Bohemia and Bavaria, and W. by Reuss, Saxe-Weimar,
Saxe-Altenburg, and Prussia. Its form is nearly trian¬
gular; its length from N.E. to S.W. about 150 miles,
breadth about 75 ; area, 5760 square miles. The northern
part of the kingdom is for the most part a level or an undu¬
lating country ; but on the south it is very mountainous.
The principal mountain ranges are the Erzgebirge, extend¬
ing along the Bohemian frontier, and reaching their highest
elevation in the Fichtelberg, 3813 feet high; the Lusatian
mountains, forming a continuation of the former range on
the E. of the Elbe, with Lausche, 2530 feet high; and the
Elbe sandstone range, extending along both sides of the
Elbe, from Dresden to Bohemia.
This last mountainous district, usually denominated
Saxon Switzerland, has peculiar charms for the lovers of
picturesque scenery. It is about 28 miles in length and
23 in breadth, displaying deep chasms bordered by perpen¬
dicular rocks, some naked, and others clothed with every
variety of trees. Rapid streams pour from declivities,
forming cascades in some parts, and in others in deep vales,
meandering through verdant meadows, without their en¬
trance or their egress being discoverable by the observer
from the precipices which enclose them. Through this
mass of mountains the River Elbe has worn itself a pas¬
sage by a most tortuous course, and washes the bases of
rocks, in some parts of nearly 1000 feet in perpendicular
height. From the surface of this mountain-plain rise pin¬
nacles of rocks, on which castles in the feudal times were
erected, some of the ruins of which add to the romantic
grandeur of the prospect; whilst others, such as Kbnigstein,
have had applied to them all the arts of modern fortification,
and are the most impregnable fortresses in the Saxon do¬
minions. Konigstein has on its apex strong walls, sur¬
rounding buildings in which the treasures of the crown are
secured in times of danger. Few spots in Europe create
greater interest in the geologist, the botanist, or the lover
of picturesque scenery, than this portion of the country so
appropriately denominated Saxon Switzerland.
The principal river of Saxony, and that to which almost
all the others contribute their streams, though not till it has
left this kingdom, is the Elbe. It enters from Bohemia,
and is navigable through the whole of its Saxon course.
The other rivers are the Black Elster, which rises in Lu-
satia, and soon enters the Prussian territory ; and the
Spree, which comes out of Bohemia, divides itself into two
branches near Bautzen, and then passes into Prussia. These
rivers fall into the Elbe on its right bank. On the left
bank it receives the Mulde, which is formed by the con¬
fluence of the Zwickau or western, and the Freiberg or
eastern Mulde, both rising in the Erzgebirge, and flows
northwards till it joins the Elbe at Dessau. The White
Elster rises in the Voigtland, or south-western portion of
the Erzgebirge, with many curvatures reaches the suburbs
of the city of Leipzig, and, receiving there the small river
Pleisse, falls into the Saale, and is ultimately lost in the
Elbe above Magdeburg. The only river that does not run
to the Elbe is the Neisse, which rises in the eastern corner
of the kingdom, and, passing into Silesia, at length empties
itself into the Oder. There are no considerable lakes in
Saxony, nor any canals, except such as are used in the
mining districts for conveying the ore to the mills.
As compared with most parts of Germany, the agricul¬
ture of Saxony is much advanced. Wherever the soil is
capable of cultivation it is worked with diligence; and the
more hilly and poorer soils have a good herbage, and yield
pasture to numerous flocks and herds. The sides of the
mountains towards the Elbe, from Pirna to Meissen, are
covered with vines which yield both red and white wine, to
the amount of 145,320 gallons in 1855. The extent of
arable land in the kingdom is estimated at 1,839,000
acres, of meadow land at 413,000 acres, of gardens and
vineyards at 45,000 acres, and of forests at 1,131,000
acres.
'The arable land is chiefly cultivated on a three-course
system, though in the Voigtland there are generally four
courses. Rye, w'heat, barley, and oats are the crops most
generally raised. Notwithstanding the attention paid to
farming, and the natural excellence of the soil in several
parts, there is not produced more than enough of grain to
supply the wants of the dense population. Peas, beans,
lentils, and vetches are grown. The culture of potatoes
is very extensive, and they form almost exclusively the food
of the labouring classes in the mountainous districts. To-
Saxony
bacco, hemp, flax, wood, hops, and chiccory, are grown in
some parts of the kingdom, but none of them to the extent
which the consumption of the country requires. The forests
of Saxony form one of the chief sources of wealth to the
country. Timber of excellent quality is obtained from them
to the amount of more than 52,000,000 cubic feet annually.
Pastoral occupations afford employment to a great number
of the inhabitants. The cattle are good, especially in the
Voigtland and Erzgebirge, where large quantities of butter
are produced. As to the rearing of sheep, generally of a'
good breed, this country occupies the first rank in Ger¬
many ; and poultry and pigs are also numerous. There
were, in 1853, 94,925 horses, 610,836 horned cattle,
485,147 sheep, 74,726 goats, and 124,158 pigs. The wild
animals of the country are at present of little importance.
Saxony abounds in minerals, and the ore is tolerably
rich ; which, added to superior skill and economy in work¬
ing the mines and separating the metals, makes them very
beneficial to the crown, to whom the greater portion of
them belong. In 1854 there were in operation 362 mines
in all, besides a large number of smelting-houses. The
value of the silver obtained in 1850 was L.206,176; and
the total value of the mineral produce about L.428,000.
Besides silver, iron, lead, copper, tin, coal, sandstone, sul¬
phur, saltpetre, and many other minerals, are found in the
kingdom. Salt, however, is entirely absent, and has to be
imported from Prussian Saxony.
In no part of the continent has manufacturing industry
been carried to so great an extent, or occupied so large a
proportion of the population, as in Saxony. It is in the
mountainous regions of Lusatia and the Erzgebirge that
manufactures are most extensively carried on ; and in these
regions there are not only many manufacturing towns, but
villages, which in size, architecture, and activity of business,
surpass many towns. The first manufacturing town of the
country is Chemnitz. More than the half of the people are
engaged in manufactures. The annual value of the whole
produce of Saxon industry is estimated at thirteen millions
sterling. It would include almost the whole catalogue of
European manufactures to enumerate the respective kinds
of goods made in Saxony. Woollens, linens, cottons, and
silks for clothing; iron, brass, and copper wares; paper,
leather, earthenware, hats, musical instruments, and turnery
ware ; various chemical and dyeing preparations; clocks,
watches, swords, guns, and pistols, are all comprehended in
the list of Saxon manufactures.
The commerce of a country whose inhabitants are chiefly
SAXONY.
Saxony, occupied in manufactures, and produce an insufficiency of
- ^ v—J food for their own consumption, must necessarily be exten¬
sive. The trade of Saxony chiefly centres in the city of
Leipzig, where, at the time of the three annual fairs, the
greater part of the manufactures are disposed of, and con¬
tracts are made for such foreign commodities as the supply
of the country demands. The roads in Saxony are gener¬
ally good, and these, as well as the railways, of which there
were in 1856 nearly 400 miles in operation, and the navi¬
gation of the Elbe, greatly facilitate the trade of the country.
Saxony exports sheep’s wool, fine woollen goods, linen and
thread lace, yarn and worsted, ironmongery, cutlery, and
braziery, and also books. It receives in return corn, wine,
salt, colonial wares, &c. The annual excess in value of the
exports over the imports of Saxony is above L.700,000;
and the share of the kingdom in the net receipts of the
German Zollverein amounted in 1855 to L.318,976. The
quantities of the principal articles exported and imported in
1855 are exhibited in the following table :—
Principal Articles.
Books (cwt)
Cattle (head.)
Coal (cwt.)
Copper and brass  „
Corn, pulse, seeds, berries (bushels)
Cotton and cotton stuffs  (cwt.)
Drugs, colours, &c  ,,
Glass and glass ware  „
Grocery, &c   ,,
Hardware  ,>
Hides, &c  „
Iron and steel  ,,
Leather, &c  „
Linen, linen yarn, &c  „
Oil  „
Paper, pasteboard, &c  „
Pottery    „
Silk and silk fabrics  ,,
Tallow and stearine  „
Tar, pitch, &c  „
Tin and tin wares    „
Wood and wooden fabrics .... „
Wool and woollens  „
Import. Export. Transit
9,404
74,608
7,734
9,693
1,727,105
260,628’
203,641
8,309
322,279
401
33,391
110,535
1,521
17,206
4,305
4,421
2,917
3,569
2,627
3,400
1.353
19,267
87,944
12,059
8,044
15,621
7,264
387,275
180,856
126,929
262,386
83,303
5,712
8,228
21,065
17,536
8,315
10,711
4,973
3,863
5,122
306
761
116
10,475
30,521
672
1,242
162,094
139,084
792
278,311
3,824
2,448
94,476
6,644
13,119
51,399
1,090
595
3,887
2,329
456
966
982
22,902
The government is a monarchy hereditary in the Saxon
Albertine line, and, in failure of that, in the Ernestine or
Saxe-Weimar branch of the family. The king enjoys the
whole executive power, confirms pardons, bestows com¬
missions, nominates the supreme judges, and enjoys the
power of making peace and war, and of concluding all
treaties. In making new laws, and in imposing new taxes,
the states have the right to be consulted. The legislative
body is a diet composed of two chambers, which meet at
the same time, and possess equal rights and privileges.
The first chamber includes, besides the nobility, a deputy
from the University of Leipzig, one of the Evangelical and
one of the Roman Catholic clergy, the supreme magistrates
of Dresden, Leipzig, and other towns, &c. In the second
chamber there are twenty deputies from the possessors of
manors, twenty-five from the towns, twenty-five from the
country, and five representing the manufacturing and com¬
mercial interests. When the king pleases these states are
convoked ; but they must hold an ordinary meeting at least
once every three years, and an extraordinary one on each
change of ministry. The administration is conducted by a
cabinet council, under which, through the privy council,
orders are communicated to the departments of finance,
war, domains, police, and foreign affairs. According to
the budget for 1858-60, the income and expenditure each
amounted to L.1,873,048 ; and the public debt at the end
of 1857 was L.12,264,802.
The military force of Saxony is composed of the follow¬
ing troops:—
Infantry of tbe line, forming 4 brigades  15,748
Chasseurs „ „ 1 „   4,005 V
Cavalry „ „ 2 ,,    3,208
Artillery    2,430
Commanding officers    15
Total (exclusive ©f the reserve)  25,406
The whole contingent of Saxony to the German confeder¬
ation is 18,000 men.
Although the royal family professes the Roman Catholic
religion, the most of the people belong to the Lutheran
Church. In 1855 the number of Lutherans was 1,995,891;
of Roman Catholics, 36,730; of the Reformed Church,
3602 ; of German Catholics, 1753 ; and of Jews, 1200.
Toleration is extended to all sects recognised by the law ;
and these are the Lutheran, Reformed, Roman, Greek, and
German Catholic Churches; but over all alike the civil
government exercises the supreme ecclesiastical power.
The educational institutions comprise the University of
Leipzig, and in the endowed classical schools of Meissen
and Grimma, as well as in 11 gymnasia, 9 normal semina¬
ries, 1892 elementary schools, and various other institutions.
Both the higher and lower kinds of schools are well man¬
aged, and popular education is widely spread throughout
the country; so that in intellectual culture Saxony stands
in the foremost rank among the nations of Europe. The
fine arts have been cultivated with considerable success,
and both statuary and painting receive valuable assistance
from the fine productions which are contained in the col¬
lections of Dresden. The capital of Saxony is Dresden
and the country is divided into four circles, as follows:—
685
Saxony.
Sq. Miles.
Dresden  1,669
Leipzig  1,338
Zwickau  1,785
Bautzen  968
Total  5,760
Pop. (1855.)
528,714
454,262
759,328
296,771
2,039,075
The early history of the Saxon people is involved in
considerable obscurity. According to the most ancient tra¬
ditions of the people, they are represented as being the
aboriginal inhabitants of the wide forests of their own
country, living by agriculture and the chase. As the po¬
pulation gradually increased, and became too great for the
country, colonies were sent out from time to time. These
settleci in the coasts of the Cimbrian peninsula, where they
pursue 1 a different mode of life from the inland tribes,—■
devoting themselves to commerce, and partly also to piracy.
They rendered themselves so terrible to the Romans by
their devastations that, in the reign of Theodosius, a Saxon
frontier, guarded by Roman armies, was established along
the shores of the German Ocean. It was from these mari¬
time Saxons that the bands came over to colonize Great
Britain.
After the ecclesiastical council at Worms in 774, Char¬
lemagne began a long and bloody war against the Saxons.
He made repeated invasions into their country, in which he
was almost uniformly successful; but as soon as his back
was turned the enemy was again in arms. The result of
the war was that, in 804, a great part of the Saxons were
compelled to adopt Christianity, and submit to the power
of the Franks. They were then governed by counts, gener¬
ally of Frank origin, who were afterwards raised to the
rank of dukes. Of these the most celebrated is Henry the
Fowler (912-936), who was elected German emperor, the
first of the Saxon family who wore that crown. The duchy
at that time did not correspond with the present Saxony,
but with Westphalia, Hanover, and Holstein.
The nucleus of the present kingdom of Saxony was
formed by the erection in 926, by Henry the Fowler, of
the margraviate of Meissen, comprising the country be¬
tween the Elbe, the Saale, and the Erzgebirge, as a bul-
686
SAXONY.
Saxony, wark against the Slavonian tribes beyond. In 1130 the
office of margrave became hereditary in the family of
Wettin, who added to the territory of Meissen their own
possessions in Thuringia, Saxony, Suabia, &c.
Meanwhile the Duchy of Saxony, afterwards raised to an
electorate, passed into the Ascanian family, the last elector
'of which, Albert III., died in 1422. As he left no issue,
numerous claimants appeared for his land and dignity; but
the Emperor Sigismund conferred them, in 1423, on Fre¬
derick the Quarrelsome, Margrave of Meissen, on account
of the services he had rendered to the empire in the war
against the Hussites.
The territory of the house of Wettin had by this time
extended far beyond its original limits, and stretched from
the Werra to the Oder, and from the Erzgebirge to the
Harz Mountains. The accession of Frederick to Saxony
gave him little additional territory, but conferred much
importance, by raising him to the second place among
the temporal electors. Thus the name of the purest in
blood of all the German tribes, passed over to a different
people ; and that of Saxony came to designate what had
been formerly known as the margraviate of Meissen. The
country had been very much improved by the discovery of
its great mineral wealth, which led to the clearing of the
immense forests ; but in the beginning of the fifteenth
century great devastations were caused by the incursions
of the Hussite troops from Bohemia. Under the wise and
energetic rule of Frederick the Quarrelsome, the Univer¬
sity of Leipzig, an offshoot from that of Prague, was founded
in 1409. Frederick was succeeded in 1428 by his son of
the same name, surnamed the Gentle, who died in 1464,
leaving two sons, Ernest and Albert, from whom the Ernes¬
tine and Albertine families of Saxony are descended. For
some time they reigned conjointly; but in 1485 proceeded
to a division of the country. Ernest, the elder of the two,
obtained, along with the electorate and the territory at¬
tached to that office, the greater part of Thuringia, the
Voigtland, and the district of Coburg ; and Albert, the
ancient Meissen, and the rest of Thuringia.
The successors of Ernest in the electorate did good ser¬
vice to the cause of truth and freedom in supporting the
rise of the Reformation. Frederick III. (1486-1525),
founded the University of Wittenberg, and afforded his
patronage to Luther, who was made professor there. John
the Constant (1525-32) stood at the head of the protest¬
ing princes at the Diet of Spires in 1529 ; and John Fre¬
derick the Magnanimous (1532-47) took the lead against
Charles V. in the Schmalkaldic war; and was defeated and
taken prisoner in the battle of Miihlberg in 1547. For
this act of rebellion he was deprived by the emperor of his
electoral dignity and lands; and these were conferred on
his cousin Maurice, duke of Saxony.
While the Ernestine branch of the family were thus con¬
tending in favour of liberty and protestantism, Albert and
his immediate successor, who possessed the present king¬
dom of Saxony, were exerting their power on the opposite
side. The former, in 1488, led an army to the Nether¬
lands, and delivered from captivity Maximilian, king of the
Romans, for which service he was appointed, in 1495, here¬
ditary vicegerent in Friesland, and general of the imperial
army. He died, however, in 1500, in a vain attempt to
subdue the Frisians; and his son George, who succeeded
to the duchy, and in 1504 obtained Friesland from his
brother Henry, being equally unsuccessful in his efforts,
gave up this province in 1515 to the Archduke of Austria
for 20,000 gulden about (L.200,000). George strongly
opposed the progress of the Reformation, and attempted to
exclude, by will, any Protestant prince from the succession ;
but dying in 1539, leaving his will unsigned, he was suc¬
ceeded by his brother Henry, a Lutheran, who introduced
the reformed religion into the country. His son Maurice,
who became duke in 1541 and elector in 1548, though he Saxony,
adhered to Charles V. in the Schmalkaldic war, afterwards
opposed and put an end to the despotic designs of that em¬
peror ; and by the treaty of Passau in 1551, obtained for
the Protestants the free exercise of their religion. Mau¬
rice’s brother and successor, August (1553-86), assisted
in bringing about the religious peace of Augsburg in 1555,
by which the Protestants obtained equal rights with the
Roman Catholics, and also did much for the improvement
of the laws and constitution of Saxony. Various additional
districts were added to the electorate in this reign.
The reigns of Christian I. (1586-91) and Christian II.
(1591-1611) were distinguished only for religious dis¬
putes ; but that of John George L, the brother and suc¬
cessor of the latter, includes the whole period of the Thirty
Years’ War, in which he played no very illustrious part. He
refused the Bohemian crown, which was offered to him,
and not only advised the elector of the Palatinate to do the
same, but refused to afford him any assistance. Fie re¬
mained on the emperor’s side till the arrival of Gustavus
Adolphus; and after his death made terms with the em¬
peror at Prague in 1635, by which he obtained part of the
see of Magdeburg, and the two Lusatian margraviates.
Flis eldest son, John George II., succeeded in 1656; while
the younger sons, August, Christian, and Maurice founded
the lines of Wossenfels, Merseburg, and Zeitz, which be¬
came extinct in 1746, 1738, and 1718, respectively. John
George III. (1680-91), the son and successor of the last
elector, distinguished himself by the assistance he gave to
the emperor against the Turks in Hungary, and against
France on the Rhine.
After the short reign of John George IV., Frederick
August I., surnamed the Strong, succeeded in 1694; and,
in order to obtain the elective crown of Poland, went over,
in 1697, to the Roman Catholic Church. By this increase
of power and territory, however, he involved himself in a
war with the greatest soldier of the age, Charles XII. of
Sweden, in which Saxony was invaded by the Swede, and
suffered the loss of an immense amount of money and blood.
Frederick August II., who succeeded his father in 1733,
was also elected King of Poland. During this reign, as in
the preceuing, the wars and extravagance of the court re¬
duced Saxony to the lowest pitch of misery. In the war
of the Austrian succession, Frederick August took part with
France and Prussia against Austria; but in the Seven Years’
War he placed himself on the imperial side. In the latter
contest Saxony was devastated alike by friend and foe, and
was the scene of many of the victories of Frederick the Great.
The wretched state of the country began to be amelio¬
rated in the long reign of Frederick August III., who ob¬
tained the electorate in 1763 at the age of thirteen, and
ruled at first under the guardianship of his uncle Xaver.
A system of strict economy, justice, and mildness was in¬
troduced ; the people were relieved from many burdensome
imposts; the use of torture was abolished ; and much was
done for the material improvement of the country. A
rising of the peasantry, which took place in 1790, was put
down without loss of blood, and the grievances complained
of were removed. In the wars which followed the French
Revolution, Saxony took part with Prussia at first; but
after the power of that kingdom was overthrown by the
decisive battle of Jena in 1806, Frederick August made
peace with Napoleon, and was made, with the title of king,
a member of the Rhenish confederacy. By the peace of
Tilsit in the following year he obtained several accessions
of territory, and the sovereignty over the newly erected
grand-duchy of Warsaw. During this time of his prosperity
the monarch acted a very upright and honourable part, in
not taking advantage of his power to enrich himself at the
expense of the surrounding small states, as he might easily
have done. But a great reverse of fortune befell him after
SAX
Saxony, the fall of Napoleon. Saxony was treated as a conquered
country ; the king was kept in confinement for some time ;
and a partition of the kingdom was effected by the Congress
of Vienna, whereby, besides the loss of the duchy of War¬
saw, an area of 7911 square miles, with a population of
845,218, was ceded to Prussia, to make up to that kingdom
for its part of Poland, which Russia obtained.
Notwithstanding this spoliation of more than half its
territory, Saxony has since risen to a more flourishing and
prosperous condition than ever. Frederick August I. (as
king) died in 1827, having deservedly obtained the sur¬
name of the Just; and was succeeded by his brother An¬
thony, who carried on the various measures of reform which
his predecessor had begun in the later years of his reign.
Still the people suffered under many grievances, and had
as yet very little share in the legislative power. The out¬
breaks which took place in 1830 in Dresden and Leipzig
did not indeed cause any serious disturbance; but they led
to the introduction of a new constitution in the following
year. On the death of the king in 1836, his nephew,
Frederick August II., who had been regent since 1830,
ascended the throne.
The constitutional system now established did not suc¬
ceed altogether in the best possible way. A powerful
party was formed in opposition to the government; and in
the year 1843 violent contests began, in which the opposi¬
tion gradually gained the upper hand. The chief points in
dispute were the freedom of the press and the publicity of
judicial proceedings. The government followed the fatal
policy of delaying to yield as long as possible, so that the
concessions which would in 1843 have been received with
universal joy, were granted in 1846 without any effect.
An attack was made in Leipzig in 1845 upon Prince John,
the heir-apparent; and having been put down by the mili¬
tary, led to a still more violent opposition on the part of the
popular party. The ministry, however, still held their
ground during the stormy session of 1845-6; but were at
last compelled to resign in March 1848, when a liberal
cabinet was formed. Various changes were introduced in
the following year, especially with regard to the mode of
electing the legislature, but these were not of long con¬
tinuance; and the diet of 1852, elected after the old man¬
ner, restored the constitution almost entirely as it was before
1848. Falkenstein, who was one of the ministry previous
to 1848, and resigned in that year, is now again in the
cabinet, and has been since 1853. In 1854, the king was
killed by an accident while travelling in the Tyrol, and was
succeeded by his brother John, the present king.
Saxony (Germ. Sachsen), a province of the Prussian
monarchy, lying between 50. 55. and 53. 5. N. Lat., 9. 22.
and 13. 21. E. Long.; bounded on the N.E. by the pro¬
vince of Brandenburg, S. by the kingdom of Saxony and
the Saxon duchies, W. and N.W. by Electoral Hesse,
Brunswick, and Hanover. Area, 9760 square miles. It
has several detached portions lying among the Saxon
duchies, and encloses portions of these as well as the
duchies of Anhalt and the principalities of Schwartzburg.
It is for the most part a flat country, consisting of the land
lying between the Thuringian Mountains in the S., the
Harz Mountains in the W., and the Elbe in the E. and N.
The Harz Mountains belong partly to this province, and
within its limits is their highest summit, the Brocken, a
granite peak 3508 feet high ; and another called Konigs-
berg, which attains the height of 3100 feet, besides others
' of less elevation. To that part of the Thuringian moun¬
tain which is included in the province belongs the summit
of Dolmar, 2100 feet high. The lower portions of the
country are watered by the Elbe, which enters the province
at its south-eastern extremity, and flows in an irregular
course to the north-west, never very far from the borders
of Brandenberg, which it touches in the lower part of its
SAY 687
course. This river receives, either directly or indirectly, Say.
all the other streams of Saxony. The Saale flows north-
wards from the Thuringian Mountains into the Elbe ; the
Mulde, also an affluent of the Elbe, flows in the same
direction further east, and nearly parallel to the Saale ; and
the Unstrut flows from the west and joins the Saale. The '
whole of the soil of Saxony is not only very fertile, but
exceedingly well cultivated ; and it enjoys a mild and
salubrious climate. The extent of arable land in the pro¬
vince was, in 1852, 3,377,069 acres; of gardens, vine¬
yards, &c., 70,487 acres ; of meadows, 424,701 acres; of
pasture land, 394,597 acres; of forests, 955,511 acres;
and of waste land, 1,403,689 acres. Cattle, sheep, and
horses are raised in great numbers in Saxony. There
were in 1855, 152,485 horses; 502 mules and asses; 522,380
horned cattle; 1,838,946 sheep; 144,255 goats; and 332,490
pigs in the province. The mineral productions comprise
silver, iron, lead, copper, coal, and salt. Marble, alabaster,
granite, sandstone, and porcelain clay are also found.
Manufactures are actively carried on here, especially those
of woollen and cotton cloth. Education is well provided
for, and the proportion of the population who have en¬
joyed its advantages is higher here than in any other pro¬
vince of Prussia. There are in all 2872 public elementary
schools, with 3794 teachers and 304,318 scholars; 66
intermediate schools for boys, with 11,480 scholars; 49
girls’ schools, with 11,036 scholars; 11 normal seminaries;
4 progymnasia; and 21 gymnasia. Saxony contains also
one university, that of Halle, with which the former one at
Wittenberg has been united. The great majority of the
inhabitants are of German extraction ; 1,738,130 belong
to the Evangelical Church, 118,064 to the Roman Catholic ;
5 to the Greek Church, 16 are Mennonites, and 5320 Jews.
Saxony is divided into three circles, as follows :—
Square Miles. Pop. (1855).
Magdeburg   4453 727,052
Merseburg  3999 781,947
Erfurt     1308 352,536
Total  9760 1,861,535
The greater part of this province till 1815, formed part
of the kingdom of Saxony ; but by the congress of Vienna
it was annexed to Prussia.
SAY, Jean Baptiste, a French political economist, was
born at Lyons on the 5th of January 1767, of an honour¬
able commercial family of Protestant refugees. Say was
originally designed for the family trade, but having always
been of a meditative turn, he showed early a decided fond¬
ness for letters. In his youth he assisted Mirabeau and
Clavieres, and during the Reign of Terror he was one of the
conductors of the Decade Philosophique, the sole scientific
and literary monument of that bloody time. Being re¬
quested to take part in the affairs of the tribunate by
Bonaparte, then first consul, he remained faithful to his
political convictions ; and when Napoleon was subsequently
raised to the empire, Say voted against it, and withdrew in
1804. He was for a time director of taxes for the depart¬
ment of Allier, but afterwards resigned this post to popu¬
larize the science of Adam Smith and Quesnay. Say was
not a discoverer in political economy, but was a very in¬
telligent expounder of the principles of that science as
originated by others. His distinguishing merit is that of a
skilful exponent of truths and principles already known
and fully established ; and except in his inquiry relating to
gluts, he left the science of political economy exactly in
the same state as he found it. He died at Paris on the
16th of November 1832. Say’s principal works are—
Traite d’ Economic Politique, 2 vols., 1802; and 5 vols.
in 1826, afterwards expanded into the Cours Complet d’
Economic Politique Pratique, 6 vols., 1829; Catechisme
d’Economic Politique, 1815, fifth edition, 1826. Another
688 S C A
Scala Nova work, entitled De VAngleterre et des Anglais^ was written
11 after a tour in that country.
Scaliger. SCALA NOVA, a seaport town of Asiatic Turkey, at
the head of a gulf of the same name, 40 miles S. of
Smyrna. It is a wretched, meanly-built place, on the
side of a hill rising from the sea. Some wine is made
here; and an active trade was formerly carried on with
Egypt and Salonica. Pop. 20,000.
SCALE, a mathematical instrument, consisting of several
lines drawn on wood, brass, or silver, and variously divided,
according to the purposes it is intended to serve ; whence
it acquires various denominations, as the 'plain scale, dia¬
gonal scale, plotting scale, and the like. (See Gunter.)
Scale, in Music. See Music. The name is derived
from scala, a ladder, or flight of stairs, and has reference
to the disposition of the notes that ascend or descend upon
the written or printed musical stave.
SCALIGER, Julius Caesar, a learned critic, poet,
physician, and philosopher, was born at the castle of Riva,
in the territories of Verona, in 1484, and is said to have
been descended from the ancient princes of Verona,
though this is not mentioned in the letters of naturalization
which he obtained in France in 1528. He learned the
first rudiments of the Latin tongue in his own country ;
and in his twelfth year was presented to the Emperor
Maximilian, who made him one of his pages. He served
that emperor seventeen years, and gave signal proofs of his
valour and conduct in several expeditions. He was present
at the battle of Ravenna in April 1512, in which he had
the misfortune to lose his father, Benedict Scaliger, and his
brother Titus, on which his mother died with grief; when,
being reduced to necessitous circumstances, he entered
into the order of the Franciscans, and applied himself to
study at Bologna. But soon afterwards, changing his
mind with respect to his becoming a monk, he took arms
again, and served in Piedmont, at which time a physician
persuaded him to study physic, which he did at his leisure
hours, and also learned Greek; and at last the gout de¬
termined him, at forty years of age, to abandon a military
life. He soon afterwards settled at Agen, where he mar¬
ried, and began to apply himself seriously to his studies.
He learned first the French language, which he spoke
perfectly in three months ; and then made himself master
of the Gascon, Italian, Spanish, German, Hungarian, and
Sclavonian; but the chief object of his studies was polite
literature. Meanwhile, he supported his family by the
practice of physic. He did not publish any of his works
till he was forty-seven years of age, when he soon gained
a great name in the republic of letters. He had a grace¬
ful person, and so strong a memory, even in his old age,
that he dictated to his son two hundred verses which he
had composed the day before, and retained without writing
them down. He was so charitable, that his house was as
it were an hospital for the poor and sick ; and he had such
an aversion to lying, that he would have no correspondence
with those who were given to that vice ; but, on the other
hand, he had much vanity, and possessed a satirical spirit,
which created him many enemies. He died of a retention
of urine in 1558. The following is a list of his principal
works :—Commentarii Hippocratis librum De Insoniniis,
Graec. et Lat., 8vo, Lyon, 1538; De Causis Linguce
Latince, Libri xviii., 4to, Lyon, 1540—unquestionably a
great work ; Poetices Libri Septem, folio, Lyon, 1561—a
monument of grammatical knowledge ; In Theophrasti
Libros sex de Causis Plantarum Commentarii, folio,
Geneva, 1566 ; Commentarii in Aristoteli adscriptos
Libros Duos de Plantis, Geneva, 1566 ; Aristotelis
Historice Animalium Liber Decimus, Lyon, 1584 ;
Animadversiones in Theophrasti historias Plantarum,
Lyon, 1584 ; «/. C. Scaligeri adv. Desid. Erasmum
Orationes Dure, Eloquentice Romance Vindices, Toulouse,
S C A
1621—an exceedingly virulent attack upon Erasmus. Scaliger
The Latin poems published by J. C. Scaliger did not ||
tend greatly to increase his fame. Scandi-
Scaliger, Joseph Justus, one of the most learned navia.
critics and writers of his time. He was the son of Julius ''-a-
Caesar Scaliger, and was born at Agen, in France, in 1540.
He studied in the college of Bordeaux, after which his
father took him under his own care, and employed him in
transcribing his poems. By this means he obtained such a
taste for poetry, that before he was seventeen years old he
wrote a tragedy upon the subject of CEdipus, in which he
introduced all the poetical ornaments of style and senti¬
ment. His father having died in 1558, he went to Paris
the year following, with a desire to apply himself to the
Greek tongue. For this purpose he for two months at¬
tended the lectures of Turnebus; but finding that in the
usual course he should be a long time in gaining his point,
he shut himself up in his closet, and by constant application
for two years gained a perfect knowledge of that language.
After this he applied to the Hebrew, which he learned by
himself with great facility. He made no less progress in
the sciences; and his writings procured him the reputation
of one of the greatest men of that or of any other age.
He embraced the reformed religion at twenty-two years of
age. In 1563 he attached himself to Louis Casteignier de
la Roche Pozay, whom he attended in several journeys;
and in 1593 he was invited to accept of the place of
honorary professor of the University of Leyden, which he
complied with. He died of a dropsy in that city in 1609.
He was a man of great temperance, was never married,
and was so close a student, that he often spent whole days
in his study without eating ; and though his circumstances
were always very narrow, he constantly reiused the pre¬
sents that were offered him. The following are the
principal works of this great critic, whose fame has well-
nigh eclipsed that of his proud and subtle father:—De
Emendatione Temporum, folio, Paris, 1583—his greatest
work, connected with which was afterwards published his
Thesaurus Temporum, complectensEusebii Pamphili Chro-
nicon cum Isagogicis Chronologice Canonibus, 2 vols.,
Amst. 1658. Among his minor works are his edition
of Arabian proverbs, his Poemata and Epistolce, besides
numerous commentaries, annotations, and editions of
Yarro, Theocritus, Manilius, Catullus, Tibullus, Pro¬
pertius, Seneca the dramatist, Ausonius, Nonnus, Festus,
and many other ancient authors. In all of those works
we can trace the hand of the profound scholar and the
sagacious critic ; but his works are too frequently disfigured
by great bitterness of spirit, and by the disgusting invec¬
tives which he showers on his opponents. The collections
entitled Scaligerana were the idle pretensions of his father
to an illustrious origin, and were collected from his conver¬
sations by one of his friends, and being ranged into alpha¬
betical order, were published by Isaac Vossius.
SCAMANDER, or Xanthus, a river of the Troad,
which has attained a world-wide fame by means of the
poems of Homer, and now bears the name of Bunarbashi-
Su. According to the poet, it was called Xanthus by
gods, and Scamander by men.
SCANDERBEG. See Turkey.
SCANDEROON, Iskenderoon, or Alexandretta,
a town of Asiatic Turkey, the seaport of Aleppo, from
which it is distant 65 miles W.N.W., on the S.E. shore of
the bay of Scanderoon. It is a meanly-built place, and
very unhealthy on account of the marshes that surround
it; but some improvement has recently been effected by
the draining of one of the largest of these, and the harbour
is the best on the Syrian coast. It is one of the principal
seats of the maritime trade of Syria. Pop. 800.
SCANDINAVIA, the ancient name of Norway,
Sweden, and Denmark.
689
SCANDINAVIAN LITERATURE.
Scandina- The literature of Scandinavia is the literature of our an-
vian Htera-Nestors. There has been of late years a determined bias
ture. (.0 s}10w our ancestry from the Germans; but with the
Germans proper we have little or nothing to do. It is
with that branch of the great Gothic race, stretching from
Norway to the frontiers of France, including the Scandina¬
vians, the Holsteiners, the Dutch and Flemish, that we
claim kindred, and from whom we derive a portion of our
blood and the freedom of our institutions. It has been
well said, that we are not even Anglo-Saxons, but English,
being amalgamated of the ancient Britain, the Roman,
the Anglo-Saxon, and Scandinavian. They who endea¬
vour to trace our paternity to the Germans proper, will
find that we have few traces in our language, our political
constitution, or our national character of such paternity.
The Germans are, and always have been, an inland, seden¬
tary, industrious, but unenterprising people, having no
fleets, no colonies, no free institutions, except such as they
have of late years copied from us. But when we turn to
the natives whose maritime habits led them to locate them¬
selves on the sea-board of the greater part of Western Eu¬
rope, we discover our true progenitors. They, and espe¬
cially the Scandinavians, have always had a determined
tendency to political liberty, to ships, maritime adventures,
colonization, and foreign conquest. The language of the
Anglo-Saxons—a Scandinavian, and not a pure German
race, Anglen, whence they came, being still a portion of
Holstein, a Danish province—Dean Trench, a great autho-
rity, tells us, constitutes sixty parts of our present English
out of every hundred, thirty only being from the Latin,
five from Greek, and five from other sources. It is extra¬
ordinary, therefore, that we have not made a more intimate
and educational acquaintance with a language which is the
great foundation of our own, and a literature so illustrative
of the great sources of our descent, and our present stamp
of character.
The earliest literature of Scandinavia is of an antiquity
the date of which is vastly remote, and its limits untrace-
able. It consists of those accounts of its gods and heroes
which had been handed down from age to age by a class
of poets and oral historians educated for the purpose, and
styled Scalds and Sagamen. The Scalds, or poets, attended
the kings and princes both in their palaces at home and on
their martial expeditions, and sung the history of the gods
and the exploits of the sovereigns and distinguished heroes.
The Sagamen appear to have not only related their his¬
tories and legends in palaces, but far and wide amongst
the people. This system of oral literature continued till
Christianity introduced letters, in or about the year 1000.
It is true, that the Scandinavians possessed long before that
a rude species of letters called Runes, which were cut on
staves of wood, called Runstafvar, or Rimstafvar, or on
rocks and stones, as memorials of some great event. Their
Bauta-stenar, or stones of memorial, had Runic inscrip¬
tions upon them, and they had staves of a calender-like
character cut with them, called Kaflar; they had also ar¬
rived so far as to write letters on great occasions in them,
as the letter which Anschar the Christian missionary, the
apostle of the North, received from King Bjorn. But how¬
ever extraordinary, they never appear to have conceived
the idea of preserving their knowledge in them, but con¬
tinued to commit their histories, their poems, and their tales,
to the memories of their Scalds and Sagamen.
Wherever Christianity came in the shape of Romanism,
which was the case sooner or later all over Europe, it put
down the original literature or traditionary lore of the
country, because it was inseparably mixed with the pa-
VOL. XIX.
ganism of the people. This was the case in Scandinavia, Scandina-
and so completely did it root out the ancient knowledge, v*an
that neither in Scandinavia itself, in England, nor in Nor- v L*are‘1L >
mandy, were there left any traces of the grand mythologic
and heroic compositions which had filled the Scandinavian
mind for countless ages up to that period. All this ceased
to exist, except in a much metamorphosed form in the
minds of the common people, in what are called Folks-
Sagor, to which we shall, ere long, allude. Odin, Thor,
Frigga, and Iduna, became mere names, and their deeds
are no longer remembered as theirs. Fortunately for some
very noble and curious compositions, these were preserved
by such of the Scandinavians who had fled to Iceland from
the oppression of some of their conquering monarchs, and
who there retained a greater independence of the Romish
Church. In that wild volcanic island, amidst its stormy
northern seas, the ancient order and arts of the Scalds were
preserved. The Scalds went thence to attend the courts
and campaigns of the Scandinavian kings, and learned men,
by their lamps during the six months’ perpetual darkness
of their winters, penned down what yet remained of the
pagan orature of their ancestors. The first of these was
Samund Sigfusson, surnamed Frode, or the Learned. He
was born in 1056, only about a year before Christianity
was introduced into the island by Isleif, the first bishop.
He was, therefore, though educated a Christian, also a
Scald; and thus sympathizing with the Scalds gone before
him, he wrote down all that remained of their great my¬
thologic and heroic poems, now remaining under the name
of the Elder, or Rhythmical Edda. After him followed Ari
Hinn Frode, who began the chronicles of Iceland in the
Landnama Bok ; and Snorre Sturleson, the author of the
Second or Prose Edda, and the Heimskringla, or Chro¬
nicle of the Kings of Nonoay. These, with a great num¬
ber of romantic and popular sagas, constitute the mass of
the ancient Norse literature, which, escaping the annihi¬
lating hands of the Romish priests in that remote island,
which remained an independent republic till 1261, astonished
the learned world of Denmark and Sweden, by their dis¬
covery in the middle of the seventeenth century. For a
full account of these extraordinary productions, we must
refer to Howitt’s History of Northern Literature, where
a complete analysis and copious translated specimens of the
Eddas are given, and to Mr Laing’s translation of Snorre
Sturleson’s Heimskringla. Our space will admit of only
the most cursory notice of them.
THE ELDER, OR SAMUND’s EDDA.
On entering on these ancient books, we are immediately
struck with the corroborative evidence which they furnish
of the eastern origin of the Goths, the fathers of the Scan¬
dinavians. As all languages, so all mythologies run in lines,
which converge to one common centre, the original source of
the human race, and consequently of all tongues and pri¬
meval faiths—Central Asia. And little as we might expect
it, no sooner do we open the ancient religious books of
Scandinavia, than we are carried back thither. Our north¬
ern people are a people of eastern origin. Odin and his
Asar, as Asiatics, declared themselves to be from the great
Svithiod, a country which appears to have been the present
Circassia, lying between the Black and Caspian Seas. The
whole of their memories abounded with the proofs of it.
They brought with them abundant eastern customs, those
of burning the dead, and burying under mounds, like the
tombs of Ajax and Achilles on the Phrygian plain, or which
are still seen on the plains of Persia and Tartary. They
4 s
690
Scandina¬
vian litera¬
ture.
SCANDINAVIAN LITERATURE
practised polygamy, looked back with imperishable affec¬
tion to the great Svithiod, to the primitive district of As-
gord, and the city of Gudahem, or home 01 the gods. Ihey
transferred a religion bearing the primal featmes of those
of Persia, India and Greece, to the snowy mountains of
Scandinavia. The Asar and the giants were in constant
hostilities, like the gods of Greece and the litans. Ihey
had their three principal deities,—Odin, Thor, and Loke,
the latter the evil principle, the Pluto of the Greeks, the
Ahriman of the Persians, the Siva of the Hindoos. They
had their gods of thunder, of war, of eloquence, and of the
sea. They had the actual Venus of the Tanais, the great
deity of the Persians, the very name Vanadis suggesting
that of the Hellenic Venus. They had in Balder the
Vishnu of India, and a more beautiful Pan. The gods of
Scandinavia are actually described as sitting on idavalla,
or Mount Ida ; and Odin, Thor, and Loke, like the Jupiter,
Mercury, and Mars of Greece, make excursions amongst
mankind, and indulge in singular love adventures. You
have the strife of Light and Darkness in Balder and Hbder,
as in Ormuzd and Ahriman ; you have a tripart divinity,—
the Jove, Neptune and Pluto of Greece, the Brahma,
Vishnu, and Siva, find their counterparts in Odin, Thor, and
Balder. Instead of the ox Abudad, we have the cow Audum-
bla; instead of genii, nymphs, dryads and nereids, we have
elves, dwarfs, and trollquiuna. All the powers of nature
are shadowed forth in this great pantheistic system, in the
various deities of the various eastern mythologies; there is
a great and sublime deity, far above all semi-human deities,
that stand in greater proximity to men, and then comes a
final fire, Regnarbk, like that of the Persians, and the grand
mundane catastrophe of the Christian creed. Through
the whole, indeed, we trace the earliest traditions of the
primitive world, the Adam and Eve in Ask and Embla,
the Meschia and Meschiane of Persia; the very Fates are
there, the Nornor, the Dog of Hell, and the Tree of Life.
That tree so conspicuous in the Hebrew system, in the
remains of Nineveh, and in the Christmas customs of Ger¬
many, has assumed in the Scandinavian mythology, through
the grand imagination of poet-priests of unknown ages, a
magnificence which is without a parallel.
The Rhythmical Edda consists of eight-and-twenty
poems; these are divided into two parts. The first part con¬
tains everything relating to the mythology and morals, to the
histories of the gods and heroes of the Scandinavian world.
From the three first, the Vdluspa, or song of the Vala or
prophetess; Vafthrudner’s song and Grimner’s song, we
obtain a complete view of the uranic, cosmogonic, and
mythic system of the ancient Scandinavians. In the Hava-
mal, or Odin’s high song, we have a system of ethics which
astonish us by their profundity and knowledge of human
life and motives. The maxims contained in it more re¬
semble the Proverbs of Solomon than anything else in
human literature. One is surprised to find, too, the whole
philosophy of clothes contained in a single strophe a thou¬
sand years before either Montaigne or Carlyle enunciated
it:—“ I hung my garments on the two wooden men who
stand on the wall. Heroes they seemed to be when they
were clothed ! The unclothed are despised !”
In the second part of the Edda, we come upon a still
more interesting discovery, the original of the great Ger¬
man poem, The Nibelungen Lied. The Germans, with a
natural egotism, claim this great story as their own. They
call the Nibelungen Lied the Iliad of Germany, and place
it above all ancient poems, except that of Homer. But
here we have not a Nibelungen Lied, but the original ma¬
terials of it,—a cycle of ancient Icelandic heroic poems
that have no parallel in all the treasures of ancient litera¬
ture. They are to the Nibelungen Lied as the songs of
the Rhapsodists, which Homer elaborated into his immortal
epic. The Nibelungen Lied has been elaborated from
Scandinavian materials, and these materials exist in the Scandina-
Edda in a form than which Greece itself has nothing vian Ittera-
prouder to show. The stories and characters of these ture.
poems differ in many particulars from the German version.
Siegfried here is named Sigurd, Chrimhilde, Gudrun; Brun-
hilde is a far finer character, and the final tragedy proceeds,
not from Chrimhilde, but from Attle, the Etzel of the Ger¬
man story. These tragic events and heroic personages,
which for ages filled all the North with love and admiration,
and which the poems themselves declare “ shall live for
ever in all lands,” possess a colossal and powerful nature.
They are the expressions of the souls of poets existing in
the primaeval and uneffeminated earth. They are limnings
of men and women of godlike beauty and endowments,
full of the vigour of simple but impetuous nature. They
have gigantic proportions; a thrilling revelation of beauty;
a terrible force of passion, which lead to crimes and desola¬
tion of life, which are unsurpassed by the awful fatalities of
the Atridae family, the madness of Orestes, the terrible
story of Medea, or the sorrows of Iphigenia or Antigone.
The Prose Edda was compiled by Snorre Sturleson, and
deals with the same topics in prose as the Elder Edda has
presented in poetry, mixed up with many other matters of
an inferior or extravagant character. It betrays the lower
taste of the age, though including some striking sagas.
The sagas were the prose recitals of Sagamen, as the
Eddaic poems and the heroic lyrics, as the well-known
death-song of Ragnar Lodbrog were of the Scalds. The
sagas comprehended, indeed, almost every species of nar¬
rative in prose. There were great historic sagas ; sagas re¬
lating to local and familiar matters, romantic sagas and
heroic sagas. In the sagas it is difficult to say where fable
ends, where fact commences, or how much of one is amal¬
gamated with the other. Saga literature is a world of itself.
It consists of above 200 volumes, lists of which may be
seen in the Series Dynastarum et Regum Danice, of
Torfaeus, in Muller’s Saga Bibliothek, and in Biorn
Halderson.
Of all the sagas, however, the great historical one of the
Heimskringla is the most important. This is so called from
the leading word of the manuscript, “ Heimskringla,” the
home-circle, meaning the circle of the earth, the home of
man. It is a most admirable history of a great portion of
northern Europe, from about the time of the Christian era
to 1177 A.D., or the twenty-third year of our own Henry
II., a hundred and eleven years after the Norman Conquest.
It traces Odin and his Asar from the East; gives the settle¬
ment of Scandinavia, the contests of the petty kings of
Norway, Denmark, and Sweden, till they became three
compact kingdoms, each under its own sovereign; the
Vikings expeditions to all parts of the world ; the discovery
and settlement of Iceland and Greenland; the discovery of
the coast of America; the conquest of Normandy and
England; and this is done, not in the dry manner too com¬
mon to chroniclers, but with a life and freshness belonging
only to a great and dramatic genius. The actors are alive ;
the details have all the simple grandeur and vivid colouring
of the narratives of the Bible. Mr Laing’s translation has
made this accessible to the English reader.
The Romantic Sagas of Iceland resemble the great ro¬
mances of the middle ages, in which, without much regard
to times or geography, the most wonderful stories of kings,
heroes, giants, ferocious and terrible beasts, as well as beau¬
tiful countries and beautiful maidens, figured, such as now
constitute the Volks-Bucher of the German peasantry.
The Remaining Literature of Iceland consisted of the
Gragas or Laws; and at a later period, supposed to be of the
twelfth or thirteenth century, the Konungs Skygsja, or
Mirror of Kings, supposed to be addressed by King Sverrer
to his son, a work curious for its moral inculcations and its
melancholy description of the island. We may add that
SCANDINAVIAN LITERATURE.
691
Scandina- Iceland has continued to the present time to have its lite-
vian litera- rature, chiefly of an economical and practical kind, many of
ture. which productions have been printed in Denmark by socie-
ties formed for that purpose. Iceland, too, has also had its
poets, the chief of whom, Jon Thorlakson, is known to our
countrymen by his translation of Milton’s Paradise Lost
and Pope’s Essay on Man into Icelandic, as well as by a
fine poem on the “English and Foreign Bible Society.” He
also translated Klopstock’s Messiah. Dr Henderson found
this venerable poet in 1814 living on an income of L.6, 5s.
sterling. Other of the Icelandic poets of great popularity
were Jon Jonsonius, Stephen Olafson, Benedict Jonson
Groendal; Thorvald Bodvarson, the translator of Gellert’s
“ Christian” and Pope’s “Messiah;” Professor Finn Mag-
nusin, and Sigurd Peterson. Iceland had also its historians
and eminent antiquarians and naturalists. Amongst these are
Jon Olafson, a learned orientalist; Olaf Olavius, a natural¬
ist; Haider Jacobson, the historian of Rolf of Normandy
and of Iceland in the eighteenth century; Arne Magnusen,
a great antiquary ; and Finn Magnusen, the learned editor
of the Elder Edda and of the great Lexicon Mytholugicum ;
Jon Eyricksson, president of the Icelandic Society in Co¬
penhagen, and a learned writer on Icelandic mythology and
history, &c. &c.
THE folk’s SAGA OF SCANDINAVIA.
But perhaps no form of Scandinavian literature furnishes
such striking evidence of our descent from the Scandinavian
root as the Folks-Sagas. These have been collected only
in modern times ; but they are the true productions of an¬
cient, not of modern Scandinavians. When the Papal
religion had put down the scalds and sagamen, and so com¬
pletely extinguished the eddas and the mythic stories of the
Odin period, that, except in the secret archives of Iceland
and the hidden wastes of an old German library, they were
no longer to be found; when the Latin had superseded the
vernacular tongue amongst the learned all over Europe, and
monkish legends and dry chronicles had displaced the imagin¬
ative compositions of Scandinavia, the spirit and traditions of
these old mythologies and wonder-worlds still remained fast
rooted in the minds of the people. Though Catholicism be¬
came the people’s religion, and the miracles and diablerie
romances of the convent were engrafted on their prior cre¬
dence, their forefathers’ faith became their fireside literature.
The marvels of the Pagan faith survived the faith itself;
and now, when the monkish twaddle with which the Roman
priests abused the imagination of the population wherever
they prevailed, has again sunk into matter of laughter, the
legends of the old creed of the North show themselves
everywhere in a revived and immortal bloom. True, they
are greatly metamorphosed, but they are there. The
names of Odin and Thor, Frigga and Iduna, are forgotten ;
but their deeds and potency remain, and cast a spell on all
the nurseries of England, Normandy, and Germany, as well
as over those of all the north of Europe. All the witch,
fairy, and dragon lore which Odin and the Asar brought
out of the East exist under new names in the saga lore of
our infancy; in Jack the Giant-Killer, Cinderella, Blue¬
beard, The Little Old Woman Cut Shorter, The Pig that
would not go over the Brig, The Giant who smelt the Blood
of an Englishman, Puss in Boots ; nay, even traces of Dich
Whittington and his Cat and Baron Munchausen.
These Folk-Sagor have of course much in common with
the German Kinder und Haus-Mdrchen, as collected by
the brothers Grimm; but they have many features not to
be found in those of Germany. Of these the collection of
Folk-Sagor by Olaf Hylten Cavallius and George Stephen
is a good specimen of the Swedish ones. The Danish are
equally abundant. The English reader will find a good
assortment of them in Dasent’s Tales from the Norse, lately
published.
THE VISOR, OR OLD BALLAD POETRY OF SCANDINAVIA.
The extinction of Odinism, with itsscaldic and saga sys
tem, by Christianity, or rather by Romanism, was insuffi¬
cient to extinguish that poetic and imaginative spirit which
had lent its life to them. This spirit ere long manifested
its indestructible presence in new forms. As the saga revived
in the form of the Ridder-Romanen, such as that of Bied-
rich of Bern, and the Folk-Sagor, so the scaldic fire reap¬
peared in one of the most brilliant forms of this old litera¬
ture,—that of the Kampe-Visor, or heroic ballads, followed
by the Folk-Visor, or popular ballads. The Kampe-Visor,
though the ancient religion had fallen, and the model of the
Eddaic hymns was abandoned, still celebrated the very
heroes of the mytho-heroic period. These heroes and he¬
roines lived again, as it were, in new bodies. Though the
Visor are supposed, at least the most ancient of them, to
have been composed in the thirteenth, fourteenth, and fif¬
teenth centuries, “ Chriemhilde’s Revenge,” “ Brynhilda’s
Song,” Sigurd, under the name of “Sivard Snarensvend,” re¬
appeared in them. Diedrich of Bern and Vidric Verlandson,
or son of Wayland the smith, once more performed their
prodigies of valour. Giants, trolls, and dwarfs still lived
amid saints, angels, and abbesses. But the Kampe-Visor
present only the first phases of this class of national ballads.
They continued to appear down to very modern times, and
embodied the varying characteristics of the successive ages.
The Scandinavian collectors very properly divided them
into heroic ballads, ballads of the necromantic and superna¬
tural, historic ballads, and ballads of love and romance.
These ballads of Scandinavia, the early volumes of which
were collected and published 174 years before Bishop
Percy published his Reliques, nevertheless resemble in
fact, in spirit, mannei*, and topic, those of England and
Scotland. They are the common expression of the life and
feelings of a common race under the prevailing influences
of the same period ; and what is more, in many of them the
subject is identical, showing that they were, as far as Eng¬
land, Scotland, and Scandinavia were concerned, drawn
from one common source, where the people and the language
were one.
Our space forbids us to note these exact identities ; they
can be seen in the authorities referred to, as well as the
artistic peculiarities of these splendid ballads. We may,
however, notice one of the most remarkable, the “Omquade,”
or refrain, which reminds one greatly of those in the English
and Scottish ballads, “ Binnorie, O Binnorie,” “ The sun
shines fair on Carlisle wall,” &c. These refrains display, in
the nameless poets, the same intense love of nature as those
of the Robin Hood ballads. In such refrains as—“ The
Linden Tree which quivers in the Grove,” “ The Fragrant
Rose Wood,” “The Lily and the Lily Tree,” a poetic,
imagination abounds. See Howitts’ Northern Literature,
where many translations of such ballads are given.
The first collection of Danish ballads was published
through Tycho Brahe inducing Vedel, the collector, to
recite some of them to the queen of Sweden when on a visit
to his observatory, Uranionburg. They appeared in 1591.
Other volumes from time to time have been added by Syv,
Abrahamson, Nyerup, and Rahbek, &c.; and they have
successfully inspired many of the modern Danish poets and
romancers, Evald, Oelenschlager, Ingerman, &c. The
same may be said of the Swedish ballads, which are equally
splendid.
THE MODERN LITERATURE OF DENMARK.
With the Visor which we have been noticing, the litera¬
ture of Scandinavia in reality divides itself into two nation¬
alities, the Danish, including the Norwegian, and the
Swedish. We now come upon a wide intellectual desert,
092 SCANDINAVIAN LITERATURE.
Scandina- stretching itself betwixt the ancient and modern literatures
vian litera- these countries* dhe modern literature of Scandinavia
ture• ; is very modern indeed. The ancient literature maybe said to
terminate with the Visor and Folk’s-Sagor in the thirteenth
century. These survived amongst the people} but these
only; and it was not till the sixteenth century that a fresh
Scandinavian literature in the mother tongue began to show
itself. Through this long interval of three centuries a foreign
literature prevailed—that of the Church of Rome, with its
Latin and its legends—the ingrafted tongue having no root
in the spirit of the people, but remaining a mere life in
death.
From this judgment w'e must except Saxo Grammaticus
and his Historica Danica, which, though written in Latin,
was written whilst the old Scandinavian knowledge was in
its fulness. Saxo was contemporary with Snorre Sturleson,
had the famous sagaman, Arnold, the Icelander, who, like
himself, was in the service of Absalon, archbishop of Lund,
for companion, and drew7, according to his own confession,
his earliest annals from the Eddaic songs, Runic inscriptions,
and the written records of the Icelanders. He completed his
Annals in 1186, merely enshrining in Latin what had drawn
its life-blood from tlie vigorous vernacular. No wonder, then,
that he could supply such material for the genius of our Shak-
speare and the Danish later writers. But from him and his co¬
temporary chronicler of Norway, Theodoric, the monk, what
a dreary dearth till the very commencement of the seven-
teentli century compared with the Anglo-Saxons, who ad¬
hered longer to their own tongue, had their ‘ Song of Cmd-
mon,” their fine poem of “ Beowulf,” “ The Battle of Fins-
burgh,” and the “ Song of the Traveller.” But when we have
taken leave of Saxo, Theodoric, and Svend Aagesen, author
of the Suenonis in the twelfth century, with the exception of
a treatise on medicine by Henrick Harpestreng, in the thir¬
teenth century, we travel down to the fifteenth before we
reach the Riimkronike, or Chronicle in Rhyme, of Neil, a
monk of Soroe. Neil turned Saxo’s Latin into Danish, and
added fresh matter from other sources. Soon after Mikkel,
a priest of Odensee, produced a volume of religious poems ;
but these were solitary swallows who made no summer. In
1479 the university of Copenhagen was founded, but
seemed only to add to the rage for Latinity. The learned
wrote in Latin ; the court spoke German. In 1508, Peter
Lolle published a volume of Proverbs in Danish ; and in
1550, the Bible and New Testament, under the influence of
the German Reformation, were translated into the native
tongue. In 1591, Vedel published the first volume of the
Kdmpe- Visor ; yet these great events, capable, one would
have thought, of stirring the popular mind to its depths,
appeared for a long time to produce little effect on native
literature.
The first man who may be said to have heralded the
dawn of modern literature was Anders Christensen Arreboe.
Arreboe was bishop of Drontheim at the early age of
thirty; he died in 1637. His chief work is the Hexamceron,
or, the World's First Week, written in Alexandrines, the
same stanza as that of the German Nibelungen Lied. It
is a free translation, or rather adaptation, of The Creation
of Du Bartas, which was recommended to him by the chan¬
cellor Christen Friis. It was completed in 1622, but not pub¬
lished till after his death. The poem is a compendium of
all the natural philosophy of his time. It abounds with
learning, and displays great poetical beauty. The Danes
regard him as the Chaucer of their literature. In the
Swedish literature Stiernhelm holds a parallel place, though
he wrote a few years later, and in a more polished language,
that of the court of Christian IV., brother-in-law of our
James I.
Anders Bording, who immediately succeeded Arreboe,
was a lyrical poet of considerable merit. He was born in
1619 and died in 1677.
Thomas Kingo was a man of far higher and more serious Scandina-
genius. He was born in Slangerup in 1634, and died in vian litera-
1703. Kingowasof Scottish descent, his grandfather having ture'
gone to Denmark after our Scottish James married the
sister of Christian IV. He was a genuine religious poet;
he wrote a volume of hymns, which at once acquired an
immense popularity and were translated into German,
Swedish, Icelandic, and Latin. These are still in use, and
highly esteemed by the people.
The other poets of this period were the patriotic William
Helt, who died in 1724; the satirist, Tbger Reenbergh, who
died in 1742; and Jorgen Jorgenson Sorterup, who wrote
both satires and Heltesange, or martial songs. Christian
Falster wTas also a most stinging satirist, whose productions
appeared between 1730 and 1750.
Denmark at this era also distinguished itself in various
other departments of literature and science. History and
natural history flourished. Erik Pontoppidan, born in
Funen in 1616, and bishop of Drontheim in 1678, published
his Grammatica Danica in 1668, being the first systematic
analysis of the Danish language. In this department he
was followed by Peter Syv in 1685, and Hoysgard in 1743.
The second Pontoppidan, also Erik Pontoppidan, but much
more celebrated than the first, is well known in England
by his Natural History ; but he wras the author also of va¬
rious other learned and important works, as Annales Ec-
clesice Danice; one on historical geography, Marmora
Danica ; natural history, Gestaet Vestigia Danorum extra
Daniam ; one of the first theological romances, Menoza,
&c. &c. Fie was born in Aarhuus in 1698, and ascended
through various ecclesiastical dignities till he became bishop
of Bergen and chancellor of the university of that city.
In theology, also, Hemmingius flourished at this period;
in jurisprudence, Theophilus and Seavenius were most
eminent; in medicine and physiology, Morsing, Ole Worm,
better known by his Latinized cognomen, Olaus Wormius,
also celebrated for his works in history and antiquities;
Simon Pauli, Bartholin, and Olaf Borrich. In philosophi¬
cal knowledge A. Krag, Eilschov, and Peter Severin ; in
mathematics, O. Romer; in philology, Winding and Rhode ;
in history and literature, Hvitfeldt, with his Kronike, Resen,
Gram, and Arnas Magnaus. A lady also, Brigitta Thott,
distinguished herself by the translation of Seneca and
Epictetus. These are evidences of a rapidly growing wealth
of intellectual accumulation. But the great man of this
epoch was Denmark’s most illustrious astronomer, Tycho
Brahe, whose life and discoveries will be found under their
own head.
Brahe introduced to notice another astronomer, namely,
Christian Severin Longomontanus. Longomontanus was
a poor orphan, who being educated by the minister of his
parish, attracted Brahe’s notice at the college of Wiborg.
He took him and instructed him in astronomy. Longo¬
montanus went with Brahe during his exile to Prague, but
on the death of his patron returned, and became professor
of the higher mathematies in Copenhagen. He was more
brilliant than sound; he believed in astrology, and that
comets portended disaster. He died in 1647.
Holberg. The appearance of Holberg is regarded by
Denmark as a great epoch in its literary history. He is
their great comic poet, the Moliere of Denmark. . Arreboe
and Kingo were writers to be proud of as pioneers, but not
to claim comparison with the authors of other nations. To
that distinction the Danes believe Holberg fully entitled.
Still he has no claims to the tragic; he is simply comic and
satirical. He has no Macbeths, no Othellos, Hamlets, or
Romeo and Juliets ; but the Danes see all their social life,
their humour and national character so clearly reflected in
him, that they are never weary of their exhibition. He be¬
came at once universally popular through a satirical mock-
heroic poem called Peter Paars. In 1722 appeared his
SCANDINAVIAN LITERATURE. 693
Scandina- Mikkelsen's Four Comic Poems, and, in 1726, his Mikkelsen’s
vian litera- Metamorphoses. He then began writing for the stage with
tura amazing rapidity and equal popularity; and saw acted and
v'—V—published seven volumes of plays called MikhelserHs Come¬
dies. These were speedily translated into Swedish, French,
and German. He thus became the founder of the comic
stage of Denmark. His Niels Klim’s Subterranean Jour¬
ney, a satirical work in Latin, was equally popular, and was
translated by Baggesen and others into various languages.
He wrote many other works on ecclesiastical history, a His¬
tory of the Jews, biographies in the style of Plutarch, Moral
Tales, See. He died in 1754.
From the death of Holberg to the publication of Polf
Krage by Evald, the next poet who marked a national era,
the only names of note which appear in the history of
Denmark’s literature, are those of Stub, Sneedorf, Tullin,
and Stenersen, and these are of a minor class compared with
Holberg. It is curious how common-place abounded in
most European literature of this period. The compositions
of Ambrosius Stub consist of lyrics and drinking songs,
written in the deepest poverty and obscurity. He was
born in Ribe in 1707, and passed the greater part of his
life in Funen, where, while his songs were on every tongue,
he himself continued in the most perfect neglect. He
is said to have died in 1758. His merry drinking song,
“ Crambambuli,” is still everywhere sung by the Danish and
German students.
Christian Brauman Tullin, with far less talent, had a far
different fortune. He was in easy circumstances; fame
attended his every effort; and everywhere he was received
with open arms as a genius of the highest order. When
we look in the poems which could thus entrance his co¬
temporaries, we find them to consist of odes, prize poems,
occasional verses, epitaphs in large numbers, on a par with
the verses to Cloe or Cleanthe, which fill so many volumes
on English shelves once called poetry.
Peder Christoffer Stenersen was a clergyman and comic
poet, who died in 1776. Jens S. Sneedorf, who lived at
this period, was the father of the periodical literature of
Denmark. His poems were much admired, but his Pa¬
triotic Spectator was still more popular, and undoubtedly
did more than all writings which had gone before to refine
and elevate the public taste. About this period, too, Kraft,
Langebek, and Mollman distinguished themselves; Kraft
in logic and metaphysics, Langebek in periodical literature,
and Mollman in history.
Evald. “ About the middle of the eighteenth century,”
says Molbeck, the great Danish critic, “ there stood forth
a young man whose destiny it was to give to the poetry of
Denmark a wholly new form.” This man was Johannes
Evald, the son of a clergyman, the director of the orphan-
house in Copenhagen. Evald was born in 1743, and died
in 1781, in the thirty-eighth year of his age. He was un¬
fortunately intemperate in his habits, having been disap¬
pointed in love. A considerable portion of his life was
passed in the deepest poverty, and the most excruciating
agonies from rheumatism ; yet whilst almost wholly disabled
for bodily motion, he struck out a new and brilliant path
as a lyrical, dramatic, and romantic poet. His first suc¬
cessful production was a lament for the death of Frederick
V. His most splendid lyric was “ King Christian,” which
became the national song of Denmark. Evald was equally
great as a dramatist, in the satirical drama, in tragedy, and
in opera. Excited by the Messiah of Klopstock, he burst
the fetters of the French taste, and overthrew the Frenchi¬
fied tragedies of Nordal Brun and Niels Krogh Bredal,
imitators of Voltaire. His Adam and Eve, his first produc¬
tion in the romantic school, was the first original tragedy
in Denmark. His next, Polf Krage, drawn from the he¬
roic times of Denmark, opened up that rich field of myth
and legend which Oelenschlager has since so splendidly
worked out. This was followed by The Death of Balder, Scandina-
his most noble production, in which his admiration ofvian Jitera-
Shakspeare and Ossian are clearly marked. His lyrical ture-
drama, The Fishermen, was his last work of any extent.
DANISH LITERATUKE FROM EVALD TO BAGGESEN.
The forty years from the death of Evald to that of the
death of Baggesen produced a great number of poets and
literary men in Norway and Denmark, but none who rose
to the same national rank; we must, therefore, pass slightly
over them. At this period the literary men of Copenhagen,
a large proportion of whom were from Norway, introduced
club-life, in imitation of that which had in England flourished
under different chiefs, and where Dryden, Pope, Addison,
Gay, Bolingbroke, and, in fact, all the principal literary
men had assembled, or still did assemble. The Norwegians
formed themselves into a club, called the Norwegian Society,
which met at duel’s cofiee-house, in the Svartegaden; and
at its head stood John Herman Wessel. The Danish club,
at the head of which stood Evald, met at Neergaard’s coffee¬
house, in the Badstuestraden. Another club, consisting of
men who could not go the length of the hostilities of these
two rival clubs, formed under the title of the Society of
Belles Lettres.
Wessel, the head of the Norwegian club, was born in
1742, in the parish of Vestby, in the diocese of Aggerhuus,
in Norway, where his father was dean and parish-priest.
He was the nephew of the brave Admiral Wessel, called
Tordenskiold, mentioned in Evald’s national song, King
Christian. In 1772, Wessel suddenly became popular by
a satirical comedy in ridicule of the French trash of Brun
and Bredal, already mentioned, called Kicerlighed uden
Strompev, “ Love Without Stockings.” Wessel wrote a
great quantity of articles in verse and prose, very much of
the character of The Three Warnings, The Three Black
Crows, of our own literature of that period. He edited a
periodical with the singular title, Votre Serviteur Otiosis,
and passed his days at different coffee-houses and taverns,
amusing the people with epigrams and impromptus. He
died in 1785, at the age of forty-three, leaving not enough
to pay the expenses of his funeral.
Cotemporary with Wessel were Johannes Wibe, a co¬
medy writer; Bull, the author of ethic and didactic poems;
and the brothers Trojel. Peter Magnus and Peter Kofbd
Trojel, both writers of bacchanalian lyrics, and the latter of
some serious poetry.
Edward Storm, a Norwegian, is the author of Brager,
a mock-heroic poem, describing a rural dean going his
rounds at Easter, collecting his pask-eggs; also of narra¬
tive poems and fables of the Fontaine school. His ballads
and religious poems have great merit.
Tyge Rothe was more noted for his prose than his
poetry. His work on The Love of One’s Country is a fine
specimen of prose style. Johan Nordal Brun, whose French
tragedy we have noticed, was in his time very popular;
but his fame has long died out, except as connected with
the violent contest which his tragedy excited. He received
church preferment, became a truly eloquent preacher, and
wrote a poem, Jonathan, in ten books,—an utter failure.
He died in 1816.
In this period also appeared several ladies of considerable
merit in poetry and the drama: Dorothea Biehl, Catherine
Boje, Sophie Buckholm, and Louisa Lindenkrone; besides
several other male poets who claim only a mention : Wivet,
Weyer, Fasting, and Colbibrnsen.
About the same period appeared writers whom we only
need name. Povel Dankel Bast wrote poetry and epigrams;
J. C. Bode, a German, who wrote as a Dane, distinguished
for comedies, fables, and humorous pieces; Thomas Chris¬
tian Bruun, author of tales and satires; Lauritz Hasse, a
novelist; Olufsen, author of a comedy called “ Gulddaasen;”
694
Scandina¬
vian litera¬
ture.
SCANDINAVIAN LITERATURE.
Horrebow and Abrabamson, poets, and the latter distin-
■ guished in other works; SamsSe, author of a popular tra¬
gedy called Dyvecke. Jonas Rein wrote a tragedy
entitled Hogen and Valborg, founded on the old Danish
legend of Axel and Valborg. He wrote also lyrical, ele-
giacal, and narrative poems. Thomas Thaarup wrote two
admirable operas, “The Harvest Supper,” and “Peter’s
Wedding.” Thaarup was eloquent as an orator, and wrote
many beautiful hymns and other lyrical poems. Zedletz,
a clergyman by birth, a Norwegian, lived chiefly in the
country. His poetry is celebrated as extremely varied,
new, genial, and joyous, never serious and pathetic.
Christen Henriksen Pram was a man of great importance
in his day. He was a Norwegian ; a man in office. His
principal work is “ Starkodder,” a heroic poem, celebrating
a great mythic hero of Norway with twelve arms, the
Briaraeus of the North. Starkodder is the “ Kehama” of
Scandinavia; and, indeed, the genius of Pram very much
reminds us of that of Southey. There is the same inces¬
sant industry exerted on all sorts of topics, poetry, criti¬
cism, politics, political economy, journalism, and the lite¬
rature of the day. There is the same want of penetration
into the depths of poetry in its most psychological character,
and, as if to seek compensation for the defect, a lettingloose of
the imagination almost reinless into the world of phantasy and
supernatural legend. Pram also edited a periodical, The
Minerva, in which he was succeeded by his friend, Rahbek.
During this period Luxdorf distinguished himself in cri¬
ticism ; Suhm wrote his History of Denmark, a great and
elaborate work, in sixteen volumes quarto. Birknir dis¬
tinguished himself as a classical prose writer; duel as a
portrait-painter; Wiederveld as a sculptor, the master of
Thorwaldsen ; Jacob Baden in philology ; and G. L. Baden
in criticism and by his History of Denmark.
Ove Hoegh Guldberg was a great name at the close of
the eighteenth century. His historic productions are mas¬
ter-pieces. He united with Sneedorf, Schytte, and others,
in a History of the World. He translated the New Tes¬
tament, and published an essay on the dates of the writing
of its different books. But he is equally remarkable as the
successor to the ministry of Denmark on the fall of Struen-
see, and the simultaneous ill-treatment of the amiable Ca¬
roline Matilda, the unhappy sister of our George III. The
son of Guldberg, Frederick Hbegh Guldberg, was a genial
poet and translator of Tibullus, Terence, and Plautus.
Jorgen Zdega is celebrated for his work on Egyptian an¬
tiquities ; Thorlacius for northern antiquities and literature ;
Abrahamson, a military officer, for his publication, with
Nyerup and Rahbek, of five volumes of Select Danish
Verse of the Middle Ages. Thomas Bagge wrote on as¬
tronomy and mathematics; and Foersom is celebrated for
his translation of Shakspeare, as far as four volumes, Cap¬
tain Wulff completing it in five more volumes in 1825.
Before this, Niels Rosenfeldt had translated Macbeth in
1787, and two other volumes of Shakspeare’s other plays
in 1792. Bastholm requires mention in philosophy and
morals, Mailing in history and biography. Periodical lite¬
rature had now several active and influential organs.
Jens Baggesen. Baggesen is a man who occupies a
large space in the field of Danish literature. He lived
partly in the last century and partly in this, and represented
in the fullest manner the spirit and character of the past.
Fie may be said to be the last of the classical school, living
to do battle with and fall before the new or romantic school.
In these circumstances he was accompanied by his friend
Rahbek, who was the representative of the literary men of
the latter end of the eighteenth century, as he was of the
men of genius. He died in 1826, Rahbek in 1830. A
new race and a new spirit were rising around them, even
while they were in the prime of their years and popularity ;
but they themselves resisted vigorously the new influences,
especially Baggesen. Their cotemporaries were preparing, Scandina-
and some of them carrying out, as great a revolution in vian litera-
literary taste as that of France was in political philosophy.
Klopstock, Burger, Voss, and Wieland, in Germany, had
already broken down the boundaries of what was called the
old classical school; Rousseau and Voltaire, in France,
Bishop Percy, Burns, and Campbell, in England, had en¬
tered on an entirely new track; and everywhere giants
were showing their heads above the crowd, prepared to
astonish the world with a wholly novel creation,—a wholly
new world of poetry, literature, and romance. Schiller and
Goethe, Tieck, Fichte, and Jean Paul, Scott, Wordsworth,
Coleridge, and Southey, had produced some of their master¬
pieces before the representatives of the last age had disap¬
peared from the scene ; and still nearer home, Oelenschlager
had startled them as by the apparition of their own Thor,
before the blows of whose hammer all the artistic creations
of the more cold and precise French classicality fell in dust
and fragments.
No man in Denmark, up to a certain moment, ever en¬
joyed so great and universal a popularity ; his genius was
so brilliant, so multifarious, so genial, and fascinating. In
classical style, in learning, in wit, in imagination, in mas¬
terly reason, be was equally pre-eminent. Fie was the
Tom Moore of the very highest classes, caressed, and living
in familiar equality with princes, princesses, and nobles,
with more than Moore’s genius and intellectual stamina.
Before he was twenty years of age, a volume of Comic
Stories in Verse, appearing the same year as Pram’s Stor-
kodder, Bartholm’s Liturgy, Scheel’s Theatre of War, and
Pram and Rahbek’s new periodical, The Minerva, notwith¬
standing rose far above their interest, and placed him on
the pinnacle of fame, especially in the realm of comic and
satiric poetry. From this time, for nearly thirty years, he
continued to pour out a series of volumes of poems, travels,
dramas, operas, and miscellaneous writings, which held his
countrymen in entrancement. The works of Baggesen in
Danish fill twelve volumes, exclusive of his works in Ger¬
man, amongst which latter are some of his most consider¬
able productions, as the Parthenais, Oceana, Adam and
Eve, and Heideblumen. Amongst the Danish dramas and
operas, the chief are Holger Danske, Erik Eiegod, the
Trylleharp, the passionate and very beautiful drama of
Pandion and Dione, from the Greek mythology, and
Thora. The poems of Nanna, written in his latter years,
are undoubtedly amongst the most beautiful compositions
in Danish. The translation of Holberg’s Niels Klim
into Danish is a masterpiece, and his Labyrinthen, con¬
taining his travels, have all the brilliance, vivacity, and
fascination of a novel. His life was indeed a romance. Flis
birth was in poverty; his youth amid the warmest sunshine
of fame and honour; his latter days plunged in gloom by
envy of his younger contemporaries, and a public neglect
too much merited by his conduct. He died at Hamburg
in October 1826.
Knud Lyne Rahbek was author of plays, songs, miscel¬
laneous poems, prose stories, much criticism, &c. Pie
has left, however, no original works which can fix his name
pre-eminently in the temple of his country’s fame, but a
mass of able and interesting writings, so mixed up with the
people and the time that they form an inseparable portion
of the Danish literature of the period. He was born in
Copenhagen in 1760, and died in 1830. He united with
Nyerup and Abrahamson in the collection and publication
of the Kiempe-Viser; edited the plays of Holberg and
others ; wrote the lives of his contemporaries ; and songs,
the favourites of the young throughout Scandinavia. He
edited the Minerva after Pram left it, and the Tilskuer, or
Spectator, in imitation of Addison’s Spectator, for many
years. Later, he edited a political paper, Dagen, the Day,
from 1811 to 1814. His house, known to all Scandinavia
SCANDINAVIAN LITERATURE. 695
Scanclina- as the Bakkehuus, ov house on the Mount, was the constant
i ian litera-resort of the learned and the happy, and the home of the
tare- poor and sorrowful. He was the constant friend of strug-
gling merit.
Oelenschlager, the greatest poet of his country, and at
a time most capable of developing his genius to perfection,
requires no mention here, his life and works appearing
under his own name. The only writer in Scandinavia with
whom he can be compared is the Swedish poet Tegner.
Both are poets of a high order and of kindred genius; but
while Tegner perhaps excels Oelenschlager in tenderness
and delicacy of feeling, Oelenschlager certainly transcends
Tegner in vigour, and in the wide and varied field in which
he exerted it. Frithiofs Saga stands as the only great
poem of Tegner, without which he would be reduced to
the simple rank of a lyrical poet; but Oelenschlager is the
author of a host of works, epic, dramatic, and lyrical, which,
from first to last, display the same wonderful freshness and
vigour. Oelenschlager’s great companions at the univer¬
sity were the two brothers Oersted, afterwards so famous ;
Hans Christian, the great natural philosopher, author of
The Soul in Nature; and Anders Sandbe, the great lawyer
and statesman.
Nicolai Frederik Severin Grundtvig is equally remark¬
able as a philological antiquarian and translator, and as a
theologian and preacher. He was born, in September 1783,
at Udby, in South Zealand. His earliest works were on the
mythology of Scandinavia, of which he was an enthusiastic
admirer. On this subject he published his Northern My¬
thology, and Scenes from the Fall of the Kampe Life in
the North. But his mind suddenly took as enthusiastic a
religious turn, in which he condemned his zeal for the old
mythology, and in an essay On Religion and Liturgy, he
called for reform in the church. For eight years he lay
under the clerical ban. During this time, however, he
employed himself in historic and antiquarian labours; pub¬
lished a Bible Chronicle, The Roskilde Rhyme, Roskilde
Saga, Rvadlinger, See. In 1822 he completed his greatest
and most laborious work, his translations of Saxo Gram¬
maticus and Snorre Sturlesen, in six quarto volumes, by
which the ancient chronicles of Norway and Denmark
were made the property of the multitude. He had now
also gone deep into Anglo-Saxon, and already, in conjunc¬
tion with Rask, had published a masterly translation of
Biowulf’s Drape. From 1828 to 1838 he edited a monthly
theological magazine, published several volumes of his
sermons, and in 1829 he came to England, to consult
the Anglo-Saxon manuscripts in Exeter and in the British
Museum. Whilst here, he issued the prospectus of a most
gigantic work, a Bibliotheca Anglo-Saxiconica, which was
to contain not only Biowulf’s poem, with an English trans¬
lation, but Caedmon’s celebrated paraphrase of the first
book of Moses, many minor Anglo-Saxon poems and frag¬
ments, Layamon’s Old English Rhyme Chronicle, in three
volumes, and a collection of Anglo-Saxon homilies in three
other volumes. In a second visit to this country in 1831,
he explored the Anglo-Saxon manuscripts at Cambridge,
where he was introduced by Mr Babbage. But though
Grundtvig received much courtesy in this country, his great
plans received no real encouragement. Since then, Grundt¬
vig has become one of the most celebrated preachers and
sacred lyrists in Denmark.
Steen Steensen Blicher is one of the most original poets
and romance writers of Denmark. He was a clergyman,
born in Jutland in 1782, who had lived in a country of wild
heaths, sandy and heathery, and amid pine woods, studded
with ancient cairns, and his poetry and his romances breathe
their solitary and dreary spirit. Besides his tales, the earliest
of which was his Rural Dean's Diary, and his poems, the
earliest volume of which was styled Snowdrops, he trans¬
lated Ossian and The Vicar of Wakefield from the English.
Bernhard Severin Ingemann is the great romance writer Scandina-
of Denmark. He has, indeed, poured forth works of many vian ^era-
different kinds with an astonishing prodigality, and is one ^ tme’ /
of Denmark’s most voluminous writers. Poems, great and
small; psalms, hymns, and other religious lyrics; lyrical
poems of various kinds; poems, epic and dramatic; tragedies,
comedies, satires. But his great historic romances are
what give him his position of one of the greatest writers of
his country. They are read and re-read by the winter
firesides throughout the North, amid the wildest mountains
and the vastest snow-barricaded woods, in the huts of the
peasant, the hunter, and the fisherman.
Johan Ludvig Heiberg, a poet, critic, and dramatist, is
most distinguished for the introduction of the vaudeville
into Denmark, and for a new kind of play, the romantic or
fairy comedy, of which the Elves, acted in 1835, and the
Fata Morgana, in 1838, are amongst the most popular.
In 1849, he was made director of the theatre for his services
to the drama.
Madame Heiberg is one of the most distinguished ac¬
tresses in Denmark. After all, the most charming compo¬
sitions attributed to Heiberg are, Tales by the author of
Every-Day Stories ; which, however, by others are attri¬
buted to his mother, the Countess of Gyllembourg. Flie-
berg’s father, Peter Andreas Heiberg, was also a dramatic
and satiric writer, but rather French than Danish, being an
exile residing in Paris from 1800 to his death.
Amongst living writers of Denmark, the following are of
high distinction. Johan Carstens Hauch, a lyric, dramatic,
and romance writer. He was born, in 1791, in Frederiks-
hald, the son of a man of high note. He w^as himself
chiefly attached to literature, and had been professor in Kiel
and lecturer to the academy of Sorb. In his poetry there
are strong traces of the naturalist, as in his Life of
Plants. So also his romances, as Wilhelm Zabern, the
Goldmaher, and The Two Points of View. In his tra¬
gedies, which are numerous, on the contrary, there is an
equally strong tendency to metaphysical philosophizing,
to the tracing out the springs of action, yet mingled with
intense passion and scenes of exciting peril. They are more
calculated, indeed, for the deep thinker than the seeker of
light amusement.
Henrik Herz is one of Denmark’s most brilliant poets
and dramatists. It is in the latter character, however, that
he is most distinguished. He was born in 1798, and in
1827 produced anonymously the play of Herr Burckhardt
and his Family. Since then his principal productions have
been, The Flitting Day, and Emma, plays ; Love and Po¬
lice, Love's Strokes of Genius, and Debates in the Police
Friend, vaudevilles; Svend Dyring's House, a romantic
drama in five acts; and The Swan-Coat, or Swan Dis¬
guise, a romantic play, in three acts, founded on the an¬
cient sagas and viser. His most celebrated production,
however, is his lyrical drama, King Rene's Daughter, ably
translated into English by Theodore Martin.
Frederik Paludan Muller is one of the most powerful
poets of the present day. He was born in 1809, and is re¬
garded by his admirers as the Byron of Scandinavia. He
has published Four Romances, Dandserinden, a female
dance or serio-comic poem ; Cupid and Psyche, a lyrical
drama, and various other poems, lyrical and dramatic; but his
great production is Adam Homo, a poem in three volumes.
Christian Winther, is the half-brother of Paul Martin
Moller, also a poet of good standing. He is author of some
novels, and of strong and life-like poems from the old
Kampe-Viser, and the life of the people.
Caspar Johannes Boje is a clergyman, famous for his
psalms and hymns, to be found in all collections. He has
published also the following tragedies:—Svend Grathe,
King Sigurd, Queen Juta of Denmark, and Erik the
Seventh. He has issued a volume of psalms translated me-
696
Scandina¬
vian litera¬
ture.
SCANDINAVIAN LITERATURE.
trically from the Hebrew, under the name of David's
Harp, and Spiritual Poems and Songs. He is also well
known as the translator of Walter Scott’s best romances,
and as co-editor of Baggesen’s works.
Hans Christian Andersen is well known to the English
reader by his romances of The Improvisatore, O. T., and
Only a Fiddler, and his Stories and Legends for the Young,
first introduced to us by Mrs Howitt. He was born in 1805,
the son of a shoemaker in Odense, and has raised himself
to a first place in Danish literature by his talents.
To this illustrious list we could yet add a long series of
names well known and honoured in Denmark. Amongst
them Hans Peter Holst, who has published poems and ro¬
mances ; Out and Home, or his travels ; Giachino, a play;
and in the war of Holstein in 1848 stood prominently forth
as a patriot in his Little Hornhlower. Moritz Christian
Hansen, the author of various dramas, novels, tales, and
educational works. A. M. Goldschmidt, the editor of
Corsaren, the Danish Punch, and author of Jacob Bendis-
con, the Jew, a novel, &c.
Besides those who belong more particularly to the lite¬
rature, poetry, and romance of Denmark, the departments
of art, science, and antiquities boast names that deserve
more mention than we have space to give. Thorwaldsen,
the sculptor, belongs to the whole world, and will be found
in his proper biographical niche in this work. He died at
Copenhagen in 1844, aged about seventy years; and lies
buried in the centre of the museum built in his honour.
The best sculptor before Thorwaldsen was Wiedevelt,
Thorwaldsen’s master ; the greatest now are Jerichau and
Bissen, specimens of whose productions appeared in our
Great Exhibition in 1851,—by Jerichau, “ Adam and Eve,”
in plaster; “ The Hunter and Panther,” in marble: by
Bissen, “Orestes,” “Eros, or Love,” “A Fisher-Boy An¬
gling,” and a bust of Andersen.
Amongst the best painters of Denmark are Juul, Gart¬
ner, Schiitz, and others, in portrait; Horneman, in minia¬
ture portrait; Eckersberg, historical and marine painter;
Dahl, Harder, Marstrand, Simonsen, Sonne, Melby, So¬
rensen, Moller, Skovgaard, Keirskow, and Rump, in land¬
scape ; Gebauer, animal painter; Lorenzen and Stubb, in
historical portrait; Fritsch, Camradt, Martens, Jensen,
and Ottensen, flower-painters; genre painters, Schleisner
and Monnier. The wife of Jerichau, the sculptor, is a
fine portrait-painter.
In music, Hartman, Ronge, and Gade, are most distin¬
guished.
In medical science, the names of Bang, Trier, and Stien
are pre-eminent. In botany, Professor Schouw.
In philology and antiquities, no nation boasts greater
names than Rafn, Rask, Grundvig, Molbech, Finn Mag-
nusen, and Warsaae. Rask is one of the greatest philolo¬
gists that ever lived. A complete account of his travels in
discovery of ancient knowledge, and into the origin and
principles of language in Scandinavia, Lapland, Russia,
Georgia, and the regions of the Caucasus; in Persia, Tar¬
tary, India, Ceylon, Iceland, Scotland, &c\, of his grammar
ot and treatises on almost all languages, would fill volumes.
His invaluable collection of MSS., inscriptions, &c., now
belong to the library of the university of Copenhagen and
to the great Royal library.
In geography there is a name which most readers believe
to be French, Make Brun. It is, however, merely the
hrenchified name of a real Dane, Malthe Conrad Bruun,
who resided in Paris, was one of the founders of La So-
ciete de Geographic, and its secretary.
Professor Molbech is one of the northern literati whose
industry astounds us. To his Poetical Anthology and his
criticisms we are greatly indebted in this article. His great
Danish Dictionary is work enough for one life ; he is the
Johnson of Denmark ; but besides this he is the author of
a Dictionary of Danish Dialects; of a History of the Scandina-
Stuarts on the Throne of England; History of Erik Plog- vian ktera-
penning; editor and translator of various works, &c.
Of the labours of Thorlacius, Miiller, Nyerup, Finn
Magnusen, Werlauff, Simonsen, Thomson, Abrahamson,
&c., in archaeology and antiquities of the North, it is impos¬
sible to speak too highly. But for their individual labours,
as well as those of Monrad and Schlegel, we must refer to
information under their own names.
In intellectual philosophy and theology, Denmark has a
new and distinguished race of theorists, who seem by no
means inclined to follow in the German fog, mist, and
find-nothing school; on the contrary, they are of a de¬
cidedly Christian tendency. They have probed the Ger¬
man philosophy to its depths, and have drawn very different
results from their psychological researches. Amongst the
most eminent are C. F. Sibbern, author of Psychological
Pathology, and The Letters of Gabriel; the eloquent
Bishop Mynster; Grundvig, already mentioned; Marten-
sen, in his Anatomy of Self-Consciousness, &c.; and the
brothers Kierkegaard, in various works. Nor must we
close our notice without again referring to the illustrio’us
brothers Oersted, one the statesman, the other the author
of The Soul in Nature, and discoverer of electro-magnetism
in 1820, which has led to the electric telegraph, and other
wonderful results.
MODERN LITERATURE OF SWEDEN.
The ancient literature of Sweden, like that of Norway
and Denmark, was that of the common Scandinavia. Its
first independent literature, like that of those countries, con¬
sisted of the Folk-Sagor and Visor, which we have given.
During the middle ages the same causes which annihilated
the native literature of Norway and Denmark, annihilated
that of Sweden. It was the incubus of Latinity and Rome.
From the time that monkery set its foot in Sweden till the
Reformation shook its yoke from the soul of the people,
there lay a dark and barren waste of mind in which the
Visor and Sagor, circulating amongst the uneducated po¬
pulation, alone preserved the germ of intellectual life amid
woods and hills. Other causes followed in Sweden,
which retarded the revival of literature even more than in
Denmark and Norway—the deep hold which the French
influence and ideas gained there. Sweden, up to this mo¬
ment, has never developed the same vigour and varied
genius as the rest of Scandinavia. She is confessedly
neither dramatic, epic, nor, till lately, at all historic. Many
causes have been assigned by Swedish writers for this, into
which we need not here enter; the reason given by Bes-
kow, in his Reminiscences of Stjernstolpe, is sufficient. “ No
literature,” he says, “ is so poor in comic authors as the
Swedish. What is the cause? The Swedes have no
want of the love of fun or wit. But the first requisite for
the development of comic, as of all other genius, is freedom,
in the aesthetic and social meaning. Has no one, then, dis¬
covered that this may have had its influence on our dra¬
matic status ? The intolerably heavy aesthetic fetters have
only in our own day become broken ; but conventionalism,
etiquette, and the daily circumstances of social life, rule
with scarcely less vigour than formerly. We are too serious,
people say. On the contrary, we are not serious enough.
The most serious and most proud of all nations, the English
and the Spanish, possess the most splendid comic authors.”
The Swedish literary annalists divide the history of their
literature into four grand periods. First, the romantic ;
second, the Germanico-Italian, or Stjernhjelm, period of the
seventeenth century ; third, the Gallic period ; and fourth,
the new school, commencing with 1809. Over all, except
the last two periods, we may pass very cursorily, for the
reasons adduced above. The Eddaic and Visor periods are
SCANDINAVIAN LITERATURE. 697
Scandina- here already given ; the second and great part of the third
vian litera-period present nothing of great originality. The first, or
ture. romantic period, extends over the enormous space of 500
years, that is, from the introduction of Christianity, or about
the years 1000 to 1600. During this time the chief lite¬
rature was historical visor and folk-sagas, as the “ Battle
of Brunkeberg,” “ King Erik and the Fortune-telling Wo¬
man,” “ Battle of Brannkryka,” “ Gustavus and the Dale-
carlians,” “ Charles XIL’s March,” a fine song, set to a fine
air, and other ballads about Charles XIL, &c.
Amongst the first imitators of the old Folks-Visor was
Nicolaus Hermanni, bishop of Linkoping, in the thirteenth
century, who wrote the ballad of “ Elisif Eriksdotter, the
Nun.” This author, too, wrote an account of Ansgarius,
the Northern Apostle. In 1437, Bishop Thomas wrote
poems on Engelbrecht and Erik Puke; Dahstjerna, the
“ King and Sir Peter,” on the victory of Narva. Director
Odel wrote a popular song, “ Malcolm Sinclair,” and “ The
Old Hen-woman’s Song,” by Cardius, pastor of Sbderman-
land, is the Swedish literary history from Christina to Adolf
Frederick. Erik XIV., a monarch equally poetical and unfor¬
tunate, and who married Karin Mansdotter, the daughter of
a corporal, wrote some most popular songs, especially one
addressed to his low-born but admirable wife. Being im¬
prisoned by his usurping brother John, he wrote in his
prison religious hymns, and the versions of the 180th and
373d psalms in the Swedish psalm-book are by him; the
latter one a most singularly simple and touching composi¬
tion. Ericus Olai had preceded King Erik in psalmody ;
and others of that period followed in the same line. Many
nobles of that period also wrote popular love-songs;
amongst them Count John Hoya. Gustavus Adolphus
celebrated his youthful favourite, Ebba Brahe; and one of
his bravest officers, Colonel Ekebladh, wrote many lyrics in
imitation of the ancient Visor ; as “ The Five Perils of
Man”—from the caprice of great lords, from April weather,
rose-coloured garments, cards, and fair women. He wrote
also many amorous pastorals. Buraeus was the first in¬
troducer of hexameters.
The reading of this period consisted greatly of foreign
chivalric poetical romance, and Queen Euphemia of Norway
was a great translator of them; as the Charlemagne and
King Arthur romances, which were called Queen Euphe-
mia’s Visor. Then arose hosts of these, followed by
“ Ilynecke the Fox,” “ The Dance of Death,” “ Martin
Goose,” and the like. The native Folks-Sagas were as
numerous, besides the “ Childhood of Christ,” “ Judas
Iscariot,” “Pontius Pilate,” “Faust,” “ Fortunatus, ”
“ Owlinglass,” “ Baarlaam and Josaphat,” “ Blue-Beard,”
“ Master Cat,” and all the middle-age romances still read
by the German peasantry. To this literature of simplicity
and simple faith we must add that of Rhymed Chronicles,
and a species of drama much akin to Mysteries and Mora¬
lities, in which all the characters of sacred history figure ;
and others, called Ballets, resembling the English
Masques. In some of these, and especially in the play of
“ Tobit,” by Olaus Petri, written only eight years before our
Queen Elizabeth ascended the throne, we are astonished
to find the wonderful resemblance betwixt Swedish and
English, much' greater than betwixt English and Scotch of
the same period. What is remarkable is, that the sound
and spelling of the th in “the,” “ three,” and all similar words,
now quite abandoned by Swedes and Danes, and nearly all
continental nations, and so difficult of expression to fo¬
reigners, was then in full use.
SECOND SWEDISH PERIOD—THE GERMANICO-ITALIAN
SCHOOL, SEVENTEENTH CENTURY.
The Reformation in Sweden, as in other countries, put
to /light all the prognostics of its effects on poetic litera-
VOL. XIX.
ture. What many authors have asserted that Protestantism Scandina-
is founded on reason, and is therefore opposed to imagina- vian litera-
tion and poetry, soon showed its falsity. Darkness, delu- ^ ^e' 7
sion, and superstition fled, but all the elements of poetry z-*"
remained in the daylight. Nature smiled with her glorious
face into more intelligent eyes; into spirits more capable
of comprehending and loving her. Shakspeare and Milton
stand the perpetual refutations of the aspersions on Pro¬
testantism as prosaic. Here no Shakspeare arose, but the
drama was removed from the cloister and the church to its
more legitimate stage amid social life; and John Messenius
and his son Arnold, and George Stjernhjelm, improved on
what Olaus Petri had begun. The elder Messenius wrote
six dramas or comedies, as all dramas were then called,
like Dante’s. They were chiefly from the old sagas, or the
national history, as Svanhvita, Signill, Gustaf I. They
are all flat, and destitute of interest at the present day.
The younger Messenius was historiographer of the king¬
dom, and represented the whole reign of Gustaf I. in a
drama! Their cotemporaries, Prytz, bishop of Linkb-
ping; Brask, a clergyman; Hjarne, Kolmodin, and Beronius,
all wrote plays, and terminated that school. Then followed
George Stjernhjelm, who wrote dramas, lyrics, an epic and
didactic poems, and produced such an impression that he
decided the character of his country’s literature for a cen¬
tury. As he chose his subjects from the classics, he has
been considered the first classic poet of Sweden. His great
poem was “ Hercules,” in hexameters, which Hammarskold
pronounces the best poem of its kind in the Swedish lan¬
guage. He wrote besides, “ The Hanged Artrild,” “ The
Captive Cupid,” &c., &c. His works much improved the lan¬
guage. Plis chief followers were Lindskold, Rjbrk,
Wallenius, and Count Stenbock ; but the growing
influence of the Italian and German taste was now fast
prevailing.
The chief writers of the Italian school were Dahlstjerna,
who introduced the Ottova Rima; Gustaf Rosenhane, Ley-
oncrona, Rudeen, bishop of Linkbpins, Gripenhjelm, and
Liljenstedt. Of the German school, Samuel Columbus, who
published songs and epigrams, under the title of the Biblical
World; Gyllenborg, Holmstrbm, Risell, Werwing, Geisler,
and Olaf Broms. Lasse Lucidor, or Lasse Johansson, was a
wild, eccentric genius of this period, who lived like a Dio¬
genes, wrote songs and hymns, and was murdered at the age
of twenty-four. The first lady authoress of Sweden, if we
except Queen Euphemia, appeared in the person of Fru
Brenner, who, says Lenstrbm, bore fifteen children, and
wrote still more poems. Her verses related chiefly to
weddings and funeral feasts, and had the strangest and
most elaborate titles; but she was immensely popular in
her day, and was complimented by more than thirty eulo¬
gistic addresses, some of them from foreign countries.
Archbishop Haqvin Spegel was the Arreboe of Sweden.
He translated, and, the Swedes say, greatly improved Arre-
boe’s Hexamceron; but his psalms are the compositions
which give him, and justly, as the Swedish Psalm Book tes¬
tifies, his reputation in Sweden. He had read Milton, and
wrote a Paradise Lost and Found of his own, as also
a keen satire, called Sir Highmind Downfall. His dis¬
ciples in the department of sacred poetry were Olof Kol¬
modin, author of the immensely popular Voice of the Dove ;
Professor Arrhenius, Bishop Svedberg, and Jacob Frese.
Besides these, Runius, Dalius, Triewald, and Fornelius, are
names of mark of this era.
The taste and knowledge of Sweden were now fast pro¬
gressing, and they were growing familiar with the best
French, English, German, Italian, Dutch, and Danish
authors. We find them quoting Ronsard, Corneille,
Spenser, Milton, Cowley, Flemning, Cats, Vondel,
Arreboe, Kingo, Hoffmanswaldan, Lowenstein, Opitz,
Gryphius, Guarini, Boilcau, etc.
A x
698
SCANDINAVIAN LITERATURE.
Scandina- THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY—THE FRENCH SCHOOL,
vian litera- The Splen(lour and eclat of Louis XI V.’s court, and the
ture‘ y familiarity with French affairs and opinions produced by the
long war betwixt Popery and Protestantism, which was ended
by the peace of Utrecht, spread everywhere French taste
and fashion. Even England, which had so stoutly com¬
bated French domination, did not escape its contagion.
Our literature, from Pope to Cowper, bore melancholy
traces of it; Germany suffered immensely from the same
cause; and a fresh importation of the Gallo-mania was re¬
vived in Prussia by Frederick, miscalled the Great, where
Voltaire and French fashions, French vice, French atheism,
and French poetry were enthroned and worshipped amid
pigtails, powder, and jack-boots. But in no country did
this Gallic pest fall more heavily than on Scandinavia. The
Swedes divide this period into three portions:—
1. The Morning of Gallicism—The Dalin Period.
The principal writers of this period are Dalin, after whom
it is named, Fru Nordenflycht, Creutz, and Gyllenborg.
They display little originality, and there is as little pleasure
in perusing their compositions as there is in those of our
own Yaldens, Spratts, Dukes, and the like. Dalin was a
courtier and a favourite of Queen Louisa Ulrika. He
wrote an epic, Swedish Freedom., a drama, Brynhilda; a
comedy, The Envious One ; a great number of festive odes,
birth and death poems, &c. In fact, he filled all the func¬
tions of a court laureate, in effusions which have no more
value for posterity than so many old cast-off clothes. As
a prose writer he had more merit, publishing a periodical,
The Argus, in 1732, on the model of Addison’s Spectator,
which continued two years.
Hedvig Charlotte Nordenflycht was a very different per¬
son. She was the popular poetess of this period, and in a
better age would have been a better poetess, for she pos¬
sessed, in no ordinary degree, passion, feeling, and imagin¬
ation. She vented her real and her Sapphic sorrows in a
series of elegies called The Sorrowing Turtle Dove. She
wrote an idyl, Camilla, and much love poetry. She was
the centre of all literary society, and founded a literary
society, of which the queen, Louisa Ulrika, seized the idea,
and established the Academy of Literature, which lasted
till her death in 1782, and was again restored by her son,
Gustavus III., in 1786, under the title of the Academy of
Literature, History, and Antiquity.
The Counts Gyllenborg and Creutz were formed in the
school of Madame Nordenflycht. Creutz was born in Fin¬
land in 1729, and died in 1785. His best work is Atis
and Camilla. The only merit of the poem is its feeling for
nature, and its beautiful style. He wrote also a Song of
Summer, elegies, and a clever satiric poem, The Defence of
Lying. Gyllenborg’s chief works are, Songs of the Four
Seasons—for both he and Creutz had an admiration of
Thomson’s Seasons ; the Joys and Sorrows of Men, Ode
on the Power of the Soul; fables, satires, and plays. His
Tdget bfver Balt, in twelve books, is a feeble attempt at a
national epic, in the style of the Henriade. In most of his
works there is a melancholy without hope, a poison of scep¬
ticism. He was the chief poet of his time, and his poems
on the Seasons the most pleasing.
I he other writers of this first section of the century were
Wrangel, Hesselius, Celsius, Lalin, Wellander, dramatists ;
Liljestrale, Skjoldebrande, Gdstafsson, Bergestrom, narrative
poets and translators; Olof Rudbeck, Livin, Cederhjelm,
Nyren, comic and satiric writers. Mork was the great
romance writer of the time, Sweden’s first regular author of
romance. His models were Fenelon, Barclay, and Lohen-
stein; yet his productions are more numerous than read¬
able. He had imitators in Wexel and Gyllenstolpe. Palm-
felt and Nicander were translators from Virgil and others.
2. Noon of Gallicism—The Period of Gustavus and the Scandina-
Academy. vian ^tera
ture.
Gustavus HI. was a great patron of literature and an v ^  j
author himself, but unfortunately educated in the French
taste, and thus only contributed more firmly to fix that taste
on his country. Still, in some respects, Swedish literature
owes much to Gustavus. He encouraged polish of style,
and discouraged coarseness and grossness. Of this mid¬
day of the Gallic era, Gustavus, Kellgren, Leopold, and
Oxenstjerna are the chiefs. Gustavus, following in the
steps of his mother Ulrika, and by the advice of his tutor
Tessin, established the Swedish Academy of Literature in
1786. He wrote a number of dramas, the chief of which
are Gustavus Wasa, Gustavus Adolphus and Ebha Brahe,
Siri Brahe, Hdmfelt, Gustavus Adolphus’s Magnanimity,
Frigga, a comedy; The Jealous Neapolitan, Alexis Mi-
chaelovitsch, Natalia Narischkin, &c. These dramas were in
prose, and are still read with interest; but he had several
of them thrown into the form of operas by Kellgren and
Leopold, by which they only lost their freshness and ori¬
ginality, and the prose ones are still preferred. Kellgren
was born in 1741 and died in 1795. He was the best
lyric poet of the period. He commenced the Stockholm
Post in 1777, with his friend, Carl Lenngren, which exer¬
cised a powerful influence for nearly fifty years. He was a
witty and keen satirist, as is evidenced by his Enemies of
Light, My Laughter, Man only a Genius when Mad.
He wrote operas which did not equal his lyrics. Kellgren
showed unmistakably symptoms of a tendency to back out
of the bondage of the French school. On studying the
German literature, he began to suspect that his literary
career had been an error ; and on reading Klopstock’s Mes¬
siah, he declared that he had lived in vain.
Carl Gustav Leopold, after the death of Kellgren, was
at the head of the literary world of Denmark during the
remainder of the century. He was born in 1756 and died
in 1829. His works fill six volumes, including almost every
species of poetry but the epic; but he is best known by
his dramas and miscellaneous poems.
Johan Gabriel Oxenstjerna, born in 1750, became a mar¬
shal of the kingdom, and died in 1818. He was a wonder¬
ful admirer of our Thomson, and wrote in imitation the
Harvest, and the Hours of the Day, which, spite of the
faults of the age, display living pictures of country life in
Sweden, much idyllic beauty, and homely, attractive grace.
He also translated Milton and Tasso ; the first remarkably
well, the latter indifferently.
The other writers of this period are Johan Stenhammar
and Isaac Blom ; Axel Silverstolpe; Sjoberg, who culti¬
vated the English taste; Edelcrantz, who translated “ God
Save the King.”
TERMINATION OF THE FRENCH SCHOOL IN SWEDEN.
This was properly a transition period. The day of
French taste was drawing to an end. The French Revolu¬
tion, by its startling events, was in fact most powerfully
destructive of French taste. Voltaire, the author of the
miserable Henriade, by his other writings was preparing a
mine which, in its explosion, broke the intellectual fetters
of other nations. In England, the process of literary
revolution dates still earlier, from Bishop Percy’s Rehques,
in 1765. In Germany, similar innovations date from
Klopstock; in Denmark, Steffens carried about the new
German fire ; and in Sweden the same spirit was stirring
in Bellman, Hallman, and numbers of others before the
French Revolution broke out. That world-awakening
carried on and completed the change. Not only Bellman
and Hallman, but Kexel, Wallenberg, Lidner, 1 horild,
and Madame Lenngrem, at this period, in songs, lyrics,
dramas, and others compositions, drew their spiritual life
SCANDINAVIAN LITERATURE. 699
Scandina- from the people, and startled and exasperated the orthodox
vian litera- dulness of the academy.
ture- Carl Michael Bellman is the Anacreon of Sweden. He
is the pride of his countrymen and the puzzle of foreigners.
His songs, which are chiefly bacchanalian and describe
the people in their tavern life, have a wonderful joviality
and power of language ; but much of the charm of his
compositions is lost to all but Sweden. There can be no
translation of such lyrics as “ Up, Amaryllis!” “Drink out
thy glass, see Death awaits thee “ Mark how our shadow,
mark, Moritz, my brother;” “ Ulla, my Ulla!” etc., etc.
Bellman was born in 1740, and died in 1795.
Carl Israel Hallman wrote comedies and farces, often
coarse but full of Swedish folk-life. His vaudeville of
Opportunity makes the Thief, is still extremely popular on
the stage. He drew his characters from the same class as
Bellman.
Olaf Kexel lived a gay, vagabond life, and found a home
in a debtor’s prison. He wrote comedies, and re-wrote
those of others, as Captain Puff, and Michael Wingler,
which still are admired.
Carl Envalson, a writer of numerous plays, Schroderheim,,
Lannerstjerna, and Holthusen, were popular in their day.
A much more remarkable writer was Jacob Wallenberg, a
witty dramatic author and traveller. He wrote merry
sketches on an Indian voyage, My Son in the Galley, or
All Sorts of Ink-horn Wares ; and an equally amusing
visit to London, where he saw and described Wilks, in
London in George Ill’s reign, as seen by a Swede.
Lidner and Thorild were men of a totally different
character, grave, philosophic, and almost wholly of the new
school. Lidner wrote Medea, a tragedy; The Messiah ;
The Last Judgment, etc., but with a pure and a fiery glow,
which denoted the coming change. Thorild was from
head to foot a man of the new ideas. His nature was
revolutionary. In the face of the court and academy he
maintained the merits of Ossian, Klopstock, and Goethe.
He was a master in prose, published a Critique on
Mo?itesquieu, studied law in England for two years, and in
1798 was banished for four years for a work On the Freedom
of the Understanding. His poems, the Gothmanna Songs,
The Passions, and Pleasures of the Imagination, have
much merit. Swedish literature, in fact, is greatly indebted
to Thorild for the spirit of manly freedom, and the sound
principles of taste which he infused into it. Enbom and
Engzell were followers of Thorild.
But perhaps the most interesting character of the close
of the last and the opening of the present century in
Sweden is Anna Maria Lengren. She was born in 1754,
married Carl Lengren, counsellor of Commerce in 1780,
and died in 1817. She commenced her literary career by
the translation of some operas; but her original poems,
contained in one small unpretending volume, are what will
for ever secure her a place amongst the classical writers of
her country. She is the Miss Bremer of Sweden in
poetry. Her poems are, in fact, Swedish domestic life in
all its varieties and all its charms.
Fru Widstrdm was another lady poetess of this time, of
a more sentimental mood.
Amongst other writers of the period were Paykull,
Boman, Regner, and Adlerbeth, chiefly known as trans¬
lators of the classics ; Stjernstolpe and Skjoldebrand,
translators and original writers ; Wallerius, a song-writer,
the Tom Moore of his day, who was in much request at
dinner and other parties for his fine voice and singing of
his own songs ; Chorseus, Kullberg, and Lindegren, poets
of a grave caste ; a second Kullberg, who wrote after-
pieces for the theatres ; Granberg, Alten, Nordforss,
Becker, and Wallmark, names of merit; and Ehrensvard
and Hoijer, men of profound philosophical merits. Ehrens¬
vard was an admiral, and wrote on esthetics in a deep and
original manner, on what he called the free arts—archi- Scandina-
tecture, sculpture, painting, and poetry—because they are vlan lltera-
not based on our necessities, but spring out of the love v ture‘ ,
and desire of beauty. Hoijer followed up Ehrensvard’s * v ^
views by establishing a Literary Gazette, to diffuse ideas
on art and true beauty in literature; but he was prohibited
from proceeding by the king, who declared that he would
only have one literary journal in Sweden, and put it into
the hand of Wallmark.
THE NEW SCHOOL, COMMENCING IN 1809.
Whilst in England, Germany, and Denmark the new
literature was progressing rapidly; whilst in Germany,
philosophy, through Kant, Fichte, and Schelling, had
acquired a profounder field of labour, more extended views
of science and art, and the latter, through the works
of Winkelmann, Lessing, Herder, Goethe, and Schiller,
became more correctly understood ; and the Schlegels,
Tieck, and Novalis, made the public familiar with the
beauties of art in the middle ages in other towns and other
countries,—the Swedish academy still contended stoutly
against the new spirit of the age. Though Oelenschlager,
following Evald, and stimulated by Steffens, was producing
new creations of beauty in Denmark from its ancient myths ;
though the spirit-destroying doctrines of the French Ency¬
clopaedists had failed of its object, religion had received a
new impulse, natural philosophy taken a healthier tone, his¬
tory was liberated from the chains of rhetoric, and every¬
where men were crying out for fact, reality, practical virtue,
and freedom, the academy stood fast, resisting all innova¬
tion. Fortunately a political revolution gave freedom of
the press, and effected the necessary revolution in mind.
“ The Friends of Literature,” an association formed in
Upsala some years before, including some of the leading
critics of Sweden, in 1807, resolved itself into a new league
called the Aurora League, and the first men of the move¬
ment flocked into it. In 1809, on the establishment of
the freedom of the press, the effect of this association was
seen. A new journal, The Polypheme, edited by Askelof,
was issued, which made determined war on the old school.
In 1810 also appeared the Lyceum, and in the same year
Phosphorus, the organ of the Aurora League, with Atter-
bom at its head. This journal became famous, and the
disciples of the now triumphant new school eventually
settled into the three sects of Phosphorists, a Romantic
school, the Gothic school, and the Miscellaneous school,
but all more or less of the romantic character. Two
writers are considered to constitute a class of themselves :
Phosphorists, yet having traces of the past school about
them, amidst all their beauty and freedom, and not entirely
classable with the sects which afterwards arose. These
were Franzen and Wallin.
Franz Michael Franzen was born at Uleaborg in Finland,
in 1772, and was educated at Abo. He travelled into
most European countries, England included, and rose
through different preferments from librarian to the uni¬
versity of Abo to the bishopric of Hernosand, where he
died in 1847. Franzen resembles Wordsworth in the
simplicity of his subjects, drawn from lowly life and open
nature. There is in him the same wise and almost child¬
like nature. The Swedes have noticed the resemblance. It
is the idyllic and lyric in which he is most at home. He
wrote several larger works, Emile, or an Evening in
Lapland, new and striking; Columbus, an unfinished epic ;
Gustavus Adolphus in Germany, an epic fragment in
twenty cantos; Svante Sture, a romance in the school of
Walter Scott; Julia de St Julian, a poetic story; The
Murder on Elgarbs, a drama, etc. But it is not on these,
but on his small poems that rests his fame.
Wallin, the archbishop of Sweden, was born in 1779, and
SCANDINAVIAN LITERATUKE.
Scandina- died in 1839. He is the greatest religious poet of his country,
vian litera- He wrote much miscellaneous lyrical poetry; but they are his
ture, hymns, of which seventy-six are included in the new Swedish
v—Psalm-book, which have given him his unparalleled repu¬
tation as a sacred poet. He is styled the Davids Haip
of the North,” and truly was an archbishop in song as well
as in station. His hymns are more truly grand anthems
and relmious poems. The same characteristics marked his
preaching and his speeches. His sermons, like his psalms,
are said to have no parallel in the Swedish language.
THE PHOSPHOTtTSTS.
Atterbom, Hammarskold, and Palmblad were the chiefs
of this sect, but Atterbom was its head and founder. In
Polypheme, in Phosphorus, and other publications, he led
the attack on the academy and the old French school.
But in aiming at being romantic, the new school became
too romantic; they became fantastic. In Atterbom’s
“ Island of Blessedness,” and his “ Flowers,” we are carried
back to the allegories of Fletcher’s “Purple Island” and
Darwin’s “ Loves of the Plants.” His productions are warm
and sunny, but want substance and reality. In the former
mentioned, and in “The Blue Bird,” there are splendid pas¬
sages, but as wholes they are heavy. Atterbom was born
in 1790. In later life he became reconciled to the
academy, and grew conservative through his connection
with court. The results of his university teaching are
several works on history, A System of Philosophy; The
Swedish Seers and Poets, etc.; amongst the latter standing
pre-eminent Swedenborg and Ehrensvard. This work, in
fact, contains some of the best accounts we have of Swedish
writers. His poems were published in two volumes in 1836.
Hammarskdld was born in 1785, and died in 1827. Be¬
sides being one of the ablest antagonists of the academicians,
he was one of the ablest critics and historians of Sweden.
His poems and tales are of little value, but his histories of
Swedish literature, of the plastic arts, and philosophy, have
given him great and just fame.
Palmblad besides being a very caustic critic, was the
author of the first Swedish novel Amala, an Eastern story,
of Castle Stjernborg, Areshutan, and The Island in the
Lake of Dali. He translated portions of Homer, /Eschylus,
and Sophocles.
Of this same school is Anders Fryxell, a poet, and au¬
thor of an admirable History of Sweden, under the name
of Narratives out of the History of Sweden. Adolf Iwar
Arvidsson is a distinguished poet, and editor of Early
Sivedish Ballads, in 2 vols. Besides these are many names
—Elgstrom, Ingelgren, Sonden, Zeipel,B6rjeson, Rydquist,
editor of Heimdall, and translator of Moore’s Irish Melodies.
Hedborn, Graftstrom, and the Countess d’Albedyhl, all
more or less distinguished in poetry and literature. Fru
Kerstin Nyberg is a popular poetess, the L. E. L. of Sweden.
Her poems have appeared under the nom de plume of
Euphrosyne.
THE GOTHIC SCHOOL—TEGNER, GEIJEE, &C.
legner and Geijer, the two greatest names of Swedish
literature, stand at the head of a section of the literary
world so-called, because they adopted a more general taste
than the phosphorists, whom they deemed too one-sided,
and condemnatory of much in the old school which had
merit. I hey approved of the reform, but denounced the
bitter spirit in which it was prosecuted. Instead of adopt¬
ing what was merely national, they extended their range
of sympathy over the whole Gothic race. Hence their
name.
Geijer was the son or an iron-founder in Wermland. Born
in 1783, he studied in Upsala, visited England in 1809, and
became professor of history in Upsala in 1817. He ori- Scandina-
ginated the Gothic school in the Iduna, and perceiving vian litera.
that Atterbom and the Romanticists were fast merging into ture-
German idealism, he took fresh and more solid ground,
He produced some of the most admirable poems in the
language on this principle, “ The Last Scald,” The Viking,”
and “ The Last Champion,” in the style and spirit of the
ancient Visor. He is known equally as a poet, a musician,
and a historian. Like Bellman, he has written the music
to many of his small poems, and some of. them expressly
for Jenny Lind. But his Chronicles of Sweden, Svea
Pikes Ilafder, are the grand monument of his fame.
Sweden has many poets, but only one Geijer. He was
writing also a Lesser History of Sweden at the time of
his death, 1847. His great work, too, remains a Titanic
fragment.
Elias Tegner, the greatest poet of Sweden, was, like
Geijer, a native of Wermiand. His principal poems are,
“ Prestvigning, or Consecration to the Priesthood;” “ Nat-
tvardsbarnen;” “ The Young Communicants,” well translated
by Longfellow, and “ Frithiofs Saga,” found on the old
saga of Frithiof and Ingeborg, the nearest approach to an
epic poem which Sweden has yet achieved. Though not
a regular epic, for it is rather a bundle of lyrical poems
woven into one epic cycle, it is yet a complete and great
poem. It abounds with innovations, not only every book
being in a different metre, but the dramatic dialogue being
introduced in the midst of the narrative. The success
with which the poet has achieved these innovations prove
that there is no reason in nature why poets, any more than
architects, should slavishly adhere to Grecian models. We
have had five or six translations of “ Frithiof,” none of which
give any conception of the exquisite beauty and splendour
of the original. His minor poems are full of beauty, life, and
variety. His “ Gotha Lion” is the national song, and is
set to fine music.
The other chief poets of the Gothic school are Ling,
Afzelius, Nicander, Von Beskow, and Lindblad, and they
show the system run to ripest seed.
H. P. Ling, w ho died in 1839, was an eccentric man, who
wrote tw'o tedious epics, “ The Asar” and “ Tirfing.” the
former of which Lenstrom compliments as “ the most long-
winded poem in the language.” Elis dramas, nine in num¬
ber, are equally heavy, but his lyrics are first-rate. The
choruses in his dullest dramas are masterpieces. Ling,
however, is more famous as a gymnast than as a poet. He
introduced the ancient classical system of gymnastics as a
means of restoring the northern race to its ancient vigour,
and raised it to an effective branch of medical manipulation.
Afzelius, a lyric poet of the same school, was led into the
same extravagances by the overstrained admiration of the
old Northern. In his own proper lyric element, Afzelius is
admirable, like Ling. His most popular original poems are
“ The Neck’s Polska,” “ The Neck” being a popular water-
spirit of the North; and “ Tomtarne,” the Hobgoblins.
But Afzelius has still higher claims on his country’s regard.
With Rask, he translated Samund’s Edda into Swedish ;
with Geijer, he collected the Ancient Folk-Visor, in 3
vols.; and afterwards himself published, under the title of
Svenska Folkets Sagohcfder, a history of Sweden drawn
from the traditions of the people.
Karl August Nicander, who died in 1839, was rather an
Italian than a Gothic poet. Like many Scandinavians, he
had a passion for Italy, and many of his poems are quick¬
ened and coloured by the South. Yet he wrote the Pune-
Sword, a tragedy, and translated Othello and Schiller’s
Maid of Orleans. In fact, in Nicander there is more grace
and colour than substance.
Bernhard von Beskow, besides being the author of various
original poems, has produced a series of dramas, which are
the nearest approach to regular acting dramas which Swe-
Scandina¬
vian litera¬
ture.
SCANDINAVIAN LITERATURE. 701
den possesses. The chief of these are the tragedies of
Erik XIV., Hildegarde, TorJiel Knutson, and King Birger
and his Race. His opera, The Troubadour, was set to
music by the present king of Sweden.
Assar Lindblad, a clergyman of Scania, is a disciple of
Tegner; his poems display much genius.
POETS BELONGING GENERALLY TO THE NEW SCHOOL.
There are a number of poets belonging to the new
school, yet who differ as much from each other as they do
from Pliosphorists and Goths, so that they cannot be very
regularly classed. Prominent amongst these are Stagnelius,
Almquist, and Runeberg, with others of more or less mark.
The greatest of these poets is perhaps Stagnelius, though
Runebenr treads closely in his steps.
Erik Johan Stagnelius is a genuine modern gnostic.
His poetry is as fully and as positively the enunciation of
gnosticism as ever were the preachings of the old Syrian and
Egyptian speculative Christians. Suffering himself in a
sickly and torturing body, and with a soul longing intensely
for liberation, he held, with the gnostic sect, the belief,
inherited from Plato and Pythagoras, that souls are here cast
into prison for their past sins, and that Christ is the libe¬
rator from this captivity. All his poems, the “ Cydippe,” the
“ Narcissus,” the “ Bacchantes,” “ Proserpina,” and “ Sved-
ger,”are based on this faith, and are eloquent with the pas¬
sion of a deep and divine sorrow. They are amongst the most
spiritual poems ever written, and abound with word-paint¬
ings, that remind us of the old Byzantine pictures, with their
devotional figures and golden back-grounds. Stagnelius
was born in 1793, and died in 1828. Besides the works
mentioned, he published Women of the North ; Wladimir,
a fine heroic poem in hexameters; and the Martyrs, i.e.,
Vivia Perpetua and her Companions, a masterly produc¬
tion ; but they are his “ Lilies of Sharon,” which distinguish
him from all other Swedish poets, and place him amongst
the greatest intellectual poets of any country.
J. C. L. Almquist is one of the most extraordinary cha¬
racters as well as writers of Sweden. His productions are
most voluminous, and on almost every subject. Professing
to teach the practical duties of life, he has contrived to fly
off into the strangest speculations and vagaries conceivable.
Poetry, romance, philosophy, the drama, elementary trea¬
tises, and startling projects, have poured from his pen
with a wonderful abundance. That he possesses real ge¬
nius is undoubted, but it appears a genius allied to mad¬
ness, if not to something worse. In fact, wre suspect Alm¬
quist to be a character of no ordinary kind, and his more
recent proceedings put this even beyond suspicion. He has
written legends of New Holland, and a life of Hector; on
the condition of the poor in Sweden ; on the honour of la¬
bour ; and in advocacy of education. He is the champion
of progress and of improvement of the social condition. He
has written Writings for the People, The Gospel of Health,
The Prop of Man, religious treatises ; and along with these,
others sapping the foundations of all morals, especially
female ones. In his notorious novel, Bet gar an, a phrase
equivalent to Ca Ira, he has advocated the loosest notions
regarding marriage. He has written the most extravagant
stories, as Shallnora Mill, and Ramido Marinesco, the in¬
famous son of the infamous Don Juan ; and the wildest
fictions in his Tornrosens Booh mingled masses of extra¬
vagance and beauty, or Schems-el-Nihar, a Nubian epic;
Isodorus of Tadmor; the Wolfs Daughter, &c. At one time
he proposed, like Southey, a Pantisocracy, called the
“ New Man-home Confederacy,” and set the example by
going off into the primeval forests of Wermland, living in
a turf-cabin, clothing himself in home-spun, and eating
porridge with a wooden spoon. At length, in 1851, having
robbed an acquaintance of a large amount, he poisoned
him, and got off to the Great Exhibition of London, and Scandina-
thence to America, to the horror and indignation of all vian litera-
Sweden. ture-
The distinguished modern poets of Sweden are Vitalis,
Livijn, Dahlgren, and Fahlcrantz. Livijn is also a dis¬
tinguished novelist, and Fahlcrantz a celebrated wit, though
the bishop of Westerns. There are also Wadman, Ingel-
man, Wieselgren, Bottiger, and others. But we can only
devote a more particular notice to Johan Ludvig Runeberg,
a Finn by birth, but who writes in Swedish, his subjects
being, however, Finnish ; and they bring us at once into a
perfectly new field of life. Finland has its own vein of
poetry, though it cannot be said to have a national litera¬
ture. It has for ages existed under foreign masters; there
could, therefore, be no national literature, yet it has a
native poetry. Amid its solitary forests, its wide, dark
moorlands, its lonely lakes, it was impossible that poetry
should not visit the people under their invasions and suffer¬
ings from both climate and men. Finland has its own my¬
thology, totally different from that of Scandinavia. There
we have no longer Odin, Thor, Balder, Braga, and the rest;
but Ukko, the mightiest of heaven’s powers, thunders
from the purple cloud; Ahti is the god of the sea, Well-
amo his goddess ; Kalma, the monarch of death ; and Wai-
nambinen, the god of song, sings through the woods and
by the streams the deeds of their gods and heroes; of
Kullervo, the son of Kaleva, the great ancestor of all Fin¬
nish heroes. The Finns have their songs of the maidens, of
the herdsmen, of their social festivities, songs of the cradle,
and of the stern and stirring passages of life. They have
always had their popular poets, and sing in a metre peculiar
to the country, one form of which has been borrowed by
Longfellow in his song of Hiaumtha.
Runeberg is a genuine Finnish poet; he has thrown into
his poetry all the wild and melancholy character of his
country, and has mingled with it a deep feeling of its suffer¬
ings and its wrongs. He indulges in no morbid feelings of
his own, but he is baptized with the spirit of his country
and countrymen by the reflection, over those brute but over¬
whelming forces of the demi-savage Muscovite, which have
torn his native land as a prey from its old and cherished
associations, and made it an appanage of a vast, dominant,
but unamalgamated empire. These feelings break forth in
the Stories of Ensign Stdl. No Northern poet has em¬
bodied in his compositions more poetry in the highest sense,
—the genuine expression of the human heart in all its joys,
troubles, and passions.
Amongst the remaining poets, Wieselgren has also writ¬
ten a History of Swedish Literature, to the close of the six¬
teenth century. Besides those mentioned, there are Ruda;
Olof Fryxell, brother of the historian ; Hedborn ; Ad-
lersparre; Braun; Lindeblad ; Ridderstad; Satherberg;
Blanche, a vaudeville writer ; Strandberg, the poet of free¬
dom ; Malmstrbm; Nybom ; and Bergman ; Gosselman, a
naval officer and traveller; Unge, also officer and traveller,
a humorous poet; Sturzenbecher, a brilliant writer of the
Fleine school; Carlen, the husband of the novelist; Nervan-
der, translator of poetry of King Ludvig of Bavaria; W enn-
strbm, Goransson, and numbers of rising men ; Hagbart, the
excellent translator of Shakspeare, in twelve volumes, which
he has presented to the Shakspeare Society in England.
THE ROMANCE AND NOVEL WRITERS OF SWEDEN.
Whilst the literature of Sweden is almost wholly modern,
its romance and novel literature is especially so. Mbrk,
about the middle of the eighteenth century, was the first to
cultivate prose fiction. Fiis models were Fenelon, Lowen-
stein, and Barclay; his productions were heavy, bombas¬
tic, diffuse, and monotonous. Their titles indicate their
character, as The Romance of Adalrih and Gothilda%
702 S C A
Scapula. JEugenia, or the Bewildered Well-meaning One. He died
in 1.763. From that period to the end of the century the
country was inundated with foreign romances. La ton-
taine’s Wood Child, Subterranean Burial Vault, &c., cost
more tears and candle-ends than can be well counted. But
all this unsound stuff had its day. Hobgoblins, like other
horrors, vanished ; interesting robbers ceased to show them¬
selves after Rinaldini; even Kotzebue’s monstrosities grew
insipid. Palmblad and Cederborg then introduced some¬
thing more real and amusing. Cederborg became the most
popular. His Uno von Trasenberg and Otto Trailing
were much of the Tom Jones school; but his novels, which
passed rapidly through numerous editions, abounded with
real Swedish life and characters, and are read by many with
pleasure. He was the Dickens of Sweden of his day. In
1843 he published a new edition of his works. Walberg
was a disciple of Cederborg, in Uggelvik’s Ball, and the
writers of Fuselbrenner, Baron Dolk, &c. Two lady novel¬
ists also appeared, Frbken R* * * and Frbken Cronhjelm,
but of no great note. G. W. Gumselius, who wrote Thord
Bonde, in imitation of Walter Scott, was the first historic
romance writer. Clas Livijn, the poet, Count Peter Sparre,
“ O. K.,” author of Snapphanarne, &c., and Mellin, are all
novelists of note. Mellin has also written a History of
Sweden for Ladies. We have already spoken of Almquist’s
romances; and we may mention the names of Mamsell
Stahlberg and Mina Grbnwall, as well as Kullberg, author
of Gustavus III. and his Court.
But now appeared Sweden’s great novelist, Miss Bremer,
whose works are so well known to England, through Mrs
Howitt’s translations, that we need only mention them.
Besides her novels, Fredrika Bremer has published her
Homes in the New World. Her success called forth two
other ladies in the same department of literature who have
become famous,—the Baroness Knorring and Emily Carlen.
The Baroness Knorring, now deceased, is the George Sand
of Sweden, exhibiting much of his genius and of his
peculiar notions. One of her stories, Torparen, or the
Peasant and his Landlord, is a masterly production. Emily
Carlen is perhaps a more prolific writer than Miss Bremer,
and enjoys great popularity in Sweden ; it has been said a
greater popularity than Miss Bremer. This is not the case.
Professor Lenstrom, the historian of Swedish literature, pro¬
nounces his verdict in a few decisive words:—“Fredrika
Bremer is Sweden’s greatest female writer of romance
and Dr Sturzenbecher says, “ she has carried our native
literature farther than any of our literary notabilities before.”
Besides these, Sweden possesses other distinguished living
writers of fiction. Wetterbergh, who writes under the
name of Uncle Adam ; Engstrom, who exposes the vast in¬
equalities of society ; Snellman, a Finn ; De Geer, a mem-
S C A
her of a noble family and a government official, who writes Scar-
under the initials “ S. H. T.Odman, a professor of Upsala ; borough,
and Crusenstolpe and Lindeberg, two of Copenhagen’s most
brilliant journalists, who are equally celebrated in fiction.
Here we close our sketch of the literature of Scandina¬
via. It is but a sketch—a mere outline—of the mass of
literary, poetical, and imaginative wealth spread over the
northern lands of our stalwart forefathers ; and it would be
unjust not to add that in all other branches of letters, in
science, in art, the drama, in jurisprudence, in philosophy,
Scandinavia stands on a fair eminence, and promises in a few
years to assume a position challenging comparison with any
country of Europe. Let the reader turn over the Swedish
Biographical lexicon, or Lenstrom’s Synopsis of the Lite¬
rature and Art of Sweden, his Poesiens Historie, the Nor-
disk Conversations Lexicon, now publishing in Copenhagen,
and similar works, and see what hosts of able authors in
every species of intellectual activity present themselves;
that whole libraries have been accumulated under their
hands, in all sciences,—history, philology, theology, antiqui¬
ties, every branch of natural and moral philosophy, and
every kind of miscellaneous literature. Look, back through
the past, what world-wide names ! Puffendorf, the author
oi Jus Naturce et Gentium, and other works, philosophic
and historic. Linnaeus, Swedenborg, who would have taken
one of the highest places as a discoverer in science had he
not stood forward as a great theologic seer. The names
of Scheele and Berzelius are familiar to all chemical stu¬
dents. In history, Sweden presents great names, from Saxo
Grammaticus to Geijer, Fryxell, and Strinholm, author of
the History of the Vikings. In literary history, Hammar-
kold, Wieselgren, and Lenstrom. In contemporary art,
Bystrom, Gbthe, and Fogelberg, as sculptors, are eminent
names ; in painting of different kinds, Sodermark in por¬
trait, Sandberg in portrait and historic painting, Morner,
historic painter, Dahlgren, and others. Froken Rothkirch
is distinguished in portrait, and Fahlcranz in landscape
painting from northern scenery, in which department ladies
have also distinguished themselves, as Evelina Stading and
Mamsell Limnell. Besides these, Julin, Ezdorff, Heidec-
ken, Soderberg, the Anckarswards, one an animal painter;
Kylberg, a painter of humorous subjects ; Lauraeus, a
Finnish painter; and many others, deserve particular
notice. The great names in all these departments of art
and science belonging to Norway and Denmark we have
already mentioned. The more we study the literature of
these nations, the more we shall perceive traces of our real
ancestry, and that we have yet kindred in the North who
are essentially worthy of being known where Canute the
Great once reigned. (w. H—t.)
SCAPULA, John, was born probably at Lausanne to¬
wards the end of the sixteenth century, and studied at
Lausanne. His name is recorded in the annals of litera¬
ture, neither on account of his talents, nor learning, nor
virtuous industry, but for a gross act of disingenuity and
fraud which he committed against an eminent literary cha¬
racter of the sixteenth century. Being employed by Henry
Stephens as a corrector of his press while he was publishing
his Thesaurus Linguce Grcecce in 1572, Scapula extracted
those words and explications which he reckoned most useful,
comprised them in one volume, and published them as an
original work, with his own name. This book appeared in
15/9, and bore the title of Lexicon Grceco Latinum. The
compilation and printing of the Thesaurus had cost Stephens
immense labour and expense; but it was so much admired
by those learned men to whom he had shown it, and seemed
to be of such essential importance to the acquisition of the
Greek language, that he reasonably hoped his labour would
be crowned with honoui', and that the money he had ex¬
pended would be repaid by a rapid and extensive sale. But
before his work came abroad, Scapula’s abridgment appeared,
which, from its size and price, was quickly purchased, while
the Thesaurus itself lay neglected in the author’s hands.
The consequence was a bankruptcy on the part of Stephens,
while he who had occasioned it was enjoying the fruits of
his treachery. Scapula’s Lexicon was afterwards enlarged,
and published in folio; and has gone through several edi¬
tions, while the valuable work of Stephens has never been
reprinted. Its success is, however, not owing to its supe¬
rior merit, but to its moderate price and commodious size.
SCARBOROUGH, a seaport and market-town, muni¬
cipal and parliamentary borough of England, in the North
Riding of Yorkshire, 39 miles N.E. of York, and 217 N.
of London. It occupies a fine situation, on the shore of the
S C A
S C A
703
Scar- German Ocean, along a semicircular bay, protected on the
borough. N. and N.E. by steep heights, crowned by the old castle.
Originally built close to the sands, it now extends for some
distance up the slope behind, the houses rising in succes¬
sive tiers one above another. The upper and more mo¬
dern part of the town is very handsome, consisting of broad,
well-paved streets, lined with elegant houses. There are
many public buildings, some of which are remarkable for
beauty. Among them are a town-hall, jail, and custom¬
house. Very conspicuous is a fine circular edifice, in the
classical style, recently built for the accommodation of a
museum, which forms a valuable collection, illustrative of
the geology and natural history of the county. The ancient
but now dilapidated castle stands on a cliff from 300 to 330
feet high, and is still used for barracks; and protects the
town and harbour by means of three batteries. It formerly
covered 19 acres, and w^as accessible only from the west.
The massive square keep, and parts of the gate barbican,
and ditch, are still to be seen. The old church of St Mary
occupies the site of a former Cistercian priory, of which
some portions of the crypt and one of the ancient towers
still remain. Christ Church is a fine Gothic edifice, erected
in 1828. The Established Church have also a chapel of
ease; and there are other places of wmrship belonging to
various sects, of Methodists, Baptists, Independents, Qua¬
kers, Christian Brethren, and Homan Catholics. Educa¬
tion is well provided for by a grammar school, with thirty
scholars in 1854, a Lancasterian school, national schools,
and others of various kinds. There are also two public
libraries, and a mechanics’ institution; besides the museum
already mentioned. The charitable institutions comprise—
alms-houses, a poor-house, and a seamen’s hospital. Scar¬
borough owes its prosperity chiefly to its mineral wells and
to its advantages tor sea-bathing, which render it a favourite
place of resort for summer visitors. There are two mineral
springs, the north and the south, differing somewhat in
their chemical ingredients. They have long been in high
repute as beneficial to invalids. A large castellated salooh
has been erected at the place wdiere these springs rise, at
the foot of the cliff near the sea. This place is separated
from the town by a ravine 400 feet wide, which is spanned
by a handsome iron bridge of 4 arches, supported on piers
75 feet high. The amusement and recreation of the visitors
are provided for by a theatre, assembly-rooms, news-rooms,
and public gardens. Ship-building is largely carried on at
Scarborough, as well as the manufacture of ropes and
sail-cloth; but these branches of industry have in recent
times considerably declined. The herring fishery, during
its season, employs many boats belonging to the town, and
there are several coal mines in the neighbouring country.
The harbour is of some importance, as it is the only good one
between Whitby and the mouth of the Humber. It has two
piers ; and though the entrance is narrow, it is commodious
and safe. Scarborough was made a bonding port in 1841:
it has bonding warehouses and a lighthouse. Some foreign
trade is carried on, chiefly with the Baltic, Holland, and
Portugal; iron, timber, hemp, flax, wine, and brandy, being
the chief articles imported. There is also some coasting
trade. The number of sailing vessels registered at the
port, December 31, 1857, was 299; tonnage, 36,470: of
steam vessels, 3 ; tonnage, 452. In that year the number
of vessels that entered the port, all sailing vessels, was 330;
tonnage, 20,788: those that cleared, also all sailing vessels,
were 46; tonnage, 2271. Scarborough is governed by a
mayor, 6 aldermen, and 12 councillors ; and returns 2 mem¬
bers to parliament. The town is believed to be ancient, on
account of its name, which is Saxon, signifying the fortified
rock; and it was at one time strongly defended by walls,
moat, and earthen ramparts. The castle must have been
a place of great strength before the use of gunpowder;
and even during the civil Avar it held out for a long time
against the parliamentary forces. It was dismantled under Scarlatti,
the Commonwealth, but partially repaired again at the
time of the rebellion in 1745. Pop. (1851) 12,915. "
SCARLATTI, Alessandro, one of the greatest among
musicians, was born at Trapani, in Sicily, in 1659, and died
at Naples, on 24th October 1725, aged sixty-six years, as is
shown by the inscription on his tomb in the church ot the
Carmelites of Monte-Santo. Who were his early instruc¬
tors in music is not known. It seems hardly possible that
he should have studied under Carissimi, at Rome, as has been
so often said; because when Scarlatti was fifteen years old,
Carissimi was ninety-four. Scarlatti visited Rome in 1680,
but it is not probable that Carissimi was then living. In
that year, his first opera, UOnestd Nell' Amore, was per¬
formed at the court of Christina of Sweden. It has been said
that another opera of his was performed in the same year at
the court of Munich ; but it appears that no opera ot Scar¬
latti’s was performed there before 1721. His opera, Pompeo,
was performed at the court of Naples on 30th January
1684. After that we learn nothing of his proceedings until
1693, when he composed the oratorio, I dolori di Maria
sempre Vergine, and the opera, Theodora, performed at
Rome. In this opera he gave the first example of a da
capo ; a form adopted by other composers, and employed
tor many years afterwards. He introduced another novelty,
i.e., orchestral accompaniments to the recitatives; and he
also gave a separate design to the accompaniments of
the airs. It appears that, in 1694, he held the office of
chapel master-royal at Naples. His opera, Pirro e Deme-
trio, performed at Naples in 1697 ; II prigionier fortunato,
in 1698; and especially Laodicea e Berenice, 1701, estab¬
lished his reputation. On 31st December 1703, Scarlatti
was called to assist Foggia, chapel-master of Santa Maria
Maggiore, at Rome; and in May 1707 succeeded that
eminent musician. He held also the office of music-direc¬
tor to Cardinal Ottoboni, who seems to have obtained for
him the decoration of Knight of the Golden Spur. At that
time the new political condition of Naples induced Scarlatti
to return thither in 1709, after resigning his appointments
in Rome. Among the operas which he produced at Naples
was II Tigrane, performed in 1715 ; and in a note subjoined
to the argument of the drama, Scarlatti states that he had
then composed 106 operas for different Italian theatres. He
afterwards composed eleven others, besides several ora¬
torios, and a great deal of church music. In Tigrane he
formed new orchestral instrumentations, unknown till then.
Scarlatti composed a vast number of cantatas, most of which
remain in manuscript. He taught by turns in the conser¬
vatories of Sant’ Onofrio, Dei Poveri di Gesu Cristo, and
Santa Maria di Loreto. The famous Durante was one ot
his pupils, and arranged several of Scarlatti’s cantatas as
duets in a most masterly manner. Mirecki published these
arrangements, along with Clari’s duets and trios, at Paris.
Scarlatti’s genius and fertility were extraordinary. His
invention was rich and bold, his learning great, and his
style pure. His modulations, often unexpected, are never
harsh, and never difficult for the voice. Besides the music
abov'e-mentioned, Scarlatti composed the following pieces
for the chamber. Twenty madrigals; a serenata for four
voices; two serenate for five voices; madrigals for two
voices; fourteen chamber duets, for study ; two books of
toccate, for the harpsichord or organ. A specimen of Scar¬
latti’s vocal music is given by Burney, in the fourth vo¬
lume of his History of Music; and another by Padre Martini,
in the second volume of his work on counterpoint. Clementi,
in his Selection of Practical Harmony, 3 volumes, gives
specimens of instrumental music by Alessandro and Do¬
menico Scarlatti. (g. f. g.)
Scarlatti, Domenico, son of Alessandro Scarlatti, was
a very distinguished composer, and one of the ablest harpsi¬
chord players in Europe. He was born at Naples in 1685
704 S C A
Scarlet and studied at first under his father, and afterwards under
Fever. Gasparini, at Rome. In 1709, he met with Handel, at
Venice, and was delighted with the surprising improvisa¬
tions of that great master. At Rome, he composed a great
number of excellent cantatas, and wrote also for the church.
On 1st January 1715, he was appointed chapel-master of St
Peter’s, in the Vatican, but quitted tha«t post in August
1719, when he went to London, in order to compose an
opera, and to accompany on the harpsichord at the Italian
Opera. He there produced Narcisso on the 30th May
] 720; and next year set out for Lisbon. The king of Por¬
tugal engaged him, and treated him very liberally. In 1726,
he returned to Naples, but finding his great instrumental
talent of small advantage to him in Italy, he accepted, in
1729, an offer from the court of Spain to give lessons to
the Princess of the Asturias, whom he had formerly taught
at Lisbon, as Princess of Portugal. At Madrid he enjoyed
great advantages, which were continued to him by Ferdi¬
nand VI., in whose service he remained till his death in
1757. He published two sets of sonatas for the harpsi¬
chord, dedicated to the Princess of the Asturias, besides
other sonatas. His sonatas are remarkable for invention,
for graceful melody, and skilful construction. The num¬
ber of his sonatas is wonderful. The Abate Santini, at
Rome, had collected 349 of Domenico Scarlatti’s sonatas
for harpsichord and organ, and yet had not obtained all that
he had written. Clementi, in the second volume of his Se¬
lections, gives two fugue specimens of Domenico Scarlatti’s
music, one of them the celebrated Cat’s Fugue, (g. f. g.)
SCARLET FEVER {Scarlatina), either mild, or
malignant with putrid sore throat, exhibits different forms
of a disease which is propagated by a specific contagion,
like small-pox or measles, and like them is believed by the
best observers to attack a person only once during life ;
though the apparent exceptions to this remark are more
numerous in scarlet fever than in the other two diseases
above mentioned. It will be proper to notice separately,
the mild and fatal scarlet fever ; and to describe some cases,
in which the symptoms are irregularly combined.
The milder form of scarlet fever is distinguished by the
rash, with a moderate degree of fever, and with very little
affection of the throat. The rash first appears in innumer¬
able red points about the neck and face, and by the next
day they are seen over the whole surface of the body. The
skin is rough to the touch, and sometimes there are small
vesicles. About the fourth day, the eruption is at its height,
and on the fifth it begins to decline. The patient should
be kept cool and quiet, should not be overloaded with bed¬
clothes ; his diet should be sparing, and cooling drinks and
mild laxatives should be recommended.
In the severer forms of Scarlatina the febrile symptoms
at the commencement are more severe ; there is a sensation
of stiffness and pain on moving the neck, and it is also
painful to swallow ; the voice is thick, and the throat feels
rough and straitened. The heat of the surface rises in a
most remarkable manner ; not only to the sensations of the
patient or observer does the heat seem greater, but the
thermometer shows it to be 108° to 110°; that is more
than ten degrees above the natural standard. There is
sickness, headache, great restlessness, and delirium ; the
pulse is frequent, but feeble, and there is great langour and
faintness. The tongue is of a bright red colour, especially
at the sides and extremity, and the rising points are very
conspicuous. This kind of scarlet fever is not unfrequently
followed by great debility, or the occurrence of other dis¬
eases, as inflammation of the eyes, or dropsy, or an inflam¬
matory state of the whole system, or water in the brain.
Treatment. It is in general proper to begin with giving
an emetic, especially if we at all suspect the stomach to be
loaded with undigested matter; and weave very soon after
to exhibit laxative medicines, which are truly one of our
S C A
most important remedies in this disease. The washing of Scarpa,
the patient’s body with cold water, is considered a good
antidote to lessen the burning heat of the skin. The in¬
flammatory state of the system which often follows scarlet
fever, is not unfrequently accompanied with a swelling re¬
sembling dropsical swelling ; but we are not to regard this
last as a sign of debility, or to be deterred from the use of
active remedies.
In Malignant Scarlet Fever, with putrid sore throat, the
putrescent symptoms are more rapid and severe, and the
general system is much oppressed, the throat and neigh¬
bouring parts being affected with rapidly-spreading ulcera¬
tions. This form of scarlet fever begins like the preceding,
but in a day or two shows symptoms of peculiar severity.
The rash is usually faint, and the whole skin soon assumes
a dark or livid red colour.
Treatment. Strong beef-tea should be given in as large
quantities as possible, and wine and bark should be liberally
administered ; the throat must be injected with strong
cleaning gargles.
SCARPA, Antonio, was born at La Motta, in 1748.
He early distinguished himself as an anatomist and surgeon,
and his works in both these branches of science have
spread his reputation throughout all Europe. For many
years he occupied the chairs of clinical and operative sur¬
gery in the school of Pavia ; and when he became emeritus
professor, he w'as really the director of the faculty of me¬
dicine in the university which he so greatly contributed to
render celebrated. Scarpa was an exact as well as a labori¬
ous observer, and did more than most men of his time to
advance the progress of surgery. Surgical anatomy, which
has given a particular direction to the researches of sur¬
geons, owes its first development to the labours of Scarpa,
and forms, in some sort, the distinctive character of his pro¬
ductions. His works are not altogether free from faults.
They recommend themselves more by the beauty than by
the precision of their style; but the excellence of the pre¬
cepts which his writings convey, and the judicious and
original observations on which they are based, have placed
several of them in the rank of classical books, and have
led to their translation into most of the languages of Eu¬
rope. Scarpa commenced his career as an anatomist, but
afterwards directed his attention principally to the practice
of surgery; and if he sometimes maintains opinions that
are paradoxical, if his theories and his precepts are at times
hardly defensible, we still recognise, even in his errors,
the views of a great master, and thoughts which direct the
reader to useful reflection. Uniting to the love of science
an exquisite taste for the fine arts, the author has illustrated
his writings with engravings, which are models of exactness,
elegance, and purity. The plates which represent the
nerves of the heart, and those which accompany the trea¬
tises on hernia and aneurism, are among the most perfect
productions of this kind. He died at Pavia, on the 30th
of October 1832.
Scarpa is author of a number of writings, many of them inserted
in the journals of Italy, and on local subjects which are little known.
His principal works are, Anatomicee Bisquisitiones de Auditu et
Olfactu, Pavia, 1789, in folio; Tabulce Nearologicce ad Illustrandum
Historian), Cardiacorum Nervorum, Pavia, 1794, in folio; Commenta-
rius de Penitiori Ossium Structura, Leips. 1799, in 4to ; Sull’ Ernie,
Memorie Anatomico-chirurgiche, Milan, 1810, in folio; Riflcssioni
ed Osservazioni Anatomico-chirurgiche sulV Aneurisma, Pavia, 1804,
in folio; Saggio di Osservazioni ed Esperienze sulle principali Ma-
lattie degli occhi, Pavia, 1801, in 4to; Sul taglio Jpogastrico per
VEstrazione della pietra daila Vesica Orinaria, Milan, 1820, in 4to ;
Sullo Scirro e sul Cancro, Milan, 1821, in 4to; Memoria sulla Riga-
tura delle principale Arterie; Lettera sulla Ligatura temporana della
grosse Arterie degli arti, Milan, 1823, in 8vo; Saggio di Osservazioni
sul taglio Retto-vesicale per V Estrazione della pietra dallaVesica Ori¬
naria, Pavia, 1823, in 8vo ; Esame della terza Memoria del Professore
Vacca sul taglio Rctto-vesicalc, Milan, 1821, inS\o; Monona sull
Jdrocele del Cordone Spcruujlico, Pavia, 1823, in 4u>.
S C A
Scarpanto SCARPANTO, an island of Asiatic Turkey, lying in
Scarron. t]ie Mediterranean, 28 miles S.W. of Rhodes. It is about
30 miles long by 5 across; and is very lofty, rugged, and
bare, having one summit near the centre, 4000 feet above
the sea. Marble and iron are its chief productions; and
there are some harbours on its coasts. The ancient name
was Car path us.
SCARRON, Paul, a famous French burlesque writer,
was the son of a counsellor in parliament, and born at Paris
about the end of the year 1610, or in the beginning of the
succeeding year. His father having married a second time,
he was compelled to assume the ecclesiastical profession.
At the age of twenty-four he visit Italy, where he freely
indulged in licentious pleasures. After his return to Paris,
he persisted in a life of dissipation, till a long and painful
disease convinced him that his constitution was almost worn
out. At length, when engaged in a party of pleasure, at the
age of twenty-seven, he lost “ the use of those legs which
• danced so gracefully, and of those hands which could paint
and play on the lute with so much elegance.” In the year
1638 he was attending the carnival at Mans, of which he
was a canon. Having dressed himself one day as a sa¬
vage, his singular appearance excited the curiosity of the
children of the town. They followed him in multitudes,
and he was obliged to take shelter in a marsh. This wet
and cold situation produced a numbness which totally de¬
prived him of the use of his limbs; but notwithstanding
this misfortune he continued gay and cheerful. He took
up his residence at Paris, and by his pleasant humour soon
attracted to his house all the men of wit about the city.
The loss of his health was followed by the loss of his for¬
tune. On the death of his father, he entered into a process
with his mother-in-law. He pleaded the cause in a ludi¬
crous manner, though his whole fortune depended on the
decision, and accordingly lost the cause. Mademoiselle de
Hautefort, compassionating his misfortunes, procured for
him an audience of the queen. The poet requested to have
the title of valetudinarian to her majesty. The queen
smiled, and Scarron considered the smile as the commis¬
sion to his new office. He therefore assumed the title of
“ Scarron, by the grace of God, unworthy valetudinarian
to the queen.”
Cardinal Mazarin gave him a pension of 500 crowns;
but that minister having received disdainfully the dedi¬
cation of his Typhon, the poet immediately wrote a Ma-
zarinade, and the pension was withdrawn. He then at¬
tached himself to the Prince of Conde, and celebrated his
victories. He at length formed the extraordinary resolu¬
tion of marrying, and was accordingly, in 1651, married to
Mademoiselle d’Aubigne, afterwards Madame de Mainte-
non, who was then only sixteen years of age. “ At that
time,” says Voltaire, “it was considered as a great acquisi¬
tion for her to gain for a husband a man who was disfigured
by nature, impotent, and very little enriched by fortune.”
When Scarron was questioned about the contract of mar¬
riage, he said he acknowledged to the bride two large in¬
vincible eyes, a very beautiful shape, two fine hands, and a
large portion of wit. The notary demanded what dowry
he would give her. Scarron immediately replied, “ The
names of the wives of kings die with them, but the name
of Scarron’s wife shall life for ever.” She restrained by her
modesty his indecent buffooneries, and the good company
which had formerly resorted to his house were not less
frequent in their visits. Scarron now became a new man.
He grew more decent in his manners and conversation ;
and his gaiety, when tempered with moderation, was still
more agreeable. But, in the meantime, he lived with so
little economy, that his income was soon reduced to a small
annuity and his marquisate of Quinet. By the marquisate
of Quinet, he meant the revenue he derived from his pub¬
lications, which were printed by one Quinet. He was
VOL. xix.
S C A 705
accustomed to talk to his superiors with great freedom, in Scarron.
his jocular style. In the dedication to his Don Japhet v in- 1
d.Armenie, he thus addresses the king: “ I shall endeavour
to persuade your majesty that you would do yourself no
injury were you to do me a small favour; for in that
case I should become more gay. If I should become
more gay, I should write sprightly comedies; and if I
should write sprightly comedies, your majesty would be
amused, and thus your money would not be lost. All
this appears so evident, that I should certainly be con¬
vinced of it if I were as great a king as I am now a poor
unfortunate man.”
Although Scarron wrote comedies, he had neither time
nor patience to study the rules and models of dramatic
poetry. Aristotle and Horace, Plautus and Terence, would
have frightened him; and perhaps he did not know that
there was ever such a person as Aristophanes. He saw an
open path before him, and he followed it. It was the
fashion of the times to pillage the Spanish writers. Scar¬
ron was acquainted with that language, and he found it
easier to use the materials which were already prepared,
than to rack his brains in inventing a subject; a restraint to
which a genius like his could not easily submit. As he
borrowed liberally from the Spanish writers, a dramatic
piece did not cost him much labour. His labour consisted
not in making his comic characters talk humorously, but in
keeping up serious characters ; for the serious was a foreign
language to him. The great success of his Jodelet Maitre
was a vast allurement to him. The comedians who acted
it eagerly requested more of his productions. They were
written without much toil, and they procured him laro'e
sums. They served to amuse him. When the office of
historiographer became vacant, he solicited for it without
success. At length Fouquet gave him a pension of 1600
livres. Christina, Queen of Sweden, having come to Paris,
was anxious to see Scarron. “I permit you,” said she
to Scarron, “to fall in love with me. The Queen of
France has made you her valetudinarian, and I create you
my Roland.” But Scarron did not long enjoy that title.
He was seized with so violent a hiccough, that every person
thought he would have expired. “ If I recover,” he said,
“ I will make a fine satire on the hiccough.” His gaiety
did not forsake him to the last. Within a few minutes of
his death, when his domestics were shedding tears about
him, “ My good friends,” said he, “ I shall never make
you weep so much for me as I have made you laugh.” Just
before expiring he said, “ I could never believe before that
it is so easy to laugh at death. He died on the 14th of
October 1660, in the fifty-first year of his age.
His works have been collected and published by Bruzen de la
Martiniere, in 10 vols. 12mo, 1737. There are The uftneid traves¬
tied, in eight books. It was afterwards continued by Moreau de
Brasey ; Typhon, or the Gigantomachia. Many comedies, as Jode¬
let, or the Master Valet, Jodelet Cuffed, Don Japhet d’Armenie, the
Ridiculous Heir, Every Man his own Guardian, the Foolish Marquis,
the Scholar of Salamanca, the False Appearance, and the Prince Cor-
saire, a tragi-comedy. Besides these, he wrote other pieces in
verse. His Comic Romance, in prose, is the only one of his works
that deserves attention. It is written with much purity and gaiety,
and has contributed not a little to the improvement of the French
language. It has been translated into English by Oliver Gold¬
smith. Scarron had great pleasure in reading his works to his
friends as he composed them, which he called “ trying his works.”
Segrais and another of his friends coming to him one day, “ Take
a chair,” said Scarron to them, “ and sit down, that I may examine
my Comic Romance.'” When he observed the company laugh,
“ Very well,” said he, “ my book will be well received, since it
makes persons of such delicate taste laugh.” Nor was he deceived.
His romance had a prodigious run. It was the only one of his
works that Boileau could submit to read. Spanish novels translated
into French. A volume of Letters. Poems, consisting of songs,
epistles, stanzas, odes, and epigrams. The whole collection abounds
with sprightliness and gaiety, and his works have nearly all been
translated into English.
4 u
706
SCEPTICISM.
Scepticism. Scepticism (crKiif/is, doubt), is that negative species of
philosophy which, founding on the alleged contradiction,
Scepticism whether direct or indirect, of the primary data of conscious-
described, ness, pronounces philosophy false and truth impossible ,. or,
more briefly, it is that negative system of philosophy which,
by doubting of everything beyond the region of pheno¬
mena, doubts the possibility of all speculation.
The rela- In order to doubt, man must begin somewhere, and the
tion of admission by the sceptic of the truthfulness of phenomena
Scepticism jg ap]<e necessary and convenient. For an absolute scep-
to Dogma- tic;sra regarding the energies of the human faculties, even
when admitted to be self-consistent, and acquitted of con¬
tradiction, is, as self-destructive, absolutely impossible.1 If
I am sceptical of my own faculties when they doubt, this
very scepticism annihilates that doubt, and renders me
incapable of advancing a step. The highest form which
scepticism can assume is that of convicting the data of
consciousness of mutual exclusiveness, whether possible
or actual.2 It is the business .of the sceptic, accord¬
ingly, to destroy, not to establish; to pull down, not to
build up. He accepts his premises from the dogmatist,
and strives, by bringing them into hostile collision, to con¬
vict him of absurdity. It is the business of the dogmatist to
develop with consistency the facts which consciousness re¬
veals ; it is the business of the sceptic to review the labours
of the dogmatist, and discover, if possible, an inconsistency
in the primary facts which are subjected to his criticism.
The function of the sceptic is quite a legitimate one, ac¬
cepting as he does both his method and his material from
the dogmatist; but pursuing his aim in an entirely different
spirit, and with a widely different end. The highest end
of the dogmatist is to produce an intellectual harmony;
the highest end of the sceptic is to generate an intellectual
chaos. The intuition of truth is what the dogmatist seeks ;
what the sceptic longs for is the absolute doubtfulness of all
conviction. Both start from common ground in starting
from the acceptation of phenomena; both arrive at directly
opposite conclusions in arriving, the one at affirmation, the
other at doubt.3 The dogmatist, the emblem of impatience, is
earnest and incessant in his pursuit of truth; the sceptic, the
picture of composure, is finely indifferent and delightfully
dubious over everything which claims the name of truth.
The dogmatist, positive in his assurance of the criterion of
what he seeks, has a constant trust in the attainability of
philosophy; the sceptic, on the other hand, who harbours
the sole conviction that all truth is vain, believes (if a
sceptic can be said to believe) in the absolute impossibility
of philosophy. Dogmatist and sceptic alike agree in accept¬
ing the foundations of knowledge ; the dogmatist, reliant
on the strength of his intuitions, boldly pushes beyond
phenomena, and affirms his conviction of the existence of
self, the world, and Deity as entities; the sceptic, again,
who freely doubts all intuitions, chooses to think of these
essences as so many popular illusions, or at best as so many
fond dubieties. The dogmatist accepts of his intuitions,
and carelessly multiplies or as carelessly diminishes them;
the sceptic, ever on the watch, argues their original false¬
hood from their positive contradiction in the hands of the
dogmatist. The veracity of consciousness, so far as testi¬
fying to the truthfulness of phenomena are, at the outset,
accepted alike by dogmatist and sceptic; and it depends Scepticism,
entirely on the measure of consistency with which the dog-
matist shall work out his problem, whether or not he shall
have left room for the keen-eyed and persistent sceptic. If
the dogmatist succeeds in elaborating his undertaking
throughout with entire consistency, philosophy and nature
will be reconciled ; but if he does not succeed in this endea¬
vour, consciousness will prove only a bundle of antilogies,
and scepticism will reign supreme. Considered under one
aspect, the sceptic stands opposed to the dogmatist and not
to truth, in so far as he engages to convict of contradiction
the principles which philosophy has developed. Considered
under another and a higher aspect, he stands opposed both
to truth and dogmatism, in so far as he doubts of everything
beyond phenomena, in convicting of contradiction the prin¬
ciples on which philosophy itself is founded. The former
may be called relative, the latter absolute scepticism.4 It
will thus be seen what are the legitimate relations of sceptic
and dogmatist. That man is not a sceptic who exercises
doubt as a means, but not as an end. This temporary
doubt is but a passing phase of every strong and earnest
mind in search of the truth. In the intellectual constitu¬
tion of some, and particularly of those in whom their in¬
tuitions prove too strong for their logic, this salutary
disposition becomes temporarily tainted as by a sort of pre¬
dominating disease. Yet it is the truth which the thinker
is in search of, and not universal doubt as an ultimate end.
Not a few of the most illustrious thinkers which the world
has known seem to have spent much of their time in this
atmosphere. Witness the Analogy of Bishop Butler and
the Pensees of Blaise Pascal, where abundant evidence will
be found, particularly in the under-current of those writers’
minds, of the truthfulness of this statement. What is
usually known as the Cartesian doubt is by no means an
uncommon feature in the history of thoughtful men. “ Who
never doubted, never half believed.”
Speculative thought had scarcely dawned upon the minds Old scepti-
of the Grecian sages, when scepticism began stealthily to cal school
insinuate its doubts. No sooner had dogmatism fairlyof Greece<
gained time to develop itself into full blossom, than we
find scepticism, its negative correlate, springing up. in its
shade. As action and re-action constantly recur with the
force of their compensating influence, so the speculative
efforts of Socrates, of Plato, and of Aristotle, required to be
succeeded by the destructive philosophy of Pyrrho of Elis
and his school. Plato had developed his ideal theory to
find it rudely taken to pieces by Aristotle, who afforded to
philosophy as baseless a foundation, in his boasted Logic,
as the system of speculation which he had so ruthlessly
destroyed. If Plato’s theory could be shown to be mis¬
leading, a similar proof could be led against that of his
opponent. Sense could only furnish the mind with out¬
ward phenomena, and formal logic could carry it no farther.
It is the privilege of logic to analyse and regulate, not to
synthetize and amplify. It belongs not to logic, but to a
quite different department of human knowledge, to furnish
the material out of which to construct a philosophy of real
convictions. As at once the law of thought and of things,
logic is properly both subjective and objective. It is con¬
stantly engaged on the evolution of identical propositions,
1 Yet this self-contradictory principle is that which Jouffroy, usually so just a thinker, calls the “one irrefutable argument of scep¬
ticism.” (See Melanges Philosophiques.) 2 S®6 Diog. Laert., lib. ix., Pyrrho, passim.
3 See Sextus Empiricus, Pyrrh. Hypotypo., passim; Diogenes Laertius, lib. ix., Pyrrho; Hume’s Treatise of Human Nature, vol. i.;
Hamilton’s edition of Held, p. 744.
4 See Hamilton’s Discussions on PhMosophy, p. 87, second edition.
SCEPTICISM.
707
Pyrrho.
Timon.
Scepticism, and at no point in any process of demonstration is it possible
to detect any addition made to the quantum of existence
already realized. To metaphysics it belongs to furnish the
facts of existence which are competent to human knowledge.
Thinking, under this relative phase, neither Plato nor Aris¬
totle had taken any definite account of; and hence Pyrrho
and the sceptics seized upon this, the vulnerable portion of
their systems. If one were to trust the absurd stories re¬
lated of the practical life of Pyrrho,1 one would be neces¬
sitated to suppose him to have been little less than crazy.
Such, however, we may be assured he was not. He seems
to have been strongly impressed with the mystery and con¬
sequent incomprehensibility (d/caTaX^ta) that surrounded
the little life of man. He studied in his early years the
doctrines of Democritus, and in his maturer life he followed
Alexander into India, bent on philosophical conquest, as
his master was upon territorial aggrandizement. He studied
the doctrines of the Magi, and held converse with the Gym-
nosophists. Struck by the devout faith of the latter in doc¬
trines-so singular and so unusual to the mind of a Greek,
he doubtless reflected deeply on the origin of knowledge,
and particularly on the formation of belief. On his return
to Elis, men found that he had lost all faith in philosophy:
he viewed all doctrines with a profound scepticism, and
began to live a life of wonderful simplicity and of wonder¬
ful indifference. He died at the age of ninety, and be¬
queathed his name to all succeeding sages who might choose
to adopt his system of opinions.2 The next thinker of any
note who chose Pyrrhonism or Scepticism as his creed
was Timon, a physician of Phlius (b.c. 279), a keen and
restless wit, and a man of genius, who wrote those satirical
poems known as StAAoi. If further proof were wanting of
the perfect sanity of Pyrrho, the faithful adherence of this
caustic humorist, who was wont to wonder how his master
could contrive to live “ the only man as happy as a god,”
were sufficient of itself to establish it. Timon was much
too great a humorist to follow Pyrrho if he had not been
really worthy of being followed. After the Pyrrhonian
Numenius, Cyprus and Seleucia afforded two pupils to
Timon, in Dioscorides and Euphranor, who served to close
the old sceptical school of Greece. Its adherents taught the
complete renunciation of all science, and the necessity of
maintaining a complete apathy to all impressions.3
The Pyrrhonics gathered fresh strength in the new scep¬
tical school tical school, which was inaugurated by one of its most distin-
of Greece. £Uished advocates, iEnesidemus, who flourished a little later
than Cicero. To this philosopher is generally ascribed
the systematizing or invention of the ten topics employed
by Sextus Empiricus to justify a suspense of all positive
opinion. The criticism offered by ^Enesidemus of the prin¬
ciple of Causality is certainly the boldest and most ingenious
to be found in the records of the ancient philosophy. The
force of his argument lay in the alleged incapability of the
human mind to understand the relations of cause and effect.
Of his eight books of Pyrrhonian discourses (Hvppwveuov
Xoywv oktu fiifiXta) only a few fragments now remain. Hero¬
dotus of Tarsus, Menodotus, Agrippa (said to be the author
of the “ five grounds of doubt” current among the later
sceptical thinkers), and Antiochus of Laodicea, kept up the
sinking credit of the Pyrrhonists till the appearance of
Sextus Em- Sextus Empiricus (about a.d. 290), a distinguished pupil of
piricus. Herodotus of Tarsus, and an acute and thoughtful writer.
In his Pyrrhonian Outlines, and his books against the
Mathematicians (or dogmatists), he has left us an invaluable
New scep-
iEneside-
mus.
repository of information respecting the schools of ancient Scepticism
scepticism.4 This writer was a native of Mitylene, and
received his surname, Empiricus, from his connection with
that empirical school of physicians who, discarding all
science, based their knowledge entirely upon experience.
While he availed himself of the labours of his predecessors,
and especially of iEnesidemus, of Agrippa, and of Menodo¬
tus, it is evident from what he has left, that he was capable
of higher efforts, both in defining the end and working out
the details of a rigorous system of doubt. In his three
books, Uvppwveiwv 'Y^oTUTrwcrewv, he discusses in a fair and His Pyr-
unusually candid manner the radical distinction between rhonian
the sceptics and the dogmatists, and works out with much HyP0tyP9
acuteness and spirit the various contradictions, as they pre¬
sented themselves to his mind, of the problems of Sense
and of Logic, with an occasional detour into the region of
Metaphysics. If he ever indulges in humour, it is usually
of a mild and impersonal character, and never displays any¬
thing of that wild satirical banter with which Timon de¬
lighted to cover his opponents. The first book of the Pyr¬
rhonian Outlines is occupied with a general exposition of
scepticism; in the two remaining books the author takes
the dogmatists to task respecting the various problems
which occupy their philosophy. He opens his first book by
a chapter devoted to Dogmatics and Sceptics, in which he
shows that they form the two great classes of philosophical
thinkers. Towards the end of that chapter he throws in a
sceptical caution in these words : “ I wish to advertise my
readers as to what I shall advance, that I do not pretend to
establish things as they are, and that I cannot at all assure
them that things are as I speak of them.” Having thus
made his bow to his audience, he proceeds to lay before
them a definition of scepticism. “ The sceptical faculty is,”
according to Sextus, “ that by which we oppose pheno¬
mena and noumena in all possible ways, and by which we
arrive, through a counterpoise of things and arguments,
first at a suspension of judgment (ctto^), and afterwards
at entire freedom from passion (drapa^ta).”5 The aim
which the sceptic proposed to himself was accordingly two¬
fold : first, intellectual, to reach absolute suspension of
judgment; and second, moral, to attain to a condition of
perfect calm. The latter alternative was probably sup¬
posed to depend entirely on the accomplishment of the for¬
mer ; so that when the doubter had reached the absolute
state of intellectual suspense, he would necessarily ex¬
perience in his inmost soul that perfect quiet which the
thinker so greatly longs for. At all events, little attention
was given by the ancient Pyrrhonists to this the moral part
of their task. We shall confine attention exclusively to
the intellectual phases of scepticism, and give a running
outline of these celebrated Hypotyposes. They are a
summing up of all previous Pyrrhonic ideas, and succeed¬
ing sceptics, Hume included, have only, with a slight
divergence, traversed the old road.
It will be observed, from the above definition of scepti¬
cism, that, as has already been stated, it is not the busi¬
ness of the thorough-going doubter to play the sceptic in
the most absolute sense; on the contrary, he accepts of
the phenomena of nature as he finds them, and, trusting
to his instincts, he rests his practical life upon this em¬
pirical basis, and eschews altogether the dogmatical folly
of perpetually pursuing that which he can never attain.
The dogmatist tries to find a speculative criterion by which
to test his philosophizings ; while the sceptic, who fancies he
1 Biographies of the different philosophers referred to in this article will he found under the name of each throughout the work.
2 See Diogenes Laert., lib. ix., Pyrrho. _ . .
3 See Geschichte und Geist des Skepticismus vorsuglich in Rucksicht auf Moral und Religion, von D. Carl Fridrich Staudlin, ^ vo s.,
Leipsic, 1794.
708
SCEPTICISM.
Scepticism, has a thorough conviction of the fruitlessness of all such
attempts, chooses to repose in his practical security, and
leaves the dogmatist unaided to pursue his vain wanderings
in search of his darling ignis fatuus. On this point Sextus
is very explicit. “When,” he says, “we inquire whether
an object is such as it appears, we grant the appearance of
it: we do not inquire and hesitate concerning what appears,
but concerning what is said of this appearance.” {Pyrrh.
Ilypotyp., L. i., c. x.) The sceptic’s conviction of the im-
No crite- possibility of finding a criterion of truth results from a mul-
rion of titude of considerations, all of which may be referred to the
truth. following three heads :—1. The subject of knowledge ; 2.
The object of knowledge ; 3. The relation of subject and
object, or from knowledge itself. Sextus Empiricus has
chosen to follow a much more complicated order, but all his
more important considerations will be found included under
these three divisions.
1. As to the sceptical contradictions which are found to
emerge from a contemplation of the knowing mind or sub¬
ject of knowledge, the first and most obtrusive are to be
found in the region of Sensation, and the last and most re¬
condite in the sphere of Intelligence. Phenomena are
apprehended by the former faculties, Substances by the
latter. Now, not only are those faculties found to disagree
in themselves; they are found also to contradict one an¬
other. Not only do the results which the Senses supply
contradict each other; these same results clash with those
furnished by the Intelligence, which in turn are found to
be mutually exclusive. The knowledge furnished by Sen¬
sation is as fallacious as it is patent. No one doubts that
each separate sense affords at different times very different
representations of the same object,—nay, are, and must be,
diverse in their information at every different moment of
time. Again, the senses themselves contradict one another
as to the accuracy of their intelligence. Who can assure
us, moreover, that the eye, ear, and touch of each separate
individual affords him sensations exactly similar to ours ?
How do I know, for example, that what appears to me red,
may not be felt by my neighbour to be yellow ? Doubtless
he would use the word red exactly as I do ; but the puzzle is,
does he mean precisely the same thing by it ? For aught
we know, the senses may be quite peculiar in each indivi¬
dual, and may give quite different reports to different men.
What shall we say, then, of the accuracy of external ob¬
servation, seeing that it is upon such testimony that the
greater portion of it must rest ? Human Sensations are
modified by organization, by the distance of objects, by the
physical and moral changes which take place in man, ac¬
cording as he is asleep or awake, in infancy or old age,
in motion or at rest, pre-occupied with love or hatred, with
joy or sorrow. And who is there can discover the means
of rectifying such inevitable mistakes ? Who will furnish
man with a sensational criterion ? The task is hopelessly
in vain. The natural inference for the sceptic is of course
CTre^w, or, I suspend my judgment.
But again, Sextus strives to find a basis for his doubt in
the elements of the intelligence, and particularly in Logic
and in logical phenomena. Let it not be supposed that a
sceptic will be prepared to pass by any truth which is alleged
to bear the special marks of an original conviction. It mat¬
ters not how augustly these principles, affirmed to bed priori,
may be ushered in, or with what profound reverence we
would call upon men to fall down and worship when what
is called a primary truth is unveiled in their presence;
the sceptic replies calmly, as is his wont, that he must
have evidence ere he bows down before those awful beliefs,
wan an ting, nay, compelling him in a sort, to affix to them
is unhesitating assent. Sextus takes a somewhat easier
road to his doubt, and leads a proof of the radical falsehood
of those beliefs which we call original, by a simple refer- Scepticism,
ence to the various and equivocal representation which
they have received at the hands of the dogmatists, real
and apparent. And in doing so, unfortunately, his task
was easy. He finds little difficulty, for example, in evolv¬
ing discrepancies connected with the idea of Cause, which
philosophers have since grappled with, and grappled in vain.
But here he simply chronicled the labours of his prede¬
cessor iEnesidemus. “ For,” he remarks, “ if we cannot
understand a cause before its effect, seeing that it is rela¬
tive ; and if it is necessary to understand it as being before
the effect, seeing that it is the cause of that effect; then
it is quite impossible to understand anything to be before
that which we cannot understand anything to be, and
hence it is impossible to understand that there is a cause.”
The only respectable attempt made by philosophers, either
ancient or modern, to solve this difficulty of the identity of
Cause and Effect is that of Sir William Hamilton, and it
may fairly be questioned whether that illustrious thinker
has succeeded in unveiling the mystery which generated the
ingenious quibble of the subtle old sceptic.1 Having so far
disposed of the data of consciousness, Sextus next directs his
doubt against the faculties of Demonstration. And in com¬
bating Logic, he boldly affirms that “ it may not exist.”
{Pyrrh. Hypot., Lib. ii., c. 13.) He shows with much acute¬
ness that demonstration never adds anything to the quantum
of thought; but he does not succeed in disentangling the
form from the matter of thought in the demonstrative pro¬
cess. Seeing that there is nothing but the evolution of
identical propositions, so long as we choose to employ the
method of demonstration, he at once sets the process aside
as quite useless, or at least very doubtful; and in this his
example has subsequently been followed by more than one
philosopher who professed a very different creed. Sextus
concludes thus:—“ If these things which we have advanced
in favour of demonstration be like the truth (for we do
not at all oppose them), and if the arguments which we
have advanced against demonstration be like the truth, we
ought to arrest our judgment both for and against, and
should say it is equally uncertain whether there is or is
not any demonstration.” (Lib. ii., c. 13.) So far the Sub¬
ject of knowledge.
2. Scepticism may be inferred from the endless contra¬
dictions which emerge upon an examination of the object
of knowledge. The object of knowledge is composed
of phenomena and noumena. The former we apprehend
through our faculties of observation, the latter we appre¬
hend through the higher faculties of intelligence. In the
first place, every object is in relation to some other or
others; and hence, in order to comprehend the part, we
would require previously to comprehend the whole. But
this is impossible. Again, in external perception no object
is apprehended by itself, and out of relation to a represent¬
ing medium. However anxious we may be to seize upon
the real object, the intervening medium perpetually pre¬
sents itself. This Sextus, and all subsequent philosophers
till Dr Thomas Reid, implicitly inferred from the principle
first explicitly enounced by Empedocles, that “ the rela¬
tion of knowledge inferred an analogy of existence.” A
word on the second head of this subject; and to take a
single example from one of the higher existences which
human intelligence is affirmed capable of apprehending.
Sextus opens his third book with a chapter on “ God,” to¬
wards the close of which he calmly expresses the follow¬
ing sentiment:—“ Hence we also conclude that perhaps
those who say there is a God cannot be excused from im¬
piety ; for in affirming that he exercises a providential
care over all things, they say that he is the author of evil;
and if they say that his providence extends only to some
See the Eighth Opinion regarding Causality in Appendix i. to his Discussions on Philosophy, second edition.
SCEPTICISM.
Scepticism, things and not to all, they will be forced to confess that
v—*' God is either envious or weak, all of which cannot be said
without manifest impiety.” The doubt which is thus
generated by the heathen strikes at the very idea of a God.
Proofs & priori and a posteriori, piled up like Ossa upon
Pelion, would avail little against such an opponent.
3. Advancing to the third head, it becomes manifest
from what has been affirmed of its constituents, the subject
and the object of knowledge, that when they enter into
relation, and form knowledge, this result must partake more
or less of the character of its factors. Scepticism has al¬
ready emerged from an examination of the subject and the
object of knowledge, and it can hardly be supposed to
be eliminated by bringing them into correlation. The
incompleteness and inconsistency of knowledge render it
for ever a favourite butt for those who are sceptically
inclined.
To his general arguments against the leading principles
of the dogmatists, Sextus added some special arguments
against various of their theories, which we need not here
examine. We shall add a word as to the manner in which
he acquitted himself of his task.
Estimate That Sextus Empiricus was a sceptic in reality, as he
of the was certainly in name, no one will be prepared to deny.
of Sextus111 That he Proved his right t0 the title also, by proving his
right to doubt, we are likewise prepared to admit. The
dogmatists, one and all, quailed under the open blows which
he dealt at their laboured edifice, and many of those blows
unhappily took effect. Amid constant marks of acuteness,
he occasionally betrays an ingenuity worse than frivolous,
and now and then misses the real question by his fondness
for logomachy. But from this criticism Sextus Empiricus
could possibly shield himself by taking refuge in his
historical calling. And from this position we are not
anxious to drive him, as the remark very likely applies as
much to his school as to himself. Were we to trust for
the veracity of consciousness to the development which it
received from the philosophers previous to Sextus, all think¬
ing men would infallibly be sceptical. For a positive proof
of falsehood in one particular datum of consciousness is suf¬
ficient to establish, on the principle falsus in uno, falsus in
omnibus, a presumption of probable falsehood in them all.
More than one supposed datum of internal experience had
been convicted of falsehood, and the Dogmatists, and not
Human Nature, stood chargeable with the offence.
Scepticism With Sextus Empiricus the lists of Scepticism close for
from Sex- many centuries. The next to whom they shall be opened
Hume is t0 ^avid Hume> the last and unquestionably the greatest
UIne• of either ancient or modern sceptics. No name of any
great lustre intervenes to fill up the long blank of sixteen
centuries from Sextus to Hume. Practically, no doubt,
many men like Montaigne (1533-1592) adhered to the
sceptical creed. But they were in general either too wise
to publish their opinions to the world, or too wary to let it
know how they thought. When they gained boldness to let
the world look on their views they for the most part strove
to diminish any savour of odium which might be supposed
to attach to a Pyrrhonist, by professing, at the conclusion
of their speculations, the very greatest reverence for the
Holy Scriptures. That this reverence was sometimes real,
however inconsequent, cannot be denied. It was doubt¬
less so in the case of La Mothe le Vayer, a French author
of great learning and judgment (1586-1672), who openly
professed Scepticism in favour of Religion. The same
may be said of his disciples Sorbiere (1615-1670) and
Foucher (1644-1696); of Hirnhaym (died in 1679); of
Huet (1630-1721) ; and of Joseph Glanvill, an Englishman
(1636-1680), who may be regarded as the predecessor of
Hume. One cannot speak so confidently of Charron
(1541-1603), who was a disciple of Montaigne; of Sanches
or Sanctius, a Spaniard by birth, who professed medicine
709
and philosophy at Toulouse till the time of his death in Scepticism.
1632 ; and of the celebrated P. Bayle (1647-1706). That
these writers were at bottom genuine sceptics can hardly
admit of a doubt. We should certainly have had to chro¬
nicle many names which now are forgotten, or which never
were heard of, had not the Inquisition spread terror over
the free thought and free expression of Europe during the
middle ages. But the device, of fancying that men were
never safe so long as they trusted a whit to their Reason—
that they must discard this faculty as repugnant in the high¬
est sense to that superior faculty of divine Faith which is
conferred immediately by the Spirit of God, has been ex¬
ceedingly common in the various Christian schools of theo¬
logy. It is thus that Scepticism, during many centuries, has
been called in to support the Roman Catholic religion, and
its advocates have supposed that by sapping the entire in¬
tellectual convictions of their fellows, they should thereby
advance in the highest degree the eternal interests of their
souls.
The scepticism of Hume (1711-76) was beyond all Scepticism
question the most thorough and wide-reaching that philo- of David
sophy had yet witnessed. He reduced philosophers to such Hume-
straits that they were compelled either to refute his argu¬
ments (a thing not to be thought of upon his own principles),
or ruefully to confess the vanity of their pursuits and the
consequent folly of their lives. His Treatise of Human
Nature weiS published in 1738, when Hume was in his
twenty-seventh year. A book written by so young a man,
with such marvellous acuteness and solidity of thought,
displaying such a mastery over the difficulties of style, and
such singular control over his own passions, was quite as un¬
paralleled in the history of philosophy as the doctrines
which it put forth were novel and alarming. Of the host
of assailants which the book ultimately called forth, un¬
questionably the most respectable was Dr Thomas Reid.
But so profoundly had the great sceptic meditated his
task, and with such wondrous skill had he entrenched him¬
self over the debris of all previous systems of philosophy,
that Reid, who was not his match either in subtlety or in
comprehension of thought, assailed Hume at first in a
somewhat clumsy manner, and really missed the point of
the very method which the Pyrrhonist had chosen. This
method was no other than that of Pyrrho and the old
sceptical school of Greece. Sextus Empiricus starts by
the admission of phenomena, and proceeds to hew down
all else which the dogmatists had raised ; David Hume
starts with the popular theory of experience, then so much
vaunted by philosophers, and proceeds with surprising cool¬
ness to mow down every intellectual up-growth for which
his theory was not capable of accounting. In open argu¬
ment, in candid statement, and in solid attack, the Scottish
sceptic is greatly in advance of the earlier Pyrrhonists of
Greece. He is in a great measure free from that ingenious
jugglery and conscious or unconscious sophistry with which
the older sceptics are so justly chargeable. He seldom
allows his logic to degenerate into logomachy, and very
rarely substitutes a paralogism for a sound argument. To
assure the reader of his genuine position, Hume takes pains
to inform him as follows:—“ Should it here be asked me,”
he says, “whether I sincerely assent to this argument,
which I seem to take such pains to inculcate, and whether
I be really one of those sceptics who hold that all is un¬
certain, and that our judgment is not in any thing pos¬
sessed of any measure of truth and falsehood, I should
reply, that this question is entirely superfluous, and that
neither I nor any other person was ever sincerely and con¬
stantly of that opinion. Nature, by an absolute and un¬
controllable necessity, has determined us to judge as well
as to breathe and feel; nor can we any more forbear view¬
ing certain objects in a stronger and fuller light, upon
account of their customary connection with a present im-
710
SCEPTICISM.
Scepticism, pression, than we can hinder ourselves from thinking as
lono- as we are awake, or seeing the surrounding bodies
when we turn our eyes towards them in bioad sunshine.
Whoever has taken the pains to refute the cavils of this
total scepticism, has really disputed without an antagonist,
and endeavoured by arguments to establish a faculty which
nature has antecedently implanted in the mind and rendered
unavoidable ” (Part iv., § 1.) Locke and the sensationalists
had furnished Hume with the theory of experience, on
which they had endeavoured to found all knowledge.
«’'j’is therefore,” he informs us, “ by experience only that
we can infer the existence of one object from that, of
another.” (Part hi., § 6.) Knowledge, according to him,
had its origin in “impressions and ideas,” meaning by the
former “ all our sensations, passions, and emotions as they
make their first appearance in the soul,” and by the latter
“the faint images of these in thinking and reasoning.”
Knowledge was accordingly reduced in the last analysis to
Sensation from which to derive all its elements, simple and
complex. “ Now, since nothing is ever present,” writes Hume,
“ to the mind but perceptions, and since all ideas are de¬
rived from something antecedently present to the mind, it
follows that ’tis impossible for us so mucli as to conceive or
form an idea of anything specifically different from ideas
and impressions.” (Part ii., § 6.) This being posited, the
work afterwards is comparatively easy. Our ideas of space
and time he strips of their infinity, and as products of
sense, are reduced, the one to visible and tangible exten¬
sion, the other to an observed succession or simultaneous¬
ness of objects. Personal identity he shows to be a mere
imagination of the philosophers. “ It must, he reasons,
“ be°some one impression that gives rise to every real idea.
But self or person is not anyone impression. It cannot
therefore be from any of these that the idea of self is de¬
rived, and consequently there is no such idea. (Part iv.,
§ 6.) His theory of Causation, on the refutation of which
so much needless philosophical acumen has been expended,
when examined closely, reduces itself to these very narrow
limits. “ We have no other notion of cause and effect,”
he tells us, “ but that of certain objects which have been
always conjoined together, and which in all past instances
have been found inseparable.” The theory was not new
to philosophy, whatever it might be to Hume. It had
been signalized before, to confine ourselves to British
philosophers, both by Glanvill and by Hobbes ; but
whether or not Hume had the merit of discovering the
doctrine, we must at least attribute to him the credit of
having first awakened the zeal of philosophers towards the
theory. It will be observed that, so far from ascribing
anything to that alleged character of poicer which resides
in every cause, he attributes the existence of such an idea
to “a popular habit or custom.'’ He could find no warrant
for such an idea in the compass of his experience, and
why should he adhere to it if it was not conformable to
the basis of all his reasoning ? “ The mind,” he tells us
plainly, “ feels no sentiment or inward impression from
this succession of objects; consequently there is not in
any single instance of cause and effect anything which
can suggest the idea of power or necessary connection.”
{Essays, § 7.) Nothing can be more explicit than this.
All substances, of whatever class, are on this theory simply
foibles of the fancy—mere creatures of the imagination.
Phaenomena may now reign undisturbed in the safe enjoy¬
ment of a shadowy rule ; the substances or noumena which
had been contrived to sustain them being convicted of non¬
existence, must troop off like spectres at the approach of
dawn. Advancing with the same stately tread among the
moral judgments of men, the sceptic grinds down with
relentless heel every vestige of a moral world beyond the
mere sphere of sensations. The only rational motive for
man is his personal interest; the only determining motive
is a necessary constraint upon his so-called free-will. But Scepticism,
the sceptic is not content with treading down the intellectual
and moral nature of man ; he advances a step further, and
prostrates his natural theology, by trying to prove that the
belief in the existence of Deity is uncertain, as effected by
the illegitimate exercise of the human faculties. (See Dia¬
logues, 1779.) With this last word the sceptic has completed
the writing of destruction to which he held dogmatism
doomed. The edifice of human knowledge, from its most
general proposition down to its minutest detail, here received
its final blow. The last pillar on which it stood has now been
wrenched from under it, and the whole philosophic world
cannot hold it up. The sceptic, so far from regretting the
results of his industry, regards the spectacle with some
measure of satisfaction ; but without relaxing into any very
hilarious merriment, he turns, bows an adieu to Reason,
and, hand in hand with Nature, goes on his way. “ I dine,”
Hume tells us, “ I play a game of backgammon, I con¬
verse and am merry with my friends ; and when, after
three or four hours’ amusement I would return to these
speculations, they appear so cold, and strained, and ridi¬
culous, that I cannot find in my heart to enter into them
any further.” (Part iv., § 7.) And so Scepticism again
triumphs, and Dogmatism goes to the wall.
A word in conclusion in behalf of Truth and Dogmatism. Conclusion.
And in the first place, one must deplore the variation and
error which stand recorded against philosophy in all ages,
by the rashness or prejudice of its votaries, by which
it has become a by-word in the mouth of the unthink¬
ing, and a subject of scorn to the sceptical. This can
hardly be wondered at. Were the inquirer not driven
towards speculation as by a blind original instinct, which
finds itself gratified by the merest husks which nature
knows, he should long ere now have consigned philosophy,
with all her solemn splendours, to the outermost regions of
the reign of night. But so long as man is born into the
world to inquire, men will continue to speculate, and, thank¬
ful to nature for the bestowal of such a boon, be content,
if the results of their investigations were merely to feel
the refreshing gale which blows towards them from the
distant fields of reality, to lie down with a wistful sigh,
and dream of the world which is beyond, whose balmy
breezes they have experienced, but on whose shores they
are not destined to set foot. It is matter of congratula¬
tion, to all who love Truth, that this august object of desire
stands serene above the high strifes of men, and remains a
pure and everlasting possession to all who humbly and
faithfully seek it. In the war which the sceptic wages he
aims his weapons not so much against Truth as against her
pretentious high priest, who, in his haste for his own
honour more than for the glory of her to whom he has
sworn fealty, has made haste to deliver the oracle before
the goddess had granted the response. Thus it has ever
been, that in a sceptical combat the attention of the wise
is directed to the dogmatist and to the sceptic, as to the
sole combatants. There has hitherto been no sceptic who
has attempted to show, much less who has succeeded in
demonstrating, that the primary facts of consciousness,
either in themselves or in their necessary consequences,
are mutually exclusive—are reciprocally repugnant. Philo¬
sophy accordingly remains as of old, untainted by the fieice
struggles which have been waged within her borders ;
ready as of old to welcome to her shrine all of clean hands
and of pure heart; satisfied that, while her forbearance has
been frequently converted into an encouragement of
vanity, she possesses, nevertheless, the high preiogative of
bestowing upon all her true worshippers the clear eve ^d
the courageous heart. The crude Sensationalism which
usurped the place of philosophy could hardly have been
too rudely dethroned ; and assuredly it met with as speedy
a downfall as ever system knew.
S C E
Sceptre Since Hume, the Scottish school can boast of Reid,
II Stewart, and Hamilton ; the French of Royer Collard,
Schadow. jouffpoy, anc[ Cousin ; the Germans of Kant, Fichte,
Hegel, and Schelling. The Scottish philosophers, who
have generally been accused of timidity, have striven hard
to erect a bulwark around our original beliefs which should
defy all sceptical assault. The French, much more brilliant
than either of their neighbours, have borrowed from them
nearly all that is of much value in their Eclecticism. The
German speculators have sought truth in a much more
SCEPTRE (p-KrjTTTpov, a staff), was originally a wooden
staff or support for the aged and infirm, and in course of
time came to signify also a weapon of defence and assault;
and from the privilege of habitually carrying it, it became
emblematic of authority and station. The ancient Greek
authors represent the sceptre as belonging more appro¬
priately to kings, princes, and leaders of the people ; but it
was likewise borne by judges, heralds, priests, and seers.
The transmission of the sceptre from father to son denoted
the transfer of authority from the one member of a family
to the other. The original wooden staff became, in conse¬
quence, a highly emblematic, and, of course, also a highly
ornamental instrument. It was sometimes pierced with
gold and silver studs, sometimes it was enriched with gems
and ivory. The Roman kings and Roman consuls bore an
ivory sceptre; and their divinities, Jupiter and Juno, as
sovereigns over the rest of the deities, were represented
with a sceptre, in token of their supreme authority.
(Homer, Iliad, xviii. 416; ii. 46, 186, etc.; and i. 246.)
SCHADOW, Johann Gottfried, an eminent sculptor
of Germany, was born of poor parents, at Berlin, in 1764.
Having made an elopement in his 21st year, his father-in-
law subsequently forgave him, and furnished him with the
means of proceeding to Italy, where he remained, diligently
engaged in the study of the antique, till 1788. The first work
of importance which came from his chisel after his return to
Berlin, was the monument to Count Van-der-Mark, erected
in 1790, in the Church of St Dorothy, at Berlin. Schadow
was one of the first of his countrymen to break through the
classic conventionalisms of his predecessors, and was one of
the earliest to discover the dignified simplicity and natural
elegance which slumbered behind those fixed classical
forms. He put forth all his genius upon portraits, and it
came back to him in ever-increasing reputation. He was
appointed professor in the Academy of the Fine Arts at
Berlin, in 1788, and its director-in-chief in 1822. A very
large proportion of the best sculptors of the day, in Ger¬
many, were pupils of Schadow’s. There were Raucli and
Tieck, of Berlin; Dannecker, of Stuttgart; Zauner, of
Vienna; Ruhl, of Cassel; and Pozzi, of Mannheim, all
learned to handle the chisel under his eye. He died at
Berlin, on the 2oth of January 1850, aged 86.
The best works of Schadow are his equestrian statue of
Frederick the Great, at Stettin ; General Ziethen ; Field-
Marshal Bliicher, at Rostock; General Tauenstein, at Bres¬
lau ; Duke Leopold of Dessau, at Berlin ; Luther, at Wit¬
tenberg ; a colossal group, in marble, of Queen Louise of
Prussia, and her sister, the Duchess of Cumberland; and
the quadriga on the Brandenburgh Gate, at Berlin. He
likewise wrote the following works:—Wittenberg’s Denk~
mdler der Bildnerei, Baukunst und Malerei, etc., 1825 ;
Pohjklct, etc., Berlin, 1834 ; Nationalphysiognomien, etc.,
Berlin, 1835.
Rudolf, the eldest son of Schadow, born in 1785, and
died at Rome in 1822, displayed decided genius in his
father’s art. Friedrich-Wilhelm, who was in 1843 en¬
nobled by the King of Prussia, was Schadow’s second son,
and has gained for himself a great reputation as a historical
and portrait painter.
S C H 711
profound and also in a much more profitless manner than Schaffhau-
either the French or the Scottish schools. They have pur- sen.
sued philosophy much beyond the verge of the romantic,
and have exposed it to every possible evil. That which in
the hands of Kant was meant to repel the Scepticism of
Hume and the Sensationalism of Locke, in its turn produced
a Scepticism as real as that which it had replaced, and grew
under the hands of Hegel and Schelling into a wild agglo¬
meration of Pantheism, in which no man can believe, be¬
cause, it is said, no man can understand. (j. D—S.)
SCHAFFHAUSEN, a canton of Switzerland, the most
northerly and also one of the smallest of the whole;
bounded E., N., and W. by the grand-duchy of Baden, S.
by the cantons of Zurich and Thurgau. It is divided by
Baden into three portions ; the largest of which lies farthest
north, another to the south, and a third to the east of it.
The southern boundary of all three is formed by the
Rhine; on the other side there is no natural limit. Total
area, 115 square miles. The surface is very rugged, though
it can hardly be called mountainous, as there are no very
high elevations. Several ridges of hills, ramifications of
the Jura range, traverse the country from S.W. to N.E.
These have, in general, a gradual slope towards the Rhine,
but on the other side the declivities are steeper. Nume¬
rous long and narrow valleys stretch towards the Rhine,
but nowhere do they open out into plains. The highest
summit in the canton is the Randenberg, 2957 feet above
the sea. Except the Rhine, which receives the whole
drainage, there are no important rivers ; but limpid rivulets
abundantly water the land. The geological formation that
is most prevalent is that of Jura limestone. Iron is ob¬
tained in considerable abundance, and is smelted at Laufen,
on the Rhine. Gypsum, alabaster, and sandstone, are the
only other important minerals. The soil is generally fertile,
and the climate milder here than in most parts of Switzer¬
land. Agriculture forms the occupation of the most of the
people. In 1854 Schaffhausen contained 31,000 acres of
arable land, 3100 of vineyards, 7058 of meadows and pas¬
ture land, 27,300 of forests, and 7000 of waste land. In
the same year there were 1416 horses, 8726 horned cattle,
483 sheep, 2864 goats, and 748 swine. Few manufactures
are carried on here, the chief being tanning, cotton-spinning,
and distilling cherry-water. Some steel and hardware are
also fabricated. A considerable transit trade is carried on
through the canton, especially by the Rhine. The consti¬
tution of the canton is democratic ; the electoral franchise
being possessed by all citizens above twenty, with the ex¬
ception of paupers, bankrupts, and criminals. The legisla¬
ture consists of a great council of seventy-eight members,
popularly elected; who appoint a smaller or executive
council of nine members, at the head of whom stands a
burgomaster. Both councils exist only for four years.
Education is well attended to, there being a lyceum in the
capital, and numerous elementary schools throughout the
country. Schaffhausen is divided into six districts, but there
are only three towns of any importance—Schaffhausen, the
capital, Neunkirch, and Stein. The inhabitants are of
German origin, and for the most part profess the reformed
religion. Pop. (1850) 35,300; of whom 33,889 belong to
the Reformed, and 1411 to the Roman Catholic Church.
Schaffhausen, the capital of the above canton, on the
side of a hill on the right bank of the Rhine,. 24 miles N. of
Zurich. It stands just at the place where the rapids and falls
of the river render it unnavigable as far as Basle ; and owes
its origin, as well as its name, to the boat or skiff-houses
that were built here for the lading and unlading of boats on
the river. It is protected by walls and tower; and on the
hill above stands an old feudal castle, with bomb-proof
casemates. Schaffhausen is one of the most antique-look-
712 S C H
Schalken ing towns in Switzerland ; it has irregular streets, and many
II houses with their fronts and oriel-windows curiously carved.
Seheele. pubiic buildings are the Romanesque cathedral,
' 0f a cruciform shape, with a lofty tower; the large church
of St John ; the town-hall; and the arsenal. The principal
manufactures of the place are silk, cotton, and steel; and
there is a considerable trade with Germany. It is much
resorted to by travellers, on account of its vicinity to the
celebrated falls of the Rhine at Laufen, the finest cataract
in Europe. The Rhine is crossed here by a wooden bridge
of ordinary construction, which replaces the celebrated
single-arched one of 365 feet in span, that was burned by
the French in 1799. Schaffhausen was the birthplace of
the Swiss historian, Muller. Pop. 7700.
SCHALKEN, Godfrey, was born at Dort, in 1643,
and pursued his studies as a painter under Hoogstraten,
and subsequently under Gerard Douw. He was esteemed
one of Douw’s best pupils, but his talent was rather me¬
chanical than creative. This was visibly displayed in
his attempts to imitate the bold contrasts of light and
shade of Rembrandt. Having failed to represent sunlight,
he had recourse to candle-light, in which he had more
success. Some of his daylight pieces, however, display a
great degree of care. He was patronised by William III.
of England, who induced him to come over and settle in
London, where he painted the portrait of his Majesty and
several of the nobility. He returned to Holland, settled at
the Hague, and died in 1706. There are three good
paintings by Schalken in the Royal Collection, and one in
the National Gallery of England.
SCHASSBURG (Magyar, Segesvar), a town of the
Austrian empire, in Transylvania, 42 miles N.E. of Her-
mannstadt. It stands partly on a hill and partly in a valley,
on the Great Kokel; and contains an ancient castle, a
Franciscan convent, Roman Catholic and Protestant
churches, and a Protestant gymnasium. Cotton, woollen,
and linen cloth are made here ; and wine and vegetables are
produced in the neighbourhood. Near Schassburg the
Hungarian insurgents were defeated July 31, 1849. Pop.
6900.
SCHAUMBURG-LIPPE. See Lippe-Schaumburg.
SCHEELE, Charles William, was born on the 19th
of December 1742, at Stralsund, where his father had kept
a shop. At a very early age he showed a strong desire to
follow the profession of an apothecary, and he was accord¬
ingly apprenticed to one Bauch at Gottenburg. Among
the various books which he read that treated of chemical
subjects, Kunckell’s Laboratory seems to have been his
favourite. He used to repeat many of the experiments
contained in that work privately in the night, when the rest of
the family had retired to rest. After Scheele’s departure from
Gottenburg in the year 1765, he served successively at
Malmb, at Stockholm, and at Upsal. At the latter place
he happily commenced the friendship which subsisted be¬
tween him and Bergman. During his residence at this
place, Prince Henry of Prussia, accompanied by the Duke
of Sudermania, visited Upsal, and chose this opportunity
to see the academical laboratory. Scheele was accordingly
appointed by the university to exhibit to them some chemi¬
cal experiments. This office he undertook, and showed
some of the most curious processes in chemistry. The two
princes asked him many questions, and expressed their ap¬
probation of the answers which he returned to them. The
duke asked him of what country he was, and seemed to be
much pleased when Scheele informed him that he was born at
Stralsund. On their departure they told the professor, who
was present, that they should esteem it a favour if he would
permit the young man to have free access to the laboratory
as often as he chose to make experiments. In the year
1777 Scheele was appointed by the medical college to be
apothecary at Koping. It was at that place that he soon
S C H
showed the world how great a man he was, and that no Scheele.
place or situation could confine his abilities. When he was
at Stockholm he showed his acuteness as a chemist, as he
discovered there the new and wonderful acid contained in
the fluor spar. It has been confidently asserted that
Scheele was the first who discovered the nature of the
aeril acid, and that whilst he was at Upsal he made many
experiments to prove its properties. This circumstance
might probably have furnished Bergman with the means
of treating this subject more fully. At the same place he
began the series of excellent experiments on that remark¬
able mineral substance manganese ; from which investiga¬
tion he was led to make the very valuable and interesting
discovery of oxymuriatic acid. At the same time he ex¬
amined the properties of ponderous earth. At Koping he
finished his Dissertation on Air and Fire ; a work which
the celebrated Bergman most warmly recommended in the
friendly preface which he wrote for it. The theory which
Scheele endeavours to prove in this treatise is, that fire
consists of pure air and phlogiston. The author’s merit in
this work, exclusive of the encomiums of Bergman, was
sufficient to obtain the approbation of the public; as the
ingenuity displayed in treating so delicate a subject, and
the many new and valuable observations which are dispersed
through the treatise, justly entitled the author to that fame
which his book procured him. The English translation
was executed by Kirwan.
Scheele now diligently employed himself in contributing
to the Transactions of the Academy at Stockholm. He
first pointed out a new way to prepare the salt of benzoin.
In the same year he discovered that arsenic, freed in a par¬
ticular manner from phlogiston, partakes of all the properties
of an acid, and has its peculiar affinities to other substances.
In a Dissertation on Flint, Clay, and Alum, he clearly
overturned Beaume’s opinion of the identity of the siliceous
and argillaceous earths. He likewise published an Analysis
of the Human Calculus. He showed also a mode of prepar¬
ing mercurius dulcis in the humid way, and improved the
process of making the powder of algaroth. Having analysed
the mineral substance called molybdena, or flexible black-
lead, he discovered a beautiful green pigment, and showed
us how to decompose the air of the atmosphere. He dis¬
covered that some neutral salts are decomposed by lime and
iron, and he decomposed plumbago, or the common black-
lead. After observing, with peculiar ingenuity, an acid in
milk, which decomposes acetated alkali; he, in his experi¬
ments on the sugar of milk, discovered another acid, different
in some respects from the above-mentioned acids and the
common acid of sugar. He accomplished the decomposi¬
tion of tungsten, the component parts of which were before
unknown, and found in it a peculiar metallic acid united
to lime. Having published an excellent dissertation on the
different sorts of ether, he found out an easy way to pre¬
serve vinegar for many years. His investigation of the
colouring matter in Prussian blue, the means he employed
to separate it, and his discovery that alkali, sal ammoniac,
and charcoal, mixed together, will produce it, are strong
marks of his penetration and genius. He found out a pe¬
culiar sweet matter in expressed oils after they have been
boiled with litharge and water, and showed how the acid of
lemons may be obtained in crystals. He found the white
powder in rhubarb, which Model thought to be selenite,
and which amounts to one-seventh of the weight of the root,
to be calcareous earth united to the acid of sorrel. This
suggested to him the examination of the acid of sorrel. He
precipitated acetate of lead with it, and decomposed the
precipitate thus obtained by the vitriolic acid, and by this
process he obtained the common acid of sugar; and by
slowly dropping a solution of fixed alkali into a solution of
the acid of sugar, he regenerated the acid of sorrel. From
his examination of the acids contained in fruits and berries,
S C II
Schee- he found not one species of acid alone, viz., the acid of
maker, lemon, but also another, which he denominated the mala-
—ceous or malic acid, from its being found in the greatest
quantity in apples.
By the decomposition of Bergman’s new metal, siderite,
he showed the truth of Meyer’s and Klaproth’s conjecture
concerning it. He boiled the calx of siderite with alkali
of tartar, and precipitated nitrate of mercury by the middle
salt which he obtained by this operation. The calx of mer¬
cury which was precipitated was found to be united to the
acid of phosphorus, so that he demonstrates that this calx
was phosphoretted iron. He found also that the native
Prussian blue contained the same acid. He discovered, by
the same means, that the perlate acid, as it was called, was
not an acid sui generis, but the phosphoric united to a small
quantity of the mineral alkali. He suggested an improve¬
ment in the process for obtaining magnesia from Epsom
salts; and he advises the adding of an equal weightof common
salt to the Epsom salt, so that an equal weight of Glauber’s
salt may be obtained; but this will not succeed unless dur¬
ing the cold of winter. These are the valuable discoveries
of this great philosopher, which are to be found in the
Transactions of the Royal Society, at Stockholm. Most
of his essays have been published in French by Madame
Picardet and M. Morveau, of Dijon. Dr Beddoes also has
made a very valuable present to his countrymen of an Eng¬
lish translation of a great part of Scheele’s dissertations, to
which he has added some useful and ingenious notes.
Viewing Scheele as a philosopher, we must judge of him
from his many and important discoveries. What concerns
him as a man we are informed of by his friends, who affirm
that his moral character was irreproachable. It was mat¬
ter of remark, that his chemical apparatus was neither neat
nor convenient; his laboratory was small and confined ; nor
was he particular in regard to the vessels which he em¬
ployed in his experiments, so that we may justly wonder
how such discoveries and such experiments could have been
made. He understood none of the modern lariguages ex¬
cept the German and Swedish ; and he had not the advan¬
tage of being benefited by the early intelligence of disco-
veries made by foreigners, but was forced to wTait till the
intelligence was conveyed to him in the slow and uncertain
channel of translation.
It was often wished that he would quit his retirement at
Koping, and move in a larger sphere. It was suggested
to him that a place might be procured in England, which
might afford him a good income and more leisure; and in¬
deed latterly an offer was made to him of an annuity of
L.300 if he would settle in this country. But death put an
end to this project. For half a year before this melancholy
event his health had been declining, and he himself was
sensible that he would not recover. On the 19th of May
] 786 he was confined to his bed ; on the 21st he bequeathed
all of which he was possessed to his wife, who was the
widow of his predecessor at Koping* and whom he had
lately married; and on the same day he departed this
life. Thus, in less than two years, the world lost Bergman
and Scheele, of whom Sweden may justly boast, as philoso¬
phers who were beloved and lamented by all their con¬
temporaries, and whose memory posterity will never cease
to revere.
SCHEEMAKER, Scheemakers, Schumaker, or Schu¬
macher, Peter, a Flemish sculptor, who obtained consider¬
able celebrity in England during the Rysbrack and Roubiliac
period of sculpture, was born at Antwerp in 1691. He
received his early instructions from his father and from a
sculptor named Delvaux. In his youth he visited Den¬
mark, and made a pilgrimage to Rome, which he performed
on foot. He afterwards resolved to go to England, and
performed a great part of that journey likewise on foot.
He paid a second visit to Rome, and again settled in Eng-
VOL. XIX.
S C H 713
land in 1735. He lived first in Old Palace Yard, and Scheffer,
subsequently in Vine Street, Piccadilly, where he was em-
ployed on numerous important works, particularly the mo¬
numents of Westminster Abbey. The time of his death
is not known, but it must have been subsequent to 1770, the
year of his return to Antwerp.
As a sculpture Scheemaker did not stand exceedingly
high, although he was capable of rivalling Rysbrack and
Roubiliac. He was an excellent designer, and managed
w'ell his elaborate costumes; but he rarely or never rose to
any of the higher qualities of his art. In Westminster
Abbey there are monuments by him to Shakspeare; Dry-
den; George, Duke of Albemarle; John Sheffield, Duke of
Buckingham, &c. He likewise executed numerous busts
and other pieces of sculpture.
SCHEFFER, Ary, an eminent French historical painter,
was born at Dordrecht, in Holland, of French parents, in
1794 or 1795. He studied art under Baron Guerin at
Paris, and practised historical and genre painting in that
city with very great success. His progress has been, with
few exceptions, steadily upwards from 1812, when he ex¬
hibited his “ Abel and Tirza singing the praises of the
Lord,” down to his latest work in 1858. Among his most
famous pictures are his Goethe’s “ Faust” and “ Margaret,”
(1831-34); “ Francesca da Rimini and her Lover meeting
Dante and Virgil in Hell” (1835) ; “ Christ the Comforter”
(1836) ; Goethe’s “ Mignon,” and a “ Dead Christ” (1837—
1845); “ Dante and Beatrice ” (1849), &c. He has like¬
wise executed some excellent portraits, among which may
be mentioned his La Fayette, Talleyrand, Beranger, La¬
martine, Queen Amelie, and Charles Dickens.
Scheffer combines in his pictures many of the excel¬
lencies both of the German and French schools, and a
few of the defects of both. In turn of thought and man¬
ner, for example, he is decidedly German, while in style
and colour he is more obviously French, being often rich
and beautiful, but wanting in softness and truth. Scheffer
is, beyond doubt, a great painter, and many of his works
leave but little to desire. He is looked up to, and with reason,
by his countrymen as a master in devotional art; and he
has fairly succeeded in breaking down that rigid classical
conventionalism which so long had hedged in the French
school of art. He is at times hurried and careless, though
in his more elaborate pictures, he has put forth all the
labour which time and genius could expend on them. He
was made an officer of the Legion of Honour in 1825, and
he was tutor to the family of Louis Philippe. Fie died on
the 15th of June 1858.
Arnold Scheffer, who earned some distinction as a French
political writer, and who died in 1853, was the younger
brother of the painter; and Henri Scheffer, a younger brother
still, and a painter of less note, still survives.
Scheffer, Jean, a learned antiquary, was born at
Strasburg in 1621, of an ancient family, descended in a
direct line, according to some, from Peter Schceffer, one of
the inventors of the art of printing. (See Printing.) He
made great progress in languages and in history; and at
an early age he published, in 1643, a work of very great
learning, De Varietate Navium apud Veteres. Meanwhile
his native district of Alsace was frequently exposed to the
license attendant on war, and Scheffer, anxious for a learned
retirement, betook himself to Sweden, where Queen Chris¬
tina took him by the hand, and obtained for him, in 1648, the
chair of eloquence and of public law in the University
ofUpsala. Here he worked with surprising diligence till
his death on the 26th of March 1679, at the age of fifty-
eight.
Besides editing ^Elian’s Varice Histories, Phaedrus,
Arrian’s Tactica, a newly discovered fragment of Petronius,
Aphthonius, Hyginus, Justin, Julius Obsequens, and others,
he likewise wrote numerous theses, harangues, eloges, and
4 x
714 S C H
Scheid opuscula, besides seventeen distinct treatises which will be
|| found in the 39th vol. of Niceron and in the Biographic
Scheie- JJniverselle. His Lapponia, or History of Lapland, Franck-
Stadt. furt 1673, has been translated into German, French, and
English, Oxford, 1674. A Memoir of Scheffer, by Eric
Michael Fant, professor of history at Stockholm, was
honoured with the prize, in 1781, of the Society of Educa¬
tion of Upsala.
SCHEIU, Everard, perhaps better known by his Latin
name Scheidius, was a philologist of distinguished merits,
who betrayed early a profound knowledge of the oriental
languages, was born at Arnheim, in Holland, in 1742. He
was, in 1768, appointed professor at Harderwyck, and on
the death of J. Albert Schultens, he obtained the chair of
oriental literature at Leyden, which he filled with distin¬
guished ability. He died in 1795. Besides the Minerva
of Francisco Sanchez, Scheid left other works, both original
and edited, which still perpetuate his name. His most po¬
pular book was Glossarium Arabico-Latinum Manuale, be¬
ing an abridgment of the Arabic Lexicon of James Golius,
Leyden, 1769. He published besides, eight other works,
which are to be found in the Biographic Universelle.
There was projected by Scheid a new Dutch translation of
the Bible, but he was prevented by death from carrying
out his design.
SCHEINER, Christoph, a German mathematician
and astronomer, eminent for being one of the first who dis¬
covered spots on the sun, was born at Schwaben, in the
territory of Mundelhein, 1575. He first discovered spots
on the sun’s disk in 1611, a few months later than Galileo,
and made observations on these phenomena at Rome, until
at length reducing them to order, he published them in one
volume folio in 1630. He wrote also some smaller pieces
relating to mathematics and philosophy, invented the pan¬
tograph, and died in 1660.
SCHELDT, or Schelde (Fr. Escaat, Lat. Scaldis), a
river of the Netherlands, issues from a small lake in the
French department of Aisne, flows in an irregular course
mostly N.E., through the department of Nord; enters the
kingdom of Belgium, and traverses the provinces of Hainault
and East Flanders. At Ghent, in the latter, it takes a
sudden curve towards the east, and flowing between Ant¬
werp and East Flanders, enters the Dutch territory below
the city of Antwerp. Here it turns westwards, spreads
itself out, and enters the sea by two broad estuaries; be¬
tween which lie the islands of Walcheren and Beveland.
Its whole length is about 200 miles, for nearly the whole
of which it is navigable. Its principal affluents are the
Haine, Dender, and Rupel, from the right; and the Scarpe
and Lys from the left. Its commercial importance is very
great, as it is connected by canals with the Somme, the
Seine, and the Loire, while its estuaries communicate with
the Meuse and Rhine, and lie directly opposite that of the
Thames. In the lower part of its course the Scheldt is pro¬
tected by dykes, as it traverses a very low and flat country.
SCHELESTADT, or Schlestadt, a fortified town of
France, capital of an arrondissement, in the department of
Bas-Rhin, on the left bank of the 111, 26 miles S.W. of
Strasburg. It has narrow, crooked, but clean streets, lined
with irregular houses; and contains several fine churches
and other buildings. The church of St George is a Gothic
edifice of the fourteenth century; and St Foy is much
more ancient, and is a copy of that of the Holy Sepulchre
at Jerusalem. Near the latter is a large convent, now used
for barracks. The chief other building is the court-house,
once a Jesuit college. The fortifications are regular, the
work of Vauban ; and the place is entered by three gates.
Flour, beer, vinegar, starch, leather, linen, and earthenware,
are the chief manufactures of Schelestadt. There is some
trade in these and other articles. Martin Bucer the re¬
former was born here. Pop. (1856) 9086.
S C H
SCHELLING, Friedrich Wilhelm Joseph yon, Scheliing.
the last of the great German philosophers inaugurated by
Kant, was born at Leonberg, in the kingdom of Wiirtem-
berg, on the 27th of January 1775. He studied theology
at the University of Tubingen, where he had Hegel for
his college companion, and with whom he formed a friend-
ship which lasted for long years, but which had subse¬
quently to give way before the bitterness of philosophic
rivalry. Scheliing, though the younger man, was the older
philosopher, and he had the honour of indoctrinating Hegel
in the sublime mysteries of subjective idealism. Scheliing
continued his studies at Leipzig and at Jena, whither he
had been attracted by the eloquence of Fichte, and whom
he afterwards succeeded, on the removal of his master in
1798. His friend Hegel rejoined him at Jena, and wrought
in conjunction with him at the Jena Zeitschrift, in pro¬
mulgating their then common doctrine. Schelling published
three works in 1795, ere he had completed his twentieth
year:— Vom Ich als Princip der Philosophic (Of the Ego
as the Principle of Philosophy) ; Philosophische Briefe
uber Dogmatismus und Criticismus (Philosophical Letters
on Dogmatism and Criticism); Ueber die Moglichkeit einer
Form der Philosophic uberhaupt (On the Possibility of a
form of Philosophy in general). These works were fol¬
lowed by others in quick succession :—Abhandlungen zur
Elduterung des Idealismus der Wissenschaftslehre (Dis¬
sertations on the Idealism of the Theory of Science) ap¬
peared in 1796-97; Ideen zu einer Philosophic der Natur
(Ideas for a Philosophy of Nature) 1797, second edition
1803 ; Von der Weltseele (On the Soul of the World) 1798,
third edition 1809; Erster Entivurf eines Systems der
Naturphilosophie (First Sketch of a System of the Philoso¬
phy of Nature) 1799 ; Einleitung zu seinem Entwurf eines
Systems, &c. (Introduction to his Sketch of a System, &c.)
1799. When we reflect that those works were all written
within the period of five years, we will not be inclined to
find fault with the youthful philosopher for being too slug¬
gish in the philosophic cause which he had espoused. The
years which immediately preceded and which immediately
succeeded the commencement of the century, constitute
the most interesting epoch in the history of German philo¬
sophy. In 1802 Schelling graduated in medicine, and the
following year quitted Jena, the principal centre of Pro¬
testant thought, for the Catholic university of Wurzburg.
He left Hegel to fill his shoes at the University of Jena,
when this great dialectician began to forge a system of
resolute logic, so wild and strange, that Germany, that land
of chimeras, might have crowned him as the high priest of
intellectual legerdemain. (See Hegel.) In 1807 Schelling
was appointed Member of the Academy of Sciences of
Munich, and subsequently perpetual secretary of the Aca¬
demy of the Fine Arts. Schelling continued still to ply
his pen with untiring energy. For the next fifteen years
he kept the printing-presses of Germany almost in constant
operation, promulgating his transcendental philosophy.
Hegel had now caught the ear of the German public with
bis “Logischeldee,” and Schelling, in partial disgust, allowed
the favourite to have his day. From 1815 till the day of
his death, he wrote nothing of any importance. The fol¬
lowing is a list of his works during this second period of his
philosophical activity:—Zeitschrift fur die Speculative Phy-
sik, containing a brief account of his system, under the
title of Darstellung meines Systems der Philosophic, 2 vols.,
1800-1803 ; System des Transcendentalen Idealismus
(System of Transcendental Idealism) 1800, translated into
French by Grimblot, Paris, 1842; Bruno, a dialogue on
the divine and natural principle of things, 1802, in French,
by Husson, Paris, 1845; Neue leitschrift, 1803; Vorle-
sungen uber die Methode des Ahademischen Studiums
(Lectures upon the Method of Academical Studies), 1803,
new edition, 1813; Philosophic und Religion, 1804; Apho-
S C H E L L I N G. 715
Schelling. rismen zur Einleitung in die Naturphilosophic (Aphorisms
for an Introduction to the Philosophy of Nature) 1806;
Ueher das Verhdllniss des Realen und Idealen in der
Natur (On the Relation of the Real and the Ideal in
Nature) 1806; Darlegung des wahren Verhdltnisses der
Naiurphilosophie zu der verhesserten Fichte’-schcn Lehre
(Exposition of the true relation of the Philosophy of Nature
to the reformed doctrine of Fichte) 1806; Ueber das Ver-
hdltniss der bildenden Kiinste zu der Natm; (Concerning the
Relation of the Arts of Design to Nature) 1807 ; Philoso-
phische Untersuchungen uber das TVesen der Menschlichen
Freiheit (Philosophical Researches on the Essence of Hu¬
man Liberty) 1809; A reply to the accusations of Jacobi,
entitled, Denkmal der Schrift von den Gbttlichen Dingen,
1812; and Die Gottheiten von Samothrake (The Divini¬
ties of Samothrace) 181o. With the exception of his first
lecture at Berlin in 1841 {Erste Vorlesung in Berlin), this
work on the Divinities of Samothrace closed his published
writings. In 1820 he retired to Erlangen, where he was
ennobled by the King of Bavaria. On the creation of the
University of Munich he was appointed to the chair of
philosophy. He was afterwards chosen Chevalier of the
Legion of Honour, and foreign associate of the Academy
of Moral and Political Sciences of France. From 1841,
when he was chosen professor in the University of Berlin,
he elaborated in silence a new species of philosophy, which
was to bear the name of the positive philosophy. This
system he had not matured, or at least he had not given it
to the public, when he died at Ragaz, in Switzerland,
whither he had gone for the benefit of his health, in August
1854, at the age of seventy-nine.
Schelling never produced a definite system, and pursued
his studies, as Hegel phrased it, “ in the presence of the
public.” But it is necessary to add, that the public of
Germany followed him with a lively interest, and the young
and ardent writer exercised over it a very powerful influence.
If he failed to expound his philosophy with a systematic
precision, if he presented it under various guises, re¬
turning continually upon his former work, he in no case
proved false to his own genius, and from first to last his
works breathe out the same sublime spirit. When, in 1841,
.he made his first appearance before the public of Berlin,
he could tell them, in his first lecture, without any sacrifice
of truth, that he did not disavow the speculations of his
youth. A man of genius cannot change his ideas as he
changes his will; he is under their empire more than they
are under his; his ideas belong to him in a more emphatic
sense than he can be said to possess his ideas. Schelling
is a philosopher in the largest sense of that term; and had
he kept the intellectual rein more closely upon his Pegasus,
he would doubtless have ranked with those sublime philo¬
sophers of which Plato is the acknowledged chief. lie is a
philosopher among poets, and a poet among philosophers. As
he has frequently said, every system of philosophy, when it
is pushed to the last source of intellectual inspiration, in its
attempt to represent the physical and moral world, is not a
poem in the highest sense of that word, does not adequately
represent the universe, that vast and sublime poem, of
which all philosophies, and all poems alike, are but the faint
resemblances and imperfect imitations. His philosophical
genius developed itself under the influence of the school
of Kant and of Fichte, but he gave early indications of a
tendency to soar over the heads of his instructors. He
drank deeply at the fountain of the Neo-Platonists, of
Giordano Bruno, and particularly of Spinoza; and arose
from the draught, strong as a giant refreshed with wine, to
weave the endless threads of his wandering thoughts into a
web of idealistic pantheism.
The genuine philosophy of Schelling places him histori¬
cally between Fichte and Flegel. It has never been pre¬
sented by himself in a systematic form: he has proceeded
by adding fragment to fragment, without apparently heed- Schelling.
ing whether these were mutually exclusive or not. To say
the truth, his mind was more under the government of the
imagination than it was under law to the harder elements
of the intelligence. The pure intellect was seldom per¬
mitted to shape out any proposition without being dazzled
by the fiery light which the imagination threw upon it; so
that, when he halted in his speculative course, he could
not calmly survey his work by reason of the brilliant and
blinding glow which was cast over it by this subtle and
potent agent. After all, however, considering the region
in which he chose to move, it mattered very little which
faculty of the mind predominated, where all its faculties
would have been at fault. Schelling’s great error lay in
permitting his mind to be bewildered in the pursuit of a
vain phantom, which arose only to lure him on, and which
allowed itself to be apparently grasped, only to destroy its
pursuer. We shall here limit ourselves, in characterizing
his philosophy, to point out in a very general manner its
leading thoughts and its principal results.
The ruling idea of Schelling’s philosophy is the identity
of the Subject and Object of thought, of the Ego and the
Non-ego, of the ideal and the real; an identity which Fichte
had only presented as an ideal which the Ego should con¬
tinually endeavour to realize. While Fichte accorded to
ideas only a subjective value, Schelling attributed to them
an objective meaning. This objective something which
the Ego contemplated was not, however, according to
Schelling, anything external to the Ego and independent
of it; on the contrary, it was precisely within the sphere of
the Ego where this subject-object was found. He identi¬
fied thought with things, and things with thought. Ac¬
cording to him, Reason is one, and human reason is iden¬
tical with divine reason. The ideas of the divine intelli¬
gence realize themselves in being thought; things, again,
are their reflection, or phenomenal expression. Human
intelligence conceives, by its owm law's, these divine ideas;
and human thought is a faithful transcript of the divine
dialectics which produced the universe. There is thus a
pre-established harmony between our ideas and external
objects, which are but identical copies of the same model.
By the Intellectual Intuition (Anschauung) which en¬
ables the spectator to disrobe himself of his manhood, and
temporarily to become a god, he rises above the region of
the understanding, and identifies his reason w ith the divine.
Thus the true philosophical method consists in casting
aside reflection, by whose sluggish movement things had
been taken for real existences, independent of the subject
of thought, and rising into the genuine philosophical Intui¬
tion, by which thought and things are perceived to be one,
even as human reason is identified with the absolute. To
show how all things emanate from the absolute, is what
Schelling calls the method of construction. Things are,
according to this system, but the expression of the absolute
reason, which necessitates the total indifference of subjective
and objective. The absolute, by its tendency to objectify
itself, moves forward by an expansive law, and out of the
abundance of the natura naturans comes the w hole variety
of the natura natura,ta. Again, by its tendency to subjectify
itself, it moves backward, as it were, and by a contractive
excitement, draws the natura naturata back upon the
natura naturans, when it becomes conscious of itself.
The creation of the universe, in short, or the evolution of
the absolute, is an act of eternal knowledge, and philo¬
sophy is the free reproduction in the reflective conscious¬
ness of this act of knowledge. Whoever, according to
Schelling, cannot elevate himself to this Intellectual
Intuition, or philosophic ecstacy, is entirely incapable of
philosophy, and there is no true philosophy which does
not recognise this as its genuine foundation. There is a
speculative rapture, as there is a poetical enthusiasm, and
716
S C H
Schemnitz philosophy is the most magnificent and the most sublime
I! of poems. , „ . A11
Schenec- philosophy of the absolute, or of the All-one {die
tady- Alleinslehre), as it has been called, divides itself into tran-
' scendental idealism and the philosophy of nature. J he
w hole is sometimes comprised under the general designation
of the philosophy of nature, or absolute idealism. Absolute
idealism thus includes relative idealism, or the philosophy
of the ideal world ; and the philosophy of nature, properly
so called, comprises the philosophy of the visible world.
The degrees of identical development of mind and of nature
are called powers or potences, and the potences of these
two parallel systems are absolutely contemporaneous.
Transcendental philosophy and the philosophy of nature
express two parallel series, each of which developes itself
under the three potences—of inorganic nature ; of vegetable
and animal life ; and of conscious life. As the real world
is divine knowledge, or the external manifestation which
Deity has of his own thoughts, so philosophy is the know¬
ledge of that knowledge. It is idealism in so far as it re¬
presents the ideal world; realism in so far as it represents
the real world. But in so far as the sensible world is but
an imperfect image of the intelligible w’orld, it is thus far
idealism in the most absolute sense. Besides the ideal
world, as it exists in Deity, and as it is found by the intel¬
lectual intuition in the human reason, and the visible world
or nature, its identical expression, there is yet another
world to be recorded, the world of history. I his third
department, the product of our moral activity, and but
another mode of active intuition, is the return of de¬
cayed ideas, so to speak, again to Deity, whose end is the
final restoration of all things to the state of unity. 1 bus
one sole and simple cause produces the real world and
the world of ideas, of which the former exists without con¬
sciousness, and the latter exists with consciousness; and
the same spirit which manifests itself in nature and in man,
manifests itself also in history. It is by this thiid form of
development that Deity realizes himself, and by it he brings
back to himself the full and distinct consciousness of his
own ideas. Deity, accordingly, manifests himself every¬
where; in the mind, in nature, and in history. Absolute
unity of substance lies beneath all the apparent forms ol
the world, as absolute unity of action w-orks out all the de¬
velopments of the universe. And thus the last threads of
the web are woven, and man awakes to the discovery, that
while he slept, he has been enveloped in a most subtle
texture of idealistic pantheism, for a critical estimate of
the system of Schelling, the reader is referred to the sec¬
tion on “ Ontology,” in the article Metaphysics, and
especially to the masterly discussion ol it in Sir W illiam
Hamilton’s Discussions on Philosophy, p. 18.
The philosophy of Schelling has had numerous adherents,
many of them men of the foremost reputation. Oken, Stei-
fens, and G. H. Schubert have applied its principles to the
natural sciences and to psychology ; while others have ap¬
plied them to gesthetics, to mythology, to history, and to reli¬
gion. What was destructible in the philosophy has now
well-nigh died out in Germany, while what was vital and
fresh in it will grow and increase for ever. (J. d s.)
SCHEMNITZ, the principal mining town in Hungary,
stands between two hills, in the county of Honth, 65 miles
N. by W. of Buda. It is irregularly built on very uneven
ground; and contains a mining academy, founded by Maria
Theresa in 1760 ; and several other educational institutions.
The gold and silver mines employ about .10,000 hands, and
yield annually 300 lb. Troy of gold, and 43,400 of silver.
The population of the town itself is only 8500 ; but includ¬
ing the adjacent villages, it amounts to 20,000.
^SCHENECTADY, a town of the United States of
North America, in the state of New York, on the right bank
Schiller.
of the Mohawk, 16 miles N.W. of Albany.
It is regularly
S C H
built; and contains several handsome churches, a town-hall, Scherzo
jail, lyceum, academy, and the Union College, which was
founded in 1795, and contained, in 1857, 16 professors
and teachers, 70 students, and a library of 17,000 volumes.
It carries on several manufactures. The Erie Canal, which
connects Lake Erie with the Hudson, passes through the
town. Pop. (1850) 8921.
SCHERZO, a short musical composition, generally in
time, of a light and playful style. It is more rapid than the
old minuet. Some excellent examples of the scherzo are
to be found in Beethoven’s works; among others, one in
his second Symphony, op. 36, in D major.
SCHEUFFELIN, or Schaeuffelein, Hans Leonard,
a celebrated old German painter and wood-engraver, was
born at Niirnberg about 1490. Hans was placed early with
Albrecht Diirer, with whom he became a great favourite.
A good painting by Scheuffelin is his “ I aking Down from
the Cross,” in Nordlingen, executed in 1521. He died at
Nordlingen in 1539 or 1540.
SCHEVENINGEN, a fishing town and watering-place
of Holland, in the province of South Holland, on the Ger¬
man Ocean, 2 miles N.W. of the Hague. It contains a
royal pavilion, Protestant and Roman Catholic churches,
several schools and hospitals, and bathing establishments.
Pop. 5600, chiefly employed in fishing.
SCHIEDAM, a seaport of Holland, in the province of
South Holland, at the confluence of the Seine with the
Meuse, 4 miles W. of Rotterdam. It has several regular,
broad, and handsome streets, and not a few splendid build¬
ings. The exchange is considered the finest of these; and
there are also a town-hall, elegant concert-hall, and churches
of various sects. Schiedam possesses numerous schools,
a public library, benevolent institutions, &c. Its manu¬
factures include hardware, glass, ropes, whitelead, linen,
and flax. But it is best known for its distilleries of gin
or Hollands, of which there are more than 200. 1 here
is a considerable trade in this, as well as in grain and coals.
Many of the inhabitants are employed in the herring fishery.
Pop. 12,500.
SCHILLER, John Christopher Frederick yon, was
born at Marbach, a small town in the duchy of Wiirtem-
berg, on the 10th day of November 1759. It will aid the.
reader in synchronizing the periods of this great man s life
with the corresponding events throughout Christendom, it
we direct his attention to the fact, that Schiller’s birth nearly
coincided in point of time with that of Robert Burns, and
that it preceded that of Napoleon by about ten years.
The position of Schiller is remarkable. In the land of his
birth, by those who undervalue him the most, he is ranked
as the second name in German literature; everywhere else
he is ranked as the first. lor us, who are aliens to Gei-
many, Schiller is the representative of the German intellect
in its highest form; and to him, at all events, whether first
or second, it is certainly due, that the German intellect
has become a known power, and a power of growing mag¬
nitude, for the great commonwealth of Christendom. Luther
and Kepler, potent intellects as they were, did not make
themselves known as Germans; the revolutionary vigour
of the one, the starry lustre of the other, blended with the
convulsions of reformation, or with the aurora of ascend¬
ing science, in too kindly and genial a tone to call off the
attention from the wovk which they performed, from the
service which they promoted, to the circumstances of their
personal position. Their country, their birth, their abode,
even their separate existence, was merged in the mighty
cause to which they lent their co-operation. And thus at
the beginning of the sixteenth century, thus at the begin¬
ning of the seventeenth, did the litan sons of Germany de¬
feat their own private pretensions by the very grandeui of
their merit. Their interest as patriots was lost and con¬
founded in their paramount interest as cosmopolites. \\ hat
S C H I L L E R.
Schiller, they did for man and for human dignity eclipsed what they
had designed for Germany. After them there was a long in-
terlunar period of darkness for the land of the Rhine and the
Danube. The German energy, too spasmodically excited,
suffered a collapse. Throughout the whole of the seventeenth
century, but one vigorous mind arose for permanent effects
in literature. This was Opitz, a poet who deserves even
yet to be read with attention, but who is no more worthy
to be classed as the Dryden whom his too partial country¬
men have styled him, than the Germany of the Thirty Years’
War of taking rank by the side of civilized and cultured
England during the Cromwellian era, or Klopstock of sit¬
ting on the same throne with Milton. Leibnitz was the
one sole potentate in the fields of intellect whom the Ger¬
many of this century produced ; and he, like Luther and
Kepler, impresses us rather as a European than as a Ger¬
man mind, partly perhaps from his having pursued his self¬
development in foreign lands, partly from his large circle
of foreign connections, but most of all from his having writ¬
ten chiefly in French or in Latin. Passing onwards to the
eighteenth century, we find, through its earlier half, an ab¬
solute wilderness, unreclaimed and without promise of natu¬
ral vegetation, as the barren arena on which the few insipid
writers of Germany paraded. The torpor of academic dul-
ness domineered over the length and breadth of the land.
And as these academic bodies were universally found har¬
nessed in the equipage of petty courts, it followed that the
lethargies of pedantic dulness were uniformly deepened by
the lethargies of aulic and ceremonial dulness; so that, if
the reader represents to himself the very abstract of birth¬
day odes, sycophantish dedications, and court sermons,
he will have some adequate idea of the sterility and the
mechanical formality which at that era spread the sleep of
death over German literature. Literature, the very word
literature, points the laughter of scorn to what passed under
that name during the period of Gottsched. That such a
man indeed as this Gottsched, equal at the best to the com¬
position of a Latin grammar or a school arithmetic, should
for a moment have presided over the German muses, stands
out as in itself a brief and significant memorial, too certain
for contradiction, and yet almost too gross for belief, of the
apoplectic sleep under which the mind of central Europe at
that era lay oppressed. The rust of disuse had corroded
the very principles of activity. And, as if the double night
of academic dulness, combined with the dulness of court
inanities, had not been sufficient for the stifling of all native
energies, the feebleness of French models (and of these
moreover naturalized through still feebler imitations) had
become the law and standard for all attempts at original
composition. The darkness of night, it is usually said,
grows deeper as it approaches the dawn ; and the very
enormity of that prostration under which the German in¬
tellect at this time groaned, was the most certain pledge to
any observing eye of that intense re-action soon to stir and
kindle among the smouldering activities of this spell-bound
people. This re-action, however, was not abrupt and the¬
atrical : it moved through slow stages and by equable gra¬
dations : it might be said to commence from the middle of
the eighteenth century, that is, about nine years before the
birth of Schiller ; but a progress of forty years had not car¬
ried it so far towards its meridian altitude, as that the sym¬
pathetic shock from the French Revolution was by one
fraction more rude and shattering than the public torpor
still demanded. There is a memorable correspondency
throughout all members of Protestant Christendom in what¬
soever relates to literature and intellectual advance. How¬
ever imperfect the organization which binds them together, it
was sufficient even in these elder times to transmit reciprocally
from one to every other, so much of that illumination which
could be gathered into books, that no Christian state could
be much in advance of another, supposing that Popery op-
717
posed no barriers to free communication, unless only in those Schiller,
points which depended upon local gifts of nature, upon the 'v'--'
genius of a particular people, or upon the excellence of its
institutions. These advantages were incommunicable, let
the freedom of intercourse have been what it might: Eng¬
land could not send off by posts or by heralds her iron and
coals; she could not send the indomitable energy of her
population ; she could not send the absolute security of
property; she could not send the good faith of her parlia¬
ments. These were gifts indigenous to herself, either
through the temperament of her people, or through the ori¬
ginal endowments of her soil. But her condition of moral
sentiment, her high-toned civic elevation, her atmosphere
of political feeling and popular boldness,—much of these
she could and did transmit, by the radiation of the press, to
the very extremities of the German empire. Not only were
our books translated, but it is notorious to those acquainted
with German novels, or other pictures of German society,
that as early as the Seven Years’ War (1756-1763), in fact,
from the very era when Cave and Dr Johnson first made the
parliamentary debates accessible to the English themselves,
most of the German journals repeated, and sent forward as by
telegraph, these senatorial displays to every village through¬
out Germany. From the polar latitudes to the Mediter¬
ranean, from the mouths of the Rhine to the Euxine, there
was no other exhibition of free deliberative eloquence in
any popular assembly. And the Luise of Voss alone, a me¬
trical idyll not less valued for its truth of portraiture than
our own Vicar of Wakefield, will show, that the most se¬
questered clergyman of a rural parish did not think his
breakfast equipage complete without the latest report from
the great senate that sat in London. Hence we need not
be astonished that German and English literature were
found by the French Revolution in pretty nearly the same
condition of semi-vigilance and imperfect animation. That
mighty event reached us both, reached us all, we may say
(speaking of Protestant states), at the same moment, by the
same tremendous galvanism. The snake, the intellectual
snake, that lay in ambush among all nations, roused itself,
sloughed itself^ renewed its youth, in all of them at the same
period. A new world opened upon us all; new revolutions
of thought arose; new and nobler activities were born ;
“ and other palms were won.”
But by and through Schiller it was, as its main organ,
that this great revolutionary impulse expressed itself. Al¬
ready, as we have said, not less than forty years before the
earthquake by which France exploded and projected the
scoria of her huge crater over all Christian lands, a stirring
had commenced among the dry bones of intellectual Ger¬
many ; and symptoms arose that the breath of life would
soon disturb, by nobler agitations than by petty personal
quarrels, the death-like repose even of the German univer¬
sities. Precisely in those bodies however it was, in those
as connected with tyrannical governments, each academic
body being shackled to its own petty centre of local des¬
potism, that the old spells remained unlinked; and to them,
equally remarkable as firm trustees of truth, and as obstinate
depositories of darkness or of superannuated prejudice, we
must ascribe the slowness of the German movement on the
path of reascent. Meantime the earliest torch-bearer to
the murky literature of this great land, this crystallisation
of political states, was Bodmer. This man had no demoniac
genius, such as the service required ; but he had some taste,
and, what was better, he had some sensibility. He lived
among the Alps; and his reading lay among the alpine
sublimities of Milton and Shakspeare. Through his very
eyes he imbibed a daily scorn of Gottsched and his mon¬
strous compound of German coarseness with French sen¬
sual levity. He could not look at his native Alps, but he
saw in them, and their austere grandeurs or their dread re¬
alities, a spiritual reproach to the hollowness and falsehood
718
SCHILLER.
Schiller.
of that dull imposture which Gottsched offered by way of
substitute for nature. He was taught by the Alps to crave
for something nobler and deeper. Bodmer, though far be¬
low such a function, rose by favour of circumstances into
an apostle or missionary of truth for Germany. He trans¬
lated passages of English literature. He inoculated with
his own sympathies the more fervent mind of the youthful
Klopstock, who visited him in Switzerland. And it soon
became evident that Germany was not dead, but sleeping ;
and once again, legibly for any eye, the pulses of life be¬
gan to play freely through the vast organization of central
Europe.
Klopstock, however, though a fervid, a religious, and
for that reason an anti-Gallican mind, was himself an abor¬
tion. Such at least is our own opinion of this poet. He was
the child and creature of enthusiasm, but of enthusiasm not
allied with a masculine intellect, or any organ for that ca¬
pacious vision and meditative range which his subjects de¬
manded. He was essentially thoughtless, betrays every¬
where a most effeminate quality of sensibility, and is the
sport of that pseudo-enthusiasm and baseless rapture which
we see so often allied with the excitement of strong liquors.
In taste, or the sense of proportions and congruences, or
the harmonious adaptations, he is perhaps the most defec¬
tive writer extant.
But if no patriarch of German literature, in the sense of
having shaped the moulds in which it was to flow, in the
sense of having disciplined its taste or excited its rivalship
by classical models of excellence, or raised a finished stand¬
ard of style, perhaps we must concede that, on a minor
scale, Klopstock did something of that service in every one
of these departments. His works were at least Miltonic in
their choice of subjects, if ludicrously non-Miltonic in their
treatment of those subjects. And, whether due to him or
not, it is undeniable that in his time the mother-tongue of
Germany revived from the most absolute degradation on
record, to its ancient purity. In the time of Gottsched,
the authors of Germany wrote a macaronic jargon, in which
French and Latin made up a considerable proportion of
every sentence : nay, it happened often that foreign words
were inflected with German forms ; and the whole result
was such as to remind the reader of the medical examina¬
tion in the Malads Imaginaire of Moliere,
Quid poetea est k faire ?
Saignare
Baignare
Ensuita purgare, &c.
Nowr is it reasonable to ascribe some share in the resto¬
ration of good to Klopstock, both because his own writings
exhibit nothing of this most abject euphuism (a euphuism
expressing itself not in fantastic refinements on the staple
of the language, but altogether in rejecting it for foreign
words and idioms), and because he wrote expressly on the
subject of style and composition.
Wieland, meantime, if not enjoying so intense an accep¬
tation as Klopstock, had a more extensive one; and it is
in vain to deny him the praise of a festive, brilliant, and
most versatile wit. The Schlegels showed the haughty
malignity of their ungenerous natures, in depreciating Wie¬
land, at a time when old age had laid a freezing hand upon
the energy which he would once have put forth in defend¬
ing himself. He was the Voltaire of Germany, and very
much more than the Voltaire ; for his romantic and legen¬
dary poems are above the level of Voltaire. But, on the
other hand, he was a Voltaire in sensual impurity. To work,
to carry on a plot, to affect his readers by voluptuous im¬
pressions,—these wrere the unworthy aims of Wieland ; and
though a good natured critic w ould not refuse to make some
allowance for a youthful poet’s aberrations in this respect, Schiller,
yet the indulgence cannot extend itself to mature years. An
old man corrupting his readers, attempting to corrupt them,
or relying for his effect upon corruptions already effected,
in the purity of their affections, is a hideous object; and
that must be a precarious influence indeed which depends
for its durability upon the licentiousness of men. Wie¬
land, therefore, except in parts, will not last as a national
idol; but such he was nevertheless for a time.
Burger wrote too little of any expansive compass to give
the measure of his powers, or to found national impression ;
Lichtenberg, though a very sagacious observer, never rose
into what can be called a power—he did not modify his
age; yet these were both men of extraordinary talent, and
Burger a man of undoubted genius. On the other hand,
Lessing was merely a man of talent, but of talent in the
highest degree adapted to popularity. His very defects,
and the shallowness of his philosophy, promoted his popu¬
larity ; and by comparison with the French critics on the
dramatic or scenical proprieties he is ever profound. His
plummet, if not suited to the soundless depths of Shak-
speare, was able ten times over to fathom the little rivulets of
Parisian philosophy. This he did effectually, and thus un¬
consciously levelled the paths for Shakspeare, and for that
supreme dominion which he has since held over the Ger¬
man stage, by crushing with his sarcastic shrewdness the
pretensions of all who stood in the way. At that time, and
even yet, the functions of a literary man were very import¬
ant in Germany: the popular mind and the popular instinct
pointed one way, those of the little courts another. Mul¬
titudes of little German states (many of which were absorb¬
ed since 1816 by the process of mediatizing') made it their
ambition to play at keeping mimic armies in their pay, and
to ape the greater military sovereigns, by encouraging French
literature only, and the French language at their courts. It
was this latter propensity which had generated the anoma¬
lous macaronic dialect, of which we have already spoken as
a characteristic circumstance in the social features of lite¬
rary Germany during the first half of the eighteenth century.
Nowhere else, within the records of human follies, do we
find a corresponding case in which the government and the
patrician orders in the state, taking for granted, and abso¬
lutely postulating the utter worthlessness for intellectual
aims of those in and by whom they maintained their own
grandeur and independence, undisguisedly and even profes¬
sedly sought to ally themselves with a foreign literature,
foreign literati, and a foreign language. In this unexampled
display of scorn for native resources, and the consequent
collision between the two principles of action, all depended
upon the people themselves. For a time the wicked and
most profligate contempt of the local governments for that
native merit which it was their duty to evoke and to cherish,
naturally enough produced its ow n justification. Like Jew s
or slaves, whom all the world have agreed to hold contemp¬
tible, the German literati found it hard to make head against
so obstinate a prejudgment; and too often they became all
that they were presumed to be. Sint Mcecenates, non dee-
runt, Flacce, Marones. And the converse too often holds
good—that when all who should have smiled scowl upon a
man, he turns out the abject thing they have predicted.
Where Frenchified Fredericks sit upon German thrones, it
should not surprise us to see a crop of Gottscheds arise as
the best fruitage of the land. But when there is any latent
nobility in the popular mind, such scorn, by its very extremity,
will call forth its own counteraction. It was perhaps good
for Germany that a prince so eminent in one aspect as Fritz
der einziger,1 should put on record so emphatically his in¬
tense conviction, that no good thing could arise out of Ger-
1 “ Freddy the uniquewhich is the name by wyhich the Prussians expressed their admiration of their martial and indomitable, though
somewhat fantastic, king.
SCHILLER. 719
Schiller, many. This creed was expressed by the quality of the
—French minds which he attracted to his court. The very
refuse and dregs of the Parisian coteries satisfied his hun¬
ger for French garbage ; the very offal of their shambles
met the demand of his palate ; even a Maupertuis, so long
as he could produce a French baptismal certificate, was
good enough to manufacture into the president of a Berlin
academy. Such scorn challenged a re-action : the contest
lay between the thrones of Germany and the popular intel¬
lect, and the final result was inevitable. Once aware that
they were insulted, once enlightened to the full conscious¬
ness of the scorn which trampled on them as intellectual
and predestined Helots, even the mild-tempered Germans
became fierce, and now began to aspire, not merely under
the ordinary instincts of personal ambition, but with a vin¬
dictive feeling, and as conscious agents of retribution. It
became a pleasure with the German author, that the very
same works wnich elevated himself, wreaked his nation
upon their princes, and poured retorted scorn upon their
most ungenerous and unparental sovereigns. Already, in
the reign of the martial Frederick, the men who put most
weight of authority into his contempt of Germans,—Euler,
the matchless Euler, Lambert, and Immanuel Kant,—had
vindicated the pre-eminence of German mathematics. Al¬
ready, in 1755, had the same Immanuel Kant, whilst yet a
probationer for the chair of logic in a Prussian university,
sketched the outline of that philosophy which has secured
the admiration, though not the assent, of all men known
and proved to have understood it, of all men able to state its
doctrines in terms admissible by its disciples. Already, and
even previously, had Haller, who wrote in German, placed
himself at the head of the current physiology. And in the
fields of science or of philosophy, the victory was already
decided for the German intellect in competition with the
French.
But the fields of literature were still comparatively bar¬
ren. Klopstock was at least an anomaly; Lessing did not
present himself in the impassioned walks of literature; Her¬
der was viewed too much in the exclusive and professional
light of a clergyman ; and, with the exception of John Paul
Richter, a man of most original genius, but quite unfitted
for general popularity, no commanding mind arose in Ger¬
many with powers for levying homage from foreign nations,
until the appearance, as a great scenical poet, of Frederick
Schiller.
The father of this great poet was Caspar Schiller, an of¬
ficer in the military service of the Duke of Wiirtemberg.
He had previously served as a surgeon in the Bavarian
army ; but on his final return to his native country of Wiir-
temberg, and to the service of his native prince, he laid
aside his medical character for even., and obtained a com¬
mission as ensign and adjutant. In 1763, the peace of
Paris threw him out of his military employment, with the
nominal rank of captain. But, having conciliated the duke’s
favour, he was still borne on the books of the ducal estab¬
lishment ; and, as a planner of ornamental gardens, or in
some other civil capacity, he continued to serve his serene
highness for the rest of his life.
The parents of Schiller were both pious, upright persons,
with that loyal fidelity to duty, and that humble simplicity
of demeanour towards their superiors, which is so often
found among the unpretending natives of Germany. It
is probable, however, that Schiller owed to his mother
exclusively the preternatural endowments of his intellect.
She was of humble origin, the daughter of a baker, and not
so fortunate as to have received much education. But she
was apparently rich in gifts of the heart and the under¬
standing. She read poetry with delight; and through the
profound filial love with which she had inspired her son,
she found it easy to communicate her own literary tastes.
Her husband was not illiterate, and had in mature life so
laudably applied himself to the improvement of his own Schiller,
defective knowledge, that at length he thought himself ca-—y"—~
pable of appearing before the public as an author. Llis
book related simply to the subjects of his professional ex¬
perience as a horticulturist, and was entitled Die Baum-
zucht im Grossen (On the Management of Forests). Some
merit we must suppose it to have had, since the public
called for a second edition of it long after his own death,
and even after that of his illustrious son. And although
he was a plain man, of no pretensions, and possibly even
of slow faculties, he has left behind him a prayer, in which
there is one petition of sublime and pathetic piety, worthy
to be remembered by the side of Agar’s wise prayer against
the almost equal temptations of poverty and riches. At
the birth of his son, he had been reflecting with sorrow¬
ful anxiety, not unmingled with self-reproach, on his own
many disqualifications for conducting the education of the
child. But at length, reading in his own manifold imper¬
fections but so many reiterations of the necessity that he
should rely upon God’s bounty, converting his very defects
into so many arguments of hope and confidence in heaven,
he prayed thus: “ Oh God, that knowest my poverty in
good gifts for my son’s inheritance, graciously permit that,
even as the want of bread became to thy Son’s hunger-
stricken flock in the wilderness the pledge of overflowing
abundance, so likewise my darkness may, in its sad extre¬
mity, carry with it the measure of thy unfathomable light;
and because I, thy worm, cannot give to my son the least
of blessings, do thou give the greatest; because in my
hands there is not any thing, do thou from thine pour out
all things ; and that temple of a new-born spirit, which I
cannot adorn even with earthly ornaments of dust and
ashes, do thou irradiate with the celestial adornment ot
thy presence, and finally with that peace that passeth all
understanding.”
Reared at the feet of parents so pious and affectionate,
Schiller would doubtless pass a happy childhood ; and pro¬
bably to this utter tranquillity of his earlier years, to his
seclusion from all that could create pain, or even anxiety,
we must ascribe the unusual dearth of anecdotes from this
period of his life; a dearth which has tempted some of his
biographers into improving and embellishing some puerile
stories, which a man of sense will inevitably reject as too
trivial for his gravity or too fantastical for his faith. That
nation is happy, according to a common adage, which fur¬
nishes little business to the historian; for such a vacuity
in facts argues a condition of perfect peace and silent pros¬
perity. That childhood is happy, or may generally be pre¬
sumed such, which has furnished few records of external
experience, little that has appeared in doing or in suffer¬
ing to the eyes of companions; for the child who has
been made happy by early thoughtfulness, and by infantine
struggles with the great ideas of his origin and his desti¬
nation (ideas which settle with a deep, dove-like brooding
upon the mind of childhood, more than of mature life,
vexed with inroads from the noisy world), will not mani¬
fest the workings of his spirit by much of external acti¬
vity. The fallentis semita vitae, that path of noiseless life,
which eludes and deceives the conscious notice both of its
subject and of all around him, opens equally to the man
and to the child; and the happiest of all childhoods will
have been that of which the happiness has survived and
expressed itself, not in distinct records, but in deep affec¬
tion, in abiding love, and the hauntings of meditative power.
Such a childhood, in the bosom of maternal tenderness,
was probably passed by Schiller; and his first awaking to
the world of strife and perplexity happened in his four¬
teenth year. Up to that period his life had been vagrant,
agreeably to the shifting necessities of the ducal service ;
and his education desultory and domestic. But in the year
1773 he was solemnly entered as a member of a new aca-
720 SC III L L E R.
Schiller, demical institution, founded by the reigning duke, and re-
V~“"~v   eently translated to his little capital of Stuttgard. This
change took place at the special request of the duke, who,
under the mask of patronage, took upon himself the severe
* control of the whole simple family. The parents were pro¬
bably both too humble and dutiful in spirit towards one
whom they regarded in the double light of sovereign lord
and of personal benefactor, ever to murmur at the ducal
behests, far less to resist them. The duke was for them an
earthly providence ; and they resigned themselves, together
with their child, to the disposal of him who dispensed their
earthly blessings, not less meekly than of Him whose vice¬
gerent they presumed him to be. In such a frame of mind,
requests are but another name for commands ; and thus it
happened that a second change arose upon the first, even
more determinarely fatal to the young Schiller’s happiness.
Hitherto he had cherished a day-dream pointing to the pas¬
toral office in some rural district, as that which would har¬
monize best with his intellectual purposes, with his love of
quiet, and, by means of its preparatory requirements, best
also with his own peculiar choice of studies. But this
scheme he now found himself compelled to sacrifice ; and
the two evils which fell upon him concurrently in his new
situation were, first, the formal military discipline and mo¬
notonous routine of duty ; secondly, the uncongenial direc¬
tion of the studies, which were shaped entirely to the at¬
tainment of legal knowledge, and the narrow service of the
local tribunals. So illiberal and so exclusive a system of
education was revolting to the expansive mind of Schiller;
and the military bondage under which this system was en¬
forced, shocked the aspiring nobility of his moral nature,
not less than the technical narrowness of the studies shock¬
ed his understanding. In point of expense the whole esta¬
blishment cost nothing at all to those parents who were pri¬
vileged servants of the duke: in this number w ere the pa¬
rents of Schiller, and that single consideration weighed too
powerfully upon his filial piety to allow of his openly mur¬
muring at his lot; while on their part the parents were
equally shy of encouraging a disgust which too obviously
tended to defeat the promises of ducal favour. This sys¬
tem of monotonous confinement was therefore carried to
its completion, and the murmurs of the young Schiller were
either dutifully suppressed, or found vent only in secret
letters to a friend. In one point only Schiller was able to
improve his condition ; jointly with the juristic department,
was another for training young aspirants to the medical pro¬
fession. To this, as promising a more enlarged scheme of
study, Schiller by permission transferred himself in 1775.
But whatever relief he might find in the nature of his new
studies, he found none at all in the system of personal dis¬
cipline which prevailed.
Under the oppression of this detested system, and by
pure re-action against its wearing persecutions, wre learn
from Schiller himself, that in his nineteenth year he under¬
took the earliest of his surviving plays, the Robbers, be¬
yond doubt the most tempestuous, the most volcanic, we
might say, of all juvenile creations anywhere recorded. He
himself calls it “ a monster,” and a monster it is; but a
monster which has never failed to convulse the heart of
young readers w ith the temperament of intellectual enthu¬
siasm and sensibility. True it is, and nobody was more
aware of that fact than Schiller himself in after years, the
characters of the three Moors, father and sons, are mere
impossibilities; and some readers, in whom the judicious
acquaintance with human life in its realities has outrun the
sensibilities, are so much shocked by these hypernatural
phenomena, that they are incapable of enjoying the terrific
sublimities which on that basis of the visionary do really
exist. A poet, perhaps Schiller might have alleged, is en¬
titled to assume hypothetically so much in the previous po¬
sitions or circumstances of his agents as is requisite to the
basis from which he starts. It is undeniable that Shak- Schiller,
speare and others have availed themselves of this principle,v'—
and with memorable success. Shakspeare, for instance,
postulates his witches, his Caliban, his Ariel: grant, he vir¬
tually says, such modes of spiritual existence or of spiritual
relations as a possibility ; do not expect me to demonstrate
this, and upon that single concession I will rear a super¬
structure that shall be self-consistent; every thing shall be
internally coherent and reconciled, whatever be its external
relations as to our human experience. But this species of
assumption, on the largest scale, is more within the limits
of credibility and plausible verisimilitude when applied to
modes of existence, which, after all, are in such total dark¬
ness to us (the limits of the possible being so undefined and
shadowy as to what can or cannot exist), than the very
slightest liberties taken with human character, or with those
principles of action, motives, and feelings, upon which men
would move under given circumstances, or with the modes
of action which in common prudence they would be likely
to adopt. The truth is, that, as a coherent work of art,
the Robbers is indefensible; but, however monstrous it
may be pronounced, it possesses a power to agitate and
convulse, which will always obliterate its great faults to the
young, and to all whose judgment is not too much deve¬
loped. And the best apology for Schiller is found in his
own words in recording the circumstances and causes un¬
der which this anomalous production arose. “ To escape,”
says he, “ from the formalities of a discipline which was
odious to my heart, I sought a retreat in the world of ideas
and shadowy possibilities, while as yet I knew nothing at
all of that human world from which I was harshly secluded
by iron bars. Of men, the actual men in this w orld below,
I knew absolutely nothing at the time when I composed my
Robbers. Four hundred human beings, it is true, were my
fellow-prisoners in this abode ; but they were mere tauto¬
logies and reiterations of the self-same mechanic creature,
and like so many plaster casts from the same original sta¬
tue. Thus situated, of necessity I failed. In making the
attempt, my chisel brought out a monster, of which [and
that was fortunate] the world had no type or resemblance
to show.”
Meantime this demoniac drama produced very opposite
results to Schiller’s reputation. Among the young men
of Germany it was received with an enthusiasm absolutely
unparalleled, though it is perfectly untrue that it excited
some persons of rank and splendid expectations (as a cur¬
rent fable asserted) to imitate Charles Moor in becoming
robbers. On the other hand, the play was of too powerful
a cast not in any case to have alarmed his serenity the Duke
of Wiirtemberg; for it argued a most revolutionary mind,
and the utmost audacity of self-will. But besides this ge¬
neral ground of censure, there arose a special one, in a quar¬
ter so remote that this one fact may serve to evidence the
extent as well as intensity of the impression made. The
territory of the Grisons had been called by Spiegelberg,
one of the robbers, “ the Thief’s Athens.” Upon this the
magistrates of that country presented a complaint to the
duke; and his highness, having cited Schiller to his pre¬
sence, and severely reprimanded him, issued a decree that
this dangerous young student should henceforth confine
himself to his medical studies.
The persecution which followed exhibits such extraordi¬
nary exertions of despotism, even for that land of irrespon¬
sible power, that we must presume the duke to have relied
more upon the hold which he had upon Schiller through
his affection for parents so absolutely dependent on his
highness’s power, than upon any laws, good or bad, which
he could have pleaded as his warrant. Germany, however,
thought otherwise of the new tragedy than the serene cri¬
tic of Wurtemberg: it was performed with vast applause
at the neighbouring city of Mannheim ; and thither, under
V
S C H
Schiller, a most excusable interest in bis own play, the young poet
 clandestinely went. On his return he was placed under
arrest. And soon afterwards, being now thoroughly dis¬
gusted, and, with some reason, alarmed by the tyranny of
the duke, Schiller finally eloped to Mannheim, availing him¬
self of the confusion created in Stuttgard by the visit of a
foreign prince.
At Mannheim he lived in the house of Dalberg, a man
of some rank and of sounding titles, but in Mannheim known
chiefly as the literary manager (or what is called director)
of the theatre. This connection aided in determining the
subsequent direction of Schiller’s talents; and his Fiesco,
his Intrigue and Love, his Don Carlos, and his Maria Stu¬
art, followed within a short period of years. None of these
are so far free from the faults of the Robbers as to merit a
separate notice ; for with less power, they are almost equally
licentious. Finally, however, he bi’ought out his Wallen¬
stein, an immortal drama, and, beyond all competition, the
nearest in point of excellence to the dramas of Shakspeare.
The position of the characters of Max. Piccolomini and the
Princess Thekla is the finest instance of what, in a critical
sense, is called relief, that literature offers. Young, innocent,
unfortunate, among a camp of ambitious, guilty, and blood¬
stained men, they offer a depth and solemnity of impression
which is equally required by way of contrast and of final re¬
pose.
From Mannheim, where he had a transient love affair
with Laura Dalberg, the daughter of his friend the direc¬
tor, Schiller removed to Jena, the celebrated university in
the territory of Weimar. The grand duke of that German
Florence was at this time gathering around him the most
eminent of the German intellects; and he was eager to en¬
rol Schiller in the body of his professors. In 1799 Schiller
received the chair of civil history ; and not long after he
married Miss Lengefeld, with whom he had been for some
time acquainted. In 1803 he was ennobled; that is, he
was raised to the rank of gentleman, and entitled to attach
the prefix of Von to his name. His income was now suffi¬
cient for domestic comfort and respectable independence;
wfiiile in the society of Goethe, Herder, and other eminent
wits, he found even more relaxation for his intellect, than
his intellect, so fervent and so self-sustained, could require.
Meantime the health of Schiller was gradually undermin¬
ed : his lungs had been long subject to attacks of disease ;
and the warning indications which constantly arose of some
deep-seated organic injuries in his pulmonary system ought
to have put him on his guard for some years before his
death. Of all men, however, it is remarkable that Schiller
was the most criminally negligent of his health ; remark¬
able, we say, because for a period of four years Schiller had
applied himself seriously to the study of medicine. The
strong coffee, and the wine, which he drank, may not have
been so injurious as his biographers suppose ; but his habit
of sitting up through the night, and defrauding his wasted
frame of all natural and restorative sleep, had something in
it of that guilt which belongs to suicide. On the 9th of
May 1805 his complaint reached its crisis. Early in the
morning he became delirious; at noon his delirium abated;
and at four in the afternoon he fell into a gentle unagitated
sleep, from which he soon awmke. Conscious that he now
stood on the very edge of the grave, he calmly and fervently
took a last farewell of his friends. At six in the evening
he fell again into sleep, from which, however, he again awoke
once more to utter the^memorable declaration, “ that many
things were growing plain and clear to his understanding.”
After this the cloud of sleep again settled upon him ; a sleep
which soon changed into the cloud of death.
This event produced a profound impression throughout
Germany. The theatres were closed at Weimar, and the
funeral was conducted with public honours. The position
in point of time, and the peculiar services of Schiller to the
von. xix.
S C H 721
German literature, we have already stated: it remains to Schinkel.
add, that in person he was tall, and of a strong, bony struc-
tore, but not muscular, and strikingly lean. His fore¬
head was lofty, his nose aquiline, and his mouth almost of
Grecian beauty. With other good points about his face,
and with auburn hair, it may be presumed that his whole
appearance was pleasing and impressive, while in later
years the character of sadness and contemplative sensibility
deepened the impression of his countenance. We have
said enough of his intellectual merit, which places him in
our judgment at the head of the Trans-Rhenish literature.
But we add in concluding, that Frederick von Schiller was
something more than a great author; he was also in an
eminent sense a great man ; and his works are not more
worthy of being studied for their singular force and origin¬
ality, than his moral character from its nobility and aspiring
grandeur. ^ (t. de q.)
SCHINKEL, Karl Friedrich, a very eminent Ger¬
man architect, was born on the 13th of March 1781, at
Neuruppin, in Brandenburg. Having lost his father at an
early age, he was placed by his mother at the gymnasium
of his native town, where he remained till his fourteenth
year, when he removed to Berlin. He soon found an
entrance to the office of David Gilly, then an able practical
architect; but he had hardly got fairly settled when his
master died. Friedrich Gilly, his son, a youth of an ardent
imagination, had just returned from his travels ; and he
began, full of hope and of ambition, to elevate architecture
to the level of the other arts of design. His career was
short, for he died in 1800, within two years after he had
taken up his father’s place. Schinkel was now left to pur¬
sue undivided the ambitious projects which the vounger
Gilly had designed, or if possible to realize higher archi¬
tectural aims than either of his masters had entertained.
Schinkel had already had considerable practical experience
in the erection of buildings, and he now resolved to pursue
his theoretical studies by a pilgrimage to Italy. Accord-
ingly, in 1803, he set out, and after visiting Dresden,
Prague, and Vienna, he entered the land sacred to art,
and after spending a considerable time in minutely sur¬
veying all its architectural monuments, and noting down all
its important architectural designs, he returned to Vienna
in 1805, filled with the grandest imaginations which young
wTonder knows. The backward state of public affairs
rendered his residence in Germany as an architect ex¬
ceedingly problematical, and with a mind teeming with
the richest art-knowledge, and aspiring after the richest
field of development, he at once resolved to combine his
architectural skill with his knowledge of landscape scenery,
and to become a painter. Architecture, however, was
still to hold the prominent part in his labours ; the intro¬
duction of scenery was merely to act as an expression of
his taste and imagination in the accessorial portion of his
work. It was at this time he executed his admirable
panorama of Palermo ; and he likewise designed numerous
scenes for the theatre, which were greatly esteemed.
Meanwhile, these labours with his brush had brought him
prominently before the public, and on the restoration of
order in 1815, he was chosen by the king to adorn the city
of Berlin and its environs. Those who know the beauties
of that graceful city, and the artificial adornments of the
surrounding neighbourhood, can testify to how well Schinkel
performed his task, and to how great an amount of origi¬
nality of conception and boldness of design he expended
upon the embellishment of the capital of Prussia. Among
his earliest buildings are the Hauptwache, the Theatre, and
the Museum of Berlirg all treated in a purely Hellenic
style, the latter of which displays a fulness of ornamenta¬
tion, combined with a simple severity of outline, such as
had not been witnessed before in Germany. A very fair
idea of the range of Schinkel’s art-knowledge may be
4 Y
722 S C H
Schinznach gained from his Entwurfe (designs), which contain a com-
II plete gallery, with explanatory letterpress, of his unusually
Schlegel. numerous and varied architectural productions. Besides
presenting ready materials for a descriptive catalogue of
his buildings, they likewise present a variety of six several
designs for a monument to the great Friedrich, in which
the artist had given the rein to his imagination, and in¬
dulged freely in the pomp of architectural circumstance
and structural display. His Werke der hoheren Baukunst
exhibits a series of grand designs with which he proposed
to adorn the acropolis of Athens, but the barrack-like
fabric of Giirtner was preferred. Perhaps the most poeti¬
cal of all Schinkel’s designs was his plan of a summer
palace for the Empress of Russia at Orianda, in the Crimea,
overlooking the Black Sea. Besides being chosen pro¬
fessor in the Academy of Fine Arts at Berlin, and member
of the Prussian Academical Senate, he had in 1839 the
highest rank of his profession bestowed upon him. He
was made “ Oberlandesbaudirector,” but he did not long
enjoy the honour. He died of an organic affection of the
brain on the 9th of October 1841. Dr Kugler and O. F.
Gruppe have both written biographies of Schinkel.
SCHINZNACH, the most frequented watering-place
in Switzerland, in the canton of Aargau, on the Aar, 7
miles N.E. of Aarau. It is well built, and has a fine
church, but owes its importance entirely to the medicinal
spring; and its chief buildings are the great inn and the
bath-house, both very large and splendid. Pop. 1334.
SCHIO, a town of Austrian Italy, in the delegation and
15 miles N.W. of Vicenza. It stands in a fertile plain,
between the rivers Leog.a and Timonchio, and contains
churches, hospitals, law courts, and public offices. There
are here mineral springs, and several manufactures are
carried on, especially those of woollen cloth, silk, and
dyeing. Pop. 6620.
SCHISM (d-xicr/xa, a rent), in its general acceptation signi¬
fies division or separation ; but it is chiefly used in speaking
of separations happening from diversity of opinions among
people of the same religion or faith. Thus we say the
schism of the ten tribes of Judah and Benjamin, the schism
of the Persians from the Turks and other Mahommedans,
&c. Among ecclesiastical authors, the great schism of the
west is that which happened in the times of Clement VII.
and Urban VI., which divided the church for forty or fifty
years, and was at length ended by the election of Martin
V. at the council of Constance. The Romanists number
thirty-four schisms in their church, and bestow the name of
English schism on the reformation of religion in this king¬
dom. Those of the church of England apply the term
schism to the separation of the nonconformists, viz., the
Presbyterians, Independents, and Baptists, for a further
reformation.
SCHLAN, or Slant, a town of the Austrian Empire,
Bohemia, in the circle and 20 miles N.W. of Prague. It
is walled, and contains a town-hall, Franciscan convent,
Piarist college, and high school. There are in the town
manufactures of cloth and beet-root sugar; and in the
vicinity, salt-springs and coal-pits. Pop. 4531.
SCHLAWE, a town of Prussia, province of Pomerania,
in the circle and 23 E.N.E. of Coslin, at the confluence of
the Wipper and the Motze. Linen weaving is carried on
here, and some trade in linen and timber. Pop. 4382.
SCHLEGEL, August Wilhelm Von, the elder brother
of Friedrich Carl Wilhelm Von Schlegel, and an eminent
philologist and critic of Germany, was the son of Johann
Adolphus Schlegel, and was born at Hanover in the month
of September 1767. He betrayed early a natural gift for
language, which carried him through the grammar school
of Hanover with great reputation. On leaving school he
accepted of a tutorial appointment which demanded of the
holder a knowledge both of the French and English lan-
S C H
guages. He was chosen in his eighteenth year to deliver Schlegel.
an oration before the Lyceum of his native city in honour
of a royal birthday. This address, which was written in
German hexameters, excited considerable sensation in the
citizens of Hanover, both from the range of information
displayed in it and from the elegant style in which it was
composed. Proceeding to the University of Gottingen, he
engaged in the study of theology, but which he shortly
afterwards abandoned for the more congenial one of philo¬
logy. He had already made great progress in classical
learning, and his Latin Dissertation on the geography of
Homer was warmly applauded by Voss, the most competent
judge of his age. While at the university he made the
acquaintance of Heyne, for whose Virgil he completed an
index in 1788. He likewise gained the friendship of the
distinguished Michaelis, and of the poet Burger, to whose
Academic der Schonen Redekunste he contributed his
Ariadne and his Essay on Dante. Having from his early
youth had a leaning to poetry, he now, in conjunction with
Burger, made considerable advances in that species of com¬
position, and had the honour of naturalizing the Italian
sonnet in his native country. On leaving the university
he became tutor to the son of a wealthy banker of Amster¬
dam, and after a three years’ engagement, he again sought
retirement in the University of Jena, where he was ap¬
pointed professor. He now contributed largely to the
Horen, and to Schillers Musen-Almanack; and down to
1779 he was one of the most elegant and fertile writers for
the AUgemeinen Literatur-Zeitung of Jena. It was here
he began to disclose to his countrymen the enchanted world
of Shakspeare (9 vols., Berlin, 1797-1810), which produced
a decided change in the dramatic criticism of Germany.
Fie subsequently renounced in favour of Tieck the work
of rendering Shakspeare into German, a change with which
the public were not at all dissatisfied, as the exceeding
elegance, amounting sometimes to starchedness, of Schlegel’s
manner, did not always suit the free and unfettered genius
of the English poet. During his residence in Jena he
became acquainted with Schiller, and professed admiration
for Goethe, who, however, did not return the compliment.
Schlegel now commenced a course of lectures on aesthetics,
and joined his brother, Frederick, in the editorship of the
Athenceum (3 vols., Berlin, 1796-1800), a journal of lite¬
rary criticism, designed by its freedom and impartiality to
discover and foster every spark of genuine literary devel¬
opment in Germany. In 1800 he published his exceed¬
ingly ill-natured satire on Kotzebue, in reply to his attack of
the Hyperborean Ass (Hyperboreischen Esee). About this
period appeared his Gedichte (poems), Tubingen, 1800,
which were much admired for their elegance and spirit.
He collected his own and his brother Friedrich’s con¬
tributions to various periodicals, and brought them out
under the title of Characteristiken und Kritiken, 2 vols.,
Kdnigsberg, 1801. He undertook with Tieck the editor¬
ship of the Musen-Almanack for 1802; and with minds of
a kindred temper continued to promulgate the doctrines or
the so-called romanticists. Fired by ambition, and perhaps
also by vanity, August Schlegel now left Jena for Berlin,
where he found the most intellectual public of Germany
ready to listen to his lectures. He was accordingly in¬
duced to deliver a course in 1802, which subsequently ap¬
peared in the Europa, a review edited by his brother.
They bore the title of Vorlesungen uber Literatur und
Kunst des Zeitalters (Lectures on the Literature and Fine
Arts of the Age). His Ion, a drama in imitation of the
ancients, published in 1803, and not marked by any peculiar
vigour either of conception or of execution, led to an interest¬
ing discussion between the author and some literary men
of the day regarding dramatic representation in general,
and which was carried on in the Zeitung fur die elegante
Welt. It was from this journal, also, that A. Schlegel shot
SCHLEGEL.
Schlegel. forth his darts against Kotzebue and the classicists, who
^ > constantly infested him, with all manner of weapons, from
the lightest arrowy banter to the deadliest personal abuse.
And in giving them back their blows, the galled romanticist
did not bate a jot either in keenness of weapon or force of
stroke. Schlegel was now engaged upon his Spanish
Theatre, which he gave to the world in 2 vols. at Berlin,
1803-1809. In this version he observed all the mea¬
sures, rythms, and assonances of the original, and earned
for himself a foremost place among successful translators.
The German public had another proof of his skill in his
Bhimenstrausse d. Ital. Span. u. Portug. Pocsie, Berlin,
1804.
An important career now presented itself to August
Schlegel by his introduction to the celebrated Madame de
Stael. That lady had arrived in Berlin in 1805, with the in¬
tention of making a tour through Germany and of making
herself more thoroughly acquainted with German literature.
She chose A. Schlegel to direct her studies and to complete
the education of her children. Quitting Berlin, he accom¬
panied her to Italy, France, Austria, and Sweden, and sub¬
sequently repaired with her to her paternal seat at Coppet,
on the Lake of Geneva. It was here he wrote, in 1807,
his Co'mparaisoti de la Phedre d’Euripide, et de celle de
Racine, which produced a lively sensation in the salons of
Paris. He is said to have had many friends and admirers in
the French capital, despite his attack upon Racine, and his
having called Moliere a mountebank. In the spring of 1808
he visited Vienna, and there read before a brilliant audi¬
ence his Vorlesungen uber Dramatische Kunst und Litera-
tur, 3 vols., Heidelberg, 1809-11, which were received
throughout Europe with marked approbation. These lec¬
tures on dramatic art and literature are, with all their
defects, unquestionably his most popular work. They were
rendered into English by John Black, 3 vols., 8vo, London,
1840, reprinted in Bohn’s “ Standard Library,” 1 vol. 1846.
He was introduced about this time to the Crown Prince of
Bavaria, who gratified the vanity of August Wilhelm
Schlegel by bestowing upon him some marks of the royal
favour. A new edition of his Gedichte appeared in 1811,
among which are his “Arion,” “Pygmalion,” “Der Heilige
Lucas,” &c., which are said to be the best of his poetical
efforts. He likewise took part in the Deutsche Museum,
a publication issued by his brother Friedrich, and contri¬
buted to it some learned dissertations on the Nibelungen
Lied. In 1812 he visited Stockholm together with De
Stael, where he duly made the acquaintance of Bernadotte,
Crown Prince of Sweden, who made him his secretary and
counsellor. He continued to write political papers for
Bernadotte till the taking of Paris, when he retired to the
country-seat of Madame de Stael, with whom he remained
till her death in 1818. He was ennobled about this time
by the Crown Prince of Sweden, as an expression of his
esteem for him during his residence in Stockholm. On the
creation, in 1819, of the university of Bonn, August Von
Schlegel was chosen professor of history, for what particular
reason does not appear. He had never written anything
historical, and if one may judge of his fitness for such a posi¬
tion from his ridiculous critique of Niebuhr’s Roman His¬
tory in 1828, one would be inclined to say he should have
remained at Berlin or Vienna, where he could have had
abundant means of enlightening the fair intellects of the
elegant beauties which frequent those courtly cities. He
added nothing to his reputation by his Bonn professorship.
He married this year a daughter of Professor Paulus, a
union which was destined to be as short-lived as had been
his previous one with the daughter of Michaelis. He now
resolved to devote himself exclusively to the study of
Sanscrit. With this view he established the printing-office
at Bonn for the publication of that language. In 1820 he
founded the Indische Bibliothek (2 vols., Bonn, 1820-26),
723 ,
a review devoted exclusively to Indian languages and an- Sohlegel.
tiquitie®. Inferior to Bopp and Lassen as a Sanscrit
scholar, he surpassed them in his general views, and con¬
tributed very considerably to the diffusion of a taste for the
Indo-Persian languages. Indeed, it is mainly owing to his
exertions in this department, and to his critical essays on
aesthetics and poetry, that August Von Schlegel stands
so high as he does in the esteem of his country. He pub¬
lished the Ramdyana, Bonn, 1825; and the Bagavad-Gita,
an episode in the great Indian epos, Mahabharata, Bonn,
1829, which afford favourable specimens of his Sanscrit
learning. He likewise visited France and England in pur¬
suit of oriental manuscripts. On his return to Berlin he
delivered a course of Vorlesungen uber Theorie und Ges-
chichte der bildenden Kunst, Berlin, 1827 ; and the follow¬
ing year he published his Kritische Schriften, Berlin, 1828.
This same year he published an Explication de quelgues
Mal-entendus, in reply to an accusation which had been re¬
peatedly preferred against him, of having a leaning towards
Roman Catholicism. In 1832, he addressed to Sir James
Mackintosh his Reflexions sur VEtude des Langues Asia-
tique. After publishing, in 1842, his Essais Litteraires
et Historiques, and after spending a long career of successful
literary labour, August Von Schlegel died at Bonn on the 12th
of May 1845. His printed works amounted to one hundred
and twenty-six in all, and he bequeathed his unpublished
manuscripts to Professor Welcker of Bonn, with a view to
their publication.
August Schlegel, although possessed of a more lively ima¬
gination and greater powers of illustration than his brother
Friedrich, was wanting in those solid critical faculties which
gained for him his fame. He was a man of immoderate
vanity, and possibly this natural defect may have qualified
in an important manner the development of his critical
faculties. With more brilliant talents than his brother, he
earned for himself a less enduring reputation.
Schlegel, Friedrich Carl Wilhelm von, an emi¬
nent German critic and philosophical writer, was born at
Hanover in 1772, of a family which had already produced
more than one writer of ability. He was the third son of
the family, being three years younger than his distin¬
guished brother, August Wilhelm. In his earlier years he
is said to have displayed no remarkable genius. Though
intended for the mercantile profession, he received an ad¬
mirable classical education ; and ultimately prevailed on
his father to allow him to follow the bent of his own incli¬
nation, and to devote himself to literature. He then began
to devote himself in earnest to study, which he pursued, first
at Gottingen and afterwards at Leipzig. From the age of
seventeen, as he himself informs us, the writings of the
Greek tragedians, and of Plato, combined with Winkel-
mann’s enthusiastic criticisms on art, formed the intel¬
lectual world in which he lived. This admiration for the
antique w^as increased by a visit which he was enabled to
pay to Dresden in 1789, where he was for the first time
enkbled to contemplate, in their marble forms, those gods,
heroes, and sages, who had been the companions of his
thoughts. As might be expected, his first literary effort,
which appeared in 1794, took the direction of these his
early studies. It was a short Essay on the different Schools
of Greek Poetry, which appeared in the Berlin Monat-
schrift, displaying not only an erudition of considerable
depth and extent, but an elegance of style and a clearness
of classification less frequently to be found among his
countrymen. Two little treatises followed, composed in
1795 and 1796—the Diotema, a view of the condition of
the female sex in Greece; and a parallel between Caesar
and Alexander, which, however, was not published till
twenty-six years afterwards. In this work we trace the
first indications of that talent which was afterwards so con¬
spicuously displayed in the field of philosophical and criti-
* 724 S C H L
Schlegel. cal history- A more important work, entitled the Gnechen
und Homer, appeared in 1797, which was highly praised
by Heine. It wak followed two or three years afterwards
by a History of Greek Poetry, in which, taking Winkel-
mann’s History of Art as his model, he has thrown into
criticism an imaginative and poetical tone, which combin¬
ing as it did with profound learning and breadth of philo¬
sophical views, succeeded in bringing before the mind the
true spirit of antiquity, with a freshness and distinctness of
portraiture which mere erudition could not have effected.
The work, however, is incomplete. In 1799 he published
his Lucinde, a work, as Mrs Austin describes it, “ of fancy,
sentiment, and reflectionin which, however, the very
anti-platonic character of his descriptions of love occasioned
not a little scandal and censure. In the year 1800 he
established himself as a private teacher in Jena, where he
delivered a course of philosophical lectures with success.
His first poetical compositions, which appeared in the
Athenceum, seem to have been the productions of this
period. In 1801 he published, in conjunction with his
brother, August W. Schlegel, two volumes, entitled Cha-
racteristiken und Critiken, one of the most popular and
pleasing of his works. The second volume includes his
“Hercules Musagetes,” an elegiac poem of some length; and
in 1802 he published a tragedy, Alarcos, in which he has
tried, with no remarkable success, to impart the severe and
gloomy simplicity of iEschylus to a legend of the middle
ages. In fact, it is neither as a lyric nor as a dramatic
poet that the name of F. Schlegel is likely to be remem¬
bered. Goethe, at least, always appeared to estimate the
poetical talent of Schlegel at a low standard {Character¬
istics of Goethe, vol. i. p. 120). But the study of the
poetry and literature of the west was near about to be ex¬
changed for that of the eastern nations. Following in the
footsteps of Sir William Jones, and filled with the idea of
the important additions which might be made to Europe
by naturalizing, in Germany, the results of Indian research,
and of the still greater benefits which he conceived might
be derived from the pursuit of Indian literature, philo¬
sophy, and antiquities, in an enlarged, philosophical, and
at the same time religious spirit, he resolved to devote
himself to the study of Sanscrit. He probably overrated,
on the whole, both the importance of the labour in which
he was about to engage and its probable interest to the
public mind. With a view, however, to his intended in¬
vestigations, he repaired to Paris in 1802, accompanied
by his wife, the daughter of the celebrated Moses Men¬
delssohn, and, with the assistance afforded by the valuable
stores of the National Library, and the hints derived from
those distinguished orientalists, M.M. de Langles and
Chezy, he is said to have made considerable progress in
the study of Persian and Sanscrit poetry. During his re¬
sidence in Paris, which continued till 1805, he delivered a
course of lectures on metaphysics, which met with but
partial success. During the same period he wrote a variety
of articles on the early Italian, Spanish, Portuguese, and
Provengal poetry; and published, in 1804, a collection of
the romantic poems of the middle ages, and a series of let¬
ters on the different schools and epochs of Christian paint¬
ing and Gothic architecture, a work for which the tem¬
porary concentration of the various treasures of modern art
in the Parisian capital afforded ample materials. These
letters, which he afterwards revised and enlarged, form
one of the most pleasing of his compositions. He takes up
the subject nearly where Winkelmann had left it, and per¬
forms, in the same spirit of love, the same service for the
arts of the middle ages which that critic had done for
those of antiquity.
It was at this period of F. Schlegel’s life (1805) that he
took the step of embracing Roman Catholicism, as Count
Stolberg had done a few years before.
E G E L.
In 1808 appeared his work on the Language and Wts- Schlegel.
dom of the Indians. The first part of this work is occu-
pied with a comparative examination of the etymology and
grammatical structure of the Sanscrit, Persian, Greek, Ro¬
man, and German languages. The second traces the con¬
nection of the different religions and philosophical systems
that prevailed in the ancient oriental world. The last con¬
sists of metrical versions from the sacred and didactic
poems of the Hindus. It cannot be denied that this work,
with all its. learning and sagacity of conjecture, is yet a
very imperfect one. The profounder learning of Jacob
Grimm has demolished many of the ingenious theories of
Schlegel as to the original monuments of the German lan¬
guage. Much, too, has of course been added to Indian
learning since it appeared ; many of its views have so com¬
pletely passed into commonly-received opinions, that they
have ceased to strike us as novelties; and other truths
which are there only hinted at, have been elucidated and
confirmed. But it had the merit of opening a compara¬
tively new path in Germany, and perhaps in other coun¬
tries of Europe. After Schlegel’s return from France, he
proceeded, in 1808, to Vienna, with the view, it is said, of
completing from historical documents an unfinished drama
on the subject of Charles V. In the following year he was
appointed imperial secretary at the Archduke Charles’s
head-quarters, and contributed much, by his spirited pro¬
clamations, towards rousing the patriotic ardour of the
country in the contest against Napoleon. After the un¬
fortunate issue of the war, he resumed his literary activity,
and in 1810 delivered his course of lectures on modern his¬
tory. By many these lectures were considered as his mas¬
terpiece. They embodied in a systematic form the various
opinions and incidental views which he had thrown out in
his earlier essays, and contained, in a more detailed form,
the proofs of many of those positions which he afterwards
stated in a more brief and general form in his Philosophy
of History. In 1812 Schlegel delivered, before a nume¬
rous and distinguished audience at Vienna, his celebrated
Lectures on the History of Literature, the work by which
he is best known beyond the limits of his own country. Of
course a work which exhibits an outline of the literary his¬
tory of the world, and traces the influence of its various
literatures on one another, within the compass of two
volumes, cannot descend to much minuteness of detail, or
delineate, with that precision which would be desirable, the
characteristics of individuals. The style of the work is
elegant and enthusiastic without being extravagant. Yet
some deductions must be made, both from the impartiality
of the work and from the soundness of its views. It is
difficult to conceive on what grounds of sound criticism the
Lusiad of Camoens can be exalted above the Jerusalem of
Tasso ; and still more how the “ romantic witchery” o'f
the drama of Calderon, rich and fantastical as it is, can
ever be placed on the same level with the profound imagi¬
nation which combines with this romantic beauty in the
theatre of Shakspeare. English literature, with the excep¬
tion of Shakspeare, can hardly be said to be appreciated at
all. French literature, at least after the time of Corneille,
is treated with great injustice; Pascal is passed over with
a single word ; Malebranche is not mentioned at all. And
indeed the literature of the seventeenth and eighteenth
centuries is discussed in a very perfunctory and unsatisfac¬
tory manner. Some of the faults of the work are undoubt¬
edly owing to the strong religious bias of the author. For
the Catholic literature of Spain and*Italy he shows an
undue preference, with a corresponding coldness and in¬
difference towards that of Protestant nations. “ Friedrich
Schlegel,” says Heine, in his lively work on Germany,
“has examined all literatures from a lofty point of view;
but this high position of his is always on the belfry of the
Catholic church; and whatever Schlegel says, you can’t
S C H
S C H 725
Schleier- help hearing the bells jingle about him, and now and then
macher. the croaking of the ravens that haunt the old weathercock.”
With the History of Literature the critical career of F.
Schlegel may be said to have closed ; for a flattering and
somewhat exaggerated criticism on Lamartine’s Medita¬
tions Poetiques, which subsequently appeared in the Con¬
cordia, scarcely deserves to be noticed as an exception.
From 1812 he was much occupied with political and diplo¬
matic employments. Having acquired the friendship and
confidence of Prince Metternich, he was employed bv him
in various diplomatic missions; and for several years after
the peace of 1814 he was one of the representatives of the
court of Vienna at Frankfort. A pension, with letters of
nobility, and the title of councillor-confessor were con¬
ferred upon him by the emperor. These diplomatic func¬
tions, of course, occasioned a temporary interruption to his
literary pursuits ; but in 1818 he returned to Vienna, where
they were resumed with ardour.
In 1827 he delivered at Vienna another course of Lec¬
tures on the Philosophy of Life, of which, indeed, an out¬
line had appeared in the Concordia for 1820. This work
was almost immediately followed by another course of
Lectures on the Philosophy of History, which have lately
been translated into English, and which appear not un¬
worthy of the reputation of the author. Towards the close
of the year 1828 Schlegel went, to Dresden, where he de¬
livered nine Lectures on the Philosophy of Language, in
which he farther developed and expanded those philoso¬
phical views which he had already laid down in his Phi¬
losophy of Life. The course, however, was interrupted by
death, on the 11th of January 1829.
The genius of F. Schlegel was philosophical and critical,
rather than poetical; but he had that species of poetical
imagination without which there can be no lofty or useful
criticism, which enables the critic to rise above artificial
and natural peculiarities, and to judge with truth and cer¬
tainty upon broad and universal principles. Even when
his criticism is imperfect or erroneous, it is often valuable ;
for it abounds in new and original views, excites the mind
to independent speculation, and teaches the habit of view¬
ing literature, the arts, and philosophy, not as isolated sub¬
jects of stutly, but as acting and re-acting with the most
important influences upon each other. From his power¬
ful and inventive mind many of the speculations of his
brother appear to have been derived. Translations of four
volumes of F. Schlegel’s works are included in Bohn’s
“ Standard Library.” (g. M—R.)
SCHLEIERMACHER, Friedrich Daniel Ernst,
a philosophic theologian of great eminence, was born at
Breslau on the 21st of November 1768. He was the son
of a poor army-chaplain in Silesia, who belonged to the
reformed or Calvinistic communion; and hence he learned
early the meaning of poverty and principle. The earliest
instructions of young Schleiermacher was received from his
mother, and he betrayed early great quickness and suscep¬
tibility. Removing from Pless, on the borders of Galicia,
whither his family had gone to reside, and where he had
the privilege of enjoying the instructions of a pupil of
Ernestis, he was, at the age of fourteen, conducted to the
educational establishment of the Moravians, at Nieskv. He
got through his term of years at this seminary of the United
Brethren, with much profit, and no small questioning of the
religious tenets taught him at this institution. Meanwhile,
he remained lively, earnest, and thoughtful. At the age of
seventeen he entered the theological seminary of the
Herrnhiiter, or Moravians, at Barby ; and here he had to
wrestle with his old doubts, grown tenfold stronger by
reason of the keenness of his own vision. He cut his way
through the narrow theological forms of the brotherhood;
and proclaims to his father, that he has no chance of be¬
coming a thorough theologian so long as he remains at
Barby. The army-chaplain, whose mind had never been Schleier-
perplexed with the dark phantom-forms conjured up by macher.
religious doubt, answered him in a stern, unsympathizing
tone: “ O you fool of a son, who has bewitched you that
you obey not the truth,” and so forth ; in what, in another
case, would be called a decidedly savage style. This rough
upbraiding hurt the poor lad’s heart, which was one of the
gentlest and tenderest. His days at Barby must now be
short, and his religious guides manifest a mournful solici¬
tude for the youthful Schleiermacher, going forth in such
wild weather, in such a frail bark as was his to sail in.
He must go, however, let the sea rage as it may, and be
the bark of what texture it may. Schleiermacher left the
Herrnhiit communion in 1787, and entered the University
of Halle, under the guardianship of his maternal uncle, the
pastor Stubenrauch, who seems to have regarded his con¬
dition with more favour than had been shown by the army-
chaplain. Here he studied with great distinction under
Nbsselt, Knapp, Eberhard, and Wolf. He paid great at¬
tention to philology and antiquities, as essential subordi¬
nates, in his estimation, to the study of theology, which was
to be the study of Ins life. In May 1790, the young licen¬
tiate undertook a tutorship, till other work might turn up
for him. He went to the residence of Count Dohna-Schlo-
bitten, of Finkenstein, in Prussia, where he spent three
fruitful years in educating that nobleman’s children. On
his removal from Finkenstein, he was engaged for some
time at Berlin, as an assistant teacher in the Friedrich-
Werder Gymnasium. In the spring of 1794 he went to
assist a clergyman at Landsberg on the Wartha, where he
gained much distinction as a preacher. Two years after¬
wards he was brought back to Berlin, to occupy the pulpit
of the Charite, the chief hospital in the Prussian capital.
Schleiermacher’s mind was here exposed to new and stimu¬
lating influences, by which his views were widened and his
sympathies increased. With his purely ideal views of
human life, he would find much to unlearn amid the mix¬
ture of rudeness and refinement which met his eye, where-
ever he turned, among high and low, in the busy life of
Berlin. He would come to correct his sweeping contempt
for conventionality, and would nourish his love of the
society of cultivated men and women. He began his lite¬
rary career by aiding Sack in his translation of Blair’s
Sermons ; by translating Fawcett’s Sermons, in 1798 ; and
by contributing several papers for the Athenaeum, a journal
then conducted by the brothers Schlegel. His friendship
for the younger Schlegel was formed in 1797, and Schleier¬
macher’s questionable, though innocent, commendation of
his novel, Lucinde, has rendered their connexion somewhat
notorious.
In 1799, Schleiermacher’s outward life began. In this
year he published his Discourses on Religion (Reden liber
die Religion, an die Gebildeten unter ihren Verachtern),
and let the German world know what was yet in store for
them. These Discourses were very characteristic. They
were a product of the personal development of the author
up to the time of their publication. F. Schlegel pronounced
them the first of their kind in the German language. They
were full of energy and fervour, and the doctrines were set
forth in a style which, while it reminded one of the recent
studies of their author in Plato, Spinoza, Kant, Jacobi, and
Fichte, they nevertheless exhibited an uncommon degree
of individuality, and were set forth with a singularly brilliant
eloquence. They are rather apologies for religion in gene¬
ral, than for Christianity; and they have been again and
again accused, in more or less definite terms, of inculcating
Pantheism. Certainly here and there he verges almost as
close upon the doctrine as those who teach it in express lan¬
guage. But after the explanations which Schleiermacher
has given of his more matured opinions, in the third edition
of the Discourses, no one but the captious will be disposed
726
SCHLEIERMACHEK.
Schleier-
macher.
to father over upon tl.e man the production of his youth.
It will be seen that this book is essentially a somewhat crude
production ; which Schleiermacher could only have pro¬
duced at the time he wrote it. It has a slight smack of
heathenism about it; but still it possessed the much higher
merit of setting forth, in no unmistakable terms, the bases,
or essentials, oif the theology which he was afterwards to
erect upon, its foundation. It was full of deep, wide-reach-
ino- thought, and was better calculated than all the works
that had gone before it to fill the minds of the educated
classes with a profound reverence for religion. 1 hese Vis-
courses, with all their defects, marked a new era in theology;
their influence is still fresh, and the impulse which they com¬
municated to the study of theological doctrine and history
has not yet been expended. In 1800 he published a pro¬
found work called Monologen, eine Neujahrsgabe. I he
Monologues were followed by Briefe eines Predigers aus-
serhalb Berlin (Letters of a Preacher residing out of Ber¬
lin), being a reply to a public letter addressed by certain
Jews to Teller, the Protestant theologian. He likewise
agreed this year to join F. Schlegel in translating Plato,
but afterwards undertook the task himself. This German
translation of Plato is esteemed by scholars to be the most
correct that has appeared in any European language. He
wrote at the same time valuable introductions to each of
the dialogues which he translated (for he unfortunately did
not finish them), displaying a much deeper acquaintance
both with the language and the thoughts of his author,
than was at all common in the most learned country in
Europe. These introductions to the Dialogues of Plato
have been rendered into English by Dobson. In 1801 he
sent forth a valuable set of Predigten, or sermons, which
were followed up in succeeding years by six other collec¬
tions. These discourses were characterized by what was
a marked feature in all his productions, a singular lumin¬
ousness of thought and vividness of expression, such as
could only arise from remarkable dialectical^ gifts, and an
uncommon faculty of language. Hence Schleieimachei
and the school of theologians which he originated, have been
called “ Denkglaubigen,” in contradistinction to the old
school of literalism and'pietism which prevailed in Ger¬
many at the time he appeared. Schleiermacher removed
to Stolpeas court-preacher in 1802, and here he meditated
his work on Morals, which he published next year under
the title of Grundlinien einer Kritik der bisherigen Sit-
tenlehre, and wrote his Zwei unvorgreijliche Gutachten
in Sachen des Protestantischen Kirchenwesens. He de¬
clined a call in 1804 from the University of Wurzburg, at
the request of the Prussian government, which appointed
him to the chair of theology and philosophy at Halle.
Schleiermacher was driven from Halle in 1806 by the vio¬
lent political struggles of that year, and on his return to
Berlin he bated no jot of high-hearted patriotism, but con¬
tinued, both in the pulpit and out of it, to denounce in the
most unmeasured terms the violent rapacity of their foreign
oppressors. During these years he published Die Wei-
nachtsfeier, ein Gesprach, Halle, 1806; Ueber den sogen-
aunlen ersten Brief des Paulus an den Timotheus, Berlin,
1807; Ueber Universitaten, Berlin, 1808; and an Essay
on Heracleitus for F. A. Wolf’s Museum der Alterthums-
wissenschaften.
In 1809 he was chosen preacher at Trinity Church,
Berlin, and next year he was appointed professor of theo¬
logy in the new university of the same city. He was
likewise attached to the Ministry of the Interior for the
Department of Public instruction, and was chosen a mem¬
ber of the Academy of Sciences. He was no sooner ap¬
pointed to his chair in Berlin, than the reforming spirit of
his theology began to be felt. In 1811 appeared his
Kurze Darstdlung des Theologischen Stadiums (Brief
Outline of the Study of Theology), only a few sheets,
but prankt full of new thoughts. In this wonderful little
treatise, which has been given to the English public by
Farrer, Edinburgh, 1850, theology appears under a fresh
and inviting aspect by the originality of the lecturer’s
method and the strength and force of his theological
ideas. He divides theology into philosophical, historical,
and practical. Under the philosophical head he in¬
cludes the principles of apologetics and the principles of
polemics; under the historical head, he includes exegeti-
cal theology, the past history and present condition of
Christianity, dogmatic theology, and ecclesiastical statistics
under the practical portion, he includes the principles of
church service and of church government. This is per¬
haps the most thorough distribution theology has ever re¬
ceived. And to the filling up of this brief outline he set
himself with great energy. His lectures are described as
something wonderful. To his vast sweep of thought, now
ranging round the outposts of theological systems, and
again darting upon the smallest detail and opening it up to
the light, he united immense learning, not of the cumbrous
bibliographical sort so peculiar to Germans, but of the
living facts and principles of all times, combined with a
grand faculty of utterance, which gave the most musical
form to the'most golden thoughts, holding his hearers in
raptures while he spoke, and carrying them breathlessly
away with him in his airy chariot of fire. No wonder that
lectures like these still live although the speaker has been
long silent. Schleiermacher was made secretary to the
philosophical class in the academy, and was released from
his connection with the Minister of Public Instruction.
In 1817 he was chosen president of the synod of Berlin,
and wrote his Ueber die Schriften des Lukas, ein Ixiitischei^
Versuch, Leipzig, 1817 (Critical Essay on the Writings of
Luke), which has been translated into English in 1825, said
to be by the Rev. Dr Connop Tl hirlwall, afterwards Bishop of
St David’s. Schleiermacher was engaged during these years
in revising and editing afresh his former works ; and in the
course of the year 1817—18, he published a numbei of
small polemical writings directed chiefly against Schmalz
and Von Ammon. Although by the higher faculties of
his nature he was kept free from degenerating into a mere
controversialist, yet he relished immensely the occasional
flagellation of a‘fat bishop or of a conceited “ Prediger,”
which he did with approved elegance, spicing his drubbing
with tart, attic salt, and letting his subject go just without
killing him. , , . .
In 1821-22 Schleiermacher crowned his theological
labours by the publication of his greatest work, viz., his
Darstellung des christlichens Glaubens nach den Grund-
sdtzen der evangelischen Kirche (Exhibition of the Chris¬
tian Faith, according to the principles of the Evangelical
Church). In this work we have all the characteristics of
his earlier productions, mellowed by the light of a riper
wisdom and a more matured Christianity. He gives a
decided prominence from first to last to the positive
character of the Christian system of belief, and has con¬
tributed in a high degree to give force to the genuine
truth of the Christian faith. Twesten justly observes that
“ Schleiermacher, by conducting the science of dogmatics
to the facts of the Christian consciousness, as its basis and
its true object, secured faith itself against the assaults of
a science which mistakes its own boundaries, as well as
restored to the system of faith its own proper indepen¬
dence.” The Studien und Kritiken, a genuine product
of his spirit, was begun in 1828. In 1833, Sch eier-
macher visited England and opened the German chapel
at the Savoy. He had not returned many months to Ger-
manv when he was seized with his last illness. His
bodily constitution, which never had been stiong, was
now worn so much by the ceaseless activity which c a-
racterized him, that it became evident to his friends t tey
Schleier-
tnacher.
S C H S C H
ScMeitz rnust soon part with that gentle and loving heart which had
heat so true amongst them. As he lay on his death-bed,
Schlozer. ]ie gave a short exhortation to the friends who were present
^ £0 join him in celebrating the Lord’s Supper, and after re¬
peating the words, “ Take, eat,” &c., he said, “ Upon those
words of Scripture I abide; they are the foundation of my
faith.” He laid himself back upon his pillow, and in a few
minutes he was taken away from among men. This was
on the 12th of February 1834. His body lies interred at
some distance from the city on its south side. A simple
monument, with a marble bust executed by Rauch, marks
the spot where one of Germany’s greatest sons reposes.
The whole of his works, published and unpublished, were
issued after his death in 1835.
SCHLEITZ, the chief town and residence of the prince,
but not the seat of the government of Reuss-Schleitz, on
the Wiesenthal, 37 miles S.E. of Weimar. It contains an
ancient church, with the vaults of the ducal and princely
family, a normal seminary, and a Latin school. Woollen
and cotton cloth, leather, and beer are manufactured here,
and there is a considerable trade. Pop. 5000.
SCHLESWIG (Danish, a seaport of Denmark,
capital of the duchy of the same name, at the head of the
Schlei, a long narrow inlet of the Baltic, 23 miles N.W. of
Kiel, and 70 N.N.W. of Hamburg. It has a beautiful
situation, being almost surrounded by the water; and is
neatly but irregularly built, mostly of brick. There are
three distinct parts of the town,—Altstadt, called the Old
town, the Lollfuss, and the Freidricksberg. Among the
public buildings, the most remarkable is the cathedral, con¬
taining the monuments of many dukes and bishops of
Schleswig, and an altar-screen beautifully carved in wood.
The large and handsome old castle of Gottorp, once the
ducal residence, stands on an island connected with the town
by two dams. It is now used for barracks, and its park for
an exercise-ground. East of the town stands the nunnery
of St John, for noble ladies, the only one now remaining of
the conventual establishments in the duchy. It possesses
extensive lands in the vicinity. Schleswig has also a gym¬
nasium, deaf and dumb hospital, lunatic asylum, and other
benevolent institutions. Manufactures of sail-cloth, woollen
cloth, lace, china, earthenware, leather, &c., are carried on
here, and there is a considerable trade and navigation.
The harbour has been improved, but is only accessible to
small vessels. About 100 families, who live in a separate
part of the town, are employed in fishing. Schleswig is a
very old place, having been in existence as early as 808; and
for nearly six centuries it was the chief commercial city in
Denmark, and a member of the Hanseatic League. The
deposits of mud that obstruct the mouth of the Schlei have
been the chief cause of its decline. Pop. 11,600.
Schleswig, or Sleswick, Duchy of. See Denmark.
SCHLOZER, August Ludwig von,a German historian,
was born, on the 5th of July 1737, at Jagstadt, in Hohenlohe-
Kirchberg. He lost his father at a very early age, but the
lad’s education was not neglected. In 1751 he was sent to
the University of Wittemberg, where he displayed a strong
liking for oriental languages. He went to Gottingen to
study theology, and, after continuing there for the next two
years, he, in 1756, engaged himself as tutor to a Swedish
family, and started forthwith for Stockholm. While en¬
gaged on this occupation he contrived to gain time for the
writing of a History of Commerce in Swedish, which he
published at Stockholm in 1758. Next year he returned
to Gottingen, with the full intention of proceeding to Asia
on a philological mission, an idea which he had long enter¬
tained. But in 1761 this grand design was overthrown by
a proposal from Muller, historiographer to the Emperor of
Russia, to become tutor in his family, and to assist him in
his literary projects, with the prospect of a professorship in
the academy of St Petersburg. The great progress of
Schlozer, or some other cause, roused the jealousy of his
employer, and he pursued him, on his retiring from his
tutorship, with the most virulent opposition. In 1764 he
was offered a professorship in the University of Gottingen
by the influence of his friend, J. D. Michaelis. But Muller
again appeared, and by his interference Schlozer was with¬
held from leaving the Russian capital. In 1765, despite
the persevering insinuations of Muller, he wTas chosen pro¬
fessor of Russian history to the academy of St Petersburg.
This situation he only held for two years, when, turning his
back on Muller and the Russian capital, he proceeded to
Gottingen, where he had just been elected to the chair of
political science. Here a new field of activity opened up
to him, and he worked in it with great energy and success
for a long series of years. His works, published during this
period, are written in a lively though somewhat coarse style,
and they still attract a fair share of the attention of the
reading public of Germany. His historical wmrks include
Allgemeine Nordische Geschichte, 2 vols., Halle, 1772;
Nestor’s Chronik, down to 980 a.d., Gott., 1802-9 ; Welt-
geschichte in Auszuge und Zusammenhange, Gott., 1792—
1802 ; Vorbereitung zur Weltgeschichte fur Kinder, Gott.,
5th ed. 1800. His political writings include his Brief-
wechsel, 10 vols., 1779-82; and his papers in the journal
Staatsanzeigen, 18 vols.,from 1782 till 1793. In 1804 he
was raised to the rank of a nobleman by the Emperor of
Russia, the father of Russian history “ no longer standing
in his way.” He died on the 9th of September 1809.
(See A. L. Von Schldzer’s Oeffentliches und Privatleben
aus Originalurkunden, by his son, Carl von Schlozer, 2
vols., Leipzig, 1828.)
SCHLUSSELBURG, a town of European Russia, in
the government and 21 miles E. of St Petersburg, at the
point where the Neva issues from Lake Ladogo. It is
partly built on an island, on which stands an old fortress,
frequently used as a state-prison. The town is chiefly built
of wood, and has manufactures of chintz and calico, and
some trade with St Petersburg. Pop. 4000.
SCHMALKALDEN, a town of electoral Hesse, in the
province and 34 miles E.N.E. of Fulda, among the Thurin-
gian Mountains, at the confluence of the Schmalkalde and
Stille. It is an ancient town, still encircled by its walls and
moat, and containing antique wooden houses, with lofty
carved gables. Their lower portions are almost all smiths’
shops, as the inhabitants for the most part are of that occu¬
pation. The chief buildings are a large Gothic church and
two castles. One of the inns is the place where the cele¬
brated Schmalkaldic League was formed by the Protestant
princes in 1531, and the house is shown where the articles
were drawn up. There is also a town-hall, hospital, schools,
&c. The chief productions of the place are iron, steel, and
cutlery; for not only the town, but the whole valley may
almost be considered as one great smithy. Pop. 5500.
SCHM0LLN, a town of Saxe Altenburg, on the Sprotta,
7 miles S.W. of Altenburg. It is surrounded by walls ;
and contains two churches, weaving and spinning works,
and manufactories of woollen cloth. Pop. 4049.
SCHMOLNITZ, a town of Hungary, in the county of
Zips, in a mountain-enclosed valley, 21 miles S.S.E. of
Leutschau. It is a mining town, built of wood, and the
seat of an imperial board of mines, and of a mint for copper
coins. There is also a high school and an hospital. Silver
and copper are the minerals obtained here. Pop. 4530.
SCHNEEBERG, a town of Saxony, in the circle of
Zwickau, on a hill near the western Mulde, 20 miles S.S.W.
of Chemnitz. It is well built, and has a Gothic church of
the sixteenth century, said to be the largest in Saxony. In
it is the masterpiece of the elder Cranach—an altar-piece
representing the crucifixion, and other specimens of Pro¬
testant art. There are also a gymnasium and other schools,
orphan hospital, &c., in the town. The inhabitants are for
727
Schlussel¬
burg
Schnee-
berg.
728
sen
Schneide- the most part employed in mining; silver, cobalt, iron, and
miihl tin being the chief ores obtained. The total value of the
II minerals obtained in 1854 was L.2120. Various manufac-
Scbnorr tures are carriec[ on ]lere5 tiie principal of which are those
V0DfeM,° S °flace and chemical articles. Pop. 7452.
t j SCHNEIDEMttHL, or Pila, a town of Prussia, pro¬
vince of Posen, in the circle and 52 miles W. of Brom¬
berg, on the Kiiddow. It lias a castle, two churches, and
a synagogue. Manufactures of woollen cloth, lace, hosiery,
hats, and leather, and some trade in cattle, are carried on
here. Pop. 5474.
SCHNEIDER, Johann Gottlob, an eminent German
philologist and naturalist, was born on the 18th of January
1750, in the village of Kolm, in Saxony, whence the appli¬
cation of the epithet “ Saxo,” which he joined to his name
on the title-page of his works. His father, who was a vil¬
lage mason, could do little to advance his prospects; but his
uncle, who was in better circumstances, took him under his
charge, and, after having prepared him for college, he sent
him to the University of Leipzig to study law, at the age of
eighteen. Ancient literature had more attractions for him
than the pursuit of lawr, and he resolved to prosecute that
study with untiring diligence. His first work was his An-
merkungen uber den Anacreon, Leipzig, 1700; and it was
followed up next year by Periculum Criticum in Antho-
logiam Constantini Cephalce. Schneider left Leipzig for
Gottingen, where he lived in great straits, till his engage¬
ment to assist Brunck, at Strasburg, with his edition of the
Greek poets. Here he studied anatomy, botany, and zoo¬
logy, and published works on Pindar and Plutarch in 1774
and 1775. In 1776 he was called to the chair of philo¬
logy and eloquence in the University of Frankfurt-on-the-
Oder. He continued with unabated zeal his inquiries into
the natural history of the ancients, and omitted no oppor¬
tunity of informing himself regarding his favourite science.
He began his work in his new sphere by publishing De
Dubia Carminum Orphicorum Auctoritate et Vetustate.
He likewise edited Demetrius Phalereus, AClian, Xenophon,
Nicander, and Aristotle on the history of animals and on
politics ; Theophrastus, Orpheus’ Argonautica, ASsop, Epi¬
curus, and Oppian. He also wrote Pclogce Physica, 2 vols.
8vo, 1801, which contained the most important parts of
natural history known to the ancients. A complete list of
his works maybe seen in Meusel’s Gelehrtes Deutschland;
and in the Biographic Universelle, which contains a life of
him by Cuvier and Schoell. On the death of Bredow in
1816, the office of chief librarian to the university (then
removed to Breslau) was conferred on Schneider, who held
it till his death in 1822.
SCHNORR VON KAROLSFELD, Julius, an emi¬
nent German painter, was born at Leipzig on the 26th of
March 1794. His father, who was likewise a painter of
some note, designed him for a different profession ; but his
strong attachment to art at an unusually early age induced
the father to change his mind, and he was accordingly sent
to study in the Academy of Painting at Vienna. Having
shown considerable artistic ability at that institution, he pro¬
ceeded to Rome in 1815, and attached himself to the school
of young German artists, then on the ascendant in that
ancient city of art. Schnorr was reckoned among the most
promising of these artists, and he was chosen, with Cor¬
nelius and Overbeck, to paint the walls of the villa Mas-
simi at Rome in fresco, with designs from the great Italian
poets Dante, Ariosto, and Tasso. Schnorr had the good
fortune to gain an introduction to Ludwig, afterwards King
of Bavaria, who employed him to assist in decorating the
great works on which he was then engaged at Munich.
His first task was to paint a series of frescoes from the
ancient German poem, the Nibelungen Lied, to adorn the
state apartments of the new palace. This series of paint¬
ings occupy five chambers, each bearing the name of the
S C H
portion of the depicted in it. There is the “Entrance Schnurrer
Hall,” the “ Marriage Hall,” the “ Hall of Treachery,” the ||
“ Hall of Revenge,” and lastly, “ the Hall of Lamentation.” ®chomfcerg.
J hese paintings, all of which were executed by Schnorr and
his pupils, attract great attention, and perhaps they are the
most generally popular of all the great modern pictures in
the galleries of Munich. He likewise, while these frescoes
were in progress, was engaged upon that portion of the
“ Fest-Saalbau,” devoted to an illustration of the history of
Charlemagne, Frederick Barbarossa, and Rudolf of Haps-
burg. He executed only the more important pictures in
this series, the rest being painted by his pupils after his
designs. They display, however, in their magnificent abund¬
ance, great technical skill and vigour of imagination; but
they exhibit glaring defects of colouring and much re¬
dundancy of drapery. Schnorr had been appointed pro¬
fessor of historical painting in the Academy of the Fine Arts
at Munich in 1827, and this situation he continued to fill
till 1846, when he was chosen director of the Picture Gal¬
lery, and professor of the fine arts in Dresden. He [died
on the 13th April 1853.
SCHNURRER, Christian Friedrich, was born at
Kanstadt, in Wiirtemberg, on the 28th of October 1742.
He began his career as an academical teacher in 1762, at
hi-s native University of Tubingen. He subsequently visited
Holland, England, and France, and on his return in 1775
he was elevated to the chair of philosophy in Tubingen.
He likewise lectured on oriental languages, of which he had
an accurate knowledge, was chosen ephorus of the theolo¬
gical faculty in 1777, and some years later he was made
chancellor of the university. Schnurrer lost, however, his
academical position by his freedom in criticising the pro¬
posed constitution of Wiirtemberg. He was a man of great
learning, and wrote pretty extensively on historical and
theological subjects, notwithstanding his numerous engage¬
ments. He took an active share in the Tubinger Litera-
rische Nachrichten, and published a Bibliotheca Arabic a,
which evinced great acquaintance with his subject. His
Life was written by Weber, Kanstadt, 1823.
SCHOFFER, Peter. See Printing.
SCHOLIAST, or Commentator, a grammarian wdio
writes scholia, that is, notes and glosses, upon ancient
authors who have written in the learned languages.
SCHOLZ, Johann Matthias August, a German
philologist, was born at Kapsdorf, in Prussian Silesia, on
8th February 1794. He studied languages and theology
at the Roman Catholic College of Breslau. He began his
critical labours on the text of the New Testament, and
visited Austria, England, France, Switzerland, and Italy,
in quest of the necessary materials. His Novhm Thtqmen-
tum Greece appeared in 2 vols., in 1830-35. Having
joined the expedition under Minutoli for the exploration of
Egypt, the travellers subsequently disagreed and parted;
but Scholz pursued his journey through Egypt, Palestine,
and Syria, and published a selection from his diary in 1822.
In 1823 he was chosen professor of theology at the Univer¬
sity of Bonn. He published his Handbuch of Biblical
Archaeology in 1834, and died in 1852.
SCHOMBERG, Friedrich Armand, Duke of, a dis¬
tinguished officer, the son of Count Schomberg and a
daughter of Lord Dudley, was born in 1612, but others,
without any reason, adopt the year 1619. He began his
military career under Frederick-Henry, Prince of Orange,
and served successively under the courts of Sweden, the
Netherlands, France, Portugal, Prussia, and England, with
the greatest lustre. In France he was accounted second
only to such men as Marshal Turrene and the Prince of
Conde ; and in the subsequent campaign with Spain, he
humbled that country so much that it solicited a peace in
1668, and acknowledged the house of Braganza as the just
heirs to the crown of Portugal. For this piece of distinguished
S C H
Scbomberg service he received a pension of L.5000 from the kingdom
|| of Portugal, with reversion of it to his heirs. In 1673, after
Schools of an unsuccessful attempt to obtain command in England, he
Music, befool himself to the Netherlands, and subsequently to
^ France. Involved in the persecution which ensued of
the French Protestants, the old soldier was compelled by
the Edict of Nantes to seek refuge elsewhere. After try¬
ing Portugal and Holland, he was chosen commander-in¬
chief of the forces of the elector of Brandenburg. He
joined the prince of Orange on his expedition to England
in 1688, and was made commander-in-chief of the English
forces. The following year he was made baron, earl, mar¬
quis, and duke successively, and had the honour of L. 100,000
voted to him by the English House of Commons. In the
month of August, he was sent to Ireland to oppose the pro¬
gress of the late King James II., who ranged the country
with a force three times the strength of that possessed by
the Duke of Schomberg. He accordingly posted himself at
Dundalk, five or six miles from the hostile army, whei*e he
spent some six weeks in utter inaction, which lost him the
half of his army. For this conduct he was severely blamed
by some; but the subsequent battle of the Boyne, fought
on the 1st July 1690, effectually wiped out any stain upon
his previous conduct; but unfortunately it proved too late
for the Duke of Schomberg. He was killed while gallantly
leading a body of French Protestants across the river. Thus
died a man who had done signal service to Protestant
Europe during his long career, and who had the reputation,
on his appointment to command the English forces, of being
“ the greatest living master of the art of war.” (Macaulay’s
History of England, vol. hi., p. 195, 1858.)
SCHOMBERG, or Schonberg, a town of Austria,
Moravia, in the circle and 27 miles N.N.W. of Olmiitz.
It has a castle, belonging to the princes of Liechtenstein, to
whose family, in 1621, the town and district was given by
Ferdinand II. In the vicinity are iron-mines ; and in the
town, manufactories of cotton, linen, and needles; also
bleach-fields, &c. Pop. 5388.
SCHOOLS. See National Education and Univer¬
sities.
SCHOOLS OF MUSIC. The establishments them¬
selves, with their buildings and apparatus, their masters and
pupils, are called conservatories or academies. In another
sense, the term school of music is applied to the district or
the country in which a particular style and manner of compo¬
sition has been practised and taught by eminent musicians.
Thus, we speak of the Flemish, the German, the French,
the Italian schools of music. In Flanders arose the oldest
school of music in Europe. The greatest contrapuntists of
the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries were Flemings, many
of whom visited or established themselves in various coun¬
tries, more especially the Italian states, practising and
teaching their art. Thus, the famous Flemish composer,
Josquin Depres, wtis established in the chapel of Pope Six¬
tus IV. from 1471 to 1481; and Adrian Willaert founded
the Venetian school of music in 1527. After the close of
the seventeenth century, Flanders ceased to possess a dis¬
tinctive school of music. According to Padre Martini
{Saggio di Contrappunto Fugato, parte 2da-, pagine 207-
8), the Neapolitan school of music was founded by King
Ferdinand of Arragon in the latter part of the fifteenth
century. In the same work, page 194, Padre Martini
reckons five great schools of music in Italy, subdivided into a
great number of particular schools named after distinguished
masters. 1. The Roman School of Palestrina, the two
brothers Nanini, O. Benevoli, and F. Foggia. 2. The
Venetian School of Adrian Willaert, Zarlino, and Lotti.
3. The Neapolitan School of Rodio, Scarlatti, Leo, and
Durante. 4. The Lombard School of Porta, Monteverde,
Ponzio, and Vecchi. 5. The Bolognese School of Rota,
Giacobbi, Colonna, and Perti. To these last the name of
VOL. XIX.
S C H 729
Martini himself should be added. Some writers divide the Schonebeck
schools of Italy geographically into three, viz.— 1. The ||
School of Lower Italy (the Neapolitan), which is distin- Schott,
guished by variety of expression ; 2. That of Middle Italy
(the Roman and Bolognese), the character of which is
purity and grandeur of style ; 3. That of Upper Italy (the
Venetian and Lombard), which was marked by its forcible
colouring. In the last century there were at Naples four
conservatories of music, which, in 1806, were all united
into a royal academy of music. In 1818 the writer of this
article found it in a very low and useless condition. At
Venice, in 1819, he found that the only conservatory re¬
maining (out of four existing in the last century) was that
of La Pietii, under Signor Agostino Perotti, who said that
it was starved by the Austrian government. At Bologna,
in 1819, the musical academy was the Liceo, and Padre
Mattei, the successor of P. Martini, was then old and feeble.
At Milan, in 1819, the conservatory (founded in 1807) was
thriving and well conducted. It is now the only important
conservatory remaining in Italy. (See Conservatory,
Martini, and Mattei.) (g. f. g.)
SCHONEBECK, a town of Prussia, in the province of
Saxony, circle and 10 miles S.S.E. of Magdeburg, on the
left bank of the Elbe, and on the railway between Magde¬
burg and Leipzig. It is an old town, and contains a
brewery, distillery, paper-mills, and manufactories of white-
lead and chemical substances. But it is chiefly remarkable
for its salt-work, which is the largest in the kingdom, em-
ployingone thousand men, and yielding yearly about 672,000
cwt. of salt. Pop. 8526.
SCHONHAIDEj a town of Saxony, in the circle of
Zwickau, among the Erz Mountains, 15 miles E. of Plauen.
It has manufactures of nails, tin ware, brushes, lace, em¬
broidery, &c. Pop. 4468.
SCHONLINDE, a market-town of Bohemia, in the
circle and 36 miles N.N.E. of Leitmeritz. It has manu¬
factures of linen, woollen, and cotton fabrics, stockings, and
yarn; also bleach-fields; and in the vicinity there are stone-
quarries and alum-mines. Pop. 4107.
SCHOOTEN, Francis, a Dutch mathematician of some
note, regarding the date of whose birth or life nothing al¬
most is known. Fie must have flourished during the seven¬
teenth century, for his death is known to have taken place
in 1659. He was professor of mathematics at Leyden, and
taught there, at an unusually early period, the algebra of Des¬
cartes and the infinitesimal calculus. He published, in
1646, a tract on the conic sections ; and in 1649 a Latin
translation, coupled with a learned commentary on Des¬
cartes’ Geometry. In 1651 were published his Principia
Matheseos; and in 1657 his Exercitationes Mathematical,
which contained some curious and interesting examples of
the application of algebra to geometry.
SCHOTT, Andrew, a learned Jesuit, was born at
Antwerp on the 12th of September 1552. He studied
philosophy at Louvain, and subsequently became teacher
of rhetoric there, but the disturbances in the Low Coun¬
tries obliged him to retire toDouayin 1577. Shortly after
we find him in Paris assisting Busbecq in his literary pur¬
suits. After spending nearly two years in the French
capital, he went to Spain, and obtaining the intimacy of
some persons of influence about the court of Philip II., he
was made professor of Greek at Toledo, and afterwards was
elevated to the chair of Greek and Rhetoric in Saragossa.
Becoming a Jesuit in 1586, he taught theology for some
time, until an invitation to Rome induced him to leave
Spain. He was made professor of rhetoric in the Jesuits’
college of the Italian capital, where, after remainingfor three
years, he obtained leave to proceed to his native town of
Antwerp. Flere he spent the rest of his days in literary
engagements. He died on the 23d of January 1629.
Schott, who is more celebrated for learning than genius,
4 z
TSO SO H
Schrevelius was a man of simple manners and of an industrious life. He
II was greatly devoted to letters, and although a Jesuit, he
Schultze. esteemed it always an honour to be introduced to any man
/ who had the character of being a scholar, without too nicely
inquiring whether he was a Homan Catholic 01 a Protestant.
His works amounted in all to forty-seven, of which the
following are the most important i Laudcitio funebTis Ant.
Augustini, Archiep. Tarraconensis, Leyden, 4to, 1586;
Vitce comparatce Aristotelis ac Demosthenis, Augsburg, 4to,
1603; Hispania Illustrata, Frankfurt, 4 vols., 1603-8;
Thesaurus, from the best authors, Antwerp, 1607 ; His¬
panic Bibliotheca, Frankfurt,|4to, 1608 ; Adagia, a collec¬
tion of Greek proverbs, Antwerp, 1612 ; Observationum
Humanarum libri quinque, Hanau, 1615; Tabula rei
nummarca, Antwerp, 1616. Schott likewise edited nu¬
merous ancient authors, such as Aurelius Victor, Pompo-
nius Mela, Orosius, St Basilius, and Theophylactes.
SCHREVELIUS, Cornelius, a laborious Dutchman,
who was born about 1615, and who has published some
editions of the ancient classics, more distinguished for ele¬
gance than accuracy. His Lexicon Manuale, which is full
of blunders, but which was a good book for its day, is
esteemed the best of all his works. He died in 1667.
SCHUJA, a town of European Russia, capital of a
circle in the government and 60 miles N.N.E. of Vladimir,
on the Tesia, which is here crossed by two handsome
bridges. It contains five churches, several schools, and an
hospital. It is chiefly, however, as a manufacturing town
that Schuja is remarkable ; it had in 1855 no less than 65
manufactories, among which were 18 for weaving, 10 for
calico-printing, 4 for tanning, &c. The total value of goods
manufactured here in 1855 was about L.500,000. Schuja
is thus the most important manufacturing town in Russia,
and has been distinguished from a remote period for its in¬
dustrial activity, and the intelligence of its inhabitants.
Pop. 8414.
SCHULTENS, Albert, professor of Hebrew and of the
oriental languages at Leyden, and one of the most learned
men of the eighteenth century, was born at Groningen in
1680, where he studied till the year 1706, and thence con¬
tinued his studies at Leyden and Utrecht. Schultens at
length applied himself to the study of Arabic, both printed
and in manuscript, in which he made great progress. A
short time afterwards he became minister of Wassenaar;
and in two years professor of oriental languages at Franeker.
At length he was invited to Leyden, where he remained
till his death in 1750. He wrote many learned works, the
principal of which are—his Commentarii on Job, 2 vols.,
1737; on the Proverbs, 1748; and his Origines Hebreae,
2 vols., 1724-38; Vetus et regia Via Hebraizandi, Leyden,
1738 ; Animadversionesphilologicce et criticce ad varia loco
Veteris Testamenti, 1769. Schultens discovered in all
his works sound criticism and much learning. He main¬
tained against Gousset and Driessen, that in order to have
a perfect knowledge of Hebrew, it is necessary to join with
it not only the Chaldaic and Syriac, but more particularly
the Arabic:
Schultens, Henry Albert (1749-1793), grandson of the
learned orientalist, likewise attained to very considerable
reputation in his grandsire’s footsteps.
SCHULTZE,"Ernst Conrad Friedrich, a young Ger¬
man poet of distinction, was born at Celle on the 22d of
March 1789. Of a wayward enthusiastic character, he
spent his school days in comparative idleness, reading only
the chance volumes of romance and chivalry which came
in his way. Flis conduct did not materially alter at the
University of Gottingen, whether he was sent in 1806.
He gained the notice of Bouterwek, who was struck by some
college exercises given in by him; but to the rest of the
professors be was in a measure unknown. He occupied
his time while living at Gottingen in the composition of a
S C H
poem called Psyche, in which he caught the charming Schumach-
style of the poet Wieland. Always extravagant, he re- er
solved to immortalize a youthful attachment which he had II
formed, the object of which had been removed by an early
death, by writing a great poem. This composition, which K ^
he called Cecilia, after the name of the departed, abounds
in passages of uncommon beauty and power; but its plan
is wild and improbable, and it is altogether beyond the
range of ordinary sympathy or of ordinary interest. A
subsequent poem, Hie Bezauberte Rose (The Enchanted
Rose) obtained the prize held out by the publishers of
Urania in 1818. This is unquestionably his best produc¬
tion. He fell a victim to consumption, and died at Celle
on the 22d of June 1817, in his twenty-eighth year.
SCHUMACHER, Heinrich Christian, a Danish as¬
tronomer of distinction, was born at Bramstedt in Holstein,
on the 3d of September 1780. Having early distinguished
himself in mathematics and astronomy, he was chosen, at
the age of thirty, professor extraordinary of astronomy at the
University of Copenhagen. Called to the University of Mann¬
heim in 1813, he returned two years later to Copenhagen,
where he was appointed professor of astronomy and direc¬
tor of the university. He was employed by the Danish
government in 1817 on the mathematical survey then in
progress through their dominions, and received the super¬
intendence, from the Royal Scientific Society of Copenha¬
gen, of the survey and mapping of Holstein and Lauenburg.
In 1824 he was engaged on fixing the measure of differ¬
ences between the observatories of Greenwich and Altona.
The king had, in 1821, built for Schumacher a very con¬
venient observatory at Altona, where he resided till his
death in December 28, 1850. He had commenced the
publication in 1813 of the Astronomische Nachrichten, a
journal which still exists, and which embraces the astrono¬
mical facts and discoveries of the whole world. A good
example of his patience and correctness as an astronomer
will be found in his Astronomische Hulfstafeln, issued during
the nine years previous to 1829. From 1836 he aided Bessel
in editing the Astronomischen Jahrbucks. Schumacher was
a man who united genius with modesty, and liberality with
courtesy. He was easy of access, and he never ceased to aid
by his advice all who sought access to him to ask his counsel.
SCHWABACH, a town of Bavaria, in the circle of
Middle Franconia, on a river of the same name, an affluent
of the Regnitz, 10 miles S.W. of Nuremberg. It is a
well-built old town, encircled by walls, and entered by four
gates. In the market-place is a handsome fountain erected
in 1716. The Gothic parish church is interesting, and
contains some valuable old paintings. There are various
other places of worship and schools, a town-hall, and several
hospitals. Manufacturing industry is actively carried on,
especially that of needles, of which it is the principal seat,
not only in Germany, but probably in Europe. There are
produced weekly 4,000,000 of ordinary needles, and 100,000
English darning, packing, and other needles. There are
also made here hosiery, gold and silver lace, &c. This
place is memorable in the history of the Lutheran Church.
At Schwabach the earliest Protestant confession was drawn
up by Luther in 1529. Pop. 7000, many of whom are Jews.
SCHWANTHALER, Ludwig Michael, an eminent
German sculptor, descended from a family of Tyrolese
artists, was born at Munich on the 26th of August 1802.
Having early received a good education, he entered duly
his father’s studio to learn the family calling. His free
notions of art are said to have disgusted the director of
the Munich Academy of Fine Arts, who urged his friends
to induce him to pursue some other profession, where his
talents would not be likely to render him ridiculous. So
much for the insight of academy directors. Schwanthaler,
by his father’s death in 1821, was compelled to forego the
counsel of the Munich director, and to adhere to his father’s
sen
Schwarz, business for the support of his family. He shortly after-
wards proceeded to Rome, where he derived much benefit
from the friendship of Thorwaldsen. On his return he was
employed, through the influence of Cornelius, to execute
two extensive bassi-relievi friezes for the Glyptothek. He
produced about this period a statue of Shakspeare for
the theatre, and a basso-relievo frieze of the Apotheosis of
Bacchus, for the palace of Duke Maximilian. He re¬
visited Rome in 1832, to complete Rauch’s design for the
south pediment of the Walhalla, and to execute other com¬
missions for King Ludwig’s new palace. In 1835 he was
chosen professor of sculpture to the academy of Munich; and
from that period till the day of his death, he displayed uncom¬
mon industry and genius in the execution of designs for his
art-loving patron, King Ludwig. The northern pediment
of the Walhalla at Ratisbon contains a work of great sculp¬
turesque merit from the chisel of Schwanthaler, called the
Hermann-Schlacht, a fine rendering of old Teutonic history.
He likewise executed various statues and caryatides for the
Walhalla, and numerous cartoons and friezes for the Neue
Konigsbau, consisting of compositions from iEschylus, from
Sophocles, from Aristophanes, and from Hesiod. He like¬
wise ornamented many parts of the F est-Staalbau, the Pinako-
thek, and the Neue-Kunstanstellungs-Gebaiide, and the
magnificent Ludwigs Kirche. For the latter he modelled
statues of Christ and the four Evangelists, St Peter, and St
Paul. He likewise erected numerous monumental statues
for public and private purposes throughout the greater part
of Germany, among which we may mention those of
Mozart at Salzburg, of Goethe at Frankfurt, and of Jean
Paul Friedrich Richter at Baireuth. But his greatest
work, beyond all question, was his colossal statue of Ba¬
varia, executed for his native city, representing a maiden
crowned with an oak-garland, in the centre of the Bavarian
Hall of Fame. This vast work was designed by Stiglmayer,
and begun in 1844. It was inaugurated on the 9th of
October 1850, nearly four years after Schwanthaler had
died. This work is alike remarkable for its dimensions
and its grandeur ; and the artist seems to have lavished on
it all the wealth of his mind. It was the last work on
which he was occupied, and it will remain the most signal
monument of his genius. He died on the 17th of No¬
vember 1848, worn out by ill health and ceaseless industry.
He bequeathed to the Academy of Fine Arts of Munich his
studio and models. The Crystal Palace contains casts of
the head of his “ Bavaria,” and of his “ Shield of Hercules,”
besides various other products of Schwanthaler’s skill.
SCHWARZ, Christian Friedrich, an eminent Pro¬
testant missionary, was born October 8, 1726, at Sonnen-
burg, a small town in the Electorate of Brandenburg.
In his eighth year he entered the grammar school of his
native place, and in a few years was removed to an aca¬
demy of higher pretensions at Ciistrin. In 1746 he re¬
paired to Halle, intending to become a pupil in the gram¬
mar school of the Orphan House, founded by Augustus
Francke. But the missionary Schultz, who had recently
returned from Madras, persuaded him to enter the univer¬
sity, where he attended the lectures of Michaelis and other
professors of note, though still an inmate at the Orphan
House. Schultz, who had been twenty years in India, was
projecting an edition of the Tamul Bible, and prevailed
on Schwarz to commence the study of that language, in order
to assist him in bringing the translation through the press.
His attention was thus directed to foreign missions, and at
the suggestion of Professor Francke (son of the founder of
the Orphan House) he formed the intention of devoting
himself to this department of Christian labour. Before
making his decision he visited Sonnenburg, to obtain his
father’s consent, which, after serious deliberation, was cor¬
dially granted. Schwarz gave a pledge of the disinterested
spirit which animated his future course by renouncing his
S C H 731
share of his father’s property in favour of his brothers and Schwarz,
sisters. After spending some months at Halle he pro- '
ceeded, August 8, 1749, to Copenhagen, for the purpose of
receiving ordination in the Danish Church, to which the
mission he was about to join belonged. In December he
and two other missionaries repaired to England, with the
twofold object of acquiring the English language and of
obtaining the patronage of the Society for promoting Chris¬
tian Knowledge, which had previously rendered important
aid to the mission on the Coromandel coast. Early in
1750 they proceeded on their voyage, and arrived at Tran-
quebar July 30. Within four months from that time
Schwarz preached his first sermon in the Tamul language.
Though Tranquebar continued for some time to be his
head-quarters, he paid frequent visits to Tanjore and Trichi-
nopoly,—to the latter place he removed in 1766, and re¬
mained there about twelve years. He then left for Tan¬
jore, where he spent the last twenty years of his life. At
Trichinopoly he acted as chaplain to the garrison, and so
great was his influence that they erected a church for his
use capable of holding from 1500 to 2000 persons. The
government of Madras allowed him a salary of L.100 per
annum, which he devoted to the erection of a mission-
house and school-room; and when these were completed,
he applied one half of it to the relief of the poor. In 1769
he was introduced to the Rajah of Tanjore, who frequently
held conversations with him on religious subjects, and
though he never embraced Christianity, always counten¬
anced Schwarz in his missionary labours. On one occasion
he observed, “ He makes out our gods to be downright
demons. We must keep him here to instruct this foolish
people.” He would have made use of Schwarz’s mediation
with the English, but was opposed by the officers of his
court. “ Padre,” he said, “ I have confidence in you, be¬
cause you are indifferent to money.” Just before his death
he committed to him the education of his adopted son and
successor. Schwarz discharged his trust in a most effec¬
tive manner, and succeeded in establishing the claims of the
young prince to the throne, when the regent his uncle had
attempted to set them aside. In 1779 he was called by the
Madras government to undertake a private embassy tn
Hyder Ali. “ Do not send me,” said Hyder, “ any of you’
agents, for I do not trust their words or treaties ; but if you
wish me to listen to your proposals, send me the missionary
of whose character I have heard so much from every one :
him I will receive and trust.” The nabob answered all the
questions put to him by Schwarz in a very straightforward
manner, and on his leaving, after a stay of three months,
presented him with 300 rupees to defray the expenses of
his journey ; but in accordance with his resolution “ to keep
his hands undefiled by any present,” be appropriated the
sum to founding an English orphan school at Tanjore.
When Hyder invaded the Carnatic, the inhabitants were
reduced to the greatest distress—on the one hand by the
invader, on the other by the combined exactions of the
English and their own ruler, and even the garrison at Tan¬
jore was almost in a state of starvation. In this extremity
Schwarz requested the cultivators of the surrounding dis¬
tricts to send in their cattle, simply pledging his word for
their payment. In two or three clays a thousand bullocks
were thus obtained.
After labouring for nearly half a century in his self-
denying vocation with an assiduity which places him in the
first rank of modern missionaries, Schwarz died February
13,1798, full of years and of honours. His direct success
was perhaps greater than that of any other Protestant mis¬
sionary in India; the converts from idolatry through his
agency amounted to several thousands. The part he took
in political transactions was evidently forced upon him, and
prompted in no degree by worldly ambition. No man prob¬
ably ever won such esteem and reverence from all parties,
732 S C H
Schwarz- though <{ he deprecated posthumous praise, and was in con-
burg- stant dread of fame.” Mohammedans and Hindoos vied with
his converts and countrymen in extolling his virtues and
deploring his decease. The Rajah of Tanjore erected a
monument, executed by Flaxman, in the mission church,
in which he is represented as grasping the hand of the
dying missionary, and receiving his benediction. The East
India Company also sent out a splendid monument by
Bacon, which was placed in St Mary’s church at Madras.
{Memoirs of the Life and Correspondence of Schwarz, fyc.,
by Hugh Pearson, D.D., 3d edit., Lond. 1839.) (j. e.r.)
SCHWARZBURG, a portion of Germany, geogra¬
phically divided into a northern and a southern part; and
politically into the two principalities of Schwarzburg-
Rudolstadt and Schwarzbdrg-Sondershausen. The
northern portion, called the Lower County {Unterherrs-
chaft), lies close upon the valley called Guldene Aue, and is
entirely surrounded by Prussia and Saxe-Coburg-Gotha; the
southern or Upper County {Oberherrschaft) lies on the
northern slope of the Thuringian Mountains, and is en¬
circled by the Saxon duchies, having Weimar on the N.,
Altenburg on the E., Meiningen on the S.E. and S., and
Gotha on the W. The country is divided between the
principalities as follows :—
Sq. miles. Pop. 1855.
Rudolstadt, upper county,  285 54,012
„ lower do  85 14,982
  370   68,974
Sondershausen, lower county,  189 35,127
„ upper do  138 26,325
  327   61,452
Total of both principalities, 697 130,426
The lower county is traversed by a chain of hills called the
Hainleite, stretching from the Harz to the Unstrut. They
are well wooded, and at the highest part reach the height
of 1419 feet above the sea. Here, also, is an isolated peak
called Kyffhiiuser, 1458 feet high. The principal heights
in the upper county belong to the Thuringian chain, but
no remarkable summits rise within the limits of the princi¬
pality. The highest point is Wurzelberg, 2600 feet high.
The surface of the whole is undulating, and the soil fertile,
especially in the lower county. This portion, too, enjoys
a milder climate than the upper county. Both counties
are watered entirely by affluents of the Saale ; which river
itself forms for a short distance the boundary of the upper
county. The Schwarza, Ilm, and Gera, in the upper
county; the Wipper and Helbe, in the lower, are the chief
rivers; the first two joining the Saale directly, and the others
through its affluent, the Unstrut. Agriculture is well at¬
tended to; and the chief crops raised are corn, potatoes,
and flax, which yield abundantly. The extensive forests
also furnish a large amount of timber. Vines are grown
in some places; and vegetables and fruit are plentiful.
Horses, cattle, sheep, swine, and goats are reared, many of
them of good breeds. Game abounds in the country, and
fish in the rivers. The mineral riches of the land are
great, and many of the inhabitants are employed in mining.
Iron is the most important of the minerals ; and of it Rudol¬
stadt produces annually about 18,000 cwt., and Sonders¬
hausen, 9500 cwt. Salt is also obtained in the former prin¬
cipality, to the amount of 60,000 cwts. yearly. Alum,
vitriol, cobalt, marble, gypsum, building-stone, porcelain
earth, etc., are found here. The manufactures of the
country are not very important. Rudolstadt, however,
has one peculiar to itself; that of oils and medicinal sub¬
stances, chiefly carried on in the village of Oberweissbach.
Woollen and linen weaving, brewing, distilling, paper¬
making, and the preparation of pitch, tar, and lamp-black,
employ many people in both principalities. A consider¬
able export trade is carried on, chiefly in salt, timber, corn,
and manufactured goods. Education is well attended
S C H
to in both principalities: each has numerous elementary Schwaz
schools and a normal seminary; while Rudolstadt has one, 11
and Sondershausen two gymnasiums. The religion of the Schweid-
princes and majority of the people in both states is the v D^z‘ J
Lutheran. In both the constitution is a limited monarchy, " v~"-
the executive power being in the hands of a prince, and
the legislative residing in a diet; that for Rudolstadt con¬
sisting ot sixteen, and that for Sondershausen of fifteen
members. 4 he public revenue of the former, according to
the budget for 1858, was L.67,149; the expenditure,
L.66,578. Of the latter, according to the budget for
1856—59, the revenue was L.80,167; and the expenditure
L.79,127. In Sondershausen, in 1856, the debt of the
country amounted to L.93,447; and that of the chamber
of finance to L. 139,056. Both principalities belong to the
Germanic confederation; and the contingent furnished by
Rudolstadt is 809, that furnished by Sondershausen, 676
men. The history of Schwarzburg is distinguished by no
event of any great importance. The most illustrious of
the princes was Gunther XXI., who was chosen emperor
by a party among the electors, in opposition to Charles
IV., in 1347, but who soon after withdrew his pretensions.
The Counts, as they were called then, of Schwarzburg,
were originally, and for a long time, vassals of Saxony, but
in 1699 obtained, for a compensation, their independence
from the needy monarch of that country. The two reigning
families are descended from the two sons of Gunther XL.,
who died in 1552; that of Sondershausen from the elder,
and that of Rudolstadt from the younger son.
SCHWAZ, a town of the Austrian empire, in the Tyrol,
on the right bank of the Inn, sixteen miles E.N.E. of Inns¬
bruck. It has a beautiful Gothic parish church, containing
some interesting monuments; also an old Franciscan con¬
vent, and a curious tower known by the name of the Mint.
Schwaz was formerly celebrated for its silver mines, which
were worked in the fifteenth century, in partnership, by
the Emperor Maximilian and the Fuggers of Augsburg,
and yielded to the latter alone 200,000 florins (about
L.22,000) annually. These mines are now exhausted;
but iron and copper are still obtained here in abundance.
Pop. 4628.
SCHWEDT, a town of Prussia, in the province of
Brandenburg and circle of Potsdam, on the left bank of
the Oder, 28 miles S.S.W. of Stettin. Its houses are in
general well built, and its broad streets are partly lined
with chestnut-trees. Here is a palace, with a garden, a
riding-house, and a theatre attached to it. This was for¬
merly the residence of the Counts of Brandenburg-Schwedt,
a branch of the Brandenburg family that became extinct in
1759. Woollen and linen cloth, tobacco, and starch are
made here. Many of the inhabitants are of French origin ;
for many emigrants settled here after the revocation of the
Edict of Nantes. Pop. 7396.
SCHWEIDNITZ, a fortified town of Prussia, in the
province of Silesia, on a hill near the left bank of the
Weistritz, 29 miles S.W. of Breslau. It is entered by six
gates, and has broad regular streets, and two large squares.
Most of the houses are well built. The most important
buildings are the council-hall and one of the Roman Ca¬
tholic churches. The latter has a tower 327 feet high, the
loftiest in the kingdom; and a beautiful view is obtained
from its summit. There are also several other churches,
an Ursuline convent, gymnasium, hospital, &c. Here are
large barracks, public offices, and a court of law. An active
trade is carried on; and there are breweries, distilleries,
paper-mills, silk-mills, dye-works, tanneries, and manufac¬
tories of woollen and linen fabrics, hosiery, and hats.
Schweidnitz is only 11 miles from the Bohemian frontier;
and it has, in consequence, been frequently exposed to
sieges. Several times during the Thirty Years’ War was
this its fate ; and after being regularly fortified by Frederick
S G H
Schwein- the Great in 1747, it was taken by the Austrians in 1757,
fart but recovered by Prussia in 1759. It was subsequently
II taken by the French in 1807, and its outer defences were
Schwytz. tjien destroyed, it is now a second-rate fortress. Pop.
14,488.
SCHWEINFURT (anc. Trajectus Suevorum), a town
of Bavaria, in the circle of Lower Franconia, on the
right bank of the Main, 22 miles N.N.E. of Wurzburg.
It is an ancient place, still encircled by the old wall and
ditch, and entered by two of the old gates. There are
here a handsome town-hall, several churches, a gymnasium
founded by Gustavus Adolphus, several other schools, and
various benevolent institutions. The town has manufac¬
tories of woollen and linen goods, hosiery, leather, hard¬
ware, tobacco, brandy, &c. Pop. 7800.
SCHWELM, a town of Prussia, in the province of
Westphalia, on the Schwelmbach, 35 miles W.S.W. of
Arensberg. It has manufactories of linen, woollen, and
cotton goods, iron, steel, and hardware, leather, &c.; and
some trade in cattle. In the vicinity are medicinal springs.
Pop. 4598.
SCHWERIN, a town of Germany, capital of the Grand
Duchy of Mecklenburg-Schwerin, on the west side of the
lake of Schwerin, 35 miles S.E. of Liibeck. It lies in a
beautiful situation, on an irregular piece of ground, almost
encircled by the lake and its branches, and by other small
sheets of water; and where not surrounded by these, is
defended by walls, which are pierced by seven gates.
There are an old town and several more modern suburbs.
On an island, in the lake of Schwerin, stands the old castle,
built by Wallenstein in 1629. It is almost of royal size and
magnificence, and has extensive gardens on the other side
of the lake. Opposite the castle is a large public place,
adorned with a bronze statue of the late grand-duke, Paul
Frederick, and lined with the theatre, the grand ducal palace,
and the college. The ducal picture gallery, in another
part of the town, contains many fine paintings. The
ancient cathedral is a fine specimen of the Gothic style,
peculiar to the Baltic countries. It contains many in¬
teresting monuments. Among the public buildings of
Schwerin, are another palace, a town-hall, council-houses
for the old and new town respectively, several churches, a
mint, and an arsenal. There are numerous schools, a large
infirmary, and other benevolent institutions. Some manu¬
factures, chiefly of brandy, vinegar, and tobacco, are carried
on here. Pop. 20,723.
Schwerin, or Schwierzina, a town of Prussia, in the
province and 60 miles W.N.W. of Posen, at the confluence
of the Obra and the Warthe. It consists of a town proper
and a suburb; and besides Protestant and Roman Catholic
churches, has also a synagogue. Weaving is extensively
carried on here ; also brewing and tanning. Pop. 5636.
SCHW1EBUS, a town of Prussia, in the province of
Brandenburg, circle and 41 miles E. of Frankfort-on-the-
Oder. It stands in a beautiful country, near the Sch-
wemme, and contains a castle and two churches. Important
manufactures of cloth are carried on here. Pop. 5228.
SCHWYTZ, one of the cantons of Switzerland, bounded
on the N. by those of Zurich and St Gallen, E. by that of
Glarus, S. by those of Uri and Unterwalden, and W. by
those of Luzern and Zug. Its northern boundary is formed
by the Lake of Zurich and the River Linth; its southern
boundary by the Lake of Luzern and a branch of the Alps
called the ilosstock (between 6000 and 7000 feet high) ;
and its western boundary by the Rigi (5676 feet), the lake
of Zug, the Rossberg (5195 feet), and the ridge of Mor-
garten. On the east the canton has no natural limit. Area,
338 square miles. The whole of the surface is mountainous
and rugged, being occupied by ridges of the Alps, and
lofty valleys lying between them. The mountains that
occupy the centre ol the country consist of the western
SCI 733
branches of the lofty Alps of Glarus, which attain in that Schwytz
canton the height of 9528 feet, but gradually diminish to- _ II
wards the west, and nowhere within the limits of Schwytz Sciatica,
reach so great an elevation. From the principal chain, “ v'™-
stretching westwards near the south of the canton, several
branches extend in a northerly direction to the lake of
Zurich. In the valleys thus formed rise the upper waters
of the Sihl, which flows north and joins the Lemmat below
Zurich ; and to the south of the main ridge lies the valley
of the Muotta, which falls into the Lake of Luzern. The
principal mountain-peaks, besides those already mentioned,
are Mieseren, 6995 feet; Mythen, 5860 feet; and Rhone,
4026 feet. Schwytz enjoys a milder climate than many
other parts of Switzerland, as its mountains are of less ele¬
vation, and nowhere rise above the snow line. But very
little of the ground is fit for the plough; and this, like
many of the other cantons, is almost entirely a pastoral
country, raising on its wide mountain-pastures a large
number of cattle and other live stock. The canton is esti¬
mated to contain 20,000 horned cattle, about 1000 horses,
6000 sheep, 7000 goats, and 6000 swine. There are some
vineyards along the Lake of Zurich; and corn, potatoes,
flax, and hemp, are raised in some places, but only to a small
extent. The forests of the canton yield an abundant sup¬
ply of valuable timber. Schwytz is very poor in minerals,
and has only some stone-quarries. The manufactures of
the country are very insignificant; weaving, cotton-spinning,
and lace-making being almost the only branches carried
on. The principal articles exported are cattle, horses, and
other live stock, butter, cheese, and timber; while corn,
wine, brandy, coffee, sugar, and manufactured articles are
imported. The inhabitants are of German origin, and
belong, with the exception of a very few Protestants, to
the Roman Catholic Church. For the education of the
people, there is a college at Schwytz, a clerical seminary at
Einsiedeln, and numerous elementary schools throughout
the country. The constitution is democratical; the legis¬
lative power is in the hands of a canton council of eighty-
one members, elected by the people in thirteen districts ;
and the executive power is committed to a government
council of seven members—a landamman or president, a
vice-president, a treasurer, and four councillors, all ap¬
pointed by the canton council. The legislative body exists
for four years, but one-half of the members retire every two
years. The general assembly (landes gemeinde) of all the
citizens, that formerly met every two years, and had an
important share in the legislature, was abolished in 1848,
when the present constitution was adopted. The judicial
establishment consists of a canton court of thirteen mem¬
bers, with as many supplementary ones, elected by the whole
people in the assemblies of each of the six districts; and a
criminal court of five judges, appointed by the canton coun¬
cil. Schwytz was one of the three original cantons that formed
the confederation in 1308, against the Austrian power; and
from its name the modern appellation of the entire country
has been derived. See Switzerland. Pop. (1850) 44,168.
Schwytz, the capital of the above canton, is merely
a small village in the valley of the Muotta, at the foot of
Mythen, a two-peaked mountain, so called from its resem¬
blance to a mitre, 3 miles from the Lake of Luzern and 24
S.S.E. of Zurich. It has a handsome parish church, a coun¬
cil-hall, and an arsenal, in which are the banners captured
at Morgarten, as well as those that have been borne by the
Schwytz troops on various other occasions. Pop. 5432.
SC1ACCA, a seaport town of Sicily, in the province
and 30 miles W.N.W. of Girgenti. It stands on the south
coast of the island, occupying the slope of a hill, between
steep cliffs ; and is protected by a citadel, as well as by walls
and bastions. The chief buildings in this somewhat mean¬
looking town are churches, convents, hospitals, and a col¬
lege. In the vicinity are salt lagoons, sulphur mines, and
734 SCI
Scicll hot sulphur springs. Some manufactures are carried on;
|| but the chief occupation of the people is the taking and
Seilly curing of sardines. There is a small harbour, and a good
Islands. anc]lorage. ^ut owing to the want of shelter, the trade,
which consists chiefly in the export of corn and sardines,
is only carried on in summer. Pop. 12,670.
SCICLI, a town of Sicily, in the province of Syracuse,
on a river of the same name, 6 miles S. W. of Modica. It has
a college and manufactories of cloth and leather. Pop. 9650.
SCIENCE (Scie?itia), in its strictest sense, is a body of
organized knowledge, whose phenomena are arranged so as
to exhibit the reasons or causes by which they are in¬
fluenced, in their legitimate connection and interdepend¬
ence. That science which deals with the succession of
reason and consequent, is entitled an abstract science; while
that which deals with causes and effects is called, for the
most part, a natural or physical science. Those sciences
which are supposed to be complete are called exact sciences,
such as geometry. But the great majority of what are
called sciences—that is, all those branches of knowledge
in which discovery is possible—hardly deserve the name,
being only a bundle of theories or of facts, bound together
with more or less exactness, and which a fresh discovery
may any day untie. Science not only sees, and sees with
certainty, but the distinguishing characteristic of it is, that
it foresees. Thus it is distinguished from art. It is dis¬
tinguished again from literature, in so far as it is its busi¬
ness to discover and apply self-evident principles.
The various sciences will be found under their appro¬
priate heads throughout the work.
SCILLY ISLANDS, a group belonging to England,
and included in the county of Cornwall, about 30 miles
W.S.W. of Land’s End. N. Lat. (of the lighthouse on St
Agnes) 49. 53.; W. Lon. 6. 20. The form of the group
is nearly circular, about 30 miles round; and the number
of islands is very great, but only six of them are inhabited.
These are the following :—
Acres. Pop. (1851.) Villages.
St Mary’s  1600 1668 Hugh Town.
Tresco  700 416 Dolphin Town.
St Martins  550 211 Higher Town.
St Agnes  350 204
Bryher  300 118
Samson  80 10
Pop. of the whole (1851)  2627
The sea around them is very deep, and they rise out of
it with steep and rugged sides; but between the islands
the water is much shallower, and some of t*hem are con¬
nected by shallows, left entirely dry at low-water. Their
geological structure is entirely granitic, with a mixture of
quartz, felspar, and mica. 1 he granite is, however, coarse
and of little value. The scenery is exceedingly picturesque ;
and the climate milder and less variable than that of Corn¬
wall ; but the soil is in general barren, and, except in a few
sheltered spots, no trees grow on the islands. Corn and
potatoes are grown on St Mary’s, and there is some pasture-
giound on others; but the most of the inhabitants are
sailors, pilots, or fishermen. It is generally thought that
these islands are the Cassiterides or Tin islands of the
ancients; but as no trace of that metal is found here, the
extremity of the mainland was probably included under
that name. They were sometimes used as a place of
^ banishment by the Romans. The sea between them and
the mainland is called Lethowsow, or the Lioness; and if
we be leye ancient tradition, there was formerly here a
tract of slaty rock connecting the islands with the Land’s
End. . This was that “ sweet land of Lionnesse,” where
t ie knights of the Round 1 able fell around their lord, King
Aithur, and where he was mysteriously carried away from
mortal sight.
SCI
SCINDE. See Sindh. Scinde
SCIO, Chio, or Khio (anc. Chios}, an island belong- ||
ing to Asiatic 1 urkey, lying in the Grecian Archipelago, ®ci0,
off the coast of Asia Minor, from which it is separated by
the Strait of Scio, about 7 miles wide at the narrowest
point. N. Lat. (of the capital) 38. 33.; E. Lon. 26. 1.
Length from N. to S. 32 miles, greatest breadth 18 ; area,
508 square miles. I he surface is rocky and uneven, being
traversed by several limestone ridges, with rich and beau¬
tiful valleys between. It is, indeed, one of the most beau¬
tiful of all the Grecian islands; and is abundantly watered
by many springs and rivulets, so as to preserve a constant
verdure. As only a small portion of the soil is fit for the
plough, corn is not raised to any great extent; but the
ground is suitable to various other valuable crops. The
wine of Chios was one of the most esteemed beverages of
the ancient woi*ld, and is still held in some repute. In
modern times, however, the chief production of the island
has been gum mastic, obtained from the juice of a certain
shrub. Figs, oranges, lemons, and other fruits, are also
raised; and among its other productions are silk, cotton,
oil, and wool. The only mineral of importance is marble,
of which there is a quarry near the chief town. The chief
articles imported into the island are corn, iron, tin, earthen¬
ware, and colonial produce. A considerable navigation is
carried on, both in the foreign and coasting trade. The
port, however, is so choked up with mud as to be difficult
and dangerous of entrance. Hence few European vessels
anchor here. Scio is connected by ancient tradition with
the father of Greek poetry, “ the blind old man of Scio’s
rocky isle ;” it was one of the seven places that contended
for the honour of having given him birth. Apart from
this doubtful renown, the history of the island, both in an¬
cient and modern times, has much interest. The original
inhabitants are believed to have been Pelasgians, who came,
according to one tradition, from Thessaly. Subsequently
Ionian settlers established themselves here, but did not
entirely expel the previous occupants. Chios thus became
a member of the Ionian confederation of twelve states on
the Asiatic islands and coast. Its insular position protected
it against the Lydian, and for a time against the Persian
power. But in the Ionian revolt, the Chians lent their
assistance to their fellow-countrymen by furnishing ships
to the fleet, which was totally defeated by the Persians off
Miletus, 494 b.c. The conquerors in consequence landed
on the island, and ravaged it with fire and sword. The
battle of Mycale, in 479, liberated Chios from the Persian
yoke, but only to become a dependency of Athens. To
this power it remained faithful, till after the outbreak of
the Peloponnesian war; but as that disastrous contest pro¬
ceeded, and the fortune of war began to prove adverse to
Athens, the Chians attempted to assert their liberty. They
suffered several defeats from the Athenians, who laid waste
the island, but could not conquer the capital. At a later
period Chios was again subject to Athens, and again re¬
volted, and seems to have maintained its independence for
some time. It gave assistance to the Romans in their war
with Antiochus, 190 b.c. ; and afterwards, when allied with
Mithridates, that monarch, suspecting the people of a bear¬
ing towards the Romans, sent a lieutenant, who carried the
inhabitants away from the island, 86 B.c. They were re¬
stored by the Romans; and, in consideration of this calamity,
the island was made a free state and an ally of Rome.
Under the Roman empire the history of Chios presents no
event of importance; but in subsequent times the place
appears as the scene of as great calamities as before. Early
in the fourteenth century, the Turks conquered the capital,
and perpetrated a general massacre of its inhabitants ; but
from 1346 to 1566 Scio was held by the Genoese. In the
latter year it was conquered by Solyman the Magnificent;
and since that time, with the exception of a short period
SCI
Scioppius. when the Venetians possessed it, the island has belonged
to the Ottoman empire. In 1822, during the Greek insur¬
rection, a number of Samians landed in Scio, and persuaded
or forced its peaceful inhabitants to rise against the Turks.
They did not succeed in mastering the castle; and soon an
army was landed from Asia, who renewed the ancient ca¬
lamities of the island. The plunder and massacre that
ensued were so unsparing, that in a short time only 2000
Christians were left out of a population of 110,000. Many
traces of this disaster may yet be seen in Scio, but it is
beginning to recover from its desolation, and the popula¬
tion is estimated at 62,000. The capital, called Khio or
Castro, occupies the site of the ancient Chios, near the
middle of the east coast. It is generally well built, in the
Italian style, and has a castle and a harbour. Some re¬
mains of ancient buildings are still to be seen. Previous
to 1822 the population .was 30,000 ; it is now not half that
number.
SCIOPPIUS, Gaspar, a learned German writer of the
seventeenth century, was born at Neumark, in the Upper
Palatinate, on the 27th of May 1576. He studied at the
university with so much success, that at the age of sixteen
he became an author, and published books, says Ferrari,
which deserve to be admired by old men. But his disposi¬
tion did not correspond with his genius. Naturally pas¬
sionate and malevolent, he assaulted without mercy the
characters of eminent men. He abjured the system of the
Protestants, and became a Roman Catholic about the year
1599 ; but his character remained the same. He possessed
all those qualities which fitted him for making a distinguished
figure in the literary world—imagination, memory, profound
learning, and invincible impudence. He was familiar with
the terms of reproach in most languages. He was entirely
ignorant of the manners of the world. He neither showed
respect to his superiors nor did he behave with decency to
his equals. He was possessed with a frenzy of an uncom¬
mon kind, being a perfect firebrand, scattering around him,
as if for his amusement, the most atrocious calumnies.
Joseph Scaliger, above all others, was the object of his
satire. That learned man, having drawn up the history of
his own family, and attempted to deduce its genealogy from
princes, was severely attacked by Scioppius, who ridiculed
his high pretensions. Scaliger, in his turn, wrote a book
entitled the Life and Parentage of Caspar Scioppius, in
which he informs us that the father of Scioppius had been
successively a grave-digger, a journeyman stationer, a
hawker, a soldier, a miller, and a brewer of beer! These
statements almost set Scioppius mad. He collected all
the calumnies that had been thrown out against Scaliger,
and formed them into a huge volume, to crush him at
once. He treated'1 James I., king of England, with great
contempt, in his Ecclesiasticus and in his Collyrium
Regium Eritannice Regi (that is, An Eye-salve for his
Britannic Majesty). In one of his works he had the
audacity to abuse Henry IV. of France in a most scurrilous
manner, on which account his book was burned at Paris.
He was hung in effigy in a farce which was represented
before the king of England, but he gloried in his dishonour.
Provoked with his insolence to their sovereign, the servants
of the English ambassador assaulted him at Madrid and
corrected him severely, but he boasted of the wounds he
had received. He published more than thirty defamatory
libels against the Jesuits ; and wdiat is surprising, in the
place where he declaims with most virulence against that
society, he subscribes his own name with expressions of
devotion : “ I, Gaspar Scioppius, already on the brink of
the grave, and ready to appear before the tribunal of Jesus
Christ, to give an account of my works.” Towards the
end of his life he employed himself in studying the
Apocalypse, and affirmed that he had found the key to that
mysterious book. He sent some of his expositions to
SCI 735
Cardinal Mazarin, but the cardinal did not find it con- Scipio.
venient to read them. .
Ferrari tells us that, during the last fourteen years of his
life, Scioppius shut himself up in a small apartment, where
he devoted himself solely to study. The same writer ac¬
quaints us that he could repeat the Scriptures almost
entirely by heart; but his good qualities were eclipsed by
his vices. For his love of slander, and the furious assaults
which he made upon the most eminent men, he was called
the Cerberus of literature. He accuses even Cicero of
barbarisms and improprieties. He died on the 19th of
November 1649, at the age of seventy-four, at Padua, the
only retreat which remained to him from the multitude of
enemies whom he had created. He was a man of pro¬
digious learning, and of great acuteness. He had no equal
in his knowledge of the Latin language, and he might have
attained as great a reputation as his opponent, Joseph
Scaliger, had his temper been a little better, and had he
indulged less frequently in satire and general intolerance.
He edited and wrote notes to a great many authors. One
hundred and four works are ascribed to him, which discover
great genius and learning. Many of his works were pub¬
lished under assumed names. The chief of his writings
are Verisimilium Libri iv. 1596, in 8vo; Commentarius
de Arte Critica, 1661, in 8vo ; De sua ad Catholicos
Migratione, 1660, in 8vo ; Notationes Criticce in Phce-
drum, in Priapeia, Patavii, 1664, in 8vo; Suspectarum
Sectionum Libri v. 1664, in 8vo ; Classicum Belli Sacri,
1619, in 4to; Collyrium Regium, 1611, in 8vo ; Gramma-
tica Philosophica, 1644, in 8vo ; Relatio ad Reges et Prin-
cipes de Stratagematihus Societatis Jesu, 1641, in 12mo.
SCIPIO (Lat. a staff), the name of an illustrious patri¬
cian family of Rome, of the gens Cornelia. It rose to
great power in the Roman state, and to this family more
than to any other Rome was indebted for her empire over
the world. Of the thirty-six names usually given in con¬
nection with that distinguished house, unquestionably the
most illustrious were Publius Cornelius Scipio Africanus
Major, and Publius Cornelius Scipio vEmilianus Africanus
Minor.
Scipio Apricanus Major, Publius Cornelius, the son
of Publius Cornelius Scipio, who fell in Spain, was pro¬
bably the greatest man in Rome after Julius Caesar. He
was born b.c. 234, since he was twenty-four years of age
when appointed to the command in Spain, B.c. 210. From
his early youth he displayed an uncommon reverence for
the worship of the gods ; and his quiet but deep enthusiasm
burned in him like a flame. Before engaging in any busi¬
ness he first went to the Capitol, and there, in the high re¬
tirement of his own soul, held converse with the unseen
powers, who gave or withheld their approval of the project
which he had in view. Those Romans who still held on
by any vestige of faith in the old Roman religion, enter¬
tained his assertions, and stood in awe of his person. There
germinated in this man, despite the scepticism of Polybius,
a deep and strong faith in the permanence of religious ideas,
and in the constancy of religious impressions, which in
other circumstances would have led him into the wilderness
as an ascetic, or would have endowed him w ith the rapt ear¬
nestness of a mystic. Scipio was born a hero, and not an
impostor. The large enthusiasm of his nature found vent in
rude military life, where, if it found much to check the
vigour of its growth, met likewise with much which it could
assimilate. By presenting to the vulgar minds of the sol¬
diery a picture of rapt devotion and yet of stern command,
he gained an influence over them which was quite extra¬
ordinary because quite irresistible. In the more immediate
relations of generalship, what could resist the energy of that
arm which, in its every blow, dealt desolation and death
to the enemies of Rome and of the Roman gods ? When
this religious enthusiasm seized hold not only of the feel-
S C I P I o.
736
Scipio. ings of a single man or his immediate attendants, but which
animated an entire army with its assuring influence, where
was the Carthaginian who could stand long before its
power ? where the Hispanian who would not speedily bow
before it as before the march of doom ?
At the age of seventeen he fought at the Ticinus (in
218 B.C.), and is there reported to have saved his father’s
life. As a tribune, he fought and survived the fatal battle
of Cannse, was made joint commander of the remains of the
army with Appius Claudius at the age of nineteen, and by
his youthful heroism brought light to his bewildered coun¬
trymen, and induced them to forego the silly project of
resigning Italy in despair. He was chosen aedile ere he
was twenty-four. He displayed his arrogant temper to
the hesitating tribunes on that occasion in these words
—“If all the Quirites wish to make me aedile, I am old
enough.” He lost his father and uncle in Spain in 211 B.C.,
and ere the year was out, when, in default of a more ex¬
perienced general, he presented himself to the Roman
people to command their army in Spain, he was received
first of all with silent wonder, and lastly, gaining confidence
by the picture of stern resolution presented to them in this
young soldier, they chose him with shouts of acclamation.
He arrived in Spain in the summer of 210 B.C. The whole
country south of the Iberus was in the hands of the enemy.
Scipio at once resolved to strike a deadly blow at the head
of the Carthaginian power, by attacking New Carthage.
His project was crowned with success. In the conquered
city he found a great abundance of arms, corn, and other
necessaries. He retired to Tarraco, where he remained
during the winter. Here, so great was the general enthu¬
siasm of the people by the mildness, the courtesy, and the
energy of the young Roman, that the Spanish tribes not
only came over to his cause, but wished to make him
their king. Next year he attacked Hasdrubal, in the valley
of the Guadalquiver, and gained an almost incredible vic¬
tory. It is said by the Roman writers that no less than
22,000 men were taken prisoners, and 8000 slain. In 207
B.C. Scipio gained, by a decisive victory, nearly the whole
of Spain. He sheathed his sword, and trusted to the influ¬
ence of humanity to win the rude inhabitants. They
gathered round him, eager to kiss his garment, and all the
native chiefs flocked in to offer their allegiance to omnipo¬
tent Rome. With the design of securing the co-opera¬
tion of some of the native princes of Africa, Scipio crossed
over into that country, accompanied by two quinquiremes.
There he met his old foe, Hasdrubal, the son of Gisco,
who had crossed over from Spain upon a similar errand.
The Carthaginian, aided by the charms of a fair daughter,
seems on this occasion to have outwitted the Roman com¬
mander. Scyphax, king of Numidia, received Sopho-
nisba in marriage, and thus cemented the Carthaginian
interest to his own. On his return to Spain, Scipio chas¬
tised severely the town of Illiturgi for having led on a
revolt among his soldiers. He was seized with a severe
illness. During the progress of his disease, 8000 of his
own men broke out into open revolt. He suddenly rallied,
and by his wonted dexterity at once allayed the fury of the
soldiery. Scipio, whose presence was now no longer
needed, returned to Rome in 206 B.C., leaving the pro-
consuls masters of the army and of Spain. He had hardly
returned to Rome when he became a candidate for the
consulship, and had the honour to be chosen, though con¬
siderably under the legal age. It now became apparent
that if Hannibal was to be removed at all from Italy, it
should be performed by a diversion against the Cartha¬
ginians on their own soil. No man was capable of effect¬
ing this save the youthful hero who had first asserted
the prowess of the Roman arms in Spain. This Scipio
clearly foresaw; but the older senators, and especially Q.
Fabius Maximus, who was prompted by a meagre jealousy,
sought stealthily to thwart. After their various wiles had Scipio.
been burst through, this splendid youth, with his passion for
Greek art and Greek literature, showed his suspicious rivals
that he knew as well how to train an army as how to con¬
duct it in the field. Commissioners of inquiry had been
summoned from Rome to the head-quarters of the army in
Sicily, but the enthusiasm of the volunteers and the skill of
the commander astounded these officials, and they went back
only to tell the senate that they had commanded Scipio to
march against Carthage. Sailing from Lilybaeum in 204
B.C., he landed near Utica with a force variously estimated
at 12,200 and at 35,000 men. Masinissa, whose friendship
he had made in Spain, now stood him in good stead. With
the assistance of this prince, Scipio almost annihilated the
joint forces of Hasdrubal and Scyphax. (See Masinissa.)
These disasters induced the Carthaginians to recall Hanni¬
bal and Mago from Italy. An armistice was accordingly
struck, and the Roman army lay impatient before the walls
of Carthage. The presence of their renowned general gave
confidence to the Carthaginians, but Hannibal knew too
well the army and the general he had to contend with, to
be rash in his projects. Both generals, in truth, were
anxious for a solid peace, but a solid peace on advantageous
terms was what Scipio was quite unwilling to grant, and
short of which the pride of Hannibal would not deign to
stoop. The bloody battle of Naraga, near Zanm, fought
on the 19th of October 202 B.C., settled the contest in
favour of the Romans, and Scipio returned to Rome in
triumph 201 B.C. The populace manifested extraordinary
enthusiasm, and sought to gratify it by quite extraordinary
means. They bestowed upon him the surname oi Africanus,
and wished to make him consul and dictator for life. They
wished to erect his statue in the comitia. They would set it
up in the rostra and the curia, and even went so far as to
wish his enthronement in the Capitol. Scipio prudently
declined those invidious honours; and to shun the suspicion
of the senate, he withdrew into dignified retirement. Com¬
ing once more before the public, he was chosen censor and
consul the second time. In 190 b.c. the censors re-elected
him princeps senatus, and during the same year he chose
to accompany his brother Lucius to Greece, to serve under
him as legatus. Returning to Rome in 189 b.c., on the
conclusion of the war with Antiochus, the mean jealousy of
the senate gave him fresh cause for alarm. The glory of
the victory of Zama had now grown dim, the pride of the
great general probably did not abate, and the Roman senate,
with their paltry suspicions, could not brook the infringe¬
ment of a jot of their dignity. They opened a prosecution
against Scipio’s brother, Lucius, but really directed against
Africanus himself. This being successful, the enemies of
the Scipios were emboldened to charge the great African.
At his trial he descanted much on his signal services to the
commonwealth, but did not deign to notice the charges
brought against him by his foes. Night came, and the great
culprit still continued to speak. The trial was adjourned till
next day, and Africanus, on being summoned to appear,
proudly reminded his judges and the people of Rome that
this day was the anniversary of the battle of Zama. He
adjured them in the same haughty terms to follow him to
the Capitol, and return thanks to the immortal gods for the
safety of Rome, and to pray them to grant in time coming
other citizens like Scipio Africanus. The crowded assembly
listened with breathless attention : he smote a chord which
vibrated through every Roman heart: their veneration for
Scipio returned; and he was followed to the Capitol with
shouts which shook the stones of Rome. I he haughty
soldier quitted Rome never to return. He withdrew to
Liternum, where he passed the remainder of his days in the
peaceful cultivation of his estate. I he year of his death is
variously given by Polybius and Rutilius as 183 B.o., the
same year as his great rival, Hannibal. By Livy and Cicero
SCI
■Scipio. it is ascribed to 185 b.c., and by Valerius of Antinm to
—187 b.c. In compliance with his own command, his bones
were buried at Liternum, where his tomb was shown in
the time of Livy. T hus died one of the greatest men and
most distinguished generals which Rome had known; and
beside the pedestal occupied by Hannibal in the Temple of
Fame stands the statue of his conqueror, Scipio Afri-
canus.
Scipio ^Emilianus Africanus Minor, Publius Cor¬
nelius, was the son of ^Emilius Paul us, conqueror of Mace¬
donia, and was adopted by Scipio, son of the elder Afri¬
canus, whose mother was a sister of L. JSmilius Paulus.
He was born in 185 b.c., and while still a youth he ac¬
companied his father to Greece, and fought under him
at the battle of Pydna, b.c. 168. It was in Greece, most
probably, he became acquainted with the historian Polybius,
who, on coming to Rome, directed his literary studies, and in¬
troduced him to the art and the literature of Greece. Poly¬
bius accompanied him in all his campaigns, and disclosed to
nim during the leisure hours of his military duties, the trea¬
sures of Grecian thought and the wealth of Grecian learning.
Nor did Scipio the younger neglect the literature or the
manners of Rome, while he eagerly pursued those of her
great eastern rival. He was a friend of the poets Lucilius
and Terence ; and his affection for the younger Laelius was
as remarkable as that of Africanus for the elder Laelius, and
has been immortalized by Cicero in his Laelius sive de Ami-
citia. Like the elder Scipio, he cultivated Greek letters,
and understood the elegancies of*Greek taste, without
setting aside the stern Roman virtues, or emasculating
his mind by the warm blandishments of a more refined
civilization. The younger Scipio began his public career in
151 b.c., by coming forward when it was quite the fashion
to stand back, and offering himself to serve in dreaded Spain
in whatever capacity the consuls might choose to employ
him. He was appointed military tribune, under the con¬
sulship of Lucullus, and gave signal proofs of his personal
courage during the adventures of this Spanish cam¬
paign. He slew in single strife a Spanish giant of great
strength, and was the first to mount the walls at the storm¬
ing of Intercatia. His courage and his integrity reminded
the barbarians of him whose name he bore, and he awakened
an enthusiasm in the breasts of the rude savages, equalled
only by that paid to his grandfather Africanus.
On the breaking out of the third Punic War in 149 b.c.,
Scipio was called to Africa, which he had already visited,
under Lucullus, for a supply of elephants. Here he repaired
the blunders of the consul Manilius, gained the confidence
of Masinissa, and what he probably valued more than any of
the more noisy demonstrations, the “ stern” Cato said of him,
in the words of Homer (Od. x., 495), “He alone has wis¬
dom, the rest are empty shadows.” On Scipio’s withdrawal
from Africa, when Piso took the command, he was followed
to Rome by the wishes of the soldiery, that he might be¬
come their commander. To this dignity he was raised
sooner perhaps than he expected. In 147 b.c. he was
chosen consul, though not yet of the legal age, and was as¬
signed Africa, the most difficult province of Rome, to
govern. The details of the third Punic War will be found
in the article Roman History, where will be found recorded
the bloody capture of the splendid African city. The Car¬
thaginians defended their city till the spring of 146 b.c.,
when they could no longer withstand the stern energy of
the Roman legions. They advanced with thundering
tramp, and at every street, and at every house of Carthage,
they found the bloodiest work to do. The sight moved the
Roman general to tears, and he is said to have given scope
to his feelings in the almost prophetic words of Homer, re¬
corded in the well-known lines of the Iliad (vi. 448)—
"Ea'irsra; rift&o, or a.v <ror oXuXy]
K«; TIgiaf/.os xai Xu.o; ivu-y-iXiui Wota^oio.
SCO 737
The victor returned to Rome, where he was welcomed with Sclavonia
a splendid triumph, and he now won the surname of Afri¬
canus, which he had only before received by inheritance , ^c0Pa3-1
from the conqueror of Hannibal. In no long time the un-
grateful Romans had him brought to his trial before the
tribune of the plebs, on the charge of majestas, or of con¬
temning the sovereignty of the people. Scipio was ac¬
quitted, and the speech delivered by him on this occasion
was long considered a masterpiece. He strove to check
the Roman appetite for foreign conquest, and showed a
high contempt for the pomp and luxury indulged in by his
contemporaries. He was chosen consul in 134 b.c., and
was assigned the province of Spain, which had long been
considered invincible by any but a Scipio. After spending
some time in remodelling the discipline of the army, he laid
siege to Numantia, which displayed a most heroic resist¬
ance. (See Numantia.) The taking of this town gained
for him the surname of Numantinus. During his absence
in Spain, his brother-in-law, Tiberius Gracchus, was sud¬
denly put to death. Scipio did not, however, sympathise
with his reforms, and is said to have exclaimed, on hearing
of his death, in the words of Homer (Od. i., 47), “ So perish
all who do the like again.” Scipio did not disguise his sen¬
timents even on his return to Rome, and “ down with the
tyrant,” was soon heard from the fickle mob who not long be¬
fore had hailed him as the liberator of Rome. This flame was
fanned by C. Papirius Carbo, the tribune, who could not
tolerate the shadow of his presence, with his thirst for Greek
letters and for Greek philosophy, and what was still more
offensive, by his fondness for public display. Scipio was in
truth a sort of Roman Tory, strongly addicted to letters,
which he cultivated with great success, much given to mili¬
tary display, which bordered on parade, and earnestly op¬
posed to nearly all popular measures. He paid too deaf a
price for his peculiarities. Returning home from the senate-
house, he retired to his study, to compose a speech in his
own defence against the following day. Next morning
the cry went through Rome that Scipio Africanus Numan¬
tinus was dead, b.c. 129. The general opinion was that
he was murdered, but by whose hand never was known.
Popular suspicion generally rested on the tribune, Papirius
Carbo; and he is expressly alluded to as the murderer by
Cicero.
The few fragments of the speeches of Scipio the younger
have been collected by Meyer in Orat. Roman. Fragm.
pp. 176-193. His character has been drawn in very pleas¬
ing colours by Cicero, in his Republica. His life and death
have been noticed with ability by Nitzsch, Scheu, Gerlach,
and Zimmerman.
A good account of the Scipio family is given in the Real-
Encyclopadie der classichen Alterthumswissenschaft. The
Scipios, as was usual among Roman families of distinction,
possessed a burial-place used for family purposes. This
tomb was discovered in 1780, near the Porta Capena, and
adds a very interesting detail to the collection of discoveries
relating to the republican period of Rome. A full account
of the tomb is given by Visconti in his Monumenti degli
Scipioni, and the inscriptions are given by Orelli.
SCLAVONIA. See Slavonia.
SCONE, a village of Scotland, in the county and 2
miles N.E. of Perth, on the left bank of the Tay. It is
neatly built, and inhabited chiefly by weavers. Scone
palace, the seat of the Earl of Mansfield, is a modern cas¬
tellated building, on the site of the ancient royal palace,
where the Scottish monarchs were crowned. The cele¬
brated stone, on which the ceremony used to be performed,
is now in Westminster Abbey, and forms part of the coro¬
nation chair. Of the old abbey of Scone only a single aisle
now remains. Pop. of village, 1439 ; of parish, 2381.
SCOPAS, a distinguished sculptor of the later Attic
school, was a native of Paros, where he was born during
5 a
VOL. XIX.
738 SCO
Score, the first half of the fourth century B.c. Pliny places him
with Polycleitus, Phradmon, Myron, Pythagoras, and
Perelius, 420 B.C., but this cannot possibly be accurate.
(See Sillig. Cat. Art.) He was probably somewhat older
than Praxiteles, with whom he left the fruits of his handi¬
work on the Mausoleum at Halicarnassus. The period
during which he flourished must have been from 395 B.c.
to 350 B.C. Nothing is known with certainty regarding
the life of the artist, except what one can gather from the
fragmentary remains of his works still extant. He was not
only a sculptor, he was likewise an architect and statuary.
His chief performances are the Niobe group, the Budrum
marbles, and various statues chiefly of the gods of Greece.
The architectural works of Scopas are very justly cele¬
brated. He built the temple of Athena Alea, at Tegea,
in Arcadia, which was accounted the most magnificent
building in the Peloponnesus. Scopas likewise decor¬
ated the building with the products of his chisel, of which
the most celebrated designs were the chase of the Caly-
donian boar and the battle of Telephus with Achilles.
(Pausanias, viii. 45.) This artist was likewise supposed to
be the architect of the temple of Artemis, but the critical
investigations of Sillig have thrown much doubt on this
hypothesis. There is more certainty as to the part taken
by Scopas in the decoration of the famed sepulchre of the
king of Caria at Halicarnassus, or the modern Budrum.
The eastern front seems to have been executed by this
artist, and the other portions by different workmen. (See
Mausoleum.) He executed statues from the mythology
of Aprodite, of Dionysius, of Apollo, and of Artemis. But
the most esteemed work ascribed to Scopas is the cele¬
brated group of the destruction of the sons and daughters
of Niobe. It is a disputed point whether we owe this
glorious production of Greek art to the genius of Scopas
or of Praxiteles. Winckelmann ascribed it to Scopas, and
perhaps the most celebrated description of it is by the late
German philosopher, Schelling. Besides the statues to
other divinities, Scopas is said to have executed a famous
group of Achilles conducted to the island of Leuce by the
divinities of the sea. Pliny, on whose authority this work
is cited, esteemed it the best of all the productions of
Scopas. Very few facts can be ascertained entirely beyond
dispute regarding this artist’s labours.
SCORE, or Partition, in Music. Either of these
terms means that written or printed arrangement of diffe¬
rent parts for voices or instruments, or for both, by which
the structure of any piece of music, consisting of a number
of such parts, is brought successively under the eye, mea¬
sure after measure, so as to enable the student of compo¬
sition to study the work, or the conductor of an orchestra
to accompany the whole suitably on the pianoforte or
organ, or instantly to perceive and correct errors in the per¬
formance, especially during rehearsals. In a score or
partition, all the staves required in any given page for the
different parts should be marked with their proper clefs,
&c., and, on the left margin, with the names of the diffe¬
rent voices or instruments, and then braced together at the
left side, while at every bar of the measure a straight line
is drawn down the page, from the top of the highest stave
to the bottom of the lowest. For the sake of perspicuity,
in every partition the same number of staves ought to be
used from beginning to end on every page, even where
many bars of rests occur in this or that part; and also the
clefs, &c., ought to be marked on every page, as well as
the names of the different voices or instruments. The
general neglect of these simple precautions renders many
partitions extremely confused and perplexing to their
readers. In the article Music, we have used the word
'partition in preference to the word score, for various rea¬
sons ; and especially as we had already the word partition
used in the sixteenth century by an English writer of
SCO
eminent musical authority, in the very sense in which we Scoresby.
employ it. Thomas Morley, in his Blaine and easie In-
traduction to Practicall Musicke, edition of 1597, page 34,
has stamped the word partition as an English musical
term. He says, “and to the ende that you may the more
easily understand the contryving of the parts, and their
proportion one to another, I have set it downe in parti¬
tion.” (g. f. g.)
SCORESBY, William, D.D., an eminent explorer of
the Arctic regions, the third child of William and L.
Mary Scoresby, was born at Cropton, near Pickering, in
the county of York, on the 5th of October 1789. He was
a delicate, bashful child ; was early impressed with a sacred
regard to truth, and of the importance of religious duties,
qualities which remained with him during life. In 1802
he was for several months sent to school under the care
of Mr Stock, in the neighbourhood of Blackwall, where
he was instructed in the elements of English grammar,
writing, and arithmetic ; but the effect of intense applica¬
tion was too much for a delicate constitution. His studies
commenced at five in the morning, and continued until the
same hour in the evening, with the usual intervals for
meals; but besides these lessons, he wrote various exer¬
cises at home, and attended occasional lectures of his
master on some branches of science in the evenings.
There, too, he obtained his first lessons in theoretic navi¬
gation.
His inclination for a seaman’s life led him, in 1800, to con¬
ceal himself in his fattier’s ship, setting out on a Greenland
voyage, until the pilot-boat had left the vessel. He was
therefore equipped as an apprentice, and adopted the life of
a seaman, in which he made such proficiency that, when
sixteen years of age, he was advanced to the office of
chief mate of the ship. During the intervals of his diffe¬
rent Greenland voyages, he studied assiduously, at the
school of Mr Routh in Whitby, algebra, geometry, and the
application of mathematics to navigation and marine sur¬
veying. In these branches he soon found the explanations
of his masters (from their want of practical application)
neither quite satisfactory nor always intelligible, and his
full attainment of these branches was the result of his
private studies. He stated that he might have attained
some proficiency in Latin from his able master had he had
taste for more than the mere elements of that language.
In the winter of 1806 he repaired to Edinburgh, and
attended some of the classes in the university ; but his
profession again recalled him to Whitby in March 1807.
On returning from the Greenland voyage in 1807, he
volunteered his services to assist in bringing the Danish
fleet to Britain, and for this purpose he sailed from Leith
to Copenhagen. He was thus employed three months;
for this the government remuneration was the trifling sum
of L.ll, 19s. 2d., including bounty, wages, and travelling
expenses ! His own account of this incident in his life is
thus stated Thus ended an adventurous and trying
voyage'—a voyage in which I voluntarily submitted to
every service and privation of the commonest sailor, though
from being furnished with introductory letters from naval
officers of some consideration, I might probably have fared
better had I made use of them ; but I wished to take my
chance in the ordinary way, that I might have better
opportunity, by personal experience, of learning the disci¬
pline of the navy, and the duties expected from a seaman
in that service.” In that same year he was introduced to
Sir Joseph Banks, of whom he soon became a frequent
correspondent.
In 1809 Scoresby made his first assay as harpooner in
his father’s ship, while still acting as chief mate. On his
return he again became a student in the University of
Edinburgh, and attended the course of natural history of
Professor Jameson, with whom he became intimately
S C 0 ft E S B Y. 739
Scoresby. acquainted; and he furnished valuable papers to the
Wernerian society on the Greenland ice, the meteorology
of those regions, and on the Greenland whale.
On the 5th of October 1810, his twenty-first birth¬
day, Mr Scoresby was appointed to the command of
the Resolution, Greenlandman, and sailed in her on the
following March. His success in this voyage was remark¬
able, for he captured 30 whales, which yielded 220 tons of
oil, the largest quantity that had then been brought to
Whitby by a single vessel. The influence of his religious
education, and his mature reflections on this important
subject now became conspicuous. He did all in his power
to promote religious feeling among his crew, called them
regularly on Sunday to Divine service, and abstained from
pursuing the whale on that day.
On the 25th of September 1811, Mr Scoresby married
Miss Mary Eliza Lockwood. Their first child, William,
was born in April 1812. In this year he resigned the
command of the Resolution, and was appointed to the
Esk of Whitby.
In 1813 he made his first series of experiments on the
temperature of the ocean at considerable depths, of which
an interesting account is given in his capital work, The
Arctic Regions. In this voyage, as on many other occa¬
sions, his judgment and courage were conspicuously dis¬
played, and eminently contributed to the safety of the
vessel. For several years his voyages were prosperous;
but in 1816 he made a disastrous one, in which the vessel
was nearly lost. This disaster induced him to think of
retiring from his nautical occupation, but the bankruptcy
of a friend, to whom he had lent a large part of his earn¬
ings, made him give up the idea, and to trust to Providence
for his future success. The equanimity with which he
bore this disappointment raised him higher in the estima¬
tion of his friends than even his scientific attainments,
which had obtained the approbation of the learned.
His letters to Sir Joseph Banks in 1817 had described
the vast disruption of the Arctic ices which had recently
taken place; and this induced Sir Joseph to memorialize
the government on the prosecution of Arctic discovery, in
consequence of which that series of expeditions to the
North commenced, which distinguished the early half of this
century. From Scoresby the admiralty obtained much
important information as to Arctic navigation. The pro¬
posal made to him it was impossible for him to accept,
viz., to go out as pilot in one of the ships, when he was
perfectly aware that, in the event of success, the merit
would be ascribed to the superior officer, and if unsuccess¬
ful, the failure would be imputed to him. He therefore
declined the offer, while he expressed his willingness to
take the command of the smallest vessel the admiralty
would entrust to him, and do his best to bring the expe¬
dition to a successful termination. The etiquette of the
naval service was considered as an objection, although,
when Cooke was sent on his first voyage, he had never
served in the British navy.
In 1818 Mr Scoresby became his father’s partner in the
Greenland ship Fame, which was fitted out at Liverpool,
where the writer of this memoir first became acquainted
with him, and admired the extent of his acquirements, his
happy mode of communicating information, and his ex¬
treme modesty. During the voyage of this year Scoresby
repeated his experiments on the temperature at great
depths of the ocean, and made a curious set of experi¬
ments on the effect of the pressure of a great column of
wrater on different kinds of wood, in which the most buoy¬
ant of them became so heavy as to sink in water. During
this year his second son, Frederick R. H. Scoresby, was
born. Both his sons died before their father.
The year 1819 was occupied in superintending the building
of his new ship the Baffin, at Liverpool, and in the com¬
position of his admirable work, The Arctic Regions, which Scoresby.
contains much original information on Polar countries and
seas, detailed in a lucid and well-written narrative. It
was printed in two octavo volumes of about 500 pages
each, illustrated by maps, drawings of animals, &c. His
account of the mysticetus corrected the common error that
the whale in blowing throws out torrents of water, whereas
it is vapour condensed by the cold air that has been mis¬
taken for a column of water ; and his figures of that whale
were the first accurate representations of that animal. In
fact, all former representations of it were caricatures of
nature.
In the year of its publication appeared a good analysis
of Scoresby’s works, drawn up by M.M. Rossily and Rossel,
addressed to Baron Portal, the French minister of marine,
in which the book is much commended and proposed for
translation, as important to the commerce of France. The
first chapter of volume I. gives a succinct history of Arctic
voyages ; the second gives hydrographic descriptions of those
regions ; the third is a survey of the Greenland seas ; the
fourth is dedicated to the polar ices and seas frequented by
Arctic whale-fishers; the fifth is a most original account of
the climate, temperature, and general atmospherology of
those regions, the result of twelve consecutive voyages ;
the sixth treats of the zoology of the Arctic seas, on which
it throws much important light. The appendix to this
volume contains his meteorological journal for twelve years
in those seas. The second volume is wholly dedicated to
the whale-fishery, and contains much important information
not elsewhere to be found. The French critics pronounce
the work to be “ a perfect and complete whole.”
In 1820 he made his first and a successful voyage to
Greenland in the Baffin, which was found to answer his
expectations as to her construction in every respect.
In the voyage of 1821, the philanthropic engineer,
Captain Manby, sailed with him for the purpose of trying
the efficacy of a new method of capturing the whale, de¬
vised by the former, but it did not answer his hopes. In
the end of this year Scoresby had another communication
with the admiralty respecting the grant of money to any
whaler who should discover a new station for the successful
prosecution of this important branch of industry, as the
usual stations had been deserted by the whale, and the risk
of loss in such adventures was becoming more and more
imminent, but his representations were unsuccessful.
In the voyage of 1822, Scoresby not only made a very
successful whaling voyage, but visited the long-lost eastern
coast of Greenland, which he surveyed and beautifully laid
down for about 800 miles, between Gale Hamke’s Land in
Lat. 75. N. andLat. 69.10. N. He landed at many points
of this coast, entered several of its inlets, gave designations
to this hitherto nameless region, and carried home speci¬
mens of the rocks and plants found where he landed. In
a few places he found traces of Esquimaux habitations,
even in high latitudes; but the supposed remains of con¬
siderable buildings and towns of the Icelandic settlers on
this desolate coast, which have been sometimes mentioned,
Scoresby has shown to be illusions produced by the re¬
markable refractions of the ice-bound confines of this land,
which so often simulate the creations of human industry.
In this voyage he penetrated to within 566 geographic
miles of the North Pole, as detailed in the first and second
chapters of his Journal of a Voyage to the Northern Whale
Fishery, where he found the temperature then so low as
within 2° or 3° of zero, whence he concludes against the
probability of an open sea around the Pole, as imagined
by some; the third chapter details his proceedings when in
sight of the east coast of Greenland ; the fourth gives the
commencement of the survey of that coast, which is con¬
tinued in the succeeding chapters, that contain also most
valuable observations on the wonderful atmosoheric refrac-
740
6coresbj'.
' , '
SCO
tions there seen. The instruments employed in this sur¬
vey were sextants, Kater’s Azimuth compass, and chrono¬
meters. He took more than 500 bearings from 50 stations,
besides 200 or 300 more for correcting the variation and
deviations of his compasses. Four-fifths of these were
obtained by intersecting bearings, and one-fifth from single
bearings and estimated distances. The appendix contains
a list of the rocks and plants he collected, the animals he
saw, the latitudes and longitudes of the points of the coast,
with speculations on the inhabitants, whose habitations he
discovered in various parts of that desolate region. He
supposed that there are recent indications of arts beyond
those of the Esquimaux, indicating a mixed race as existing
in that part of Greenland.
During his voyage of 1822 Mr Scoresby lost his wife ;
and soon after he determined to give up his nautical pur¬
suits, and resolved to prepare himself for the ministry in
the Established Church of England. With characteristic
determination he proceeded to supply the defects of his
early education in classical learning, and with indomitable
perseverance he applied to the study of Latin and Greek.
At the suggestion of his friend, Archdeacon Wrangham,
he boarded for some time in the house of a clergyman,
who directed his classical studies, as a preparation for the
University of Cambridge. His acquirements in mathe¬
matics and in theology were even already of considerable
extent, but he neglected not those important branches
while he pursued his classical studies. He became a
student of Queen’s College, where in due time he obtained
the degree of A.M., and had subsequently the honour of
D.D. conferred on him. He was admitted into ecclesiasti¬
cal orders, and soon after was appointed clergyman to the
Mariners’ Church in Liverpool, which was a large ship,
fitted up commodiously for a considerable congregation ;
and his judicious ministry among the seamen was much
appreciated.
In 1828 he married Miss Elizabeth Fitzgerald, an ami¬
able lady of a highly respectable Irish family. Besides his
clerical duties, Scoresby was occupied with scientific pur¬
suits, especially in magnetism, which he had long very
successfully prosecuted ; and he made numerous experi¬
ments on the mode of imparting intense magnetic power
to steel bars by percussion, when they were placed in the
position of the magnetic dip. The percussion might be
communicated either by a hammer or by an electric shock.
In fact, he had, in the voyage of 1822, discovered that by
hammering the steel bar in a vertical position, while it
rested on a bar of iron, or better on a magnet of soft steel,
he could impart most intense magnetism ; and thus, in the
event of a ship’s compass having its magnetism destroyed
by lightning, it could be restored without any complex
apparatus. In this way he made magnets of immense
power. He also investigated the connection between
magnetism and galvanic electricity. On this latter subject
a joint paper by him and his friend Dr Traill appeared in
The Philosophical Transactions of Edinburgh, vol. ix.
In 1839.be was appointed to the vicarage of the vast parish
of Bradford, in his native county, where he sedulously
endeavoured to promote the religious and temporal interests
of his parishioners. He was especially sedulous to secure
the education of the young, while attending to the im¬
provement of their elders. His conscientious discharge of
these duties became too much for his health, and after
some time he found it necessary to resign his charge, and
to retire to lorquay, in Devonshire, which became his
future home. He made a short voyage to North America
in 1844.
He lost his.second wife in 1847. Soon after this severe
blow, his love of science, and the hope of improving navi¬
gation by magnetic observations, led him in 1847 to under¬
take a second voyage to the United States of America,
SCO
where he remained till March 1848. He was received Scot,
with much respect by our Transatlantic brethren, who ap-
preciated his scientific character; and he returned to
Europe much pleased with his reception on the other side
of the Atlantic.
In 1849, while at Torquay, he met with Miss Georgina
Ker, who became his third wife, and added much to his
happiness. While residing at Torquay, Scoresby volun¬
teered his gratuitous services as a clergyman to assist the
minister of Upton Church, which were thankfully accepted,
and much valued by the congregation.
His zeal for the improvement of navigation in iron ships
induced him to project a voyage to the southern hemi¬
sphere, and his young wife determined to accompany him
to Australia. They sailed from Liverpool on 10th February
1853. After remaining in that colony for one month, they
returned to Britain on 12th August of that year. During
the voyage out and home he made numerous most import¬
ant observations on the local magnetism of the ship in
different positions; and he showed that the best position
for the regulating compass was at the main-masthead, as
farthest removed from the causes disturbing the magnetic
needle ; and that by comparing this compass with the usual
binnacle compass, the local attraction of the ship could
be corrected sufficiently for the purposes of navigation. In
the ordinary position of the compass, it is liable to be
seriously affected by the local attraction of the ship, in
which every upright piece of iron becomes a magnet, with
its north pole at its lower end in the northern, and its
south pole above in the southern hemisphere.
His papers on magnetism, and the journal of this voyage,
were given to General Sabine for publication, who committed
the task to Archibald Smith, Esq., who has brought them
out under the title of Journal of a Voyage to Australia,
and Round the World, for Magnetical Research.
For some time after his return, his health appeared un¬
broken ; but his respiration began to be affected rather
seriously in the winter of 1856. At that period he went
to Edinburgh to deliver some lectures in the Philosophical
Institution, on the Polar regions, and was taken seriously ill
during one of those lectures. After a partial recovery, he
paid a visit to Sir M. Shaw Stewart; but his chest now be¬
came seriously affected. He returned home, suffered much
from dyspnoea, lingered until the 21st of March 1857,
when he expired, after severe suffering, which he bore with
Christian fortitude and resignation.
The merits of this remarkable man are well known to
the scientific world ; and his career as a Christian pastor
was marked by an earnestness and energy that demand
the warmest approbation. Many of his philosophical ob¬
servations have been published in different parts of Europe,
and obtained for their author the high honour of his en¬
rolment among the corresponding members of the French
National Institute. His truly amiable disposition endeared
him to numerous friends, who honoured him when living,
and regretted the loss that society sustained by his de¬
cease. (t. s. t.)
SCOT, Reginald, a very judicious wTriter in the six¬
teenth century, was the younger son of Sir John Scot of
Scotshall, near Smeethe, in Kent. He studied at Hart
Hall in the University of Oxford, after which he retired
to Smeethe, where he lived a studious life, and died in
1599. He published the Perfect Platform of a Hop-Gar¬
den ; and a book entitled the Discovery of Witchcraft, 1584,
in which he showed that all the relations concerning magi¬
cians and witches are chimerical. This admirable work w as
not only censured by King James I. in his Dcemonology,
but by several eminent divines, among whom we may men¬
tion Meric Casaubon, and Glanvil, author of the Scepsis
Scientifica. All the copies of this obnoxious book that
could be found were committed to the flames.
741
HISTOEY OF SCOTLAND.
Scotland. Sect. I—Homan Period.
A- D. 85 to It will not be expected that in such a sketch of the history
446. of Scotland as is alone suited to this work, we should enter
into the great controversy concerning the origin of the Scottish
people, a subject upon which much needless acrimony, and
many unprofitable volumes, have been thrown away.1 It
will be more suitable to mark the progress of the great
events in our national history, and to pass over its minor
features ; to fix the attention upon results rather than to per¬
plex it with details ; to establish a series of points by w hich
an intelligent reader may guide his memory and direct his
studies; and occasionally to note those authors from whose
pages he may fill up the picture.
Julius Cse- It is well known, that our first authentic knowledge of
sar. Britain comes from Julius Caesar. Fifty-five years before
®^?re . the Christian era, this extraordinary man invaded the island
C ns , o. from Qaui; his operations were attended with little suc¬
cess, his stay was brief, and it is certain that he knew nothing
of Scotland. It was not till nearly a century and a half after
Caesar’s descent, and during the reign of the emperor Ves-
Julius pasian, that Julius Agricola, at the head of a Roman army,
Agricola, penetrated into the northern parts of Britain. The details
of his various campaigns, the resistance which he ercoun-
tered, and the vestiges of his progress which yet remain, have
furnished matter of laborious investigation to our antiquaries.
Among their conflicting accounts, it seems certain that he
first pushed his conquests as far as the Friths of Forth and
Clyde; that in succeeding campaigns he penetrated north¬
wards ; and that in his last great expedition, during which
his army was accompanied by a numerous fleet, which sailed
along the coast, he was opposed by a barbarian chief named
Galgacus. A sanguinary battle was fought between this
leader and Agricola, the exact site of which has been keenly
disputed. There seems to be little doubt, however, that
previously to its occurrence the Roman general had passed
the Frith of Tay, and that although victorious over the fierce
and undisciplined multitudes which opposed him, he ex¬
perienced a check which compelled him to desist from
any further aggression. Two great events marked the last
years of the government of Agricola. He explored the
northern coasts of Scotland by his fleet; and to him the Ro¬
man world, in all probability, owed its first certain know¬
ledge that Britain was an island. He endeavoured, in the
Aencola second place, to secure his conquests from future attack by
leaves Bri- a chain of forts connecting the Friths of Forth and Clyde,
tain. Having completed these defences, he was recalled by the
A. D. 85. jealousy of Domitian, and left Britain in the year 85.
Hadrian. From this time till the reign of Hadrian, a period of thirty-
six years, we hear little of the Romans, either in southern
A D. 121 or northern Britain. Early in the second century, (a.d. 121),
to 161. this emperor in person made an expedition into Scotland;
and about twenty years later, Lollius Urbicus, the Roman Scotland,
governor under the emperor Antoninus, distinguished him-
self by the courage and ability which he displayed against Lollius Ur*
the turbulent and warlike tribes which inhabited the north- bicus.
ern parts of the island. Two facts, however, are admitted
by the Roman writers, which demonstrate how uncertain
was the tenure by which these masters of the world held
their northern possessions in Britain. The emperor Hadrian,
apparently distrusting the sufficiency of the line of forts al¬
ready formed by Agricola, constructed a wall or fortified ram¬
part from the Tyne to the Solway. It has been supposed by
some antiquaries, that the emperor entirely abandoned to the
barbarians the wide country between this new defence and
the more ancient Vallum which united the Friths of Forth
and Clyde ; but the discovery of a succession of coins along
the line of this last rampart, belonging to the intermediate
emperors, appears to indicate the contrary.2 3 4 From the adop¬
tion of this measure it is however evident, that the courage
and successes of the barbarians had given much annoyance
to the Romans; and this is corroborated by the second fact to
which we allude, namely, that between the period of Hadrian’s
death and the succession of Antoninus Pius, (a. d. 138), the
wall between the Forth and Clyde had been so completely
destroyed, that Lollius Urbicus entirely reconstructed it.
This fact is proved by inscriptions, which the reader may
consult in Horsley’s Britannia Romana? During the
remaining years of his government; this able officer devoted
nimselfto opening up the country by roads; to the construc¬
tion of various camps and fortalices, of which the site has
been traced with much industry and success by the latest
w riter on the subject; and to the introduction of those use¬
ful arts which were best calculated to raise and humanize
the character of the northern barbarians. His administration
in Britain appears to have terminated with the death of his
master, Antoninus Pius, a.d. 161.
From this period till the beginning of the third century, Severus.
all is dark in Britain. But in the year 207, the emperor Se- A. D. 207.
verus received intelligence that the Caledonians had invaded
the Roman provinces; and with a vigour and alacrity which,
considering the distance of the seat of war, and the barren
prize to be contested, is not easily explained, he hastened
in person to reduce the insurgent Caledonians. This expe¬
dition, making every allowance for the exaggeration with
which the exploits of an emperor were usually recorded,
must have been an extraordinary one. In the comparatively
civilized country which extended between the walls ofHadrian
and Antoninus, he could meet with little opposition; but when
he left this last line of defence, and conducted his army into
the wild regions beyond the Frith of Forth, ultimately pene¬
trating into Moray, we must suppose him to have encounter¬
ed very formidable obstacles. The savage and uncleared state
of the country, the extent of the forests, the unhealthy and
1 The reader is referred to Innes’s Critical Essay on the ancient Inhabitants of Scotland, as the best work yet written on this subject.
Its arrangement is defective ; but its good sense, and the authenticity of the documents upon which its deductions are founded, are highly
praiseworthy. Pinkerton’s Dissertation on the Scythians or Goths, Dr. Jamieson’s Dissertation on the Origin of the Scottish Lan¬
guage, and the first volume of the laborious work of Chalmers, entitled Caledonia, may be consulted with the greatest advantage. In
their pages, the critical student who may desire to pursue the subject, will find ample references to all the noted works upon this question.
* Chalmers’s Caledonia, p. 116. .
3 Horsley’s Britannia, Rom. 1. i. c. 10; Innes’s Critical Essay, vol. i. p. 12. The remains of the wall are popularly called Grim’s
Dyke. Grym in Welsh and Cornish, signifies strong, and is used perhaps metaphorically, as Chalmers conjectures, for a “ strength or a ram¬
part.” Caledonia, vol. i. p. 129
4 We may here refer the critical reader to Chalmers’s dissertation on the actions of Lollius Urbicus, contained in the first volume ol ms
Caledonia.
J
SCOTLAND.
742
Scotland, interminable marshes, the mountainous ranges which present-
such formidable obstacles to the march of a regular army,
Severus. the rivers, of which the fords were unknown, and the want
A.D. 207. 0f subsistence for his troops, except what he carried along
with him, must have combined to throw infinite difficulties
in his way. The classical writers who have described his
His great campaign inform us, in general terms, that he was obliged
northern to fell the forests, to drain the marshes, to open up the
expedition. country by roads, and to construct bridges ; and they affirm
that the Roman emperor did not retrace his steps till he
had proceeded so far north, that the soldiers remarked the
extraordinary length of the days and shortness of the nights,
in comparison with those of Italy.1 There seems good rea¬
son to believe that the spot where the Roman eagles termi¬
nated their flight in this memorable expedition, was the pro¬
montory separating the Cromarty and the Moray Friths.
Here, according to Chalmers, the Caledonians sought for
peace, surrendered their arms, and relinquished a portion of
their country.2 The critical student must pardon the vague¬
ness of these expressions, as the historians of the time do
not enable us to be more definite.
Death of Severus retired to York in a feeble state of health; but
Severus at it was not to repose upon his laurels, for scarcely had he
York. reached that station when news arrived that the Caledonians
A.D. 2i 1. were again in arms. Irritated by disappointment and disease,
he determined instantly to renew the war; intrusted the
leading of the army to his son Caracalla ; and issued orders
to spare neither age nor sex. But death happily arrested
these inhuman projects. The emperor expired at York,
and the son does not appear, on any good evidence, to
have executed the orders of the father.
Previously to his celebrated northern campaign, Severus
is said to have reconstructed the rampart originally built by
Hadrian between the Tyne and the Solway ; a circumstance
from which there arises a strong presumption that the Cale¬
donians had encroached upon the Roman provinces, and re¬
gained much of the intermediate country between the walls
of Hadrian and Antoninus.
A.D. From this period, (a.d. 211), which marks the commence-
211 to 446. ment of the third, to nearly the middle of the fifth century,
(446), the Romans appear to have abandoned all thoughts
Decay of of extending their conquests. The vast fabric of their empire
the Roman was now, as is well known, in a state of melancholy feeble-
power. ness an(j jgcay. attacked on every side by those fierce tribes
who were destined to destroy it; and unable to retain pro¬
vinces far nearer and more important than those in Britain.
For some time, however, an effort was made to defend the
northern Romanized Britons from the repeated incursions
of the Caledonians. In the commencement of the fourth
Constans. century, (a.d. 306), Constans revisited Britain for this
A. D. 306. purpose ; in the year 368, after a sanguinary and destruc¬
tive invasion of the barbarians, a temporary tranquillity was
Theodo- restored by the arms of Theodosius; in 398, Stilicho, alarmed
sius. by new excesses and increasing weakness in the northern
provinces, sent such effectual aid as enabled the Roman go¬
vernors once more to repel the enemy; and, lastly, in the
Honorius. year 422, the emperor Honorius, having in vain endeavoured
A.D. 422. to rouse the provincial inhabitants to a vigorous effort in
their own defence, sent a legion to their assistance, by whose Scotland,
efforts the fortifications of the two walls were repaired, and
the barbarians once more driven back into their more north¬
ern seats. But this was the last relief which could be wrung
by her miserable children from a parent who was herself ex¬
piring; and it secured for them but a brief period of tranquil¬
lity. Imperial Rome, with a tardy and ostentatious justice,
conferred freedom on the southern Britons; and restoring a A.D. 446.
country which she was no longer able to hold, informed them
that henceforth they must trust to their own efforts for the
defence of their independence. Having given this parting
advice to men who appear to have been little able to follow
it, the Romans abandoned Britain for ever.
Sect. II.—The Pictish Period.
In the brief sketch which has been given of the Roman A.D. 446
dominion in north Britain, which extended from the year to 843.
85 to 446, a period of little more than three centuries and ^*le ah°b*
a half, we have seen that the Romanized Britons were con-^llla^ trl^e3,
stantly exposed to the invasions of their more northern neigh¬
bours, who threatened at last to wrest from them the whole
of the country, which had been fortified by Roman skill and
mainly defended by Roman soldiers. The question now
arises, who were these fierce and indomitable tribes ? And
to this inquiry, in which antiquaries have spilt almost as
much ink as the Romans did blood, the research of a labo¬
rious writer enables us to give a satisfactory answer. It
appears from the investigation of Chalmers that “ at the
epoch of Agricola’s invasion, the ample extent of north
Britain was inhabited by one-and-twenty tribes, who were
connected by such slight ties as scarcely to enjoy a social
state. These were the Ottadini, who appear to have
occupied the whole extent of coast from the southern Tyne
to the Frith of Forth ;3 the Gadeni, whose seats lay in
the interior country, from the Tyne on the south to the
Frith on the north; the Selgovce, whose western boundary
was the Dee, and their southern limit the Solway Frith; the
Novantes, who inhabited the midland and western parts of
Galloway; and the Damnii, who possessed the shires of Ayr,
Renfrew', and Stirling, with a portion of Dunbarton and
Perth. Such were the five tribes,” says this author, “which
occupied, during the first century, that ample region ex¬
tending from the Tyne and the Solway on the south, to the
Forth and the Clyde on the north, varying their limits with
the fluctuations of war, conquest, or internal dissensions,
during the succession of many ages.”4 Beyond the Forth we
find the Horestii, the Venricones, theTaixali, the Vacomagi,
the Albani, the Attacotti, the Caledonii, the Cantae, the Logi,
the Carnabii, the Catini, the Mertae, the Carnonacse, the
Creones, and the Epidii. The names of these twenty-one
original tribes, which are taken from Chalmers, are by him
transcribed from the account of Ptolemy, checked by the
ancient treatise and map of Richard of Cirencester.5 Of the
manners of this ancient people, it is impossible, in the ab¬
sence of all authentic documents, to speak with certainty.
From the general account given by Caesar, they were little
removed in the scale of social life or of civil government
1 Caledonia, vol. i. p. 186, 187.
2 The son of Severus is indeed affirmed to have fought on the banks of the Carron with the heroes of Ossian; but much has yet to be
proved before we venture to transplant these shadowy contests into the field of history.
3 Including the half of Northumberland, the eastern portion of Roxburghshire, all Berwickshire, and East Lothian.
4 Caledonia, vol. i. p. 62.
6 It ought however to be stated, that some grave doubts hang over the genuineness of this early writer. Dr. Stukeley’s account of
him is vague, and the story told by Professor Bertram regarding his discovery of the manuscript and the map is still more suspicious. I have
abstained from giving from Chalmers the exact limits of the possessions held by the last sixteen tribes, who inhabited the whole ex¬
tent of country heyond the Forth to the extremity of Caithness. The research and erudition which he has displayed is entitled to all
praise ; but it is difficult to believe that the boundaries of these remote, fierce, and wandering aborigines should be ascertainable with as much
precision after the lapse of eighteen centuries as the marches of Middlesex or Yorkshire. Two points, however, and these of leading im¬
portance, Chalmers conceives that he has established : the first, that Britain, from its extreme southern to its most remote northern point,
was peopled from Gaul; and the second, that the aborigines over the whole island were a Celtic race.
SCOTLAND.
743
Scotland, from the rudest savages. They led a pastoral life, living
on the milk of their flocks, or the produce of the chase ;
they were polygamous and idolatrous ; their religion, which
was Druidical, was stained with human sacrifices; and their
rude form of civil government was intimately connected
with their religion. They were armed with slight shields,
short spears, and daggers; and sometimes fought in small
cars, which were drawn by little spirited horses. They
rather burrowed in huts than lived in houses, went naked
from choice, were brave to excess, capable of enduring all
sorts of privation and fatigue, and had such loose ideas of
property, that Dio does not hesitate to call them robbers.
This character, with the exception of their Druidical form
of worship, exhibits little more than the general features
of every savage people; and there seems no reason to be¬
lieve that the lapse of three centuries created any great
change in those fierce and indomitable tribes which, inha¬
biting the more northern parts of the island from the Forth
to Caithness, and latterly wi’esting from the Romans the
provinces which they had subdued, were never brought
under the yoke, or humanized by the arts of that great
people.
A.D. 446. At the period of the Roman abdication, we find that
The Piets, north Britain was inhabited by the descendants of the
Caledonian clans which we have enumerated, who, under
the name of Piets or Picti, became for four centuries the
predominating nation in Scotland. Among these we must
be careful to distinguish the five Romanized tribes who pos¬
sessed Valentia, or the country between the walls of Agri¬
cola and Antoninus, not as a race of different descent, but of
improved civilization, while their fiercer brethren beyond
the Forth bore fresh upon them all the stamp of barbarian
life. The name of Picti is conjectured to be derived from
Peithi, a British word which characterises those that are
without, or the people of the open country.1 *
It would be a vain, and in a sketch of this nature, an idle
labour, to enter upon the obscure and sanguinary annals of
the Pictish period; an era upon which, to use a quaint ex¬
pression of Chalmers, archaeology is loquacious, and history
silent. From an ancient manuscript, first printed by Innes,‘J
and which had belonged to Lord Burleigh, this author has
given us a list of their kings, from Drest, who succeeded in the
middle of the fifth century, (a. d. 451), to a prince named
Bred, who died about the middle of the ninth century, (a. d.
843). During the four centuries which elapsed between the
accession of the first and the last of these monarchs, thirty-
eight Pictish kings are enumerated. Of their authentic
history there is scarcely a vestige ; but the blank has been
filled up by the fables of Boyce, which unhappily were
afterwards embalmed in the elegant Latinity of Buchanan.
Some points in this period, however, have been ascer-
kfiwdomof tained’ ant* ^iey are we^ worthy of notice. We have already
Stratbclyd. seen> that on the entire abdication of Britain by the Romans,
y the five tribes which inhabited Valentia were declared inde¬
pendent. They were no longer provincial subjects of Rome,
but a free, though an effeminate people. The constant at¬
tacks of the Piets rendered it necessary for them to unite
in their own defence; and from this union arose a new king¬
dom, denominated by ancient authors sometimes the Reg-
num Cumbrense, or more frequently the kingdom of Strath-
clyd. It appears to have included the present Liddesdale,
Teviotdale, Dumfries-shire, Galloway, Ayrshire, Renfrew,
Strathclyde, the midland and western parts of Stirlingshire,
with the largest portion of Dunbartonshire.3 “The metro¬
polis of this kingdom,” says Chalmers, “ was Alclyd, a city
which they still retained when the pen dropt from the hand
of the venerable Bede, in 734, and which is situated on the
north bank of the Clyde, at the influx of the Leven. The
Thirty-
eig:ht Pic-
tish kings.
From
IVest to
descriptive name of Alclyd, which signifies the rocky height Scotland,
on the Clyde, was applied to the bifurcated rock, on the
summit of which these associated Britons had a strong hill
fort, which formed a secure residence for their reguli or Uunbarton'
kings. To this fortress the Scoto-Irish subsequently applied
the name of .Dim-Briton, signifying the fortress of the Bri¬
tons, an appellation which, by an easy transition, has in mo¬
dern times been converted into Dunbarton.4 Among the
little kings who reigned over Strathclyd, there are none
whose names or exploits are worthy of preservation, with
the single exception of the semi-poetic Arthur. It is sad King
that the severer hand of history should strip this glorious Arthur.
“ Childe” of his many-coloured robes, and reduce him to the
cold reality of a Cumbrian Pendragon. At the commence¬
ment of the sixth century, Arthur, the chief military leader
or Pendragon of the Cumbrian Britons, expelled his sovereign,
Huail or Hoel, from Strathclyde, and commenced a reign of
which it is impossible to separate the facts from the fictions
with which they have become incorporated.
But the Pictish period is not only distinguished by the The
rise of a new kingdom, it is marked by the arrival in Scot- Saxons in
land of a new people, the Saxons, a race of Gothic origin,
who invaded and finally effected a settlement in Lothian.
This remarkable event, so important in its remote conse¬
quences upon our national history, took place in the middle
of the fifth century (a. d. 449). It was not difficult for the
Saxons, a people who certainly were far their superiors in
courage and in arms, to subdue the feebler race of the Ot-
tadini. They do not at first appear to have attempted to
push their conquests to the northward of the Forth, but
contented themselves with the occupation of a portion of
the province of Valentia. After the lapse of a century, how¬
ever, Ida, one of the boldest and most adventurous of the a.D. 547.
sons of Woden, landed at Flamborough, and brought an Ida.
important accession to the strength and numbers of his
countrymen. It was by this great chief that the Saxon
kingdom of Northumbria was founded ; nor was he arrested Northum-
in his victorious career, till he had extended his dominions bria found-
from the Humber to the Forth. Ida was succeeded in theed.
Northumbrian kingdom by Aella, and Aella by Ethelred, Aella.
under whose reigns occurred no event of importance; but
Edwin his successor, who came to the throne in the begin¬
ning of the seventh century, appears to have added essen¬
tially to the extent of the Saxon conquests, and to have im¬
pressed not only the southern Britons, but his fiercer and
more northern neighbours the Piets, with the terror of his Edwins-
arms. There appears little doubt that Edinburgh or Ed- burgh or
winsburgh, the present capital of Scotland, owes its founda- Edinburgh-
tion to this energetic Saxon chief.5
Hitherto, in speaking of the northern inhabitants beyond
the Forth, we have designated them by the single appellation
of the Piets. We must now mark the arrival of a different
people, although probably sprung from the same ancient
stock.
At the commencement of the fourth century, we find that The Scots,
the ruling or dominant people in Ireland were the Scots, a
Celtic race; and although there is no sufficient evidence
that they had formed any permanent settlement in Britain
previously to the abdication of the island by the Romans, it is
certain that in the year 360 they invaded the Roman pro¬
vinces in that kingdom, and were repelled by Theodosius.
In the beginning of the sixth century, three Irish chiefs, A.D. 503*
Loarn, Fergus, and Angus, sons of Ere, king of Dalriada,
by which we are to understand the province of Ulster, led
a colony into the ancient province of the British Epidii, and
effected a settlement upon the promontory of Kentire.6 As Scots
far as any light is afforded by the Irish annals, in this occu- settle in
pation of Kentire the Scoto-Irish met with but feeble opposi- Kintire*
1 Chalmers’s Caledonia, vol. i. p. 203.
3 Caledonia, vol. i. pp. 237, 238.
4 Caledonia, vol. i. p. 238.
s Innes’s Critical Essay, vol. ii. Appendix.
4 Caledonia, vol. i. p. 254. 8 Ibid. 274.
744
SCOTLAND.
A.D.
503-843.
Scotland, tion; and a long period of obscurity succeeds, in which little
more is distinguishable, except the fact that a series of
Scoto-Irish kings, or reguli, are found in Scotland, from the
commencement of the fifth century, (503), when Fergus
held the throne, till the accession of Kenneth, the son of
Alpin, who reigned from the year 836 to 843, under whom
the ascendancy of the Scoto-Irish or Scotch, appears to have
been established. Upon this portion of our history we are
tempted to transcribe the following observations of Chal¬
mers.
“In the records of time, there scarcely occurs a period of
history so perplexed and obscure, as the annals of the Scoto-
Irish kings and their tribes. The original cause of this ob¬
scurity is the want of contemporaneous writing. An ample
field was thus left open for the contests of national emula¬
tion. Ignorance and ingenuity, sophistry and system, have
all contributed to make wdiat was dark still more obscure.
The series and genealogy of the kings have been involved
in peculiar perplexity by the contests of the Irish and Scot¬
tish antiquaries, for pre-eminence in antiquity, as well as in
fame. And Cimmerian darkness has overspread the annals
of a people too restless for the repose of study ; too rude for
the elaboration of writing.”1 After such an acknowledg¬
ment, it would be idle labour to follow this indefatigable
inquirer into the twilight-history of these times; but this
period is distinguished by one great event which shines
brightly amidst the surrounding gloom, namely, the con¬
version of northern Britain to Christianity.
Conversion Already the Romanized Britons of the South had re-
to Chnsti- ceiveci the true faith, and the Scoto-Irish appear to have
uni y‘ been converted to Christianity by St. Patrick, previously
to their establishment in Kentire. St. Ninian, himself a
Briton, though educated as a monk at Rome, had, in the
commencement of the fourth century, founded a monastery
in Galloway; and in the sixth century, St.Kentigern signa-
lizedhimself by his pious labours among the Britons of Strath¬
clyde; but the conversion of the northern Piets was reserved
Columba. f°r St. Columba. This great and good man was born in Ire-
A.D. 521. land, in the year 521. His descent was royal, and his educa¬
tion was at first carefully conducted under the best masters
Conversion which his native island, long before this converted to Christi-
the anity, could supply. Of these the most noted was St. Ciaran,
“ the apostle of the Scoto-Irish of Kentire ; and from him, in
all probability, Columba imbibed his first desire to introduce
the gospel into the desolate and barbarous dominions of the
A.D. 568. northern Piets. It was in the year 568, that embarking
with twelve of his friends, in a boat of wicker work which
was covered with hides, he set out upon his benevolent
mission, and landed in the Island of Hy, or Iona, which was
situated near the confines of the Scottish and Pictish terri¬
tories. The difficulties which he had to encounter on his first
arrival, were of the most formidable kind. He found a peo¬
ple so barbarous that his life was attempted ; the king, when
the holy man first approached his residence, ordered its
gates to be shut against him; the priests, who were druids,
and possessed much influence, employed all their eloquence
to counteract his efforts; and the nature of the country,
woody, mountainous, and infested with wild beasts, rendered
travelling most dangerous and painful.2 It is also said that
at first the saint required an interpreter to make himself
intelligible, although after a short residence he appears to
have found little difficulty in conversing with the barbarians.
But noneot these obstacles was sufficient to baffle the zeal and
courage of Columba; and so blest were his labours, so rapid
the effects produced by the example of his virtues, that in
a few years the greater portion of the Pictish dominions
was converted to the Christian faith; churches were erect¬
ed, monasteries established, in various places, and Columba,
1 Caledonia, vol. i. p. 276.
8 Smith's Life of St. Columba,
as primate, became an object of the utmost love and vene- Scotland,
ration among the barbarous tribes, and fierce and warlike
princes whom he had called from darkness into light. At
that time his monastery was perhaps the chief seminary of
learning in Europe. It was from this nursery, that not only
all the monasteries, and above three hundred churches which
he himself had established, were supplied with learned pas¬
tors, but which also gave divines to many of the religious
establishments among the neighbouring nations.3 Columba
died in the year 597, in the seventy-seventh year of his A.D. 567.
age ; a man not less distinguished by his zeal and labour in Death of
the dissemination of the gospel, than by the simplicity of his Columba.
manners, the sweetness of his temper, and the holiness of
his life.
We have already observed, that it would be foreign to the Disappear-
object of this historical sketch, to involve our readers in thean.ce of the
dark and wholly uninteresting annals of the Pictish kings.1>icts*
But one remarkable event must not escape our notice, we
mean the disappearance of the Pictish people after the
middle of the ninth century. There seems every reason to
believe, that the story of the total extermination of the Piets
by the sword of the victorious Kenneth Macalpin, is a fable
invented at a later period, and certainly supported by
nothing approaching to contemporary evidence. A more
rational and intelligible account ascribes this event, not to
the destruction, but to what may more correctly be deno¬
minated the absorption of the Piets by the predominating
nation of the Scots. Both were probably a people of the
same race, speaking a similar language, and little different
in their manners and civil government. Both were ani¬
mated by the emulation of outstripping each other in power
and extent of territory ; and this led to protracted struggles,
in which the Piets maintained their independence with dif¬
ficulty, and the Scots, gradually enlarging their dominions,
acquired a predominating influence. Such being the re¬
lative condition of the two nations, an event took place
which united in one person the claim to the Pictish and the
Scottish throne.4
Achaius or Eocha, king of the Scots, who died in the year Kenneth
826, had married Urgusia, a Pictish princess, the sister of Macalpin.
Constantine and Ungus, successively kings of the Piets. His A*I)* 836‘
grandson was Kenneth Macalpin, a prince of great hardi¬
hood and ambition, who succeeded to his paternal throne
in 836. On the death of Uven, the Pictish monarch, in
839, Kenneth asserted his claim to the Pictish throne, in
right of his grandmother, Urgusia. The feeble state of the
nation, and the incapacity of the true heir, combined to fa¬
vour his ambitious designs; and after a struggle of three
years, he succeeded in uniting the two crowns in his own
person.5 The observations of Chalmers upon this event,
and the important consequences which it drew after it, are
well worthy of notice. “ During such confusions,” says this
author, “ amidst a rude people, whose forms of government
were little fixed, and whose laws were less regarded, the
loss of a battle, or the death of a king, was an adequate
cause of an important revolution. Of all these events, Ken¬
neth dexterously took advantage ; and finding a feeble com¬
petitor, he easily stept into the vacant throne. In his per¬
son a new dynasty began. The king was changed, but the
government remained the same. The Piets and Scots, who
were a congenial people, from a common origin, and spoke
cognate tongues, the British and Gaelic, readily coalesced ;
yet has it been asserted by ignorance, and believed by cre¬
dulity, that Kenneth made so bad a use of the power which
he had adroitly acquired, as to destroy the whole Pictish
people in the wantonness of his cruelty. To enforce the
belief in an action which is in itself unknown, and so incon¬
sistent with the interest of a provident sovereign, requires
pp. 18, 19.
2 Smith’s Life of St. Columba, pp. 6 to 17 inclusive.
4 Caledonia, vol. i. pp. 299—302. 8 Caledonia, vol. i. p. 304.
SCOTLAND.
745
Scotland, stronger proofs than the assertions of uninformed history, or
the report of vulgar tradition. The Piets continued through¬
out the succeeding period (from 843 to 1097) to be men¬
tioned by contemporary authors, though, they were govern¬
ed by a new race, and were united with a predominant
people.”1
Sect. Ill The Scottish Period.
A. D. The union of the two nations of the Piets and the Scots,
84-3-1097. under one powerful prince, forms the commencement of the
third great division of Scottish history, which extends from
the middle of the ninth century (843) to the expiration of
the eleventh (1097), a period of two centuries and a half.
Extent of For ages before the time of this union, the Pictish do-
the P'ctish minions were confined by the Forth on the south, Drum-
alban on the west, and the German Ocean on the east and
north ; while at the period of its occurrence the Scots pos¬
sessed the whole western coast, from the Clyde to Loch
Torridon, with the extensive kingdom of Argyle, which
stretched its arms from the Clyde on the south to Loch
Eir and Loch Maree on the north, and reached from the sea
on the west to Drumalban2 on the east. These extensive
dominions were now united ; the name of Scotia, as marking
the whole kingdom, gained ground over that of Pictavia;
and from the tenth century (934), when the Saxon Chro¬
nicle first mentions Scotland as invaded by Athelstan, this
distinctive appellation for the kingdom of North Britain gra¬
dually gained ground till it excluded every other.
It has been observed by Sir Walter Scott, “ that the de¬
scendants of Kenneth Macalpine pass us in gloomy and ob¬
scure pageantry, like those of Banquo in the theatreand
it might have been added, that the impression left upon
the mind by the perusal of their various reigns is as sha¬
dowy and unsubstantial. To fatigue and perplex the rea¬
der, by a detail of historical passages, which led to no great
results, is not the purpose of this sketch, but to mark the
features which prominently distinguish the period. Nor were
these either few or unimportant.
1. The first event which demands our notice, is the com¬
mencement of those invasions by the Danes, which for se¬
veral centuries continued to be the greatest scourge of Scot¬
land. It was under the reign of Constantine, the second
monarch in succession from Kenneth, that these fierce pi¬
rate leaders, known under the name of Vikinghr, or sea-
kings, first made their appearance in North Britain. Hav¬
ing established a settlement in Ireland, they soon became
acquainted with the commodious havens of the Scottish
A.D. 866. coasts ; and after a partial visit in 866, a more formidable
Anlaf and armament sailed from Dublin, under Anlaf and Ivar, in
Ivar. 870* During this invasion, they took Alcluyd, or Dunbar¬
ton, ravaged the whole extent of North Britain, and re¬
turned glutted with slaughter and booty to Ireland. These
sea-wolves having once tasted blood, were not slow to re¬
turn. Thrice under the same reign were their vessels seen
on the coasts of the devoted country, in 871, 875, and 876;
and at last, in 881, the Scottish monarch met his death on
the banks of the Forth, in an ineffectual attempt to defend
his people, and repel their ravages. Reappearing under
Defeated the reign of Donald, who succeeded to the throne in 893,
by Donald, they were defeated on the banks of the Tay, in the vici-
904. nity of Scone, and again, in 904, repulsed by the same
prince, who lost his life, after he had slain their leader.
This, however, did not prevent their return in 907, and af¬
terwards, in 918, under the reign of Constantine the Third,
who, with the assistance of the northern Saxons, encoun¬
ana Scot¬
tish king¬
doms.
Invasions
by the
Danes.
tered and repulsed them at Tinmore ; a check which appears Scotland,
for a considerable period to have given repose to the king- —^ / -'-1’
dom.
In 961, under the reign of Indalf, who had succeeded to The Danes
the throne in 953, the Vikinghr made a descent in the bay repeatedly
of Cullen, in Banffshire; and this monarch with difficulty'™®^
defeated them in a desperate action, in which he lost his
life. In 970, Kenneth the Third, who is represented as a A.D. 970.
monarch of extraordinary vigour and ambition, succeeded
to the throne, and under his reign the Danes reappeared
with a numerous fleet in the Tay ; but after a sanguinary
struggle, in which they at first succeeded, were ultimately Kenneth
defeated by the bravery of the Scots, commanded by Ken- the 1 hird
neth in person. This contest, which appears to have been
attended with an enormous loss on both sides, took place at
Luncarty, where many tumuli still remain, to mark the field
of battle.3 * *
After this the country enjoyed a quiet of nine years ; but Danes de¬
in 1003,. the Norsemen, who had now for some time perma- Lated at
nently settled themselves in Orkney, again made their
appearance in great strength upon the coast of Moray. They the geC0Iuj
seized and fortified the promontory known by the name of a. d. 1010.
the Burgh-head of Moray, where they found a commodious
harbour, and from which, in 1010, they led an army to plun¬
der that fertile region. But they were met and defeated
with great slaughter by Malcolm the Second, in the battle
of Mortlach, where the king, in gratitude for his victory,
endowed a religious house, which became the seat of the
earliest Scottish bishopric..
These repeated repulses checked and disheartened the Treaty be-
pirate kings ; but they disdained to relinquish the contest.1 ween Mal'
Their last efforts appear to have been made on the coast of g0^®11
Angus and Buchan, wher& they were repulsed in succes-A y
sive conflicts, fought at Aberlemno, Panbride, and Slaines pinai de-
Castle. At length a convention, or pacific treaty, was en-parture of
tered into between Malcolm, and Sweno, king of Denmark, the Danes,
in the year 1014, which was followed by the evacuation
of the Burgh-head of Moray, and the final departure of
the Danes. Thus, after a severe struggle, which at various
intervals, and with various success, appears to have con¬
tinued for nearly a century and a half, (866 to 1014),
the energy of the Scots ultimately triumphed over the ef¬
forts of the Norsemen ; and while the Danish rovers esta¬
blished themselves in some of the finest countries in Eu¬
rope, and in England alternately fixed themselves as perma¬
nent settlers, or extorted an odious tribute as the price of
their absence, Sweno, though one of their most powerful
princes, found himself at last compelled to desist from the
contest.
2. The second event of importance which marked this pe- Acquisi-
riod, was the enlargement of the Scottish provinces of Mal-11011 ot
colm the First, by the pacific acquisition of Cumberland
from Edmund the Saxon king of England. Against this jvia|co^m
young prince, the Danes, who had established themselves tiie First,
in the northern part of his dominions, declared war, and
calling the Norwegians to their assistance, threatened to
subdue the whole country. Edmund opposed them with
great courage and success, reduced Northumberland, then
a Danish province, and next turned his arms against Cum¬
bria, or Cumberland. After wasting this little country, then
inhabited by the Britons, under their king or chief leader,
Dunmail, the English prince, aware perhaps of the diffi¬
culty of retaining his new acquisition, delivered it up to
Malcolm the First, under the condition that he would be¬
come his associate f medicevtha) in war, or, as the terms are
explained by Matthew of Westminster, “ that he would de-
1 Chalmers's Caledonia, vol. i. p. 333.
2 Drumalban, the ridge of mountains which separates the rivers running into the sea on the west coast o.f Inverness-shire and Argyll
from those which run into the sea of Norway. Macpherson’s Geographical Illustrations.
s Chalmers’s Caledonid, vol.i. p. 394, 395.
VOL. XIX. ^ B
746
SCOTLAND.
Scotland.
Kenneth
III.
A.D. 970
Conquest
of Strath-
clyd.
Acquisi¬
tion of Lo¬
thian by
Malcolm
II.
A.D.1018
fend the northern parts of England from the invasions of
his enemies, whether they came by sea or by land.”1 It is to
be remembered, that this transaction was entered into be¬
tween two independent princes, the one of Saxon, the other
of Celtic race, more than a century before the feudal usages
or tenures were introduced into England by the Normans ;
an observation which might have been deemed unneces¬
sary, had not some ingenious writers affected to detect in
the stipulations of Malcolm the acknowledgment of feudal
dependence. In this manner did Cumbria, in the middle
of the tenth century, become a portion of the Scottish do¬
minions.2
3. This treaty was followed by the reigns of Indulf, Duf,
and Culen, a dark and sanguinary period, occupied by do¬
mestic war and civil commotion; but under Kenneth the
Third, who came to the throne in 970, occurred another
event of no little moment in the history of the country. This
was the conquest of the ancient British kingdom of Strath-
cluyd by the arms of that monarch. We have seen this in¬
dependent state arise, in the middle of the fifth century,
from a union of the Romanized British tribes, who, on the
desertion of the island by the Romans, were drawn together
by the ties of common danger and mutual defence. From
this time, (446), they had, under various reverses and mul¬
tiplied attacks, enjoyed a precarious independence for up¬
wards of five centuries ; nor did they permit themselves to
be incorporated in the Scottish monarchy without a deter¬
mined struggle. The arms and the energy of Kenneth,
however, were successful; and one of those gleams of ro¬
mantic light, which sometimes soften the gloomy annals of
these ages, fell on the ruins of Strathcluyd. Dunwallon,
the last of its kings, after exhibiting the utmost courage
and resolution in defence of his people, assumed the reli¬
gious habit, travelled to Rome, and died a monk.3
The last prominent feature which marks this period, was
the further enlargement of the Scottish dominions, by the
acquisition of Lothian, hitherto a part of England. It took
place in 1016, under the reign of Malcolm the Second, the
son of Kenneth the Third, to whose conquest of Strath¬
cluyd we have just alluded. It was this same Malcolm whose
courage we have seen victorious over the Danes at Mort-
lach, and to whose convention with Sweno Scotland owed
its freedom from the ravages of the pirate kings. In the
beginning of the eleventh century, (1018), this warlike
prince engaged in hostilities with Ughtred, earl of Nor¬
thumberland. Their forces met at Carham, near Werk, on
the southern bank of the Tweed, and a sanguinary battle
was fought, which effectually checked the Scottish prince.
Ughtred, however, having been assassinated, was succeeded
by his brother Eadulph, a feebler ruler, who, from a dread
of a second invasion, was induced to purchase the friendship
of Malcolm, by the cession of the whole of Lothian.4
Such are the great features which distinguish the early
history of Scotland, from the middle of the ninth to the com¬
mencement of the eleventh century, (843 to 1018), and
upon which it is both wiser and easier to fix the mind than
to crowd and burden it with lists of barbarous and forgot¬
ten kings. We see a people, still rude, ignorant, and, ex¬
cept for the sweetening influences of Christianity, little re¬
moved from savage life ; but we find them able not only to
vindicate their freedom against those incessant and cruel
invasions, which broke, and for a time subdued the neigh¬
bouring country of England, but animated by an ambition
which, under successive princes, largely extended their do¬
minions, by the successive acquisitions of Cumberland,
Strathcluyd, and Lothian. Nor is the remaining portion of
the Scottish period, from 1018 to 1097, unmarked by some Scotland,
great events. In 1031, under the reign of Malcolm the Se-
cond, Canute, the Danish king of England, invaded Scot- -A. D. 1031.
land. This prince, the most powerful monarch of his time,
as he possessed not only England, but Denmark and Nor¬
way, led an army against Malcolm. The cause of the war Malcolm
is involved in much obscurity. It was however connected U-
with some claim or dispute regarding Cumberland, and it
terminated in Malcolm retaining the possession of that pro¬
vince, and performing the conditions upon which it had been
transferred to him.5
In the historical romance of Boyce, and the classical pages
of Buchanan, Malcolm the Second figures as the first and
one of the greatest of Scottish legislators. It was referred for
the learning and acuteness of Lord Hailes to detect his
apocryphal laws as the forgery of a much later age.
Malcolm the Second, whose severe and vigorous reign
had been marked by many sanguinary domestic feuds, not
necessary to be detailed, was succeeded in 1033 by his
grandson Duncan, the “ gracious Duncan” of Shakspeare,
whose imperishable drama is founded upon a fictitious nar¬
rative, which Holinshed copied from Boyce. Let us for a
moment, in a spirit rather of homage than of criticism, dis¬
entangle the dross of fact from the ore of fiction. Lady
Macbeth was the Lady Gruoch, and had regal blood in her
veins. She was the grand-daughter of Kenneth the Fourth..
Her husband, Macbeth, was the son of Finlegh Maormor, or
the supreme ruler of Ross. The real wrongs of the Lady
Gruoch, the root of her implacable revenge, were even
more deep than those of her mighty counterpart. She had
seen her grandfather Kenneth dethroned by Malcolm, her
brother assassinated, and her husband burned, griefs amply
sufficient to turn her milk to gall. Macbeth, on the other
hand, had wept a father slain also by Malcolm; and thus
revenge and ambition were equally roused in both their bo¬
soms. The purpose which had been arrested by the superior
vigour and courage of Malcolm, was executed on his more
feeble grandson. Duncan, in 1039, was assassinated at
Bothgowanan, near Elgin ;6 and Macbeth seized the san¬
guinary sceptre, which he held with a vigorous grasp for
fifteen years, until he was defeated and slain by Macduff, in
1054.
On his death, a contest for the throne arose between
Lulach, the son of the Lady Gruoch, and great-grandson of
Kenneth the Fourth, and Malcolm Ceanmore, great-grand¬
son of Malcolm the Second ; and this struggle terminated in
1057, by the defeat of Lulach, and the accession of his ri¬
val, Malcolm, who was contemporary with Edward the Con¬
fessor.
The accession of Malcolm Ceanmore to the Scottish throne Malcolm
was soon afterwards followed by an event, which, although III.
taking place in the sister country, produced the most important
effects upon the history of Scotland. This was the invasion
and conquest of England by the Normans, and the establish ¬
ment of an entirely new dynasty in that country. The first
consequence of this change was favourable to Malcolm, as Malcolm
it led to his marriage with a Saxon princess, whose charac- marries
ter had a marked and favourable influence upon the ruder Margaret,
manners of her husband and his people. This lady was 7^tei °‘
Margaret, who was the sister of Edgar TEtheling. It is import- , T
ant to trace her lineage. Canute, the Danish king of Eng¬
land, had banished Edwin and Edward, the children of Ed¬
mund Ironside, the last of the pure Saxon dynasty, for Ed¬
ward the Confessor was half a Norman. They found a re¬
treat in Hungary, where Edwin died; but from this coun¬
try Edward, in 1057, was recalled by Edward the Confes-
1 Matthew of Westminster, p. 367. Brady’s Compleat History of England, p. 120. 2 Chalmers’s Caledonia, vol. i. p. 389.
3 Chalmers’s Caledonia, vol. i. p. 369, 393. 4 Ibid. vol. i. p. 402. Simeon of Durham, apud Twysden, vol. i p. 81.
5 Ibid. vol. i. p. 402. 6 Ibid. vol. i. p. 405.
SCOTLAND.
Scotland. Sor. This prince had three children, a son, Edgar, com-
monly called Edgar iEtheling, the heir of the Saxon line,
and two daughters, Margaret and Christian. On the con¬
quest of England, the nobles of Northumberland, who were
principally of Danish origin, led by two chiefs, named Maer-
leswegen and Gospatric, becoming disgusted at the Norman
tyranny, fled to the court of Malcolm, taking with them Ed¬
gar and his two sisters. Edgar was weak, almost to imbe¬
cility ; and in the event of his dying, or being found inca¬
pable of filling the throne, his claims as heir of the Saxon
line descended to his sister. She was beautiful, accom¬
plished, and pious; and a union which perhaps, at a dis¬
tance, had been suggested to Malcolm by ambition, on a
nearer view was perfected by love.
Invasion of The marriage of the Scottish monarch was soon followed
England, by an invasion of England, in which Malcolm mercilessly
ravaged the bishopric of Durham. The manner in which
this predatory inroad was conducted marks the ferocity of
the times. Malcolm and his subjects were Christians; yet
even the churches were destroyed and burnt, while the un¬
happy persons who had fled to them for sanctuary were mas¬
sacred, or consumed in the flames. During the occurrence
of these savage scenes in England, Gospatric, one of the
most powerful of the Northumbrian barons, whose assistance
William the Conqueror had secured, swept through Mal¬
colm’s territory of Cumberland, and laid waste the country
in a miserable manner, upon which the Scottish prince re¬
turned home, leading captive, says an English historian, such
a multitude of young men and maidens, “ that for many
years they were to be found in every Scottish village, nay,
even in every Scottish hovel.”1
There seems tobelittle doubt that this expedition of Mal¬
colm was intimately connected with the determined stand
made against William the Conqueror by the Northumbrian
earls who had carried Edgar flEtheling into Scotland. Combin-
A.D.1069. ing in 1069 with their brethren, the Danes, who brought a
powerful fleet to their assistance, they advanced as far as
York, where they put the Norman garrison to the sword;
and here it is probable they expected to be joined by Mal¬
colm, but being disappointed in their hope, they made peace
with William, who had the address to dissolve the confede¬
racy. Malcolm alone continued faithful to the cause of the
Saxon prince ; and, though deserted by his confederates, yet
by invading England fulfilled his agreement.
William This inroad led to a dreadful retaliation on the part of
the Con- WiUkm. “ To punish the revolt,” we use the words of Lord
queror re- j jajjeS) « an(j to 0pp0se a wilderness to the invasions of the
ta lates. j)anes? be laid entirely waste the fertile country which lies
between the Humber and the Tees.” “ At this time,” says
William of Malmesbury, “ there were destroyed such splen¬
did towns, such lofty castles, such beautiful pastures, that
had a stranger viewed the scene he might have been moved
to compassion, and had one inhabitant been left alive, he
would not have recollected the country.” Of this fine dis¬
trict the inhabitants seem to have been almost wholly exter¬
minated. Many who escaped the sword died of famine,
many sold themselves for slaves, while those of higher qua¬
lity, Norman as well as Saxon, sought an asylum in Scot¬
land, and found at the court of Malcolm a favourable re¬
ception.
Invasion of William having secured peace at home, prepared an ar-
Sootland in mament against Scotland, and in 1072 he invaded that coun-
107’2' try, both by sea and by land. Malcolm wisely met superior
power by an offer of submission. He sought and obtained
peace, gave hostages, and performed homage. So far all
is certain ; but a question arises, for what was this homage
performed ? The answer may be given in the words of one
747
of the most able inquirers upon the subject: “ According to Scotland,
the general and most probable opinion, this homage was
done by Malcolm for the lands which he held in England.”2
We have already met with Gospatric, the powerful Nor- Gospatric
thumbrian earl who fled from the Conqueror to the court settles in
of Malcolm, bringing with him the heir of the Saxon line, Scotland,
with his sisters. Proving treacherous to Malcolm, Gos¬
patric obtained from William the government of Northum¬
berland ; but on his return from his successful expedition
against Malcolm, the Norman conqueror, from jealousy or
disgust, degraded his Northumbrian ally, who once more
fled to the Scottish king. Malcolm, on his part, not only
forgave him, but presented him with the lands and castle
of Dunbar, and the castle of Cockburnspath. He who
held these estates, lying on the borders between the two
countries, might be said to have the keys of Scotland
at his girdle; and the circumstance is worthy of remem¬
brance, not only as marking the origin of a potent fami¬
ly, destined to act a leading part in the future history of
the country, but as indicating the policy of Malcolm, who,
conscious of the inferiority of his own Celtic race, manifest¬
ed a wise anxiety to prevail on strangers, whether Nor¬
mans, Danes, or Saxons, to settle in his dominions.
The remaining portion of the reign of this energetic A.D.
prince (1079-1093), is chiefly distinguished by a struggle 1079-1093.
with William Rufus, who, upon the death of the Conqueror, William
had succeeded to the English throne. This prince appears Ku l,s‘
to have withheld from Malcolm part of the English posses¬
sions to which he claimed a right; and with the view of
compelling a surrender of them, the Scottish king invaded
England, and penetrated as far as Chester, on the Were.
Rufus led against him a superior force ; and Malcolm, aware
of his approach, prudently declined a contest, and by a time¬
ly retreat, secured his plunder and his captives.
This appears to have taken place in May 1091; and in Rufus in-
the autumn of the same year, the Norman prince, having''3^ Scot,
equipped a fleet, and levied a numerous land force, led his
army in person against Scotland. He continued his march
to the shores of the Forth ; but here his progress was stayed,
in consequence of his receiving intelligence that his fleet had
been destroyed by a tempest. There were no vessels to trans-
porthistroopsacrosstheForth. The Scots, with a policy which
they early learned, and repeatedly practised, had driven away
their cattle, and cleared the country of its provisions ; and at
this crisis, when his soldiers were perishing from famine, Mal¬
colm led his army against the English, crossed the Forth,
and advanced into Lothian; a territory originally, as we have
seen, acquired from the Angles, and therefore esteemed a
part of England, although now subject to the Scottish king.
Here having chosen a strong position, he encamped, and
avoiding a battle, harassed the enemy, proposing to cut off
his supplies, and expel him by famine. While both parties
were thus situated, Edgar TEtheling, now with Rufus, and Ro¬
bert, the king’s brother, exerted themselves to conciliate
a peace. The English monarch, notwithstanding his fiery
temper, knew how to bend his fury to his interest; and
Malcolm, perceiving that he could obtain his purpose by
treaty, wisely preferred this to the risk of a battle. It is Peace be-
important to mark the conditions of the agreement. Wil-tween Mal
liam Rufus, we find, consented to restore to Malcolm twelve
manors, which the Scottish prince had held under the Con¬
queror, and to make an annual payment to him of twelve
marks of gold.3 Malcolm, on his part, consented to do
homage to William, and to hold his lands under the same
tenure of feudal service and obedience to him, as he had
formerly paid to his father the Conqueror.
Here pausing for a moment upon a subject which has
1 Simeon of Durham, 201. Translated by Lord Hailes, vol. i. p. 1.
3 Simeon Dunelm., apud Twysden, vol. i. p. 216.
a Hailes’s Annals, vol. i. p. 1-3.
748 ' SCOTLAND.
Scotland, riven rise to some discordant opinions, and which, now sition of his queen, St. Margaret, had an admirable influ- Srodand.
that the bitterness of national rivalry is at an end, may, we ence over the fierce and impetuous character of this prince.
Question trust) be calmly considered, we would remark that, taking Of her life we have an interesting account from the pen of
of homage. the 4stimony 0f English historians as our guide, all as yet Turgot her confessor; and we cannot resist borrowing a few
seems clear, as to the much debated subject of homage, touches from this early specimen of biography. When
Simeon of Durham expressly declares that Malcolm agreed the king set out on his last expedition against England,
to obey William Rufus on the same conditions as those on Margaret was suffering from a fatal and lingering complaint. Death of
whichhe had obeyed William the Conqueror. Under the Con- She only lived to hear of the death of her husband and her jUar-
nueror it is certain that Malcolm held twelve manors in Eng- son. Her last moments are thus described by that faith-Sdie •
land These Rufus had seized; but he now restored them, ful minister, who related what he saw: “During a short
and Malcolm renewed his obligation of homage. On aformer interval of ease, the queen devoutly received the communion,
occasion when, as we have seen, the Scottish king, in 1072, Soon after, her anguish of body returned with redoubled
paid his homage to the Conqueror in person, the ground violence; she stretched herself upon her couch and calmly
upon which he paid it is equally clear. Previously to the waited for the moment of her dissolution ; cold, and in the
battle of Hastings, the Scottish monarchs had obtained agonies of death, she ceased not to put up her supplications
from the Saxon kings some possessions in England. This to heaven. These were some of her words: s Have mercy
was before the introduction of the strict feudal tenures, upon me, O God; according to the multitude of thy tender
which came in with the Normans ; but there is no doubt mercies blot out mine iniquities ; make me to hear joy and
that these possessions w;ere held under the condition of aid- gladness, that so the bones which thou hast broken may re-
ing the Saxon princes in repelling the incursions of the joice. At that moment, continues Turgot, her son, Ed-
Danes.1 When William the Conqueror established him- gar, returning from the army,approached her couch. ‘How-
self in England, Malcolm, as we have seen, considered him fares it,’said she, ‘with the king and my Edward?’ The youth
as a usurper of the rights of his brother-in-law, Edgar iEthe- stood silent. ‘ I know all; I know all. By this holy cross,
ling; and, on this ground, as well as perhaps from an indis- by your filial affection, I adjure you to tell me the truth.^
position to embrace a system which must have been new to He answered, ‘ your husband and your son are both slain,
him, he had at first refused to pay his homage for the lands Lifting up her eyes and her hands to heaven she then said,
he held in England. Circumstances, however, made him ‘ Praise and blessing be to thee, Almighty God, that thou
change this resolution. The prevailing power of William, the hast been pleased to make me endure so bitter anguish in
acquiescence of the English under his government, and the the hour of my departure, thereby, as I trust, to purify me
inactivity and imbecility of Edgar iEtheling, his brother-in- in some measure, fiom the coriuption of my sins; and thou,
law, induced him to desist from a conflict in which he ceased Lord Jesus Christ, who, through the w ill of the Father, hast
to have an interest. A more intimate acquaintance with enlivened the world by thy death, oh deliver me. ^ W hile
the feudal tenures introduced into England taught him that, pronouncing the words ‘ deliver me,’ she expired.”3 •
in the acknowledgment of superiority for the lands which he “ In reviewing the reign of Malcolm the Third,” says Lord (fh-acter
held in that country, there was no sacrifice of dignity as an Hailes, “we may discern a charactei of steady persevering^^
independent monarch, and as all idea of restoring Edgar courage. From his early youth to his last invasion ofEng-
was abandoned, he paid his homage to the conqueror.2 land, his conduct was uniform. He maintained his throne
New dis- -phe point 0f homage seemed thus prudently settled ; but with the same spirit by which he won it. Though he was
putes be- the and fiery temperj which appears to have been an the ruler of a nation uncivilised, and destitute of foreign
’vV i"n i infirmity of both princes, soon led to a new contest between resources, and had such antagonists as the Conqueror and
arid Rufus Malcolm and Rufus. A jealousy of the incursions of the William Rufus to encounter, yet, for twenty-seven years.
A.D. 1092. Scots had formerly led the Conqueror to build two strong he supported this unequal contest, sometimes with success,
castles, the one at Durham, the other at Newcastle. To never without honour. That he should have so well assert-
these his successor now added a third at Carlisle ; a barrier ed the independency of Scotland is astonishing, when the
which, however necessary, might possibly be considered as weakness of his own kingdom, and the strength and abili-
encroaching on the freedom of the lands which Malcolm ties of his enemies are fairly estimated.”4 _
held in Cumberland. A dispute arose, and a personal in- Malcolm’s eldest son had fallen, as we have seen, with his Donald
terview between the two kings having been considered the father. His remaining sons, Ethelred, Edmund, Edgar,
best mode of settling their differences, Malcolm repaired to Alexander, and David, were all under age ; and his brother ^ ^
Gloucester, where Rufus met him and proposed that he Donald, who, on the usurpation of the throne by Macbeth,
should do homage in presence of his English barons. This had taken refuge in the Hebrides, appears to have remain-
the Scottish monarch refused; although he was ready, he ed in that distant retreat during the whole reign of the late
said, to perform his homage on the frontiers of both king- king. These islands were then independent of the Scot-
doms, as had been the ancient usage. The reply was angrily tish crown. They were inhabited by a warlike race, whose
received, and the two kings having parted with expressions chiefs yielded to the Norwegian king a fluctuating subjec-
of defiance, Malcolm assembled an army, and advancing tion ; and many of these leaders having joined him, Donald,
with a speed whetted by the indignity with which he had with a powerful fleet, invaded Scotland and seized the
been treated, burst into Northumberland, which he wasted crown ; but it was for a very brief season. Duncan, a son
with fire and sword. Sweeping onwards to Alnwick, he of Malcolm, but illegitimate as is generally believed, had, in
was about to possess himself of the castle, when the Scot- 1072, been delivered to William Rufus as a hostage for his
tish army was attacked by Robert de Mowbray. In the father’s fidelity. He had received his education at the
Death of battle which ensued Malcolm was slain, and Edward, his Norman court, and having been knighted by the Eng-
Malcolm, eldest son, shared the fate of his father. lish monarch, was retained in his service. With permission
a.D. 1093. We have already observed that the mild and gentle dispo- of William, he now invaded Scotland, and assisted by a band
1 Caledonia, vpl. i. p. 394.
* In this account of the expedition of William Rufus into Scotland, and in the remarks on the disputed point of the homage, we have
been induced to treat the subject a little more in detail, availing ourselves of some manuscript notes of the late David Macpherson, a writer
of great research and judgment. This seemed the more necessary, as the subject of Rufus’s invasion of Scotland, and Malcolm’s stipulated
homage, has been .considered by high authority as one involved in extreme obscurity. <• m j
* Hailes’s Annals, vol. i. pp. 40, 41, 4to edit. We have availed ourselves of Lord Hailes’s translation of the passage from lurgot de¬
scribing the queen’s death. * Ibid. vol. i. pp. 25, 26, 4to edit.
SCOTLAND.
749
Scotland, of English and Norman adventurers expelled Donald Bane.
He, in his turn, after a reign of little more than a year, was
Duncan. assassinated, and Donald once more ascended the throne,
Donald. frorn which, in 1097, he was again expelled by William
Rufus, who dispatched Edgar iEtheling with a powerful army
into Scotland. By this prince the aged usurper was defeated,
and Edgar, the son of Malcolm and Margaret, the nephew
Edjrar. of Edgar yEtheling, ascended the throne. This event took
A.D. 1097. place in the close of the eleventh century; and, with the
captivity and death of Donald Bane, who is the last of the
race of Scoto-Irish kings, the Scottish period expires.
And here, after having passed over a portion of our his¬
tory which extends from the middle of the ninth to the
end of the eleventh century, let us pause to say a few words
on the condition of the church, the state of the laws, and
the manners of the people. To every critical student of
this period one thing appears certain. Throughout its whole
extent, we find the predominant people a Celtic race. The
laws were Celtic, the government Celtic, the usages and
manners Celtic, the church Celtic, the language Celtic.
“ If,” says Chalmers, “ Malcolm Canmore, a Celtic prince,
who did not arrogate the character of a lawgiver, had been
disposed to effect a considerable change in this Celtic sys¬
tem, he would have found his inclination limited by his im¬
potence. The Scottish kings, during those times, seem not
to have possessed legislative power. Whenever they acted
as legislators, they appear to have had some coadjutors;
either some maormors, a term by which we are to under¬
stand the chief civil ruler of a district, or some bishops.”
We shall see, when we pursue our inquiry into a later period,
that the children and grandchildren of this Celtic monarch,
when they attempted to introduce new maxims of govern¬
ment, were opposed in Galloway and in Moray by frequent
insurrections.
ctate of Looking now first to that most important and interesting
toe Church, point, the state of the church, we have already seen that, at
the commencement of the Pictish period in 446, Christiani¬
ty had been introduced into North Britain. Of the exact
constitution, discipline, and orders in the early Scottish
church, from the conversion of the Scots to the commence¬
ment of the Scoto-Pictish period (843), much has been writ¬
ten ; and it is well known that the advocates of episcopacy
and the supporters of presbyterianism have each endeavour¬
ed to deduce, from an examination of these remote ages,
irrefragable arguments for their peculiar opinions. Into this
discussion it belongs not to our plan to enter. We deal
with general results, and dare not embark in controversy;
but we may be permitted to observe, from the authentic
monuments which still remain in our own times, and it seems
difficult to avoid the conclusion, that the primitive and most
ancient form of church government in Scotland was episco¬
pal. At the memorable epoch of the union of the Piets and
the Scots, we find a bishopric of Lindisferne extending far
into Lothian. In Lothian itself, the religious houses of Mel¬
rose, Coldingham, Tyningham, Pefferham, and Abercorn,
had been long established. In Galloway, the bishopric of
Whithorn, which we have seen founded by St. Ninian, had
fallen soon after the commencement of the ninth century.
Looking beyond the Friths, we find that, at the same period,
various religious cells had been settled by the disciples ofCo-
lumba; and that not long afterwards, Kenneth Macalpin, anxi¬
ous to testify his respect for the relics of this apostle of the
Scots, removed his relics from Iona to Dunkeld, where he
built a church, which became not only the seat of a bishop,
(849), but, till supplanted by St. Andrews, the seat of the
primate of the Scottish church. There is an ancient legend
quoted by Spottiswood from the register of St. Andrews,
which, if any credit is to be attached to it, gives the honour
of founding the see of St. Andrews to Hungus king of the
Piets, who died in 833. This prince, it appears, had invad- Scotland,
ed Northumberland, and upon his return was overtaken by
Athelstan, king of the West Saxons, at the head of a power- State of
ful army. “ Having given order for battle against the next
day,” says the historian, “Hungus betook himself to prayer, 8 3~
spending most part of the night in that exercise. A little
time before day, falling into a slumber, it seemed to him
that the apostle St. Andrew stood by him and assured
him of the victory, which vision being related to the army,
did much encourage them. The history addeth that, in
the joining of the battle, there appeared in the air a cross
in the form of the letter X, which so terrified the enemies
as presently they gave back, king Athelstan himself being
killed. Hungus, to express his thankfulness for the victory,
gave to the church of Ilegulus, now called St. Andrews,
divers rich gifts, as chalices, basons, the image of Christ in
gold, and of his twelve apostles in silver. He gave like¬
wise a case of beaten gold for preserving the relics of St.
Andrew, and restored to the spirituality the tithe of all
corn, cattle, and herbage within the realm, exempting them
from answering before any temporal judge ; farther, he did
appoint the cross of St. Andrew to be the badge and cog¬
nizance of the Piets, both in their wars and otherwise,
which, as long as that kingdom stood, was observed, and is
by the Scots as yet retained.”1
This extract we have given rather as a curious example of
the earliest tradition as to the national emblem of the cross
of St. Andrew, than from any high opinion of the authen¬
ticity of king Hungus’s devotion. The following list of the
Scottish bishoprics, according to the date of their founda¬
tion, is taken from Keith’s Catalogue. It is to be observed,
however, that in some of its dates we must regard it rather
as an approximation to the truth, as far as it can be ascer¬
tained from authentic sources, than as fixing the exact years
of the erection.
1.
2.
3.
4.
5.
6.
See of the Isles 
See of Galloway 
See of Glasgow 
See ofDunkeld 
See of St. Andrews..
Mortlach, afterwards
Aberdeen 
A.D.
447
450
560
729
892
1010
A.D.
7. See of Ross 1128
8. See of Brechin 1150
9- See of Caithness....! 150
10. See of Dunblane....! 160
11. See of Moray 1162
12. See of Argyle 1200
Of these episcopal sees, the reader will observe, that Parishes
only the bishoprics of the Isles, Galloway, Glasgow, Dun- early est&b-
keld, St. Andrews, and Mortlach, afterwards Aberdeen, In hed.
belong to the period of which we now treat, from 843 to
1097; although the remaining sees are added, to afford to
the reader some idea of their comparative antiquity. “ The
united kingdom of the Piets and Scots,” says Chalmers, “ was
formed under the regimen of parishes, though neither the
times nor the circumstances of this formation can be clearly
ascertained amid the gloom which hangs over the Scotican
church during the Scottish period. We may easily sup¬
pose that those ecclesiastical districts were gradually esta¬
blished subsequent to the great epoch .of 843. They were
pretty generally settled during the Scottish period, though
they were inconveniently large. They were established by
private persons, rather than by public authority. But that
parishes existed during the reign of Malcolm Canmore, is
certain from unquestionable records. Thus, in the charter
of David the First to the monastery of Dunfermline, this
monarch uses these words: Preterea pater meus (his
father was Malcolm the Third.) et mater mea dederunt
ecclesiae Sanctse Trinitatis parochiam totam de Fotheriff.2
It seems equally certain,” he continues, “ that when churches
were erected, parishes laid out, and parochial duties stated¬
ly performed, ecclesiastical dues must have been incident-
• Spottiswood’s History of the Church of Scotland, p. 23.
1 Chalmers’s Caledonia, vol. i. p. 432.
SCOTLAND.
750
Scotland al] idt In ti1G ciiarters ot Alexander the First, and of
David, tithes are mentioned as if they were famdiarly
known, and had been long established. It is clear that
Tithes. tithes were paid to the clergy during the reign of Malcolm
Ecclesias- Canmore and probable that such ecclesiastical dues were
ncal coun- ble early as the commencement of the tenth century
‘ (910,) when Constantine the king, and Kellachthe bishop,
solemnly vowed to observe the faith, discipline, and rights
of the churches.”1 During the reign of Malcolm Can-
more, according to the high authority of Innes,2 * several na¬
tional councils were held in Scotland for the establishment
of ecclesiastical discipline, and the reformation of the rude
and fierce manners of the people. Some extracts from the
canons passed in these councils are inserted by Turgot, the
confessor of Malcolm’s pious consort St. Margaret, in_ the
interesting life which he has given us of this princess.5
The Cul- During this obscure period, we meet with frequent men¬
tion of an order of religious men named Culdees, who first
appear in the beginning of the ninth century. They seem
to have been a kind of secular presbyters or monks, the
Gaelic term Culdee meaning a recluse or hermit. With
the exception of the form of the tonsure and the rule of
observing Easter, they professed the same rites and cere¬
monies as the rest of the church. It has been erroneously
pretended that the Culdees rejected bishops. Sofarwas this
from being the case, that we have repeated instances of the
colleges of these Celtic monks having been instituted and
ordained by the bishops themselves, while they, wherever
they had a college about the see, possessed a vote in the
election of the bishop.4 Of this distinct order, we find that
there existed in North Britain, during the Scottish period,
religious houses at Abernethy, Dunkeld, St. Andrews, Dun¬
blane, Brechin, Mortlach, Aberdeen, Monymusk, Lochle-
ven, Portmoak, Dunfermline, Scone, and Kirkcaldy.5
Laws, man- Jt remains to say a few words on the laws, manners, and
ners, and ianguage 0f the Scottish period. To affect to speak with
language. certainty Up0n the laws which regulated the government,
restrained the crimes, or directed the succession of a fierce
and barbarous people who have left no written muniments,
would betray presumption and ignorance. As far as can be
conjectured, we find the crown neither strictly hereditary
nor strictly elective, but directed in its descent by wdiat has
Tanistry. been termed the law of Tanistry ; an institution by which the
person in the family of the reigning prince who was judged
best qualified, whether son, brother, or even more remote
relative, was chosen under the name of Tanist, to lead the
army during the life of the king, and to succeed to him after
his death. Chalmers has asserted, that, at this era, the te¬
nure of land throughout the country determined with the
life of the possessor; an opinion requiring some modifica¬
tion, as it indicates a state of barbarism even greater than
is discovered by the few glimpses of light which sometimes
shoot athwart this twilight of our history. By a custom
which the Scots evidently brought with them from Ireland,
denominated in Irish gabhail-cine, meaning literally fa¬
mily settlement, it appears, that the fathers of families di¬
vided their lands among their sons, sometimes in equal,
sometimes in unequal portions, and strictly excluded females
from any share in this appropriation. As to their legisla¬
tive code, there seems to be little doubt that the nearest
approach we can make to the laws or usages of Celtic Scot- Scotland
land, must be by the study of such fragments as remain tov*»~v^«'
us of the brehon laws of Ireland. “ This brehon law,” says Laws.
Cox, “ was no written law, it was only the will of the bre¬
hon or lord; and it is observable that their brehons or judges,
like their physicians, bards, harpers, poets, and historians, had
their offices by descent and inheritance. These hereditary
judges or doctors,” continues he, “ were but very sad tools.
The brehon, when he administered justice, used to sit on a
turf or heap of stones, or on the top of a hillock, without a
covering, without clerks, or indeed any formality of a court
of judicature.” This state of law, observes the author of Ca¬
ledonia, may be traced among the Scoto-Irish in Scotland
till recent times. Every baron had his mote-hill, whence
justice was distributed to his vassals by his baron bailie.6
There seems to be little doubt that Malcolm, from his mar¬
riage with a Saxon princess, and his frequent intercourse
with the Saxon and Norman people, was an admirer of their
superior civilization, and anxious to introduce their usages
among his own ruder subjects. But that he succeeded to
any material degree is extremely problematical; and the no¬
tion that he introduced the complicated system of the feudal
law into Scotland, has been long ago exploded.
In a rapid sketch of this nature, little room can be given Manners of
to any detailed description of the manners of the people the people,
during the Scottish period. The natural state of the Celtic
tribes in Scotland was similar to that which we find existing
among them in Ireland, namely, a state of constant war; and
to those who consider how slow is the progress of improve¬
ment, and how strong the principle of imitation and tradi¬
tion among a savage people, it will be no subject of won¬
der that we find little change produced by the lapse of cen¬
turies upon the manners of the ancient British, whether we
look to Wales, Ireland, or North Britain. Their marriages,
their mode of burial, their dress, their war cries, were simi¬
lar. Armorial bearings, during this whole period, were un-*
known ; seals, and coined money they had none; and it has
been remarked by Chalmers, that the Gaelic people of Scot¬
land borrowed their very terms for the several denomina¬
tions of money from the Scoto-Saxon inhabitants. Thus,
the Gaelic feorling, farthing, is from the Saxon feorthing;
the Gaelic peighin, a penny, is from the Saxon penig.
In those rude ages of which we now write, stones of me- inaugural
morial were frequently employed, and many of them still stones,
remain; yet as they are found w ithout inscriptions, and only
occasionally ornamented by rude hieroglyphics, the memory
of the events which they describe has perished, and the field
is left open to antiquarian conjecture. Inaugural stones also
were used by them, upon which not only the Irish and Scot-
tishkings were placed on their accession to the crown; but the
chiefs of septs or petty reguli, were accustomed on the same
to take the oaths to their vassals, when they succeeded to
the power of the former chief. To the same class of in¬
augural stones belongs, as is well known, the famous coro¬
nation stone of Scotland. Tradition reports this singular
relic to have been brought from Ireland by Kenneth; it was
undoubtedly carried off from Scone by Edward the First,
who inserted it into a chair, which he placed before the shrine
of Edward the Confessor in Westminster Abbey. It is al¬
most impossible to speak with any precision of the state
1 Innes, p. 785. Chronicle. Codex Colbertinus. See also Innes, 603. 2 Idem. p. 588.
3 And here having spoken of St. Margaret, we cannot refrain, in these brief remarks on the early state of the Scottish church, from allud¬
ing to a beautiful picture preserved by this same worthy Bishop Turgot, in w'hich he describes the love of Malcolm for St. Margaret, and
the influence which the mild piety of the Saxon princess acquired over the fiery temper of her Celtic husband. “ Malcolm,” says he, (we use
Lord Hailes’s translation), “ respected the religion of his spouse, was fearful of offending her, and listened to her admonitions. Whatever she
loved or disliked, so did he. Although he could not read, he frequently turned over her prayer-books, and kissed her favourite volumes.
He had them adorned with gold and precious stones, and presented them to her in token of his devotion. She instructed him to pass the
night in prayer, with groans and tears. I must acknowledge, that I often admired the works of the divine mercy, when I saw a king so re¬
ligious, and such signs of deep compunction in a layman.”—Hailes, vol. i. p. 15.
1 Goodal's Introduction to the History and Antiquities of Scotland, p. 117. i Chalmers, vol. i. p- 434.
® Caledonia, vol. i. p. 308.
SCOTLAND. 751
Scotland. 0f society in this remote period, yet a few incidental gleams
of light are reflected from the lives of the early saints.
Manners. Thus, in Adomnan’s life of Columba, which was written
only eighty years after the saint’s death, we find fre¬
quent mention of houses of wattle, similar probably to those
which the Constable Richard de Moreville, in a charter of
the twelfth century, denominates claice niscatce.1 Even the
abbey of Iona was built of the same rude materials. The
clothing of the monks seems to have been often composed
of the skins of beasts, though latterly they had woollen stuffs
and linen ; the first probably manufactured by themselves,
the linen imported from the continent. Venison, fish, milk,
flesh, and wild fowl, were the common food of the people.
“ The monks of Iona,” says Chalmers, “ who lived by their
labour, cultivated their fields, and laid up corn in their gar¬
ners.” But it is to be recollected that the monks were every
where, for ages, the improvers themselves, and the instruc¬
tors of others in the useful arts. Even Iona had its orchards
in the rugged times of the ninth century, till the vikinghr,
or pirate kings, ravaged and ruined all. Looking to their
shipping, we find that their little vessels were constructed
by covering a keel of wood and a frame of wicker work
with the skins of cattle and of deer. These were denomi¬
nated currachs. Afterwards they were enlarged and made
capable of containing a respectable crew. It was in a ves¬
sel of this description, a wicker boat covered with hides, that
Columba, accompanied by twelve of his friends, embarked
from Ireland, in the year 563, and landed in Iona. With
these few remarks, we close the Scottish period of our na¬
tional history.
Sect. IV.—Scoto-Saxon Period.
A. D. 1097- We have already seen, that the death of Malcolm Can-
130(3. more at Alnwick gave rise to a temporary usurpation of
the throne by Donald his brother, that he was expelled
by Duncan, an illegitimate son of Malcolm, who had been
educated at the court of William Rufus; and this Duncan
having been assassinated, Edgar Atheling led an English
army into Scotland, and placed Edgar, the son of Malcolm
Canmore, on the throne.
Alexander Edgar’sreign was brief, pacific,andof little interest; but his
f successor, Alexander the First, the eldest surviving son of
A. D. 1106. Maicolm, was a prince of a powerful and vigorous character.
From his accession to the throne, in the commencement of
the twelfth century, (1106), to the death of Alexander the
Third (1285), in the close of the thirteenth, a period little
short of two centuries, the nation was progressive and pros¬
perous in a degree unequalled during the whole course of
its future history. Under a succession of six monarchs,
Alexander the First, David the First, Malcolm the Fourth,
William the Lion, Alexander the Second, and Alexander
the Third, it maintained its independence against foreign
aggression, and not only preserved the integrity, but extend¬
ed the boundaries of its dominions. Its commerce, its ma¬
nufactures, its agriculture, and all the arts which improve
and humanize an ignorant and fierce people, were encour¬
aged ; and throughout this long period, in the personal cha¬
racters of each of these successive princes, though varying
in their shades, there was that ingredient of energy and
boldness which communicated itself to their people, and
maintained the nation at the standard to which each ruler
in his turn had raised it.
A. D.l 106- Let us for a moment pursue our system, and like a tra-
1*285. veller gazing from a mountain height, and noting the land¬
marks of a new country, endeavour to detect the leading
and influential events in this division of our national his¬
tory. In the character of Alexander the First, every
thing seems to have been in excess; but happily the qua¬
lities which were so overcharged, were most of them of Scotland,
the better sort. He is traditionally remembered by the
epithet of the fierce; and though humble and courteous Alexander
to his clergy, whom he deemed entitled to this homage asi‘]06 1124
God’s servants, not his, he was, to use the words of an an¬
cient and authentic writer, “ terrible beyond measure to
his subjects.” The leading event of his reign was the
struggle which he maintained for the independence of the Struggle
Scottish church against the pretended rights claimed, first f°r the in-
by the see of York, and afterwards by that of Canterbury, dependence
On the election of Turgot, a monk of Durham, to the bishop- qj, Church'
ric of St. Andrews (1109,) the archbishop of York insist¬
ing on his having the right of consecrating him. To this
the Scottish king declared he would never agree; and a
compromise having taken place, by which the point was left
undecided, Alexander, on the death of Turgot, altered his
ground, and chose for his successor Eadmer, a monk of
Canterbury. The same right of consecration, and founded,
on the same ground of the alleged dependence of the Scot¬
tish church upon the primacy of England, was now advan¬
ced by Canterbury; but it was still more haughtily and pe¬
remptorily refused by Alexander. A compromise again
took place. Eadmer accepted the ring from the king, and
took the pastoral staff from the altar, as if receiving it from
the Lord; but finding his authority weakened, and the coun¬
tenance of the monarch withdrawn from him, he intimated
his resolution of repairing to Canterbury for advice. This
Alexander violently opposed, declaring that as long as he
lived, the bishop of St. Andrews should never be subject to
that see. Nor did he fail here, as in all his other enter¬
prises, to keep his word; Eadmer remained an elected but
unconsecrated bishop. At length weary of the contest, and
trammelled in his usefulness, he desired permission to resign,
restored the ring to the king, replaced the pastoral staff on
the high altar, and returned to Canterbury. Robert, prior
of Scone, was elected to fill the vacant see, and the king’s
determined efforts to maintain the independence of the
Scottish church were crowned with success. It had con¬
tinued for fourteen years, and Alexander survived its ter- Death of
mination only a single year. He died in 1124, leaving no Alexander
children by his wife Sybilla, a natural daughter of Henry I.
the First, and was succeeded by his brother, David the
First.
Edgar, the brother of this prince, had, on his death-bed, David I.
bequeathed to him that portion of Cumberland which was A.D.l 1J4.
possessed by the Scottish kings. The legacy had two good
effects. It called the young prince early to the cares and
labours of administration ; and it removed him from Scot- *
land to a country where he became acquainted with a
more advanced civilization and with better regulated govern¬
ment. These advantages were not thrown away upon
David. His natural dispositions were excellent; his love of
justice, his capacity for labour, his sense of the national ho¬
nour and independence, his affection to every class of his
people, his tenderness to his children, his piety to God,
were all so conspicuous in his character, that Buchanan, an
author who cannot be suspected of adulation, pronounces
him the perfect exemplar of a good king; and the progress
made by the country during the twenty-nine years of his
reign goes far to justify the assertion.
His reign was contemporary with that of Henry the First War with
and of Stephen in England, and it opened with many diffi- Stephen,
culties. The question of the independence of the church
was again started; and before it could be brought to a
termination, the forcible seizure of the English crown by
Stephen, who deposed Matilda, the daughter of Henry the
First, involved him in a war with that usurper. During
the life of Henry the First, David and Stephen had sworn
Liber de Melrose, vol. i. p. 95.
752
SCOTLAND
Scotland.
Battle of
the Stand¬
ard.
A. D. 1138,
Character
of David I,
Death of
Prince
Henry.
A.D.1I52,
Death of
David I.
A. D. 1153
Malcolm
IV.
to maintain the right of Matilda; and the Scottish monarch,
in obedience to his oath, invading England, compelled the
barons of the northern portion of that kingdom to swear
fealty to this princess. His efforts however were more
honourable than successful; and after a war which lasted
three years, David was ultimately defeated in the great
battle of the Standard, fought on Cutton Moor, in the
neighbourhood of Northallerton. Peace was now con¬
cluded, and the terms to which Stephen consented, indicate
that, although defeated, the Scottish king was but little
humbled.
The earldom of Northumberland, with the exception of
the two castles of Newcastle and Bamborough, was ceded
to Prince Henry, David’s eldest son. As an equivalent for
these fortresses, lands were granted to him in the south of
England; the barons of Northumberland were to hold their
estates of Henry the Prince of Scotland, reserving their
fealty to Stephen; and in return, David and all his people
became bound to maintain an inviolable peace with Eng¬
land.
The remaining years of the reign of this wise monarch
were pacific and prosperous. The war had convinced him
that the English were far superior to his people in arms and
discipline; it had been undertaken in fulfilment of his oath
to Henry, not from any love of conquest, and having satis¬
fied his conscience, he devoted his life to the arts of good
government. “ During the course of his sage administra¬
tion,” says Lord Hailes, “ public buildings were erected, towns
established, agriculture, manufactures, and commerce pro¬
moted. The barbarities of his people in their invasions of
England, had affected him with the deepest anguish, and
believing that religion was the only agent which could hu¬
manize and improve the savage multitudes whom he had
led, but could not restrain, he endowed the church with
new privileges, enriched it with extensive grants of land,
founded various bishoprics, built many monasteries, and
exhibited in his own person so fine an example of royal
greatness, chastened and purified by Christian humility and
devotion, that it could not fail to have the best effects up¬
on his people.”
Towards the close of his reign, it was his misfortune to
lose his eldest son, Prince Henry, just as he had reached
manhood, and exhibited many of the excellent qualities of
his father. The blow sunk deep into his heart; but David’s
first care had been for his people, and he roused himself to
provide for the pacific succession of his grandson, Malcolm,
a child in his twelfth year. By his orders, this boy, the
son of Prince Henry, was carried in a progress through
his dominions, to receive the homage of the barons and
the people, and was solemnly proclaimed heir to the crown.
Having performed this wise but mournful duty, the
aged king within a year followed his son to the grave. It
is a remarkable and beautiful circumstance, that he was
found dead in an attitude of devotion. “ His death had been
' so tranquil,” says Aldred, who knew him well, “ that you
would not have believed he was dead. He w'as found with
his hands clasped devoutly upon his breast in the very
posture in which he seems to have been raising them to
heaven.”
The reign of Malcolm the Fourth, which lasted only
twelve years, offers little for our observation. It began with
those evils which so invariably attend a minority; war with¬
out, and insecurity within the kingdom. Somerled the thane
of Argyle, strengthened by the naval powers of the Isles,
invaded Scotland, and for some years continued to harass
the country by repeated attacks, which at length terminat¬
ed in an amicable agreement. The transactions of Malcolm
with Henry the Second of England impress us with an un¬
favourable notion of this young prince. It had been a pro¬
mise of the English monarch made to David the First, in
1149, that if he succeeded to the crown of England, he
would cede to Scotland for ever the territory between the Scotland.
Tyne and the Tweed. Instead of insisting on this, Malcolm, '**~\^*+
overreached by the superior sagacity of Henry, or betrayed Malcolm
by the treachery of his councillors, abandoned to England
his whole possessions in the northern counties, and received j
in return the honor of Huntingdon; a measure which created
universal discontent in the nation. These feelings of dis¬
gust were imprudently increased by an expedition of the
young prince into France, where he joined the army of
Henry, claimed from him the distinction of knighthood,
and outraged the feelings of national jealousy, by forgetting
his station as an independent prince, and fighting under the
banner of the English monarch. A deputation from the
Scots was sent into France to remonstrate against this con¬
duct, nor did they hesitate in bold language to reproach
their king for the desertion of his duty. Galloway rose
into rebellion; the inhabitants of Moray about the same
time threw off their allegiance; and Somerled the thane
of Argyle invaded the country with a formidable fleet. Al¬
though the obstinacy of the king had brought these disas¬
ters upon himself, his energy and decision met and overcame
them. He hurried from France, conciliated his nobles, in¬
vaded and subdued Galloway, repulsed Somerled, and after
suppressing the rebellion in Moray, adopted the extraor¬
dinary measure of dispossessing its ancient inhabitants, com¬
pelling them to settle in more distant parts of his dominions,
and planting new colonies in their room. These energetic
measures were his last, for he died immediately after, at an
early age, and was succeeded by his brother William the
Second, son of Henry, prince of Scotland, and grandson of
David the First.
The administration of this prince presents us with the William
longest reign in the range of Scottish history, extending tl16 Lion. ^
from 1165 to 1214, nearly half a century. In this protract- 1165-
ed division, the most important event was, the disgraceful '
surrender of the national independence to Henry the Se¬
cond in 1174, and its recovery by Wfilliam in 1189. Both
transactions require our serious notice. It was the weak¬
ness of William to be guided by impulse. Smitten with anad-
miration for the warlike qualities of Henry the Second, and
uninstructed by the misfortunes of his predecessor Malcolm,
he first courted this prince, and being disappointed in his
object of procuring from his justice the restitution of Nor¬
thumberland, he imprudently defied him. War ensued; and
the king of the Scots having advanced with his army to Aln¬
wick, was surprised, made prisoner, and shut up in the cas¬
tle of Falaise in Normandy. His impatience under capti¬
vity, and the longing of the barons and clergy for their king,
led to a pusillanimous treaty, which will ever remain a blot
upon the national honour. With consent of his barons and
clergy, given at Valogne on the 8th of December 1174, Wil¬
liam agreed to become the liegeman of Henry for Scotland,
and all his other territories; to deliver up to the English
monarch the castles of Roxburgh, Berwick, Jedburgh,
Edinburgh, and Stirling; to give his brother David and some
of his chief barons as hostages, and to receive in return his
liberty. In this treaty, it is remarkable, that while little
care was shown as to the independence of the people, a pru¬
dent, and, as it has been well denominated, a memorable
clause was introduced, which left entire the independence
of the Scottish church; and this clause, the bishops and
clergy took the first opportunity of asserting before the Papal
legate in a council held at Northampton (1176).
On his return to his dominions, William appears to have Returns tc
devoted himself with much energy and success to the cares Scotland,
of government. His dominions were weakened and dis¬
tracted by repeated insurrections in Ross and in Galloway.
In these wild and remote districts, the native chiefs claimed
almost a royal sway; and the people, ferocious in their ha¬
bits, and jealous of all intercourse with England, were
ready, upon the slightest provocation or encouragement, to
SCOTLAND.
753
Scotland.
William
the Lion.
The Scot¬
tish Church
declared in¬
dependent.
A.D.1188.
The king_
dom reco¬
vers its in¬
depend¬
ence.
Alexander
11.
A. 1). 1214
rise in rebellion. A pretender to the crown also appear¬
ed in Galloway, in the person of Donald, the grandson of
Duncan, commonly called the bastard king of Scotland.
This adventurer having seized Ross, and wasted Moray,
William led an army against him; nor was it till after a des¬
perate struggle that Donald fell near Inverness, and by his
death restored tranquillity to the country.
We have already seen how firmly the Scottish church had
renounced the idea of any dependence upon the metropolitan
sees of York or Canterbury; we have adverted to that care¬
ful reservation of their rights at the moment when the king
and the nobles bartered away what was not theirs to give,
the national independence. In this resolute conduct the
clergy were supported by the king; and in 1188, Clement
the Third pronounced a solemn decree, by which he de¬
clared the “ church of Scotland to be the daughter of Rome,
and immediately subject to her; and that to the Pope alone,
or his legate de latere, should belong the power of pronoun¬
cing any sentence of excommunication against that kingdom.”
This important declaration was soon followed by another
event still more memorable, in which the kingdom recover¬
ed its independence. On the death of Henry the Second,
Richard Cceur de Lion, his successor, then intent upon col¬
lecting money for his expedition to the Holy Land, invited
the king of Scotland to his court, and upon William’s en¬
gagement to pay to him the sum of ten thousand merks,
agreed to restore his kingdom to its independence, reserv¬
ing the homage formerly due by the Scottish kings for the
lands which they held in England. The instrument by
which this transaction was completed, declares, that Richard
had delivered up to William king of Scots, his castles
of Roxburgh and Berwick, had granted to him an ac¬
quittance of all obligations which had been extorted from
him by Henry the Second, in consequence of his captivity,
and had ordained the boundaries of the two kingdoms to be
re-established as they existed at the date of William’s im¬
prisonment. The Scottish king was at the same time put
in possession of all his fees in the earldom of Huntingdon;
and all the charters of homage done to Henry the Second
by the Scottish barons were delivered up, and declared to be
cancelled for ever. We are to ascribe it to the wise regula¬
tions of this treaty, and the fidelity with which they were
observed on both sides by its authors and their successors,
that for a century after its date, there occurred no national
quarrel or hostilities between the two countries. The re¬
maining portion of the reign of William demands little no¬
tice. During the latter years of it, the succession of John
to his brother Richard the First threatened to dissolve the
pacific relations between the two countries; but war was
happily averted, and the Scottish monarch reserved his
energies for the pacification of his own realm, disturbed by
a rebellion in the northern counties. In 1214, the king died
at Stirling, after a reign of forty-eight years, the longest,
as already stated, in Scottish history. His name of William
the Lion was probably owing to the circumstance, that, be¬
fore his time, none of the Scottish kings had assumed a coat
armorial. The Lion rampant first appears upon his shield.
William was succeeded by his son Alexander, a youth of
seventeen, to whom the Scottish barons had sworn homage in
1201, and who was one of the wisest of our kings, whether
we regard the justice of his administration, the season¬
able severity with which he subdued all internal commo¬
tions in his kingdom, the firmness exhibited in his main¬
tenance of the rights of the church, or the wisdom, forbear¬
ance, and vigour which marked his policy towards England.
His reign was one of constant action, and full of incident.
It commenced with his joining the English barons who re¬
sisted the tyranny of John. This conduct drew down upon
him and his kingdom a sentence of excommunication (1216);
but the papal terrors appear to have been little dreaded at
this time; and in 1218, Honorius not only abrogated the
VOL. XIX.
sentence pronounced by his legate, but confirmed the liber- Scotland,
ties of the Scottish church.
On the accession of Henry the Third to the English Alexander
throne, Alexander, who was occupied with quelling the re-11- marries
peated insurrections in the northern parts of his dominions, P'in-
showed every disposition to cultivate amity with England; ^a'n'd'
and his marriage to the princess Joanna, sister of Henry, g
had a favourable effect in strengthening the ties between
the two monarchs.
One of the striking features which mark the reign of this Increase in
monarch, is the gradual increase that is to be observed in the power
the power of the nobles, and the corresponding decrease in the® |^ie
authority of the crown; but if this had injurious effects upon
the general prosperity of the kingdom, and distracted itg
by internal private feuds, it encouraged a feeling of inde-A D. 1244.
pendence, and fostered that warlike spirit, which proved
the best safeguards against the encroachments of their
more powerful neighbours. This was strikingly shown on
the occurrence of a rupture between England and Scotland
in 1244. Some time before this, Alexander had claimed
from Henry, in right of inheritance, the counties of Nor¬
thumberland, Cumberland, and Westmoreland; and although
the English king did not grant him his full demand, he ad¬
mitted its justice, by transferring to him an equivalent in
certain lands, which he accepted in full of all claims. For
these lands the Scottish king did homage; and both mo¬
narchs remained on friendly terms for some years, when
jealousies suddenly arose, and Henry, alleging that homage
had been unjustly withheld, led an army against Scotland.
Under these threatening circumstances, the Scottish king,
although he had recently experienced the resistance of his
nobles to his personal requests, found himself sti’ongly sup¬
ported by the same barons against the meditated attack of
England. They raised in a short time an army of a hun¬
dred thousand foot, and a thousand horse, and this demon¬
stration of the national strength had happily the effect of
restoring peace without bloodshed. It is worthy of notice,
that when a papal legate visited Scotland under this reign,
and held a provincial council in the capital, the king mani¬
fested the same jealousy of such a proceeding as had been
exhibited by his predecessors. He seemed afraid lest the
admission of a papal messenger, whose message regarded
England alone, should be deemed derogatory to the inde¬
pendence of the Scottish church; and although, at the re¬
quest of the nobility of both countries, he consented to his
coming into the kingdom, he declined a personal meeting,
and stipulated that this permission should not be drawrn
into a precedent.
Having engaged in a maritime expedition against Angus Death of
of Argyle, one of those petty island chiefs, whose dubious Alexander
allegiance, in those remote times, oscillated between Nor-1L
way and Scotland, Alexander had conducted his fleet as far A D. 1249
as the Sound of Mull, when he was seized with a fever, and
died in a small island there named Kerraray, in the 35th ^
year of his reign. He was succeeded by his son, Alexan¬
der the Third, a boy in his eighth year; and the king¬
dom, which had enjoyed under his father's wise and vigor¬
ous administration, an uncommon degree of prosperity, be¬
came immediately exposed to the many evils of a minority.
Two parties divided the nobility; the one led by Walter
Comyn, earl of Menteith, the other by Durward the high
Justiciar; and Henry the Third secretly wrote to the Pope,
requesting him to interdict the coronation of the young
king. Scotland, he said, was a fee of England, Alexander
his vassal, and his permission as superior had not been ob¬
tained. The Pope appears to have rejected his demand
with promptitude, as derogatory to the rights of a sovereign
Prince; and the ceremony of the coronation was performed
at the abbey of Scone, the coronation-oath being read first
in Latin, and afterwards in Norman-French.
Alexander soon afterwards, in fulfilment of a former treaty,
5 C
754
SCOTLAND
Alexander
III. mar¬
ries the
Princess
1 ntrigues
of Henry
III. with
Scotland.
Largs.
A.D. 1263.
Scotland, espoused Margaret, the youthful daughter of Henry, at
York, and exhibited a spirit and intelligence superior
to his years, in refusing to pay homage for his king¬
dom of Scotland. “I came,” said he to the artful mo¬
narch who made the proposal; “ I came into England on
Margaret ofa j°yful an(1 Pacific errand, not to answer to an arduous
England, question, which belongs to the states of my kingdom.” He
at the same time made no objection to take the oath of
fealty for the lands which he held in England.
Defeated in this attempt to overreach a minor sove¬
reign, Henry commenced a series of intrigues with the
Scottish nobles, with the object of obtaining an entire
control over the affairs of the sister kingdom; and the
country was divided and distracted by two factions, the one
acting under English influence, and the other more honestly
contending for the freedom of their prince and the inde¬
pendent administration of the government. These scenes
of civil faction and foreign interference continued till the
monarch, having arrived at manhood, and developing a
character of much energy and judgment, took the reins
into his owm hand, and compelled his nobility to respect
the laws and support his measures.
Haco, king Scarcely had this happy change occurred, when the
of Norway, kingdom, which had already suffered from the vicinity of
je^ed at the fleets of Norway, w^as threatened with invasion by
Haco, one of its most warlike princes. The dispute
which led to this menace originated in a circumstance al¬
ready noticed ; the precarious homage paid by the petty
piratical chiefs of the Western Isles, who, as circumstances
pressed on the one side or the other, acknowledged a feu¬
dal dependence on Scotland or on Norway. To support
them in their independence on Alexander, Haco made a
descent on the western coast of Scotland with a mighty
fleet, but sustained a signal defeat at Largs, and on his
return with the shattered remains of his ships, sickened
and died at Orkney. The results of this victory w^ere
highly favourable to Scotland. It fixed the chiefs of the
Western Isles in their allegiance, secured to Alexander
the homage of the king of Man, and convinced Norway
that Scotland was not to be so easily subdued or overawed
, as its piratical princes had anticipated.
Death of The remainder of this reign was prosperous, as far as the
Alexander circumstances of the kingdom are considered, but unfortu-
AHJ 12 3 nate ^or t^ie monarc^’ wh° found himself suddenly deprived
J' by death of all his children. His eldest son, Alexander,
died soon after his marriage, and his only daughter Mar¬
garet, the wife of Eric, king of Norway, was cut off in
childbed, leaving an infant daughter, Margaret, commonly
called the Maiden of Norway, the heiress of the Scottish
throne. These calamities induced the king, who was a
widower, to make a second marriage. Having selected
loleta de Coney, daughter of the Count de Dreux, the
nuptials were celebrated at Jedburgh; and the nation, under
a wise monarch still in the prime of life, flourishing at home
and at peace abroad, looked forward to a long season of
prosperity, when all its hopes were overcast in a moment.
Alexander, when riding in a dark night, on the brink of a
dangerous rocky ledge near Kinghorn, was precipitated
from the top to the bottom, and killed on the spot.
Death of The death of the king was deeply lamented, and not
Maiden without cause, for he left the kingdom in most difficult cir-
of Noiwu). cumstances, exposed to the ambition and attack of Edward
the First, one of the ablest princes who had ever reigned in
England, and its happiness at home dependant upon the
precarious life of an infant. To fill the cup of Scotland’s
calamity, this child, Margaret, the Maiden of Norway, when
on her passage from that country to take possession of her
throne, sickened and died in Orkney; and on her death
arose that celebrated competition for the Scottish crown,
which threatened to plunge the kingdom into all the miser¬
ies of civil w'ar.
The moment was favourable to the designs of Edward Scotland,
the First, who determined to make himself master of Scot-
land. While in that country the various competitors col- A.D. 1283.
lected their forces and prepared to support their claims,
the English monarch having given orders for assembling
the strength of his kingdom by a certain day, invited the
nobility and clergy of Scotland to meet him at Norham,
for the purpose of deliberating upon the succession to the
crown. It has been made a subject of dispute, whether
Edward was invited by the Scottish people to be umpire in
the contest for the crown, or whether he proposed him¬
self as judge, and the subject is involved in some obscurity.
It is by no means improbable, that English intrigue and
a regard to their own interest, had induced some of the
competitors, if not to invite, at least most readily to accept
the mediation of the English monarch; but it is equally
true, and the point is of far greater importance, that there
is no evidence to prove that there was any invitation of
this kind, either by the people of Scotland, or even by
a majority of its nobles and clergy. Be this as it may, Edward
the competitors for the crown, with a large proportion ofacts as um
the nobility and clergy of Scotland, accepted the medi-P^ ^
ation of Edward, and met this monarch at Norham, (Mav A
1291)-
Of these claimants for the crown the two principal were Claims of
John Balliol and Robert Bruce. It was quite apparent that®ruce and
the question lay between them, the rights of the other com- d 10 '
petitors being evidently inferior to theirs. The title of these
two chiefs arose out of the circumstance, that on the death of
all descendants of Alexander the Third, the crown reverted
to the descendants of David, earl of Huntingdon, brother
of king William the Lion. This David left three daugh¬
ters, Margaret, the eldest, who married Alan, lord of Gal¬
loway ; Isabella, the second, who married Robert Bruce, fa¬
ther to the competitor Robert Bruce, lord of Annandale ;
and Ada, the third daughter, who married John de Hast¬
ings. It was evident, therefore, that the question lay be¬
tween Balliol and Bruce. Balliol pleaded that he was en¬
titled to the grown as the descendant of the eldest daughter,
being great-grandson to David, earl of Huntingdon. Bruce
admitted that he sprung from the second daughter, but
contended that, being grandson of the earl of Huntingdon,
and therefore a degree nearer, his claim was superior.
Edward’s scheme against the independence of Scotland Conduct of
was now ripe for execution; and announcing his determina- Edward I.
tion to give a just decision, he, to the dismay of many pre¬
sent, required the Scottish barons to swear fealty to him as
their Lord Paramount. It was in this character alone, he
said, that he was entitled to give, and as such alone that
he would pronounce, a judgment. The scene which now
ensued was a humiliating one. The right of Edward was
admitted; and Bruce, Balliol, the remaining competitors, the
barons and the clergy, set their hands to an instrument, in
which they acknowledged that the English king was feudal
superior of Scotland. There can be little doubt that they
knew this claim of Edward to be untenable upon any ground
of truth or justice, but they saw it ready to be enforced by
a determined prince at the head of the whole strength of
his dominions, and they did not dare to resist it. Edward,
accordingly, having received their oaths of homage, pro¬
ceeded to investigate the contending claims, and awarded
the crown to John Balliol.
It was probably part of the plan of the English monarch He invadta
to quarrel with his vassal king. It is at least certain, that Sc°dantL
he availed himself of the earliest appearance of spirit and re¬
sistance in this unfortunate prince to summon him, in terms of
reproach and indignity, to his court in England, and at last
goaded him and his people into what he termed rebellion.
In the war which ensued, Edward found it an easy matter to
overrun a kingdom unprepared to resist so formidable an
enemy- The town of Berwick was carried by storm;
SCOTLAND.
755
Scotland. Dunbar, the key of the borders, surrendered; Balliol was
taken prisoner and sent to the Tower; while the English
prince concluded what he deemed the conquest of Scot¬
land, by removing from Scone to Westminster the sacred
stone upon which the long line of its kings had been
crowned and anointed. But at this sad moment Scotland,
which in vain looked for a deliverer amongst its feudal
nobles, found one in a man of far inferior rank.
Rise of William Wallace was the son of Sir Malcolm Wal*
Wallace, lace, who held the estate of Ellerslie, near Paisley. Hav¬
ing been outlawed by the English for an alleged mur¬
der, committed on one by whom he had been grievously
injured, he fled into the fastnesses of his country, and
assembling round him a small band of followers, who were
weary of their servitude, commenced that kind of pre¬
datory warfare, which led from one success to another,
till he saw himself at the head of a formidable force.
With this he boldly descended into the low country,
and after having defeated the English in the sanguinary
battle of Stirling, was soon after chosen Governor of Scot¬
land. This title he only accepted as acting in the name of
John Balliol, whom he had always acknowledged as his here¬
ditary king. Into the exploits and career of this great
man it is impossible, within our limits, to enter; but mak¬
ing every allowance for the passionate admiration of his
countrymen, and regarding him as reflected in the cold
glass of history, rather than invested with the brilliant hues
of romance, there will still be found all that constitutes a
heroic character, if the accomplishment of the greatest re¬
sults with the most confined means, an entire devotion to
his country, a contempt of power for its own sake, unex-
tinguishable hatred of oppression, and a personal courage
which nothing could shake for a moment, were ever en ¬
titled to such an epithet.
It was however impossible for Wallace, with all his
great qualities, to reconcile the Scottish nobles to his en-
• vied elevation, or to compose the feuds and jealousies which
divided and weakened their efforts. Edward, who had been
absent in Flanders when his officers were defeated at Stir¬
ling, hurried back to England, and once more invading
Scotland at the head of an immense army, encountered and
defeated Wallace in the battle of Falkirk. The^ result of
this victory was the temporary subjugation of a country,
whose allegiance expired the moment its invaders retired.
Wallace voluntarily resigned the office of Governor, Robert
Bruce and John Comyn were chosen Guardians, and for
five years the war was continued with various success ; but
Edward, who in this interval had thrice invaded the king¬
dom, by these unceasing efforts and superior numerical
strength, at last subdued the spirit, and appeared to have
completed the conquest of this devoted people. The Guar-
Wallace dians submitted and were pardoned; sentence of outlawry
executed, was pronounced against Simon Fraser and the few followers
of Wallace who still held out; andat last this great chief him¬
self was betrayed into the hands of the conqueror, and exe¬
cuted at London. It was at this crisis, which seemed to
seal for ever the fate and liberty of the Scottish people, that
a deliverer arose in the person of Robert Bruce.
Battle of
Falkirk.
A.D. 1298
Section V.
a. n. 1306 to 1436.
Reign of Nothing could be more extraordinary, or apparently
Robert more unpropitious to the cause of freedom, than the cir-
Bruce. cumstances which led to this great result. Robert Bruce,
earl of Garrick, and grandson of the competitor for the crown,
had acted a dubious and interested part during the years
that Wallace, and the few patriotic barons who adhered to
him, made their stand for the independence of their coun¬
try. He inherited, with vast landed estates, the right to
the crown possessed by his grandfather; but, had he urged Scotland,
his claim, it might have been at the risk of the forfeiture of^*'^,'-^'
these possessions, which made him one of the most power- Reign of
ful barons in Scotland; and, although, in his early career, ^ri^ejg06
we can detect occasional outbreaks of the patriotic feeling,
he preserved his allegiance to Edward the First, and appears
to have been treated with confidence by that monarch.
The injuries inflicted on the country seem at last to have Murder of
aroused both Bruce and Comyn, and they formed a secret Comyn.
agreement to rise against the English. But Comyn’s heart
failed him. He betrayed the purpose to Edward, and meet¬
ing Bruce, who had been made aware of his treachery, in
the church of the Grey friars at Dumfries, that proud baron
reviled him as an informer, and stabbed him to the heart
on the steps of the high altar. He was instantly proclaim¬
ed a traitor by Edward, excommunicated as a sacreligious
murderer by the Pope, a price set upon his head; and from
the first and most influential noble in the kingdom, he felt
that he must either assert his right to the crown, and trust
to his sword for its defence, or be content to sink into the
condition of an outlaw and a fugitive. His decision was Bruce pro-
instantly taken. He rode with his little band to Scone, and claims him-
was there solemnly crowned; but being aware of the ad-seffking;.
vance of an English army, he hastily concentrated his forces, A.D. 1.3U6.
and after ravaging Galloway, marched against Perth, then
in possession of Edward.
But the early portion of Bruce’s career was disastrous ; He is at
and those military talents, which afterwards conducted him first unfor-
through a course of unexampled victory, were nursed amidtimate.
incessant defeat and hardship. He was put to flight at
Methven, his small army dispersed, and he himself driven an
almost solitary wanderer through Lennox and Kintyre, to
seek an asylum in Rachrin, a little island on the northern
coast of Ireland. Here he remained during the winter,
unaware of the execution of his faithful followers, who
had fallen into the hands of Edward ; of the imprispnment
of his queen and daughter, and the extraordinary severity
with which the English monarch seemed determined to
rivet the fetters upon his native country.
In the spring he passed over from Rachrin to Arran, ac- Bruce de-
companied by his brother Edward Bruce, Sir James Dou- feats tue
glas, and about three hundred men. His own castle of English at
Turnberry, on the coast of Garrick, was then occupied by^ou^on
Lord Percy, an officer of Edward. Bruce attacked it, put^’jj
the English garrison to the sword, and, after a variety
of minor enterprises, in which, although often repulsed,
he and his followers gained experience and confidence,
he ventured, although at the head of only six hundred
spearmen, to meet the earl of Pembroke, with three thou¬
sand cavalry, at Loudon Hill, (May 1307), The result of
this conflict, owing to the admirable dispositions of Bruce,
was the entire defeat of the English ; and from this point,
the crisis of his fortune, to the hour when the liberty of his
country was for ever secured on the field of Bannockburn,
the career of this extraordinary man presented an almost
continued series of success.
It was perhaps fortunate for Scotland that he was opposed, Bruce’s
not by Edward the First, who had died when on his march wlseP°fic7
to Scotland, (1307), but by his son, Edward the Second, a
prince of far inferior talent; yet the military resources of
England were so formidable, and the barons who wielded
them such experienced leaders, that Bruce, who had to strug¬
gle against domestic enemies, as well as foreign invasion, may
well be praised for the admirable judgment with which he
wielded the strength of his little kingdom. It was his policy
to avoid a general battle, and to starve and distress the for¬
midable armies which England repeatedly sent against him,
by wasting the country, retiring slowly before his enemies into
the woods and fastnesses, and when they were compelled
by famine or the season to retreat, by hanging on their rear,
and cutting them oft' in detail. Convinced that, from the
756
SCOTLAND.
Robert
Bruce.
Scottish
infantry.
Battle of
Bannock¬
burn.
Scotland, poverty of Scotland, it was in vain to attempt to rival the
mounted chivalry of England, he turned his whole atten¬
tion to the formation and discipline of his infantry They
were armed with a spear eighteen feet in length, a sword
and battle-axe at their girdle, a short cut-and-thrust dag¬
ger, a steel bonnet, and a back and breast-piece buckled
over a tough leather jerkin. They were trained to form
sometimes in squares, sometimes in circles, more or less
deep, according to the nature of the ground and of the
service. Such was the main army of Bruce, his pikemen ;
but after he had restored peace and security to his kingdom,
and began in his turn to act upon the offensive, he often
employed the only kind of cavalry which Scotland could
raise, the border prickers, who, lightly armed, mounted
on hardy little horses, and carrying as their provisions a
bag of meal slung at their saddle-bow, darted upon the
richest districts of England, or stripped them of their wealth,
and scoured like a whirlwind across the border, ere the
force of the country could be raised in its defence.
To pursue the details of his obstinate contest with Eng¬
land, is impossible. It was during the first years a war of de-
A* L) 1314 fence>'n which Bruce struggled for existence. This secured,
it became aggressive ; but his efforts were confined to the
recovery of his dominions out of the hands of those Scottish
barons who had embraced the service of the enemy, or his
castles from the English governors to whom they had been
entrusted. At last, when Edward the Second, at the head
of an army a hundred thousand strong, composed of the
flower of his kingdom, and led by his most experienced
officers, had penetrated into the country, Bruce found him¬
self driven from his favourite maxim, and compelled to
hazard a battle. On the field of Bannockburn, near
Stirling, thirty thousand Scottish foot, and five hundred
horse, led by the king in person, and under him command¬
ed by Douglas, Randolph, and the Steward of Scotland, en¬
countered and entirely defeated the formidable array of Eng¬
land. Edward fled from the field to Dunbar, and the broken
remains of his army, in dispersed bodies, made their retreat
in much disorder into England, (June 24, 1314).
In this memorable victory it may be said, without ex¬
aggeration, that a lesson in the history of liberty was taught,
not only to Scotland, but to the world; to every people who
have felt the misery of servitude, or tasted the sweets of
freedom. It proved that a country may be, as Scotland
was under Edward the First, brought by oppression and
cruelty to the very brink of despair; its cities sacked, its
fields laid waste, till famine was the consequence ; its best
leaders executed or imprisoned, its hearths left desolate,
its very offerings of praise proscribed, and its refuge in re¬
ligion attempted to be cut off; but that, till exterminated,
a free-born people cannot be said to be subdued.
Effects of immediate effects of this great victory upon the spirit
etBannock resPec^ve countries, were not less remarkable. It
burn. convinced the Scots, that, with a good heart and skilful
leaders, their squares -of infantry, with their long pikes,
were a match for the English horse, however superior in
arms and numbers; it taught the king, that what he had
most to dread was the discharge of the English bowmen;
and admonished him, that, however complete had been the
defeat, however glorious the consequences of the victory,
his favourite military maxim, to avoid a general battle, was
still his best and safest course. It affords a striking view
of the character of this great man, that his success at Ban¬
nockburn led neither to presumption, nor, much as he had
suffered, and deeply as he had been injured in his tender-
est relations, to a cruel retaliation. On the contrary, it
was followed up by Bruce with an immediate proposal for
peace ; but he would consent to treat only on the footing Scotland,
of an independent king, and the offer was rejected.
hrom 1314 to 1328, an interval oflnearly fourteen years, Robert
the war was continued with almost uninterrupted success^™:0'
on the part of the Scots ; while a series of reverses were Tj’W
endured by England, which are chiefly to be ascribed to
the pusillanimous character of the monarch, and the great
military ability not only of Bruce, but of the officers whom
he had trained, Sir James Douglas, Randolph earl of Mo¬
ray, the young steward of Scotland, and many others. It
may convey some idea of Bruce’s incessant occupation in
the field, when it is mentioned, that during this interval,
England was twelve times invaded, either by the king in
person, or by his officers, its border counties were exposed to
ravages, and on frequent occasions the fires which marked the
Scottish march were seen burning beside the gates of York ;
nor were the Scottish king’s proposals for a peace accepted,
till the English districts, which wrere compelled to purchase
safety by the payment of a heavy tribute, threatened in
their misery, to throw themselves into the arms of Scotland. The war
At last, on the first of March 1328, an English parliament as-conclude,f
sembled at York. Bruce was acknowledged king of Scotland, A,D-1328
Scotland itself recognised as a free and independent kingdom,
and peace established, after a sanguinary war of twenty years.
This great consummation was not long survived by him Death of
to whom, under God, the result was chiefly due. The Bruce,
king, whose constitution had been broken by the fatigues 1329
and exposure of his early life, began to droop soon after he
saw the liberty of his country permanently established; and
he died at Cardross on the 7th of June 1329.
The death of Bruce was a severe trial to Scotland. His David II.
only son David, who succeeded him, was a boy of six years Begency °f
old ; and while the nation was thus exposed to all the RandolPh-
evils of a long minority, Edward the Third, one of Eng¬
land’s most warlike monarchs, was just commencing his ca¬
reer, which soon developed uncommon talents, and great
ambition. Randolph indeed, who was chosen Regent, and
the good Sir James Douglas, with other veteran officers,
still remained ; but Douglas was slain in Spain, whither he
had proceeded on his way to Jerusalem with his master’s
heart; and the earl of Moray only survived the death of
Bruce for three years. To add to these calamities, the
monarchs who successively filled the Scottish throne, and
on whose personal character, in these rude times, much of
the success and vigour of the government depended, were
little similar to their great predecessor. From the death of
Bruce till the reign of James the First, the firstprince who in
any measure was worthy of a comparison with him, a period of
nearly a century elapsed,1 in which the sceptre passed into
the hands of three princes, David the Second, Robert the
Second, (the first sovereign of the house of Stewart, being
the son of the Steward of Scotland, by Marjory, Bruce’s
only daughter,) and, lastly, Robert the Third. Contem¬
porary with these Scottish princes were Edward the Third,
Richard the Second, Henry the Fourth, and Henry the Fifth,
all, with one exception in Richard, wise, warlike, and fortu¬
nate monarchs. 'I he odds, therefore, w ere infinitely against
Scotland, a country far inferior in its population and re¬
sources to England, and torn by domestic feuds; and yet
against reiterated attacks it maintained the contest for its
liberty. Unable to descend into minute detail, w^e take
a summary of the larger portion of this calamitous in¬
terval of Scottish history, from another work. “ A period
of sixty-four years elapsed between the death of Robert
Bruce and the birth of James the First, during which time,
although torn by anarchy and domestic faction, the coun¬
try maintained a remarkable struggle for its liberty. It
* We date not from the birth of James, but bis return from captivity in England. It may be proper to mention, that the authorities
for this sketch, from Alexander the Third to the reign of Mary, are the same as those followed by Mr. Tytler, in his History of Scot¬
land.
SCOTLAND.
Scotland, was in this period, eight times invaded by a foreign force ;
it was betrayed and deserted by David the Second, the un-
David II. worthy son and successor of Bruce ; it saw, on many occa¬
sions, the most powerful of its nobles enlisted under the
banner of its enemies ; it had to struggle against the mili¬
tary genius and political talents of Edward the Third, and
Henry the Fourth and Fifth; and yet, with limited resources,
and divided councils, so tenaciously did the people cling to
their liberty, that, though sore oppressed, they were never
conquered. Amid almost constant war, and its dreadful
accompaniments, famine and the pestilence, they still pre¬
served their freedom, preferring the prospect of living in a
country reduced by repeated invasion to a solitude or a
desert, or even the last alternative of being totally exter¬
minated, to the most flattering offers of being united to
England, when coupled with the condition that they should
renounce their national independence.”1 We have above al¬
luded to the degeneracy of David the Second, whose long
reign of forty-two years was divided into a minority, the
greater part of which was passed in France ; a captivity in
England, the result of his calamitous defeat in the battle of
Durham ; and a train of subsequent reverses all occasioned
by his headstrong character and devotion to his selfish plea¬
sures. But the darkest stain upon David, was his intrigues
271. with Edward the Third, in which he hesitated not to sacri¬
fice the independence of the country, to swear homage to
the English prince for his kingdom of Scotland, and even
to propose to his parliament, that the order of succession
solemnly settled by his heroic father, should be altered in
favour of an English prince. It is needless to say that so
degrading a proposal was indignantly repelled, and that the
death of the prince who had offered the insult was regard¬
ed as a national deliverance.
Robert IT. In Robert the Second, who succeeded him as the first of
tbe first of the house of Stewart, and his son, Robert the Third, the
the bouse nation, though still exposed to the repeated attacks of Eng-
of Stewart ]anc]) experienced a short breathing time, owing to the death
nrHndolent °f Edward the Third, and the incapacity of Richard the Se-
prince. cond ; but neither of these Scottish princes possessed the
vigour or the talents requisite to wield the sceptre with suc¬
cess, in the midst of the difficulties by which they were sur¬
rounded. The second Robert came to the crown when age
had chilled his vigour; and his son and successor, Robert
the Third, was of too indolent and gentle a character to hold
his part against a fierce feudal nobility, led by his brothers,
the Earls of Fife and Buchan, the first a man of great ambi¬
tion, the second a monster of crime, who gave himself up to
every species of lust and rapine, and has been traditionally
remembered as “ the Wolf of Badenoch.”
.Jiimes I. All this led to great disorder. The king, unwilling to
A long mi- burden himself with the cares of government, devolved the
novity. administration upon his son, the duke of’Rothsay, a young
man of violent passions, though of considerable ability, who
had made himself particularly obnoxious to his uncle, the
earl of Fife. This led to a fatal collision. Fife, whose au¬
thority was increased by his being made duke of Albany,
proved too strong for the young prince. His father, the
king, was persuaded that the excesses of his son required
restraint, and the unhappy youth was hurried to Falkland,
and shut up in a dungeon, where he was intrusted to the
care of two ruffians, who starved him to death. It was at
first reported that he had been cut off by a dysentery; but
the horrible tale of his sufferings soon after transpired. “ A
poor woman in passing through the palace garden, had been
attracted by his groans, and had found means to support
him by thin cakes which she slid into the grated window
of his prison, and it is said by her own milk, conveyed
through a reed; but she was detected, and put to death by
his keepers ; and after fifteen days, the body of the miserable
757
captive was found in a state too shocking to be described. Scotland.
In the extremities of hunger, he had gnawed and torn his^**^vv^,,w
own flesh.”2 Robert, depressed by this calamity, and inca- James h
pable of exertion, committed the whole cares of the govern¬
ment to the duke of Albany ; and the power of that daring
man was increased by another event which completely broke
the spirit of the king, and was probably the cause of his
death. This was the seizure by the English of his eldest
son James, then a youth in his fifteenth year, and on his
passage to France. The consequences were very fatal to
the country. The prince was carried to the Tower; the
father did not long survive the captivity of the son ; and on
his death, which took place in 1406, his brother, the duke
of Albany, succeeded to the prize which had long been the
object of his ambition, the undisputed regency of the king¬
dom.
The young king, James the First, was a captive, and Regency of
Henry the Fourth knew too well the value of the prize to part the Duke
with him. For nineteen years he was detained in England ;°f Albany,
and, during this long interval, Albany became the uncontrol¬
led governor of Scotland. It has been suspected that the in¬
trigues of this able and unprincipled man with the English
monarch, had led to the seizure of the young king. That they
prolonged the period of his captivity, there can be no doubt.
It was clearly the best policy of the regent to cultivate He culti-
peace with England, and to conciliate Henry the Fourth, vates peace
as this prince could at any time put a termination to his au- 'v‘t^
thority, by restoring James to his kingdom ; and the same and'
desire to retain the power which he had so nefariously usurp¬
ed, induced Albany to cultivate the friendship, and overlook A. D. 1424.
the crimes and excesses of the great feudal barons. All
this led to dreadful confusion in Scotland, which, although
freed for a time from the incessant invasions of its more
powerful neighbour, was torn by private war, whilst the lives
and property of its people were exposed to the attack of
every unprincipled feudal baron who sheltered himself under
the protection of the regent.
This miserable state of things was at length terminated James I.
by the return of James to his dominions; a prince whose returns to
character presented a striking contrast to that of his father^1'8 country•
and grandiather. During the nineteen years in which he 14^4.
had been unjustifiably detained in that country, he enjoy¬
ed advantages which almost repaid him for his captivity.
Henry the Fourth, a prince who well understood the art
of government, had made it his generous care that James
should receive an excellent education ; and he had the
advantage of being instructed in w>ar, by accompanying
his victorious successor, Henry the Fifth, to France. On
his return to his own dominions, he was in the prime
and the vigour of manhood. His character, formed in the Character
school of adversity, was one of great power. He found his of James I.
kingdom a scene of lawless excess and rapine ; a condition
to which it had been reduced from the want of a firm hand
to restrain oppression and enforce the laws. Since the
death of Bruce the power of the aristocracy had been on
the increase, while that of the crown had proportionally
lost ground, and fallen into contempt. His object, as can James’s
be clearly discerned through the history of his brief reign, principles
was to restore the kingly authority, to rescue the commons govern-
from oppression and plunder, to give security to property,ment-
encouragement to the industry and pacific arts of his peo¬
ple, and to compel his barons to renounce their ideas of in¬
dividual independence, and become good subjects.
The regency of Albany, his uncle, and of his son Mur¬
doch, who had succeeded him, was naturally and justly re¬
garded by James as little else than a long usurpation. He James’s ex-
was mortified that Albany, against wrhom, as the murderer treme seve-
of his brother, he entertained the deepest resentment, t0 t^ie
should have escaped his merited punishment; and the royal Albany *
1 Life of James the First, pp. 203, 204, in Lives of Scottish Worthies.
5 Lives of Scottish Worthies, vol. ii. p. 242.
758
SCOTLAND.
James I.
Execution
of Duke
Murdoch,
and the
Earls of
England
and the
continent.
Scotland, vengeance fell with a proportionably heavier force upon
Murdoch, his son and successor; nor is it possible to deny
that James’s retribution was cruel and excessive. Murdoch,
the duke of Albany, his two sons, the earl of Athole, and
Alexander Stewart, with his father-in-law, the earl of
Lennox, a venerable nobleman, eighty years of age, were
tried, condemned, and executed. James, the duke’s young¬
est son, having escaped, collected a band of freebooters, and
Athole andafter antl plundering Dunbarton, took refuge in
Lennox. Ireland ; but five of his men fell into the king’s hands, and
were torn in pieces by wild horses. So horrid a punish¬
ment, and the exterminating severity exhibited to all con¬
nected with the house of Albany, can admit of no justifica¬
tion ; and there is every reason to believe, that the early
and miserable death of the monarch, is to be traced to the
deep feelings of revenge with which some of his nobles
from that moment regarded him. Neither is it possible to
believe that the king in this instance carried along with
him the feelings of the people. Yet looking at the state
of things in Scotland, it is easy to understand his object.
It was his intention to exhibit to a nobility, long accus¬
tomed to regard the laws with contempt, and the royal au¬
thority as a name of empty menace, a memorable example
of stern and inflexible justice, to convince them that a great
change had already taken place in the executive part of
the government; to furnish also a warning to the people,
of the punishment which awaited those who imagined that
fidelity to the commands of their feudal lord was paramount
to the ties which bound them to obey the laws of their
country.
State of Having given this severe and sanguinary lesson, the next
Scotland in efforts of the monarch were addressed to the internal ad-
relation to ministration of his kingdom. From without he had nothing
to dread ; he was at peace with England, and his marriage
with Jane Beaufort, the niece of Cardinal Beaufort, had,
from her near relationship to the English monarch, strength¬
ened the ties between the two countries, France was the
ancient ally of Scotland ; and the Netherlands profited too
much from the Scottish trade not to be anxious to preserve
the most friendly relations. The king could therefore
direct his undivided attention to his affairs at home. His
great principle, and it was one worthy of so wise a prince,
seems to have been a determination to govern the country
through the medium of his parliament. Of these convoca¬
tions of the national legislature, which had been rarely held
under the regencies of the two Albanys, no less than thir¬
teen occurred during his brief reign, which, dating from
his return in 1424, lasted only thirteen years. It is to him
that Scotland owes the first clear recognition of the princi¬
ple of representation by the election of the commissaries for
shires j it was by him that one of the greatest improve¬
ments was introduced into the administration of justice, by
the institution of a court of law known by the name of the
Session. Nor was this all. Previously to his time, the
laws and the acts of parliament had been published in Latin,
and the great majority of the inferior judges to whom their
execution was entrusted, were unable to understand them.
To remedy this grievance, the king commanded the acts of
Parliament parliament to be drawn up in the spoken language of the
in the Scot-land j an improvement so important, that it forms an era in
tic i tongue. our legislation. Other points of almost equal interest oc¬
cupied his attention. By his personal presence in the High¬
lands, and by the military force which he brought along
with him, when he visited those remote districts of his do¬
minions, he introduced laws and order where there had
formerly been little else than feudal licence and contempt
for all authority. Although he cultivated the art-s of peace,
he did not forget that its surest preservative was an atten¬
tion to the military strength of his country. Weapo?i-shaw-
ings, or military musters, were held periodically ; and hav¬
ing witnessed, when resident in England, and in the war of
The Ses¬
sion.
Acts of
Weapon-
shawings.
Henry the Fifth with France, the great superiority of the Scotland.
English over the Scottish archers, he made it his earnest
care that his subjects should cultivate this warlike accom- James I.
plishment. In many of the acts of the various parliaments
of this monarch, w e can also trace an attention to the en¬
couragement of agriculture, to the interests of foreign trade
and domestic manufactures, to the state of his shipping
and navy, to the prices of labour, and the melioration of
the condition of the labourers of the soil, which clearly
demonstrates the high and important objects that occu¬
pied the king’s mind, although the means he employed were
not exactly those which should have suggested themselves
to the experience of a more advanced age. Amid these James a
severer duties, James gave an example to his rude barons sc^°^ar ancl
of the cultivation of intellectual accomplishments. He was a poet‘
himself a poet; and the king’s book, or King’s Quair,
composed during his captivity in England, is still read by
many with delight and enthusiasm. He was a reformer of
the language of his country ; he composed pieces of music,
and sang and accompanied himself on various instruments.
It is probable, however, that these employments wTere rather
the solace of his tedious confinement in England, than ob¬
jects of serious pursuit after his return.
Having so zealously devoted himself to the best interests James as-
of his kingdom, James had the satisfaction to see his mea- sassinated.
sures attended with success, and all seemed secure and
prosperous, when he suddenly became the victim of a dark
conspiracy. Under circumstances of extreme ferocity he Feb. 20,
was assassinated in the monastery of the Blackfriars at 1436.
Perth, by Sir Robert Graham, the earl of Athole, and some
accomplices who had been dependants of the house of
Albany, The court was then at Perth, and James had
taken up his residence in the Dominican monastery beside
the town. The king was betrayed by his chamberlain, who
facilitated the entrance of the conspirators, by removing or
damaging the locks of the royal apartments. When the
alarm was given, it is said that a lady who waited on the queen,
named Catherine Douglas, thrust her arm into the staple of
the door, and thus, before it was broken, heroically afforded
a brief interval in which the king contrived to conceal him¬
self in a small vaulted chamber, where for some time he
evaded discovery. The conspirators, under the idea that
he had escaped, had dispersed themselves through the palace,
and the unfortunate monarch might have been safe, if he had
not prematurely attempted to leave his concealment. The
noise which he made recalled one of the ruffians, who shout¬
ed to his companions; and springing down into the vault,
they threw themselves upon their defenceless victim and
murdered him, after a desperate resistance. Although consi¬
derable obscurity hangs over the ramifications of the plot
which ended thus fatally to the king, there exists no doubt
that it owed its origin to indignation at the fate of Albany,
and those deep feelings of feudal revenge which had been
long cherished by the friends of that unhappy house; afford¬
ing a terrible lesson to princes of the reaction which may
take place, when justice forgets her calmer mood, and pushes
her punishments beyond example into revenge.
The death of James the First was a severe calamity to James II.
the country, exposing it for the third time since the death3 boy of si?
of Bruce to all the evils of a long minority. His eldest years olfi/
son, who succeeded to the throne by the title of James the A‘D‘14,36'
Second, was a boy only six years old; and although the
character of the queen-mother was marked by considerable
talent and vigour, these qualities were feeble substitutes for
the masculine wisdom, the determined courage, and the
unwearied care of the husband whom she had lost. Her first Punish-
duty was the arrest and punishment of his murderers; and merit of the
this she executed with speedy and immitigable severity, murderers.
But the death of the king once more gave a licence, and of¬
fered to the feudal nobles an opportunity of recovering their
power of which they tvere not slow to avail themselves.
SCOTLAND.
Scotland. Graham, the principal murderer of the late monarch, in
the midst of the cruel tortures which preceded his death,
james II. ha(j avowed that the day was at hand when the Scottish
nobles would venerate his memory for having rid them of
a tyrant; and these proud and powerful barons, when they
remembered the magnitude of James’s plans, and the stern
and sometimes unjust severity with which he carried them
into execution, could not but feel that now was the time to
recover the privileges which they had lost, and to provide
some strong and permanent barrier against all future en¬
croachments of the crown.
General ob- This observation is the key to the history of the country,
servations. not only during the reign of this monarch, but for the next
century. It unfortunately happened, that with the excep¬
tion of James the Fourth, who on his accession was a youth
of seventeen, Scotland was visited by a series of minorities
in James the Second, James the Third, James the Fifth,
and Mary, which occupied the long interval between 1436
and 1560 ; and during this period of more than a century,
the extraordinary increase in the power of the nobles, the
diminished respect for the crown, and its proportionate
weakness against attack and encroachment, are too promi¬
nent features to escape notice. We see events, the same
in character, and merely varied in name and minor inci¬
dents, occurring during the whole time: a monarch of
greater or of less energy, emerging from his minority, and
making an effort to recover the power which he had lost;
a band of turbulent and selfish nobles leagued against him,
and only detached from their brethren, and persuaded to
aqt with the crown, by an appeal to their interest and their
fears. These remarks were strikingly exemplified in the
scenes which took place during the minority of James the
Second.
Minority of Immediately after his coronation, a struggle commenced
James II. for the possession of the chief power in the government.
In a parliament held at Edinburgh, the queen-mother was
entrusted with the custody of the young king, while Archi¬
bald earl of Douglas and duke of Touraine, was ap¬
pointed lieutenant-general of the kingdom, a title probably
including all the powers of a military governor. In civil
matters the chief authority seems to have fallen into the
hands of the chancellor Crichton, who had the command
of Edinburgh Castle, in which the queen-mother, with the
young prince, had taken refuge soon after the murder of
her husband. This princess, however, soon found that
Crichton turned the possession of the royal person into an
engine for his own advancement, and refused to her that
frequent intercourse with her son which she had expected,
and to which she was entitled.
Having combined therefore with Sir Alexander Living¬
ston, a baron who had been in favour with the late king,
she contrived, by stratagem, to possess herself of the person
of the young king, whom she shut up in a large wardrobe
chest, and carried as her luggage to Leith, from whence she
hastened to Stirling Castle, which had been assigned to her
as a jointure-house.
Dreadful The kingdom was now divided between three factions,
state of that of the queen and Livingston, who possessed the per-
Scotland. Sfm 0f the king, Sir Alexander Crichton the chancellor, and
thirdly, the earl of Douglas, whose immense estates in Scot¬
land, and hisforeign wealth and influence asduke ofTouraine,
rendered him by far the most formidable baron in the coun¬
try. From this moment to the period when James, having
attained majority, began to act for himself, an interval of
thirteen years, the history of the nation presents little else
than one uniform scene of civil anarchy and of unpunished
crime. “ The young monarch beheld his kingdom con¬
verted into a stage on which his nobles contended for the
chief power; whilst his subjects were cruelly oppressed,
and he himself handed about, a passive puppet, from the
failing grasp of one declining faction, into the more irontute-
759
lage of a more successful party in the state.” In this me- Scotland,
lancholy drama the chief parts were played by Crichton '****-*y~**s
and Livingston, who, deeming it for their interest to crush Janies II.
the overgrown power of the house of Douglas, inveigled
the young earl and his brother into the Castle of Edin¬
burgh, brought suddenly against them a charge of treason,
and put them to instant death.
It was fortunate for the country, that when thus torn by A. D. 1449.
domestic factions, its foreign relations were of a pacific James H.
character, England, France, and the Netherlands, ^
all animated with the most friendly dispositions, while the^-p()U1,jas
young king, as he advanced from boyhood into maturer °
years, developed a character of prudence, vigour, and in¬
telligence, which appeared destined to restore a better state
of things to his kingdom. Having married the daughter of
the duke of Gueldres, he assumed the government, and
selected as his principal councillor, Kennedy, bishop of St.
Andrews, a prelate of great wisdom and integrity, whose
rank as head of the church, invested him with an authority
to which the people, amid the general corruption, looked
with much reverence and affection. It was probably by
his advice, that James, whose passions were naturally vio¬
lent, and who viewed with indignation the arrogance of
the earl of Douglas, engaged in a systematic plan for the
reduction of his overgrown power. Without attempting
at once, and by any arbitrary exertion of strength, to de¬
prive this potent chief of his high offices, a measure which
might have been followed by extreme commotion, he
gradually withdrew from him his countenance and employ¬
ment ; surrounded himself by able and energetic council¬
lors, whom he promoted to the principal places of trust ;
and thus weakened the authority of the proud baron,
rather by the formidable counterpoise which he raised
against it, than by any act of open aggression. This con¬
duct was attended with the best results. The earl of
Douglas, finding his consequence decreasing, and his power
on the wane, retired for a while from Scotland, and respect
for the character of the monarch increased with the feel¬
ing of security derived from an improved administration
of the government. During the absence of the chief,
James had time to reduce the minor barons who were his
dependants, to attach his own friends more powerfully to
his interest, and to concentrate a strength, which, on Dou¬
glas’s return from Italy, convinced him that he must consent
to play a second part to his prince. The result was what
might easily have been anticipated. A collision took place
between this haughty potentate and the young sovereign
whose commands he had so often defied. Douglas, natu¬
rally rash and fearless, had consented, under a safecon-
duct bearing the royal signature, to visit James in the
Castle of Stirling. After the royal feast, the king
remonstrated with his guest; disclosed to him the proofs A. D. 1451.
he possessed of his combinations against the govern¬
ment ; reproached him for the frequent murders of his sub¬
jects committed by his order; and condescended to intreat
him to forsake such dangerous courses, assuring him of his
pardon and favour. Douglas, instead of embracing the Murder of
offer, replied to it with haughtiness and insolence; andtheEarlof
James, losing all command of himself, and braved to his h)oi|glas kf
face, drew his dagger and stabbed him to the heart. Fall- ^ames
ing at his feet, he was instantly despatched by the nobles,
who, hearing the commotion, rushed into the apartment.
This atrocious murder was followed by a struggle be- A. 0.1452.
tween the royal party and the friends and vassals of the un- defeat of
fortunate baron, in which the king was completely success- ti!e nintl*
ful. Sir James Douglas, who succeeded his brother in the ^ °as})
earldom, attempted to brave the monarch, renouncing his jameS u.
allegiance, and throwing himself into the arms of England;
but his projects against his country were defeated. He was
equally unfortunate in his alliance with the Lord of the
Isles, whose naval force he directed against the west of Scot-
760
SCOTLAND.
James II,
at Rox¬
burgh.
James III.
Scotland, land; and at length, in a fruitless effort to regain his lost
power by invading the Merse along with the earl of North-
James III. umberland, he was totally routed by the earl of Angus, and
driven a landless fugitive into England.
A.D.1460. The remainder of this reign was employed by the king in
Death of an endeavour to complete the work which he had begun ; by
strengthening the power of the crown, and giving security
to the persons and property of his subjects ; by attaching to
his party the great and influential body of the clergy, carry¬
ing into effect various parliameriary enactments for the de¬
fence of the borders against the attacks of England, and
cultivating the warlike character of nis people. Amid these
kingly cares, he unwisely suffered himself to be entangled
by the contests between the Yorkists and Lancastrians; and
having espoused the party of Henry the Sixth, levied an
army, and met his death by the bursting of one of his own
guns at the siege of Roxburgh. He was succeeded by his
son James the Third, a boy in his eighth year.
The death of a sovereign thus cut off* in the prime of his
manhood and usefulness, leaving an infant successor, would
have been a deep calamity at all times, but it was especial¬
ly so at this moment. James the Second had with uncom¬
mon vigour and judgment reduced the overgrown power of
his nobles; but he died before hisplans were matured, leaving
the nation at war with England, the seeds of civil disunion
lurking in his kingdom and ready to spring up, and the more
northern parts of the realm held by fierce chiefs, who were
disposed, on the slightest provocation, to throw off their al-
A.D. 1461. legiance. With these island lords, Edward the Fourth en¬
tered into a strict alliance ; and the banished Douglases,
now become English subjects, agreed to assist him in a con¬
federacy, the object of which was nothing less than the
conquest and partition of Scotland. It was to be expected
that the favour shewn by that country to the expatriated
monarch Henry the Sixth, should have deeply incensed his
rival.; but the facility with which he purchased his instru¬
ments, and found them in the ranks of the Scottish nobles,
who became the vassals of England, is a mortifying fact.
Energy of From these general remarks it is easy to anticipate the
mother en" ^st0I7 °f this reign, and the scenes which it presented. In-
rno ier. tQ mjnuter it js impossible to enter. For a
while the energy of the queen-mother supported the go¬
vernment. On the news of the death of her husband, in¬
stead of giving herself up to unavailing grief, she repaired
with all speed to the camp before Roxburgh, carrying
with her her infant son, now king; him she presented to
the nobles, and urged them for him and his father’s sake
to press forward the siege. She was obeyed, and Rox¬
burgh was taken; but fatal disputes soon succeeded to
this success, and it required all the vigour of the queen,
with her chief minister, Bishop Kennedy, a man of high
character and talent, to struggle against the difficulties which
surrounded them. In the northern parts of the kingdom
all was unsettled ; and the earl of Ross espousing the cause
of Edward the Fourth, proclaimed himself king of the He¬
brides, while the earl of Angus, on whom, after the fall of
the house of Douglas, a large share of their power had de¬
volved, undertook to support the party of Henry the Sixth,
contrary to the wishes of the queen and Bishop Kennedy.
I >eatli of At this crisis, the young sovereign lost his mother Mary of
fIarf of Gmeldres ; and, after a few years, Bishop Kennedy followed
A A) 1163. f*erto ^le grave; events which deprived the government of its
best, or rather of its only support. Yet amid all these com-
p icated dangers, it is remarkable, that for fifteen years,
1 Jp.mte?va occupied by the minority of this prince, the
affairs of the country were prosperous.
Rise of the On the death of Bishop Kennedy, the chief power in the
ATa government had fallen into the hands of William Lord
Boyd, the high Justiciar, a baron hitherto little known, but
whose power rose, in a few years, to a height which almost
rivalled that of the once formidable Douglases. He became
State of
the king¬
dom.
governor of the king’s person ; filled every office with his Scotland,
dependants ; married his eldest son, who was created earl of
Arran, to the king’s sister ; and acquired so much influence James HI
over the young king, rather, it would seem, by terror than
by love, that he appeared completely subservient to his
wishes. The decay of this family was as sudden as its rise.
A marriage had been negociated between the king and Mar¬
garet princess of Denmark, and scarcely was it conclud¬
ed, when a faction of the nobles, at the head of whom
was the monarch himself, suddenly attacked the Boyds, ar¬
raigned them of high treason, seized and confiscated their
large estates, and brought to the scaffold their principal
leader. A divorce was instituted against the earl of Arran
and his wife, the princess Mary, sister to the king; and she
was compelled to give her hand to Lord Hamilton, a fa- Rise of the
vourite of the young monarch. It was through this mar-house of
riage that the family of Hamilton, which now rose into great Hamilton,
power upon the ruin of the Boyds, became, in the subse-A■D■J47t,
quent reign of Mary, the nearest heirs to the crown.
James had now attained majority, and in assuming the James III.
full administration of the government, he found his king- attains ma-
dom more opulent, more secure, and more powerful, thaniority-
could have been anticipated from the struggles of his^tat,eof
minority. The important isles of Orkney and Zetland
had been acquired with the daughter of Denmark ; the rich
town of Berwick, and the border fortress of Roxburgh, had
been occupied by the Scots ; the earldom of Ross had been
annexed to the crown ; the independence and liberty of the
Scottish Church established by the erection of St. Andrews
into an archbishopric ; and, lastly, a marriage treaty with
England, by which the youngest daughter of Edward the
Fourth was betrothed to the king’s eldest son, seemed to pro¬
mise security and peace in this formidable quarter. If such
had already been the success of this reign, it seemed not
unreasonable to look forward to still greater prosperity in
after years; and yet the history of the country, from the
moment when the monarch attained his majority, presents
a melancholy contrast to this beginning. This reverse we
are inclined to ascribe partly to the personal qualities of
the king, partly to some changes in the power and dis¬
positions of the great body of the feudal nobles, which are
discernible at this period, not in Scotland only, but in all
the feudal kingdoms of Europe.
Some of our historians have represented James the Third Character
as a compound of indolence, caprice, and imbecility ; butof James
their opinion seems rash and unfounded. His character HF
was different from that of the age in which he lived, and
in some respects it was far beyond it. The times were
rude, warlike, and unintellectual. The king was fond of
repose, and addicted to a seclusion in which he might de¬
vote himself to pursuits which bespoke a refined .and cul¬
tivated mind: a passion for mathematics, and the study of
judicial astrology, a taste for architecture, a love for the
science and practice of music, and a generous disposition
to patronize the professors of literature and philosophy, ra¬
ther than to surround himself with a crowd of fierce retainers,
were the prominent features in the mind of this unfor¬
tunate prince ; tastes which have been reprobated by con-
contemporary historians, but which, if duly regulated, were
rather praiseworthy than the contrary. Unfortunately,
however, this due regulation was wanting. James had the
weakness, not only to patronize, but to confer feudal rank,
and distinctions, hitherto appropriated to the nobles, upon
the professors of his favourite studies. Architects, musi¬
cians, painters, and astrologers, were admitted to the fami¬
liar converse of the sovereign, while the highest nobles
found a cold reception or a positive denial of access. Is it
any subject of surprise, that a fierce nobility should have
been disgusted with such conduct, and that the king’s war¬
like brothers, the earls of Albany and Mar, should have been
regarded as the chief support of the state ?
SCOTLAND.
761
Scotland. But in studying the history of this reign, we shall detect
other causes of the sanguinary scenes in which it concluded.
James III. on]y were the feudal nobility of Scotland induced by
marks^jn^' t^ie neS^ec*; an(^ favouritism of the king to long for a change,
the feudal ^ut ^ worthy of remark, that for some time previous to
nobility of this period, the feudal nobility of Europe had been in a state
Europe. of extraordinary commotion and tumult; and events had
occurred which diminished in the eyes of the aristocracy
and of the people the respect entertained for the throne.
The revolution in England under Henry the Fourth, the sub¬
sequent history of that kingdom during the contest between
the houses of York and Lancaster, the political struggles in
France under Louis the Eleventh, the relative condition of
the greater nobles in Germany and of the rights of the im¬
perial crown under the emperor Sigismund, the dissensions
which divided the Netherlands, and the civil factions which
agitated the government in Spain, all combined to render
resistance so common, and so lucrative in the eyes of the
feudal nobility in Europe, that its frequency can be a sub¬
ject of little wonder; and if, when we take into account the
frequent communication between Scotland and the conti¬
nent during the period of these commotions, we may easi¬
ly imagine their effect upon the still ruder and more inde¬
pendent nobility of that country. We have been tempted to
throw out these general observations, because the reign of
James the Third is in one respect most remarkable. It is
the era from which we may date the rise of a republican
spirit, and the first propagation of those popular princi¬
ples, of which the operation can be traced, in a greater or
less degree, through the whole course of its subsequent
history.
To return from such remarks to the events of this reign,
we find the king engaged in a contest with his two power¬
ful brothers, Albany and Mar. To the first had been en-
Alban andtruS*:e^ ^ war<^enship the east marches, the government
Mar. ^ of Berwick, and the castle of Dunbar, the principal key of the
A.D. 1479 kingdom ; and there seems no doubt that he had abused his
high powers to an extent which bordered upon treason.
Against Mar was brought a still more atrocious charge. He
had plotted, it was said, to cause the king’s death by magi¬
cal arts ; and being convicted by the evidence of his wizard
accomplices, was imprisoned, and, according to one account,
secretly executed. Another story ascribes his death to the
consequences of a fever, for which having a vein opened,
he in an excess of phrensy tore off his bandages and bled to
death. Against Albany the king proceeded with unusual
vigour. He attacked him in Dunbar, made himself master
of the fortress, and would have seized his person, but the
rebellious prince availed himself of the situation of the castle,
which was open to the sea, and fled first to England, and
afterwards to France.
At th is moment, Louis the Eleventh was at war with Edward
the Fmirth, and he unfortunately possessed such influence over
the Scottish king, that he brought about a rupture between
James and Edward. It was a step signally impolitic. Al¬
bany, the king’s brother, returning from France, threw him¬
self into the arms of England ; the nobility were full of com¬
plaints against the government; the Lord of the Isles em¬
braced the interests of Edward ; and after along interval of
peace had softened the national animosity between the
kingdoms, it was a miserable sight once more to witness
the renewal of hostilities.
This contest led to some extraordinary scenes. Albany
havingopenlyavowedhis purpose todethrone his brother,as¬
sumed the title of Alexander king of Scotland, and entered
into a treaty with Edward, by which he basely consented to
sacrifice the independence and dismember some of the finest
portions of the kingdom. To effect his designs, he had the
address not only to secure the co-operation of the banished
earl of Douglas, with the Lord of the Isles and his north¬
ern vassals, but he detached from James’s service Angus,
VOL. XIX.
Contest of
James III.
with his
brothers,
-1480.
War with
England.
A.D. 1480.
Gray, Huntly, Lennox, and many others of the leading Scotland,
nobility in Scotland. A conspiracy was formed against the
monarch and his favourites; the conjuncture of his assem-James HI.
bling his army, preparatory to his invasion of England, was A.D. 1482.
deemed the most favourable moment for the execution of 0
ti* ID45
their purpose ; and in the camp at Lauder its success washing,
equally sudden and terrible. The nobles, led by Angus,
seized Cochrane, James’s favourite, who, from a mean sta¬
tion, had been promoted to high rank and enriched with
the earldom of Mar; they then broke into the king’s tent,
made him prisoner, arrested the band of ignoble associates
who shared his confidence, and proceeded to inflict summary
vengeance on them all. Cochrane was hanged over the bridge
of Lauder; Rogers, a musician, Hommel, Leonard, Preston
and others, shared his fate ; and the unfortunate monarch,
having been conveyed to the capital, was shut up in the
castle of Edinburgh. The result of this success was what
might have been expected. Albany, who all along had acted
from motives of personal ambition, having once possessed
himself of the king’s person, ruled the government at his
will.
But usurpation of the supreme power was not the full Base con-
extent of his treachery. He attached Edward the Fourth to ^uct °f At
his service by the sacrifice of the national independence. In hany'
a secret treaty, the English prince engaged to assist Al¬
bany, who hitherto had only assumed the title of lieutenant-
general of the kingdom, in placing the crown on his own
head ; and as the base price of this assistance, the new king
and his nobles agreed to withdraw their oaths from king
James, and to live under the sole allegiance of the king of
England. It may give us some idea of the low estate to A.D. 1482.
which the nobles of Scotland had fallen, when we men¬
tion, that not only the earl of Douglas, now banished
and living in England, but the earls of Angus, Buchan,
Athole, and many others, were willing parties to this wan¬
ton sacrifice of their country.
The plot, however, was defeated, and happily a party yet Party
remained among the nobles, who, though their vengeance against
had been directed against the king’s favourites, were friends Albany,
to the crown and to the country. They had joined Albany
with the object of sacrificing Cochrane and his associates,
but had been kept in ignorance of his ultimate intentions ;
and the moment these became apparent, they united with
the king and overwhelmed the opposite faction. And here,
in the manner in which Albany was treated, is to be found
the cause of all the subsequent misfortunes of the king.
His brother deserved punishment, and ought to have met with
no pity. He had been guilty of open and repeated treasons,
had levied war against his prince ; and imprisoned his royal
person, leagued himself with his enemies, sold the indepen¬
dence of his country, and assumed the title of king. His
guilt and ambition had seduced from their allegiance a large
party of the nobles ; and if ever there was a time in which
a great example was to be made, that time was now come.
Yet, instead of this wholesome severity, the duke of Albany Impolitic
was treated with a lenity for which it is impossible to ac- ^nlty t0
count. On acknowledging his manifold treasons, and lay- AD^’ya
ing down his office of lieutenant-general, he not only re¬
ceived a full pardon, but was permitted to retain not only
his vast estates, but his wardenship of the marches, and was
simply interdicted from coming within six miles of the court,
or continuing his illegal combination with Angus, Athole,
and Buchan.
Whether we are to ascribe this misplaced mercy to the A.D. 1483.
king’s attachment to his brother, or to a suspicion that he Renewed
was not strong enough to inflict a more exemplary punish- rebellion of
ment, it is difficult to decide; but the result demonstrated what Albany-
has been so often taught, the folly of a misplaced lenity. In
a few weeks Albany was again in rebellion. At his invita¬
tion, an English army invaded Scotland; Dunbar, the most
important castle in the kingdom, as the key of the eastern
5 D
762.
Scotland.
James III.
SCOTLAND.
Final de¬
feat of Al¬
bany.
A. D. 1483.
The Scot¬
tish nobles
renew their
intrigues
against
James.
Causes of
the con¬
spiracy
against the
king.
borders, was delivered up by this base person to the enemy,
while he himself fled into England, and organized with
Edward the Fourth the plan of a more formidable invasion.
At this crisis occurred the death of the English monarch,
and the seizure of the crown by Richard the Third; events
which gave James an interval of rest, in which he acted
with unusual firmness and energy. He assembled a parlia¬
ment at Edinburgh, in which the sentence of forfeiture was
pronounced against the duke of Albany and all his adhe¬
rents; he entered into an intimate alliance with Charles the
Eighth of France, and he concluded a truce with Richard
the Third, who was too much occupied with his own compli¬
cated affairs, to have leisure or inclination to continue the
war with Scotland. Thus strengthened, the king found it
no difficult matter to resist the last effort of Albany and
Douglas, who having once more invaded Scotland at the
head of a small force, were completely defeated at Loch-
maben; an event followed not long after by the death
of Douglas, in the abbey of Lindores, where he had been
confined, and of Albany, who was slain in a tournament
in France.
It might have been expected that James, who was thus
delivered from his most powerful enemies, would have been
permitted to reign in peace. But he was destined to be
unfortunate ; and, although his nobles had refused to alter
the succession in favour of his ambitious brother, they soon
after appear to have entered into intrigues with England
for the purpose of placing the crown on the head of his
son, the prince of Scotland, who was then a youth in
his sixteenth year. Much obscurity hangs over the ori¬
gin of this conspiracy. Advances seem first to have been
made by the faction of the prince to Richard the Third,
who, although he was animated by an anxious desire to re¬
main at peace with Scotland, did not scruple to hold out
secret encouragement to James’s enemies. To what ex¬
tent such secret negociations proceeded, it is not easy to
discover; but after the death of Richard they were re¬
newed, and his successor, Henry the Seventh, showed as
little scruple as his predecessor in encouraging the malcon¬
tents.
Five years had now elapsed since the death of Cochrane
the king’s favourite, and the dreadful scenes exhibited in the
camp at Lauder. Since that time a change appears to have
taken place in James’s character. His devotion to study and
retirement had given way to a sense of duty; he had exhibit¬
ed not only capacity for government, but unwonted resolu¬
tion in the attack and discomfiture of his enemies; and, al¬
though the impolitic lenity with which he had treated Al¬
bany was rather a weakness than a virtue, it was believ¬
ed that he was now convinced of his error, and had resolved
that the laws against treason should no longer slumber or
be despised. These reflections filled the barons who had
been conspirators at Lauder with the greatest alarm. They
were well aware that a sentence of treason hung over their
heads. They knew themselves guilty of aggravated offen¬
ces; they had imprisoned the king, usurped the government,
and without regular trial or conviction, had put his favourites
and councillors to death. As long as the chief power had
remained in their own hands, they felt tolerably secure, but
circumstances had once more restored the king to his want¬
ed authority ; and the dread of the retaliation which might
be inflicted, with the certainty that, at all events, their
power would be abridged, appears once more to have driven
them into rebellion. Such at least seems to be the most
probable way of accounting for the rise of that conspiracy
in which this unfortunate prince lost his crown and his life.
The worst feature in the story is the unworthy part acted
in it by his son, afterwards James the Fourth, over whom
the malcontent barons gained a fatal influence, and who,
seduced by the prospect of a crown, lent himself a tool to
the dethronement of his father. When once organized, the
plot proceeded to its maturity, and thence hurried on to Scotland,
its catastrophe with an appalling rapidity.
The two parties of the king and the conspirators first *^ames HI.
tried their mutual strength in a Parliament. It was pro-
posed by the popular faction that an amicable adjustment
of all disputes should take place between themselves and tije two
the sovereign, and that such barons as were still obnoxious parties,
to a charge of treason, should receive a full pardon. To
this the party of the king peremptorily refused their con¬
sent. James, aware of the unworthy conduct of his son, the
heir apparent, created his second son duke of Ormond, and
seemed to point him out as his successor. He at the same
time rewarded the principal barons who had espoused his
interest, and took decisive measures, by the appointment of
vigorous officers, to have the laws against treason severely
administered. These steps convinced his opponents that
their proceedings had been discovered ; and without giving
the monarch time to assemble an army, or even take mea¬
sures for his personal defence, they threw off the mask, broke
out into open rebellion, declared that James the Third, by his
crimes and oppressions, had forfeited all title to the throne,
and proclaimed his son, by the title of James the Fourth.
Even now, had not the king suffered himself to be misled
by his paternal feelings, the conflict might have concluded
in his favour; for it is evident that a large class of the no¬
bility, and the whole body of the people, were against these
nefarious proceedings. So strong was this feeling, that
James, who, on the advance of the rebels to the capital, had
taken refuge in the northern part of his kingdom, soon
found himself at the head of a formidable army, and ad¬
vanced instantly against the insurgents, whom he found
stationed at Blackness, near Linlithgow’.
It was now the time for action, the time for a determin- a.D. 1488
ed execution of those laws which late years had seen so Weakness
constantly treated with contempt. But whether the affec-of James
tionate heart of the monarch sickened at the sight of his
subjects in mortal array against each other, or some symp- -U(j8
toms of disaffection breaking out in his own force renderedJnity t0 the
him apprehensive of their fidelity, James not only consent- prince and
ed to an accommodation, but offered terms to the prince his associ-
and his associates, which were culpably lenient. He per- ates.
mitted the son who had usurped his kingly name and pre¬
rogative, and the subjects who had defied the authority of
the crown and the laws, to negociate with arms in their
hands on a footing of equality. On the part of the mis¬
guided prince, now no longer a boy, no petition for forgive¬
ness, no expression of penitence was suffered to escape. In
the pacification at Blackness, the youth spoke throughout. Treaty of
not as a son conscious that he had offended, but as a sove- Blackness,
reign transacting a treaty with his equal. The treaty, in
truth, was a triumph to the discontented nobles. The
prince and his friends who had encouraged him to resist¬
ance, agreed to become obedient subjects on receiving the
king’s forgiveness, while the monarch not only consented
that their lives, honours, and estates, should be preserved,
but that the household of the heir apparent should be main¬
tained, and his friends and adherents supported with due
dignity. It required little penetration to foresee that the
tranquillity which was established on such a foundation
could not long subsist. It was a confession of weakness
pronounced at a time when firmness at least, if not severity,
was the only guide to the permanent settlement of the
convulsions which agitated the kingdom.
The consequences which any person of ordinary judg- Renewed
ment might have anticipated, were not long of occurring, rebellion of
James retired to his capital, his army was dismissed, the the prince
northern barons, whose valour had saved his crown, werean(1
permitted to return to their estates, and James, anticipat-part^'
ing a continuance of tranquillity, proceeded to reward his
friends and re-organize his court, when he received intelli¬
gence that his son the prince, with the same fierce barons
SCOTLAND.
763
kino
Character
of James
III.
Scotland, who had so lately sworn allegiance, were again in arms, and
'^>-%^^/in more formidable numbers than before. In this emergen-
James IV. cy, indeed, the king acted with courage and promptitude ;
A. D. 1488. but having disbanded the strongest division of his army,
which consisted of his northern barons and their vassals,
the force which he mustered was much inferior to that of
his opponents. It was therefore determined to await in the
capital the arrival of the northern barons ; but unfortun¬
ately this resolution was abandoned, and the monarch with
inferior numbers, attacked the insurgents, who were com¬
manded by the prince his son, at Sauchy Burn, within a
Defeat andm^e Bannockburn. The consequences proved most ca-
death of lamitous. Tlie royal forces, after an obstinate struggle, gave
James III. way to their opponents; and James, flying from the field,
at Sauchy. was murdered by an unknown hand, at a little hamlet call-
A.D. 1488. Miltown, a few miles distant from the field of battle.
He perished in the prime of life, and it is said his youthful
successor was seized with overwhelming remorse on being
James IV informed of the miserable fate of his father. However this
proclaimed may be, he was immediately proclaimed king, and the ho¬
mage of his barons, the early possession of a sceptre, and
the lustre of a court, soon stifled his repentant feelings.
The character of James the Third has been represented
by Boyce, Buchanan, and those writers who have been
contented to follow their authority, as a compound of weak¬
ness, wilfulness, and crime ; a character contradicted by the
history of his reign. It must indeed be admitted, that
James’s indulgent treatment of his rebellious subjects, and of
the prince his son, partook of weakness, although there are
few father’s hearts in which he will not find an advocate ;
but in other respects the best refutation of the ideal pic¬
tures of Buchanan is to be found in the real history of the
reign. James’s misfortunes are, in truth, to be attributed
more to the extraordinary circumstances of the times in
which he lived, than to any flagrant vices or defects in the
monarch himself. At this period, in almost every king¬
dom in Europe with which Scotland was connected, the
power of the great feudal nobles, and that of the sover¬
eign, had been arrayed in jealous hostility against each
other. The time appeared to have arrived when both
parties seemed convinced that they were on the con¬
fines of a great change; that the power of the throne
must either sink under the superior strength of the
greater nobles, or the independence and tyranny of these
feudal tyrants receive a blow from which it would not be
easy for them to recover. In the different countries of
Europe indeed, the result was not uniform, but in all the
same elements of faction were seen arrayed against each
other. Thus, in France, the struggle under Louis the
Eleventh had terminated in favour of the crown ; yet the les¬
son to be derived from it was not lost upon the Scottish
nobility, who were in constant communication with this
country. In Flanders and the states of Holland, they had
before them the spectacle of an independent prince deposed
and imprisoned by his son ; and in Germany the reign of
Frederic the Third, who was contemporary with James^
the Third of Scotland, presented one constant scene of
struggle between the emperor and his nobility, in which
this capricious potentate was uniformly defeated.
There is yet one other observation to be made upon this
remarkable revolution, by which, for the first time in Scot¬
tish history, a king was solemnly deposed by a faction of his
own subjects. Although the barons who led the success¬
ful faction represented themselves as the friends of liber¬
ty, driven to a resistance of royal oppression, the middle
classes and the body of the people took no share in the
struggle. Many individuals belonging to these classes, who
were feudal vassals of the great lords, must no doubt have
been compelled to serve under them; but as far as they
were represented by the commissaries of burghs who sat in
Parliament, they appear in this struggle to have joined the
General
observa¬
tions.
party of the sovereign and the clergy, by whom, during this Scotland,
reign, frequent efforts were made to introduce a more effec- -IJ-f
tual administration of justice, and a greater respect for pro-
perty and the rights of individuals.
Laws, mingled with alternate threats and exhortations,
are to be found upon these subjects in the records of each
successive Parliament of this reign ; but the offenders
continued refractory, and these offenders were the very
men, whose offices, if conscientiously administered, ought
to have secured the rights of the great body of the people.
It was the nobles who were the justiciars, chancellors, cham¬
berlains, sheriffs; and these, it was well known, were often
the worst oppressors, partial and venal in their administra¬
tion of justice, severe in exacting obedience, and opposed
to every right which interfered with their own power.
Their privileges as feudal nobles came repeatedly into
direct collision with their duties as servants of the go¬
vernment, and they made no scruple to sacrifice the last
to the preservation of the first; duty to privilege and
self-interest. It is from this cause that we discern an
honourable distinction between the clergy and the feudal
nobles, in the struggle between the crown and the faction
bv which it was attacked. In this contest, wherever the
greater offices in the government were in the hands of the
clergy, it will be found that they generally supported the
sovereign; when they were entrusted to the nobility they
almost uniformly combined against him.
When James the Fourth succeeded to the throne left James IV.
vacant by the murder of his father, he was in his seventeenth succeeds to
year ; but his character at that early age had vigorously de-1 e 1 rone'
veloped itself, and although it has sometimes been asserted,
there is no reason to believe that the prince had been an
unwilling assistant, or a passive tool in the hands of the
conspirators. Their first care was to hold at Scone the
ceremony of the coronation; their next to conclude a three
years’ truce with England, then under the government of
Henry the Seventh ; their third, to assemble a Parliament
and provide for their own safety, by the forfeiture of their
enemies and the rewards distributed to their friends.
And here it is not unimportant to mark the course which Artful con-
they artfully pursued. If any party in the state were at this duct of the
time liable to a charge of treason, itwas evidently the friends n°l>les.
of the young king, and not the barons w ho had continued
faithful to his father ; but the difference consisted in this, that
the treason of the prince’s party had been accompanied with
success, whereas the resistance of the friends of his father had
been overwhelmed, and himself dethroned and murdered.
They wdio now were in possession of the supreme power,
therefore boldly turned the tables, summoned their opponents
on a charge of treason, and as the facts were notorious, pro¬
nounced sentence against them. rIhey next voted their
own acquittal in strong and significant terms ; and consider¬
ing under whose dictation the act was drawn up, it is diffi¬
cult to read, without a smile, the compliments pronounced
upon their treason, when they declare that their sovereign
lord, and his true barons, who served with him in the field,
were innocent of the late battle and pursuit, and had no
blame in exciting the disturbances which had terminated
so fatally.
The innocence of these barons was however far from A.D. MSS
being generally admitted; and the Parliament had scarcely
risen, when Lennox, Huntly, Marischal, and other power¬
ful chiefs, rose in arms to avenge the death of their king.
Lord Forbes, who had joined them, marched through the
country, bearing the bloody shirt of the unfortunate prince
suspended from a spear; and had it not been for the
promptitude with which their opponents met the enterprise,
the movements of Lennox, who advanced upon Stirling,
might have delivered the country from their domination.
But this chief, betrayed by some of his followers, was sur¬
prised and completely routed by Lord Drummond at Fal-
764 SCOTLAND.
Scotland.
James IV.
A.D. 1489.
Character
of James
IV.
Twenty
years’
peace.
Occupa¬
tions of the
king.
James IV.
recalls his
father’s
councillors.
Andrew
Wood of
Largo.
A.D. 1489.
lamoss; Dunbarton, Lennox’s strongest hold, surrendered,
and the defeat added new strength to the young king and
his friends.
Tranquillity being restored, James, as he approached
manhood, exhibited signs of considerable ability, and en¬
ergy in following up his purposes. Amid a love of plea¬
sure, which had never been restrained by early discipline,
and often hurried him into foolish and criminal excesses,
he did not so far forget himself as to neglect his higher du¬
ties. He cultivated amicable relations with England, re¬
newed the league with France, entered into a commercial
alliance with Denmark, and in a Parliament held in the ca¬
pital, directed his earnest endeavours to the establishment
of good order, and the administration of equal justice
throughout the kingdom. Happily the character of Henry
the Seventh, his caution, sagacity, command of temper, and
earnest desire for peace, were well calculated to check the
ardour and impetuosity of the Scottish prince; and for
twenty years, with the exception of a brief effort made by
James in favour of Perkin Warbeck, the country enjoyed
the blessing of repose.
This interval was wisely occupied by the monarch in
reducing the northern portion of his dominions to obedi¬
ence, and in an attempt, by the frequent convocation of his
parliament, to promulgate useful laws, and, which proved a
more difficult task, enforce their observance. It was evi¬
dent, that as the king grew older, he became convinced
of the fatal errors of his early years, and upbraided himself
for having lent himself to a selfish and unprincipled faction,
who, unless he consulted their wishes and gratified their
ambition, might be disposed to treat him as they had treat¬
ed his father. Aware that they were too powerful to be
quelled, he prudently adopted a safer course, by gradually
recalling to confidence and power the friends and ministers
of his father. Among these, one of the ablest was An¬
drew Wood of Largo. This remarkable man, whose genius
for naval adventure was combined with a powerful intellect
in civil affairs, rose by degrees to be one of James’s most
confidential servants, and appears to have been almost ex¬
clusively trusted in his financial concerns. We find in him
many qualities apparently inconsistent, when judged by
modern notions. He was originally nothing more than an
enterprising merchant; but at this time all merchant ships
were armed, and generally acted on an emergency as ships
of wrar. Wood, therefore, in the course of a life devoted
to mercantile and commercial adventure, had become a
skilful naval commander; and in the commencement of
this reign, when the English privateers infested the narrow
seas and attacked the Scottish shipping, had signalised him¬
self by the capture of five vessels, and the subsequent de¬
feat of a second squadron, commanded by Stephen Bull a
London merchant. These successes endeared him to the
king, who had a passion for naval enterprise, and lost no
opportunity of encouraging such a taste in his nobles. The
advice of such a councillor as Wood, was of essential ser¬
vice to James. His travels in different countries had en¬
larged his mind, and made him ready to adopt their improve¬
ments in various points in which Scotland was behind her
neighbours. He had been an affectionate servant of the late
king; and to his advice we are perhaps to trace the coldness
and severity with which James now began to treat some of
the leaders in the late rebellion. Yet, while the monarch
endeavoured to keep their power in check, he showed his
prudence in abstaining from such severe measures as might
have driven them into open opposition; and combining
firmness with gentleness, he contrived to reconcile the op¬
posite factions among his nobles, and to maintain his own
authority over them all.
In the midst of these cares, the state of the Highlands
occupied his special attention, and the principles of his Scotland,
policy were certainly wise and salutary. He endeavoured
by every means in his power to attach to his interests the James IV-
principal chiefs of these remote districts; he contrived, of^he
through them, to overawe and subdue the petty island princes ° s"
who affected independence ; he carried into their territories,
which had been hitherto too exclusively governed by their
own capricious and often tyrannical institutions, a more
regular and rapid administration of civil and criminal justice,
making them obedient to the same laws which regulated
his lowland dominions; and lastly, he repeatedly visited A.D. 1490.
the Highlands in person. In 1490, on two different occa¬
sions, the king rode from Perth across the “ Mount,” a term
applied to the chain of mountains which extends from the
Mearns to the head of Loch Hannoch, accompanied by his
chief lords and councillors. In 1493, he twice penetrated A.D. 1493,
into the Highlands, and in the succeeding year thrice visit¬
ed the isles.
One of these voyages, undertaken in 1494, during the James’s
spring months, was conducted with great state. He was voyage to
accompanied by his chief ministers, his household, and a High-
considerable fleet, many of the vessels composing which 111
were fitted out by the nobles at their own expense. The
pomp of the armament was well calculated to impress up¬
on such wild districts an idea of the wealth and military
power of the prince; while the rapidity of his progress,
the success with which he punished all who braved his
power, his generosity to those who sued for mercy, his fami¬
liarity with the lower classes of his subjects, and his own
gay manners, increased his popularity, and confirmed the
ties of allegiance. On arriving in this voyage at Tarbert
in Kentire, James repaired the fort originally built there by
Bruce, established an emporium for his shipping, transported
thither his artillery, and by such wise and energetic pre¬
cautions, ensured peace to districts which formerly had de¬
rided the royal vengeance. The chiefs, aware that the king
could carry hostilities at a short warning into the heart of
their territories, submitted to a force which it would have
been vain to resist. One only, the Lord of the Isles, had Forfeiture
the folly to defy the royal vengeance, and soon repented of the Lord
his temerity. He was summoned to take his trial for trea-of the^sles
son, pronounced guilty, stripped of his almost regal power,
and his lands and possessions forfeited to the crown.
We must now advert for a moment to a singular episode Perkin
in the history of the country. Perkin Warbeck, whose Warbeck
mysterious story still offers some field for historical scepti- jnn^cot*
cism, after his first unsuccessful attempt upon the English
crown, took refuge in Scotland in the year 1495. There
seems strong ground for suspecting that James, at the re¬
quest of the duchess of Burgundy, had embraced the inte-
restsof this adventurer at a much earlier period than is gene¬
rally suspected ; butwhetherhe really believed him to be the
prince whose name he assumed, or whether he was induced
to espouse his cause as a means of weakening England, is
not easily discoverable. It is certain, however, that in 1494,
the Scottish king had projected an invasion of England in
favour of the duke of York, and that the plan miscarried
by the treachery of Perkin’s friends.
On the arrival of the mysterious stranger at his court, JamesJj1"
James at once received him with royal honours, gave him ^ swjt^‘
in marriage a lady connected with the royal family,1 collected \yarbeck.
an army, and, attended by Warbeck, invaded Northumber¬
land. But the proceeding was rash and impolitic; and its
author found, within a short time, that the cause of Per¬
kin was unpopular in England, and the war unaccepta¬
ble to his own subjects. So deep was the national antipa¬
thy between the two nations, that the English no sooner
saw the claimant of the crown invading their country at
the head of a Scottish force, than they suddenly cooled in
* Catherine Gordon, the daughter of the Earl of Huntly.
SCOTLAND.
765
Scotland.
James IV.
A.D.1497.
Perkin
leaves
Scotland.
James's
wise con¬
duct to his
nobility.
Increase of
the power
of the
Crown.
tlieir enthusiasm; and the desolating fury with which James
conducted hostilities, supported by a body of foreign mer¬
cenaries, completed their disgust. It was evident to the
king that Henry the Seventh held his crown by a tenure
too firm to be shaken by so feeble a hand as Perkin’s ; and
having drawn back his army, he soon after concluded a
truce with England, and refusing to deliver him to Henry,
took measures for his quiet and amicable retreat from his
dominions.
These negotiations having been concluded, James had
leisure to attend to his affairs at home. He was aware that
the chief errors of his father’s reign were to be traced to
his neglect of the great body of his nobility. To reign
without their cordial co-operation was impossible, as long
as Scotland remained a feudal kingdom; and it was happy
for this prince that the course of conduct which his own
disposition prompted him to pursue, was the best calculated
to render him a favourite with this influential body. Under
the reign of his father the nobles had little intercourse with
their prince. They lived in gloomy independence at a dis¬
tance from court, resorted thither only on occasions of state
or counsel; and when parliament was ended, or the emer¬
gency had passed away, they returned to their castles full
of complaints against a system which made them strangers
to their sovereign and ciphers in the government.
All this was happily changed under the present monarch.
Affable in his manners, a lover of magnificence, and a still
greater lover of mirth and pleasure, the prince delighted to
see himself encircled by a splendid nobility. He bestowed
upon his highest barons those offices in his household which
ensured their attendance upon his person; his court became
a scene of perpetual amusement, in which his nobles la¬
boured to surpass each other in extravagance and revelry;
and while they impoverished themselves, they became more
dependent upon the sovereign. In this manner the seclu¬
sion of their own castles became irksome to them; as their
residence on their estates was less frequent, the ties which
bound their vassals to their service were loosened; and the
consequences proved in every way favourable to the royal
Stntt; if
the navy.
The king
encour¬
ages his
fisheries,
his navy,
and his
commerce.
authority.
James now turned his principal attention to his navy. It
is well known that at this moment the maritime enterprises
of the Portuguese, and the discoveries of Columbus, had
created a wonderful sensation throughout Europe. Even
the cautious and calculating spirit of Henry the Seventh
had caught fire at the triumphs of naval enterprise; and an
expedition which sailed from England under the command
of John Cabot, a Venetian merchant, and his son Sebastian,
was rewarded by the discovery of North America. These
successes roused the adventurous spirit of the Scottish king,
and as Scotland had hitherto been deficient in any thing
approaching to a navy, he became eager to supply the
want, and maintain his place with other continental king¬
doms. With this view, he paid great attention to his fish¬
eries, and to foreign commerce, the best nurseries of sea¬
men ; and those enterprising merchants and hardy mariners
who had hitherto speculated solely on their own capital, found
themselves encouraged by the king and the government..
In a former parliament, complaints had been made of the
want of boats to be employed in the fisheries, and of the
wealth lost to the country from the few ships to be found
in its sea-ports. It was now provided, that vessels of twenty
tons and upwards, should be built in all the principal sea¬
ports, and that all stout vagrants found in these districts
should be impressed, and compelled to learn the trade of
mariners. Among his merchants and private traders were
many men of ability, whom the king treated with favour.
He exhorted them to extend their voyages, to arm their
trading ships, to import artillery, and to build ships of force
at home. Nor was this all. He studied the subject of his
navy, and made himself personally familiar with its details ;
he practised gunnery, embarked in little experimental voy- Scotland,
ages, conversed with his mariners, and visited familiarly at
the houses of his merchants and sea officers, by whom his James IV-
fame was carried to foreign countries. All this was useful.
The best foreign artizans being sure of a generous recep¬
tion, flocked to Scotland from France, Italy, and the Low
Countries ; and if the king’s credulity sometimes encourag¬
ed impostors, his enthusiasm also collected round him men
of real knowledge and experience.
While we advert to these laudable exertions of the king, University
the labours of an enlightened prelate for the dissemination 0f Aber-
of useful learning, ought not to be passed over. Scotland, deen
at this period, possessed only two universities, St. Andrews, founded
founded in the beginning of the fifteenth century, and Glas-
gow, founded in 1453. To these Elphinstone, bishop of Aber¬
deen, now added a third. The papal bull was issued in 1494,
but the buildings of King’s College were not completed till
about the year 1500. It supported professors of divinity,
of the civil and canon law, of medicine, and of classical litera¬
ture, in which its first principal, Hector Boece or Boyce, was
no contemptible proficient. Soon after this, James married Marriage of
the princess Margaret of England, daughter of Henry the the king,
Seventh ; a wise and politic alliance, although in the mar- A-D. 1502.
riage treaty the diplomatic skill and penurious habits of her
father seemed to have gained a victory over the Scottish
commissioners.
From the public rejoicings that followed his nuptials, Northern
the king was called to repress a rebellion in the north, which rebellion,
appears to have been excited by an imprudent alteration A.D. 1505,
in the policy hitherto pursued in these quarters. This had 1^06.
led to a confederation of the Highland chiefs, who deter¬
mined to reinstate in his insular sovereignty the grandson
of the last lord of the Isles; and so deep was the discontent,
that it required the utmost efforts of the prince to restore
these remote districts to tranquillity. In this he at last
succeeded, divided them into new sheriffdoms, repaired and
garrisoned the castles in the hands of the crown, and sent
Wood and Barton, two of his best officers, with a small
squadron to co-operate with Arran, his lieutenant-general,
in reducing the insurgent chiefs. Having adopted these
measures, which were soon followed by the complete re-es¬
tablishment of tranquillity, James, at the head of a consi¬
derable force, visited the border districts, and, assisted by
LordDacre, the English warden, compelled the Armstrongs,
Jardines, and other powerful septs, to forsake their habits
of plunder, and respect the laws. He then proceeded by
negotiations to strengthen his pacific relations with France,
and the Netherlands; while he prudently resisted the solici¬
tations of Pope Julius the Second, who endeavoured to
detach him from his alliance with Louis, and to induce him
to join the emperor and the Venetians in their attempt to
check the successes of the French in Italy.
Not long after this, occurred the death of Henry the 1509.
Seventh, an event unfavourable to Scotland. The proud, Henry
capricious, and tyrannical character of his son and sue-VIII.
cessor Henry the Eighth, rendered him little qualified to8110^^8^0
respect or preserve the pacific relations with that coun*^one8*1^
try, which had been wisely cultivated by his father; and it
soon appeared that the Scottish prince, a spirited monarch,
jealous of his own dignity, and little accustomed to dictation,
was not disposed to submit to it from his brother-in-law.
Matters proceeded smoothly for some time ; but when Quarrel be-
Henry the Eighth engaged in war with France, the ancient tween
ally of Scotland, James at once warmly espoused the party James IV.
of Louis, and although against the best interests of his king- an^ Henry,
dom, suffered himself to be drawn into the quarrel. The
history of the war is well known. Julius the Second hav¬
ing, in conjunction with Ferdinand of Spain, gained all he
wished, by the league of Cambray, became alarmed at
the progress of the French in Italy, and to check their arms,
prevailed upon Henry the Eighth, whose imagination had
766
SCOTLAND.
Scotland, lately been dazzled by dreams of’ Edward the Third and
Henry the Fifth, to invade France. Louis, on the other
James IV- hand, negotiated with James the Fourth, and to embarrass
A. . 1513. t]ie 0f> £ng]an^ inc}uced him to declare war against
Henry the Eighth. It was a fatal resolution ; but the Scot¬
tish prince was beloved by his people, and so popular wdth
the great body of his nobles, that his appeal to arms was
answered by the muster of one of the most numerous
and best equipped armies, and one of the most formidable
fleets ever fitted out by the country.
The Scot- The fleet amounted to twenty-three sail, of which thir-
t'sh teen were large ships, the rest small armed craft. Of this
c i peisj( • jn-fnamcnt tpe destination was Ireland, but its command was
entrusted to the earl of Arran, an officer of no experience
in naval affairs; and the result was its total dispersion and
discomfiture. The land army, on the other hand, which
was led by the king in person, amounted to a force little
short of a hundred thousand strong, with which James in¬
vaded England, and after some slight successes, encamped
in a strong position on the hill or rising ground ofFloddon,
one of the last and lowest eminences which detach them¬
selves from the range of the Cheviots. It was a strong
position, impregnable on each flank, and in front defended
by the Till, a deep and sluggish stream, which is tributary to
the Tweed.
Defeat of Henry the Eighth, before passing with his army into
the Scottish France, had entrusted the defence of his kingdom to the
army at earl 0f Surrey, a brave and experienced officer, who lost no
9tli Sept. time in col,ecting a force with which, although it did not
A.D. 1513. amoun*; number of the Scots, he did not hesi¬
tate to march against the king. But what he wanted in
numbers, Surrey supplied by military experience and cool¬
ness ; while James, blind, obstinate, and attending only
to the dictates of his personal courage, threw away his ad¬
vantages both of numbers and position. The result w as one
of the most calamitous defeats ever experienced before or
since by Scotland. Surrey was permitted by the king to
cross the Fill in the face of his army. Contrary to the re¬
monstrances of his veteran officers, he would suffer no one
to attack him; although the moment was so favourable
that, if Angus, Lindsay, and Huntly had been allowed to
charge with their men, nothing less than a miracle could
have saved the English earl. To the entreaties of Borth-
wick, the master of his artillery, he was equally obstinate.
Had the guns been brought to bear upon the enemy when
crossing the bridge of the Till, they must either have been
beaten back or thrown into such disorder as would have ex¬
posed them to immediate rout; but this too the king would
not suffer. With amazing folly he renounced the use of
his artillery, that arm of war which, with so great care
and expense, he had strengthened or rather created, at the
very moment it became serviceable, and might have saved
himself and his army. What James’s motive was in this,
unless the indulgence of some idle chivalrous punctilio, it is
impossible to discover; but its consequences were grievous.
Surrey completed his arrangements, passed the ford and the
bridge, marshalled his army at leisure, and placing his en¬
tire line between James and his country, advanced by an
easy ascent upon the rear of the Scottish army. Upon this
the king set fire to the huts and temporary booths of his en¬
campment, and descended the hill with the object of pre¬
occupying an eminence on which the village of Branksome
1S, .u' army was divided into five battles, some of
which had assumed the form of squares, some of wedges, all
being drawn up in a line about a bow-shot distance from
each other. The enemy were divided into turn battles, each
of which had two wings. The English van was led by lord
I homas and lord Edmund Howard, Surrey himself com-
* manded the centre of the host, Sir Edward Stanley and
lord Dacre the rear and the reserve. On the side of the
Scots, Huntly and Hume led the advance, the king the
centre, and the earls of Lennox and Argyll the rear. The Scotland,
battle commenced at four in the afternoon, and after an s Y
obstinate contest, which continued till nightfall, concluded James V.
in the total defeat of the Scots. Among the slain was A.D. 1513.
the king himself, who, surrounded by a circle of his nobles,
had fought whth desperate courage, besides thirteen earls,
and fifteen lords and chiefs of clans. The loss of common
soldiers was estimated at ten thousand men. Of the gentry it
is impossible to say how many were slain. Scarcely'a family
of note could say that they had not lost one or more rela¬
tives, while some had to lament the death of all their sons.
Whether we regard this miserable slaughter of the sove¬
reign with the flower of his nobility and country, or look to
the long and sickening train of national calamities w-hich it
entailed upon the kingdom, it is not too much to pronounce
the battle of Floddon the greatest national misfortune ever
endured by Scotland.
The character of the unfortunate monarch who thus Character
perished in the prime of life, for James had not completed of James
his forty-second year, was marked by very contradictory IT",
qualities. Although devoted to his pleasures, wilful, and
impetuous, he was energetic and indefatigable in the ad¬
ministration of justice, a patron of all the useful arts, and
laudably zealous for the introduction of law and order into
the remotest parts of his dominions. The commerce and the
agriculture of the country, the means of increasing the na¬
tional security, the navy, the fisheries, the manufactures,
were all subjects of interest to him ; and his genuine kind¬
ness of heart, and accessibility to the lowest classes of his
subjects, rendered him deservedly beloved. Yet he plung¬
ed needlessly into all the miseries of war, and his thirst for
individual honour, and an obstinate adherence to his own
judgment, led to the sacrifice of his army and his life, and
once more exposed the kingdom to the complicated evils of
a minority.
The news of defeat always flies rapidly, and the full ex- Coronation
tent of thenational calamity soon became known in the capital, of James
which wras seized with the utmost sorrow and terror. The ^
magistrates, with the forces of the borough, had joined theA,rU513,
king’s army, and many of them shared his fate; but the
merchants, to wLom their powers had been deputed, acted
with much firmness and spirit. They armed the townsmen,
published a proclamation, enjoining the women who were
seen waiting in the streets to cease their lamentations, and
repair to the churches, w here they might pray for their lords
and husbands, and took all the necessary precautions to de¬
fend the city in the event of any immediate attack. Soon
afterwards the welcome intelligence arrived that Surrey, hav¬
ing suffered severely in the battle, had disbanded his host,
and a breathing interval was allowed. The infant king was
crowned at Scone, the castle of Stirling appointed as his
residence, the government of it entrusted to lord Borth-
wick, and the archbishop of Glasgow, with the earls of
Huntly and Angus, selected to be the councillors of the
queen-mother, till a parliament should assemble. At the
same time suspicions seem to have arisen that too much
influence in the government ought not to be given to this
princess, whose near connection with England might sub- The Duke
ject her to foreign influence; and a secret message was dis-?f Albany
patched to France inviting the duke of Albany, the next 'nvlted
heir to the throne, to repair to Scotland and assume the of- ^°m
flee of regent. *rance’
It was necessary, in the mean time, to consider the best State of
schemes for the restoration of tranquillity and the preserva- Scotland,
tion of order under the shock which a defeat so terrible had
given to the country; and the prospect which presented it ¬
self, on taking a general view of the condition of the king¬
dom, was discouraging. The dignified clergy, a class of
men who were undoubtedly the ablest and the best educat¬
ed in Scotland, from whose ranks the state had been
accustomed to look for its wisest councillors, were divid-
SCOTLAND.
767
Scotland, ed into factions among themselves occasioned by the va-
cant benefices. The archbishop of St. Andrews, the pre-
James V. lates of Caithness and the Isles, and other ecclesiastical
A.D. 1513. (ligmtarigs, had fallen in the field of Floddon; and the intri¬
gues ofthe various claimants for these high prizes distracted
Character the church and the council. There were evils also to be dread-
of the ed from the character and youth of the queen-mother. Mar-
Queen-mo-garet had been married at fourteen, and was now only twenty-
ther. four. Her talents were excellent, as we know from the testi¬
mony of such able judges as Surrey, Dacre, and Wolsey; but
in some points she too nearly resembled her brother Henry
the Eighth. She was hasty in her resentment, headstrong,
and often ready to sacrifice her calmer judgment to her
passion or her pleasure ; and in her thirst for powrer or per¬
sonal gratification she sometimes cared as little for the puri¬
ty of the means by which these objects were accomplished.
She is made Soon after the death of the late king this princess gave birth
regent. to a son, who was named Alexander, and created duke of
A.D. 1514. Ross ; and in a parliament, which met after her recovery,
she was confirmed in the office of regent, and entrusted
with the custody of the young king and his brother.
At this moment the most powerful nobles in Scotland
were the earls of Angus, Home, Huntly, and Crawford.
Angus wielded the whole strength of the house of Douglas;
Home was chamberlain, and commanded the eastern bor¬
ders ; while Huntly and Crawford ruled the northern dis¬
tricts. The earl of Arran, in the mean time, arrived from
France along with the Sieur de la Bastie, who had been a
favourite of the late king, and brought a message from the
duke of Albany. Arran was nearly related to the royal
family, and entitled, by his high birth, and the office of Lord
High Admiral which he held, to act a leading part in the
government; but his talents were of an inferior order, and
unable to compete with the trying circumstances in which
the country was placed.
The Scarcely had the queen recovered from her confinement
Queen mo-wtien she married the earl of Angus, a nobleman of great
nes" the*"" and personal attractions, but, in the words
Earl of lort* Dacre, “ childish, young, and attended by no wise
Angus. councillors.” Had the princess entered into a second mar¬
riage after due consultation had been held with the coun¬
cil assigned to her by parliament, and after a decent inter¬
val, no one could have blamed her. She was yet in the
bloom of her best years, and from her youth, as well as her
high rank and the important duties entrusted to her, she
required the protection of a husband ; but the precipitation
with which she hurried into the match with Angus was
scarcely decorous, and certainly unwise, nor was it long be¬
fore she bitterly repented her choice.
The coun- The first effects of this unfortunate step was to increase
try divided the bitterness of the pre-existing feuds amongst the nobles.
Home and Angus marshalled themselves and their vassals
against each other; Arran, assisted by Lennox and Glen-
cairn, aspired to the regency ; Beaton, archbishop of Glas¬
gow, an intriguing prelate, supported the interests of Albany
and the French faction ; while Huntly, lord Drummond,
and the earl Marischal gave their influence to Angus and
the queen, who courted Henry the Eighth, and took the
name of the English party. At this unfortunate crisis the
country received a new blow in the death of Elphinstone,
who had been nominated archbishop of St. Andrews. For
the vacant primacy there were three competitors; Gawin
Douglas, uncle to the earl of Angus, Hepburn, prior of St.
Andrews, and Forman, bishop of Moray, respectively no¬
minated by the queen, the chapter, and the pope. These
ambitious ecclesiastics scrupled not to muster their armed
vassals, and to vindicate their claims by an appeal to the
sword, an indecent spectacle, which could not fail to lower
the church in the eyes of the people.
It wras under this deplorable state of things that Henry
the Eighth carried to perfection a base system already be-
into fac
tions.
gun by his father, that of keeping in pay a number of spies Scotland,
and pensioned supporters. He bribed the Scottish nobles,
entertained a constant correspondence with the queen his JaIT>es V.
sister, and even went so far as to propose her flight with
the young king and his brother to the English court. It
may give us some idea of the loose principles of some of
the leading men, that Angus and his uncle, Gawin Dou¬
glas, who ranks higher as a poet than a politician, did not he¬
sitate to give their countenance to a plan which amounted
to nothing short of treason.
In the midst of these scenes the duke of Albany arrived Arrival of
from France, and assumed the regency; but unfortunately ^ Duke of
his determined predilection for the French interests was ^
as unacceptable to many of the wisest and best men in the ^ pj,arat/
country, as the queen and Angus’s devotion to England. ter>
At this moment Scotland required an upright and vigor¬
ous governor, animated by a sincere love of his country,
and who could hold the balance with judgment between
contending parties. But Albany was ignorant of the con¬
stitution, of the language, and of the manners of the coun¬
try. His family also made him an object of suspicion, his fa¬
ther having traitorously attempted to seize the crown. He
was the son of a French mother, had married a French wo¬
man, and having his chief estates in France, constantly
styled the French king his master ; nor does it appear that
either his talents or his temper were calculated to counter¬
balance such disadvantages.
On his assumption of the government the effects of all Albany as-
this were soon perceived. The queen refused to give up the sumes the
custody of the infant monarch ; Home, the chamberlain, g°vern-
threw himself into the arms of England ; Angus, guidedmellt’
solely by selfishness and the ambition of becoming chief
ruler, deserted his wife, the queen. France, instead of as¬
sisting her ancient ally to defeat the intrigues of Henry the
Eighth, which were carried on by his able minister lord Dacre,
first betrayed strong symptoms of a change of policy, and
at length refused to renew the alliance with Scotland ; and
although Albany, amid these difficulties, acted with con¬
siderable spirit and ability, it was impossible for him to com¬
pose the jarring elements, or restore tranquillity and order
to the country.
Dissatisfied and dispirited, he retired for a few years to He returns
France, and returned to Scotland only to find the dangers10 France,
which threatened the kingdom more imminent, and the task
of encountering them more difficult. In his absence De la
Bastie, the person who enjoyed his chief confidence, and
to whom he had entrusted the offices of warden of the
marches and deputy governor, was murdered by the Homes
in the most savage manner. The Highlands and Isles, long
deprived of regular government, were torn by various fac¬
tions, and exhibited scenes of the wildest excesses. And
Angus, whose feudal power was far too great for a subject,
had acted in open defiance of the laws, and domineered in
the most tyrannical manner over all who dared to oppose
his commands. The arrival of Albany compelled this chief
to fly from the capital, and the regent exerted himself
with the utmost vigour to put down the despotism ofthe Dou¬
glases. He was forthwith reconciled to the queen, received Albany's
from her the keys of the castle of Edinburgh, and with return,
them the custody of the young king; he assembled a par- A D.1521.
liament, summoned the Douglases to answer a charge of
treason, and, although thwarted in his administration by the
intrigues of lord Dacre and the treachery and venality of
the Scottish nobles, he compelled Angus, his principal ene¬
my, to leave the kingdom.
It would be difficult, and if easy, uninstructive, to enter State of the
into the history of this period, when the country was torn kingdom,
by contending factions, and exposed to all the miseries inci¬
dent to a feudal minority. Albany’s worst enemies were lord
Dacre and the Anglo-Scotican party which he kept in his
pay. It was his policy to throw distrust and suspu ion up-
768
SCOTLAND.
Scotland.
James V.
A. D. 1522,
War with
England.
A. D. 1522.
Albany’s
second
visit to
France.
He returp •
to Scot¬
land.
on every measure of the regent and the queen ; to represent
the regent as avaricious and tyrannical, to accuse him of a
design to seize the crown, and to insinuate that the king’s
life was not safe in his custody. All of these tales are to
be found in his correspondence with his master, Henry the
Eighth, and there can be little doubt that the greater por¬
tion of them were false, and the whole grossly exaggerated.
So at least we must judge from the conduct of the Scot¬
tish Parliament, which treatedamessage, soon afterwards sent
byHenry the Eighth, and founded upon these idle accusations,
with a calm and resolute denial. This monarch, acting up¬
on the impulse of the moment, and thwarted by the politic
measures of the Regent, had dispatched a herald, who con¬
veyed a severe reprimand to the queen, and, at the same
time, insisted that the Scottish nobles should instantly dis¬
miss Albany. Their reply to this haughty communication
was spirited and dignified. They derided the fears express¬
ed for the life of the young king, declaring that Albany was
a faithful servant of the country, and had been invited by
themselves to assume the regency. “ Here it is our plea¬
sure,” said they, “that he shall remain, nor shall he be per¬
mitted or enjoined to depart at the request of your grace,
or any other sovereign prince. And as to the threat of
hostilities, (thus they concluded their answer), if, because w^e
assert our own rights, we should happen to be invaded, what
may we do but trust that God will espouse our just quarrel,
and demean ourselves, as our ancestors have done before us,
who, in ancient times, were constrained to fight for the conser¬
vation of this realm, and that with good success and honour?”
This answer was followed, on the part of Henry, by an
immediate declaration of war. The earl of Shrewsbury, at
the head of the force of the northern counties, invaded Scot¬
land on the side of the Merse and Teviotdale; an English
fleet ravaged and laid waste the coasts of the Frith of Forth;
and Albany the Regent retaliated by breaking into England
at the head of a large army. He was driven to this solel)
by a desire to vindicate the national honour; for he seems
to have been conscious of the disadvantages which attended
a war with England, and he knew that the majority of the
nobles were animated by the same feelings. Under these
circumstances he wisely determined to follow Bruce’s prin¬
ciples as to wrar with this country, to avoid any protracted
invasion, not to hazard a general battle, and while he showed
a determination to maintain the independence of the country,
and to resist any foreign dictation, to evince at the same
time his readiness to conclude an honourable peace.
The same disposition being evinced by lord Dacre, the
minister to whom Henry entrusted the management of
Scottish affairs, a truce was concluded ; but Albany, on dis¬
banding his army and resuming his civil duties, found him¬
self surrounded with difficulties. Nothing indeed could be
more complicated or irksome, than the various contending
interests which he had to understand and reconcile. His
engagements with France prompted him to continue the
war with England; his better judgment admonished him to
remain at peace. Amid the universal corruption and selfish¬
ness which infected the body of the nobles, many of whom
wTere in the pay of England, he looked in vain for any one to
whom he could give confidence, or entrust with the execu¬
tion ofhis designs, while the queen-mother, with wrhom he had
hitherto acted, betrayed him, and corresponded with Dacre.
I he impossibility of overcoming these intricate evils with¬
out a more powerful military force than he could at present
bring into the field, induced the Regent once more to pass
into France, for the purpose of holding a conference with
brands the First, on the best method of reducing the
English faction. A council of regency was appointed, con¬
sisting of Huntly, Arran, Argyll, and Gonzolles, a French
knight, in whom Albany placed great confidence ; and after
an absence of some months, during which the war again
broke out with great fury, he revisited Scotland, bringing
with him a fleet of eighty-seven small vessels, in which he Scotland,
had embarked a fine body of six thousand foreign troops.
With this strong reinforcement he hoped to gain a pre- Jaines W
ponderating influence over the nobility, and to decide the p aJ,wljh
contest with England ; but he was miserably disappointed, a'd I593.
The presence of foreign troops, always unacceptable to a
people jealous of their rights, was particularly so to the Scots,
who were poor, and had to support the foreigners at a great
expense. This rendered the war unpopular with the great
body of the nation; the queen-dowager was devoted to Eng¬
land; and the nobles, although prepared to assemble an army
for the defence of the borders, were opposed to any invasion
of England upon a great scale, or to a war of continued ag¬
gression. As many of these barons, however, were at that
moment receiving pensions from France, the payment of
which any too decided demonstration might have interrupt¬
ed, they artfully concealed their repugnance. An army of
forty thousand men mustered on the Borough-moor beside
Edinburgh, and Albany, taking the command in person,
advanced to the borders; but on arriving at Melrose the
mask was dropped, the leaders showed symptoms of insubor¬
dination, the soldiers catching the infection, murmured
against the foreign mercenaries, and discontent gathering
strength, at last broke out in an open refusal to advance.
No entreaties or threats of the Regent could overcome this
resolution; and after a short season, news arrived that the
earl of Surrey, having assembled an army, was advancing
against them. The intelligence of his speedy approach
strengthened the Scottish nobles in their determination not
to risk a battle. So completely had the majority of them Albany re-
been corrupted by the money and intrigues of Dacre and treats,
the queen-dowager, that Albany did not venture to place
them in the front, but formed his advance of the French
auxiliaries and his artillery, the single portion of this army
which had acted with spirit. To have attempted to fight
Surrey with these alone, would have been the extremity of
rashness, to have awaited the advance of the English earl
with an army which refused to proceed against the enemy,
might have rendered defeat inevitable. In these critical
circumstances, Albany, who has been unjustly attacked by
some ill-informed writers, adopted the only alternative which
was safe or honourable. He disbanded the Scottish portion
ofhis army, and he himself retreated with his French auxili¬
aries and his artillery to Eccles, from which, after a short
season, he returned to the capital, and here he assembled
the parliament.
Its proceedings, as might have been anticipated, were A Parlia-
distracted and impeded by mutual accusations and com- ment as-
plaints. The Regent could not conceal his animosity tosem^le^'
those leaders who had so recently deserted him almost in
the presence of the enemy. The nobles recriminated; they
blamed him for squandering the public treasure, and not¬
withstanding the inclement season of the year, insisted on
his dismissing the foreign troops, whose residence had be¬
come burdensome. All this was calculated to disgust and
mortify the governor; and he requested permission to retire
once more to France, for the purpose of holding a conference
with Francis the First, and inducing him to grant him further
assistance against the designs of England. His request was
complied with, on the condition that if he did not return to
Scotland within a limited period, the league with France,
and his own regency, should be considered as at an end. In
the mean season, the custody of the king’s person was en¬
trusted to the lords Cassillis, Fleming, Borthwick, and
Erskine, while the chief management of affairs was com¬
mitted to a council, composed of the chancellor, the bishop
of Aberdeen, and the earls of Huntly and Argyll. Having Albany
made these arrangements, the duke of Albany quitted the leaves
kingdom, convinced, in all probability, of the impossibility ®C(^,ar"L
of reconciling the various factions and interests by which it ‘ ’
was torn in pieces. Although he gave hopes that his absence
SCOTLAND.
769
Scotland, should not exceed three months, there is strong reason for
believing that when he embarked it was with the resolution,
James V. which he fulfilled, of never returning to Scotland.
Revolution ^ departure of Albany, it soon became apparent
in the go- a secret understanding had for some time been main-
vernment. tained between two of the most powerful factions in the coun¬
try, and that his leaving the kingdom was the signal for
the breaking out of an important revolution. The chief
actors were the earl of Arran and the queen-mother, and
there is ample evidence that their proceedings were agree¬
able to England. The young king was now in his thirteenth
year, and his mother and Arran, having gained to their in¬
terest the peers to whom his person had been entrusted,
carried him from Stirling to Edinburgh, proceeded to the
Palace of Holyrood, declared in a council that he had as¬
sumed the government, and issued proclamations in his
name. The peers of Margaret’s party then tendered their
allegiance, abjured their engagements lately made with
Albany, declared his regency at an end, and promised
to maintain henceforth the authority of their sovereign,
tunfs from ^ waS ^ ev^ent object of the queen and Arran to ob-
France. ta‘n’ ky revolution, the entire command of the govern-
His base orient. The measure was remonstrated against, in the strong-
conduct. est manner, by the bishops of St. Andrews and Aberdeen.
They represented the utter folly of conferring the supreme
poweronaboy of twelve yearsold,and they stated, with truth,
that Albany was still the Regent; but Margaret, supported
by her brother Henry the Eighth, who hoped, through her,
to govern Scotland, proved too strong for these prelates, and
for a while her schemes succeeded. It was, however, only
for a short season. Jealousies arose between her and Arran,
who, from his near relationship to the crown, aspired to the
chief power. The queen, whose love for Angus, her husband,
had long since turned into hatred, fixed her affections on
Henry Stewart, a son of lord Evandale, raised him to the
office of treasurer, and could she obtain a divorce, deter¬
mined to marry him; and Henry the Eighth, who began to
find her demands too importunate, and her obedience pro¬
blematical, recalled the earl of Angus from France, with
the design of making him an instrument in his projects for
the reduction of Scotland. This baron appears to have in¬
creased in experience and talent for intrigue, by his resid¬
ence in that country, but not in public principle ; andhisfirst
step was to sell himself to Henry in a secret treaty, by which
he engaged to support the English interests in Scotland.
In return, he and his brother, Sir George Douglas, hoped,
by Henry’s aid, to place themselves at the head of the
government, and to be restored to the vast estates and power
which they had lost.
The arrival of Angus in his native country, was the signal
for immediate hostilities between him and the queen-mother,
his wife, wrho had raised Henry Stewart to the office of
chancellor, and detested her husband, in proportion to the
progress of her avowed and indecent attachment to this
favourite. Hitherto she and her supporters, Arran, Lennox,
and the master of Kilmaurs, had been supported by pensions
from the English court, and in return, had favoured the
views of Henry the'Eighth; but the principles of this venal
association were of course capricious and selfish, and the
arrival of Angus, who now wielded the power of the Doug¬
lases, threatened to break it to pieces.
Miserable The country, indeed, presented a miserable spectacle; a
state of the minor sovereign deserted by those who owed him allegiance '
country. ancj SUpp0rt, while his kingdom was left a prey to the ra¬
pacity of interested councillors, and exposed to the attacks
of a powerful neighbour, whose object was to reduce it to
the condition of a dependant province. In such circum¬
stances it is certainly a matter of wonder that it retained
its liberty.
Three factions struggled for the pre-eminence, and tore
the country in pieces. The first was that of Albany, the late
VOL. XIX.
regent, which was supported by French influence, and con- Scotland,
ductedby the chancellor Beaton; the second had for itsleaders^^^v^^^
the earl of Arran and the queen-regent, who held the king’s y*
person, and possessed the chief executive power ; at the head
of the third were the earl of Angus and his able brother
George Douglas, who were wedded to the interests of the
English government. It is impossible, within our limits, and
it would be uninstructive, to enter into a detail of the con¬
tinued plots and intrigues which constitute the sickening
history of this period. It soon became apparent that the AngUS 0b_
party of the queen-mother was the weakest. Arran, a ca- tains pos-
priciousman, deserted her; her private conductrendered her session of
disreputable in the eyes of the people; and soon afterwards a ffi6 king’s
coalition between Beaton the chancellor and Angus, carriedPerson*
the whole power of Albany’s party to a union with the house
of Douglas. Margaret sunk under this, and consented to a
negotiation. She resigned the custody of her son to a
council of peers nominated byparliament,and,strippedof her
power, consented to a reconciliation with Angus, her hus¬
band, in whom, along with the chancellor Beaton, the chief
power in the government now centered. A feeble effort
indeed was made by Arran to destroy the influence of the
united factions ; but the armed force with which he advanced
to Linlithgow was dispersed by the prompt attack ofDouglas,
and the address of this politic baron soon afterwards prevail¬
ed on Arran to join his party.
The earl of Angus had now gained a complete triumph
over his enemies. He possessed the person of the young
king, he was assisted by the talents and experience of the
chancellor Beaton, he had witnessed the gradual decay of
the faction of Albany and the French monarch, and he
had been joined by Arran, who, although personally a weak
man, from his high birth and great estates possessed much
power. His first step was wise and temperate. A pacification
for three years was concluded with England; and it was
hoped that this might be followed by a marriage between
the young king and Henry’s daughter, the princess Mary,
a measure which, if guarded so as to preserve the independ¬
ence of Scotland, might have been attended with the hap¬
piest results.
The country, so long distracted by border war and internal Decay of
anarchy, might now, under a judicious administration, have French in.
looked forward to something like tranquillity. Had Angusfluence
been reconciled to the queen, his wife; had he been con-Scotla,u1'
tented with his recovery of greater power than he had lost,
and been willing to administer the government with justice
and moderation; there was every reason to hope for the
maintenance of peace, security, and good order. The French
party in Scotland had completely sunk. Dr. Magnus, Henry’s
English minister, who, during his residence in Scotland, had
been an object of great jealousy to the people, was recalled;
and lord Dacre, whose money and intrigues for so many
years had corrupted the Scottish nobles, and introduced dis¬
union and treachery into all their councils, was removed by
death from the scenes of his mischievous activity. All these
things were favourable; and the well affected, who sighed
for the blessings of peace and good government, anticipated
a period of repose.
It was a vain expectation, destroyed by the precipitate Marriage
folly of the queen-mother, and the grasping ambition of of the
Angus. That powerful baron had hitherto aimed at oneT16611-010*
great object, which he now deemed himself on the very point ^ier t(l
of attaining: to accomplish a reconciliation with his wife, the ^ “nrdx Iet '
queen-mother, and, possessing her estates, with the custody
of the young king’s person, to engross the whole power of
the government. At this crisis Margaret, so far from be¬
coming less hostile to Angus, gave herself up more incon¬
siderately than before, to her passion for Henry Stewart,
and procuring a divorce from a husband whom she hated,
espoused her paramour with a precipitation which disgusted
the people.
5 E
SCOTLAND.
770
Scotland. This imprudent step determined Angus to change his
ground, and a dread of some counter revolution threw him
James V. upon new and more violent courses. By a successful stroke
A.D. 1526. 0f p0iiCy5 he procured the passing of an act of Parliament
imrSues which annulled the authority of the secret council, the only
The secret power which stood between him and absolute dominion,
council an- At the same moment, the parliament declared that the
nulled. minority of the young king was at an end, and that having
completed his fourteenth year, he was to be considered as an
independent sovereign. While the youthful monarch thus
nominally assumed the government, that provision which
entrusted the keeping of the royal person to certain peers
in rotation, remained in force; and as Angus had artfully
summoned the parliament at that precise time, when it be¬
longed to himself and the archbishop of Glasgow to assume
their periodical guardianship of the king, the consequence
of this state manoeuvre was to place the whole power of the
government in their hands.
The king’s A new secret council was nominated, composed solely of
minority the creatures of Angus ; the great seal was soon after taken
declared at from Beaton, the young king was watched with the utmost
an end. jealousy, and compelled to give his consent to every thing
proposed to him by his new masters. An act of parliament
was passed, granting a remission to the heads and followers
of this all-powerful faction for the crimes, robberies, or trea¬
sons, committed by them during the last nineteen years;
every office of trust or emolument in the kingdom was dis¬
posed of to the one or other of its supporters, and the an¬
cient tyranny of the house of Douglas once more attained ade-
gree of strength which rivalled, or rather usurped the royal
power. At this unhappy period, as has been observed in
another work, “ the borders became the scene of tumult and
confusion, and the insolence of the numerous vassals of this
great family was intolerable; murders,spoliations,and crimes
Miserable of varied enormity, were committed with impunity. The
sfute of the arm of the law, paralysed by the power of an unprincipled
country. faction, neglected to arrest the guilty ; the sources of justice
were corrupted ; the highest and most sacred ecclesiastical
dignities became the prey of daring intruders, or were sold
to the highest bidder; and the young king, carried about
through the country by Angus, apparently in great state,
but merely a puppet in the hands of his masters, sighed in
vain over a captivity to which there appeared no prospect
of a termination.”1 An attempt indeed was made for his de¬
liverance, first by the laird of Buccleugh, one of the most
powerful of the border barons, and afterwards by the earl
of Lennox, who deserted the party of the Douglases, and
to whom the young monarch was much attached. But
Buccleugh was routed with considerable loss, and Lennox
defeated and slain.
Angus These unsuccessful attempts only strengthened the power
courts of Angus. He entered into a more strict alliance with
Henry Henry the Eighth, obtained the friendship and support of
General r ^eaton> t^ie archbishop of St. Andrews, and unchecked by
marks. *anY opposition, ruled all things at his will. Nothing in¬
deed could be more miserable than the picture presented
by the country ; a monarch in captivity, a nobility in thral¬
dom, a people groaning under the most complicated oppres¬
sions, yet with their hands tied, and compelled by the mi¬
serable system under which they lived to serve their oppres¬
sors. It may be asked, what was the secret history of this
enormous power, this degraded and implicit obedience? The
answer is to be found in the fact, that the Douglases were
masters of the royal person; they could compel the king
to affix his signature to any deeds or letters which their ty¬
ranny or their caprice might dictate. Angus, the supreme
lord of all this misrule, was chancellor, and the great seal at
his command ; his uncle, Douglas of Kilspindy, was trea¬
surer, and commanded the whole revenues of the country;
the law, with all its terrible feudal processes of treason and Scotland,
forfeiture, could be wielded by them at pleasure. So long
as the king remained in their hands, this powerful machinery James V.
was all theirs; the moment he escaped, the system broke
to pieces, and their power was at an end.
Of all this James, who had now entered his seventeenth The king’s
year, was perfectly aware; and as every hour of his capti- escape,
vity made the Douglases more hateful to him, his mind be¬
came intently occupied with projects for his escape. Nor
was it long ere he effected it. With an address superior
to his years, the king had either succeeded in lulling the
suspicions of his keepers, or a continuance of unchecked
power had made them careless. James was at Falkland.
Angus, Douglas his brother’, and Archibald his uncle, were
absent on their private affairs; only Douglas of Pathhead, the
captain of the royal guard, remained. The young monarch
called for the park-keeper, and, as had been his wont, pro¬
posed to hunt next morning. Therefore, says a graphic
old chronicler,2 he “ caused him to warn all the whole tenants
and gentlemen thereabouts who had the speediest dogs, that
they would come to Falkland wood on the morn, to meet
him at seven hours, for he was determined he would slay a
fat buck or two for his pleasure; and to that effect caused
warn the cooks and stewards to make his supper ready, that
he might go to his bed the sooner, and to have his desjeune
(breakfast) ready by four o’clock, and commanded James
Douglas of Pathhead to pass the sooner to his bed, and
caused bring his collation, and drank to James Douglas,
saying to him, that he should have good hunting on the
morrow, bidding him be early astir. Then the king went
to his bed; and James Douglas, seeing the king in his bed,
wist that all things had been sure enough, and passed in like
manner to his bed. When the watch was set,” continues
Pitscottie, “and all things in quietness, the king called on a
yeoman of the stable, and desired him bring one of his suits
of apparel, hose, cloak, coat, and bonnet, and putting them
on, stept forth as a yeoman of the stable, and was unper¬
ceived of the watches, till he had passed to the stables, and
caused saddle a horse for himself, and one led, and took two
servants with him, namely, Jocky Hart, a yeoman of the
stable, and another secret chamber boy, and leapt on horse,
and spurred hastily his journey to Stirling, and won there
by the breaking of the day, over the bridge, which he caus¬
ed to be closed behind him, that none without licence might
win that passage. After this he passed to the castle, and
was received there by the captain, who was very glad of his
coming, and prepared the castle with all things needful.
Then he caused shut the gates, and let down the portcullis,
and put the king in his bed to sleep, because he had ridden
all that night.”
Having thus regained his liberty, James’s first act was to Despair of
summon a council, and issue a proclamation, interdicting the Dou-
Angus and the Douglases from all approach within six miles glases-
of the court, under pain of treason. Nor did they venture
to disobey it. On discovering the flight of the king, An¬
gus, Archibald, and Sir George, had hastily assembled a few
followers, thrown themselves on horseback, and were riding
to Stirling, when they w’ere met by the herald, who read the
act, and commanded them in the king’s name to halt. For
a moment they hesitated, but it was only for a moment.
Their sovereign was free ; the weapons which but a day be¬
fore they had w ielded with such irresistible force, were now
ready to be employed against themselves. A single step
forward, and they were guilty of treason, their property and
their lives at the mercy of the crown. All this rose rapidly
and fearfully before them ; and aware how vain it would be
at such a moment to meet the power of their enemies, they
retreated to Linlithgow'.
The monarch, who now took the government into his own
1 Tytler’s History of Scotland, vol. v p. 201.
* Lindsay of Pitscottie, pp. 218, 219.
SCOTLAND.
771
Scotland, hands, had not completed his seventeenth year ; but he had
been nursed in the school of difficulty, and his character had
James V. acquired a consistency and vigour far superior to his age.
James1 y8" WaS ^ more t0 cre^^’ because the Douglases had
assumes the ne^ectec^ bis education ; and while they gave him no op-
govem- portunities of cultivating the qualities which might have
rnent. made him a blessing to his people, permitted him to indulge
Hischarac-in that love of pleasure and tendency to dissipation which
ter. was incident to his temperament and time of life. Happily
his character, although it did not escape the pollution of
such a base system, survived it; and, with some great faults,
the king possessed at the same time not a few of the highest
qualities which became a wise and good prince. Strict and
scrupulously just, unwearied in his application to business,
earnest in his endeavours to remove the complicated bur¬
dens which, under the tyranny of the late oligarchy, had
oppressed the people; generous, though somewhat warm in
his temper, easy of access, a stranger to pride, and fond, al¬
most to a fault, of mingling familiarly with all classes of
his subjects; he soon rendered himself, young as he was,
an object of respect to his nobles, and of affection to his
people.
Principles The principles which regulated his future government
of James’s sprung naturally from the circumstances of his early life,
govern- qffig sternest resentment against Angus and the house of
Douglas, was combined with a determination to assert and
regain the rights of the crown, and to abridge the power of
an aristocracy, which had grown intolerable during a long
minority. Towards his uncle, Henry the Eighth, it was
impossible that his feelings could be any other than those
of resentment and suspicion. It was by this prince that
there had been introduced into Scotland an organised sys¬
tem of corruption, of which his able and unscrupulous mi¬
nister, lord Dacre, had been the author. Many Scottish
nobles had become the pensioned agents of the English go¬
vernment ; paid informers swarmed in the court and through
the country. All idea of conquering Scotland by force of
arms had been long since abandoned; but a more insidious
expedient was adopted, by which the English king, main¬
taining the Douglases in their usurped dominion, received
in return their homage and fidelity, and administered the go¬
vernment at his pleasure.
James’s great objects, which we can trace through the
whole remaining period of his reign, were to put an end to
this system of foreign dictation; to restore its ancient and
constitutional prerogatives to the crown; to bridle the ex¬
orbitant power of the great nobles, raising up as a check
upon them the large and influential body of his clergy; to
encourage the mercantile and commercial classes of his
people; and to facilitate the administration of the laws, and
insure equal justice to the lowest orders of the community.
Proceed. For the accomplishment of such ends, it was first neces-
ings against sary to exhibit a wholesome example of retributive justice
the blouse Upon those who had been the greatest delinquents. It was
of Douglas. deciarec} treason for any person to hold intercourse with
Angus, and every Douglas was commanded to leave the ca¬
pital on pain of death. Angus himself was commanded to re¬
main beyond the waters of the Spey, and required to deliver
his brother Sir George Douglas, and his uncle Archibald,
as hostages, for his answering to his summons of treason.
Having haughtily disobeyed these orders, a parliament as¬
sembled. He was proclaimed a traitor, and his lands no¬
minally divided among those nobles to whom James owed
his late success. It was easier, however, to promulgate
than to execute such decrees against so powerful a baron;
nor was it till after repeated attacks upon Tantallon, some
of them led by the king in person, that the arch-offender
was reduced, and compelled to seek an asylum in England.
James next directed his attention to the state of the bor¬
ders ; and in an expedition which was long remembered for
the vigour, dispatch, and severity of the royal vengeance,
inflicted punishment upon the greatest offenders, among Scotland,
whom was the noted freebooter, Johnnie Armstrong, and
reduced the district into a state of tranquillity. Scarcely was James V.
this accomplished, when the Orkneys were threatened to be A. D. 1528.
torn from the crown by the rebellion of the earl of Caith- 116
ness; and the Isles became the scene of a fierce struggle
between the earl of Argyll and Alexander of Isla, one of
the most powerful chiefs of that remote region. The judg¬
ment and energy of the monarch were shewn in the speedy
re-establishment of peace in both quarters; and the peo¬
ple, aware that the sceptre was once more in a firm hand,
readily and gratefully co-operated with their sovereign in all
his labours.
England and France were now at peace, and Henry the Foreign
Eighth and Francis the First united in a strict alliance, politics,
which had for its object to bridle the increasing power of A.D. 1529-
the emperor Charles the Fifth. Under these circumstan- 15J0.
ces, Henry proposed a matrimonial alliance with Scotland,
and the design was encouraged by France ; while the em¬
peror, jealous of the power which so near a connexion with
James might give to his enemies, offered in marriage to the
young prince his sister, the queen of Hungary, or his niece,
the daughter of Christiern, king of Denmark, with Norway
as her dowry.
For the present, however, all these offers were declined, james pro_
and the monarch appeared wholly engrossed with the pro- motes his
secution of his various plans for the melioration of his king- clergy,
dom. Finding himself thwarted by the nobles, he was com¬
pelled to adopt decided measures, and to promote the clergy
to those offices which had been filled by temporal barons.
Argyll was thrown into prison, the earl of Crawford stripped
of a large part of his estates; the determination that no
Douglas should ever bear sway in Scotland became a more
stern and obstinate principle than before; and while the
archbishop of Glasgow, the abbot of Holyrood, and the
bishop of Dunkeld, were principally consulted in affairs of
state, many of the nobles who had hitherto enjoyed the
royal confidence saw themselves treated with coldness and
distrust.
It was at this time, that the king carried into effect Commer-
two important measures, the one affecting the commer-cial treaty
cial interests of his kingdom, the other of still higher mo-with the
ment, as an endeavour to secure to all classes of his subjects Nether-
an equal and speedy administration of justice. A commer-^11^*
cial treaty between Scotland and the Netherlands had been ' * J
concluded by James the First, for the period of one hundred
years. It was now approaching its termination, and an em¬
bassy was dispatched to Brussels, which renewed the league
for another century. His second measure was the institution
of the College of Justice, a court consisting of fourteen institutjon
judges, one half selected from the spiritual, the other from of the Col-
the temporal estate, of which the idea is commonly believ-legeol Jus-
ed to have been suggested by the parliament of Paris. Thetice*
principal design of this new judicature was to put an end
to the delay and partiality arising out of the barons’ courts;
in other words, to remove the means of oppression out of
the hands of the aristocracy; but as it was provided, tiiat
the king might at his pleasure send three or four members
of his council to give their votes, it was evident that the
subject was freed from one grievance, only to be exposed
to the hazard of another, whenever his rights might happen
to come in collision with the crown.
During these transactions, the Douglases and their ad- The Dou-
herentswere driven upon violent and discreditable courses, glases sell
in proportion as their prospect of reconciliation to the kingthemselve5
became more hopeless and remote. The earl of Bothwell,,to
also a powerful border baron, whose excesses James had an
severely punished, entered into a traitorous alliance with
Henry the Eighth, in which he engaged, if properly sup¬
ported, to dethrone his sovereign, and to “ crown the Eng¬
lish king in the town of Edinburgh within a brief time
772
SCOTLAND.
Scotland.
James V.
A.D 1532
War with
England.
A.D. 1532
Henry
VIII. and
the Dou¬
glases in •
vade the
country.
Peace with
England.
The Refor¬
mation.
while the earl of Angus did not hesitate, in the extremity
of his resentment, to sell himself to England ; and in an ori¬
ginal writing which yet remains, engaged to “ make unto
Henry the oath of allegiance, to recognise him as supreme
lord of Scotland, as his prince and sovereign.”1
In consequence of these base engagements, war was once
more kindled on the borders, and carried on by the Doug¬
lases and Henry’s captains with such desolating fury, that
James was compelled to call out the whole body of the
fighting men in the country. These he divided into four
armies, to each of which in rotation the defence of the
marches was entrusted. The measure effectually checked
the power of the English, and there was little prospect of
Bothwell fulfilling his threat, of crowning Henry in the ca¬
pital ; but peace seemed more distant than ever, and nothing
could be more deplorable than the picture presented by the
country. The flames of villages and granges, the destruc¬
tion of the fruits, and the cessation of the labour of the hus¬
bandman, the stoppage put to the enterprise of the merchant,
the increase among the people of the spirit of national an¬
tipathy, the corruption of the nobles by the money of Eng¬
land, the loss among such pensioned adventurers of all af¬
fection for the sovereign, and the decay of the healthy feel¬
ings of national independence ; all these lamentable conse¬
quences sprung out of the continuance of the war, and made
the king desirous of securing peace, even if it should be at
some sacrifice.
This he at length accomplished. James agreed that the
Douglases, by which was meant Angus, his brother George,
and his uncle Archibald, should remain unmolested in Eng¬
land, supported by Henry as his subjects, on condition that
Edrington castle, the only spot which they held in Scotland,
should be surrendered, and reparation made for any expe¬
dition which they or the English king might hereafter con¬
duct against Scotland. On these conditions a pacification
was concluded, for the period of the lives of Henry and
James, and a year after the death of him who first deceased ;
and soon after its ratification, the young monarch, whose
firmness and talent in the management of his government
made him an object of respect to the European princes, re¬
ceived the Garter from England, the order of St. Michael
from France, and the Golden Fleece from the emperor.2
James was now in his twenty-second year, and his mar¬
riage was earnestly desired by the country; but he had
hitherto shewn little inclination to gratify the wishes of his
people. With all his good qualities, he unhappily inherit¬
ed from his father an extreme devotedness to pleasure,
which had been rather encouraged than restrained by the
Douglases; and his passions getting the better of his pru¬
dence and principle, sought their gratification in low in¬
trigues, carried on in disguise, and in pursuit of which he
not unfrequently exposed his life to the attacks and revenge
of his rivals. It was now full time that he should i-enounce
these disreputable excesses; and having evaded an offer
made by the Spanish ambassador, of the hand of the prin¬
cess Mary of Portugal, and declined a similar proposal of
Henry the Eighth, who pointed to his daughter the prin¬
cess Mary, he dispatched an embassy to France, for the pur¬
pose of concluding a matrimonial alliance with that crown.
It now becomes necessary to attend to a great subject,
(the rise ot the Reformation in Scotland,) the principles of
wdiich had been for some time silently making their pro¬
gress among the people, but which from this period exer¬
cised a marked and increasing influence over the history of
the government and of the country. It was now nearly six
years since Patrick Hamilton, abbot of Feme, the friend
and disciple ot Luther and Melanchthon, having renounced
the errors of the Roman Catholic church, and embraced
the doctrines of these leading reformers, had been delated
of heresy, and condemned to the flames. The cruel sen- Scotland,
tence was carried into eftect at St. Andrews in 1528, under
the minority of James, and while the supreme power wasJames Y*
in the hands of the earl of Angus. On taking the govern- A.D. 1534.
ment into his own hand, James, although decidedly inimi¬
cal to the principles of Angus in all other things, unhappi¬
ly followed his determination to persecute those whom he
esteemed the enemies of the truth. David Straiton and
Norman Gourlay, who were disciples of the reformation,
were tried for heresy, condemned, and brought to the stake,
on the 27th of August 1534; and the intolerant and cruel
conduct of the king compelled some who had embraced
the same opinions to fly for safety to England.
About this time Henry the Eighth exerted himself-phe Pope
to the utmost to prevail upon the Scottish king to imi-sendsa
tate his own conduct, and shake off" the yoke of Rome. He messenger
endeavoured to open his eyes to the tyranny of the pope’s10 James,
usurpations, sent to him the treatise entitled the “ Doctrine
of a Christian Man,” and dispatched Dr. Barlow and Lord
William Howard to request a conference with his royal
nephew at York; but the remembrance of the injuries he
had sustained, resentment for Henry’s intrigues with his dis¬
contented subjects, and an attachment to the faith of his
fathers, indisposed James to listen to these overtures; and
when Paul the Third deputed his legate Campeggio to vi¬
sit Scotland, the embassy found it no difficult matter to con¬
firm the Scottish monarch in his attachment to the Catholic
church. At the same time he addressed him by the title
of which Henry had proved himself unworthy, Defender of
the Faith, and presented to him a cap and sword which had
been consecrated by the pope upon the feast of the nati¬
vity.
A parliament which assembled about this time, made A parlia-
two provisions which deserve attention. The importa-merit-
tion of the works of Luther, which had been proscrib- A- D-1535.
ed by a former act, was again strictly forbidden; any dis- -.d11 ,ei s
cussion ot his opinions, unless tor the purpose ot proving scr-^
their falsehood, was prohibited; and all persons who posses¬
sed any treatises of the reformer, were enjoined, under the
penalty of confiscation and imprisonment, to deliver them
up to the ordinary within forty days. The second act, which
is well worthy of notice, related to the boroughs, in this dark
age the best nurseries of industry and freedom. Hitherto
feudal barons had been elected to the offices of magistrates
and superintendents over the privileges of these corpora¬
tions; an unwise practice, by which the provosts, aldermen,
or bailies, instead of being industrious citizens, interested in
the protection of trade, and the security of property, were
little else than idle and factious tyrants, who consumed the
substance and invaded the corporate privileges of the bur¬
gesses. A law was now made, that no person should be
elected to fill any office in the magistracy of the borough, but
such as themselves were honest and substantial burgesses,
and although not immediately or strictly carried into effect,
the enactment evinced the dawning of a better spirit.
War still continued between Francis the First and the The king
emperor, a circumstance which induced the French king to visits
continue an amicable correspondence with England; and France,
being aware that Henry the Eighth was intent upon accom-
plishing a marriage with Scotland, Francis did not care to
disgust this passionate monarch by any very speedy atten¬
tion to James’s desires to unite himself to a French princess.
To obviate this, the Scottish king himself took a voyage to
France, and landing at Dieppe, proceeded from thence in
disguise to the palace of the duke of Yendome. Here,
being received only as a noble stranger, he saw, for the first
time, but did not approve of his affianced bride, Marie de
Bourbon, the duke’s daughter, and transferred his affections
to Madeleine, the youngest daughter of the French king, to
1 MS. British Museum, Calig. B. I. 128.
u Diurnal of Oceurrents in Scotland, p. 19
SCOTLAND.
773
Scotland, whom he was soon after married in the church of Notre Dame.
In the circumstances in which Scotland was then placed, the
James V. church of Rome was inclined to consider this union as one
A. D. 1536. 0f great importance ; and it has been noted that seven car-
Marriage of jjnajg surrounded the altar. Nor were these anticipations
t e ln6* disappointed. James remained for nine months in France,
and having returned tq his own kingdom, it was soon evi¬
dent that some great changes were on the eve of taking
place.
Rupture Francis the First, although still nominally at peace with
between Henry, had become alienated from him by the violent and
Francis I. dictatorial tone which he assumed. The pope, who consi-
-JllH-X dered his own existence as involved in the contest with Eng¬
land, had neglected no method by which he might first ter¬
minate the disputes between the emperor and the French
king, and then unite them in a coalition against Henry, as
the common eijemy. We have already noticed the success
of the court of Rome in flattering the vanity of James; and
it appears that, in 1537, these intrigues were so far success¬
ful, that a pacification was concluded between Francis and
the emperor. From this moment the cordiality between
France and England was completely at an end, while every
argument which could have weight in a young and ardent
mind was addressed to James, to induce him to join the
projected league against Henry.
Nor had the conduct of Henry, during James’s absence in
Mission of France, been calculated to allay those resentful feelings
Sir Ralph which already existed between them. He had sent into
Sadler to Scotland Sir Ralph Sadler, a crafty and able diplomatist,
Scot am . tjie eXpress purpose of completing the system of secret
intelligence introduced, as we have seen, with pernicious
success by lord Dacre. This minister was instructed to
gain an influence over the nobility, to attach the queen-
mother to his interest, to sound the inclinations of the body
of the people on the subject of peace or war, an adoption of
the reformed opinions, or an adherence to the ancient faith.
The Douglases were still maintained with high favour in
England. Their power, although nominally extinct, was far
from being destroyed; their spies penetrated into every
quarter, and had even followed the young king to France,
whence they gave information of his most private motions;
finally, those feudal covenants, termed bonds of manrent,
still bound to their interest many of the most potent of the
nobles, whom the vigour of the king’s government had dis¬
gusted or estranged.
From this description we may gather the state of parties
at the return of James to his dominions after his marriage.
On the one hand was seen Henry the Eighth, the head
of the protestant reformation in England, supported in Scot¬
land not only by the still formidable power and unceasing
intrigues of the Douglases, but by a large proportion of the
nobles, and the talents of his sister, the queen-mother. On
the other hand stood the king of Scotland, assisted by the
united talent, zeal, and wealth of the Roman Catholic clergy,
the loyalty of some of the most potent peers, the co-opera¬
tion of France, the approval of the emperor, the affection of
the great body of his people, upon whose minds the doc¬
trines of Luther had not yet made any very general im¬
pression, and the cordial support of the papal court. The
course of events, into which we cannot enter minutely, but
which we shall touch in their principal consequences, illus¬
trated strikingly these opposing interests.
James’s se- In the mean time, scarcely had the rejoicings ceased for
cond mar- James’s return to his dominions with his youthful queen,
riage. vvhen it was apparent that she was sinking under a con¬
sumption, which in a short time carried her to the grave.
Although depressed by this calamity, the king did not per¬
mit it to divert his mind from that system of policy on
which he had resolved to act: and an embassy to France,
was entrusted to David Beaton, afterwards the celebrated Scotland,
cardinal, who requested for his master the hand of Mary of
Guise, the widow of the duke of Longueville, and sister to James V.
the cardinal of Lorraine. To this second union, the court 0f A. IX1537.
France joyfully assented and the marriage took place at St.
Andrews, within a year after the death of the former queen.
At this moment the life of the king was twice endangered
by conspiracy ; and although much obscurity hangs over the
subject, both plots were probably connected with the in¬
trigues of the house of Douglas. At the head of the first was
the master of Forbes, a brother-in-law of Angus. The chief
actor in the second was the lady Glammis, his sister, who,
only two days after the execution of Forbes, was accused
of an attempt to poison her sovereign, found guilty and con¬
demned to be burned ; a dreadful sentence, the execution of
which she bore with the hereditary courage of her house.
An event now happened, which drew after it important
consequences. James Beaton, archbishop of St Andrews,
died, and was succeeded in the primacy by his nephew,
cardinal Beaton ; a man far his uncle’s superior in talent,
and still more devotedly attached to the interests of the
Roman Catholic church. It was to him, as we have seen,
that James had committed the negotiation for his second
marriage ; and so great appears to have been the influence
which he acquired over the royal mind, that the king hence¬
forth selected him as his principal adviser.
Beaton’s accession to additional power was marked by a Cardinal
renewed persecution of the reformers; and it is worthy of Beaton,
observation, that most of the converts to the reformed faith
belonged to the order of the inferior clergy. Keillor, Forret, reformers
Simson, and Beveridge, were arraigned before an ecclesi- ^ ^ 1539.
astical tribunal, and soon afterwards Kennedy and Russell,
out of which number three, Kennedy, Forret, and Russell,
suffered at the stake with great meekness and courage.
There can be little doubt that such inhuman executions
operated in favour, rather than against the progress of the
reformation.
The coalition between Francis the First and the empe- Another
ror was now completed under the auspices of the papal mission of
court; and Henry the Eighth, aware of the great efforts ^a(*'I31, “lto
made to induce James to join the league against him, dis- CH an *
patched Sir Ralph Sadler into Scotland. The object of
this able negotiator was to rouse James’s jealousy against
the increasing power of the clergy, to prevail upon him
to throw off his allegiance to the pope, to imitate his ex¬
ample by suppressing the monasteries, and to urge him to
maintain the peace with England. To the last request the
Scottish king replied, that if Henry’s conduct was pacific,
nothing should induce him to join any hostile league against
him ; but he assured Sadler that he found his clergy his
most loyal and useful subjects : and although he would be
anxious to see a reformation in the general morals of this
body, he did not exactly see how that could best be effect¬
ed by renouncing the authority of his holy father the pope,
the terrestrial head of the church, and thus setting an exam¬
ple of rebellion and confusion.
James had for some time meditated an important enter- The king’s
prise, which he now executed ; a voyage to the most northern voyage to
parts of his dominions conducted by himself, and on a scale t^ie nortL
such as had not been attempted by any of his predecessors.
His fleet consisted of twelve ships, fully armed and provi¬
sioned. He was attended by Beaton, and the earls of Hunt-
ly, Arran, and Angus ; and these barons bringing with them
their armed vassals, formed a force which, united to the
royal suite and attendants, was equal to a little army.
Lindsay, a skilful hydrographer, accompanied the expedi¬
tion, and his maps and charts, the first rude essays in this
science ever attempted in Scotland, are preserved at the
present day.1 The king first coasted Fife, Angus, and
4 In the Harleian Collection, British Museum.
774
SCOTLAND.
Scotland. Buchan; he next visited Caithness, crossed the Pentland
frith to the Orkneys, doubled Cape Wrath, steered for the
James V. Lewis, crossed over to Skye, circumnavigated Mull, swept
A.D.1540. a]ong tjle s]lores 0f Argyle, and passing Kintyre, inspected
Arran and Bute, whence he sailed up the Clyde to Dun¬
barton, where he concluded his labours.
The effects of this royal progress were salutary and deci¬
sive. The force with which James was accompanied se¬
cured a prompt submission to his commands, and inspired
these remote districts with a wholesome dread of the royal
name. Some of the fiercer and more independent chiefs, who
affected a show of resistance, were seized and confined in
irons on board the fleet; others, more gently treated, were
yet compelled to accompany the monarch as hostages for
the pacific behaviour of their followers; and all were con¬
vinced that any attempt to brave the power of the crown,
must for the present be vain and ruinous.
Conspiracy This exhibition of increasing energy in the king only
against the exposed him the more to the jealousy of those nobles whose
king’s life, power had been nourished by long intervals of license, and
who now clearly perceived, that unless they were prepared
to resign their rights, a struggle between them and their
sovereign could hardly be averted. A proof of this was
shown on James’s return to court from his northern voyage,
when a conspiracy against his life was detected, the third
which had occurred within no very long period. Like the
•est it is involved in obscurity; but the proof was considered
as sufficient, and its author, Sir James Hamilton, commonly
called the bastard of Arran, was tried, convicted and exe¬
cuted. It is said that the king was thrown into a state of
great despondency and gloom by the discovery of this plot;
that it opened his eyes to the manifold dangers which sur¬
rounded a prince at variance with his nobles; and that he
began to feel that he was engaged in a contest in which
they might prove too strong for him.
A parlia- Whatever credit we may attach to these reports, the
TPnt-, j conduct of James gave decided proofs that he was deter-
ridedS'S de'minetl to continue the struggle; and in a Parliament which
sures. 1163 soon aftcrwards assembled in the capital, he strengthened his
own hands by annexing to the crown the whole of the He¬
brides, by which we are to understand the isles north and
south of the two Kintyres. But this was not all. To these
new acquisitions were added the Orkney and Zetland isles,
many extensive lordships, Jedburgh forest, and the demesnes
of Angus, Glammis, Liddaldale, and Evandale.
In the want of contemporary evidence, it is difficult to
decide upon the strict justice of this sweeping measure. It
is possible that, by rigidly investigating the history of former
rebellions, and present treasons, James may have persuad¬
ed himself that he was entitled to the forfeiture of all these
large estates and principalities; but in such circumstances
it had been the practice of former monarchs to parcel out
the forfeited lands among his nobles who had preserved
their loyalty; and in the measure now adopted, of annexing
the whole to the crown, the aristocracy saw little else than
their own intended ruin. It was in vain that the measure
was followed by the publication of a general act of amnesty
for all former treasons. The earl of Angus, Sir George Dou¬
glas, and the whole of their adherents were excepted; and
men observed that while the king’s generosity was vague
and capricious, his aversion to those who had once injured
him, was stern and immutable.
The king’s # It is not easy to discover James’s exact opinions regard-
conduct re- mg t e progress of the reformed doctrines, which now benan
garding the to create great alarm in the Roman Catholic clergy. On 'the
ti0e orma" °.ne he seems to have become convinced of the neces¬
sity for a reform in the church, and to have looked with a
severe eye upon the idleness, corruption, and ignorance of
a large portion of the clergy. He encouraged Sir David
Lindsay, whose satire upon the three estates contained a
bitter attack upon the prelates; and being himself much in¬
volved in debt, there is reason to believe he regarded the Scotland,
overgrown possessions and extraordinary wealth of the
clergy with certain longings to appropriate some portion of dames V.
it towards the exigencies of the state. Yet, in the Parlia-A'I)-1540*
ment to which we have just alluded, it was made a capital
offence to argue against the supreme authority, or the spi¬
ritual infallibility of the pope; the,discussion of religious
questions in private meetings was interdicted; a law was
passed against the demolition of the shrines and images
of saints; and it was evidently the opinion of the king
that the reformation should be made by the church itself
within itself, and under the sanction of its head the pope.
Such seems to have been the feelings and the policy of Mutual ani.
the sovereign. Those of another influential body in the state, mosity be-
the clergy, are easily detected. To counteract the intrigues tween
of Henry the Eighth, and to check any incipient feelings of dames an<^
favour towards the reformation, the great reliance of cardi- y
nal Beaton and the Roman Catholic party was in the pro¬
spect of a war with England. To accomplish this, they had
unfortunately ample materials to work upon. Henry the
Eighth was violent and dictatorial; James proud, and jeal¬
ous of his independence. The English king had espoused the
interests of the banished house of Douglas, and fomented
discontent among the rest of the Scottish nobles. James
was animated by an unrelenting animosity to the earl of An¬
gus, the head of the house of Douglas, and to all who bore
the name. Henry, instigated by the utmost hostility to the
Roman see, eagerly desired that his royal nephew should
imitate his example, suppress the religious houses, and pro¬
claim his independence; but the instructions to his ambas¬
sador, Sadler, upon this subject, contained expressions so
personally insolent to James, that if obeyed, his mission
must have occasioned disgust rather than conciliation.
The English king requested a personal interview at York;
and James, after a promise to meet him, broke the appoint¬
ment with Henry, who had proceeded to that city in expec¬
tation of his arrival.
At this crisis, the Scottish king evidently dreaded being James in
prematurely hurried into war. He was in debt, he suspect- vain desires
ed the fidelity of his nobles, he was well aware that a feudal Peace*
monarch at variance with his barons, the sinews of his ^vasio" ^
strength, was likely to be dishonoured and defeated. He had ^ns dn
lately lost his only children, Arthur and James, and he be¬
lieved that Beaton’s anxiety for war was dictated by selfish
motives, and influenced by his intrigues with Rome. Un¬
der these circumstances, public policy and personal feeling
alike made him dread any immediate hostilities with Eng¬
land, and he endeavoured by an embassy to avert the rup¬
ture; but Henry, from the moment of his disappointment
at York, would listen to no message of conciliation. War
was resolved on, the east and middle marches were put into
a state of defence, Berwick inspected, musters raised in the
north, and soon afterwards Sir James Bowes, with the force
of the east marches, marched across the border. The ba¬
nished Angus, his brother Sir George Douglas, and a large
body of the retainers of the Douglases, had joined him;
but they were encountered, and completely defeated by
Huntly and Home.
This, however, was merely a preliminary outbreak; and The kins?
as such border outrages had frequently occurred without makes alast
drawing after them more serious consequences, James attemPt t0_
made a last effort to avert the storm, by sending commis- ostu
sioners first to York, and afterwards to meet the duke of
Norfolk, who, at the head of an army of forty thousand men,
had crossed the Tweed, and already given many of the
granges and villages to the flames. It was in vain, how¬
ever, to attempt negotiation ; and aware that the crisis had
arrived, the Scottish king commanded Huntly and Home,
upon whose fidelity he had most reliance, to watch the pro¬
gress of Norfolk, while he himself assembled the main force
of his kingdom on the Borough-moor near Edinburgh.
SCOTLAND.
775
.lames V.
A. D. 1542.
James re¬
solves on
invade
England.
Scotland. With this army, which mustered thirty thousand strong,
he advanced to Fala-moor, and when encamped there, re¬
ceived the welcome intelligence that Norfolk, compelled
by the want of supplies and the severity of the winter, was
in full retreat. It was now the time to retaliate, and James
issued orders for an immediate invasion of England. But
The nobles the nobles felt their own strength. They had long regarded
refuse to the measures of the court with distrust, some even with
indignation and a desire of revenge; they recalled to mind
the proceedings of the monarch, the threatening attitude
lately assumed by the crown towards the whole body of the
aristocracy; and when commanded to cross the borders, they
haughtily and unanimously refused. It was in vain that
James, stung with such an indignity, threatened, remon¬
strated, and even entreated them, as they valued their own
honour and his, to proceed against the English. The feeling
of attachment to their prince, or revenge against the enemy
seemed to be completely extinguished in a resolution to as¬
sert their power, and procure a redress of their grievances;
and the sovereign was at last compelled to disband the army,
and return outbraved and defeated to his capital.
There can be no doubt that so mortifying a reverse sunk
deep into the heart of James, but his pride, and the natural
cond army, vigour of his character supported him. Though deserted by
The Scots t]le majority, he had still some powerful friends among
entirely the nobles, the clergy were unanimously in his favour, and
the'Bn was reso^ved to make a second effort to re-assemble the
lish army for the invasion of England. Its success, though
A. D. 1542. partial, once more gave a gleam of hope to the monarch.
A force of ten thousand men was collected chiefly by the
exertions of Lord Maxwell; with this it was resolved to
break across the western marches, and the king took his
station at Caerlaverock, where he eagerly awaited the re¬
sult of the expedition. A distrust of his nobles, however,
still haunted him; and secret orders were issued, that as
soon as the army reached the river Esk, his favourite, Oli¬
ver Sinclair, should be intrusted with the chief command.
Nothing could be more unwise than this resolution. It was
received with murmurs of discontent; and when the new
He assem¬
bles a se-
general exhibited himself to the camp, and a herald at¬
tempted to read the royal commission by which he was ap¬
pointed, the whole army became agitated, disorderly, and
almost mutinous. At this crisis, Dacre and Musgrave, two
English officers, advanced to reconnoitre at the head of three
hundred horse, and approaching near enough to perceive
the condition of the Scots, boldly charged them. The
effect of this surprise was instantaneous and fatal. Ten
thousand Scots fled from three hundred English cavalry,
with scarcely a momentary resistance. In the panic the
greater number escaped, but a thousand prisoners were
taken, and among them many of the leading nobles, Cas-
sillis, Glencairn, Maxwell, Somerville, Gray, Oliphant, and
Fleming.
The king This second calamity completely overwhelmed the king,
dies of a He had eagerly awaited at Caerlaverock the first news from
broken the army, and he anticipated a victory which should efface the
^eart‘ late dishonour, and restore the feelings of cordiality between
himself and his barons. In an instant the hope was blasted,
and gave place to the most gloomy despondency. For
their unheard-of conduct, James could find no solution but
in the persuasion that his nobles had secretly conspired to
betray him to England, and to sacrifice the independence
of the kingdom to the gratification of their personal revenge.
This idea preyed upon his mind. The feeling that his army
had exposed themselves, their sovereign, and the Scottish
name to contempt, took entire possession of him. He became
the victim of a low fever, which had its seat in a wounded
heart, and from a proud monarch, lately in the vigour of
his strength and the prime of his age, he sunk into a state
of silent melancholy. When in this hopeless condition, the
news arrived that his queen had given birth to a daughter.
He had already lost his two sons, and clung to the hope Scotland,
that his next might be a boy- But here too he was met by ^
disappointment; and wandering back in thought to the time
when the daughter of Bruce brought to his ancestor, the
steward of Scotland, the dowry of the kingdom, he received
the intelligence with the melancholy remark, “ It cam wi a
lass, it will gang wi’ a lass“ It came by a girl, and will go
with a girl.” Ashe said this, a few7 of the most faithful of his
nobles and councillors stood round his bed; and as they
strove to comfort him, he stretched out his hand for them
to kiss, and regarding them with great affection, closed his
eyes, and placidly expired. He died in the thirty-fifth year
of his age, and the twenty-ninth of his reign.
Somewhat more than two centuries and a half had elapsed Mary, an
since the death of Alexander the Third had left the country infant eight
under circumstances of calamity and danger strikingly simi- days old>
lar to those in which it now found itsell in losing James
the Fifth. Alexander had been bereft of all his sons, and
the crown descended to an only grand-daughter, the Maiden
of Norway. James had been visited by a like bereavement.
His sons, Arthur and James, had been cut off, and his only
daughter, Mary, an infant eight days old, was now queen.
On the death of Alexander, the kingdom saw itself exposed
to the ambitious designs of Edward the F irst, who imme¬
diately conceived the project of marrying the queen of Scot¬
land to his eldest son. On the death of James, Henry the
Eighth, a monarch far inferior in talent to Edward, but
equally ambi tious, and, where the rights of others were con¬
cerned, still more unscrupulous, at once embraced the de¬
sign of marrying his son the prince of Wales to the infant
Mary. Edw7ard, when disappointed of his first object by
the death of the infant queen, resorted to intrigue and force
to accomplish his purpose; and Henry having been baffled
in his ambition, not indeed by the death, but by the betroth-
ment of Mary to the dauphin, resorted to the same weapons
to effect his designs. One point of the parallel, and that
the most mortifying of all, remains. In the days of Ed¬
ward, Scotland was basely deserted by her leading no¬
bility, and owed her liberty to the inherent love of free¬
dom and the persevering courage of her people. It wTas the
same under Henry the Eighth and Edward the Sixth.
The lapse of two centuries and a half found the great
majority of the Scottish nobles as selfish, wavering, and
unprincipled as their ancestors in the days of Edwrard,—
supported by the money of England, ready to sacrifice the
independence of their country to their individual ambition ;
and if Scotland preserved her liberty as a separate kingdom,
which, by the blessing of God, she did, the agents selected
for her deliverance were the great body of her people, and
the numerous and influential classes of the clergy. From
these general remarks let us return to our historical sketch.
The rout at the Solway Moss, followed, as we have seen Intrigues o1
it, by the death of the king, gave an alarming advantage to Henry with
Henry the Eighth. The earl of Angus, Sir George Dou-tlie pnson-
glas, and the numerous supporters of this house, still power-grs taken at
ful though in banishment, had been long devoted to his in-
terests, in the support of which they saw the only sure
hope of their own restoration. To these were added the
prisoners of highest rank who were taken in the late dis¬
graceful flight. To them the English monarch now pro¬
posed an alternative, trying indeed, but in the choice of
which no citizen of a free country ought to have hesitated.
On the one hand, they were threatened with imprison¬
ment in the Tower, to which they had been conducted
immediately after their being taken. On the other, they
were promised freedom, and a return to their native coun¬
try, but coupled with extraordinary conditions. A bond
was drawn up which they were required to sign. By
it they acknowledged Henry as lord superior of the king¬
dom of Scotland ; they promised to exert their influence to
procure for him the government of the kingdom, and the
776
SCOTLAND.
Scotland, resignation into his hands of all its fortresses ; they engaged
to have their infant queen delivered to his keeping; and
Mary. they solemnly stipulated, that if the parliament of Scot-
A.D. 1542.]an(j resisted such demands, they would employ their whole
feudal strength to co-operate with England in completing
the conquest of the country. To this engagement they
were required to swear fidelity; and if they tailed in ac¬
complishing the wishes of the king, the penalty was to be
their immediate return to their prisons in England. It must
have been apparent to the Scottish prisoners that such an
engagement virtually annihilated the existence of their
country as a separate kingdom ; and yet it is mortifying to
add that it was embraced by the earls of Glencairn and
Cassillis, with the lords Maxwell, Somerville, and Oliphant.
These were among the chief prisoners taken in the rout
of Solway Moss; the rest were of inferior rank, and re¬
mained in captivity, while Angus, Sir George Douglas,
and the strength of their house, cordially co-operated with
Henry.1
A.D. 1542. It was the policy of these lords on their return to Scot-
State of land, to conceal the full extent of their engagements,
parties in an(j to proceed with great caution. On their arrival they
Scot an . foun(] country divided into two factions. On the one
side, was cardinal Beaton the chancellor, supported by the
queen-mother Mary of Guise, the whole body of the clergy,
the Roman Catholic nobility, and the interest of France.
On the other stood the earl of Arran, nearest heir to the
crown, a weak and indolent man, who leaned to the re¬
formed opinions; all the nobles who had forsaken the an¬
cient faith, the adherents of the house of Douglas, and many
who, ignorant of the unjust and degrading demands of Henry,
considered a marriage with England, under due safeguards,
as a wise and politic step. As to the great body of the
people, by which we must chiefly understand the middle
and commercial classes, their feelings, as far as they can
be detected, were somewhat discordant. Many favoured
the reformation, and from hostility to the cardinal, gave a
virtual support to Henry the Eighth and the English fac¬
tion ; but their feeling of national independence was so
strong, that on the slightest assumption of superiority, it
was ready to exhibit itself in determined hostility.
Arrival of Into the details of the struggles between these opposite
the Dou- factions, it belongs not to our plan to enter. We must
thcTs1 touc^ onlY ^ie great leading events; but these, even in their
ymost general form, are full of interest. On the death of
the king, Beaton produced a will which appointed him chief
governor of the realm, and guardian to the infant queen ;
but the paper was thrown aside as a forged instrument;
Arran, the nearest heir to the crown, was chosen governor;
and the cardinal having contented himself with securing
the interest and support of France, prepared for a deter¬
mined struggle with his opponents. At this moment, the
Douglases and the Solway prisoners arrived, of which party
Sir George Douglas, brother to Angus, and father of the
celebrated regent Morton, was the leader. Their first act
was bold and successful. Beaton was arraigned of a trea¬
sonable correspondence with France, and hurried to prison; a
parliament was summoned for the discussion of the proposed
alliance with England; and as the governor, Arran, appeared
to be completely under English influence, it was confidently
expected that Henry’s schemes of ambition were not far
from their accomplishment. But they were defeated by
his own violent and intolerant conduct. He insisted on
having the cardinal delivered up to be imprisoned in Eng¬
land ; he upbraided the Douglases for their delay to surren¬
der the fortresses of the kingdom ; and instead of being con¬
tented with the proceedings of the parliament, which agreed
to the marriage between the Scottish queen and his son, he
expressed the most violent resentment, because the estates
prisoners.
Imprison¬
ment of
Cardinal
Beaton.
insisted that their country should preserve its liberties as a Scotland,
separate and independent kingdom.
Amidst these collisions the secret treachery of the Dou- Mary,
glases and the Solway lords began to transpire. Beaton ^,I)-1543
nearly about the same time recovered his liberty, and after ainsTisT
an ineffectual attempt to secure a matrimonial alliance with ai^ 1m
England on just and equal grounds, he placed himself and places him-
the great party of which he became the leader in deter-self in op-
mined hostility to Henry. A last effort, however, was made, position to
and a Scottish embassy sought the English court. In a Henry
personal interview, the ambassadors explained to the king^JI1*
the conditions on which the country would agree to the
marriage. To their astonishment, the monarch, overcome
by passion, proclaimed himself lord paramount of Scotland,
and insisted that the government of that kingdom, and the
custody of its infant sovereign, belonged of right to him.
This disclosure, which was made in a moment of passion,
and against the earnest entreaties of the English faction,
produced an instantaneous effect. It was received in Scot¬
land, as had been predicted, with a universal burst of in¬
dignation. It gave the cardinal and the French party an
immediate ascendancy ; the governor, Arran, and his friends
joined their ranks ; and the people became so exasperated,
that Sadler, the English ambassador, could not safely shew
himself in the capital.
To counteract all these effects, Sir George Douglas exert- Treaty of
ed himself with indefatigable activity. Henry was prevailed marriage
upon to renounce the most obnoxious part of his demands.W1 A1 Eng.
Arran, with his characteristic caprice, deserted his newlan“‘
friends ; and in a convention of the nobles, which was not
attended by the opposite faction, the treaties of marriage
and pacification with England were finally arranged. Yet
although, as far as it was promulgated to the people, the
negotiation now concluded, preserved entire the rights and
liberties of Scotland, a paper has lately been discovered,
drawn up at the same time, and entitled a secret De¬
vice, in which the earls of Angus and Glencairn, with lord
Maxwell, Sir George Douglas, and the rest of their party,
once more tied themselves to the service of the English
king, and promised that, if he did not accomplish the full
extent of his designs, he should at least have the dominion
on this side the Forth.2
To fulfil this treaty, however, wtis found no easy matter. Treachery
It was averred by the opposite faction, that it had been of the earl
carried through by private influence, unsanctioned by theof Arran,
highest nobles, unauthorized by any parliament, contrary
to the wishes of the people ; and at this very crisis the car¬
dinal obtained possession of the person of the infant queen,
who had hitherto been strictly guarded by the governor
and the Hamiltons. To balance this success, Arran, whose
character had hitherto been only weak, became alarmed at
the success of the cardinal; and, flattered by a proposal of
the English king to make him sovereign of Scotland beyond
the Forth, declared his readiness to co-operate with an
English army for the entire subjugation of the country. In
the mean time, he held a convention of the nobles in the
abbey church of Holyrood, and in his character of governor
of the realm, ratified the marriage treaty with England, un¬
mindful of the protestations of Beaton and his party, that
they were no parties to such a transaction, and w ould not
hold themselves bound by a decision contrary to the opinion
of the majority of the nobles and the wishes of the people.
Henry the Eighth, enraged by this opposition, acted with yj0]ence
his wonted impetuosity and want of principle. He intrigued 0f tf,e
against the life and liberty of the cardinal, but his plots to English
get possession of the prelate were unsuccessful; he seized king,
the ships of the Scottish merchants which were in English
ports,a measure which was deeply resented; and he assumed
that tone of haughty defiance, which, when united to his
1 Sadler’s State Papers, vol i. pp. 69, 81.
* Tytler’s History of Scotland, vol. v. p. 339.
SCOTLAND.
777
Scotland, hostile preparations, made it apparent that war could not be
long averted. France now offered her assistance to her an-
Maiy. cient ally. The earl of Arran, ever wavering and irresolute,
A.D. once more threw his whole influence into Beaton’s hands;
and this minister, availing himself of an accession of strength,
proceeded with a vigorous hand to suppress heresy, and to
inculcate determined resistance to England.
Henry en- Henry, who wras thoroughly unprincipled, and cared not
courages an whatmeans he used to rid himself of his opponents, attempted
attempt to rfcmove the cardinal, by hiring Brunston, Grange, Rothes,
Beaton*1116 ant^ some opposite faction, to seize ,or assassinate
Invasion by hi™’ hut he once more failed in this nefarious project, and,
Henry.
Battle of
An cram
Muir.
foiled and irritated, let loose his vengeance in the shape of
a naval invasion. An English fleet of a hundred sail, under
lord Lisle, high admiral, appeared suddenly in the Forth,
and disembarked a force which plundered Leith, sacked
Edinburgh, which had been deserted by its inhabitants, ra¬
vaged the adjoining country with merciless cruelty, and
left upon land a considerable force, which, in its retreat,
was as remorseless in its devastations as the fleet had
been in its attack. Such was Henry’s mode of wooing, of
which it was well observed by lord Herbert, that he did
too much for a suitor, and too little for a conqueror.
It might have been expected that the rival leaders and
factions in the state, all of whom had suffered by this in¬
vasion, would have had their eyes opened to the necessity
of saving the country, by uniting their strength ; but in
vain the cardinal strained every effort to effect so desir¬
able a result. Mutual jealousies, feudal quarrels, renewed
intrigues with England, private bonds or covenants among
themselves, all co-operated to destroy any cordial union;
and the earls of Lennox and Glencairn, two of the most
powerful of the Scottish barons, seized this opportunity to
sell themselves to Henry, and to conduct a hostile expedi¬
tion into the heart of Scotland.
It was at this moment, when all was gloom and despond¬
ency, that the earl of Angus, who, with his brother, had
been lately restored to his estates, and absolved in Par-
A.H. 1544-]jament from the sentence of treason, encountered and to¬
tally defeated Sir Ralph Evre and Sir Brian Layton at
Ancram Muir. These English leaders had procured from
Henry a grant of all they could conquer in Teviotdale and
the Merse, where Angus’s estates chiefly lay; and penetrat¬
ing at the head of five thousand men to Melrose, they not
only ravaged that district, but plundered the abbey, and
wantonly defaced the tombs of the house of Douglas; an
insult which Angus revenged in the most signal manner,
by attacking the English in their retreat, dispersing their
force, with the slaughter of eight hundred men, leaving Evre
and Layton dead on the field, and making a capture of one
thousand prisoners.
This victory, although resulting not from patriotic prin¬
ciple, but personal revenge, had a good effect in restor¬
ing confidence to the people; and it was followed up by the
resolution of Francis the First to equip a fleet for the in¬
vasion of England, and to assist Scotland by an auxiliary
force. Beaton, encouraged by this expected aid, having
concentrated his party, prevailed upon the majority of the
nobles, in a convention held in the capital, to refuse
every advance of the English monarch, and to declare the
treaty of peace and marriage at an end; while Henry,
enraged to the utmost pitch by this success, eagerly en¬
couraged a second plot of the earls of Cassillis, Angus,
and Glencairn, for the murder of the cardinal. The
king, however, enjoined Sir Ralph Sadler to propose the
assassination, as coming from himself, and the conspirators
at this moment would not act without Henry’s direct ap- Scotland.
In the midst of these dark plots, a French fleet arrived Maiy.
in Scotland with three thousand men. This led to decisive ^rivai ofa
measures. A Scottish army was assembled; but torn as prenctl
usual by internal dissensions, and betrayed by the Douglases, fleet>
who held a principal command, its operations were insigni-A.D. 1545.
ficant, and its retreat almost immediate. This was follow7- Hostilities
ed by a cruel invasion of the English, in which the earl of continue(f*
Hertford, at the head of an army, whose numbers rendered
opposition fruitless, invaded Scotland, and after a desolating
progress, sent word to his master, that for three hundred
years there had not been such ravages committed. Seven
monasteries and religious houses, sixteen castles and towns,
five market towns, two hundred and forty-three villages,
thirteen mills and three hospitals, were burned dowm during
this atrocious expedition; and there still exists a character¬
istic letter, in which Henry, on receiving some French de¬
serters into his service, enjoins them to show their attach¬
ment by some notable exploit, such as the “ trapping or
slaying the cardinal.” Fie, at the same time, engaged the
earl of Lennox, and Donald, lord of the Isles, to attack Scot¬
land on the west coasts; and having heard that Beaton, his
able and indefatigable enemy, meditated a visit to France
for the purpose of subsidising a large auxiliary force for the
continuance of the war, he determined to make a last effort
to cut him off, and with this view, resumed with the laird
of Brunston the plot for his assassination.
Into the details of this remarkable conspiracy, and the Conspiracy
various parties whom Henry contrived to bring together for to assassin-
the execution of his sanguinary purpose, we cannot here ate Beaton.
enter.2 Fanaticism of the sternest kind, which had been ^•D^4^;
worked up into action by the cardinal’s cruel execution of^11^’^
George Wishart, commonly called the martyr, united itself a| june
to more mercenary motives with some of the conspirators, 1545.
and with others, to the desire of private revenge; and on the
morning of the 28th of May, a band of desperate men, who
are now known to have been in the pay of England, and
some of whom had been on former occasions urged by the
English king to the commission of the murder, broke into
the cardinal’s apartments in the castle of St. Andrews, beat
down the barricades with which the miserable man had at¬
tempted to defend the door, and putting him instantly to
death, hung out his naked and mangled body over the win¬
dow of his bed-chamber, in savage and brutal triumph. They
then seized the castle, dismissed unharmed the household
servants of the cardinal, sent off a messenger to the English
court to inform Henry of their success; and being soon after¬
wards joined by John Knox, and a considerable band of his
friends, who considered the death of Beaton as favourable to
the reformation, they determined to defend the castle for
Henry against any force which might be brought against
them.
These confident anticipations were, for a time, overthrown Death of
by the death of Henry the Eighth, an event soon followed Henry
by that of his rival Francis the First; but the accession of'Y*11,
Edward the Sixth in England, and that of Henry the Second ^j^ward
in France, did not materially alter the policy of either king- yj
dom towards Scotland. In England, the protector Somer- Measures
set, who was placed at the head of the government during of the
the minority of his royal nephew, considered himself bound Protector
to enforce the observation of the marriage treaty between Somerset.
Edward and the young queen of Scots; while in France,
Henry the Second, devoted to the cause of the Catholic
church, and directed in his affairs by the Guises, foresaw
at once the necessity of an intimate union with Mary of
J Tytier’s History of Scotland, vol. v. pp. 388, 389.
* The whole of the plot, as it is to be traced in authentic letters in the State Paper-Office, will be found detailed in Tytler’s History
of Scotland, vol. v. p. 387—391, and in an Appendix to that volume mtitled, “ Historical Remarks on the Assassination of Cardinal
Beaton ”
VOL. XIX. 5 F
778 SCOTLAND.
Scotland. Guise the queen-dowager, and the governor Arran ; his po-
]icy being to arrest the spread of the reformed opinions, and
Mary. ^ ^ to weaken England in the quarter to which Somerset look-
ArrivaWjf' et^ ^or an easy triumph.
a French* ^'or n'ne years after the assassination of Beaton, the earl
fleet in °f Arran continued at the head of the government; and
Scotland, during that period some events took place which drew
after them important effects. The warlike preparations
of Somerset induced the French government to antici¬
pate his motions ; and a French fleet of sixteen armed gal¬
leons having entered the Frith, bombarded and carried the
castle of St. Andrews, in which the conspirators against
Beaton, and Knox the Scottish reformer, had deemed them¬
selves secure.
Knox call- It was when shut up in St. Andrews, that this extra-
ed to the ordinary man first assumed the office of a minister of the
ministry, reformed religion; but having capitulated with the rest,
A.D. 1546. jie wag embarked with his associates for France, and on
his arrival there, kept a prisoner in chains on board the
galleys. He remained on the continent till 1550, when he
returned not to Scotland, but to England, and became
one of the chaplains to Edward the Sixth.
Somerset Immediately after the siege of St. Andrews, the protec-
invades tor Somerset invaded Scotland at the head of an army of
Battle of fourteen thousand strong, and supported by a fleet of thirty-
Pinkey0 ^our S^TS war* was met by Arran, the governor, at
A.D. 1547. Musselburgh, or Pinkey-cleugh, within about six miles
distance from the capital, where an army considerably more
than double the number of the English had encamped in so
strong a position on the banks of the Esk, that with proper
military skill on their part, any attempt to dislodge them
might have brought ruin on their assailants. The inexpe¬
rience and folly of Arran, the governor, threw away this
advantage. He mistook a movement of Somerset, in which
the English leader meant to possess himself of an adjoining
height, for an intention to communicate with his fleetand re¬
embark his army; and contrary to the remonstrances of his
best officers, he gave orders for the whole army to strike their
tents and cross the river on which he had encamped. The
order was at first resisted, at last unwillingly and imper¬
fectly obeyed; and in the midst of the confusion which en¬
sued, the English attacked the Scottish divisions in detail,
and after a sanguinary conflict, gained a complete victory.
Fourteen thousand were slain in the battle and in the chase,
while the English loss was comparatively trifling.
Since the fatal day of Floddon, Scotland had sustained no
defeat in the least degree approaching to this at Pinkey,
and had it been followed up by the Protector, the conse¬
quences must have been of the most serious kind, perhaps
fatal to the liberty of the country. But happily Somerset,
at the very moment of his victory, received accounts of
a conspiracy which his enemies at the English court had
organized against him; and impatient to confront them in
person, his measures were hurried, confused, and ill-di¬
gested. After a brief stay in the capital, he commenced
his retreat through Teviotdale, and the fleet at the same
time weighed anchor and returned to England.
M^y sent 'l he consequences of the defeat at Pinkey, and the effects
to f ranee, of a subsequent and cruel inroad into Annandale by Lord
trothed to barton and the earl of Lennox, were to exasperate the
the Dau- ^e“ngs of national antipathy, and to throw the governor and
phin. V16 floooo-mother more decidedly into the arms of France.
A convention was held at Stirling, in which it was deter¬
mined to request the immediate assistance of a French force,
and to send Mary, the young queen of Scots, to be educated
at the court of Henry the Second. Soon afterwards, the Sieur
Montalembert, commonly called Monsieur d’Esse, one of
the ablest officers in the service of that country, arrived in
Scotland with six thousand men. In a parliament held at
Haddington, the marriage of the French dauphin to the
queen of Scots was finally determined; and the infant Mary,
then in her sixth year, took her voyage to France, accom- Scotland,
panied by lords Erskine and Livingston, her governors,
and arrived in safety at the court of St. Germain, in August Mary.
1548. 5 A.D.1548.
It belongs not to an historical sketch of this kind, to enter War with
into the details of that sanguinary and obstinate war which England,
now took place between England and the united strength Peace con-
ot Fiance and Scotland. I he slaughter at Pinkey, the
burning of their sea-ports and shipping, and the pitiless se¬
verity with which the repeated invasions of their country
were accompanied, had at length animated the Scots with
a common feeling of revenge, which gave to the contest
a character of peculiar ferocity, and manifested itself in
shocking excesses. Happily the struggle did not continue
long. The peace of Boulogne, between France and Eng¬
land, led, in 1550, to a cessation of hostilities in Scotland,
where for some time before, the tide of success had run in
favour of the governor and his foreign auxiliaries ; and thus,
after a war which had lasted for seven years, dating it from
the year 1543, when Henry the Eighth determined to en¬
force the observation of the treaty, the English saw them¬
selves obliged to abandon the extravagant project of compel¬
ling the Scots into a matrimonial alliance.
This war, for the accomplishment of the marriage, was not Mary of
longafterwardsfoliowed by thestill moreimportantandevent- Guise ob-
ful struggle for the establishment of the reformation, the his- tains the
tory of which may properly be divided into the war of opinion, re^ncy
which extended from the arrival of Knox in Scotland in 1555, 1654,
to the attack upon Perth in 1559; and the actual war between
the Congregation and their opponents, which was compara¬
tively of short duration, and concluded in the treaty of Edin¬
burgh and the triumph of the party of the Congregation, in
1561. How difficult is it, in the narrow compass allowed us for
this picture, to do justice even to its prominent outlines ?
The queen-dowager, Mary of Guise, a woman, by the con¬
fession of her enemies, of good judgment, and sincere and
upright principles, succeeded in procuring the retirement
of Arran and her own nomination to the regency, (April
1554). She was enabled to accomplish this chiefly by the
influence of France, then high in Scotland; but she was
assisted also by the leaders of the protestant party, whom
she courted and attached to her interest. Her possession
of the supreme power was soon followed by the death of
Edward the Sixth and the accession of Mary, a princess,
as is well known, sincerely devoted to the ancient faith;
but these changes were not accompanied by any important
political events. The queen-dowager, indeed, when she saw
England and Spain engaged in Italy in a struggle with France
and the pope, deemed it her duty to suport her country and
attack England ; but although the Scottish barons assembled
an army, it was only to act on the defensive; they refused
to cross the border, and the Regent, hitherto on the most
amicable terms with the nobles, dismissed them with undis¬
sembled resentment.
To make up for this disappointment, the marriage between Marriage
the young queen of Scots and the dauphin was concluded of Mary tc
with much solemnity at Notre Dame; and in a parliament the Dau-
held at Edinburgh, it was agreed that the youthful husband pidn-
should bear the title of king of Scotland during the con-
tinuance of the marriage, that all letters in Scotland should ^.CQSslon
run in the joint names of Francis and Mary, and that the Elizabeth,
arms of both kingdoms should be quartered in the great seal A.D. 1558.
and the current coin of the realm. These transactions had
not been long concluded, when Mary of England, broken¬
hearted by the loss of Calais and the neglect of Philip, sunk
into the grave ; and Elizabeth’s accession to the throne was
hailed with universal delightby the protestant party in Europe.
When the English queen placed herself at the head of Progress of
the reformation, this great moral revolution had made no^e Refor-
inconsiderable progress in Scotland. The return of Knoxmat'on in
to his native country in 1555, and the influence which bis ®cot‘lai1^*
SCOTLAND.
Scotland, fiery zeal and popular eloquence soon gained over the Con-
v-«»^v^^,'gregation, determined them to make a formal separation from
Mary and tjie Catholic Church; and although the reformer was once
AIM557 more compelled, probably by fears for his life, to retreat to
’ Geneva, the danger appears soon to have passed, and the
leaders of the Congregation, conscious of increasing strength,
entered into that memorable bond or covenant, by which
they engaged to establish the word of God, to maintain the
gospel of Christ, to labour to have faithful ministers, and to
execute judgment upon what they termed the superstitions
and abominations of the ancient faith.
This bond was little less than an open declaration of war
against the established religion; and lest it should be mis¬
understood, the lords of the Congregation at the same time
passed a resolution, declaring, that in all parishes the com¬
mon prayer, by which was meant the service book of Ed¬
ward the Sixth, should be read in the churches by the cu¬
rates, if qualified to perform this service, if not, by others
in the parish who were qualified. It was resolved at the same
time, that doctrine, preaching, and the interpretation of Scrip¬
ture should be used privately, until it pleased God to move
the prince to grant public preaching by faithful ministers.
Burning of The Roman Catholic clergy received such a denunciation
Walter of the national faith with alarm and indignation; and resort-
ingonce more to those weapons which had already so deep-
' ]y injured their cause, they deemed it expedient to hold up
an example which should strike terror into the new converts.
Walter Mill, a priest who had embraced the reformation,
was seized, tried, delivered over to the secular arm and
burned at St. Andrews. The people, however, only execrat¬
ed the cruelty of which he was the victim, and his last words
were never forgotten. “ I am now fourscore and two years
old, and could not have lived long by the course of nature;
but a hundred better shall rise out of the ashes of my bones,
and I trust in God I am the last who shall suffer death in
Scotland for this cause.” A pathetic declaration, and hap¬
pily prophetical.
Remon- Against this cruel execution, the lords of the Congrega-
strance of tion, Glencairn, Argyll, Morton, Erskine of Dun, and others,
theCongre- presented a remonstrance to the queen-dowager. It was im-
possible, they said, that her Grace could be ignorant of the
A' ’ controversy which had arisen between them and the popish
clergy, concerning the true religion and the right worship¬
ping of God. They denounced the power which was claimed
by these priests of dictating their creed under the penalty
of fire and faggot, and declared, that although hitherto they
had remained quiescent under such abuses, they now were
persuaded, that they, “as part of that power which God had
established in the land,” were bound to defend their perse¬
cuted brethren. They proceeded still more boldly to state,
that a reformation of abuses was necessary, not only in re¬
ligion, but in the temporal government of the state; and
after claiming for themselves the free right of assembling in
public or private, hearing common prayers, and having the
sacrament of the Lord’s Supper administered in the vulgar
tongue, they concluded by declaring that they were willing
that the controversy between themselves and the Catholic
priesthood should be determined by a reference to the New
Testament, the w ritings of the fathers, and the laws of the
emperor Justinian. This declaration was soon after fol¬
lowed by a supplication to parliament, in which they re¬
quested that all statutes by which churchmen were empower¬
ed to proceed against heretics, should be suspended until
the controversies in religion were determined by a general
council of the church.
Proceed- This petition was received by the queen-regent with con-
ings of the cealed dissatisfaction, by the great body of the Roman Ca-
queen- tholic clergy with undisguised scorn and reprobation. It
dowager. sujte(j however the regent at this moment to dissemble.
She required the aid of the protestant lords to carry her
favourite measures in this parliament, the obtaining the crown-
779
matrimonial and the title of king of Scots for the dauphin; Scotland,
and intreating the lords of the Congregation to withdrawv
their petition and articles for a season, she promised them Mary and
her protection, and a favourable consideration of their de- ^
mands. To this they agreed, butunder aprotestation which ‘ '
was publicly read in parliament. It proved by the manner
in which it was worded that they knew their own strength;
and, in the event of a refusal, were prepared to enforce their
demand for liberty of conscience and a thorough reforma¬
tion of the church.
It was at this crisis, when the lords of the Congregation A.D. 1558.
had taken their stand on the ground which they never af- Progress of
terwards deserted, and when the queen-regent, having ob-1^6 Refpr-
tained her wishes, considered herself independent of their
support, that Elizabeth succeeded to the throne, and Knox,
who soon after his first return had left Scotland, again
arrived in his native country. Both events produced the
most important effects. It was one of the great principles
of Elizabeth’s policy to increase her own security by weak¬
ening her neighbours; to accomplish which, she invariably
fomented a secret faction wdiich opposed itself to the exist¬
ing government. We have already seen how lightly the
feudal nobility of Scotland were accustomed to regard
the power of the crown or the laws of the realm, if they
interfered in any prominent manner with their personal
freedom or privileges; and the history of the country, from
the rebellion in the reign of James the Third, to the moment
when they so recently refused to lead their forces against
England, had exhibited little else than the total destruction
of any balance between the fierce unbridled license of the
aristocracy, and the decreasing influence of the crown and
the laws.
Of those nobles who had been ready, without any feel¬
ings of shame, to renounce their allegiance to their country,
and to be bought over by England, many had embraced the
principles of the reformation. To men so long accustom¬
ed to make their personal interest the measure of their duty,
and to think and act as they pleased, a revolution which
contended for liberty of conscience and the license of pri¬
vate judgment, must have warmly recommended itself; and
when they considered the history of the English reforma¬
tion, and the appropriation of the church lands by Henry
and Edward, they could not, we may believe, be totally dead
to the lesson. The church of Rome in Scotland was compa¬
ratively as rich as her sister had been across the border; and
if the reformation was to be as complete in their own coun¬
try as in England, it was not difficult for these shrewd barons
to persuade themselves that they might imitate, perhaps im¬
prove the example.
Over an aristocracy of such a character, Elizabeth and her influence
ministers at once perceived how easy it would be to acquire acquired
an influence. Her policy at home was to avoid war, and over the
to enforce in every department of the state the most rigid Congrega.
economy. Her policy abroad, as already observed, was to
give her neighbours full employment within their own realm,
by secretly encouraging every faction which rose against
the government. From the first moment of her accession,
therefore, she favoured the leaders of the Congregation, di¬
rected their measures, supported them with money, and re¬
ceived from them in return a respect and deierence supe¬
rior to that which they paid to their own sovereign.
But if the effects of the accession of Elizabeth upon the influence
body of the Scottish nobles, were important in reference toof Knox,
the reformation, the consequences of Knox’s re-appearance Change sn
were not less momentous upon the character of the people.
Hitherto the healthy patriotic feeling, the resolution to de-° ^ f
fend their independence as a separate kingdom from foreign *c ^ ’
domination and attack, had existed almost exclusively in the
middle and lower orders, the commercial classes, and the la¬
bourers of the soil. But among these, the principles of
the reformation had taken a deep root. They had adopted
780
SCOTLAND.
Scotland, them, not like many of the nobles, from interest, but from the shrines and relics, and speedily demolished every monu- Scotland.
conviction ; and upon their minds the popular eloquence of ment which seemed to savour of idolatry. From that mo-
Mary and Knox, his fiery zeal, his denunciations of superstition, his ment the fate of the Roman Catholic church in Scotland .and
Francis. sarcastic attacks upon the ignorance and the vices of his was decided. Having once broken through restraint, and
A.I). 1558.0pp0nents> produced a powerful impression. Till this period
they had been wont to regard trance as their ancient ally,
and England as their ancient enemy. But France was now
held forth to them, in the discourses of their favourite
found their own strength, the multitude rushed to the reli¬
gious houses of the Black and Grey friars, and inflicted on
them an equally summary vengeance. They then attack¬
ed the charter-house or Carthusian monastery, which expe-
preacher, as their bitterest foe, because the enemy of their rienced a similar fate; and the infection of tumult and
soul’s health; while England was the land of gospel light, destruction spreading throughout the country, many excesses
and its queen the princess to whom, as the bulwark of the of the same kind were committed in the provincial towns,
truth, they ought to look with affection and admiration. That Knox or his disciples directly advised such spoliation
Such were the feelings of the Scottish nobles, and the cannot be proved; that the principles which he laid down,
great body of the people, with reference to the momentous and his stern denunciations of his opponents as idolaters*
struggle between the reformation and the Roman Catholic led to these excesses, is certain.
faith, which was now about to convulse the country. Had The effects of such scenes on the queen-dowager, were to Progress of
the queen-dowager continued to act with the same judg- rouse her to instant activity, and to array the two parties the contest,
ment and caution which had distinguished the commence- in determined opposition to each other; for although some Armistice
ment of her government, it is possible that the struggle of the protestant leaders, disclaiming, all intentions of re-ProP^ed
might have been for a time averted ; but at this moment the bellion, disapproved of the late violence, and still acted qfieene_re.
powerful princes of the house of Guise deemed it expedient with the regent, their neutrality was so short-lived that it gent.
ants.
to join the league which had been concluded between the
pope, the king of Spain, and the emperor, for the destruc¬
tion of the protestants, and the re-establishment of the ca¬
tholic faith in Europe. They immediately communicated
with their sister, the regent, in Scotland; and such was
unfortunately their influence over her mind, that after a
feeble resistance she joined the papal coalition.
A. D. 1558. This fatal step was followed, as might have been expect-
Collision ed, by an immediate collision between the two parties. In
between a convention of the clergy which was held at Edinburgh, in
j.he C^h(?' March 1559, the lords of the Congregation, in addition to
Protest-1 *e ^ie demands which they had already presented, insisted that
bishops should not henceforward be elected without the
consent of the gentlemen of the diocese, nor parish priests
except by the votes of the parishioners. These proposals
were met by the queen with a determined refusal. A pro¬
clamation was issued, commanding all persons to resort
daily to mass and confession. It was declared that no lan¬
guage but the Latin could be used in public prayers, with¬
out violating the most sacred decrees of the church ; and
the protestant ministers who had acted in defiance of these
injunctions, were summoned to appear at Stirling, and
there answer to the accusations which should be brought
against them.
They accordingly did appear ; but it was with Knox at
their head, and surrounded by crowds of their devoted fol¬
lowers, who were led by the principal barons of Angus
and Mearns. On reaching Perth, however, it was judged
scarcely demands attention. It had the effect, however, of
producing a momentary spirit of conciliation. The protest¬
ants presented an address to the queen, to the nobility, and
to the Roman Catholic clergy. In the first they professed
their loyalty, deprecated her injustice, and demanded li¬
berty of conscience, and the right of hearing their own
preachers. In the second they vindicated their conduct to
their brethren of the Roman Catholic nobility from the
charge of heresy and sedition, while they upbraided those
who first espoused and now deserted their cause. The
third epistle to the Roman Catholic clergy, whom they
broadly stigmatized as the generation of antichrist, was a
denunciation of war, composed in that spirit of coarse and
abusive railing which unfortunately marks the style of the
early reformers. Such accusations were little calculated to
produce pacific feelings ; but the queen-regent, who had
assembled her army, finding it inferior in strength to the
Congregation, proposed an armistice, which on certain con¬
ditions was accepted. The Congregation having bound
themselves to each other in a new covenant, disbanded
their forces, and for the second time, as they allege, were
overreached by the treachery of the dowager, who, against
a solemn stipulation, occupied Perth with a body of French
soldiers, expelled the magistrates who favoured the reform¬
ation, and garrisoned the town with troops in the pay of
of the
queen-re-
gent.
France, though in reality Scots.
This unwise and unjustifiable duplicity had the worst The Lord
          7 7   effects. The lord James, afterwards the regent Murray, James de¬
expedient to attempt a measure of conciliation; and Erskine a young man of great talents and ambition, who had hither- ^rts
of Dun, a gentleman of ancient family, and grave experi- to adhered to the regent, though professing reformed opi- j^Cou-
ence, leaving his brethren, proceeded to the court at Stir- nions, deserted her. Argyll, a powerful and influential gregatiou
ling, where he was admitted to an interview with the re- nobleman, followed his example ; and, faithful to their re- take
gent. He assured her that their single demand was to be newed covenant, the army of the Congregation assembled in Perth,
allowed to worship God according to their conscience, and strength at St. Andrews. Knox in the mean time, whose A. D. 1559
to secure liberty for their preachers. She replied, that if voice, Sadler, the English ambassador, compares in his let-
he would prevail on the Congregation to disperse, their ters to the sound of a thousand trumpets, set out on a preach-
ing tour through the country. Directing his powerful and po¬
pular eloquence against the evils of superstition, and the mi¬
sery of the thraldom which, by means of foreign mercenaries,
the house of Guise were attempting to fix upon their coun¬
try, he so powerfully excited the people, that they deter¬
mined to take the reformation into their own hands, and
levelled with the ground the monasteries of the Franciscan
and Dominican orders. It was in vain that the regent ex¬
preachers should be unmolested, the summons discharged,
and their grievances redressed.
Duplicity To this Erskine consented. Hecommunicatedtheagree-
and severity ment to his brethren; the people were disbanded; and
when the reformers looked for toleration and redress, the
queen-dowager, with a perfidy which was as base as it was
unwise, reiterated the summons, and on their failure to ap¬
pear, denounced the ministers as rebels. Such conduct inflam¬
ed the resentment of the Congregation to the utmost degree; erted herself to check these popular outrages. The phrensy
and Knox having seized the moment to deliver a stern and gained strength; the nobles and leaders of the Congregation
impassioned sermon againstidolatry, the people were wrought felt proportionally encouraged, and advancing with their
up to a state of high excitement. Observing a priest about forces upon Perth, they opened a cannonade, and in a
to celebrate mass, after the preacher had retired, they short time made themselves masters of the town. Stimu-
burst in upon the altar, tore down its ornaments, shivered lated to a high pitch of excitement by such success, the
SCOTLAND. 781
Scotland, multitude, contrary to the entreaties of Knox, attacked and
destr°ycd abbey church and palace of Scone ; after
ary an which, a portion of the army of the Congregation, under the
A^D J559. dames and Argyll, made a rapid march upon Stirling,
which they occupied, hastened afterwards to Linlithgow,
and having in both towns pulled down the altars, destroyed
the shrines, and, as they said, purged the places of idola¬
try, they compelled the regent to make a rapid retreat to
Dunbar, and entered the capital in triumph, in June 1559.
The queen- 1 his last s'.iccess, while it gave the highest courage to
regent calls the party of the reformation, convinced the queen-regent
for hrench that every hope to avoid a civil war must be abandoned,
assis ance. an(] that the crisis called for her most determined exertions.
She instantly communicated her dangerous situation to
France, and received in return a large reinforcement of
French troops, whose discipline, skill, and equipment, being
superior to the common feudal militia which the Congrega¬
tion brought into the field, at once gave her a superiority.
1 he reformers, on the other hand, threw themselves upon
the protection of England; and Elizabeth, although she
scrupled to send them either money or troops, encouraged
them with general promises of approval, and, in case of ex¬
treme danger, with some hopes of support. In addition to
this, her minister Cecil hinted in his letters the expediency
of using their present power to “strip the Romish church
of its pomp and wealth,” and, as he termed it, “ to apply
good things to good useswhile the terms in which the
Congregation replied, seem to point to a more secret com¬
munication, in which this unscrupulous politician had ad¬
vised the deposition of the regent, and a change of the go¬
vernment. It is certain that the necessity of such a mea¬
sure had been for some time contemplated by the Congre¬
gation, but it was to be resorted to as the last extremity.
In a letter from Kirkcaldy of Grange, one of their principal
leaders, addressed to Sir Henry Percy, (1st of July 1559),
and explanatory of their intentions, he declared that if the
regent would consent to a reformation conformable to the
pure word of God, cleanse the popish churches of all monu¬
ments oi idolatry, suffer the book of common prayer pub¬
lished by Edward the Sixth to be read, and send away the
French troops, they were ready to obey and serve her, and
to annex the whole revenues of the abbeys to the crown.
Deposition hor the queen-dowager to have agreed to this would have
of tlie been equivalent to the giving up of the whole question, and
qtieen-re- would have been to establish protestantism on the ruins
gent. 0f w]iat s]ie esteemed the true church. She accordingly
met the demands of the Congregation by a peremptory de¬
nial. In return they withdrew from her their allegiance,
and in the name of their sovereign, whose authority they
unscrupulously assumed, suspended her from the high office
which she had abused.
The war now broke out with a violence proportioned to
the exasperated feelings of either faction. The Congrega¬
tion, at first intimidated by the superiority in the discipline
of the French troops, began to dread a calamitous result;
but they soon saw themselves strengthened by the arrival
of an English fleet, while a land force under the duke of
Norfolk advanced to Berwick, and after a negotiation with
the reformed leaders, pushed forward into Scotland, and
was joined at Preston by the army of the reformers.
The war is It belongs not to this sketch to enter into details of hos-
of brief tilities, and happily for both countries the war was of brief
Treat10of duradon' ddle queen-dowager, sinking under a broken con-
Peace^at stitution, died at Edinburgh, on the 10th of June 1560. The
Edinburgh, Congregation, disheartened by some reverses, and weakened
a.d. 1560. by disunion among their principal leaders, felt no inclina¬
tion to prolong the struggle ; and Elizabeth having offered
her services as a mediatrix between the two parties, a
meeting of the English, French, and Scottish commissioners
took place at Edinburgh, by whom a treaty of peace was Scotland,
concluded, having for its basis the withdrawal of the French
troops from Scotland, and a recognition of the validity of Mary and
the treaty of Berwick between Elizabeth and the party 0f Francis,
the congregation. Into this last proviso the French com-
missioners sent over by the young queen of Scots and her
husband the dauphin, were entrapped by the diplomatic
skill of Sir William Cecil, one of the English commission¬
ers, contrary to their express instructions; and its validity
was never admitted by the Scottish queen ; but in the
mean time it greatly strengthened the hands of the Congre¬
gation. At the same moment the leaders of this party pre¬
sented to the commissioners certain “ articles” concerning
religion ; but Elizabeth had directed Cecil and Woolton to
decline all discussion upon the subject; and the reformers,
who looked to the convention of Estates for the settlement
of the question, did not press the point.
A parliament accordingly assembled at Edinburgh, on the Parliament
10th of July 1560. The lesser barons who had for some time at Edin-
suffered their rights of sitting in the convention of estates burgh,
to fall into disuse, were mostly attached to the doctrines 0f A-D-15c0'
the reformers, and looked with deep interest to the debates
which were about to take place on the subject of religion.
They accordingly met, claimed their right, and after some
opposition, were allowed to take their place. This threw a
preponderating weight into the party of the Congregation ;
and the “Confession of Faith,” together with a “Book of Confession
Discipline,” which embodied the great principles of a re- of Faith,
formed church, and protested against the errors, abuses,
and superstitions of the Roman Catholic faith, was sub¬
mitted to Parliament. The Confession of Faith passed
with little opposition. This remarkable paper, or rather
treatise, professes to be a summary of Christian doctrine
founded on the word of God ; and although drawn up by
Knox and his brethren in a very short space, embodied the
result of much previous study and consultation. It is wor¬
thy of observation, that at this early period, the church of
Scotland, in explaining the articles of its faith, approaches
indefinitely near to the Apostles’ creed, and the articles of
Edward the Sixth ; and that where it differs, it leans more
to the side of Catholicism than ultra-protestantism.
Three acts followed the adoption of this Confession of
Faith. The first abolished for ever in Scotland, the power
and jurisdiction of the Pope ; the second repealed all for¬
mer statutes passed in favour of the Catholic church ; the
third inflicted the highest penalties upon any who thence¬
forward should dare to say or to hear mass.
All this met with little opposition ; but the Book of Dis-Book of
cipline, by which the future government of the church was Discipline,
to be determined, gave rise to the keenest debates. “ Some
of the nobles and barons at once refused to sign it; others
did sign, but eluded its injunctions ; others mocked at its
provisions, and called them devout imaginations.”1 The
cause of this is attributed by Knox to its interfering with
the privileges and property of many powerful barons who
had already “griped the possessions of the church.” It
also discouraged other expectants, “who thought they
would not lack their part of Christ’s coat.”2 The first class,
according to the same authority, had no remorse of con¬
science, nor intended to restore any thing of that which they
had long stolen or reft. The second were no doubt afraid,
that if the ministers were first provided for, little or no¬
thing would be left for them.
In considering its provisions it is material to notice, that Provisions
it committed the election of ministers solely to the people, of the
using, however, the precaution that the minister so chosen, Book of
before he was admitted to the holy office, should be exam- Discipline,
ined and approved of by the ministers and elders, upon all
points of controversy between the church of Rome and the
1 Tytler’s History of Scotland, vol. vi. p. 219-
2 Knox’s History, p. 276.
782
SCOTLAND.
Scotland. Congregation ; after which he was to be considered an or-
dained minister, without any further solemnity, it being ob-
Mary and served that although the apostles used the imposition of
Francis, o hantls, it was intended to impart, and did impart miracu-
A. U. dbU. joug p0wergj an(j «the miracle having ceased, the using
the ceremony was judged henceforth unnecessary.” The
country was divided by it into ten dioceses, over which ten
ministers, named Superintendents, were appointed, whose
duty it was to be ambulatory preachers, and to inquire, in the
course of their progress, into the lives of the clergy, the
provision for the poor, and the proper instruction of youth.
It is in this last clause that we meet with the first proposal
of that admirable institution of parish schools, to which
Scotland has since owed so much of her prosperity. Hav¬
ing thus established their reformation, the Parliament ap¬
pointed an interim provisional government, confirmed the
treaty of Berwick which had been entered into between
Elizabeth and the Congregation, and proposed that as a
basis of perpetual amity between England and Scotland,
there should be a marriage between queen Elizabeth and
the earl of Arran, heir apparent to the crown. In conclu¬
sion, they dispatched Sir James Sandilands of Calder to
carry an account of their proceedings to their sovereigns in
France, while Sir William Maitland of Lethington, with
the earls of Morton and Glencairn, were sent on a similar
mission to Elizabeth.
Mary’s It was not to be expected that their youthful sovereign,
feelings to- educated in the bosom of the Roman Catholic church, and
wards the accustomed to look for direction and guidance to the ad-
Congrega- vjce 0p unc]es the Guises, could possibly ratify the ex-
She refuses traorc^nary Proceedings of this parliament. It had, by a
to ratify the few sweeping acts, abolished the national faith, confirmed
treaty of the treaty which a faction of her subjects whom she had all
Edinburgh..along treated as rebels, had entered into with England;
A.D.la60. ancj hy sending an embassy to Elizabeth, composed of
men of higher rank and greater influence than Sandilands,
who was deputed to wait upon their sovereign, it was in¬
timated pretty significantly, that the Congregation were de¬
termined to treat the English princess with equal if not
superior deference to that with which they regarded their
own queen. She accordingly received the Scottish envoy
with coldness, and peremptorily refused to ratify the treaty
of Edinburgh.
Death of moment Mary had the misfortune to lose her
tliehusband, Francis the Second, the young king of France;
an event which made it necessary for her to return to her
own kingdom, and at once threw her from a condition of
much contentment and prosperity into circumstances of ex¬
traordinary trial and embarrassment. She had been edu¬
cated in the most brilliant and accomplished, but, it must
be added, one of the most profligate courts in Europe.
From her infancy, as queen of Scotland, and presumptive
queen of France, she had been flattered and caressed ; and
as she was extremely beautiful, possessed of amiable man¬
ners, highly accomplished, generous, and kind-hearted, she
had received from every class of her French subjects the
unaffected homage of their admiration and regard. All
was now to be changed; and on turning her eyes from
France to her own country a melancholy contrast soon pre¬
sented itself.
Parliament soon as the king’s death was known in Scotland, a
at Edin- parliament assembled at Edinburgh, of which the proceed-
burgh. ings appear to have been overruled by the Congregation.
Character It was resolved to invite their sovereign to return to her
° t e 01 kingdom, and for this purpose to send the lord James to
France, while the Roman Catholic party dispatched Les¬
ley, afterwards the celebrated bishop of Ross, on the same
errand. The lord James, afterwards the regent Murray, was
the natural son of James the Fifth by lady Margaret Ers-
kine, who afterwards married the laird of Lochleven. From
his earliest years he had exhibited marks of an extraordinary
James.
’ James.
ambition, and a genius for affairs of state. His apparently Scotland,
blunt and careless manner, disposed men to treat him with r-'w
confidence, and enabled him, when he was least suspected, a|J'.
to carry on the most deep-laid and ambitious designs. At ‘ 0 *
this moment he was regarded as the leader of the reformed
party ; and it is a remarkable proof of his talents, that, on
his arrival in France, although at first suspected by Mary,
he acquired an extraordinary influence over her character.
It was the misfortune of the queen of Scots, who was now Conduct or
only eighteen, that she was surrounded by difficulties which Elizabeth
would have required to meet them a matured experience,
and the most attached and faithful councillors. Elizabeth, T0I_.
who saw her opportunity, and was determined not to lose'
it, dispatched the earl of Bedford to demand the confirma¬
tion of the treaty of Edinburgh ; and when this was refus¬
ed, she exhibited her resentment by declaring that Mary,
who had at first intended to pass through England into her
own realm, should receive no safeconduct; a circumstance
which made her resolve to sail at once from Dieppe to Leith.
But Elizabeth was at least an open opponent, and the young
queen, aware of her enmity, could secure herself against it.
Murray, on the other hand, to whom she too heedlessly gave her
confidence, had already visited the English court on his pas-
sage to France, communicated his plans to Elizabeth, and re¬
ceived his instructions from Cecil, her prime minister. On
his return from Paris he again passed through England, con¬
sulted with the English queen on the best methods of detain¬
ing Mary in France, and actually carried his double deal¬
ing so far as to devise means for intercepting her, should
she persist in her determination and set sail. This she at Mary ar-
last determined to do at all risks; and having had the good”''68 in
fortune to escape the English cruisers, which were directed
to be on the look out, she arrived at Leith, and was receiv¬
ed with the utmost enthusiasm by all classes of her subjects,
(August 19» 1561).
These happy indications were of short duration; and when Difficulties
the young queen considered the state of parties in Scotland, °f her situ*
the difficulties of her situation appeared complicated andatlon*
disheartening. She was herself a conscientious Roman Catho¬
lic, warmly attached to France and the Guises her uncles.
This of itself rendered her an object of suspicion and aversion
to Knox, the great leader of the protestant clergy, and to
the powerful nobles who had espoused the reformation. She
had already peremptorily refused to sanction the proceed¬
ings of the Parliament, which had confirmed the treaty of
Berwick, abolished the papal supremacy, and substituted
the protestant doctrines and worship for the ancient faith.
This drew upon her the enmity of England, and the Eng¬
lish party in Scotland, led by Murray and Lethington ; and
as the influence of Knox and the preachers over their con¬
gregations was strong and universal, the feelings of the mi¬
nisters were communicated to the great body of the people,
and checked those sentiments of loyalty which manifested
themselves upon her arrival. If, from such opponents, Mary
turned to the body of her Roman Catholic nobles, among
whom the most powerful and influential was the earl of
Huntly, she found them animated indeed upon one great
subject, by a community of sentiment; but then they, in
common with all the nobles, had been so long accustomed
to independence, and looked so constantly to the preserva¬
tion and increase of their own power that, as a party, they
were extremely difficult to manage. Lastly, looking to the
great body of the Roman Catholic clergy, there was no one
who, since the death of Beaton, had possessed that vigour of
character and talent for state affairs, which were absolutely
necessary in any minister to whom the queen should give her
confidence, if we except Lesley, afterwards bishop of Ross.
It was necessary for her, however, to decide upon a line Lord
of policy; and after deliberate consideration, the queen de- James
termined to make the lord James her chief minister, and toma(fe ch!6f
secure the friendship and good offices of Elizabeth. In thisnumster*
SCOTLAND.
783
Mary.
A.D.1563
Mary's in¬
tended
Scotland. way she hoped to attach to herself the great body of her peo¬
ple, who were mostly protestants ; and as from France, torn
at this moment by civil and religious dissensions, she could
expect little assistance, she deemed it the more necessary to
preserve peace with England. Events of much interest now
succeeded each other with a startling rapidity, and. the his¬
tory of Mary, in the brief circle of six years, presented an
appalling tragedy, of which we can only give the outline.
The first point on which the two queens came into colli¬
sion was on the delicate subject of marriage. Mary’s sub-
niarriage^i jects wished her to marry, and she considered it wise and
’ necessary that she should gratify their wishes. She was in
the bloom of youth, extremely beautiful, and of manners so
engaging and attractive, that few could see her without sen¬
timents of admiration and regard. She was queen of Scot¬
land, and, after Elizabeth, undoubted heir to the English
throne ; though this queen, from her morbid jealousy upon
the subject of the succession, had never recognised her
right. Mary’s great object, at this moment, was to marry
with her approbation, and to procure a declaration of her
right of succession to the throne, failing Elizabeth’s issue.
She accordingly declared that she would regard her advice
upon this subject as that of a mother, and consulted her sister
of England with an openness and devotion which, if not per¬
fectly prudent, appears to have been perfectly sincere.
Elizabeth’s ][n return for this confidence, the conduct of the queen
duplicity. 0p Eng]an(i was markec[ by that insincerity, selfishness, and
1562 1563 want of truth which too frequently characterised her policy.
She was determined that, if Mary did marry, she should
low^er herself by the alliance ; but she would have been still
better pleased could she have so ordered matters that she
should not marry at all; and, guided by this ungenerous
object, Elizabeth commenced a system of intrigue, the sole
object of which was mystification and delay, and in which
she enjoyed the satisfaction, not only of deceiving Mary and
her councillors, but of setting her own ministers at fault, and
rendering it impossible for them to decipher her real inten¬
tions. In the course of these negotiations, after objecting
to every foreign alliance, the English queen at last proposed
her own favourite, Leicester, and held out as a bait to Mary,
who justly deemed such an alliance beneath her rank, the
promise that the issue, if any, of this marriage should suc¬
ceed to the English throne. Nothing can be more certain
than that she had no such intention; but the farce was so
well acted, that not only Mary and the lord James, now
earl of Murray, but Randolph, the English ambassador at
the Scottish court, were deceived; and when at last the bub¬
ble broke, and it was discovered that, from first to last, Eli¬
zabeth had been playing her usual dark and double game
under the mask of friendship, the indignation of the suffer¬
ers was roused, as might have been expected, to the highest
pitch.
Mary is in- An almost immediate and violent re-action took place,
censed, and Mary had hitherto confided in Elizabeth, and consulted her
acts with Upon the marriage. She now trusted her no longer, and de¬
termined, without delay, to follow her own inclination. Since
her arrival in her dominions, she had favoured the protes¬
tants and rather repressed the Roman Catholics. She was
now disposed to reverse the system. She had hitherto
chosen Murray and Lethington as her chief ministers, had
entrusted to the first almost regal power, loaded him with
estates and honours, and placed him at the head of her no¬
bility ; and it was by Murray and Lethington’s advice that
she had shaped her policy towards England ; but the road
they marked out for her had led to insult, mortification, and
defeat. Was it possible then, that she could continue to
those two men, or to the protestant party, whom they re¬
presented, the confidence with which she had regarded them?
or rather, was it not natural that, when she discovered their
devotedness to Elizabeth, who had deceived and injured her,
she should regard them with suspicion and distrust ?
Scotlami*
precipita¬
tion.
Under these circumstances, and when agitated by such
feelings, Mary saw the lord Darnley, the eldest son of the
earl of Lennox, who, with his father, had lately returned to Mary.
Scotland. This young nobleman could boast of a royal de- ^64.
scent, his grandmother being a sister of Henry the Eighth, *0]veg to’
and he himself, next to Mary, the nearest heir to the Eng- marry the
lish throne. He was now in his twenty-first year, and had Lord Darn-
not yet discovered that weak intellect and propensity to low ley.
vices which betrayed themselves soon after his marriage. A-D. 1564
It was the misfortune of the Scottish queen that she acted
under impulses. She had been deceived by Elizabeth, and
she determined to shew her that she could choose for her¬
self. Without giving herself time to study his disposition,
and purposely abstaining from any previous communica¬
tion of her intentions to England, she selected Darnley as
her future husband, and dispatched Lethington to Elizabeth,
not, as before, to ask her counsel, but to inform her of her
resolution.
The consequences of this step were extraordinary. Darn- Elizabeth’s
Jey and his father were strongly suspected of being Roman opposition.
Catholics. Murray and Lethington saw in this alliance little
else than the demolition of their own power; the party of
Knox and the kirk anticipated the restoration of the ancient
religion; and Elizabeth not only declared herself hostile
to the alliance, but bitterly accused the Scottish queen, in¬
sisted that Lennox and Darnley were English, not Scottish
subjects, and sent them orders to repair instantly to her
court. It was hardly to be expected that so ridiculous a
command should be obeyed, and the opposition of England
only rendered Mary more determined upon the marriage.
A convention of her nobility was held at Stirling ; it was
numerously attended; the queen communicated to them ]yjaiys
her intention of marrying Darnley; the measure was ap- marriage to
proved without a dissentient voice ; and although Murray, Darnley
and the faction with whom he acted, attempted to instigate A.D. 1565.
the people to opposition and rebellion, the endeavour was
signally unsuccessful, and the queen carried her wishes in¬
to effect. She was married to Darnley in the chapel of
Holyrood, on the 29th of July 1565.
Previously to the queen’s marriage, Murray, Argyll, Leth- The earl of
ington, and the party of the kirk had been encouraged by Murray and
Elizabeth to rise against their sovereign ; and had they re-tlie P»rty of
ceived from the English queen the substantial assistance tl‘^ kir^ re"
which she promised, the result might have led to the de-^^rijia^e
thronement of her whom they represented as the oppressor England,
of her nobility, and the bitter enemy of the truth. But their A.D. 1565-
schemes were defeated by the energy and promptitude of
the Scottish queen and the timid parsimony of her sister
of England. It was in vain that Murray and his brother
insurgents reminded Cecil of their desperate situation, and
the necessity of speedy assistance both in money and in sol¬
diers. Neither the one nor the other could be wrung from
Elizabeth. They wrere proclaimed traitors, driven from one
position to another by the queen of Scots, who herself head¬
ed the forces which she led against them, and were at last
compelled to fly to England and throw themselves upon the
protection of Elizabeth. To their dismay she disowned and
repulsed them ; upbraided Murray as a traitor to his royal
mistress; and, although herself the encourager of their re¬
volt, compelled them publicly to declare that she knew no¬
thing of the matter. They were then dismissed from the
queen’s presence, and permitted to retire to Carlisle, where
the earl of Bedford received secret instructions to supply
their wants during their banishment.
While such was the course of events in England, Mary's
satisfaction in the triumph over her rebels was grievously
diminished by discovering that her husband was weak and
profligate, the dupe of every artful companion whom he met,
and unworthy of the confidence and affection with which
she had treated him in the first ardour of her passion. To
entrust him with any responsible share in the government
784
SCOTLAND.
Scotland, was impossible; and Murray’s friends who remained at
—court, and watched the increasing estrangement between
Mary. the Queen and her husband, determined to turn it to their
A.D. 1565. ad.vantage>
Mary pro- It was the misfortune of the Scottish queen that she had
motes few or no servants whom she could trust. Her secretary,
Riccio. Maitland of Lethington, had betrayed her interests to Eliza-
Murder of and wag in disgrace, and, in the mean time, the queen
X!d°1565 had availed herself of the services of Riccio, her foreign
# secretary. This person had entered her service at first as
a singer in her band, but afterwards, by his skill and fideli¬
ty, he raised himself to this confidential employment, much
to the annoyance of the young king, who regarded him with
peculiar aversion ; and, incredible as it may appear. Darnley
having persuaded himself that he had stolen from him the
affection of the young queen, resolved to assassinate him.
Nor was it difficult, among a fierce and unscrupulous
nobility, to find associates in his flagitious schemes. His
father the earl of Lennox, Morton the lord chancellor,
Lethington the ex-secretary, Murray and his friends who
were in banishment, and many of the stern supporters of
the reformation, who suspected Riccio of intriguing with
the papal court, willingly joined in the conspiracy. The par¬
liament was at hand in which it was intended to pronounce
sentence against the banished lords: it had been report¬
ed that measures were in preparation for the establishment
of the Roman Catholic faith; and it was determined to arrest
both the one and the other by striking the blow against
Riccio. Accordingly, w’hen Mary, who was then six months
gone with child, sat at supper in a small cabinet adjoining
to her bed-room in the palace of Holyrood, the king led the
conspirators up a secret stair wffiich communicated with the
apartment, while the earl of Morton and a band of armed
soldiers seized the gates of the palace. The countess of
Argyll, Erskine, captain of her guard, the comptroller of
her household, Riccio her secretary, and one or two do¬
mestic servants formed the queen’s party, some sitting at
table and others being in attendance. Indeed, the little
closet or cabinet was so small that three or four persons
could with difficulty have seated themselves. But its nar¬
row dimensions prevented escape and favoured the feroci¬
ous purposes of the conspirators. Led by the king they
burst into the cabinet, overturned the table, and threw them¬
selves upon Riccio, who sprung for protection behind the
queen. In a moment his fate was decided. One ruffian
threatened Mary with his dagger, another held a pistol to
her breast, a third, snatching the king’s dagger, stabbed
Riccio over her shoulder; and at last tearing him from the
closet, amidst the shrieks of the women, and the shouts and
execrations of the conspirators, they dispatched him, or
rather cut him to pieces in an adjoining apartment, with
fifty-six wounds.1
Mary es- After this atrocious murder, which, considering the si-
capes, and tuation of the queen, might have cost her and her infant
drives the their lives, the conspirators detained her as a prisoner in her
conspira- palace, permitted no one but the king and their own party
tors out of j.0 hold any communication with her; and having been
dom 1I S" joine(l next morning by the earl of Murray and the exiles
from Carlisle, it was determined to make a complete change
in the government. Darnley, weak and profligate as he
was, they rewarded by placing at the head of their new sys¬
tem, being well aware that he would soon be their tool.
The queen was to be confined in Stirling till she should con¬
sent to the full establishment of the reformed religion ; and
the earl of Murray and his associates were to be restored to
their former favour and power. In a single day all these in¬
tentions were overturned. Mary, left alone with her hus¬
band, regained her ascendancy over him ; she convinced
him of the perfidy of Morton, Ruthven, and his associates,
obtained from him a confession of all the secrets of the con- Scotland,
spiracy, escaped with him to Dunbar, and being instantly
joined by eight thousand men, advanced with such rapidity Mary,
against the conspirators, that they fled in dismay to Berwick, • j66
and solicited the protection of Elizabeth.
Darnley, in his confessions to Mary, had betrayed his Mary’s dif-
brother conspirators, whilsthe solemnly asserted his own inno- f>cuhies.
cence ; but Morton and his associates produced in their own
defence various bonds and letters, which were signed by
the king, and fully established his guilt; and Mary saw, to
her inexpressible grief and disgust, that the cruel outrage
was planned by her husband. From this moment this mi¬
serable prince became an object of contempt and aversion
to all. His conduct had been a tissue of cowardice, cruelty,
falsehood, and weakness: to treat him with confidence, or to
entrust to him any share in the government was impossible;
and the unhappy queen, without a stay to rest on, fell into a
state of the deepest despondency. Whom indeed could she
trust ? Murray and his party had but recently been rebels-;
Morton and his associates were stained by the blood of her
confidential servant, murdered at her knees; the king was
the chief conspirator, the queen of England had deceived
her, the party of Knox and the Scottish church regarded Birth of^
her with avowed aversion ; and even the Roman Catholics James VL
were somewhat estrangedby the preference which at first she
had given to their opponents. Under these complicated dif¬
ficulties, the queen pursued the course which she deemed
most likely to ensure success. She broke with none, par¬
doned some of the conspirators, affected to believe her hus¬
band, hoping even against hope, and restored Murray to
some portion of the power of which he had been deprived.
Such was the state of things, when, the period for her con¬
finement having arrived, she gave birth to a son in the castle
of Edinburgh. The child was named James Charles, and
on the death of Elizabeth succeeded to the English throne.
When her recovery permitted Mary to attend to the af- Parties in
fairs of the country, it was apparent that unless imrne-the state-
diate steps were taken to establish something like a strong
government, the kingdom would fall to pieces; and yet
such was the weakness and treacherous nature of the king,
that to admit him to a share in it was impossible. She next
turned to her nobles. Of these the most powerful were Mur¬
ray, Bothwell, Huntly, Argyll, Lennox, Morton, and Le¬
thington ; but there had long existed a feud between Mur¬
ray and Bothwell, while Morton, Lethington, Lennox, and
their partizans were still in disgrace for the murder of
Riccio. It was necessary to make an effort, and the queen
succeeded in reconciling Murray to Bothwell: Huntly was
made chancellor, Lethington was pardoned and restored to
his office of secretary; while Murray, Argyll his brother-
in-law, and Bothwell, were entrusted with the chief man¬
agement of affairs. '
Enraged at his exclusion from power, the king sullenly Darnley’s
retired from court, threatened to murder the earl of Mur-
ray, and at last declared he would leave the kingdom. It was cou bes'
in vain that his father remonstrated against his resolution ;
in vain that the queen herself, leading him before her coun¬
cil, conjured him to detail his grievances, and if she had
injured him in any respect, to accuse her without reserve.
He declared she had herself given him no cause of com¬
plaint; but afterwards, in a letter, he complained that he
had no power in the state, that he was neglected by the no¬
bility, and would bear it no longer. Soon after this the unhap¬
py princess was seized by a fever at Jedburgh, during which
her life was despaired of. Her enemies ascribed it to the in¬
jurious effects of a rapid ride which she took from Jedburgh
to visit Bothwell, who had been wounded in a skirmish with
some border thieves ; it had more probably its origin in
that anxiety which followed the conduct of Darnley ; but be
Keith’s History of Scotland, p. 283.
SCOTLAND.
Scotland, this as it may, she recovered only to be the victim of more
aggravated sufferings. Partial reconciliations were followed
Mary. by no revival of affection or confidence ; and in the anguish
■A.D.1566. of a wounded spirit, she sometimes lamented that she had
not died at Jedburgh.
A divorce It was in this season of depression and despair that Murray
proposed, and Maitland proposed to her a divorce from the king. They
had previously confided their project to Huntly, Argyll,
and Bothwell; and at first Mary seemed inclined to follow
their advice, provided the divorce could be lawfully pro¬
cured, and without prejudice to her child. But after
weighing the whole matter her opinion changed, and when
Maitland urged that means could be found to free her of
Darnley without injury to her son, declaring that Murray
would look on and say nothing against it, she broke off
the conference. “ I will,” said she, “ that ye do nothing
through which any spot may be laid to my honour or con¬
science ; let the matter be in the state it is, abiding till God
of his goodness put remedy thereto.”
Conspiracy Having failed in this device, a conspiracy for the murder
^R r was entered into by Maitland, Bothwell, Hunt-
Darnley0 ^r8y^> anc^ S‘r James Balfour. It has been disputed
whether Murray was, or was not, a party to this atrocious
design. It is certain that he did not sign the bond, by
which, according to the custom of this age, the conspirators
bound themselves to each other. There is a strong pre¬
sumption, however, that he knew of its existence; and the
deed was communicated to Morton and his associates, who
signed it, and agreed to support the conspirators in the ex¬
ecution of their purpose. Such was the state of matters
when the baptism of the young prince took place at Stir¬
ling. From this ceremony the king obstinately absented
himself, alleging in excuse the neglect and rigour with
which he was treated. Soon afterwards he left the court and
retired to Glasgow, where he was seized with the small¬
pox, and appeared in imminent danger. His situation ap¬
peared to awaken the tenderness of the queen. She sent
her own physician to wait on him, and soon after visited him
herself, and ministered to his wants. When his convales¬
cence permitted him to be removed, she returned with him
to Edinburgh, and placed him, for the benefit of the air, in
a house in the suburbs called the Kirk-of-Field. It was
here that the conspirators determined to carry their dread¬
ful purpose into effect. At the solicitation of Elizabeth and
the French king, Morton had been pardoned and permitted
to return; and in a secret interview between him, Maitland,
and Bothwell, the particulars of the murder were arranged.
Bothwell undertook the chief part, and his men having ob¬
tained access to the cellars of the Kirk-of-Field, undermin¬
ed the foundation, and placed gunpowder in the cavities
which they had formed. According to another account, they
deposited it in the queen’s bed-chamber, which was imme¬
diately under that of the king. While all this had been se¬
cretly carrying into effect, Mary continued her attendance
upon Darnley ; their reconciliation appeared to be perfect,
she often slept in the house, and on the evening of the 9th
of February, when she took leave of him to attend a mar¬
riage of one of her servants, which was to be held at the
palace, it was remarked that she embraced him tenderly,
Murder of t0°k a ring from her finger, and placed it on his. On that
the king, night, after she had retired to her chamber in the palace, a
A.D. 1567. sudden and terrific explosion was heard, which shook the
city, and it was soon discovered that the Kirk-of-Field was
blown up. The dead bodies of the kins: and his page were
found at a little distance in the garden. It is well known
that this miserable catastrophe has given rise to a celebrat¬
ed historical controversy, in which authors of great name
785
and talents have taken different sides; some insisting that Scotland,
the queen was cognizant of the plot for the murder of her
husband, and others as positively asserting the contrary. Mary.
The limits of this historical sketch render it impossible that A. D. 1567.
we should enter into its details.1 In the preceding narra¬
tive we have carefully avoided the introduction of a single
controverted fact; in the sequel we shall as sedulously fol¬
low the same rule.
Scarcely were the citizens of the capital recovered from Accusa-
the horror and dismay which was incident to such a cala- t'on of
mity, when bills appeared on the walls of the Tolbooth, Bothwell
which accused Bothwell of the murder, and added that the and the
queen had assented to it. Soon afterwards, the earl of Lennox, ^ueen*
the unhappy father of the late king, earnestly required the
imprisonment of the persons named in the anonymous hand¬
bills, and Bothwell declaring his innocence, demanded an
instant trial. It was granted, and Lennox received due
notice of it; but on the day of trial Bothwell appeared sur¬
rounded by upwards of four thousand of his friends and ad¬
herents; and Lennox, intimidated by the array, or finding it
impossible to collect sufficient proof, requested an adjourn¬
ment. This, however, was peremptorily refused, and the
accused was acquitted by the jury, who considered it esta¬
blished by sufficient evidence that Bothwell could not have
been at the Kirk-of-Field when the explosion took place.
Soon after this acquittal the Parliament assembled, and The nobles
the majority of the nobility prevailed upon the queen to recommend
consent to an act by which all the grants of crown proper- Bothwell as
ty which had been made during the present reign were con-
firmed, and herself and her successors deprived of all power
of revocation. In the same assembly of the estates, the queen,
verdict passed upon Bothwell, which many accused as Bothwell
informal, was declared just and legal, and soon afterwards a divorced
bond was drawn up by twenty-four of the principal peers. ^r?m ^11S
It affirmed in solemn terms the innocence of this profligate agndh{
baron, whom the public clamour still denounced as the mur-
derer of the king; recommended him as a proper husband 1
for the queen; and bound its authors, as they should answer
to God, to defend him from all danger, and to promote this
unhallowed marriage to the utmost of their power and abi¬
lity. The tragedy now hurried on to its conclusion. Both¬
well, at the head of a thousand men, intercepted the queen
on her way from Stirling to Edinburgh, and carried her
captive, with the slender suite by whom she was accom¬
panied, to Dunbar castle. Among her attendants were
Huntly, Maitland, and Melville, but the first two were in
Bothwell’s interest, and had signed the bond. The last
was completely in his power, and so was the unfortunate
queen. He proposed marriage, and on her refusal ex¬
hibited the bond signed by her nobles. She still, it is said,
resisted his request, and hoped for a rescue ; but it was a
vain expectation. He became more peremptory, and if we
may trust the expressions of Mary, corroborated by Mel¬
ville and her enemies, he compelled her by fear, force, and
other unlawful means, to yield to his wishes, and admit him
to her bed. From Dunbar he now carried his victim to
Edinburgh. A divorce was procured from his wife on the
ground of adultery, and the process having been hurried
through the court, and the sentence passed, Bothwell was
married to the queen at Holyrood, within a month after his
acquittal of the murder of her husband, (May 15, 1567.)
Events of the deepest and most tragic interest now The nobles
crowded on each other. The nobles who had advised the rise against
marriage, who had acquitted Bothwell, and abetted him in the queen,
his career of ambition and outrage, at once dropped the mask, A. D. 1567.
assembled their forces, and declared their determination to
separate the queen from the murderer of her husband. As
1 The reader who wishes to make himself master of the controversy should consult for the Queen’s innocence, the work of Goodall, and
that of William Tytler, with the volumes of Stuart, Whitaker, and Chalmers; against her, the Histories of Hume and Robertson, with
the Dissertation by Mr. Malcolm Laing.
VOL. XIX. 5 Q
786
SCOTLAND.
Scotland, they advanced and occupied Edinburgh, the earl and the
y queen retired; but in a few days they found themselves
Mary. strong enough to confront their enemy on Garberry hill, near
.A. D. 1567. Both factions, however, seemed anxious to
avoid a battle, and an extraordinary agreement took place.
Bothwell, whom they had declared their determination to
seize and punish as the murderer of his sovereign, was pei-
mitted, without molestation, to ride off the field. The queen
was assured of their unshaken fidelity ; and so completely did
she credit their asseverations, that she gave her hand to
Grange, and suffering him to lead her to his associates, was
conducted by them to the capital.
Mary con- Within an hour she discovered that she had surrendered
fined in herself to her mortal enemies. On her entering the city, afu-
Lochleven rious mob assailed her with execrations, and displayed before
castle. iier a broad banner bearing the figure of her murdered hus¬
band. Amidst these indignities she was carried to a house,
where she was so strictly guarded, that not even her maids
were allowed access. And on the succeeding evening she
w'as conveyed by the lords Lindsay and Ruthven a prisoner
to Lochleven, a strong castle in the middle of a lake, from
which all escape seemed hopeless.
Mary signs From those who had thus shamelessly broken their so¬
ber abdica- lemn engagement, little else could be looked for but addi¬
tion. tional indignity and outrage. Mary was soon visited in her
A. D. 1567. prison by lord Lindsay of the Byres, whose fierce temper
and brutal manners peculiarly fitted him for the mission on
which he was sent. He presented to her three written in¬
struments. By the first she was made to resign the crown
in favour of her son ; by the second, the earl of Murray
was nominated regent during the king’s minority; by
the third, a temporary regency was appointed to act until
Murray returned from the continent. When Lindsay
threw these deeds on the table, he plainly informed the
queen that no alternative was left, but either to sign them
without delay, or prepare for death, as the murderer of her
husband. We are not to wonder that, aware that her life
was in the hands of her bitterest enemies, Mary instantly
obeyed.
Corona- The young king was now crowned, and Murray having
tion of the arrived from France, assumed the regency, and entered
young king. Up0n the cares of government. He had not, however, for
many months enjoyed the sweets of power, when the queen,
by the assistance and ingenuity of a youth of sixteen, named
Mary es- Douglas, escaped in the night from Lochleven, and riding
capes from first to Seaton, and next day to Hamilton, soon found her-
Lochleven. gejp surrounded by a band of her nobles, and at the head of
A.D. 1568. gjx thousand men. Mary was desirous to avoid war, and
addressed repeated pacific proposals to the regent, who was
then at Glasgow. She offered to call a free parliament;
she was ready to deliver up to justice all w hom he accused
as guilty of the murder, provided those whom she arraigned
of the same crime were also delivered up. This was per¬
emptorily refused, her messengers were arrested, her ad¬
herents denounced as traitors; and the queen, aware that
it must come to the decision of the sword, determined to
await the arrival of additional forces, when she was hurried
into an engagement with the regent, who threw himself in
her way at Langside, as she was on her march from Hamil-
Mary de- ton to Dunbar. The result was calamitous. Her army
feated at was completely defeated, and she herself compelled to fly
Seek/re * ^r°m ^ a s^en(ler train, who rode to Dundren-
fi/e inFt nan’ a distance of sixty miles, before they drew bridle.
England. Next day she intimated her resolution of throwing herself
A. D.1568. on the protection of Elizabeth. Lrom this step her friends
passionately dissuaded her; but she declared she would trust
to theassuranceswhichshehadreceivedfromher good sister ;
and crossing the Solway, she proceeded through Cockermouth
to Carlisle. I he return for this act of generous confidence
and devotedness is well known. Elizabeth refused to see
her, gave orders that she should be detained, kept her in
prison a miserable and heart-broken captive for fourteen Scotland,
years, and at last brought her to the scaffold.
Erom the imprisonment of Mary, (1568,) till the acces-
sion of James the Sixth to the English throne (1603,) there '
is an interval of thirty-five years. It is occupied by the suc¬
cessive regencies of Murray, Lennox, Mar, and Morton, af¬
ter whose execution we have that portion of the reign of
James which extends from 1581 to 1603. With a rapid
review of the most interesting and influential events dur¬
ing this period, we shall conclude our labours.
The imprisonment of Mary left Murray the undisturbed Regency of
possessor of the supreme power in Scotland ; but the queen Murray,
strenuously and indignantly asserted her innocence of the
atrocious crimes of which she was accused; and as the Eng¬
lish queen could bring forward no possible justification of
her conduct in detaining Mary, except her alleged accession
to the murder, it was evident that an investigation of the
circumstances, if demanded by the accused party, could not
in justice be refused. Mary offered to hear the accusation
of her enemies in the presence of Elizabeth, and in the
same presence to undertake her defence ; but this was deni¬
ed her. It was then proposed by the English ministers that
she should consent to a public trial; but this she rejected
as beneath the dignity of an independent sovereign. It was
lastly suggested that her enemies should be summoned to
produce their proofs before certain English and Scottish
commissioners, and that the cause should be left to their
decision.
A commission was accordingly held at York, but it led Commis-
to political intrigues rather than judicial investigation. Af- ^ron,at
ter some interval Murray was summoned to hold a private g^abeth’s
interview with Elizabeth at Westminster ; and Mary again partjai corw
demanded to be admitted to the same presence, and con- duct,
fronted with her accuser. This was denied, while theA.D.1568-
English queen permitted Murray to bring forward his charge, 1569.
and to attempt to substantiate it by letters, affirmed to be in
the queen’s hand-writing, addressed to Bothwell, and con¬
clusive, as he contended, of her guilt. Again Mary demand¬
ed by her commissioners to be heard personally in her de¬
fence ; and this being refused, they protested against further
proceedings, and declared the conference at an end. Cecil,
however, insisted that the inquiry should proceed; and having
procured all the evidence which he judged necessary, he at¬
tempted to persuade the Scottish queen, as the only way of
avoiding an ignominious exposure, to resign her crown. Her
reply disconcerted him. “ They have accused me,” said she,
“ of the murder of my husband. It is a false and calumnious
lie. It was themselves that counselled and contrived the mur¬
der, some of them were even its executioners. Give me what
I am justly entitled to, copies of the letters they have pro¬
duced ; let me see and examine the originals, and I pledge
myself, in presence of the queen, to convict them of the atro¬
cious crime they have had the audacity to impute to me.”
This bold and unexpected tone embarrassed Elizabeth ; and
Mary having repeated her charge, insisted on having copies
of the letters produced against her. The English queen
evaded the request, and advised her to resign her crown. To
this she declared that no persuasion would ever induce her;
and under such circumstances the conferences were abruptly
terminated. Murray, with his associates, received permis¬
sion to return to Scotland. He carried away with him those
alleged original letters, which the party whom they inculpat¬
ed was never permitted to examine ; and he left behind him
copies, which were also concealed from Mary and her com¬
missioners. It is from these copies, which the accused was
never permitted to compare with the originals, that future
authors have been obliged to infer the guilt or innocence of
the queen ; and certainly, if the opinion of Elizabeth is en¬
titled to weight, it is clear that she considered the proof as
defective. She and Murray shrunk from a public challenge
of Mary; and however suspicious or inexplicable some of the
SCOTLAND.
787
Scotland, steps taken by this unfortunate princess may have been, her
friends alleged that victory in the conferences at York and
James VI. Westminster was on her side. Yet was she detained a captive
by the very princess who had virtually declared her guiltless.
All this might however have been anticipated; and no one
who knew any thing of the unscrupulous policy of Elizabeth
could have dreamed, thathaving once possession of the queen,
she would ever permit her to return to her dominions. In
her detention, she possessed the means of rendering Murray
subservient to her wishes, of checking the Roman Catholic
party, confirming the ascendancy of the protestants, and
destroying the French interest and intrigues in Scotland.
These were advantages with which no considerations of the
individual guilt or innocence of her royal captive were likely
to interfere.
Intrigues of The subsequent career of Murray was bold and brief. He
Norfolk found himself called to a contest with a party, headed by the
land duke of Norfolk in England, and by Maitland and Grange in
Scotland, whose object was, the restoration of the Scottish
queen, and her marriage to Norfolk. The project had been
encouraged by the Regent, whether at first sincerely or for
selfish and ambitious purposes, is not clear; but in the end
he betrayed the plot to Elizabeth, and was the main instru¬
ment in bringing this unfortunate nobleman to the scaffold.
Murray’s The principles upon which his government was conducted
subsequent were entirely protestant and English; and Elizabeth, who
career. knew well and valued so able an assistant, cordially co-oper¬
ated with him to overwhelm the queen’s friends, and to ex¬
tinguish all hopes of the Roman Catholic party in either
country. But the task was more difficult than had been
anticipated. She succeeded indeed in extinguishingthe great
rebellion, led by the earls of Westmoreland and Northum¬
berland; but Murray found it impossible to prevent the in¬
trigues of such men as Maitland, Grange, and their asso¬
ciates, who had known him long, and having assisted to raise
him to the supreme power, were indignant to find them¬
selves treated with severity or neglect. It was in the midst
of this struggle between the regent and his former associates
Murray is ambition and guilt, that he was assassinated in the streets of
assassinat- Linlithgow, by Hamilton of Bothwellhaugh, who was incited
ed. to this act of revenge by a private injury, of which Murray
A. D. 1570. was on]y the remote cause.
Hisdeathfound Scotland divided between two parties. On
the one side were the Protestants who adhered to the young
king, and regarded Elizabeth as their protector; on the
other the queen’s friends, who, being animated with the ut¬
most rancour against their opponents, prepared instantly to
a!i).1570. aPPeifi to the sword. Previously to this, however, they as¬
sembled a parliament at Edinburgh, and fulminated denun¬
ciations of treason against their enemies; while the pro¬
testants in their turn having chosen the earl of Lennox
regent, convoked the estates at Stirling, and soon afterwards
having made themselves masters of Dunbarton by a suc¬
cessful night attack, they took prisoner the archbishop of St.
Andrews, who had shut himself up in the fortress, and exe¬
cuted him on the instant, without even the semblance of a
trial. This outrage led to retaliation, and a civil war, re¬
markable for its ferocity, began to spread havoc through the
country. On Mary’s side were the duke of Chastelherault,
the earls of Argyll, Athole, Huntly, Crawford, Rothes, and
Cassilis, the lords Seton, Boyd, Gray, Livingston, Fleming,
with the lairds of Buccleugh, Fernihirst, and many others ;
to whom we must add the able and crafty secretary Mait¬
land, and the experienced soldier Kirkaldy of Grange. Of
the king’s party the nobles were neither so numerous nor
so powerful. Lennox, Morton, Mar, and Glencairn, lords
Lindsay, Glammis, Semple, Methven, Ochiltree, Cathcart,
Ruthven, and some others, espoused this side; but if inferior
in numbers, they were confident in the assistance of Eng¬
land, and in the support of the church, the commons, and
the boroughs.
State of
parties in
Scotland.
Lennox
chosen re-
Such was the general comparative strength of each fac- Scotland,
tion. Into the details of the contest we cannot enter; and in-
deed it had lasted but for a short time, when Lennox was-^111168 VI.
slain in a skirmish at Stirling, and the earl of Mar, one ip’
of the most upright-minded and honourable noblemen in Aent ^eIj_
Scotland, was chosen to supply the vacant regency. To ^ox is slain,
promote a reconciliation between the two factions, and to
restore peace, order, and security of property, to a country
distracted by intestine war, was the single purpose to which
the new governor devoted himself; but he was thwarted by
the ambition of Morton, and many of the higher nobles.
These had so long been accustomed to derive individual
advantage from public misery, that they laboured as ear¬
nestly to increase the contentions of the two parties, as
Mar to remove them ; and the governor, at last worn out by
the struggle, and hopeless of effecting a reconciliation, sank
into the grave.
He was succeeded in the regency by the earl of Mor- Morton is
ton, a man who has been justly described as possessing all chosen
the faults, some of the talents, but none of the good qualities regent- Hls
of the regent Murray, of whom he was an old and tried ally. character
Sordid and selfish, implicitly devoted to the service of
Elizabeth, whose countenance and support he felt necessary
to enable him to retain his power, a venal judge, a cruel
unrelenting soldier, a hypocrite in religion, and a profligate
in private life, it is difficult to find a single virtue to relieve
the dark monotony of his vices. Yet Morton had some of the
great qualities which distinguished the house of Douglas. Fie
was brave, decisive, politic; and he possessed that rapid power
of discerning the instant to act with success, and that deep
insight into human character which is commonly acquired
by men of talent, bred up in scenes of civil commotion.
On his accession to the supreme power, the regent found State of
the friends of the imprisoned queen still able to make head Mary’s
against him. The duke of Norfolk, who had been pardoned Party-
by Elizabeth, resumed his project of marrying Mary, and 0
engaged in a correspondence with her. The duke of Chas¬
telherault, and the earl of Huntly, lord Claud Hamilton,
the lairds of Buccleugh and Fernihirst, with the indefatig¬
able Maitland, and Grange, who was reputed the best soldier
in Scotland, still supported her cause. Morton, however,
strong in his own resources, and supported by Elizabeth,
continued the war with success, and at last triumphed over
opposition. Norfolk was brought to the scaffold, and the earl
of Northumberland, treacherously delivered up by the Scot¬
tish regent, shared a similar fate. At last the castle of
Edinburgh was invested by Sir William Drury, who joined
the Scottish army with a formidable battering train. In
this fortress, the single remaining hope of the queen of Scots,
Kirkaldy of Grange commanded; and he held it bravely till Fate of
the walls were destroyed, his guns silenced, and his provi- Kirkaldy
sions exhausted. Under these circumstances he surrendered, an<l Mait-
withhis companion Maitland. To this step, Drury had in-1^11^ ^
duced him by a promise of favourable terms; but the English • • 0 *
queen disregarded the stipulation, and handed over the pri¬
soners to Morton. Kirkaldy and his brother were imme¬
diately executed, and Maitland only escaped the same scaf¬
fold by taking poison.
Morton now deemed himself so strong as to be independ- Morton’s
ent of all parties, and his avarice and spoliations knew no 0PPressive
bounds. He oppressed the church, of whom he had for-s°vern'
merly affected to be the steadiest patron; and treated the ^
young king and the nobles with so much haughtiness and 1574I1577.
severity, that he soon became an object of universal dread
and hatred. James was now twelve years old, and it was
not difficult for a faction of the nobles, who detested the
regent, to persuade the young monarch that he ought no
longer to be treated as a child. Acting by their advice, he
accordingly summoned a parliament. It was numerously
attended; and Morton, to the astonishment of all, the mo¬
ment he learned the king’s wishes, declared his willingness
SCOTLAND
788
Scotland, to carry them into effect, and instantly resigned his regency.
This ready and implicit submission was rewarded by the
James VI. passing 0f an act 0f indemnity, which included a general
A. D. 1578. pardon for any alleged transgressions, and ratified his whole
SnTthe conduct as regent. It is in his anxiety to procure this, that
regency. we are to find the secret of his sudden relinquishment of the
supreme power; and scarcely was it procured when this ex¬
traordinary man, by means of a successful intrigue with a
portion of the family of Mar, found means again to become
master of the king’s person, and re-emerged into as great
power and ascendancy as before. His usurpation, however,
was this time more short lived. Atholl, Argyll, and some
of the most powerful nobles, assembled their forces, and de¬
clared their resolution to liberate the sovereign from his ig¬
nominious captivity. Instead of a battle, however, the op¬
posite factions came to a compromise, by which the veteran
tyrant was shorn of a large part of his power, and the young
king recovered something of his independence.
Rise of James began now to show that strong propensity to
E-me, favouritism which marked his future career; and the effects
duke of 0f this weakness were seen in the sudden rise into power
Lerm°x» of Esme Stewart, duke of Lennox, and captain Stewart,
e trl of6 second son of lord Ochiltree, and afterwards the notorious
Arran. ear^ Arran. Of these, the first was a high-born nobleman,
of graceful address, amiable feelings, and common-place un¬
derstanding ; but the second, of birth and connections much
inferior to Lennox, was ambitious, intriguing, daring, and un¬
principled, and soon managed to gain an influence over both
A.D. 1579. the young king, and the duke his favourite. With these ad¬
vantages, an overwhelming opposition was soon raised against
Morton; and as his exactions and cruelty had made him uni¬
versally odious, it was in vain that his steady friend, the Eng¬
lish queen, interposed to save him. Her interference indeed
rather accelerated his fate, and the news that she meditated
an invasion, roused the spirit of the young king and of his
people to instant opposition. When Elizabeth, however,
received intelligence that a Scottish army was assembled,
she prudently withdrew from the contest; and Morton
Morton is abandoned to his fate, was arraigned as an accomplice in the
tried, con- king’s murder, at the instance of captain Stewart, who had
demned, recently been created earl of Arran. Of his guilt there can
eufed*6" ke doubt, and he himself, after the jury brought in
AD 1581. kh6^ verdict, and he had received sentence of death, ac¬
knowledged that he was privy to the intended murder. But
his trial was conducted, even in those days of prostituted
justice, with a reckless disregard of every form of law ; and
all were aware that the jury, of whom many were his bitter
enemies, would, under any circumstances, have found him
guilty. He died as he had lived, boldly, expressing a calm
contempt of death, and exhibiting all the outward marks of
repentance.
The earl of The death of Morton was followed by the nominal acces-
Arran at si0n of the young king to the supreme power, but by the
tile ^eadrn^actua^ ^ransm‘ss'on °f that power into the hands of his fa-
ment0^™ vouiates, Lennox and Arran. This last nobleman, owing
to the weak and flexible character of Lennox, soon came to
rule all, and his rapacity, profligacy, and open defiance of pub¬
lic opinion, completely disgusted the nation. The result was
a conspiracy for his ruin, headed by the earl of Gowrie. This
nobleman and his associates having contrived to make them¬
selves masters of the king’s person, at the castle of Ruthven,
and having removed Lennox and Arran from all authority
Raid of in the state, directed the government as they judged best
A Un> ^01 ^e'r own interests- But the character of the king, al-
• - J -• though full of many strange contradictions, began now to
exhibit a greater degree of talent and energy than his op¬
ponents were aware of; and although compelled to dissemble,
and showing no symptoms of discontent with this change
of masters, James was really disgusted with the durance in
which he was held by Gowrie and his faction. With an
ability which proved the more successful, because his
adversaries were unprepared for it, he contrived to or- Scotland,
ganize a party, and free himself from his servitude; but it
happened unfortunately that at this crisis the earl of Arran James VI.
regained his liberty, and returning to court, soon resumed
his baneful influence over the fond and facile monarch. Itgairias his"
was by his advice that the king, who had first been inclined influence,
to use his victory over the faction of Gowrie with modera¬
tion, exchanged this wise resolution for vindictive measures;
and although Elizabeth strongly remonstrated against it, Gowrie ex
he brought Gowrie to the scaffold, and drove his associates ecuted.
into banishment.
Arran was now supremely powerful; but the venality, Arran
tyranny, and abuses of his government, soon became in- banished,
tolerable, and worked their own cure by producing ^imulanew
counter-revolution, in which the despotic favourite, after^eVatn'
having first courted, and then quareiled with the Scottish ^orme(j>
church, in vain attempted to recover his influence by means
of the English queen, and was at last chased from court by
the associated lords, who made themselves masters of the
king’s person. A government, upon a model which admit¬
ted the principal nobility to a share in the councils of the
state, was now established; and Arran, deserted by all parties,
sank into insignificance.
It was impossible that Mary, who had been detained a intrigues of
captive by Elizabeth, contrary to every principle of honour the Roman
and justice, should not have exerted herself to regain her Catholics
freedom; and the Roman Catholic party in England were'''^avourof
not only interested in her success, but regarded her as iV aT-
their best security against Elizabeth and the Protestant
faith. This led to a succession of intrigues, which were
discovered by the penetration and activity of Elizabeth’s
ministers, the discovery only serving to increase the rigour
of her confinement. At last the Scottish queen having been
arraigned (unjustly as afterwards appeared) of an accession
to the conspiracy of Babington, the object of which was the Babing-
assassination of Elizabeth, and the restoration of the ancient ton’s con-
religion, she was brought to trial before a commission, whose spiracy*
jurisdiction she at first peremptorily declined as an inde¬
pendent and sovereign princess. It was unfortunate for
Mary that she did not continue in this resolution; but in the
idea that a refusal might be construed into an admission of
guilt, at last condescended to plead. The consequence was,
what might have been expected from the nature of the evid- Mary’s
ence, the constitution of the court, and the supreme authori- trial and
ty of Elizabeth. Mary was found guilty of having compassed execution,
divers matters tending to the death of the queen; and after A.D. 1587.
many affected delays, and an atrocious attempt to induce
her keeper, Paulet, to dispatch her secretly, Elizabeth sign¬
ed the warrant for her execution, which was carried into ef¬
fect on the 7 th of February 1587. The meekness with which
she received the intimation of her sentence, and the admir-
ble and saintly fortitude with which she suffered, formed a
striking contrast to the despair and agony which not long
afterwards darkened the death-bed of the English queen.
It might have been expected that if any thing could have Elizabeth's
roused the king of Scdts, it would have been the cruelty base con.
and injustice to which his mother had fallen a sacrifice ; andduct'
for a moment there was an ebullition of indignant feeling.
But Elizabeth sent him an artful apology. The blame of
the execution was laid upon Davison, her secretary, an in¬
nocent and upright man, who simply obeyed her orders; and
with that unscrupulous falsehood which this princess seldom
hesitated to employ when necessary to carry through her
designs, the unfortunate statesman was sacrificed, that his
royal mistress might escape. But the English queen had
still a firmer hold over the young king of Scots. He regard¬
ed the succession to her throne as his undoubted right, and
dreaded to irritate her personal feelings, or alienate her
Protestant subjects, by appearing to place himself at the
head of the Roman Catholic party, who burned to avenge
the death of their royal mistress. In vain, therefore, they
SCOTLAND.
789
seize the
king,
State of
Scotland.
Scotland, looked to the king, who, after a short interval, relapsed into
his usual pacific frame of mind, and celebrated his entrance
James VI. Up0n majority, by an attempt to abolish those sanguinary
A.D.lo67. feu(js amongst his nobility, which had increased to an alarm¬
ing height, and threatened to pull the country to pieces.
James This laudable endeavour, which did not meet with the
marries the success it merited, was followed by James’s marriage to
Denmark^th0 princess Anne of Denmark; an alliance which Elizabeth,
A d whh her usual jealous and capricious policy, endeavoured
to prevent. But the Scottish king, with unwonted spirit
and energy, sought his bride in person in her father’s court,
and having solemnised his marriage at Upslo, returned with
her to Scotland.
The earl of During his absence the kingdom had been unusually pros-
Bothwell’s perous and happy; but it was soon afterwards embroiled by the
attempt to intrigues and ambition of the earl of Bothwell, who, leaguing
with the Roman Catholic faction, attacked the palace ofHoly-
rood with the design of seizing the king’s person, and pla¬
cing himself at the head of the government. A second at¬
tempt of the same kind at Falkland was not more success¬
ful ; and yet such was at this time the impotent state of the
law, and the weakness of the royal authority, that these re¬
peated treasons escaped unpunished, and Bothwell lived
not only to defend but to repeat them.
Scotland at this moment presented a melancholy picture.
The intrigues of Philip the Second had encouraged the
Roman Catholic faction, which was led by the earls of
Huntly, Errol, and Angus; and James, aware of the great
power possessed by the Romanists, both in Scotland and
England, was fearful of treating them with severity, lest he
should raise a formidable opposition to his right of succes¬
sion, which must open on the death of Elizabeth. But this
was not the only source of disquiet. The excessive lenity
of the king had fostered the feudal quarrels among his no¬
bles, impunity led to new excesses, and the turbulent and
audacious Bothwell once more appeared upon the scene,
and made repeated attemps to seize the royal person, and
administer the government at his pleasure. To these sources
of disquiet, were added the interference of Elizabeth, which
roused the jealousy of the king, and the intolerant spirit of
the protestant ministers, who, horror-struck by the discovery
of the intrigues of the Roman Catholic lords, recommended
their being treated with the utmost severity.
These combined causes transformed the kingdom into a
scene of almost perpetual tumult and bloodshed; but the mon¬
arch at last becoming convinced of the treasonable purposes
of the popish earls, assembled an army, and reduced them to
the last extremity of distress. Bothwell, too, was driven into
exile, and the country began to breath anew, when James
found himself involved in a contest with the protestant mi¬
nisters. The cause of this dispute was the king’s wish to
lean to the side of mercy in his conduct to the popish lords.
It was reported that Huntly, their leader, had been admit¬
ted to a secret interview. The clergy, alarmed to the ut¬
most, appealed to their congregations; they defended the
conduct of Black, a minister who had openly attacked the
court and the queen, in a seditious harangue; they haughtily
declined the authority of the privy council; and by their
violence, they excited a tumult in Edinburgh, which com¬
pelled the monarch to retire to Linlithgow. Under these try¬
ing circumstances, the king acted with extraordinary energy,
and jealous of so bold an interference with his prerogative,
restored tranquillity to the capital, punished the insurgent
citizens, compelled the ministers to fly to England, and,
according to his original intentions, extended his forgiveness
imroducintrt0 ^ie P0pis^ ^or^s vv^° made a recantation of their errors.
Kpisco- James, who had been alarmed at the late violence exhi-
pacy. bited by the presbyterian clergy, now became intent upon
James at¬
tacks the
Catholic
Lords.
Violence
of the
ministers.
James’s
plan for
a plan for new-modelling the church; but aware, that if the Scotland,
measure originated in any other quarter than that of the
clergy themselves, it would inevitably miscarry, he artfully James VI.
prevailed on the General Assembly to second his views. A*r)*1600*
The commission appointed by this ecclesiastical council
were induced to complain that the church was the only body
not represented; and the king, whose object it was to restore
episcopacy, procured an act to be passed, by which those
ministers upon whom he had conferred the vacant bishoprics
and abbeys were entitled to sit in parliament. When this
measure came again to be debated in the General Assembly,
it encountered great opposition. “ Deck these intruders
as you will,” exclaimed one of the most zealous presbyte-
rians, “ under all their disguise I see the horns of the
mitre.” Yet after a long debate, a majority of the General
Assembly declared in its favour; and it was resolved that
ministers might lawfully accept a seat in parliament, and
that fifty-one members should be chosen as representatives
of the church in the supreme court of the country. When,
however, the question arose regarding the spiritual jurisdic¬
tion which should belong to these persons, the General As¬
sembly so effectually shackled and abridged their powers,
that they remained wholly dependant upon this great eccle¬
siastical council, and exercised no separate spiritual juris¬
diction. It was James’s hope, that, in the course of time,
they would shake off these fetters, but, in the mean time,
they could claim none of the privileges belonging to the epis¬
copal order.
When the monarch was thus employed, and his kingdom The Gow-
was enjoying a degree of tranquillity to which it had beenrie conspi-
long a stranger, the minds of the people were suddenly agi-racy*
tated by a sudden and mysterious attempt made at Perth up¬
on the life of the king by the earl of Gowrie and his brother,
Alexander Ruthven. These young men were the sons of
that earl of Gowrie who had been executed for treason,
and it is probable that a desire to revenge their father’s
death led to their miserable and ill-concerted enterprise;
but much obscurity hangs over the whole transaction. It is
certain that Ruthven induced the king, by a feigned story,
to accompany him with a slender train from Falkland to
his brother’s house at Perth. Here he contrived to sepa¬
rate James from his attendants, and leading him into a
remote apartment, threw himself upon him, seized him by
the throat, and drew his dagger. The king struggled to get to
the window, and calling out treason, alarmed his nobles, who
rushed into the room, stabbed Ruthven to the heart, and
when Gowrie attempted a rescue, put him also to death
on the spot. Both these unfortunate men being slain, the
utmost pains were taken to detect their associates, to unravel
the plot, and to ascertain their precise object, but with so
little success, that to this day the mystery is not solved.
The queen of England, now in her seventieth year, began Death of
soon after this to droop, and her constitution, hitherto un- Queen
commonly vigorous and unimpaired, was evidently breaking Elizabeth,
up. Of all this James was well aware. He had secured
the friendship and good offices of Sir Robert Cecil, her chief
minister, who, unknown to his mistress, carried on a secret
correspondence with the Scottish king; and acting by his
advice, he had employed every effort to conciliate the affec¬
tions of the English people, and to acquire the support of
the most powerful of the English nobility. These judicious
precautions were attended with the wished-for result. James
was Elizabeth’s undoubted heir; and on the death of this
princess, an event which took place on the 23d of March
1603, he succeeded, with the unanimous consent of the
nation, to the throne of England. This great and auspi¬
cious event closes the history of Scotland as a separate
kingdom. (p. p. t.)
790
SCOTLAND.
STATISTICS.
Statistics. The mainland of Scotland lies between 54. 38. and 58.
41. N. Lat., its extreme points being the Mull of Galloway
Physical in the south and Dunnet Head in the north. It extends
features from 1. 46. to 6. 14. W. Long., from Peterhead on the east
and geo- to Ardnamurchan Point on the west coast. Its greatest
logy‘ length, nearly due north and south, in 5. W. Long., from
the Mull of Galloway to Cape Wrath, is about 280 miles;
its greatest breadth, from Buchanness to the coast of
Applecross, above 150 miles. From the Firth of Forth to
the Clvde, and from the Dornoch Firth to Loch Broom,
the distance is scarcely 30 miles. The extent of sea-coast,
from the numerous indentations on the western shore, is
very great, or probably above 3000 miles. Its area is still
very uncertain, the mainland being estimated at from
25,500 to 26,400 square miles; of which about 500 are
occupied by fresh-water lakes. Including the islands, the
total extent is 29,600 ; or in round numbers, 30,000 square
miles. St Kilda, the most remote of the Hebrides, lies in
8. 35. W. Long.; Lambaness, the most northern point of
Unst in Shetland, in 60. 49. N. Lat.
The physical features of this country, as of other regions
of the earth, are intimately connected with its geological
structure. In this respect Scotland forms three very
strongly marked divisions, which are better described sepa¬
rately. These are, first, the Southern Division, or region
of the older Palaeozoic or Silurian formations; second, the
Central Division, or region of newer Palaeozoic, or Devonian
and carboniferous formations ; and third, the Northern Di¬
vision, or region of the crystalline and metamorphic for¬
mations. The islands on the west and north form a portion,
or rather a kind of appendix, to the last division. Each of
these we shall notice in the order now indicated.
I. The Southern, or older Palaeozoic region, extends
from the border of England to an irregular line running
E.N.E. from the Firth of Clyde, near Girvan, by Dalmel-
lington, Crawfordjohn, Skirling, and the north base of the
Moorfoot Hills, to the east coast near the Siccar Point. It
consists predominantly of a great formation of Lower Silurian
strata, broken through at intervals by felspar-porphyries,
trap-rocks, and, in Kirkcudbright, by large masses of granite
and syenite. The strata have been forced up in various
anticlinals and convolutions; but the lowest beds occur
along a line from the vale of the Teviot to the vicinity of
Dumfries ; the newer deposits, chiefly near the northern
margin. These strata form an extensive mountain range,
known as the Southern Highlands, and crossing the island
in a series of connected chains from St Abb’s Head to
Stranraer and Loch Ryan. Taken generally, the moun¬
tains show broad flattened forms, intersected by deep, pas¬
toral glens, widening out into broader valleys or dales along
the course of the principal rivers. The mountains are
rarely rocky or precipitous, but covered by grass and moss
to their summits, which seldom rise above 1500 to 2000
feet. The greatest elevations are found in Peeblesshire and
Dumfriesshire, near the sources of the Tweed, Clyde, and
Annan, where Dollar Law (2680 ft.), Broad Law (2754 ft.),
White Comb Edge (2695 ft.), Hartfell (2638 ft.), andEttrick
Pen (2268 ft.), are some of the culminating points. Farther
east, Dundreich (2004 ft.), Windlestraw Law and Black-
hope Scar (2130 ft.), are among the highest summits. On
the west, the Lovvther Hills (2522 ft.) and Queensberry Hill
(2279 ft.), between the Annan and Nith ; the Black Larg
(2890 ft.), and Cairns Muir of Deugh (2597 ft.), between
the latter river and the Dee ; and beyond the latter, Mer¬
rick Hill (2764 ft.), are worthy of note. Criffel (1867 ft.) is
conspicuous from its position. The Cheviots, on the border
of England, with Cheviot (2668 ft.) and Carter Fell (1502
ft.), are a parallel group, but of very distinct formation, con¬
sisting of felspar-porphyry, and trap-rocks, breaking through
and elevating thelowercarboniferous strata. Connecting these Statistics,
two chains some isolated mountains range along between
the sources of the 1 evict and Liddel, including the Wisp
Hill (1950 ft.), the Mainden Paps, and Great Moor Fell.
Ihe valleys are best noticed in connection with their
respective rivers. Of these the most important is the
Tweed, with a length of 100 miles, and draining a basin of
1800 square miles in Scotland alone. The upper part of
its course is chiefly in longitudinal valleys, parallel to the
Silurian mountain-ridges. Below the junction of the Lyne,
it intersects the main chain by a series of transverse "hol¬
lows ; and receiving on the left the Leithen, Gala, and
Leader; on the right, the Manor, Quair, Yarrow, and
Ettrick, it enters the lower valley near Melrose. Here it
is joined by the Whitadder from the north, the Teviot on
the south, and flows along the fertile plains of the Merse to
the sea, at Berwick. This district, with the connected
portions of Roxburghshire, forms some of the most fertile
land in Scotland, resting on the upper old red and carboni¬
ferous formations, broken up by craggy knolls of trap, the
sites of many of those ancient keeps famed in Border story.
Farther west are the vales of the Liddel, Esk, and
Annan ; wild and pastoral in their higher portions; more
cultivated where they traverse the carboniferous and new
red or Permian strata, forming the shore of the Solway
Firth. The low ground in this district is in many places
covered with deep accumulations of peat (Solway Moss and
Lochar Moss), concealing the remains of ancient forests,
but now rapidly being converted into arable fields under the
progress of modern improvements. The Nith, 58 miles
long, rises on the north side of the Southern Highlands, and
traversing them by a deep valley, partially filled with car¬
boniferous and Permian deposits, has few important tribu¬
taries. Its valley, too, is comparatively narrow, but in
many places beautifully wooded and fertile. The Dee, 45
miles long, has its sources in the wild granite mountains
south of Loch Doon, and is joined by the Ken, where they
expand into the long narrow lochs of the same names.
Beyond the granite eruptions of the Cairnsmuir and Loch
Doon mountains the country rapidly declines into low un¬
dulating moors, and the rivers Cree, Luce, and Stincher,
have no peculiarities worthy of notice.
Loch Doon, 6 miles long by 1 broad, Loch Ken in Kirk¬
cudbright, already mentioned, and St Mary’s Loch in Sel¬
kirkshire, more celebrated for poetic associations than for
its magnitude, are the only lakes in this district deserving
mention. The others are mere mountain tarns; and the
rarity or absence of these accumulations of water is one of
the most striking contrasts between the southern and
northern divisions of the country. Springs are everywhere
common in the mountain districts, but rarely remarkable
either for their size or other properties. The mineral
springs of Moffat and Innerleithen are the only ones cele¬
brated for their medicinal qualities.
Notwithstanding its mountainous character, this region
produces very little mineral wealth. Lead ore has been
mined for centuries at Leadhills in Lanarkshire and Wan-
lockhead in Dumfriesshire, and very recently with con¬
siderable success. The ores contain a considerable propor¬
tion of silver, which is extracted from them at Wanlock-
head, and gold was formerly gathered from the alluvial
deposits in that vicinity. Attempts to work lead have been
made in various other places; antimony ore occurs near
Langholm and New Cumnock, and copper mines have
been opened in several localities in Kirkcudbright. Coal
is only wrought near Canonbie, in Dumfriesshire ; and
lime, except in connection wdth the carboniferous strata in
Roxburgh and Dumfries, only in some thin beds on the
Stincher, in Ayrshire.
SCOTLAND. 791
Statistics. II. The central or newer Palaeozoic region of Scotland
contains only about 5000 square miles of extent, or less
than one-fifth of the mainland, but is by far the richest
and most important in a political point of view. It em¬
braces the basins of the Firths of Clyde, Forth, and Tay ;
the upper sources of these rivers lying in the southern and
northern divisions. On the south it is bounded by the line
already mentioned, and on the north by another nearly pa¬
rallel line, from the mouth of the Gare Loch on the Firth
of Clyde, to Stonehaven on the east coast, passing near
.Aberfoyle, Callander, Comrie, south of Dunkeld, Cortachy,
and Fettercairn. Geologically, this region consists of the
Devonian, or old red sandstone, and the carboniferous for¬
mations, broken through or covered over by extensive trap-
rocks. The old red sandstone is chiefly seen on the sides
of the valley, being concealed in the centre by the car¬
boniferous beds. The most extensive mass is on the
north, where it runs continuously from the Clyde and lower
end of Loch Lomond, through Stirling, Perth, and Forfar
shires, to the shores of Kincardineshire on the east. The
lower beds, or Forfarshire flagstones, marked by their cha¬
racteristic fossils (Cephalaspis, Pterygotus, fyc.), are exten¬
sively quarried and exported, as the well-known Arbroath
pavement. Near the mountains a coarse conglomerate or
pudding-stone prevails, which, in the gorges cut by the
rivers in their descent, forms some of the most picturesque
scenery in Scotland, as Brack Linn, near Callander; Mon-
zie ; Craighall, on the Ericht; Lintrathen, on the Isla ; Cor¬
tachy, on the South Esk; and the Burn, on the North Esk.
On the Tay, below Perth, higher beds of the old red
occur with peculiar fossil-fishes (Holoptychius, fyc.), as at
Clashbennie and Balrudery. The carboniferous forma¬
tion consists of two divisions, the Lower, including the
mountain limestone, with thick masses of sandstone and
shale, and the Upper or Coal Measures, containing the chief
beds of workable coal. The whole formation covers an
area of 1500 square miles, of which, however, less than two-
thirds, or 600,000 acres, contain workable coal. The beds
wrought are generally one to two or three yards in thick¬
ness ; those of greater dimensions, like the Dysart main
coal, seven yards thick, being made up of several beds of
coal, alternating with shale. Besides the coal, clay iron¬
stone in vast abundance, and especially the valuable black-
band, occurs in most portions of the formation. Less im¬
portant are the beds of fire-clay used for bricks and cruci¬
bles ; and the alum shales, from which alum and other
chemical products are manufactured. The annual value of
the mineral products of this part of Scotland cannot be
estimated at less than—
Iron, two and a half to three millions sterling.
Coal, three to three and a half do.
Lime, &c., one and a half to two do.
or, on the whole, from L.7,000,000 to L.8,000,000 sterling.
The larger masses of igneous rocks in this district are
generally found forming the hills ; but where they occur in
the low grounds, as in East Lothian, from their varied com¬
position, add much to the fertility of the soil. The high
grounds can scarcely be designated mountains; the chief
group south of the Forth being the Pentland Hills, with
Carnethy (1881 ft.), the Kipp Hills (1806 ft.), and W.
Cairn (1859 ft.), as their highest summits. Beyond the
Clyde, Tinto Hill (2308 ft.) connects this range with Cairn
Table, and other summits, in Ayrshire. North of the Forth,
the Kilpatrick, Campsie, Ochil, and Sidlaw Hills, from an
almost continuous range of trap-rocks, interposed between
the old red sandstone and coal formation. The Kilpatrick
Hills, commencing near Dumbarton, on the Clyde, are a
low but picturesque group. The Campsie Fells are also
little elevated (King’s Seat, 1510 ft.), and more undulating
and uniform in outline. The western portion of the Ochils
attains greater heights, as in Dun Myat (1345 ft.), Ben
Cleugh (2352 ft.), and the King’s Seat (2100 ft.); but the Statistics,
eastern portion along the Tay falls to 300 or 400 feet.
The Sidlaws, in Forfarshire, are composed principally of
lower old red, elevated by trap, with Dunsinnan Hill (1114
ft.), and Cairn Owl (1100 ft.), as remarkable points. Some
of the lower trap-hills in this district, as North Berwick-Law
(612 ft.), Arthur Seat (823 ft.), the Lomond Hills (1471
ft.) ; and the rocks on which Edinburgh, Stirling, and
Dumbarton Castles are built, are conspicuous objects from
their isolation.
This district is drained by three of the chief rivers of
Scotland,—the Clyde, Forth, and Tay, with others of less
importance. The first of these, the Clyde, is the only large
river flowing to the Western Sea. Rising in the centre of
the southern Highlands, and flowing first N. and N.E., till
near Biggar, it then bends round the base of Tinto, and
joined by the Douglas and other tributaries, runs N.W.
to the Firth, below Greenock. The well-known falls occur
near Lanark, where the river is changing its course, the
first, that of Bonnington, being about 30 feet high; the
second, Corra Linn, about 70 feet, and the third, Stone-
byres, not less than 76 feet, but broken into three falls.
Above the Falls the valley is often bleak and moory, but
lower down becomes more fertile, richly wooded, and
adorned with numerous orchards and thriving towns and
villages. At Glasgow, the river becomes navigable, the
shoals and other obstructions being removed by dredging,
and the water straightened and confined by artificial banks.
The total length of the Clyde is about 90 miles, and its
basin under 1500 square miles. The Firth into which it
falls is rather one of the great indentations of the western
coast, than a portion of the river; but is very important
as conveying commerce and wealth into the centre of the
richest mineral district in the country.
The Forth rises near Ben Lomond, and is joined above
Stirling by the Teith, a larger and longer stream. In
their upper course, amidst the Highland mountains, they are
wild and rapid rivers ; but after entering this district their
course is slow and winding. The total length of the Forth
above Alloa is about 50 miles; of the Teith, to the same town,
about 65 miles. The banks of the river are formed by
low alluvial plains or corses, remarkable for their fertility,
and producing rich crops of wheat and other grains. They
have evidently been submerged by the sea till a recent
geological period; and from Blairdrummond westwards are
often covered by peat, a still more recent accumulation,
apparently formed in some cases since the island was first
invaded by the Romans. The tide flows to Stirling; but
the Firth is considered as beginning at Alloa, from which
it extends for 50 miles to the Isle of May. The Carse
lands continue to Borrowstounness, whilst the lower shores
in Fife and the Lothians comprise some of the most fertile
and best cultivated land in the kingdom. The Firth, too,
expanding from 2 miles wide at Queensferry to 6 at Leith,
and 15 to 10 lower down, is one of the best natural har¬
bours of refuge on the east coast of Britain, and conse¬
quently, from an early period, one of the chief seats of
Scottish commerce.
The Tay, the monarch of Scottish, and in size of basin
and amount of water carried to the sea, probably also of
British rivers, rises in the northern region. The main
stream has a length of 100 miles above Perth, or 130 miles
to the opening of the Firth at Buddon-Ness. Its basin
comprises about 2400 square miles, or one-eleventh of the
mainland, about three-fourths belonging to the river above
Perth. It is also remarkable for the number and size of
its tributaries,-—the Garry, Tummel, Lyon, Earn, Isla, and
Ericht, and the wide range of country from which they
draw their waters. We shall notice the upper portion in
connection with the northern district, to which it naturally
belongs. Its lower basin falls chiefly in the valley of
792 SCOT
Statistics. Strathmore, inclosed between the Grampians on the north,
v'—and the Ochils and Sidlaw Hills on the south. I his
great valley, including Strathearn, has an undulating sur¬
face, but nowhere rises far above the sea-level. It is thickly
covered with alluvial matter, resting on the old red sand¬
stone, and the soil, consequently, is highly fertile. 1 he
Carse of Gowrie, between the Sidlaws and the Firth of
Tay, has long had the reputation of possessing the richest
and most productive soil in Scotland, derived probably
from the decomposing trap-hills which shelter it on the
north. The South Esk, 40 miles long, and terminating in
the wide but shallow bay of Montrose, nearly dry at low
water, and the North Esk, traverse the northern part of
this district. In physical features and capabilities, this
tract is a mere continuation of the valley of Strathmore, the
most marked peculiarity of the plains of Kincardine being
the deep red tint of the soil. The precipitous character of
the coast, well seen at the Red Head, and north from
Bervie to Dunnottar, is interesting as proving the waste
which the conglomerate and other hard beds of the red
sandstone have undergone from the action of the sea.
Like the southern region, the centre of Scotland is re¬
markable for the rarity and small size of its lakes. Loch
Leven, in Kinross, 4 miles long by 2 broad, is scarce an
exception, and is best known for the picturesque ruins of
its island-castle, the scene of Queen Mary’s imprisonment
and romantic escape (1568) previous to the battle of Lang-
side, and her ill-fated flight into England. It produces
abundance of excellent trout, the fishery being let for a
considerable sum, and was long remarkable as the only
Scottish lake that yielded any revenue to its proprietors.
The springs in this district also have little interest. Some
in the coal formation are strongly impregnated with iron;
and a few near the intrusive igneous rocks contain so much
mineral matter as to be used for medicinal purposes. The
best known of the latter are, Airthrey, Pitcaithley, and St
Bernard’s, near Edinburgh.
III. The northern division, or the region of the crystal¬
line and metamorphic rocks, comprises the whole country
north and west of the boundary line of the central division,
drawn from the Firth of Clyde to Stonehaven. It contains
above 19,000 square miles, or fully two-thirds of the whole
country ; and though generally far inferior in fertility and
population to the other divisions, is in many respects more
interesting in its structure and physical features. The
western portion is usually named the Highlands, occupied
by a people chiefly of Celtic descent, and still retaining
their old language, and many peculiarities of habits and
modes of life. No well-defined limit separates the north
Highlands from the Lowlands on the east coast. After
crossing the Spey, however, near Charlestown, the boundary
line between the Celtic and Lowland population almost
coincides with that dividing the crystalline rocks from the
districts coloured in the geological map as belonging to
the old red sandstone and newer formations. We may
also mention that, though named Highlands, this term is
only applicable to the elevation of the mountains, the inha¬
bited and cultivated ground along the river-valleys and
sea-coasts, being usually at a lower level than many of the
dales in the southern division.
The geological structure of this vast region, and the
boundaries of the formations, can only be understood by
reference to a geological map,1 and we here chiefly notice
the points bearing on its physical characteristics. Its
southern boundary is formed by a narrow zone of clay-slate,
commencing in Arran and running along the foot of the
Grampians to near Stonehaven. In many places it is
quarried for roofing-slates, and might be in many others, if
required for the wants of the country. This rock again
LAND.
appears in the north of Aberdeen and Banff shires, and on Statistics,
the west coast, in a thin band from Islay to Fort-William.
In all these localities it is also wrought for economic pur¬
poses, particularly at Easdale and Balahulish, and is every¬
where distinguished from the similar rock in the south by
its distinct cleavage. The next formation to the north is
the micaslate, which, commencing in the lofty cliffs of the
Mull of Cantyre, forms the greater part of that curious
peninsula in a series of low, rounded hills. It extends
along the west coast to Loch Melfort, where it meets the
trap-hills of Lorn, and thence N.E., in lofder and more pic¬
turesque ridges, through the upper part of Perthshire to
Glen Prosen, in Forfarshire. There it contracts greatly,
but still forms a continuous band, on the southern declivity
of the Grampians, to the east coast. A less extensive mass
forms the east side of Loch Linnhe and the Great Glen
from Loch Etive to Fort-Augustus, including the lower
parts of Glencoe, the valley of the Spean, and Glenroy,
with its singular parallel roads. Other portions of mica-
slate occur in Banff and Aberdeenshire, and again in the
north of Sutherland. It is often, especially near Loch
Fyne, associated with chlorite and talc slates. It is rarely
turned to any other use than as a coarse building stone and
imperfect roofing slate ; but its lofty mountains, with ridged
and serrated summits, and its valleys fringed with natural
wood and adorned with long winding lakes, form some of
the finest and most romantic scenery in Scotland.
The next formation is the gneiss, covering about 10,000
square miles, or fully one-third of the whole country. One
great mass, commencing on the outskirts of Ben Cruachan,
stretches N.E. along the Grampians to the shores of Kin¬
cardine and Aberdeen, from Stonehaven to Fraserburgh,
and north through Inverness to the higher parts of Nairn
and Elgin. This tract, especially on the N.E. line, is every¬
where broken by granite, in some places in mere veins, in
others in mountain masses. Another equally extensive
gneiss region extends on the west of the Great Glen, from
Morven and the Sound of Mull, through Inverness, Ross,
and Sutherland to the extreme northern coast of Scotland,
between Cape Wrath and Caithness. The Long Island,
or outer Hebrides, is a third corresponding mass, once per¬
haps equally wide-spread, though now only the scattered
fragments forming these islands remain. In the two latter
tracts, granite in large masses is less common than in the
first, but still abounds in veins, especially in the Hebrides
and on the western shore of Sutherland and Ross. In
mineral character the gneiss varies greatly from coarse crys¬
talline varieties, scarce distinguishable from true granite,
to fine-grained, distinctly schistose and stratified rocks.
The general dip of the beds is at moderate angles to the
S.E.; but in Sutherland and Ross, particularly on the west
coast, S.W. dips with a N.W. strike prevail. Different
parts of this vast formation may not improbably be of
diverse age. On the N.W. coast it underlies all the other
formations ; in the centre of Sutherland a newer gneiss has
been supposed to occur; whilst in the Southern Grampians
this rock is apparently superior to the mica slate. Except
as a building stone the gneiss has no economic value, and
in this country is singularly devoid of mineral wealth. As
a general rule, too, the regions formed of this rock are far
from picturesque,—wide moory straths, rounded lumpish
hills, and dark, irregularly winding lakes, with treeless
shores, are the characteristic features.
The other primary rocks in this region require no notice,
except quartzite, found in considerable abundance, as sub¬
ordinate or superior to gneiss, in the Grampians of Perth,
Aberdeen, and Banff. The range of the granite has been
already noticed, forming some of the highest summits of the
Grampians, Ben Macdui, Cairngorm, Loch-na-Gar, and
1 See Geological Map of Scotland, by Professor Nicol, Edinburgh, 1858.
SCOTLAND.
Statistics. Mount Battock; but often also seen in the low grounds,
as in the Moor of Rannoeh and the plains of Aberdeen¬
shire. Porphyry is the most important of the other igneous
rocks, occurring in large mass near Inverary, composing the
wild buttressed mountains of the dark Glencoe, and in the
summit of Ben Nevis (4406 ft.) forming the culminating
point of the whole British isles.
The next formation in the ascending series, is the red
sandstone of the west coast, with the superposed quartzite
and limestone, till lately regarded as equivalent to the old
red sandstone on the east side of the island, but now as a
much older formation. Fossil shells of species found also
in the Lower Silurian strata of North America, occur in the
limestone of Duirness; and this rock, with the quartzite, is
now classed by Sir R. I. Murchison as Lower Silurian, and
the inferior red sandstone as Cambrian.1 The red sandstone,
resting in nearly horizontal beds on a great water-worn
plateau of gneiss, and covered in the interior by quartzite,
forms a series of most peculiar and majestic mountains,
almost from Cape Wrath down to Applecross and Skye.
First in order, from the north, are Foinaven (3015 ft.) and
Arkle, their summits of dazzling white quartzite, mistaken
by Pennant for marble. The isolated conical Stack was
proposed by Macculloch as favourable for repeating the
Schiehallien experiment on the density of the earth, but is
in too close proximity to some more gigantic neighbours.
Ben More Assynt (3281 ft.) is the chief of another noble
group, with Queeniag, Canisp, and Suilven as outlying
members. Suilven, or the Sugar Loaf, named from its
conical appearance from the sea, but in reality a long ser¬
rated ridge, is a well-known landmark on the western coasts.
Coul More, Coul Beg, and Ben More Coygach, north of
Loch Broom, with Ben Goolish and Kea Cloch, on the
south, are also remarkable mountains. Ben Lair, Sleugach,
and Ben Ey, on Loch Maree; Leagach and Ben Alligin
(3015 ft.) in Gairloch, with some less known summits be¬
tween Loch Torridon and Loch Carron, may complete this
enumeration. Carved out, as it were, by denudation, from
the solid mass of sandstone and quartzite, these mountains
show the waste which the land has undergone more strik¬
ingly than any other part of the British islands.
The old red sandstone, or Devonian formation, cover¬
ing most of Caithness, on the mainland, and spreading north
over the Orkneys and part of Zetland, again appears south
of the Scarabins and Ord, bordering the Dornoch and Moray
Firths on the west. It then fills the Great Glen to Meal-
fourvonie and Foyers, and stretches by Culloden and the
plains of Nairn and Moray to the east side of the Spey, re¬
appearing in patches in Banff and near Aberdeen. The
great conglomerate is regarded as the lowest portion; the
Caithness flags, with their singular extinct fishes, and ex¬
tensively quarried, are the central group; whilst the light
red sandstones of Duncansby, Dunnet Head, and Hoy
Head, in Orkney, are the upper division. The fine yellow
sandstone of Elgin, remarkable for its numerous reptilian
remains ( Telerpeton, Stagonolepis, Hyperodapedon), is still
included in this formation, though probably a newer group.
The newer secondary deposits occur in such limited ex¬
tent that they exert no influence on the physical aspect of
the country. The most important on the east coast are the
patches of lias and oolite found in the north of Aberdeen¬
shire, at Elgin, near Cromarty, and along the Sutherland
coast from Dunrobin to Helmsdale, where, at Brora, they
contain workable coal. The greensand and chalk flints
found in Aberdeenshire, though curious, are of less import¬
ance. On the west coast, lias and oolite beds are widely
793
dispersed round the shores of Skye, Mull, and some other Statistics,
of the islands, and in Morven, Arisaig, and Applecross on v v >
the mainland, but now form no continuous tract. The
trap-rocks covering them in Skye, Mull, and Morven, and
also wide-spread on the mainland in Lorn, show that this
part of Scotland has been for a long period the seat of a
powerful volcanic action. Like the connected trap forma¬
tions in the north of Ireland, some portions, as those over-
lying the Ardtun Leaf-beds in Mull, cannot be more ancient
than the Eocene tertiary.
The country formed of these various rock masses may be
described generally as a great plateau, deeply cut into
valleys, and crowned with mountains rising to 2000 or
3000, and occasionally even 4000 feet of elevation. The
distribution of these mountains in chains or other groups is
often very obscure, especially on the west side of the Great
Glen. The Grampians, from Argyle to Aberdeenshire,
show the most marked linear arrangement, often, however,
rather indicated by the river-valleys and lakes than by the
mountains themselves. In Argyle, on the west, the moun¬
tains are by no means high, but attain greater elevations
near the head of Loch Long and Loch Fyne, where Ben
Una, the fantastic Cobbler (2863 ft.), Ben Ima (3300 ft.),
Ben Vorlich (3160 ft.), with Ben Lomond (3192 ft.), east
of the lake, form a most picturesque group, as seen from
many points on the Clyde. Ben Lui (3651 ft.), at the
sources of the Tay ; Ben More (3819, ft.), rising from Loch
Dochart; and Ben Lawers (3984 ft.), near Killin, with
many other hardly lower hills, belong to a higher, though
less conspicuous, range, than Ben Venue (2800 ft.), Ben
Ledi (3009 ft.), and Ben Vorlich (3180 ft.), which domi¬
nate over the whole valley of the Firth as far even as Edin¬
burgh. In the southern Grampians, east of the Tay, there
are few remarkable summits except Mount Battock (2554
ft.), well seen from the plains of Kincardineshire. Beyond
this mountain the chain rapidly descends ; and where it ter¬
minates in the German Ocean is a mere undulating moor¬
land, over which cultivation is fast spreading. The marked
elevations now belong rather to a more interior range con¬
nected with the gneiss and granite. This series, beginning
with the double-peaked Ben Cruachan(3670 ft.), sinks down
in the wild moor of Rannoch (1000 ft. high), bounded on the
north-west by the beautifully conical Buachaille Etive
(2537 ft.), but again rises in Ben Aulder and Ben Vollieh
on Loch Ericht- Schiehallien (3533 ft.), celebrated for
Maskelyne’s experiment, rendered possible by its Isolation,
is rivalled by the Ben-y-Gloe and other mountains between
the Garry and Upper Dee; of which it is enough to name
Cairn Gowar (3725 ft.), Ben Uarn More (3589 ft.), Ben
Dearg (3550 ft.), Cairn Eelar (3356 ft.), and Scarsoch
(3402 ft.) North of this is the granite group round the
sources of the Dee, including Ben Macdhui (4296 ft), 110
feet low'er than Ben Nevis, Ben Vrochan (3825 ft.), Ben-
na-Buird, Ben Avon (3968 ft.), and Cairn Gorm (4095 ft.)
A similar granite group, but separated by the valley of the
Dee, attains its greatest elevation in the “ dark Loch-na-
Gar” (3800 ft.), with its rugged corry and lake, and is
connected through Mount Keen (3180 ft.) with the Eastern
Grampians, already noticed.
North of these mountains, in Aberdeen and Banff, there
are no hills deserving notice from their elevation. Ben-
nachie (1440 ft.), on the borders of the high ground, and
conspicuous through the whole of Buchan, the Knock Hill
on the coast, and Ben Rinnes (2747 ft.) on the Spey, are
the best known. West of the Spey, the Monadhliah Moun¬
tains are wild, but tame in outline ; and we find no marked
1 See for the history of this change, and the relation of these strata to the central gneiss of Sutherland, which is still under discussion,
papers by Sir R. I. Murchison and Professor Nicol in the Journal of the Geological Society and Proceedings of the British Association for 1855,
&c. Also Murchison s Siluria, 2d edition, and Nicol’s Geol. Map of Scotland, in which the red sandstone of the west coast was first dis¬
tinguished from the Old Red or Devonian.
VOL. XIX. 5 H
794 SCOT
Statistics, summits till we reach the Great Glen. This singular line
of depression now regulates the direction of the mountain-
ridges, though the massive Ben Nevis (4406 ft.), with its
dependants, and the rugged quartzite ridges on Loch
Leven and Glencoe, form almost isolated groups.
Beyond the Glenmore-na’ Albin, or great valley of the
Caledonian canal, though a direction parallel to its course
still prevails in the ridges, it is moie difficult to trace out.
It seems to have been obscured by subsequent geological
revolutions; and the most marked valleys and depressions
run from east to west. South of Loch Arkaig and Ari-
saio- the country, though wild, is not remarkable for ele¬
vation ; but the region north is a mass of mountains, with
scarce an intervening valley, rivalling those of any other
part of Scotland. Scuir Ouran, Ben Line, Ben Serian,
Ben Attow (4000 ft.), Scuir-na-Caiman, Mam Suil (3861
ft.), and Scuir-na-Lapich (3772 ft.), are a few among many
lofty but almost unknown summits. Scuir-na-Vertach and
Scuir Vullin lead us on to Ben Wyvis (3422 ft.), more
marked from its proximity to the east coast than for its
height or beauty of form. The Dirrie More, with Ben
Derig (3550 ft.), are the last group worth noting in cen¬
tral Ross. The interior of Sutherland, too, is a flat undu¬
lating table-land ; the most marked mountains lying towards
the eastern and western shores. The quartzite hills on
the latter were already noticed; and we shall only name
Ben Leod, at the upper end of Loch Shin, Ben Hee (2858
ft.), and Ben Hope (3061 ft.), as an inner range; and Ben
Laoghall, south of the Kyle of Tongue, as a singularly pic¬
turesque syenitic mass. Ben Clibrig (3157 ft.) is the most
noted of the eastern mountains ; Ben Bhragie, Ben Horn,
and others, being conspicuous only from their position on
the coast. So, too, the Ord, the Scarabins (2054 ft.), and
other hills on the border of Caithness, are prominent
chiefly from contrast with the low plains on the north. No
eminence of note breaks the monotony of these plains of
undulating flagstones, deeply encumbered with arctic drift.
The characteristic scenery of Caithness must, however, be
sought in the long line of sea-worn cliffs and bold headlands,
crowned by the ruined keeps of the northern vikings, whilst
the bleak moors and stagnating waters of the interior are
fast yielding to the industry of their descendants.
In the western isles there are a few mountains rivalling
those on the mainland, and well known from their position.
Such are the Paps (North, 2556 ft.), rising from the quartz
ridges of Jura; Ben More (3168 ft.), the chief among the
dark trap mountains of Mull; Ben More (2130ft.), in Rum;
the jagged and gloomy Cuchullins, in Skye, with the regular
conical Red Hills in the same vicinity, and Suid Thum
(2000 ft.); the fractured Storr (2341 ft.); and many more
in the north of that island. In the outer Hebrides, Mount
Heckla (2940 ft.) in South Uist, and some mountains in
Harris Forest, are alone noticeable; the greater part of
Lewis being a mere table-land of mingled moor and lochs.
The most important river in this division is the Tay,
draining the southern declivities of the Grampians, but
already noticed. The Dee, 70 miles long, on the north side
of this chain, is a marked contrast to the Tay, in its. direct
course and its few short tributaries. The Don, Ythan, and
Doveran drain the low peninsula of Buchan east of the
Spey. This river, 96 miles long, with a basin of 1300 square
miles, is the largest flowing to the north sea; and, like its
neighbour the Findhorn, is a wild and rapid stream, espe¬
cially in its upper and mountain portion. North of the
Moray Firth there are no important rivers, the Beauly and
Conan, each about 40 miles long, and the Oikel, 30 miles
long, being the largest on the east coast; the Thurso river
and the Naver, on the north. On the west coast, the Lochy,
draining the Great Glen, with its main branch, the Spean,
alone deserve mention.
One of the marked features of this region is the number
LAND.
and picturesque features of its lakes. Foremost among Statistics,
them is Loch Lomond, about 20 miles long, and 5 miles
broad at the lower end, but narrowing above Luss to a mile
or less. In the north, its depth exceeds 100 fathoms; but
it is shallower in the south, where its surface is studded
with numerous richly-w'ooded islands. Loch Katterin and
Loch Achray are well known from the “ Lady of the Lake,”
though scarce distinguished from many yet unsung. Loch
Awe, 25 miles long, chiefly known for the beauty of its
northern extremity, but more remarkable for the deep
transverse gorge through which its waters flow to Loch
Etive; and Loch Tay, with its winding wooded shores, are
the largest lakes in this portion of the Highlands. In the
wild moor and mountain region to the north-west there are
many lakes ; as Loch Lydoch, Loch Rannoch, Loch Ericht,
and Loch Laggan, which, in other situations, would attract
more notice. Of the chain of lakes in the valley of the
Caledonian Canal, perhaps only separated from each other
by detrital matter, Loch Lochy and Loch Ness are the
chief; the latter above 20 miles long, and, in part, more
than 800 feet deep. It is enough to name Loch Arkaig
and Loch Morar, in Inverness; Loch Leuchart and Loch
Fannich, in Ross. But Loch Maree, in the latter county,
12 miles long and about 3 wude, though little known, is
surpassed by no Scottish lake in picturesque scenery—in
the beauty of the labyrinth of wooded islands in the middle,
and the magnificence of the rugged mountains at the upper
end. Of the innumerable lakes in Western Sutherland,
Loch Assynt alone deserves notice for its beauty, though
Loch More, Loch Hope, Loch Laoghal, and Loch Naver
may be named. Loch Shin, 16 miles long and about a
mile broad, with low moory banks, is nearly devoid of
beauty ; but remarkable as forming, with Lochs Griam,
Merkland, More, and Stack, a chain of lakes from the Lax-
ford to the Dornoch Firth, rivalling those of the Glenmore
in number, continuity, and slight elevation above the sea-
level.
The most marked and characteristic feature of this
northern region is, however, the number and extent of its
sea-lochs or firths (Jiords of the Norsemen). Of these
the Moray Firth is the most extensive on the east coast;
but its interior, including the Beauly Firth, is shallow and
encumbered with banks of mud and sand. Its shores, how¬
ever, are rich and fertile; and the scenery, with the fine
mountain outlines in the back-ground, highly beautiful.
Cromarty Firth, to the north, even exceeds it in the rich¬
ness and cultivation of its shores, and the beauty of its more
distant landscapes, while as a harbour of refuge it scarcely
can be surpassed. The bold headlands of the Sutors mark
the entrance in the darkest night, and within there is depth
of water and room sufficient for the largest of fleets. The
Dornoch Firth is, again, encumbered with shoals in the
upper part; and the Fleet, even far below the Mound,
almost changed into marshland. On the north coast, Loch
Eriboll is the chief indentation, with good anchorage,
though open to the north. Rounding Cape Wrath, we find
Loch Laxford, still meriting its Norse name from the
abundance of its salmon; Badcoul Bay, with innumerable
picturesque islands, like a half-submerged portion of the
mainland ; and the Kyle Sku, with its deep lonely arms, still
a favourite resort of the herring. Farther south are the
great inlets of the two Lochs Broom, with innumerable
islets at their mouth, and deep and safe anchorage within.
Loch Greinord is a wide exposed bay, with wild and rocky
shores. Loch Ewe, a capacious and safe harbour, less used,
however, than the more open Gairloch. Loch Toindon is
one of the most magnificent of these Highland lochs, but
almost unvisited and thinly peopled since the decline of the
western herring fishery. It is divided into three spacious
basins; the two interior ones with narrow entrances, and
shut in by lofty mountains. Loch Carron, with Loch
SCOTLAND.
795
Statistics.
Climate.
Kishorn branching from it on the north, is again a very deep
inlet, with more than usual population and cultivation on its
shores. Loch Alsh, separating Skye from the mainland, is
a safe harbour, with a double opening through the two
Kyles; whilst Loch Duich, its southern arm, is celebrated
for romantic beauty even on this coast. Loch Hourn is
another deep inlet, narrow, rocky, and adorned with natural
wood in the upper part, but almost unvisited; and, like the
wider but less picturesque Loch Nevish, formerly a great
resort of the herring. Loch Sunart, a splendid inlet, 30
miles deep, leads only to the Strontian mines, but, it is said,
still shows on its shores some remnants of the old Caledo¬
nian oak-forests. Loch Linnhe surpasses in extent and
utility any of the western lochs yet named. Its branches,
Loch Eil, Loch Leven, Loch Creran, and Loch Etive, are
themselves noble bays; and the latter remarkable for the
rich beauty of its lower reaches and the rugged grandeur
of its upper half, below the granite summits of Cruachan.
Among the many lochs between this and Cantyre we need
only mention Loch Craignish for the beauty of its wooded
islets, and Loch Tarbert, almost separating that peninsula
from the mainland. The Firth of Clyde is the last and
noblest of these remarkable inlets. Next to the river itself,
Loch Fyne, 40 miles long, and still a favourite resort of the
herring, and Loch Long, are the more important of its many
branches.
The climate of Scotland is remarkably equable through¬
out the year, as the heats of summer and the colds of win¬
ter are alike mitigated by winds from the adjacent seas.
The mean temperature of the year is about 47°, and the
thermometer rarely rises above 80° in summer, and still more
rarely does it sink to zero in winter. Such an intense
cold as this only occurs once or twice in the course
of twenty years in land-locked inland situations, where
radiation takes place freely. The thermometer never
sinks below 20°, when the wind is blowing with much
strength; and it is seldom that it snows when much
below 32°. Owing to the physical features of the
country, the elements of climate over its surface vary very
considerably. The western counties, at equal elevations,
have a higher mean temperature than the eastern. This
is chiefly due, however, to the higher temperature during
the winter in the west, and to the more cloudy state of the
sky, which hinders terrestrial radiation. On the other
hand, this cloudy state of the sky intercepts the rays of the
sun during summer, which renders the heats more mode¬
rate, and the climate less suited for the ripening of fruit
and grain. This state of things will be rendered more ap¬
parent by comparing the mean maximum and minimum tem¬
peratures at Rothesay, in Bute, and at Dunino, in Fife:—
Districts.
Spbing.
Mean
max.
temp.
Mean
min.
temp.
Mean
max.
temp.
Mean
min.
temp.
Mean
max.
temp.
Mean
min.
temp.
Winter.
Mean
max.
temp.
Mean
min.
temp.
Rothesay.
Dunino...
52-30
50-30
41-0
36-8
64-35
64-79
51-68
49-53
52-97
54-22
44-17
41-70
42-76
39-62
36-54
32-02
The relative intensity of solar and terrestrial radiation is
pretty well brought out in these figures, when it is remem¬
bered that Dunino is about 300 feet above the level of the
sea, and situated in an open and unsheltered district. So,
also, the range of the thermometer being greater in the
east, it follows that the evaporative or drying powers of the
air is greater—a fact well known from other considerations.
Besides this, much more rain falls on the west coast, in
consequence of the moisture which the south-west winds
bring from the ocean.
The prevailing winds in Scotland are from a westerly
quarter. Observations show that the wind, on an average,
blows from between the south-west and north-west points
of the compass more than two-thirds of the whole year.
The wind never remains long either due south or due west. Statistics.
During the westerly gales the wind usually begins to blow
from the south-east or south-west, and veers round t<? west
and north-west. These winds, in passing over the hills, let
fall a great deal of rain, which renders the climate in these
districts exceedingly moist. Nearly a hundred inches of rain
fall annually in some of the mountainous parts; whereas,
along the southern shores of the Firth of Forth, the annual
fall is considerably under 30 inches. In Rothesay, the
amount is about 40 inches yearly; while at Musselburgh
it is only 24 inches. So long as the south-west winds
continue to blow, in winter, the temperature remains high,
and the pastures continue green. When the wind goes
round to the north, in winter, the temperature is lowered
and frost sets in; and continues until it goes round again
to the south-west. During rainy periods the winds usually
blow from an easterly quarter, and the barometer falls
considerably. The rainy east winds, with low barome¬
ter, however, have invariably an upper current from the
south-west, which brings the moisture to maintain the
rains. In the latter part of spring and beginning of sum¬
mer, east winds often prevail, and have somewhat of a
periodical character. They are then usually cold and dry,
and accompanied with considerable atmospheric pressure.
The flora of Great Britain has been divided geographi- Botany,
cally by H. C. Watson, into—1. Agrarian, including those
plants which are found within the limits of Pteris aquilina
or the common bracken, the elevation or climate of which
would not forbid successful corn cultivation. In the
Highlands the region may be said to extend as high, at
least, as 1200 feet. 2. Arctic, including the plants above
these limits, the region being characterized by the absence
of corn cultivation. The agrarian region has been sub¬
divided into three climatic zones. 1. Super-agrarian, cha¬
racterized by the presence of Clematis Vitalba or travel¬
ler’s joy, Rubia peregrina or wild madder, and Cyperus
longus or large galingale. 2. Mid-agrarian, in which
Rhamnus catharticus or buckthorn occurs without Clema¬
tis. 3. Super-agrarian, characterized by the presence of
Pteris aquilina or bracken, without Rhamnus. The Arctic
region has also been subdivided into three zones—1. Super-
arctic, in which Erica tetralix or cross-leaved heath, occurs
without Pteris. 2. Mid-arctic, in which Calluna vulgaris or
common heather is seen without Erica. 3. Super-arctic,
indicated by the presence of Salix herbacea or the dwarf
willow, without Calluna.
In Scotland, the super- and mid-agrarian zones are not
truly represented. We commence with the super-agrarian,
and proceed as far as the super-arctic. In the region of
the plains, the common weeds and wild-flowers of Britain are
seen with ordinary trees, such as the oak and the ash. An
upland region succeeds this, in which certain northern
forms occur, such as Trientalis europcea, Linncea borealis,
Corallorhiza innata, Goodyera repens, Vaccinium Vitis-
idcea, Arctostaphylos Uva-ursi, and Lobelia Dortmanna.
Some trees, such as Pinus sylvestris or Scotch fir, Retula
alba or common birch, and Pyrus aucuparia or mountain
ash, extend into a sub-alpine region. This region reaches
to about 2400 feet, and extends beyond the limit of trees.
It is characterized by such plants as Thalictrum alpinum,
Arabis petrcea, Juncus trifidus, and Gnaphalium supinum.
Beyond this a true alpine region is seen, containing such
plants as Draba rupestris, Alsine rubella, Astragalus al-
pinus, Saxifraga cernua, and S. rivularis, Erigeron al-
pinus, Veronica alpina, Luzula arcuata, Luzula spicata,
Sibbaldia procumbens, Gentiana nivalis, Azalea procum-
bens, and various alpine willows, grasses, ferns, and crypto-
gamic plants.
There are many plants in Scotland which are restricted
to very limited localities. Thus, Oxytropis campestris is
found only on one rock in Clova, and nowhere else in Bri-
796
SCOTLAND.
Statistics, tain. The flora of the eastern parts of Scotland differs
considerably from that of the western districts.
The best districts in Scotland for alpine species are the
Grampian range, more particularly in Clova, Glen Isla,
Braemar, the Breadalbane Mountains near Loch Tay, and
Loch Lomond—the mountains ranging from 8000 to 4400
feet above the level of the sea. On the summit of Ben-na-
Muic Dhui, which is about 100 feet lower than Ben Nevis,
we meet with Luzula arcuata, L. spicata, Carex rigid a,
Silene acaulis, Festuca vivipara, Salix herbacea, Saxifraga
stellaris, Juncus trifidus, Empetrum nigrum, Aira alpina,
Lycopodium selago, and some mosses and lichens. Close
to the summit of Ben Lawers, Saxifraga cernua and
Draba rupestns occur.
The number of flowering plants and ferns in Scotland
amounts to about 1200. They belong to the following types,
as given by Watson :—1. British type, including species
commonly distributed over Great Britain, such as the alder,
hazel, dog-rose, daisy, heather, chickweed, dandelion, nettle,
male-fern. 2. Scottish type, comprising such species as the
globe-flower, crowberry, Trientalis europtsa, Primula
farinosa, Haloscias scoticum, and Mertemia maritima. To
this type are referred some very local plants, as Arenaria
norvegica, Primula scotica, and Ajuga pyramidalis. 3.
Highland type, seen in the plants of the Scottish High¬
lands, as already noticed. 4. Atlantic type, species chiefly
confined to the western district of Scotland, as Sinapis
Monensis, Cotyledon Umbilicus, and Euphorbia port-
landica. 5. Local type, such as Eriocaulon septangulare,
found in the Isle of Skye.
Zoology animal kingdom of Scotland differs little from that of
England, there being comparatively few species of animals
that are not common to both countries. Several of the wild
animals that were common in Scotland, even within the his- Statistics,
toric period, as the bear, wolf, and beaver, have become ex-
tinct. In 1057 a Gordon, for his valour in killing a bear,
was authorized to carry three bears’ heads upon his banner;
and so late as 1680 the last wolf in Scotland is said to have
been killed by Sir Ewen Cameron of Lochiel. Of the
native wild cattle {Bos urus) there are in Scotland now
only a few preserved in the Duke of Hamilton’s park, near
Hamilton. Of land quadrupeds there are only about 37
species indigenous to Scotland, among which are the red,
fallow, and roe deer, the hare, rabbit, fox, badger, otter,
wild-cat, weasel, and hedgehog. Some of these exist in
great numbers, but others are becoming scarce. The
birds of Scotland number about 270 species, about equally
divided between land and water birds. Aquatic birds in great
numbers frequent the coast; while, inland, the pheasant,
ptarmigan, black-cock, grouse, and partridge abound. The
golden eagle and other birds of prey are found in the
lofty rocky districts. Attempts have recently been made
by the Marquis of Breadalbane and others to re-introduce
the capercailzie, or cock of the wood, which was formerly
very common in the country, but which appears to have
been exterminated about 1760. In the order of reptiles
Scotland is fortunately very deficient. The coasts and rivers
abound in fish of various kinds. Whales are occasionally
seen on the coast, but they were formerly much more com¬
mon than at present. Shell-fish are plentiful and in great
variety. In several of the rivers a species of mussel occurs
in which are sometimes found pearls of considerable size.
As regards the agriculture of Scotland, our space only Agricul-
admits of our giving the merest outline of it, in the form ture.
of a few remarks on the statistics collected by the Highland
and Agricultural Society of Scotland, and given below.
Table of Acreage of principal Crops (1857).
1. Aberdeen 
2. *Argyle 
3. Ayr 
4. Banff 
5. Berwick   
r- I Bute  
1 * Arran ..., 
7. Caithness 
8. Clackmannan ...
9. Dumbarton 
10. Dumfries 
11. Edinburgh 
12. Elgin 
13. Fife  
14. Forfar  
15. Haddington 
16. Inverness   
17. Kincardine 
18. Kinross..  
19. Kirkcudbright...
20. Lanark 
21. Linlithgow  
22. Nairn 
no ( Orkney 
\ *Zetland 
24. Peebles 
25. Perth  
26. Renfrew 
27. *Ross & Cromarty
28. Roxburgh.....
29. Selkirk 
30. Stirling 
31. ^Sutherland ...
32. Wigtown 
Total.
Num¬
ber of
Occu¬
pants.
7,348
1,584
3,300
1,701
746
139
147
881
218
593
1,955
850
1,146
1,927
2,109
469
734
1,374
307
1,377
2,931
443
426
891
40
305
3,616
1,181
865
983
172
1,419
137
1,118
43,432
Total
Acreage
under a
Rotation
of Crops.
488,183
69,773j
259,9111
114,760^
146,8154
12,273£
6,336J
57,591"
17,856
40,277
167,839|
102,657^
82,401
220,8324
223,2454
102,4451
42,920
102,0401
33,1224
121,447f
208,596
50,547
30,3114
38,293
1,026-
35,150;
267,397'
75,151|
72,8514
124,479-4
14,441
93,2911
9,960!
122,343!
3,556,572
Wheat.
8,962
620|
15,6921
l,883i
12,404!
8534
217
3804
2,343|
2,141
3,8994
10,037
8,749
29,3404
20,371
16,527|
l,980i
4,084
1,521!
2,1784
8,3634
3,7374
2,062
584
3
861
25,638
4,764|
9,7154
8,5584
2614
5,312f
431 ‘
9,971
223,1524
Barley.
9,534
1,4424
8841
4,440|
15.298i
2!!t
3381
1,7774
1,0774
2,8884
11,810
9,5224
26,670
22,9471
13,3134
2,3414
8,8024
2,6454
1,590
2,1424
4,6531
3,182|
1434
34
2,3684
18,8024
4174
6,435
12,1074
9494
6 953"
l’l274
1,5534
198,3874
165,275
24,001
62,8184
41,3734
30,444|
2,756
1,7174
22,1534
3,5924
10,027|
51,328
22,0294
17,2131
42,219
51,1044
15.990
13,7494
28,1744
8,033i
34,8914
57,0414
11,9904
7,3464
13,2884
3494
9,922
64,0844
17,0974
16,2564
28,428
4,162
23,133
2,3651
34,2541
Rye.
6874
3714
6494
494
474
354
204
59|
"if
1524
7664
977
1594
7
266
2074
224
43
1034
17
356
2064
774
74
2124
44
i
184
504
2994
938,6134 59894
Bere.
152|
2,480
'"24
494
834
4814
464
3354
144
917|
6664
54
3S4
3434
14
87
5,5334
9U
28*
6554
106*
289
214
5
36
974
2144
Beans.
44
3,9494
1,2324
436f
1,2584
18
4,6804
768|
21,607439,186
255
90
18
924
489|
264
17f
1
4
64'
254
1114
1814
3134
1384
159
119
454
2j
1784
13
1384
6
152j
301
8i
3601
3984
iii
2i
5|
10
Vetches
or
Tares.
2,1024
1354
424f
675
1,1284
284
3,6874 18,4184
Turnips. Potatoes.
82,3164
6,8324
17,796|
18,549f
27,3004
1,446
4474
8,820“
1,9504
2,622
21,529f
15,2744
12,7371
30,6454
34,6934
17,341
5,842|
17,691
4,6174
15,414
11,934
5,2464
4,678|
4,845|
1244
5,472
33,3134
3,470
12,228
23,9934
2,624|
6,158|
1,8204
16,913
476,6914
7,090
5,5694
7,0754
2,0284
2,1174
4774
3714
1,5714
358|
2,5004
5,9674
5,801
3,190
16,3494
12,963
5,382|
3,070i
2,555|
933
2,9214
8,2534
1,6664
1,4074
2,3294
64J
776
17,4824
5,7294
4,4714
1,590|
222
3,881
332
3,317
139,819
Summer
Fallow.
582|
619|
676
224
1,1844
34
26
1124
3C0f
1274
4341
5411
2844
2,760
4734
1,1384
277
1354
1804
1924
1,5764
8164
90
2024
9
284
1,8404
221
5494
4764
65
1,5984
113
714
Grass and
Hay under
Rotation
18,582|
204,1371
27,517|
148,5044
44,148
.53,5171
6,420
3,1854
21,2344
5,9944
20,6914
79,6824
33,282
28,5604
65,5934
77,4014
26,4354
14,0424
38,5794
14,774
63,314
112,972f
20,0754
10,810
11,3091
3714
15,9844
99,6564
41,5981
20,8684
46,6691
6,012
40,3114
3,5584
52,5914
1,459,8054
* In the counties marked with an asterisk, there are no returns from occupants whose rent is below L.20; in the other counties, all at and
above a rent of L.10 are included.
Note.—The arable acreage occupied by small tenants not included was, in 1854, returned at 220,000 acres, and forms an addition to the total acreage.
Table of Proportional Acreage of the Crops in each Count}/ (1857\
Statistics.
Counties.
Aberdeen..
Argyle 
Ayr  
Banff ......
Berwick .,
f Bute  
( Arran  
Caithness..
Clackmannan.
Dumbarton
Dumfries...
Edinburgh
Elgin  
Fife  
Forfar 
Haddington
Inverness ..
Kincardine
Kinross  
Kirkcudbright
Lanark 
Linlithgow ...
Nairn  
f Orkney ....
{ Zetland ...,
Peebles 
Perth  
Renfrew ..
Ross & Crom’..
Roxburgh
Selkirk 
Stirling ...
Sutherland
Wigtown...
White Crops, &c.
Wheat.
1-836
•889
6- 038
1- 641
8- 449
6952
3- 425
•661
13-124
5- 316
2- 323
9- 777
10-618
13-286
9-125
16-133
4- 614
4-002
4- 594
1-794
4 009
7- 394
6- 803
•152
•292
•245
9-588
6-340
13-336
6-876
1-811
5- 695
4 335
8- 150
Barley.
1- 953
2- 068
•340
3-869
10- 420
1- 723
•181
•587
9-954
2- 676
1-721
11- 504
11- 557
12- 077
10-279
12-996
5- 455
8- 627
7-987
1-309
1-027
9- 206
10- 499
•374
•365
6 738
7- 032
•555
8- 833
9- 726
6- 575
7- 454
11- 322
1-269
Oats.
33- 855
34- 398
24-169
36-052
20-736
22-455
27-106
38-467
20- 119
24-895
30-582
21- 460
20-889
19-118
22- 892
15-608
32-035
27- 611
24-254
28- 730
27- 345
23- 721
24- 238
34-702
34-023
28- 227
23- 966
22-751
22-314
22- 837
28-821
24- 796
23- 746
27-998
Rye and
Bere
1- 395
2- 808
•359
•730
•056
•287
2-738
4-409
•009
•120
•087
1- 514
•463
•222
•021
2- 758
•856
•084
•063
•214
•061
1-461
14-990
8-914
•080
•274
•240
•688
•053
•038
•058
1-483
•420
Flax.
•008
■018
■004
•016
•001
•522
•005
•001
•171
•001
•011
•001
001
•148
■140
•004
•006
•012
•001
•469
•001
Vetches,
Turnip-
seed,
and any
other
Crop.
•536
•288
•209
•705
•865
•419
•134
•687
•988
•394
•169
1-506
•624
•779
•609
1-165
•562
•378
•863
•152
•908
1-004
•452
•429
•365
•766
•548
•312
1-321
•591
•549
•732
•504
•359
Total
per¬
centage
White
Crops.
Green Crops and Fallow.
Beans
and
Pease.
39- 583
40- 469
31-119
43- 013
40- 527
31- 836
33-584
44- 811
44-185
33- 812
34- 920
44- 334
45- 203
45-894
43-128
45-923
45- 424
41- 485
37-783
32- 049
33- 651
41-526
43-453
50-651
43-959
36- 056
41-414
30-210
46- 493
40- 083
37- 794
39-204
41- 390
38- 197
•127
1-182
1-187
•362
1- 884
•031
2- 213
•033
7-514
1-586
•311
1-911
•406
1-804
•588
4- 680
•371
•675
•269
•313
1-570
3- 390
•488
•043
•559
1-589
1-651
1-094
1-332
•204
5- 020
•058
•636
Tur¬
nips.
16-862
9-792
6- 847
16-164
18- 596
11- 782
7- 062
15-315
10-925
6-509
12- 828
14- 879
15- 458
13-877
15- 541
16- 927
13-613
17- 337
13-940
12-692
5- 721
10-379
15-435
12-654
12-129
15- 567
12- 459
4-617
16- 785
19- 275
18- 176
6- 602
18-277
13- 824
Pota¬
toes.
1- 452
7-983
2- 722
1-768
1- 442
3- 891
5- 867
2- 729
2- 009
6- 208
3- 555
5-651
3-871
7-404
5-807
5- 254
7-154
2-505
2-817
2- 406
3- 957
3- 297
4- 644
6- 083
6 259
2-208
6- 538
7- 624
6-138
1-278
1- 537
4-160
3-333
2- 712
Man¬
gold.
•003
•059
•402
•007
•079
•086
•362
•005
•034
•075
•058
•064
•015
•023
•004
•115
•028
•011
•005
•071
•042
•048
•008
•102
•007
•012
•102
•040
•014
•024
•574
Carrots,
Cab¬
bage, &
Rape.
•038
•189
•326
•021
•213
•035
•225
•040
•045
•120
•594
•213
•042
•045
•049
•184
•047
•046
•037
•178
•144
•028
•012
•405
•585
•048
•031
•150
•050
•144
•208
•066
•083
•486
Summer
Fallow.
Total
per¬
centage
of green
Crops
and
Fallow.
•119
•888
•260
•195
•807
•030
•413
•195
1-718
•317
•259
•527
•345
1-250
•212
1-112
•645
■133
•545
•159
•756
1-616
•297
•529
•877
•081
•688
•294
•754
•383
•450
1-714
1-134
•584
18-601
20-093
11- 744
18-517
23-021
15- 855
16- 142
18- 317
22- 245
14- 815
17- 605
23- 245
20- 137
24- 403
22-201
28-272
21- 858
20-707
17- 613
15- 819
12- 190
18758
20- 884
19- 816
19- 850
18- 470
21- 317
14-438
24-861
22- 426
20- 575
17- 586
22-885
18- 816
Grass.
Grass
and Hay
under
Ro¬
tation.
41-816
39-438
57-137
38- 470
36-452
52-309
50- 274
36- 872
33- 570
51- 373
47-475
32-421
34- 660
29-703
34- 671
25-805
32-718
37- 808
44- 604
52- 132
54- 159
39- 716
35- 663
29-533
36- 191
45- 474
37- 269
55- 352
28-646
37-491
41- 631
43-210
35-725
42- 987
797
Statistics.
Table of Estimated Gross Produce of the principal Crops per Count;/ (1857).
Counties.
7.
8.
9.
10.
11.
12.
13.
14.
15.
16.
17.
18.
19.
20.
21.
22.
23.
24.
25.
26.
27.
28.
29.
30.
31.
32.
Aberdeen 
Argyle 
Ayr 
Banff 
Berwick 
( Bute 
| Arran 
Caithness 
Clackmannan 
Dumbarton 
Dumfries 
Edinburgh 
Elgin 
Fife 
Forfar 
Haddington 
Inverness 
Kincardine 
Kinross 
Kirkcudbright 
Lanark  
Linlithgow 
Nairn 
f Orkney 
{ Zetland 
Peebles   
Perth 
Renfrew  
Ross and Cromarty.
Roxburgh 
Selkirk  
Stirling  
Sutherland 
Wigtown 
Wheat.
Bushels.
217,328
19,778
451,159
43,438
335,703
25,704
6,184
10,582
68,547
67,976
101,387
300,482
236,223
814,192
542,378
440,051
47,526
122,009
39,565
55,422
313,099
114,928
62,375
1,292
2,366
663,383
169,446
259,282
221,457
7,649
150,085
9,660
234,330
Barley.
Bushels.
305,088
45,897
29,567
129,059
504,842
7,429
529
10,633
62,212
34,757
82,676
424,422
333,296
843,438
745,793
510,896
67,896
297,093
82,010
47,103
79,014
157,055
102,635
4,405
78,744
584,045
15,073
211,148
425,267
34,182
227,292
32,775
48,158
Total  6,154,986
6,564,429
Bushels.
5.464.404
838,535
2,606,978
1,254,134
1,194,956
102,661
57,214
634,143
135,626
350,953
1,674,576
776,548
542,217
1,572,657
1,916,428
725,546
397,869
1,042,465
295,733
1,125,259
2.103.405
407,668
231,422
411,935
8,207
314,403
2,254,973
633,685
540,528
1,105,138
158,156
727,243
74,653
1,070,445
Bere.
32,750,763
Bushels.
213,087
50,998
9,842
23,753
1,057
6,300
65,100
90
1,540
2,390
13,475
1,121
10,267
560
20,362
23,369
172
936
12,185
234
2,501
165,313
2,447
687
20,271
3,674
8,832
646
152
965
2,602
6,850
Beans and Pease.
671,778
Bushels.
18,987
21,179
79,792
8,777
68,440
89
2,445
33,879
18,044
14,530
49,908
8,697
89,883
34,486
92,289
3,065
23,452
823
11,305
87,018
41,338
3,034
330
4,053
92,985
39,781
15,840
38,847
509
114,733
46
19,176
Turnips.
Tons.
1,155,514
109,657
282,074
204,743
393,131
23,280
6,612
110,470
33,553
' 38,543
274,773
248,397
140,112
453,936
461,860
263,583
70,624
250,327
70,182
216,759
203,324
77,644
52,633
57,361
2,485
91,382
433,078
55,606
147,347
359,602
43,964
108,009
20,162
229,382
Potatoes.
1,037,760
6,690,109
Tons.
17,370
25,551
30,159
3,651
8,840
1,946
1,161
4,518
1,094
11,877
19,245
15,372
4,785
42,304
35,324
11,572
7,253
7,539
1,399
9,897
36,830
3,833
1,971
9,637
212
1,930
45,017
31,942
8,831
5,388
521
11,060
705
11,734
430,468
798
SCOTLAND.
Stock (1857).
Counties.
1. Aberdeen 
2. Argyle 
3. Ayr 
4. Banff. 
5. Berwick 
„ ("Bute 
D'(.Arran 
7. Caithness 
8. Clackmannan.
9. Dumbarton....
10. Dumfries 
11. Edinburgh 
12. Elgin 
13. Fife 
14. Forfar 
15. Haddington...
16. Inverness 
17. Kincardine....
18. Kinross 
19. Kirkcudbright
20. Lanark 
21. Linlithgow....
22. Nairn 
fOrkney.
'(.Zetland 
24. Peebles 
25. Perth 
26. Renfrew 
27. Ross & Grom’..
28. Roxburgh....,
29. Selkirk  
30. Stirling 
31. Sutherland...,
32. Wigtown 
Total.
So 3 1 |
§.2 o t
►S o. >»
W y-im
16,836
3,799
6,954
4,564
4,301
393
311
2,737
768
1,346
5,306
3,472
3,567
8,613
7.654
3,395
2,437
3.399
1,069
3,783
5,723
1,666
1.399
2.655
72
953
11,148
2,352
3,378
3,749
486
3,543
533
4,110
126,471 34,947
S-i d
.o
3 p O
3,965
1,789
1.998
1,242
1,138
236
73
615
227
480
1,971
688
831
2,446
1,803
536
702
620
474
1,434
1,480
488
350
836
11
284
2.999
779
840
692
112
1,171
137
1,500
All
other
Horses.
2,619
1,013
944
667
950
38
42
374
147
292
1,287
920
626
1,541
1,253
768
602
534
166
802
1,380
379
183
250
403
182
1,806
504
541
1,029
165
653
216
715
23,991
Total
Horses.
23,420
6,601
9,896
6,473
6,389
667
426
3,726
1,142
2,118
8,564
5,080
5,024
12,600
10,710
4,699
3,741
4,553
1,709
6,019
8,583
2,533
1,932
3,741
486
1,419
15,953
3,635
4,759
5,470
763
5,367
886
6,325
185,409
Cattle.
Milk
Cows.
36,864
19,440
38,477
9,080
3,741
1,559
1,162
5,173
1,118
5,159
13,877
5,171
5,985
9,017
12,151
2,124
8,141
6,875
1,546
9,183
29,971
3,482
2,422
4,752
286
2,537
21,871
11,533
5,110
4,361
828
8,636
1,197
11,083
303,912
Other
Cattle.
76,412
29,352
29,055
17,639
8,559
1,893
1,332
8,756
2,896
5,495
23,369
7,942
12,031
22,020
28,296
5,381
9,852
14,794
4,597
23,171
20,540
5,566
4,648
6,655
653
3,038
40,587
7,779
8,552
8,415
1,165
14,934
2,039
17,914
475,327
Calves.
31,808
12,751
13,878
7,955
3,965
898
558
4,267
840
2,047
9,034
2,359
5.215
7,629
10,383
1,444
5.216
6,511
1,980
6,745
8,597
1,718
1,895
3,480
155
1,648
18,258
3,086
3,948
3,416
456
5,143
553
7,362
195,198
Total
Cattle.
145,084
61,543
81,410
34,674
16,265
4,350
3,052
18,196
4,854
12,701
46,280
15,472
23,231
38,666
50,830
8,949
23,209
28,180
8,123
39,099
59,108
10,766
8,965
14,887
1,094
7,223
80,716
22,398
17,610
16,192
2,449
28,713
3,789
36,359
Sheep.
Sheep of
all Ages
for
Breeding.
33,001
407,957
123,115
15,858
85,738
3,832
13,605
32,027
6,143
27,491
244,100
54,259
25,315
12,204
26,430
29,528
284,935
6,542
7,746
131,073
90,747
4,072
16,875
6,266
3,136
90,927
245,118
9,840
129,206
222,071
81,275
34,690
91,388
35,767
974,437 2,632,283
Sheep of
all Ages
for
Feeding.
46,949
165,304
26,426
7,078
59,051
2,183
3,475
17,878
2,709
10,132
42,746
21,693
12,947
31,680
50,372
32,534
154,819
13,700
8,314
47,566
18,805
7,281
7,896
1,728
1,028
17,877
135,988
4,632
94,864
41,186
3,293
15,491
61,298
12,859
Lambs.
25,741
253,852
90,070
10,570
87,876
2,575
9,343
22,825
5,842
21,060
184,007
41,165
18,074
12,144
21,370
30,698
167,860
4,868
6,094
105,881
65,194
4,629
11,214
5,592
2,322
64,936
163,636
8,005
80,374
173,795
61,164
28,466
49,865
27,996
Total
Sheep.
1,181,7821,869,103
Swine.
105,691
827,113
239,611
33,506
232,665
8,590
26,423
72,730
14,694
58,683
470,853
117,117
56,336
56,028
98,172
92,760
607,614
25,110
22,154
284,520
174,746
15,982
35,985
13,586
6,486
173,740
544,742
22,477
304,444
437,058
145,732
78,647
202,551
76,622
5,683,168
Total
Stock.
10,184
3,230
12,303
3,292
5,020
423
303
1,755
1,321
939
14,370
6,245
4,325
9,527
7,481
6,218
1,706
3,656
997
7,203
8,006
2,232
1,420
2,749
57
1,400
9,369
1,761
4,568
4,376
474
2,710
473
6,261
146,354
284,379
898,487
343.220
77,945
260,339
14,030
30,204
96,407
22,011
74,441
540,067
143,914
88,916
116,821
167,193
112,626
636,270
61,499
32,983
336,841
250,443
31,513
48,302
34,963
8,123
183,782
650,780
50,271
331,381
463,096
149,418
115,437
207,699
125,567
6,989,368
Scotland having a humid atmosphere, the greater part of
its surface is better suited for the growth of grass and green
crops than for wheat, which only comes to perfection in
situations of no great height; indeed, an elevation of a few
feet is often attended with striking effects on vegetation.
Its rocks present the geologist with a well developed series
of formations, from the primitive granite to the coal measures,
over which vast beds of drift occur. These have produced
a great variety of soils, and led to great differences in the
systems of management.
In the rich and level plains, such as the Lothians and
Stirlingshire, all the cereals, as well as beans, come to great
perfection. In these and similar districts where the climate
is dry, the land appears to be worth more in crop than
under pasture. The following rotation is most common :—
l,oats; 2, beans or potatoes; 3, wheat; 4, turnips; 5,
wheat or barley ; 6, grass. This system, it will be observed,
does not admit of many cattle or sheep being reared, as
the extent of land under grass is small, and few stock can
thus be kept in summer, after supplying the working horses
with grass and hay. The turnip crop renders food for
stock much more plentiful in winter, and hence the cattle
and sheep reared in the pastoral districts find their way to
these arable districts in autumn. The whole system of
cultivation in them is generally of a very perfect character.
The grain is usually sown by the drill, and the crop thrashed
and much of it reaped by machinery. Guano and other
light manures are liberally applied to the crops.
In Aberdeenshire and other counties, more especially
in the higher districts, a different system prevails. There
the soil and climate being more genial to the growth of grass,
the land lies longer in pasture. The rotation is also a six
course—1, oats; 2, turnips; 3, oats, barley, or here ; 4,
grass ; 5, grass ; 6, grass. This rotation is more economi¬
cal in manure and labour, but requires a considerable capi¬
tal for the rearing and feeding of stock. There is no finer
class of animals sent to the London market than the Aber¬
deen polled stock, or the other native breeds crossed with
the shorthorn. This being the best grazing district in
Scotland, cattle are usually preferred to sheep. Rearing
and feeding of cattle are carried on, as the most profitable
way of consuming the grass and green crops.
On the steeper lands that have been brought under cul¬
tivation along the flanks of the Lammermuir, Cheviot, and
other hills, arable farming and the rearing of sheep are com¬
bined. Such land is less suited, from its hilly nature, to the
breeding of cattle. Leicester tups are put to the Cheviot
ewes in November, and a cross ^obtained, highly esteemed
for its early maturity and fattening qualities. This descrip¬
tion of stock is always in great request with the farmers in
the more purely arable districts, where it is not found so
suitable to breed sheep in any great numbers, owing to the
deficiency of grass-lands. These sheep being fed on tur¬
nips throughout the winter, and frequently obtaining an
allowance of cake or corn, are ready for the butcher in
the end of May or beginning of June.
Berwickshire presents us with a good specimen of a
well-formed system of farming. The soil in general is of
medium quality, and the farms are large. I he five course
rotation, of—1, oats; 2, turnip; 3, barley or wheat; 4,
SCOTLAND.
grass; 5, grass—is, as a whole, more regularly followed than
Statistics^ .n any other county in Scotland. Thus, by the statistics,
it is seen that the oat crop occupies fully one-fifth of the
whole acreage under rotation ; turnips, one-fifth ; wheat and
barley together, make up another fifth ; grass, nearly two-
fifths. For various reasons, the extent of land under pota¬
toes does not exceed one-thirteenth of the extent of land
under turnips. The bean crop occupies only a little more.
On the other hand, where there are larger portions of
rich lands, as in the counties of Haddington, Stirling, Fife,
and Perth, the proportional extent of beans and potatoes
is increased. These two crops being also good prepara¬
tives for wheat, its average will be found to increase in like
proportions. On the other hand, it is singular enough
that the extent in turnips is less in the western counties than
in the eastern. Banff, with less than half the extent of
land under rotation of Ayrshire, has a greater extent undei
turnips. In all the western counties, the potato, on medium
quality of land, occupies a larger breadth than in the east¬
ern. In the west, the farms are usually smaller, and the
dairy furnishes more employment for the tenants and their
families. The necessity for raising turnips, which is an
expensive crop, is not so much felt, as in the coin districts
where cattle and sheep are fattened. The larger propor¬
tion, too, of wdieat and barley grown in the east enables the
cultivators to grow a greater extent of turnips.
The larger part of the surface of Scotland, being moun¬
tainous, is really capable of comparatively little improvement.
Heaths and natural grasses occupy the soil, and yield a scanty
herbage for sheep or cattle. There the art of man has been
in a great measure confined to the improving of the breeds
of stock, and in distributing the most suitable over the dif¬
ferent kinds of pasture-grounds. Much skill has been dis¬
played in this matter, with valuable results. In the wildest
regions of the West Highlands, as well as in the highest and
most stormy ground in the north, the black-faced Highland
sheep is found to be best suited to withstand the deteriorating
influences of the climate. The Cheviot sheep is only slightly Statistics^
inferior to the black-faced sheep for the mountains, and '
has already been largely introduced into the North High¬
lands. Both these hardy animals usually receive no other
food than what they find on the hills, and aie often sub¬
jected to great privations during deep snows in winter.
Wide as these hilly and pastoral districts stretch, they are
no larger than is required to breed animals for the con-
sumption of turnips in the arable districts.
The rapid progress of Scottish agriculture is, no doubt,
to be greatly attributed to granting of leases of nineteen
years by proprietors. This period generally enables the
tenants to reap the rewards of the improvements made on
the farms they occupy. In some cases, the restrictions in
leases may have had the effect of cramping the tenants’ ener¬
gies ; but, as a rule, the system has wrought admirably. Since
the middle of the last century the farms have been greatly
consolidated in most of the counties. By the greater eco¬
nomy of labour that the large-farm system introduced, the
strictly rural population has become less numerous. Ihe
higher wages in the towns have attracted large numbers.
This revolution, brought about by the introduction of better
cultivation, has not been without its disadvantages in a
moral point of view. For it can hardly be disguised that
the social condition of the agricultural labourers has not kept
pace with the improvement in the art. A reform in this
condition of things is being gradually brought about, as is
apparent from the better class of cottages that is in course
of being erected over the land.
The population of Scotland, at the time of the Union in Population.
1707, is not supposed to have exceeded 1,050,000. It was
first ascertained, with tolerable precision, in 1755, from re¬
turns furnished by the clergy to Dr Webster, the omissions
and deficiencies being supplied from the most approved data;
and was found to be 1,265,380. The first government cen-
suswas taken in 1801,and the following table gives the popu¬
lation, and rate of increase in each county, since that time:—
Counties
Area in
Square
Miles.
I
Aberdeen ...
Argyle  
Ayr 
Banff 
Berwick 
Bute 
Caithness 
Clackmannan 
Dumbarton  
Dumfries 
Edinburgh 
Elgin or Moray 
Fife   
Forfar 
Haddington 
Inverness  
Kincardine...... 
Kinross   
Kirkcudbright 
Lanark   
Linlithgow 
Nairn 
Orkney and Shetland.
Peebles   
Perth 
Renfrew... 
Ross and Cromarty....
Roxburgh 
Selkirk 
Stirling  
Sutherland 
Wigtown   
Total.
1,970
3.255
1,016
686
483
171
712
46
297
1,129
319
531
503
889
291
4.256
394
77
954
987
101
215
1,545
354
2,835
234
3,151
720
266
462
1,886
511
Pop. 1801.
In¬
crease
31,324
121,065
81,277
84,207
37,216
30,206
11,791
22,609
10,858
20,710
54,597
122,597
27,760
93,743
99,053
29,986
72,672
26,349
6,725
29,211
147,692
17,844
8,322
46.824
8,735
125,583
78,501
56,318
33,721
5,388
50.825
23,117
22,918
L,608,420
10
6
23
3
2
2
4
10
16
15
21
1
8
8
3
7
4
8
15
29
9
2
-1
13
7
18
8
10
9
14
2
17
1811.
In¬
crease
per
Cent.
12
133,871
86,541
103,839
38,433
30,893
12,033
23,419
12,010
24,189
62,960
148,607
27,967
101,272
107,187
31,050
77,671
27,439
7,245
33,684
191,291
19,451
8,496
46,153
9,935
134,390
93,172
60,853
37,230
5,889
58,174
23,629
26,819
1,805,864
16
12
23
14
8
15
25
10
13
13
29
12
13
6
13
16
6
7
15
28
17
9
15
1
3
20
13
10
13
12
1
24
1821.
In¬
crease
per
Cent.
155,049
97.316
127,299
43,663
33,385
13,797
29,181
13,263
27.317
70,878
191,514
31,398
114,556
113,355
35,127
89,961
29,118
7,762
38,903
244,387
22,685
9,268
53,124
10,046
138,247
112,175
68,762
40,892
6,637
65,376
23,840
33,240
16 2,091,521
15
4
14
11
2
3
18
11
22
4
15
10
12
23
3
5
8
17
4
30
3
1
10
5
3
19
9
7
3
11
7
6
1831.
In¬
crease
per
Cent.
177,657
100,973
145,055
48,337
34,048
14,151
34,529
14,729
33,211
73,770
219,345
34,498
128,839
139,606
36,145
94,797
31,431
9,072
40,590
316,719
23,291
9,354
58,239
10,578
142,166
133,443
74,820
43,663
6,833
72,621
25,518
36,258
13
2,364,386
1841.
In¬
crease
per
Cent.
8
-4
13
3
1
11
5
30
33
-1
2
1
9
22
-1
3
5
-3
1
34
15
-1
5
-1
-3
16
5
5
17
13
-3
8'
11
192,387
97,371
164,356
49,679
34,438
15,740
36,343
19,155
44,296
72,830
225,454
35,012
140,140
170,453
35,886
97,799
33,075
8.763
41,119
426,972
26,872
9,217
61,065
10,499
137,457
155,072
78,685
46,025
7,990
82,057
24,782
39,195
Increase
per Cent,
from 1801
to 1851.
10
-9
15
9
5
5
6
20
1
7
15
11
10
12
1
-2
5
2
5
24
12
8
2
2
1
4
5
12
23
5
4
11
2,620,184
10
212,032
89,298
189,858
54,171
36,297
16,608
38,709
22,951
45,103
78,123
259,435
38,959
153,546
191,264
36,386
96,500
34,598
8,924
43,121
530,169
30,135
9,956
62,533
10,738
138,660
161,091
82,707
51,642
9,809
86,237
25,793
43,389
75
10
125
45
20
41
7l
111
117
43
111
40
64
93
21
33
31
33
48
258
68
19
33
23
10
105
47
53
82
69
12
89
2,888,742
79
800
SCOTLAND.
Statistics. The rate of increase for the whole of Scotland during fifty
' years, from 1801, is 79 per cent, whereas for England and
Wales it is as high as 101 per cent. The county in which
the greatest increase has taken place is Lanark, where it
reaches 258 per cent. The neighbouring counties of Ayr
and Dumbarton follow, having 125 and 117 respectively.
Edinburgh and Clackmannan have each 111, and Renfrew
105. On the other hand, the smallest increase has taken
place in Argyle and Perth, having each only 10 per cent.;
Sutherland only 12; Nairn, 19; Berwick, 20; Haddington,
21 ; Peebles, 23; Kincardine, 31; Inverness, Kinross, and
Orkney and Shetland, 33 ; Elgin, 40; Bute, 41; Dumfries,
43; Banff, 45 ; and Ross and Cromarty, 47. This small
increase has, in too many instances, arisen from the system
of “ clearings,” by which the cottar or small farmer is driven
from his home to seek refuge in our large towns, or in a
foreign country, in order to make room for sheep and
deer. The population of Scotland in 1858 is estimated at
3,093,870.
The progress of the population in the seven largest towns
of Scotland during the half century preceding 1851, will
be seen from the following table:—
Name.
Edinburgh 1
with Leith J
Glasgow 
Aberdeen ....
Dundee 
Paisley 
Greenock 
Perth  
81,404
77,058
26,992
27,396
25,058
17,190
16,388
1811.
101,492
103,224
34,640
31,058
29,461
18,750
16,564
136,351
140,432
43,821
32,126
38,102
21,719
18,197
159,732
193,030
56,681
48,026
46,222
27,082
19,238
1841.
164,174
261,004
63,288
64,629
48,263
36,169
20,407
1851.
191,221
329,097
71,973
78,931
47,952
36,689
23,835
In 1851, there were 1,375,479 males, and 1,513,263 fe¬
males in Scotland, being an excess of 137,784 of the latter
over the former. This excess is considerably greater in
Scotland than in England; there being in England and
Wales 102 females to 100 males; and in Scotland, 107 fe¬
males to 100 males. This disparity between the two coun¬
tries is greater after the age of 20; there being in England
and Wales 115 females to 100 males, and in Scotland 130
females to 100 males, of the age of 20 and upwards. Under
the age of 20 the number of males exceeds that of females,
and that to a greater extent in Scotland than in England.
The excess of females at the ages above 20 is ascribed,
partly to the fact that the mortality of females is less than
that of males, and also to the circumstance that so many
young Scotchmen cross the Tweed, or emigrate to foreign
countries before marriage. Under the age of 20 there are
only 97,595 females to 100,000 males; between the ages of
20 and 40 there are 111,638 ; between 40 and 60, 117,016 ;
between 60 and 80, 134,649; and above 80, 158,629 fe¬
males to 100,000 males.
The proportion of those who enter the married state in
Scotland is much smaller than in England. Of males, of
the age of 20 and upwards, 30 per cent, in England and
35 per cent, in Scotland were bachelors; and of females of
the same age, 28 per cent, in England and 36 per cent, in
Scotland were spinsters. In England, too, the proportion of
early marriages is greater than in Scotland. Of young
men, from 20 to 25 years of age, 20 per cent, in England
and 16 per cent, in Scotland were married ; while of women,
of the same age, 31 per cent, in England, and only 25 per
cent, in Scotland, were married. Of the male population
of Scotland, of 20 years of age and upwards, 35*3 per cent,
were bachelors, 58 husbands, and 6'6 widowers: of females,
of the same age, 36T were spinsters, 49T wives, and 14’8
widows. The total number of husbands was 410,349; of
wives, 422,296. There are proportionally fewer widowers,
and more widows, in Scotland than in England; which,
perhaps, may be accounted for by widowers marrying again
more, and widows less, frequently in Scotland than in Eng- Statistics
land.
The number of blind, as ascertained by the census of
1851, was 3010, or 1 to every 960 of the population; of
deaf and dumb, 2155, or 1 to every 1340 of the population.
There were also inmates of prisons, 2993 ; of workhouses,
5438; of lunatic asylums, 2353; and of hospitals for the
sick, 1192.
The following table gives the number and proportion, to
the estimated population, of births, deaths, and marriages in
Scotland, during the years 1855-58:—
Births.
Deaths.
Marriages.
Number
Per
cent.
Ratio.
Number.
Per
cent.
Ratio.
Number
cent,
Ratio.
1855
1856
1857
1858
93,599
101,748
103,629
104,195
3-111 in 32
3-351 in 29
3-38! 1 in 29
3 37 1 in 29
62,249
58,456
61,925
63,532
2 07 1 in 48
1- 921 in 52
2 02,1 in 49
2- 05 1 in 48
19,690
20,487
21,314
19,603
0-65
0-67
1 in 152
linl48
0-691 in 143
0-63,linl57
The proportion of births, deaths, and marriages is lowest
in the rural districts, higher in the small towns, and highest
in the great towns. Thus, in 1858, in the eight principal
towns of Scotland, the proportion of marriages was 77 to
every 10,000 persons of the estimated population; in the
smaller towns the. proportion was 66; while in the rural
districts the proportion was only 53. Of births, in the same
way, the proportion in the eight principal towns was 369 to
every 10,000 persons; in the smaller towns, 358; while in
the country districts it was only 307. We see in this a wise
provision of nature, that as the consumpt of life is greater
in the towns, and this somewhat in proportion to their size,
so, to secure a continuance ”of the species in these less
healthy localities, a greater number of marriages and births
occur there.
Of the 104,195 births in 1858, 53,826 were males, and
50,369 females, being in the proportion of 100 males to
every 93£ females ; a proportion of males higher than in any
of the three previous years. The number of illegitimate
births was 9256, giving a proportion of 8‘8 per cent of the
births as illegitimate, or 1 illegitimate in every 11 *2 births.
This is a higher proportion by rather more than 2 per cent,
than in England. In the eight principal towns of Scotland,
8*4 per cent, of the births were illegitimate; in the smaller
towns, 8'6 per cent.; and in the rural districts, 9-3. Of the
counties, Banff exhibits the highest proportion of illegiti¬
mate births, being no less than Ib'l per cent.; next follow
Aberdeen, 14,9; Dumfries, 14’4; Kirkcudbright, 13*8; Kin¬
cardine, IS'l ; while in the great manufacturing and mining
county of Lanark, the proportion was only 7T per cent., and
in Renfrew only b’S.
The mean annual mortality in Scotland for the past four
years has been at the rate of 203 deaths in every 10,000
persons ; that of England, for the same period, 219 deaths
in the same population. In the eight largest towns there
were, in 1858, 265 deaths to every 10,000 of the popula¬
tion ; in the smaller towns, 217; and in the rural districts
only 164. Of the 63,532 persons who died during 1858,
31,660 were males, and 31,872 females; from which it
appears that the males die in the proportion of 241 in every
10,000 of the estimated male population, and the females
in the proportion of only 196 in a like number of females.
The Reformation in Scotland began at an early period, Religion,
but it was not until 1560 that Popery was abolished by act
of Parliament, and the Protestant religion established in its
stead. The history and constitution of the prevailing sects
in Scotland have already been so fully treated of in the
article Presbyterianism, that it is unnecessary to do more
here than give some statistics of the different bodies,
founded on the census of 1851. The three prevailing
sects are the Established, the Free, and the United Pres-
SCOTLAND.
Statistics, byterian Churches. The proportion of adherents belonging
to each are estimated as follows :—
Established Church 34 per cent.
Free Church   32 „ „
United Presbyterian Church 18 „ „
All other Churches 16 ,, „
It is to be borne in mind, however, that a number of the
clergy refused returns of the attendance at their places of
worship, and the deficiencies were made up by assigning to
such congregations the average of the attendance at the
other places of worship of the same sect. There were 481
churches from which no returns were obtained, of which
279 belonged to the Established Church, 65 to the Free
Church, and 38 to the United Presbyterian. The refusals,
doubtless, in most cases, arose from the smallness of the
congregations, and to allow for such an average of the
number attending the other places of worship of the same
sect, is manifestly to place them in too favourable a light.
The great majority of these refusals being in the Established
Church, the probability therefore is, that the number of
her adherents is rather overestimated than otherwise. The
Established Church may hence be said to possess only
_ one-third of the worshippers of Scotland, and to barely ex¬
ceed the Free Church. Taking the different counties,
and including only the places of worship from which re¬
turns were made, we find that the Established Church had
the majority of worshippers in 14 counties-^-Ayr, Banff,
Berwick, Dumbarton, Dumfries, Fife, Forfar, Haddington,
Kincardine, Kirkcudbright, Orkney and Shetland, Peebles,
Stirling, and Wigton ; the Free Church in 12 counties—
Aberdeen, Argyle, Bute, Caithness, Edinburgh, Elgin, In¬
verness, Nairn, Perth, Renfrew, Ross and Cromarty, and
Sutherland; and the United Presbyterian Church in 6
counties — Clackmannan, Kinross, Lanark, Linlithgow,
Roxburgh, and Selkirk. The following table gives the
number of places of worship and sittings, and the at¬
tendance at each of the three diets on Sunday, 30th March
. 1851 :—
Denominations.
Established
Free  
United Pres
byterian
Other Deno
minations
es- |
Total.
Places of
Worship.
1183
889
465
858
3395
Sittings.
767,080
495,335
288,100
284,282
1,834,805
Morning.
351,454
292,308
159,191
140,998
843,951
184,192
198,583
146,411
90,677
619,863
Evening.
30,763
64,811
30,810
62,490
188,874
At the morning service little more than one half of the
sittings were occupied, and in the afternoon little more than
one-third. The proportion of unoccupied sittings is largest
in the Established Church, and smallest in the Free Church,
although even the latter cannot boast of having her pews
much more than half filled. The proportion of attendants
to population is less than a third in the forenoon, and rather
more than a fifth in the afternoon. There are sittings
provided for 63| per cent, of the entire population, a num¬
ber considerably greater than can possibly be used. Were
all the population capable of attending public worship to
do so, it is estimated that not more than 58 per cent, would
be required, so that the accommodation is 5^ per cent,
above what can possibly be required.
From 2914 places of worship returns more or less com¬
plete were obtained. Of these 2694 were separate build¬
ings, and 220 were not separate buildings. The following
table gives the number of places of worship belonging to
other sects in Scotland, with their sittings and attendance
on the 30th of March 1851 :—
VOL. XIX.
801-
Denominations.
Independents 
Episcopal  
Roman Catholics  
Baptists 
Reformed Presbyterians 
Original Secession 
Relief 
Society of Friends  
Unitarians 
Moravians 
Wesley ans—•
Original Connection 
Primitive Methodists..,..
Independent Methodists .
Wesleyan Reformers 
Glassites  
New Church 
Campbellites 
Evangelical Union 
Various 
Common  
Unsectarian  
City Mission    
Christians  
Christian Disciples 
Christian Reformation 
Reformed Christians  
Free Christian Brethren ...
Primitive Christians 
Protestants  
Reformation   
Reformed Protestants  
Separatists 
Christian Chartists 
Denomination not stated....
Cath. and Apos. Church ...
Mormons or L. D. Saints...
Jews  
O
SiS
192
134
117
119
39
36
2
7
5
1
70
10
1
1
6
5
1
28
9
2
1
7
7
15
1
1
1
o
4
1
1
1
1
6
3
20
1
76,342
40,022
52,766
26,086
16,969
16,424
1,020
2,152
2,437
200
19,951
1,890
600
1,068
710
80
10,319
2,175
360
320
1,365
1,131
2,471
50
340
210
1,210
250
725
220
495
675
3,182
67
26,392
26,966
43,878
9,208
8,739
6,562
220
196
863
16
8,409
327
190
11
429
211
11
3,895
919
200
70
417
539
8
180
57
230
10
130
11
100
272
1,304
28
24,866
11,578
21,032
7,735
7,460
5,724
250
142
130
2,669
404
150
554
67
14
4,504
99
220
40
236
530
11
8
261
74
400
18
80
70
126
1,225
17,273
5,360
14,813
4,015
2,180
1,629
275
855
55
8,610
715
180
11
100
120
2,171
522
686
280
201
8
935
105
316
190
878
7
Statistics.
The subject of education engaged the attention of the Education.
Scottish Parliament as early as the year 1494. At that time
the schools were generally attached to some religious estab¬
lishment. After the Reformation the Protestant Church
zealously took up the cause of education, and many acts of
the General Assembly were passed in favour of it. The
government, however, cannot be said to have interfered till
1616, when the privy council enacted, “That in every par¬
ish of this kingdom, where convenient means may be had
for entertaining a school, a school shall be established, and
a fit person appointed to teach the same, upon the expense
of the parishioners, according to the quality and quantity of
the parish;” but it was not till seventeen years thereafter
that this act of council was ratified by Parliament. The
then disturbed state of the country prevented the act
frorn becoming operative; and it was not till some time
after the Revolution, namely in 1695, that the celebrated
statute of William and Mary was passed, which forms the
foundation of the present parochial system. It enacts,
“ That there be a school founded and a schoolmaster ap¬
pointed in every parish (not already provided) by advice
of the presbyteries; and to this purpose that the heritors
do in every congregation meet among themselves and pro¬
vide a commodious house tor a school, and modify a stipend
to the schoolmaster, which shall not be under 100 merks
(L.o, 11s. l£d.), nor above 200 merks (L.ll, 2s. 2§d.), to
be paid yearly, at two terms.” The provisions of this act
were immediately carried into effect in most parishes, and
now the system is in universal operation throughout Scot¬
land. The schoolmasters’ salary continued as fixed by the
statute of William and Mary till 1803, when it was enacted,
1 hat from and after the term of Martinmas next, the
5 i
4
802
SCOTLAND.
Statistics, salary of each parochial schoolmaster, in every parish in
v'—/ Scotland, shall not be under the sum of 300 merks Scots
(L.16, 13s. 4d.), per annum, nor above the sum of 400
merks (L.22, 4s. 5£d.), except in the cases hereinafter-
mentioned.” The exceptions have regard to cases where
it is necessary to have two or more parochial schoolmasters
in one parish. The heritors have also to provide a com¬
modious house for a school, a dwelling-house of at least
two apartments, and at least a quarter of an acre Scots of
ground for a garden. The act provided for the augmenta¬
tion of the salary at the end of every twenty-five years, ac¬
cording to the value of the chalder of oatmeal, which, at
the date of the passing of the act, was estimated at 200
merks Scots. In 1828, therefore, the salary of each paro¬
chial schoolmaster was raised upwards of a third, the maxi¬
mum being L.34, 4s. 4£d., and the L.25, 13s. 3fd.
The inadequacy of this provision has of late been univer¬
sally admitted. When, in 1853, a new average fell to be
introduced, an education bill providing, among other things,
for raising the status of the schoolmasters was expected
speedily to become law, and the old rates were therefore
continued from year to year in expectation of that taking
place, till 1857, when an act was passed providing for fixing
the average, on or before 1st July 1859, in terms of the act
passed in 1803. Besides the statutory allowance, school¬
masters receive fees from their pupils, according to a scale
fixed by the minister and heritors. The fees are generally
very low, sometimes not more than Is. or Is. 6d. per quar¬
ter for English; and the schoolmaster is further bound to
teach gratuitously “ such poor children of the parish as
shall be recommended by the heritors and minister at any
parochial meeting.” Frequently the parish schoolmaster
adds to his salary by acting as session-clerk, precentor, &c.;
and in many cases benevolent individuals have left sums for
the better endowment of parish schools. The late James
Dick, Esq., of London, bequeathed the sum of L. 118,787
to augment the salaries of parochial schoolmasters in the
counties of Aberdeen, Banff, and Moray. The choice of
the schoolmaster is vested in the minister and heritors, and
the person elected must be found qualified by the presby¬
tery as to morals, religion, and literature.
Besides the parish schools, there are a number of other
elementary schools supported by Christian bodies or so¬
cieties. As early as 1701 a few private individuals in
Edinburgh formed themselves into an association, under
the title of “ The Society in Scotland for Propagating Chris¬
tian Knowledge,” and established a number of schools
throughout the country, chiefly|in the Highlands and islands.
The number of schools so established and maintained at
present (1859) is 231, at an annual expenditure of upwards
of L..3000. In 1824, the General Assembly appointed a
committee to inquire into the state of education, and take
steps for its improvement. This led to the establishment of
a number of new schools ; and these at present amount to
181, with 20,525 scholars. On the Disruption, the Free
Church established a number of schools in connection with
their places of worship. The number of these in 1859 was
617 (viz., 455 congregational; 127 side; 28 missionary;
5 grammar; and 2 normal schools), with 647 teachers, and
62,205 scholars. There are also, throughout Scotland, a
large number of private schools supported entirely by the
school fees. In the cities and larger towns there are gram¬
mar or high schools and academies for communicating the
higher branches of instruction; and there are 5 normal
schools for the training of teachers, 2 connected with the
Established Church, 2 with the Free Church, and 1 with the
Episcopal Church. There are also the universities of Edin¬
burgh, Glasgow, Aberdeen, and St Andrews, an account of
which will be found in the article Universities.
Since 1839 the Privy Council has annually granted certain
sums to aid in the establishment and support of schools,
under certain conditions. The following table shows the Statistics,
number of school-houses built, enlarged, or improved, with ^^^***4
aid from such grants, the amount so granted, the amount
subscribed by the promoters, the total amount expended,
and the number of children for whom accommodation has
thus been provided from 1839 to 31st December 1858:—
Denominations.
Established Church
schools 
Free Church, and
others not connect¬
ed with the Estab¬
lishment 
Episcopal Church schs
Total.
-12 2
237
224
9
470
L,
36,649
24,473
2,577
63,699
Amount
Sub¬
scribed.
L.
75,325
49,490
4,554
129,369
Total
Expended.
L.
111,974
73,963
7,131
193,068
E,2S
23,361
19,747
1,247
44,355
The whole expenditure for Scotland from the beginning
of the grants in 1839 to the end of the year 1858 was, on
schools connected with the Established Church, L.232,961;
on schools connected with the Free Church, L.185,877 ;
and on schools connected with the Episcopal Church,
L.l8,903. The expenditure for the year 1858 was, on
schools connected with the Established Church, L.46,774,
(being an increase on the previous year of L.9949) ; on
schools connected with the Free Church, L.31,609, (being
an increase on the previous year of L.3194);on schools
connected with the Episcopal Church, L.5536, (being an
increase on the previous year of L.661).
According to the census of 1851, there were then in
Scotland, in all, 5242 day schools, of which 3349 were public,
and 1893 private day schools. The number of scholars
attending the former was 280,045 (161,754 males, and
118,291 females); attending the latter, 88,472 (43,594
males, and 44,878 females). The total, 368,517, gives a
proportion to the population of 12‘76 per cent., or one
scholar to every 7*84 inhabitants. Making a fair allowance
for deficient returns, it seems probable that about 14 per
cent., or one in every seven, of the people of Scotland are
at school. As compared with the other side of the Tweed,
this is not an unfavourable result, the total number of day-
scholars at school in England and Wales being 2,144,378,
out of a population of 17,927,609, or in the proportion
of one to every 8^ of the whole population. The num¬
ber returned as scholars in the householders’ schedule,
under the head occupation, was 426,566. The public
day schools are arranged by the compilers of the census
in four groups, according to the sources from which
they are maintained. Class 1 is designed to represent the
number of schools which depend for their support upon the
public taxes, whether national or local, and in this class all
parochial and burgh schools are included. Class 2 was in¬
tended to show the number of schools sustained chiefly by
permanent endoivment, but it was found that, in the returns,
the word “ endowment” was used to signify not merely
funds assigned in perpetuity for education, but also the aid
afforded by the educational societies and the contributions
of the heritors; so that this class, in reality, represents the
number (exclusive of parochial and burgh schools), which
derive the principal portion of their sustenance from “ en¬
dowments,” as understood by the parties who made the re¬
turn. Class 3 shows the action of religious bodies in the
matter of education, so far as they act denominationally;
while class 4 displays the influence of general philanthropy,
apart from any sectarian organization. The following table
exhibits the results according to this mode of classifica¬
tion.
SCOTLAND.
803
Statistics.
Description.
Classification of Public Schools
Class I.—Supported by Ge- 1
neral or Local taxation... f
Class II. — Supported by 1
Endowments j
Class III. — Supported by
Religious Bodies 
Class IY. — Other Public |
Schools j
Class I.
Burgh Schools  
Parochial Schools 
Government Schools of De- 1
sign J
Military Schools  
Prison School 
Workhouse Schools 
Other Government Schools...
Class II.
Endowed Schools....
Class III.
/Established Church 
I Reformed Presb. Church..
United Presb. Church 
Free Church  
Episcopal Church 
Independents j
Baptists  
'Roman Catholics 
Class IV.
Ragged Schools (exclusive of i
4 supported by religious V
bodies)   J
Orphan Schools 
Blind School 
Deaf and Dumb Schools 
Benevolent Society’s School...
Dumfries Education So-1
ciety’s School J
Friend Society’s School 
Gaelic Society’s Schools  
Industrial Schools 
Factory Schools  
Colliery Schools  
Iron Works Schools  
Trades’ Schools   
Seamen’s Friend Society 
New Lanark Institution 
House of Refuge  
Other Subscription Schools, 1
of no specific character... J
Total Public Day Schools
1039
491
1385
434
88
937
491
537
2
61
712
36
4
1
32
Scholars.
Both
Sexes.,
1
6
5
12
20
24
5
1
1
1
333
3349
88,900
39,537
114,739
36,869
11,484
75,955
598
212
143
157
351
39,537
36,995
355
5,807
62,660
2,658
424
167
5,673
Males.
58,007
22,100
62,715
18,932
8.208
48,765
517
136
71
103
207
22,100
1,491
216
24
89
92
147
100
441
301
1,130
2,101
4,177
499
200
319
55
25,487
280,045
19,034
184
3,173
35,848
1,493
219
96
2,668
910
128
13
61
62
107
60
255
146
498
1,124
2,302
279
120
150
35
12,682
Females,
30,803
17,437
52,024
17,937
3,276
27,190
81
76
72
54
144
17,437
161,754
17,961
171
2,634
26,812
1,165
205
71
3,005
581
88
11
28
30
40
40
186
155
632
977
1,875
220
80
169
20
12,805
118,291
Returns of income for the year 1850 were received from
2511 public day schools, having 210,363 scholars. The
total income was L.l 73,436, of which L.62,089 were per¬
manent endowments, L.21,824 voluntary contributions;
L.6643 grants from government; L.64,471 payments by
scholars; L.l8,409 other sources. Of 1662 endowed schools,
59 had endowments of less than L.5; 140 of L.5 anti
less than L.10; 381 of L.10 and less than L.20; 922 of
L.20 and less than L.50 ; 33 of L.50 and less than L.100 ;
10 of L.l00 and less than L.200; 9 of L.200 and less
than L.500; 2 of L.500 and less than L.1000; 2 of
L.l000 and less than L.2000 ; 2 of L.2000 and upwards.
The endowments of 102 were not stated.
Returns were made as to the remuneration of 1695
masters, and 295 mistresses of public day schools. The total
aggregate amount of the remuneration of masters was
L.78,393, of which L.41,423 arose from salary, and L.36,970
from school fees. The average remuneration per master Statistics,
was L.46. Of 691 masters in schools of class I., the average
remuneration was L.55 ; of232 in schools of class II., L.39 ;
of 736 in schools of class III., L.39; and of 136 in schools of
class IV., L.45. The number of masters allowed a resi¬
dence was 1110. The total aggregate amount of remunera¬
tion of mistresses was L.6288, of which L.4089 arose from
salary, and L.2199 from school fees. The average remu¬
neration per mistress was L.21. The number of mistresses
allowed a residence was 137. Information as to teachers
was received from 2818 public day schools, having 142,637
male, and 103,813 female scholars. The total number of
male teachers was 4821, of whom 2903 were masters, 553
paid monitors and pupil teachers, and 1365 unpaid teachers.
The total number of female teachers was 1792, of whom
894 were mistresses, 241 paid monitors and pupil teachers,
and 657 unpaid teachers.
Besides the day schools, there were 438 adult evening
schools, with 9500 males, and 5571 female scholars. The
number of teachers was 629, of whom 526 were males,
and 103 females. In 44 of these schools instruction was
free. Of 10,327 adult evening scholars, 4386 were arti¬
sans ; 2397 factory operatives ; 561 agricultural labourers;
553 domestic servants; 349 weavers ; 343 coal and iron ope¬
ratives ; 287 bleachers ; 278 warehousemen ; 385 miners ;
and 166 clerks. There were also found to be 221 me¬
chanics’, literary, and similar institutions in the country.
The number of Sunday schools was 3803, with 292,549
scholars (135,435 males, and 157,114 females), being 10T
per cent, of the population. Of these schools, 1095 be¬
longed to the Established Church; 1243 to the Free Church;
and 558 to the United Presbyterian Church. There were
25,411 teachers, of whom 14,181 were males, and 11,230
females; 152 were paid, and 25,259 unpaid.
The following table exhibits the state of crime in Scot- Crime,
land in 1855, 1856, and 1857, as well as in each of the four
quinquennial periods immediately preceding:—
bJO ,
<U GO
> rH
as
P4.
| ma
J fer
males ...
females..
Committed for
trial or bailed
Tried 
Convicted, outlawed, or 1
found insane j
Conviction aggravated by )
previous convictions... J
Sentenced to death  
Executed  
2516
834
2789
2563
506
2f
1?
2685
1010
3082
2791
641
H
1
3248
1240
3689
3370
977
2f
14
2812
1069
3190
2947
854
2f
1#
with
Offences.
Against person ....
Against property
violence j
Against property with- 1
out violence  J
Against property (mali¬
cious)  
Forgery, &c. .,
Other offences
751
530
1676
47
120
266
835
537
1883
64
137
239
1088
703
2182
73
146
295
Age and Education of
Criminals.
1!!
Of or under 16
years of age
Could neither 1
read nor write J
Read or write 1
imperfectly... j
Could read and |
write well .... J
Had superior 1
education J
males ..
females,
males ..
females,
males ..,
females,
males ..
females,
males ..,
females.
461
94
431
237
1422
512
491
50
60
2f
496
115
485
268
1684
684
437
56
61
512
126
615
309
1962
844
582
93
71
3f
2568
1062
2961
2728
852
2
1
2591
1122
2296
2762
926
3
2743
1097
3169
2937
853
3
3
1014
532
1916
62
109
247
972
377
1836
78
124
243
1046
380
1942
79
85
181
1140
408
1943
53
89
207
450
109
539
317
1605
679
571
83
76
4
470
154
474
293
1511
691
486
72
77
5
412
117
456
260
1588
764
468
88
73
8
433
134
557
316
1625
697
467
75
82
7
804
Statistics,
Occupa¬
tion.
Mines,
Coal.
SCOT]
Of the 3169 persons tried in 1857, there were tried by
the High Court of Justiciary 99; by the Circuit Court of
Justiciary 375; by the sheriff with a jury, 1114; by
the sheriff without a jury, 1402; by burgh magistrates,
144 ; by justices or other courts, 5. The sentences passed
in that year were transportation for life, 2 ; transpoitation
for more than 15 years, 8 ; transportation for 15 or 14 years,
18; penal servitude for life, 1; penal servitude for more
than 15 years, 2; penal servitude for 15 years and above
10 years,” 4; penal servitude for 10 years and above 6
years, 24; penal servitude for 6 years and above 4 years,
50 ; penal servitude for 4 years, 132 ; penal servitude for
3 vears, 17; imprisonment for 3 years and above 2 years,
2 ; imprisonment for 2 years and above 1 year, 132 ; im¬
prisonment for 1 year and above 6 months, 326 ; impri¬
sonment for 6 months and under, 1877 ; whipping, fine,
and discharge, 287.
The total number of males in Scotland in 1851 was
1,375,479, of whom 3352 were Protestant clergymen;
2422 lawyers; 3010 medical men : 2557 law clerks ; 1194
druggists ; 282 literary writers ; 371 artists ; 273 architects ;
420 civil engineers; 3982 schoolmasters; 1983 land pro¬
prietors ; 48,071 farmers ; 94,899 outdoor agricultural la¬
bourers ; 45,346 farm-servants (indoor) ; 8489 domestic ser¬
vants; 2915 road labourers; 5203 railway labourers; 40,701
labourers (undefined) ; 8276 gardeners ; 1944 gamekeepers ;
1903 grooms or jockeys; 19.617 fishermen ; 12,189 sea¬
men ; 32,971 coal-miners ; 7619 iron-miners.; 898 lead-
miners; 4527 stone-quarriers; 784 slate-quarriers; 1116
limestone-quarriers or burners; 2017 brickmakers ; 12,283
carriers, carters, &c.; 1434 publishers or booksellers ; 1019
bookbinders; 3401 printers ; 623 engravers; 45,560 en¬
gaged in the manufacture of cotton : 32,907 of linen ; 9572
of woollen cloth ; 2317 of“ carpets and rugs ; 367 of worsted ;
1824 of stockings; 1539 of silk ; 1265 of paper; 1645 of
earthenware; 13,240 of iron; 724 of glass; and 1673 of
chemicals; 2762 dyers; 8860 cotton printers ; 17,093 black¬
smiths ; 1549 nailmakers ; 1430 boilermakers ; 5719 engine,
machine, and toolmakers; 1534 brassfounders; 166 wire-
workers; 185 gunsmiths; 1894 tinsmiths; 305 copper¬
smiths; 755 gold and silver smiths ; 1526 watchmakers; 657
combmakers ; 685 sugar-refiners ; 2411 ropemakers; 161
soap-boilers; 393 tallow-chandlers; 1220 curriers ; 815 tan¬
ners ; 453 skinners; 531 cork-cutters; 530 tobacconists;
9621 grocers; 2937 wine and spirit merchants; 2338
licensed victuallers ; 1840 innkeepers ; 1152 brewers ; 561
maltsters ; 4471 millers ; 9541 bakers; 1155 confectioners ;
4851 butchers; 29,703 shoemakers; 18,492 tailors; 772
hatters ; 827 hair-dressers ; 1006 builders; 773bricklayers;
22,332 masons and paviers ; 24,066 carpenters and joiners ;
2707 slaters ; 1793 plasterers ; 5545 painters and plumbers';
5528 cabinet-makers and upholsterers ; 1185 turners; 4025
coopers; 4729 sawyers; 2020 wheel-wrights ; 2249 mill¬
wrights ; 1162 coachmakers ; 1642 saddlers ; 4395 ship and
boat builders ; 1256 were in the post-office service ; 1173
in the inland revenue ; 1019 customs ; and 1920 police.
Of the 1,513,263 females, 114,751 were domestic ser¬
vants; 28,477 indoor farm-servants; 26,151 agricultural
labourers (outdoor); 28,902 milliners; 12,971 seamstresses;
1457 staymakers; 2049 schoolmistresses; 1164 gover¬
nesses ; 10,380 washerwomen, laundresses, &c. ; 4865
farmers ; 4024 grocers ; 1082 licensed victuallers ; 524
wine and spirit merchants; 52,685 were employed in the
manufacture of cotton ; 39,579 linen ; 5696 woollen cloth ;
945 worsted; 4715 stockings; 1059 silk; 2159 paper;
653 straw plait; 3006 shawls ; 5602 were cotton printers ;
and 4361 embroiderers.
The coal and iron mines of Scotland are great sources
of wealth, and afford employment to a great number of
the population. In 1858 there were 417 coal mines,
in Scotland, in the counties of Lanark, Ayr, Fife, Clack-
[i A N D.
mannan, Haddington, Edinburgh, Linlithgow, Stirling, Statistics.
Dumbarton, Renfrew, Dumfries, Peebles,and Perth. These
w'ere estimated to employ 32,000 persons, of whom about
27,000 were colliers and drawers, the remainder being
overseers, engine-keepers, mechanics, labourers, &c. The
total quantity of coal produced in 1854 was 7,448,000 tons ;
and in 1858, 8,926,249 tons.
Iron is of frequent occurrence in the coal districts, espe- Iron,
cially in Lanarkshire, where the ores are of the very best
quality. The iron trade of that county, and of Scotland
generally, has increased with unexampled rapidity. In
1825 there were only 33,540; and in 1830, 37,500 tons of
iron produced in Scotland ; whereas in 1840 it had risen to
241,000 tons; in 1854 to 796,640; in 1856 to 832,000;
and in 1858 to 925,500 tons. The quantity of ore raised
in this last mentioned year was 2,312,000 tons, valued at
L.750,000. In 1858 there were 32 iron-works in Scotland,
with 177 furnaces, of which 132 ’were in blast. Of these,
13 iron-works, with 97 furnaces, 81 being in blast, were in
Lanarkshire ; and 9 ironworks, with 50 furnaces, of which
32 in blast, were in Ayrshire.
The number of lead mines in Scotland in 1858 was 9, Lead,
of which 1 was in Dumfriesshire (Wanlockhead), produc¬
ing 870 tons of ore; 1 in Lanarkshire (Lead Hills), 1087
tons; 4 in Kirkcudbrightshire, 235 tons; 1 in Argyleshire,
44 tons; 1 in Perthshire, 54 tons. The total produce
of lead ore was 2290 tons, from which 1586 tons of lead
were obtained, and 4882 ounces of silver extracted.
The salmon fishery of Scotland has long been very con- Fisheries—•
siderable. It is chiefly carried on in the rivers on the east Salmon,
coast,—the Tweed, Forth, Tay, Dee, Don, Findhorn, Spey,
Ness, &c. The London market is chiefly supplied with
salmon from Scotland. Before the London trade com¬
menced, salmon was so common in the country, that, in
some parts, domestic servants used to stipulate that they
should not be obliged to dine on it more than three or four
times a week. Of late years the value of the river-fisheries
has declined considerably, owing, doubtless, in a great mea¬
sure, to the increased use of stake and bag nets in estuaries
and along the coast. See article Fisheries.
The herring fishery is an important branch of industry, Herring,
and has long been extensively carried on. Till a recent
period large sums were annually expended by government
in premiums and bounties to stimulate this branch of in-
dustrv, but these were finally abolished in 1830, and since
that time it has gradually but steadily progressed. In 1830,
329,557 barrels of herring were cured ; in 1840, 543,945 ;
and in 1857 (an unfavourable year), 580,813. The total
produce of this fishery in Scotland and the Isle of Man in
the last of these years was 666,934 barrels, of which 86,121
barrels were sold or disposed of for immediate consumption,
and 580,813 cured; 218,992 were branded; 367,160 ex¬
ported ; and assorted after the Dutch mode, and branded ac¬
cordingly, 178,440 “ full,” and 283 “ matied.” The export
trade to the Continent is rapidly increasing; and there the
Scotch herrings now rival those of any other country. In
1857, 307,275 barrels were exported to the Continent.
The cod and ling fisheries produced in 1857, 157,706 Cod and
cwt., and 4393 barrels ; of which there were cured dried, linS-
104,668 cwt.; and cured in pickle, 4393 barrels; exported,
34,310 cwt. The quantity caught and not cured was
53,038 cwt.
In 1857 the herring, cod, and ling fisheries in Scotland
employed 11,858 boats (3702 1st class—30 feet keel and
upwards ; 3607 2d class—18 to 30 feet keel; and 4549 3d
class—under 18 feet keel); having an aggregate burden of
82,175 tons. The total number of persons employed was
90,543, of whom 40,724 were fishermen and boys; 2045
coopers ; 19,748 gutters, packers, &c.; 28,026 net-makers,
venders, &c. ; and 1017 fish-curers. I he total value of
boats, nets, and lines was L.702,715 ; of which L.85,811
SCOTLAND.
805
Statistics.
Manufac¬
tures.
Linen.
Cotton.
belonged to the Wick district; L.72,702 to the Banff dis¬
trict; L.72,640 to the Anstruther district; L.47,118 to the
Peterhead district; L.41,695 to the Eyemouth district;
L.32,216 to the Inverary district; L.30,926 to the Leith
district; L.29,407 to the Orkney district; L.29,588 to the
Fraserburgh district; L.25,545 to the Findhorn district;
L.20,384 to the Rothesay district; L.26,725 to the Stor¬
noway district; L.23,557 to the Lybster district; L.21,060
to the Loch Broom district; and L.20,344 to the Loch Shiel-
dag district. The total value of the boats was L.265,569 ;
of the nets L.373,963; and of the lines, L.63,183.
The prosperity of the fisheries in general has had a very
beneficial effect upon the fishermen. T heir social condi¬
tion has improved; their labours are now more largely re¬
munerated ; and they have found that diligence, and skill,
and enterprise are necessary to success. A great advance
has taken place in the size and character of the boats em¬
ployed ; and the number and value of the nets in use by each
boat have also greatly increased. I his spirit of improve¬
ment is also beginning to manifest itself in their towns and
villages ; their dwelling-houses are being improved, shops of
larger size and of superior character are increasing, and loads
and other means of communication are being opened up.
It is only since the union with England that Scotland
has attained to any importance in the manufactures. I he
linen manufacture was the earliest, and was long regarded
as the staple branch of industry. At the time of the Union
in 1707 it is not supposed to have yielded more than
1,500,000 yards a year. In 1727 a board of trustees was
established for the superintendence and encouragement of
the linen manufacture ; and bounties and premiums were
given to encourage its production and exportation. The
quantity produced for sale in 1<28 was 2,000,000 yards;
in 1775, 12,000,000 yards; and in 1822, 36,000,000 yards.
The regulations as to the inspection and stamping of the
linen intended for exportation, by which the trade was much
annoyed, were abolished in 1822, and the bounties ceased
in 1830.
Previously to 1791 all the flax used in the manufacture
was spun upon the common hand-wheel; but at that time
the spinning by machinery began to be introduced, and
since then the progress of this manufacture has been rapid.
In 1837 the flax factories employed 15,462 hands ; in 1850,
28,312; and in 1856, 31,722, of whom 8331 were males
and 23.391 females. In 1850 there were 189 factories,
with 303,125 spindles, and 2529 power-looms ; and in 1856
there were 168 factories, with 278,304 spindles and 4011
power-looms, driven by 6346 horse-power, of which 5529
was steam. The principal seat of the linen manufacture is
Dundee, especially of the coarser fabrics,—as sailcloth, sack¬
ing, sheeting, osnaburgh, &c. In Kirkcaldy, Arbroath, For¬
far, Montrose, and Aberdeen this manufacture is also largely
carried on. In Dunfermline, and the immediate vicinity, the
finer fabrics are chiefly manufactured. The counties where
the linen manufacture is chiefly carried on are Forfar, Fife,
and Aberdeen; to a less extent, Perth, Lanark, Renfrew,
Edinburgh, and Ayr; and to a small extent, Kincardine.
The cotton manufacture in Scotland is only of com¬
paratively recent introduction, the first steam-engine for a
cotton factory having been constructed so late as 1792.
Its principal seats are in the counties of Lanark and Ren¬
frew. Some of the fabrics made at Glasgow and Paisley
are of almost unrivalled beauty and fineness. The number
of cotton mills in 1837 was 177 ; all those of considerable
size, with only a few exceptions, being situated in Glasgow,
or within 20 or 30 miles of it, and all of them without ex¬
ception being connected with Glasgow houses, or the Glas¬
gow trade, at least so far as the raw material was concerned.
In 1850 the number of cotton factories was 168, with
1 683,093 spindles and 23,564 power-looms, employing
36,325 hands. In 1857 there were 152 cotton factories,
with 2,041,129 spindles and 21,624 power-looms, driven Statistics,
by 9971 horse-power, of which 7641 was steam, and em-
ploying 34,698 hands, of whom 7609 were males and
27,089 females. The entire cotton manufacture of Scot¬
land maybe said to centre in, or be dependent on, Glasgow.
The woollen manufacture has never been considerable Woollen,
in Scotland; but it is more generally diffused over the
country than either of the other two, being carried on, to a
greater or lesser extent, in 24 of the 32 counties ; whereas
the linen manufacture is carried on only in 9, and the cotton
in 10. It was formerly the custom for the occupiers of land
to spin the whole of their wool with the hand in their own
houses, and to send the yarn to the village weaver to be
woven into a species of coarse cloth called plaiding ; but
this mode could exist only in a rude state of society, and is
now entirely abandoned. Coarse cloth still continues to
form the staple article of Scotch manufacture, though fac¬
tories for the making of fine cloth have been established in
various parts of the country. Flannels, blankets, shawls,
plaids, stockings and stocking-yarn, tartans, druggets, &c.,
are produced to a considerable extent at Galashiels, Hawick,
Paisley, Bannockburn, Stirling, Kilmarnock, Jedburgh, and
Aberdeen, as is more particularly noticed in the special
articles on these places. In 1850 there were 188 woollen
and worsted factories, with 233,533 spindles and 247 power-
looms, employing 10,210 persons ; and, in 1856, 202 woollen
and worsted factories, with 293,363 spindles and 800 power-
looms, driven by 3267 horse-power, of which 1487 was
steam, and employing 10,175 hands, of whom 5179 were
males and 4996 females. The power-loom has not hitherto
been much employed in this manufacture; but it is being
rapidly introduced", the number having more than tripled
between 1850 and 1856.
The silk manufacture is still less considerable than that Silk,
of woollen. Its seats are Paisley and Glasgow. In 1856
there were 6 silk factories, with 30,244 spindles, driven by
122 steam horse-power, and employing 837 persons, of
whom 160 were males and 677 females.
The favourite beverage of the people of Scotland has Spirits,
for a lengthened period been whiskey. Previously to 1823,
owing to the high rate of duty, smuggling prevailed to a
great extent in almost every district of the country, but
especially in the Highlands. But in that year the duty
was reduced from 6s. 2d. to 2s. 4fd. per imperial gallon,
when the quantity of legally distilled spirits rose from
3,337,850 gals, in 1822 to 5,908,373 gals, in 1824, and
8,224,807 in 1825. The quantity charged duty for home
consumption in Scotland in 1822 was 2,225,124 gals.;
and in 1825, 5,981,549. In 1826 the duty was increased
to 2s. lOd.; in 1831 to 3s. 4d.; and in 1840 to 3s 8d. In
1855 it was farther increased to 4s. 8d.; in 1854 to 6s.; and
in 1855 to 8s. per gallon. In 1850 there were 167 licensed
distilleries in Scotland, and the quantity of proof spirits
distilled during the year ending 5th January 1850 was
10,846,634 gallons, of which 6,058,086 were from malt
only, and 4,788,548 from a mixture of malt with unmalted
grain, sugar, or molasses. The number of gallons of proof
spirits distilled in Scotland during 1857 was 13,299,409.
Since the passing of the Act 18 and 19 Viet. cap. 94,
allowing malt to be made, and sugar and molasses to be
used for distillery purposes free of duty, in lieu of allow¬
ances and drawbacks, no separate account of the quantities
of spirits made from these materials has been kept.
Since the repeal of the duty in 1830 we have no means Ale and
of determining the quantities of ale and beer brewed. In beer.
1829, 111,071 barrels of strong beer, and 229,384 barrels
of table-beer were made in Scotland, yielding a duty of
L.71,787. The duty on strong beer was 9s. 10d., and on
table-beer was Is. ll^d. per barrel. The brewers are now
subject to license duties, varying according to the quantity^
which they produce. In 1857 there were 223 brewers of
806
SCOTLAND.
Statistics, strong beer, 11 brewers of table-beer, 23 retail brewers,
and 15 brewers from sugar, licensed in Scotland. The
number of bushels of malt consumed was 1,228,524. The
principal seat of this manufacture is Edinburgh, but it is
also carried on in many other places.
Malt. Malt has been largely made in Scotland from an early
period. A duty was first imposed upon it in 1713; and in
1770 the quantity charged with duty was 1,762,460 bushels.
In 1856 the number of bushels made by maltsters was
4,192,039; and in 1857, 5,131,876. In the latter of these
years the numbers of bushels consumed by brewers was
1,228,524; and by distillers, 3,814,663.
Paper. Paper is a large and rapidly extending manufacture in
Scotland. In 1837 the quantity produced was 13,781,383
lb.; in 1841, 16,821,354 lb.; in 1851, 31,723,001 lb.;
and in 1857, 41,673,595 lb. The number of paper-mills
in operation in 1838 was 49; in 1850, 48; and in 1856,
51. Paper was one of the first articles that was subjected
to excise duties,—viz., as early as 1712. In 1737 the
amount of duty collected was L.187; in 1790, L.5048 ; in
1820, L.52,182; in 1840, L.108,675; in 1850, L.187,687;
and in 1857, L.27l,662.
Among the more important of the other manufactures
are, leather, soap, earthenware, glass, hardware, hats, and
combs. The making of steam-engines, and every other de¬
scription of machinery, as also the building of steam-boats,
both of wood and iron, is carried on to a great extent,
especially on the Clyde; and ship-building is largely carried
on at all the chief ports.
Commerce-. Previous to the Union, Scotland having little industry,
and being thinly peopled, possessed only a very limited
trade. Its exports were chiefly wool, skins, hides, and other
raw materials; and its imports, corn, wine, spices, &c.
Soon after the Union, however, the trade with the Ameri¬
can and West India colonies began to awaken the com¬
mercial energies of the nation. In 1755 the exports
amounted in value to L.535,576, and the imports to
L.465,411. Since that time the rapid extension of its
manufactures, aided by the discoveries and inventions of
Watt, Arkwright, and others, has led to a corresponding
increase of its commerce. In 1801 the exports amounted
to L.2,844,502, and the imports to L.2,579,914. In 1851
the official value of the exports was L.17,871,869; and of
the imports, L.8,921,108. The declared real value of the
produce of the United Kingdom exported from Scotland in
1851 was L.5,016,116; and in 1857 it was L.8,136,708 ; of
which, cotton yarn and manufactures, L.2,448,852 ; iron,
wrought and unwrought, L. 1,545,311 ; linen yarn and
manufactures, L.832,692 ; herrings, L.445,016; woollen
and worsted yarn and manufactures (pure and mixed),
L.424,430; coals, cinders, and culm, L.288,199; haber¬
dashery and millinery, L.247,131 ; machinery of all sorts,
L.222,531 ; spirits, L.i76,014; ale and beer, L.145,193.
The principal ports from which these articles were exported
were—Glasgow (L.5,103,318, chiefly cotton, linen, and iron
manufactures) ; Leith (L.830,532, chiefly linen and iron
manufactures) ; Greenock (L.502,899, chiefly iron and cot¬
ton manufactures) ; Grangemouth (L.445,078, chiefly iron
manufactures); Irvine (L.246,588, chiefly iron and coal); and
Shipping. -^un(^ee (L.230,020, chiefly linen yarn and manufactures).
At the time of the Union in 1707, Scotland possessed
only 215 vessels, having an aggregate burden of 14,485
tons. In 1800, its shipping amounted to 171,728 tons; in
1840, to 429,204 tons ; in 1850, to 522,222 tons ; and in
1857, to 639,557 tons. Of these last, the number regis¬
tered as belonging to Scotland on 31st December 1857,
there were 3214 sailing vessels, with 558,623 tons, of
which 1170 vessels, with 3-5,405 tons, were of and under
50 tons burden each; and 294 steam vessels, with 80,934
tons, of which 66 vessels, with 1406 tons, were of and under
50 tons burden each. At 31st December 1858, 3543
vessels, having 652,615 tons, were registered at the various Statistics,
ports of Scotland^ and that year 141 vessels, having 33,432
tons, weie built. 1 he following table gives the number
of vessels and tonnage registered at the principal ports of
Scotland on 31st December 1857: 
Ports.
Glasgow...,
Greenock...
Aberdeen...
Dundee  
Leith 
Total.
Sailing Vessels.
Num¬
ber.
458
386
252
269
150
3214
Tonnage.
162,355
83,304
65,814
50,477
21,370
558,623
Steam Vessels.
*bei\' Tonnage.
153
30
15
9
39
294
56,591
5,739
4,347
1,852
6,809
80,934
Total.
Tonnage.
218,946
89,043
70,161
52,329
28,179
639,557
The number of sailing vessels entered coastwise in Scot- Coasting
land in 1857 was 15,129 (15,096 British and 33 foreign);trade-
their tonnage, 948,946 (944,660 British and,£286 foreign) :
the number cleared coastwise, 15,827 (15,800 British and
27 foreign); their tonnage, 915,556(913,531 British, 2025
foreign. The number of steam vessels (all British) entered
coastwise was 5961; tonnage, 1,254,360: the number cleared
coastwise, 6020; tonnage, 1,246,404. The number and
tonnage of the sailing and steam vessels entered and cleared
at the chief ports in 1857 were :—
Ports.
Glasgow 
Aberdeen 
Leith 
Dundee   
Inverness 
Campbeltown.
Irvine  
Total.
Entered.
V essels. Tonnage.
2,769
1,767
1,595
1,898
2,421
1,777
391
74,736
495,420
288,374
272,657
174,129
150,861
138,298
46,454
2,203,306
Cleared.
Vessels.
4,142
1,102
1,314
498
2,364
1,362
3,512
21,847
Tonnage.
545,545
217,624
250,886
56,503
146,980
110,341
254,246
2,161,965
The number of sailing vessels entered from the colonies Colonial
in 1857 was 585 (560 British and 25 foreign); their ton-trade,
nage, 248,368 (236,563 British, and 11,805 foreign): the
number cleared for the colonies was 570 (547 British and
23 foreign); their tonnage, 257,621 (245,069 British and
12,552 foreign). The number of steam vessels (all British)
that entered from the colonies was 10 ; their tonnage, 2426:
the number that cleared for the colonies was 37; their ton¬
nage, 13,325. The number and tonnage of sailing and
steam vessels entered and cleared in the colonial trade at the
chief ports were :—
Greenock 
Glasgow   
Port-Glasgow.
Irvine 
Leith 
Dundee 
Aberdeen 
Total.
Vessels. Tonnage.
228
145
53
32
27
18
17
595
111,324
45,082
40,695
12,361
11,663
5,737
5,469
250,794
Cleared.
Vessels. Tonnage.
126
271
24
86
24
18
12
607
66,422
116,043
20,712
31,455
10,831
6,380
4,663
270,946
The number of sailing vessels entered from foreign Foreign
ports in 1857 was 3936 (1357 British and 2579 foreign) ; trade,
their tonnage, 550,320 (233,781 British and 316,539
foreign): the number cleared for foreign ports was 4951
(2093 British and 2858 foreign); their tonnage, 678,687
(322,612 British and 356,075 foreign). The number of
steam vessels entered from foreign ports was 391 (346
British and 45 foreign); their tonnage, 128,058 (117.479
Statistics.
Roads.
Turnpike
roads.
SCOTLAND.
807
British and 10,579 foreign): the number cleared for foreign
ports, 434 (354 British and 80 foreign); their tonnage,
136,715 (114,908 British and 21,807 foreign). The num¬
ber and tonnage of sailing and steam vessels entered and
cleared in the foreign trade at the chief ports in 1857 were:—
Leith 
Glasgow 
Grangemouth 
Dundee 
Greenock 
Aberdeen 
Irvine 
Borrowstounness.
Total.
Entered.
Vessels. Tonnage,
1355
370
568
518
80
203
76
132
4327
192,927
100,146
92,360
89,665
31,731
26,008
17,165
13,936
Cleared.
Vessels. Tonnage.
678,378
451
636
714
357
46
76
442
887
5385
85,936
144,797
107,670
63,747
22,932
12,991
95,626
100,177
815,402
The following table shows the progress of shipping in
the colonial and foreign and coasting trade for the seven
years, from 1851-1857:—
1851.. .
1852.. .
1853.. .
1854.. .
1855.. .
1856.. .
1857.. .
Coasting Trade.
Inwards. Outwards
2,010,988
1,971.204
1,904,270
1,935,689
1,963,552
2,049,390
2,203,306
2,105,224
2.058,185
2,003,581
2,104,967
2,057,936
2,056,090
2,161,965
Colonial and Foreign,
Inwards. Outwards,
663,321
579,158
720,047
702,940
668,078
793,193
929,172
753,312
691,828
902,005
806,773
840,150
965,447
1,086,348
Inwards. Outwards.
2,674,309 2
2,550,3622
2.624,317:2
2,638,6292,
2,631,6303
2.842,583 3
3,132,47813
858,536
,750,013
,905,586
,911,740
,898,086
,021,537
,248,313
Until after the middle of last century there was scarcely
a good road in Scotland. Even in the southern counties,
corn, coal, turf, and even straw and hay, were usually car¬
ried upon the backs of horses. “ Cadgers ” plied regularly
between different places, conveying goods in sacks or baskets,
suspended one on each side of the horse. Where the dis¬
tance, however, was considerable, it was necessary to use
a cart, as all that a horse could carry on his back would
not defray the expense of a long journey ; and such was the
wretched state of the roads that the time taken by the car¬
riers (i.e., those that used carts) is almost incredible. The
common carrier from Selkirk to Edinburgh, 38 miles dis¬
tant, required a fortnight for his journey going and return¬
ing. In 1678 an agreement was made to run a coach,
with six horses, between Edinburgh and Glasgow, a distance
of 44 miles, the double journey to be accomplished in six
days; and even so late as the middle of last century, the
stage-coach between these two towns took a day and a half
to the journey. Soon after the rebellion of 1745, govern¬
ment began to open up the country by roads made by the
military, hence called military roads, of which there were in
all about 800 miles. These, however, were mostly confined
to the Highlands, and were of little use for commercial pur¬
poses, being formed with little or no regard to such ascents
and descents as do not impede the passage of an army.
The turnpike roads and bridges in the Lowlands have,
for upwards of a century, been made and kept in repair by
means of tolls exacted from those who use them, under the
authority of private acts of Parliament. The first of these
acts was obtained in 1750. The roads are under the man¬
agement of a board of trustees, who appoint clerks, collec¬
tors, surveyors, &c.; borrow money; enforce subscriptions ;
erect or remove toll-bars; reduce tolls or raise them as far
as permitted by the local act; let tolls by public roup; pro¬
vide tables of tolls, &c. By this means, and in consequence
of the excellent materials that abound in all parts of the
country, Scotland is now well supplied with turnpike roads,
which "are superior even to those in England. There are
about 7000 miles of turnpike roads in Scotland, and 245
trusts. In the year 1854-55, the revenue received from Statistics,
tolls was L.216,661, and the total income from all sources,
L.250,800; the total expenditure was L.248,347 ; and the
total debt L.2,358,767. The expenditure for manual
labour was L.84,956 ; for carriage of materials, L.9367 ;
for materials for surface repairs, L.25,875; for land pur¬
chased, L.360; for damage done in obtaining materials,
L.1004; for tradesmen’s bills, L.5723 ; for salaries of trea¬
surers, L.2138 ; of clerks, L.4768; of surveyors, L. 11,672 ;
for law charges, L.3587; for interest of debt, L.37,587 ;
for annuities, L.500; for improvements, L.32,760; for
watering roads, L.424 ; for debts paid off1, L. 18,923 ; for in¬
cidental expenses, L.9145.
In the Highlands, the nature of the country and the state Highland
of the population did not admit of the same system being roads and jj
carried out as in the Lowlands. The military roads, after bridges. |
being made, had likewise to be kept in repair at the public
expense, for which L.5000 a year was usually granted by
parliament. A great many new roads and bridges were also
required; and in 1803 an act was passed by which parlia¬
ment agreed to provide half the estimated expense of the
necessary roads and bridges, the other half to be defrayed
by the landed proprietors. There are now 938 miles of these,
in the following counties :—Inverness, 383^; Ross, 210£ ;
Sutherland, 96|-; Caithness, 54; Aberdeen, 15£; Nairn,
20}j’, Moray, 8J; Banff, 2 ; Bute, 17; Argyle, 130f. The
military roads have in many instances been allowed to fall
into disrepair, but 255 miles of them are still kept up by
the Commissioners for Highland Roads and Bridges. The
total sum expended in keeping in repair these roads in 1857
was L.10,765, of which L.2372 was paid from the funds
of the commissioners, and L.2745 from toll-dues, leaving
L.5647 as the proportion payable by counties. There was
a further sum of L.1015 expended in maintaining in repair
137 miles of roads in Caithness-shire, surrendered to the
charge of the commissioners in 1838.
The Caledonian Canal, the greatest work of its kind in Canals— i
Britain, stretches S.W. and N.E. across the island, through Caledonian, j
the centre of the Highlands, from the Moray Firth, on the
E. coast, to Loch Linnhe, on the W. It is 60 miles in
length, but the greater part of it consists of three lakes or
lochs,—Ness, Oich, and Lochy. The artificial portion, 23
miles in length, is 122 feet wide at the top, 50 feet at the
bottom, and affords a maximum depth of 20 feet. Had it
been executed as originally intended, frigates of 32 guns,
and merchantmen of 1000 tons burden, might have been
able to pass through; but owing to a wish to lessen the
expense and to hasten the opening of the canal, parts of
it were executed in a hurried and insufficient manner, and
parts were not excavated to the proper depth, so that in
some cases it is not more than 17 feet deep. It was exe¬
cuted entirely at the expense of the government, from the
designs and under the superintendence of Thomas Telford,
Esq. The total cost of the canal up to 1822, when it was
opened, was L.905,258 ; and the aggregate outlay to the
1st of May 1839, was L.1,023,628. Nor has the income
ever met the expenditure. In the year ending 1st May
1839, the expenditure was L.4170, while the income was
only L.2532; and in the year ending 1st May 1859, the
expenditure was L.6951, and the income only L.5080.
It is not to be wondered at, therefore, that the question
has more than once been debated, whether it would not be
better to abandon the canal altogether. And now it is less
necessary than formerly to maintain it, seeing that all the
principal ports of the east and west coast are connected by
railway. During the year ending 1st May 1859, the pas¬
sages through the canal from E. to W. were 387; from W.
to E. 289 ; on parts of the canal, 289 ; passages of steamers,
467; and the total dues collected on these L.3916.
The Crinan Canal is situated in Argyleshire, and stretches Crinan.
across the Mull of Cantyre, from Loch Gilp to Jura Sound.
808
SCOTLAND.
Statistics. It was originally undertaken in 1793 by a company of
shareholders, but the sum subscribed (L.108,000) being
insufficient for the completion of the work, the govern¬
ment advanced the money, and the canal was transferred,
on mortgage, to the Barons of Exchequer in Scotland.
The management since 1817 has been in the hands of the
Commissioners of the Caledonian Canal. It is 9 miles long
and 12 feet deep, admitting vessels of 200 tons burden.
In the beginning of February last (1859), one of the great
reservoirs by which the canal is supplied with water burst,
and did great damage to the canal and adjacent country.
It is, however, in course of being repaired. Notwithstand¬
ing the disaster by which the traffic of the canal had been
almost wholly suspended for three months, the receipts of the
year ending 1st May 1859 amounted to L.2238, and the
payments to L.2150, leaving a balance of L.88. In the
previous year there was a deficiency of L.90, which led to
a rise in the rates on certain classes of goods.
Forth and The Great Canal, uniting the Firths of Forth and Clyde,
Clyde, &c. was begun in 1768, but not finally completed till 1790. Its
length from Grangemouth, on the Forth, to Bowling Bay, on
the Clyde, is 35 miles, or including the lateral branch to
Port-Dundas, Glasgow, 38J miles. Its average width at
the surface is 56 fleet; at the bottom, 27 feet; general depth,
10 feet. It is understood to have been very profitable to
the proprietors. The Union Canal, which was finished in
1822, stretches from Port-Hopetoun, Edinburgh, until it
joins the Forth and Clyde Canal at Port-Downie, near
Falkirk, a distance of 31-J miles. Its depth is only 5 feet,
so that its traffic is very limited; and all altogether it has
been a very unprofitable undertaking. The Monkland Canal
stretches from Glasgow to Woodhall, about 2 miles S.E. of
Airdrie, a distance of 12 miles, and communicates by a
lateral branch with the Forth and Clyde Canal at Port-Dun¬
das. The Glasgow, Paisley, and Ardrossan Canal has never
been completed. It extends from Port-Eglinton, near
Glasgow, to the village of Johnstone, a distance of 11
miles, and was opened in 1811. It was on this canal that
the experiment was first made in rapid travelling, showing
that it was practicable for a properly constructed boat to
proceed at the rate of nine or ten miles an hour without in¬
jury to the banks.
Railways. The first railway formed in Scotland was that between
Kilmarnock and Troon, a distance of 9f miles. The act
for the formation of this railway, or rather tram-road, was
passed in 1808, and it was opened in 1810. It was followed
by the Monkland and Kirkintilloch Railway, 11 miles in
length, connecting the rich coal and ironstone district of
New and Old Monkland with the Forth and Clyde Canal,
near Kirkintilloch. In 1849, there were 795 miles of railway
in operation ; in 1853, 987 ; and in the end of 1857, 1243 ;
of which 409 miles were single lines. Besides these, at last
mentioned date, there were 573 miles authorised but not
opened. The total number of passengers conveyed in 1857
was 14,733,503, of whom 1,823,542 were first class;
2,180,284, second; 10,723,694, third and parliamentary;
and 5983 mixed, or not duly apportioned into classes. The
receipts from passengers were L.916,697; from goods,
L.l,o84,781 ; total, L.2,501,478. The total amount au¬
thorised to be raised by railways in Scotland to 31st De¬
cember 1857 was L.38,222,976, of which L.33,668,115
lvaf ra*sed—L.16,756,881 by ordinary shares,
L.7, ( 00,808 by preference and guaranteed shares, and
L.J,210,426 by loans. Ihe total amount of working and
preferential charges in 1857 was L. 1,846,999. Of the
preferential charges L.354,774 were charges for interest
on preference and guaranteed shares; and L.401,775 charges
for interest on loans. Ihe average cost per mile of rail¬
ways in Scotland has been L.28,225 ; but for independent
lines authorised and opened since 1848 it has been only
L.7243. See article Railways.
The following table will show the progress of railways Statistics
since 1849. It gives the mean length of railway open in
each year from 1849 to 1857; the capital raised per mile
open ; the average number of passengers ; and the average
receipts from passengers and goods per mile; together with
the proportion per cent, of traffic to capital raised.
1849.
1850.
1851.
1852.
1853.
1854.
1855.
1856.
1857.
Mean
Length.
795i
902*
95 7J
970
987
1019
1069^
1147"
1226
Capital
raised per
Mile.
L.
27,654
27,612
29,001
29,476
29,564
29,792
29,580
27,750
28,225
No. of
Passengers
per Mile.
9,933
9,799
9,698
10,035
11,246
11,725
11,413
11,419
12,017
Receipts per
Mile per Annum
from
Pass’gers. Goods.
L.
680
664
649
663
713
742
726
745
746
L.
818
799
850
958
1075
1219
1277
1277
1293
Propor¬
tion of
Traffic to
Capital
raised.
5-41
5-29
516
5- 49
6 04
6- 58
6-77
6- 94
7- 22
A duty of one halfpenny per mile for every four passen¬
gers conveyed by railway was imposed in 1832. In 1842
this was altered to the present duty of 5 per cent, upon
the receipts from passengers. In 1844 an act was passed
requiring railway companies to run cheap trains, at least
once daily from each end of their lines, for the benefit of the
poorer classes, at a rate not exceeding one penny for each
mile travelled, and granting an exemption from duty on
the receipts from such passengers. The powers of cen¬
tral control over railways, which, in 1846, were vested in a
board of railway commissioners, were, in 1851, restored to
the Board of Trade.
I he great advance made by Scotland since the time of the Revenue.
Union, is indicated by the increase that has taken place in
her public revenue. In 1707 it amounted to no more than
L.110,694; in 1788 to L.1,099,148; in 1813 (including
the property-tax and other war taxes) to L.4,204,097 ; in
1822 (the property-tax, &c., having been repealed) to
L.3,436,642 ; in 1839 to L.5,254,624 ; in 1846 to
L.5,586,756; in 1851 to L.6,154,804; and in year ending
31st March 1858, to about L.7,300.000. The principal
sources of revenue are the Customs, Excise, Stamps, Land
and Assessed Taxes, Property and Income Tax, and Post-
Office.
I he gross amount of customs collected in Scotland for Customs,
the year 1836 was L.1,129,802; in 1844 it was L.l,864,148;
in 1850, L.l,951,981; in 1856, L.2,188,379; and in 1857,
L.2,024,093. The chief ports, with the amount of duty
collected at each in 1857, were—Glasgow, L.752,263;
Leith, L.486,646; Greenock, L.448,318; Aberdeen,
L.92,036 ; Dundee, L.58,703 ; Port-Glasgow, L.56,174.
The number of officers was 532, and the amount of their
salaries, L.56,448.
1 he gross amount of excise duties collected in Scotland Excise,
in _1849 was L.2,838,397; in 1851, L.2,899,338 ; and in
1853, L.3,045,471. In 1850 the duty on bricks was abo¬
lished, and in 1853 the duties on soap and post-horses.
1 he following table gives the amount of duties collected on
the several articles tor each year, from 31st March 1854 to
31st March 1859:—
Description.
Licenses 
Malt   
Paper 
Railways 
Stage Carriages ...
Spirits (home-made)... 2,349,095
Sugar used in brewing! 425
1854.
L.
138,627
672,253
246,699
23,330
12,906
Total 3,443,335
1855.
L.
131,285
401,211
243,392
25,199
9,818
2,539,117
249
3,350,271
1856.
L.
129,555
183,457
263,391
27,718
8,535
1857.
L.
127,805
167,542
271,662
28,520
8,943
1858.
2,911,796 2,807,969
116
3,524,568
3,412,441
L.
127,220
189,986
284,600
28,715
9,437
1,750,394
3,390,352
Statistics.
Stamps.
Land-tax.
Assessed
taxes.
Income-
tax.
SCOTLAND.
809
In 1849 the stamp-duties yielded L.538,406; in 1851,
L.533,096 ; and in 1853, L.576,774. The following table
gives the gross amount collected in the various branches for
each year from 31st March 1854 to 31st March 1859:—
Description.
Deeds and other Instruments
Probates of Wills and Let- )
ters of Administration )
Bills of Exchange 
Bankers’ Notes and Com- 1
position j
Receipts and Drafts  
Marine Insurances 
Licenses and Certificates ....
Newspapers 
Medicine 
Legacies and Succession )
Tax  )
Fire Insurances  
Gold and Silver Plate 
Total
1854. 1855. 1850. 1857. 1858.
L.
107,188
96,359
86,037
6,877
24,808
19,438
21,811
38,828
312
133,119
58,839
2,724
596,340
90,239
55,108
6,482
29,464
21,978
25,299
25,877
259
139,692
79,502
2,369
576,666
L.
109,558
81,669
61,890
10,828
31,084
25,506
29,259
19,411
423
205,948
83,075
2,713
661,364
L.
121,870
89,751
63,078
10,728
31,877
25,173
31,013
18,958
316
136,108
89,536
2,794
621,202
L.
124,323
97,687
52,776
11,434
36,716
19,577
30,219
19,367
370
170,991
93,188
2,540
659,188
The land-tax, which previously existed in England, was
introduced into Scotland at the time of the Union, and
was fixed at the rate of 4s. upon the pound of the then
valued rental. The amount it yielded was L.47,954. The
rate has varied at different times from 4s. to Is. per pound,
but the valuation has remained fixed. In 1798 this tax
was made perpetual at its original rate, but subject to re¬
demption, a privilege which, however, has been but spar¬
ingly taken advantage of. In 1858 this tax yielded a
gross sum of L.35,596.
The assessed taxes comprise duties on inhabited houses,
servants, carriages, horses, dogs, game, &c. In 1849 they
produced L.258,149; in 1851, L.256,748; and in 1853,
L. 163,014. The deficiency in the last of these years arose
from the repeal of the window tax, yielding about L. 124,000
annually, for which was substituted a duty on inhabited
houses, which produced about L.42,000. In 1854 the
rates of duty were considerably reduced, and were rendered
more simple and uniform by the abolition of the progressive
duties and of several exemptions. The following table
gives the gross amount collected on each branch in each of
the five years preceding 31st March 1859:—
Description.
1854.
1855.
1857.
Inhabited houses 
Servants 
Carriages 
Horses for riding, &c.
Other horses and i
mules   ,.... J
Dogs 
Horse dealers 
Hair powder 
Armorial bearings....
Game Duties 
Additional 10 per 1
cent  |
Composition duty 
Total
L.
48,255
21,040
34,374
23,614
8,864
16,639
1,481
71
6,081
11,864
12,182
886
L.
49,030
17,411
23,482
19,278
10,902
20,703
1,631
61
4,442
11,112
1,541
230
h.
45,001
16,499
22,703
18,212
10,750
19,280
1,612
62
4,490
10,824
1,344
222
L.
53,682
19,355
26,209
20,899
12,766
22,386
1,752
64
5,142
11,289
1,305
50,042
17,193
25,906
19,137
12,600
19,825
1,690
58
4,929
11,177
1,117
185,351
159, 823
150,990
174,849
163,674
The income-tax was first had recourse to by Mr Pitt in
1798, to supply means for carrying on the war. It first
took the form of an increase of assessed duties to each per¬
son who possessed an income of L.60 per annum and up¬
wards ; but next year it was changed to a duty of 10 per
cent, on incomes of L.200 and upwards, with modified rates
on incomes between L.60 and L.200. This tax was re¬
pealed in 1802, after the peace of Amiens; but was revived
again the following year, a rate varying from 3d. to 11 d.
per pound being imposed upon all incomes between L.60
and L.150 per annum, and 5 per cent, on all incomes
VOL. XIX.
amounting to or exceeding* this latter sum. In 1805, an Statistics,
additional duty of one-fourth of the above rates was im-
posed; and in 1806, the duty was raised to 10 per cent, on
incomes of L.150 and upwards, and only professional in¬
comes under L.50 were exempted from taxation. This
tax ceased in 1816, and was not revived till 1842, when it
was reimposed by Sir Robert Peel’s government for the
purpose of meeting the deficiency which then occurred in
the revenue, and to enable the government to make some
reforms, with the view of improving the commerce and
manufactures of the country. The rate imposed was 7d.
in the pound on all incomes of L.150 and upwards, exemp¬
tion being granted to all persons whose income was under
that sum. It was first imposed for three years, but in
1845 it was continued for three years longer at the same
rate, and again for another three years. In 1851 it was
continued for one year, and in 1852 for another year.
In 1853, Mr Gladstone introduced an act by which the
tax was reimposed for a period of seven years, after which
it was to cease entirely. By this act the original rate of
duty of 7d. in the pound was continued for two years ; 6d.
in the pound wras imposed for the next two years ; and 5d.
in the pound for the remaining three years, ending 5th
April 1860. The rate of duty on incomes between L.100
and L.150 was fixed at 5d. in the pound annually dur¬
ing the whole seven years. On the declaration of the war
with Russia, it was found necessary to double the income-
tax from the 5th April 1854 ; and a farther increase was
afterwards imposed, from the 5th April 1855, of 2d. in the
pound, on incomes of L.150 and upwards, and of l^d. in
the pound on incomes between L.100 and L.150. In 1857,
the rates were reduced to 7d. and 5d. in the pound respec¬
tively; and in 1858, the former of these was farther reduced
to 5d. In 1859, the rates were again raised to 9d. in the
pound on incomes of L.150 and upwards, and to 6^d. in the
pound on incomes between L.100 and L.150. The fol¬
lowing table gives the nett amount of property and in¬
come-tax collected in Scotland in each of the eleven years,
from year ending 5th April 1847 to 5th April 1857, under
each schedule. Schedule A applies to incomes arising from
lands, houses, mines, and other heritages in respect of pro¬
perty ; schedule B to incomes arising from the above in
respect of occupmicy ; schedule D to incomes derived from
trades, manufactures, professions, or employments; and
schedule E to salaries and emoluments of office of all per¬
sons employed in public offices :—
The amount of property and income charged duty
for year ending 5th April 1857 was, under schedule A,
L.11,657,882 ; B, L.2,806,855 ; D, L.6,856,106 ; E,
L.818,376,—total, L.22,139,219: for 1858, A, L. 12,529,689;
B, L.3,397,365 ; D, L.7,107,287; E, L.869,627,—total,
L.22,563,238. The annual value of real property assessed
under schedule A, in 1843, was L.9,481,000, showing an
increase of nearly a fourth in fifteen years.
The number of persons charged under schedule D, on
incomes derived from trades and professions in 1857, was
26,190, of whom more than one-half j or 13,567, were from
L.100 to L.150; 3331 under L.100; 2749 from L.150 to
5 K
810
SCOTLAND.
Statistics. L.200; 2393 from L.200 to L.300; 1281 from L.300 to
L.400; 640 from L.400 to L.500; 1282 from L.500 to
1000 ; and 947 L.1000 and upwards.
Post-office. On 10th January 1840 the penny postage system was
introduced, and since that time the number of letters de¬
livered in the United Kingdom has increased more than
sixfold. The gross revenue for year ending 5th January
1839 (the last complete year before the reduction) was
L.2,346,278 ; and for the year ending 31st December 1857,
it was L.3,035,713 : the nett revenue in the former case was
L.1,659,509 ; and in the latter, L.1,314,898—the difference
arising from the increased cost of management, which in
1839^38 only L.686,768, and in 1857, L.1,720,815. The
gross revenue from postages in Scotland, in 1857, was
L.271,906, being an increase of L.17,473 on that of 1856;
and the commission on money-orders was L.8463, being
an increase of L.466 on that of 1856. The number of
chargeable letters delivered in the United Kingdom in
1857 was, as nearly as can be estimated, 504,421,000, be¬
ing an increase on the previous year of 5^ per cent.; in
Scotland, 51,612,000, showing an increase of 7 per cent.
The colonial and foreign letters wrere less than one-fiftieth
of the number delivered ; and about one letter in every 400
w'as registered. The proportion of letters to each indivi¬
dual in the United Kingdom was about 17; in Scotland,
about 16. The number of free newspapers delivered in
the United Kingdom, in 1857, was about 51,616,000; in
Scotland, 7,245,000 ; the number of book-packets and
chargeable newspaper’s (e.e., not bearing the newspaper
stamp) delivered in the United Kingdom in 1857 was
25,193,000 ; in Scotland, 3,623,000. The number of
money-orders issued in the United Kingdom, in 1857, wras
6,389,702 ; and their aggregate amount was L.12,180,272,
affording a clear profit of L.24,175. In Scotland the num¬
ber was 512,874 ; amount, L.950,872 ; clear profit, L.1180.
Of the number of orders issued in Scotland, 350,178 were
of and under L.2, and 162,697 above L.2 and not above
L.5.
Poor-laws. Though poor rates were not generally imposed in Scot¬
land till very recently, yet as early as 1579 an act wTas
passed by the Scottish Parliament involving a compulsory
assessment for the support of the impotent poor. Down to
the middle of the last century, however, the weekly collec¬
tions, under the management of the kirk-session, were in
general found sufficient for the support of the poor, except
in years of peculiar pressure or scarcity, when in some
cases temporary assessments were resorted to. Assess¬
ments have only been introduced as a last resort, and only
when the poor could not otherwise be supported. Hence
we find that, in 1838, only 236 parishes w’ere legally as¬
sessed in Scotland, and 126 voluntarily assessed, while
517 were unassessed. These assessments were most com¬
mon and heaviest in the parishes bordering on England ; and
except in the case of the larger towns, they decreased or dis¬
appeared as they receded from the contaminating influence
of the sister kingdom. Thus, every parish in the Synod of
Merse and Teviotdale was burdened with assessment, while
in the midland synods less than the half of the parishes
were assessed ; and in the northern synods, embracing 157
parishes, only three were subjected to that burden.
In 1845 an act (8 and 9 Viet. c. 83) was passed for the
amendment and better administration of the laws relating
to the relief of the poor in Scotland. It established a board
of supervision to inquire into the management of the poor
throughout Scotland, and to make an annual report of its
proceedings. I his statute placed three modes of assess¬
ment in the option of parochial boards, subject to the sanc¬
tion of the board of supervision:—(1.) One-half of the
assessment may be imposed upon the owners, and the other
half upon the tenants, or occupants of all lands and herit¬
ages within the parish rateably, according to the annual
value of such lands and heritages. (2.) One-half of the Statistics,
assessment may be imposed upon the owners of all lands
and heritages within the parish, according to the annual
value of such lands and heritages ; and the other half upon
the whole inhabitants, according to their means and sub¬
stance, other than lands and heritages situated in Great
Britain and Ireland. (3.) The whole assessment may be
imposed as an equal percentage upon the annual value of
all lands and heritages within the parish, and upon the
estimated annual income of the whole inhabitants from
means and substance, other than lands and heritages situ¬
ated in Great Britain and Ireland. The act farther per¬
mitted the continuance of any other mode of assessment
established in any parish by a local act or by usage. The
following table gives the number of parishes assessed in
each mode for each year (ending August) since the institu¬
tion of the board :—
Mode.
First 
Second 
Third 
Local usage.
Total assessed 
„ unassessed
323
35
31
56
445
435
431
37
34
56
499 524 534554 567
29
35
49
341 30 30 30
401 40 39j 37
52j 50 50! 50
581593 630657
24 24
35! 34
49 49
558 602 625|644;653l671 680 689 700 716 729
322 2781255;236:228'211 202 194il83ll67 154
I I I I 1 I 1 I I I
The sums received from all sources for the relief of the
poor were, in 1836, L.171,042 ; in 1845-6, L.306,044 ; in
1856-7, L.669,852. Of this last sum there was expended
for relief of poor on the roll, L.485,803 ; relief of casual
poor, L.20,719; medical relief, L.23,730 ; management,
L.61,553; law expenses, L.7399; poor-house buildings,
L.27,277 ; general sanitary measures, L.l 122. The num¬
ber of registered poor, on the 14th of May 1857, was 69,217
(a decrease of 10,756 since the same date in preceding
year); the number who had died, or ceased to receive re¬
lief during the year, was 19,405; and the number of casual
or unregistered poor was 36,545.
The supreme court in civil matters is the Court of Ses- Courts of
sion, consisting of thirteen judges. They act in what isjustice, sc,
called the “ Inner” and the “ Outer” house. The Outer-
House is the court of first instance, whence litigations pass
to the Inner as to a court of review. Five of the junior
judges sit in the Outer-House, each holding a separate
court, which, to distinguish it from the Inner-House, is
called the court of a Lord Ordinary. The Inner-House is
partitioned into two divisions, each consisting of four judges.
An ordinary litigation in the Court of Session comes first
before a Lord Ordinary, and may be taken for review to
one of the divisions of the Inner-House, where a decision
is a decision of the Court of Session. It is practicable, how¬
ever, when occasion demands, to have the judgment of the
whole court on a point. The decisions in the Court of
Session are under certain restrictions, liable to be brought
by appeal before the House of Lords. See Appeal.
Causes may be taken into the Court of Session from local
courts by a process called “ advocation.”
The supreme tribunal for matters criminal is the Court
of Justiciary, consisting of five of the judges of the Court
of Session. The High Court of Justiciary, as it is termed,
sits in Edinburgh, but Circuit Courts of Justiciary are held,
four in Glasgow, and two in the other circuit districts, an¬
nually. This court has jurisdiction in all criminal charges,
except those which are reserved by statute for summary
trial in inferior tribunals. There are points which can be
referred from the circuit courts to the High Court of Jus¬
ticiary, but from this tribunal there is no appeal, nor can it
review its own judgments. The head of this Court is the
Lord Justice-General, whose title represents that of the
ancient Justiciar of Scotland. The offices of Lord Justice-
SCOTLAND.
811
Statistics. General and President of the Court of Session are now
V—united.
The most important local courts are those of the sheriffs.
There is at least one sheriff-court in each county. The im¬
mediate business of the court is conducted before the sheriff-
substitute, who resides within the county, where he is the
Sovereign’s immediate representative, enforcing the deci-
sionsof the courtsof law generally,and superintending every¬
thing done under the authority of what is called “ the execu¬
tive.” The sheriff-substitute, as his title implies, acts for a
principal, who has, within certain limits, a power to revise his
proceedings, while there are certain acts, both judicial and
executive, which must be performed by the sheriff-princi¬
pal. By an act passed in 1855, arrangements were made
for grouping the counties into districts; and one sheriff-prin¬
cipal serves for all the counties of each district. .There
was previously a sheriff-principal as well as a sheriff-sub¬
stitute for each county, and the new arrangement was
adopted under the view, that although there might be
work enough for a sheriff-substitute in a county, or for
several, as in the county of Lanark, the office of principal-
sheriff of any of the smaller counties was apt to degenerate
to something little above a sinecure.
There is no limit to the importance, in a pecuniary scale,
of the questions of civil right that may be tried in the
court of the sheriff. Its operation is of course restrained
by the local limits of the sheriff’s jurisdiction. He has
no authority in questions of feudal rights, or, in other
words, of land rights. Nor can he decide questions of
status, as it is termed, such as marriage or legitimacy.
The peculiar Scottish action called a “ Declarator,” by
which a person who is neither prosecuting another nor de¬
fending himself, but establishing a right liable to be called
in question, is excluded from the sheriff-court. The pro-
ceedin<>s in the civil department of the ordinary sheriff’s
court are chiefly conducted in written pleadings. For the
recovery of small debts, the sheriff has a separate court,
in which the procedure is oral and summary. In the cri¬
minal department of the sheriff’s court, those cases are tried
which the crown lawyers do not think it necessary to bring
before the Court of Justiciary. As the sheriff has not au¬
thority beyond his district, transportable offences could not
be adjudicated by him, and the exclusion now of course
applies to the punishment of penal servitude. The punish¬
ment of death is within the power of the sheriff by the
theory of the law, but has been long abandoned in practice.
Justices of peace appointed under royal commission, as in
England, and magistrates of municipal corporations, have
jurisdiction in Scotland, both in civil and criminal matters.
Their authority, however, limited by law and custom, is
practically left to a still narrower sphere, by the efficiency
of the jurisdiction exercised by the sheriffs, who are pro¬
fessionally trained and responsible judges.
The law administered by the Scottish tribunals differs
fundamentally from the law of England. This difference
will be found to have originated in the antagonism between
the two countries, created by that war of independence Statistics,
which ended in the establishment of Bruce’s kingdom in '
Scotland. The records of the laws and customs of the
two countries anterior to that war show that there was
then little fundamental difference between them. Scot¬
land, however, having to support her national independence
against so powerful a neighbour, fell into alliance with
France. Hence her laws, and to some extent her insti¬
tutions, followed the example of that country. The Court
of Session, for instance, was an imitation of the Parliament
of Paris. So far as Scotland took her laws from France,
she received them from those two great fountains of the
Roman and the feudal law which supplied all the conti¬
nental nations with their jurisprudence. In England the
common law owes more to the Justinian system than the
old school of English common lawyers would have readily
admitted; but Scotland received the whole of the civil
law as authority, unless when the field was occupied by the
feudal law. Hence the whole of the Justinian system,
and the numerous comments on its various parts by French
and German jurists, were the study of the Scottish lawyers,
while those in England perused the year books and the works
of the commentators who restricted their views to precedents
purely English. Both England and Scotland drew from
the feudal law, but both in a different fashion. The Scot¬
tish system of law rights became more purely and scienti¬
fically feudal than the English, carrying out a hierarchy of
subinfeudation from the monarch, the supreme over-lord,
through nearly any number of grades of sub-vassalship.
If this system had its political and its economical incon¬
veniences, it had the effect of establishing a thorough and
scientific system of land registration in Scotland. In many
points the laws of England and of Scotland have since the
union been assimilated by statute. In the criminal depart- *
ment, the continental characteristics are still preserved in
the institution of public prosecutors. A private person may
prosecute in Scotland on a criminal charge, but partly from
difficulties in carrying out such proceedings, and far more
because they are rendered unnecessary by the ample official
organization for the administration of the criminal law, the
private prosecution of criminal charges is virtually unknown.
For fuller information on the law and judicature of Scot¬
land, see Advocate, Agent, Appeal, Akrest, Arrest¬
ment, Bankruptcy, Charter, Conveyancing, Corpora¬
tion, Entail, Husband and Wife, Infeftment, Inhibi¬
tion, Joint-Stock, Jury, Lease, Parent and Child, &c.
For information on subjects connected with Scotland,
not noticed, or only glanced at in this article, see such
headings as Money, Savings Banks, Parliament, Muni¬
cipal Corporations, Police, Prisons, &c.
It only remains to add, that of this article the physical
description and geology are by Professor Nicol of Aber¬
deen ; the climate and agriculture by Robert Russell, Esq.,
author of North America, its Agriculture and Climate ; the
botany by Professor Balfour of Edinburgh University;
and the judicature by J. H. Burton, Esq., advocate.
812 SCOTT,
Scott, SCOTT, David, a Scottish painter of unquestionable
David, genius, was the fifth child of Robert Scott, a landscape-
engraver, and was born in Edinburgh on the 10th or 12th of
October 1806. A year after his birth, he was the only
surviving child of the family, the rest having been cut off
within a few days by a prevalent epidemic. From this blow,
it is said, neither father nor mother ever recovered ; and
David Scott grew up under the shade of religious melan¬
choly and gloom. If this constant fostering of the memories
of the dead, so characteristic of certain classes of the Scot¬
tish people, did not create in young Scott that sad, brood¬
ing, imaginative disposition, which was so noticeable a
part of his character, it at least had the effect of being
highly advantageous to its development. David Scott grew
up silent, earnest, and imperious. He never “ whistled or
sang” like other youths, but plodded eagerly at his Latin, in
which he made but very slow progress, or amused his
leisure hours in drawing rude designs of his own from
“ Paradise Lost,” “Macbeth,” or Scottish and Greek history.
The same impulse continued to the end of his life; the
same aim actuated all his artistic career. When he came
to his full stature, he was tall and of a delicate build, with
very fine features, and an uncommonly large dark-blue eye.
Lie began his artistic career by assisting his father in his busi¬
ness of a landscape-engraver, but it was his business to be¬
come a painter. He accordingly began a painting of “ Lot
and his Daughters fleeing from the Cities of the Plain,” de¬
signed on an enormously large scale, which was returned
from the British Institution as too large. Heedless of this
hint, he held on his course and painted pictures which
would have required a hall for their exhibition, and which
the public would neither admire nor buy. The “ Hopes
of Early Genius dispelled by Death” was exhibited in
1828; and his “Fingaland the Spirit of Lodi,” “Adam
and Eve,” “ The Death of Sappho,” “ Wallace defending
Scotland,” were painted during the next year. He sold
his first picture “ The Cloud” in 1831 ; and during the
same year appeared his outline sketches of the “ Monograms
of Man.” He likewise began this year his series of splendid
designs for Coleridge’s “ Ancient Mariner,” which were
published after his return from Rome in 1837. The poet, on
being shown these designs, expressed his satisfaction with
them ; adding, at the same time, that he had not thought it
possible to illustrate such a piece. Such was Scott’s progress
up to the year 1832. His devotion to high art was quite
enthusiastic ; and it was utterly in vain that men tried to
convince him of the entire unremunerative department of
art to which he devoted his nights and days, his dreams
and reveries. As Dr Samuel Brown said of him, who
knew him well and loved him ardently, “ he was self-willed,
yet sensitive ; ambitious, but despising the arts of rising ;
impulsive and industrious ; well-informed, but imaginative;
studious, yet imperiously original.” (Essays, two vols.,
1858). In 1832, after painting “ Nimrod,” “ Cain,”
“ Sarpedon carried by Sleep and Death,” “Pan,” “Au¬
rora,” and the Sketch of “ Burying the Dead,” he set out for
Italy, staying some time at the Louvre in Paris on his way
southward. He passed through the towns of Geneva,
Milan, Venice, Parma, Bologna, Florence, and Siena, on
his journey to Rome, which city he reached on the 8th of
December 1832. While on this Italian tour he painted
immensely, and gained great facility in execution, without,
however, essentially changing his style. The grand style
had been born with him in Edinburgh, and so entirely
original was his genius, that Rome and all Italy could
not weed it out of him. He painted a very large
picture of “ Discord” while resident in Rome, which was
much admired by the artists who came to visit this solitary
Scotsman in his solitary studio. One of Scott’s earliest
undertakings on his return to Edinburgh in 1834, was to
paint a “ Descent from the Cross” for St Patrick’s Chapel,
DAVID.
Lothian Street, which proclaimed him, on its exhibition Scott,
the following year, to be no longer the student but now’ David,
the master in art. From this period he continued to paint v'—»
with remarkable diligence and with remarkable ambition,
a series of paintings as wonderful for their astonishing ex¬
cellencies, as they were for their want of power to interest
the general spectator. The artist, it was evident, despite
his long practice and his untiring study, had not yet attained
to the full and adequate expression of which his nature was
capable. That the elements of a great painter were now
visible in every line he drew and in every hue he painted,
no adequate judge could for a moment doubt, but whether
he ever could so nicely harmonize all his remarkable artistic
gifts, and set them forth in the full and fair proportions of
nature, was a question which time alone could solve. He
had now attained to near the age of thirty, but his nature ■
was of slow growth, and the few who knew him well had
great confidence in his future, provided his health would
keep good. His strength had never been robust, and his
isolated, determined devotion to art, and to everything
worthy of the name of art, had by no means increased his
bodily vigour. He sent to the Exhibition in Edinburgh, in
1835, four pictures—“Sappho and Anacreon,” “The
Vintager,” “ A Fresco,” and a “ Sketch of the Head of
Mary Magdalene and in 1836, “ The Abbot of Misrule,”
and “Judas betraying Christ.” During the same year he
had painted, for a prize, “Lady Macbeth leaving the Daggers
by the Sleeping Grooms.” His appearance in the Scottish
Royal Academy was made in 1838 by “ Orestes seized
by the Furies,” “ Rachel weeping for her Children,” “ Puck
fleeing before the Dawn,” and “ Ariel and Caliban,” the
last of which is characterized by the painter’s brother, W.
B. Scott, himself both an elegant poet and a fine painter, as
“ perhaps the most truly poetic production” of the artist.
During the same year he painted his “ Alchymist,” a
really noble picture. In the year 1839 he had etched
several large plates of the “ Last Judgment” of Michael
Angelo, which he had made in Rome some years ago,
and which were designed for publication. Publishers
were slow, however, to undertake this project; and ac¬
cordingly his Essay, which he intended to accompany
these prints as letter-press, “ On the peculiarities of
Thought and Style,” was accepted by Blackwood's Maga¬
zine in the month of February 1839. This was followed up
by papers on the genius of Raphael, on Titian, and Venetian
painting; on Leonardo da Vinci and Corregio, and on the
Caracci, Caravaggio, and Monachism in March 1841. These
remarkable pieces of critical literature abounded, says Dr
S. Brown, with “ knowledge, fancy, reasonableness, ima¬
gination, and poetic insight;” so that, in spite of their
literary shortcomings, they will yet be read as long as men
admire what is highest in art and what is truest in its his¬
torical embodiments. The proposition which lay at the
basis of all these dissertations, and which never forsook the
artist in life, was, that “ the sole purpose of art is the sus¬
taining of humanity in man.” In 1840 he exhibited his
painting of the “ Agony of Discord, or the Household Gods
destroyed,” on which he haj been long engaged; “ Philoc-
tetes,” “ Cupid sharpening his Arrows,” and the “ Cruci¬
fixion;” in 1841, he produced “Queen Elizabeth in the
Globe Theatre,” “ Queen Mary,” “ The Death of Jane
Shore,” “ Ave Maria,” and “ A Parthian Archer.” This year
was an uncommonly fertile one with Scott, for he not only
made the sketches of forty designs for the Pilgrim's Pro¬
gress (afterwards published by Fullarton and Co.), and
painted the “ Duke of Gloucester taken into the Water
Gate of Calais,” “ Silenus praising Wine,” and “ The Chal¬
lenge ; ” but he likewise began the great painting of his
life, “ Vasco de Gama encountering the Spirit of the Cape.”
From this year till his death he worked on with untiring
devotedness, following always his own conception, without
SCOTT
Scott, in any case humouring the taste of the public. His stem
John, will, amounting occasionally to wilfulness, toiled on in
comparative poverty, apparently thoughtless of whether he
painted what would please or not. His “ Richard III.,”
“ The Four Great Masters, Michael Angelo, Raphael, Titian,
and Corregio,” and the “ Belated Peasant,” were exhibited
in 1843. He produced during the following years—“ Wal¬
lace theDefender of Scotland,” “Sir Roger Kirkpatrick stab¬
bing the Red Cummin,” “ The Baron in Peace,” and “ May.”
The “ Christian listening to the instructions of Piety,
Charity, and Discretion,” and the “ Dead Rising at the
Crucifixion,” were two of his most remarkable productions.
His pictures in 1846 were, “ Peter the Hermit,” “ Dante
and Beatrice,” “ The Fall of the Giants,” “ Rhea,” and the
“ Ascension.” Next year he exhibited on the walls of the
academy in Edinburgh only one painting, “ The Triumph
of Love,” a wonderful piece of colouring, considered his
masterpiece in this respect. “ Time surprising Love,”
“ Children following Fortune,” “ Queen Mary of Scotland
at the place of Execution,” “ Hope passing over the Sky
of Adversity,” and the “ Baptism of Christ,” were all
finished in 1848. He was unsuccessful in his competition
for the execution of frescoes for the new Houses of Parlia¬
ment; but this did not much damp his courage. The
lamp which had burned so long in comparative obscurity
was now to send forth a full, fiery blaze of light before be¬
ing extinguished for ever. He had just finished his great
painting of “ Vasco de Gama,” on which he had been en¬
gaged for years, and the critics were speaking of it with
quite unwonted enthusiasm ; but it was too late, the painter
was dying. He felt he had not yet succeeded in adequately
giving expression to his nature ; but in this painting, which
is now in the Trinity House, Leith, he felt he had come
nearer reconciling his own ideas with the public taste than
he had ever done before. “ If I could,” he said a few days
before his death, “ but have time yet, I think I could meet
the public in their own way more, and yet do what I think
good. But it is over, and here I lie.” He never rose
again, but died on the 5th of March 1849.
David Scott was, without doubt, the greatest example
on record, among Scottish artists, of a great painter nobly
struggling up towards the light and freedom of clear arti¬
culate expression in art, whose fire was quenched ere his
work was done. His whole life was a fight, and the strug¬
gle was not quite ended when his own end came. It was
nearing its close, however, and a few years more of the
kindly sunshine of success, might, by lessening his opi-
nionativeness, have modified his views of nature, and given
him a larger and more genial power of artistic expression.
But such was not vouchsafed to him; and men must strive
to read and to learn from this man’s life, as they have like¬
wise to do from many other mysterious problems, what of
noble and great was in it, leaving what of meanness or
littleness they may chance to find in it, to be trodden under
foot of men. Some beautiful specimens of David Scott’s
poetry are given by his brother W. B. Scott, in his very
able and kindly tribute to the memory of the artist. This
Memoir was published in 1850.
Scott, John, Baron Eldon, Lord High Chancellor of
England, was born 4th June 1751, in Love Lane, New¬
castle. His ancestors were obscure, though respectable,
and he had the merit of raising himself, by his talents, to
the highest honours in the State.
His grandfather, William Scott, of Sandgate, a suburb of
Newcastle, was a clerk to a “ fitter”—a sort of water-carrier
and broker of coals, engaged either as a merchant or on
commission, in conveying coals from the pits in “ keels,”
or barges, to the lower ports of the Tyne. His father,
whose name also was William, began life as an apprentice
to a “ fitter,” in which service he obtained the freedom of
Newcastle, becoming a member of the guild of Hoastmen;
813
later in life he became a principal in the business, adding Scott,
to his income by keeping a public-house near the quay of v John- #
Newcastle, to supply drink to his keelmen, on the modern v “•W ~"1
truck system ; he also engaged somewhat in speculations in
shipping and the maritime insurance called bottomry. In
these various occupations he attained a most respectable
position as a merchant in Newcastle ; he led a quiet and pru¬
dent life outside what is called “ society ;” and accumulated
property worth nearly L.20,000. He was twice married; his
second wife, the mother of John Scott, was a daughter of a
Mr Atkinson, also a “fitter” in Newcastle—“a woman,”
says Lord Campbell {Life of Lord Eldon, p. 4), “ who was
a model of all the domestic virtues, and of such superior
understanding, that to her is traced all the extraordinary
talent which distinguished her two sons, William and John
—Lord Stowell and Lord Eldon.” Besides the two just
named, there was a third and intermediate son, Henry, who
followed his father’s business of merchant and fitter in New¬
castle. It may be mentioned, as a peculiar circumstance,
that William and John were each of them one of twins,
each having been born with a sister.
The boys were educated under the Rev. Hugh Moises,
at the grammar school of their native town, where William
and John, at least, exhibited excellent talents, and secured
the affection of their master, without, however, giving promise
of the splendid careers which they were destined to run.
This Moises was a gentleman of good scholarship and varied
accomplishments, and, if we are to credit Dr W. E. Surtees
{Sketch of the Lives of Lords Stowell and Eldon, 1846),
exercised a singular influence on the characters of his two
distinguished pupils. He combined the opposite qualities
of a smart, sparkling, after-dinner talker, and canting hypo¬
crite—mixing in his conversation small jokes, and grave
appeals to his conscience and God. William and John as¬
sumed each of them one of the elements of this composite
character—the former becoming remarkable for the bril¬
liancy of his conversation, and the latter for the frequency
with which he would call God to witness the purity of his
intentions. Be the origin of this canting habit in John
what it may, it must be stated that when under Mr Moises’
charge, he was not remarkable for his application to his
studies, though his wonderful memory enabled him to make
good progress in them; he frequently played truant, and
got whipped for doing so ; robbed orchards, and indulged in
other questionable school-boy freaks, which might here be
overlooked as symptoms merely of surplus energy and love
of adventure, could it be added that he always came out
of his scrapes with honour and a character for truthful¬
ness. The boy is father to the man ; and in Johnnie Scott
telling fibs to evade the tawse, may be seen the rudiments
of the Lord High Chancellor falsifying history to escape the
merited censure of mankind.
William Scott, who was John’s senior by nearly six
years, was fortunate enough, on leaving school, to obtain a
Durham scholarship at Corpus Christi College, Oxford, to
which he w^as eligible through the accident of having been
born in the county of Durham. He accordingly proceeded
to the University, where he distinguished himself so greatly
that, in December 1764, in his eighteenth year, he obtained
a fellowship at University College, of which he afterwards
became a tutor, an office in which he acquired a high repu¬
tation for himself and college. This success determined the
career of his youngest brother. When John had finished
his education under Mr Moises, his father thought of ap¬
prenticing him to his own business, to which Henry had
already devoted himself; and it was only through the inter¬
ference of William, whose affection for him was as strong as
his opinion of him was high, that it was ultimately re¬
solved that he should continue the prosecution of his studies.
Accordingly, on the 15th May 1766, he entered University
College as a commoner, with the view'of entering the Church,
SCOTT (LORD ELDON).
814
Scott, and obtaining a college living. In the year following he
John, obtained a fellowship, and in the summer of 1771 won the
prize for the English essay, the only university prize
open for general competition in his time. It does not ap¬
pear, however, that he distinguished himself at college any
more than he had done at school by his application ; indeed,
in after-life he would speak of himself as having spent his
time at the university very much in the pleasures of so¬
ciety, and—though that must have been an exaggeration—
of the bottle. It is certain that the ambition with which he
went to Oxford was one capable of being satisfied by a very
moderate exercise of good abilities. It was not till after
his marriage with Miss Elizabeth Surtees, through which he
lost, of course, his fellowship, and with it the prospect of
church preferment, that he first concentrated his whole
energies, with unflagging zeal, on the congenial study of
]aw_to which, throwing theology to the winds, he was now
obliged to devote himself. This marriage, indeed, which
was celebrated under the most inauspicious circumstances,
may be regarded as the turning point in his career towards
the great eminence to which he ultimately attained.
Miss Surtees was the eldest daughter of a large family.
Her father was Mr Aubone Surtees, banker, Newcastle ;
her mother, a daughter of Mr John Stephenson, ofKnares-
dale Hall, Northumberland, a gentleman who had accumu¬
lated a large fortune as a merchant. John Scott first met
her at Sedgefield Church, in the county of Durham ; and,
though it is not known how they became acquainted, it is
certain that they speedily became bound to one another by
a strong mutual affection, to the great disgust of the friends
of the young lady, who was beautiful, and had several suitors
among the young squirearchy of the north. To give her
passion for Scott a chance of dying a natural death, she was
sent to live with her uncle, Mr Henry Stephenson, with
whose family she spent several months in London and
at their seat in Berkshire, carefully, but it would appear not
successfully, guarded from intercourse with her lover. Re¬
pression, however, in love, as in religion, is a bad policy ;
as for one case in which the proverb holds, “ out of sight
out of mind,” there are ten in which it is true that “ absence
makes the heart grow fonder.” Bessie Surtees returned to
Newcastle in the spring or summer of 1772, and on the 18th
November of the same year—the hour of night is lost to
history—John Scott, with the aid of a ladder and an old
friend, carried her off from her father’s house in Sandhill.
Over the border and away went the future Lord Chancellor
and his lady, to Blackshields, in Scotland, where they were
married with just money enough to pay their way back to
their outraged parents. The fathers of both of the young
people were set against their union ; Mr Scott being, how¬
ever, only opposed to its taking place at that time, as the
connection in itself was one which he could not but covet for
his son. If Mr Surtees could not compare young John
Scott, who had not as yet chosen his profession, or de¬
veloped a single lineament of his future greatness, with
any one of the young squirearchy in love with his daughter,
old Mr Scott could not fail to see that the marriage at that
time was a blight on his son’s prospects, depriving him of
his fellowship and chance of church preferment. When,
after a few days, the young pair returned to Newcastle, the
Surtees’ connection cut them. Mrs Henry Stephenson,
indeed, with whom Mrs John had spent the preceding
winter, wrote to Mrs Surtees that she could not think
of introducing them to her daughter, her only child,
whose pretty face and good fortune, which afterwards won
her the status of Countess of Wexborough, made her an
object of general attraction, and to whom the example of
an elopement condoned could not safely be offered. For¬
tunately old Mr Scott, like a prudent man and affectionate
father, set himself to make the best of a bad matter, and
received them kindly, settling on his son L.2000, to bear
interest at 5 per cent, till he received the principal. Lord Scott,
Campbell (Life of Lord Eldon, p. 28) tells a story which, John,
however, he does not profess to believe to be true, to the ■
effect that before this provision was made, a wealthy and
childless grocer, taking “compassion on the destitute state
of John,” offered him half his business, and that the offer
would have been accepted had not William interposed,
begging his father to send John, wife and all, to Oxford,
where he would do for them what he could. To Ox¬
ford it is certain they went, where John continued to hold
his fellowship for what is called the year of grace given
after marriage, and to add to his income by acting as a
private tutor. After a time Mr Surtees was induced,
through the intercession of his son William, to go through
the form of reconciliation with his daughter, on whom he
subsequently settled first one thousand pounds, and then
another, thus making her provision equal to that enjoyed
by young Scott from his father. On the death of his son
Edward, Mr Surtees’ parental love was quickened by his
affliction, and the reconciliation between him and his
daughter became total. As for John Scott, his year of
grace, fortunately for him, closed without any college living
falling vacant; with his fellowship he gave up the church,
and turned to the study of law. In 1776 he was called to
the bar, to which he ventured at first with the humble
ambition of establishing himself as an advocate in his native
town, a scheme which his early success led him to abandon,
and he soon settled to the practice of his profession in Lon¬
don, and on the Northern Circuit. Thus, at last, was he
started, as his relative W. E. Surtees, in the Sketch already
referred to, remarks, on the high road to the chancellor¬
ship, having just escaped becoming a coal-fitter, a country
parson, a provincial barrister, and, to credit Lord Camp¬
bell’s story, a retailer of figs and raisins.
In the autumn of the year in which he was called to the
bar his father died (6th November 1776), leaving him a
legacy of L.1000 over and above the L.2000 previously
settled on him ; so that with his own and wife’s money he
had just enough to live on with a pinch—the condition
best suited for developing a man’s energies—he was
above want, but not so far as ever to lose consciousness of
its pressure. He was already an excellent lawyer, having
devoted his whole powers since his marriage to qualify
himself for his profession. We shall now see how he suc¬
ceeded.
His success to begin was not very remarkable, to judge
from the conflicting evidence on the point, for in his old
days he loved to exaggerate the difficulties which he had
in early life to surmount. But so far is clear from his
brother’s correspondence, that he succeeded very well on
his first circuit, though not so well as to satisfy him of the
safety of attempting a London career. On this point he
received various opinions from his advisers,—Mr Heron, a
solicitor in Newcastle, being one of the few who enter¬
tained no doubt of his success. It is certain that he went
the length of taking a house in Newcastle, with the view of
establishing himself there, and that he did this after his
first circuit. He delayed, however, to leave London ; and
his prospects there suddenly improving, he assigned the
Newcastle house to his brother Henry. Still, being care¬
ful to hold Newcastle open as a retreat should London fail
him, we find him desiring Henry, in a curious letter quoted
by Mr Surtees (p. 42 of the Sketch) to give out that
the assignation of the house was conditional, and that he
retained the right (which was not the fact) to resume the
lease whenever he thought fit to remove his establishment
to Newcastle,—this misrepresentation [white lie, as he calls
it in the letter, a species of lie which he often found ser¬
viceable) being intended to prevent any other barrister
attempting in the meantime to settle in Newcastle. I he
fib (it is not known whether the affectionate Henry told it)
SCOTT (LORD ELDON).
Scott, was unnecessary. In his second year at the bar his pros-
John! pects began to brighten. His brother William, who by
this time held the Camden professorship of ancient history,
and enjoyed an extensive acquaintance with men of emi¬
nence in London—he was the friend, among others, of the
great Dr Samuel Johnson—was in a position materially to
advance his interests. Among his friends was the notorious
Bowes of Gibside, to the patronage of whose house the rise
of the Scott family was largely owing. Bowes having con¬
tested Newcastle and lost it, presented an election petition
against the return of his opponent. Young Scott was re¬
tained as junior counsel, and though he lost the petition he
did not fail to improve the opportunity which it afforded for
displaying his talents. I his employment, in the com¬
mencement of his second year at the bar, and the dropping
in of occasional fees, must have raised his hopes ; and with
the encouragement to persevere in London which he re¬
ceived from Mr Heron of Newcastle, was probably the
cause of his abandoning the scheme of becoming a pro¬
vincial barrister. But whatever the causes were which in¬
spired his hopes, it is certain they did not continue to sus¬
tain them. There followed a year or two of dull drudgery
and few fees—and those directly traceable to friends—and
he began to be much depressed. It is probable that in
1779 he thought it prudent to avoid the expense of going
on his circuit. This disheartening state of matters, how¬
ever, was not of long continuance, for in 1780 we find him
suddenly “ buttering his bread for life,” to use the words of
a knowing agent who addressed him on the occasion, by his
appearance in the case of Ackroyd v. Smithson, to which in
his old age he used fondly to refer, but of which no more
can be said here than that it became a leading case settling
a rule of law; and that young Scott, having lost his point
in the inferior court, insisted on arguing it, on appeal, against
the opinion of his employers, and carried it before Lord
Thurlow, whose very favourable consideration he won by
the ability that he displayed in his argument. J he same
year Bowes again retained him in an election petition, and
in the year following he greatly increased his reputation by
his appearance in the Clitheroe election petition, in which
he acted as leading counsel; the seniors having suddenly
failed their client, and the junior in the case mistrusting
himself, having declined to conduct it on his own responsi¬
bility. Scott only got his brief about six o’clock of the
morning on which the case came on; but notwithstanding
the want of preparation made an excellent appearance.
From this time his success was certain. In two years he
obtained a silk gown, and was so far cured of the modesty
which had led him to aspire to the recordership of New¬
castle and a retreat there, that he declined accepting the
king’s counselship if precedence were given over him to
his junior, Mr Erskine, though the latter was the son of a
peer and a most accomplished orator. He was now on the
high way to fortune. His health in the years of his de¬
pression had been but indifferent; he complained much of
giddiness and swimming in the head; probably his mode
of life was too retired (Mrs Scott’s management was very
frugal), and there was too little variety in his life of study.
But now his constitution strengthened with the demands
made upon it; his talents, and power of endurance, and
ambition, all expanded together. He enjoyed a consider¬
able practice in the northern part of his circuit, before
parliamentary committees, and at the chancery bar, and
was in sight of the honours and emoluments of the solicitor
and attorney generalships. By 178^ his practice at the
Equity bar had so far increased that he was obliged to give
up the eastern half of his circuit (which embraced six coun¬
ties), and attend it only at Lancaster.
Scott was now at that stage of professional progress when
lawyers, in order to obtain the highest honours, must be¬
come political ; and to politics, accordingly, he betook
815
himself. Shortly after taking the silk gown, he entered Scott>
Parliament for Lord Weymouth’s close borough of Weobley, ^ John- J
which Lord Thurlow obtained for him without solicitation.
In Parliament he played his cards with great discretion,
giving a general and independent support to Pitt. His
first parliamentary speeches were directed against Fox’s
India bill. They were unsuccessful. In one he aimed at
being brilliant, and becoming merely laboured and pedantic,
was covered with ridicule by Sheridan, from whom he re¬
ceived a lesson which he did not fail to improve. Thereafter,
abandoning the affectation of eloquence, he contented him¬
self with good sense ; and with being remarkable, in spite of
the clumsiness and poverty of his style, for the subtlety of
his reasonings and the soundness of his law. In 1788 Pitt
found it convenient to confer on him the honour of knight¬
hood and the office of solicitor-general; and in the end of
this year, as solicitor-general, he attracted attention by his
speeches in support of Pitt’s resolutions on the state of the
king (George III., who then laboured under a mental ma¬
lady), and the delegation of his authority. It is said that
he drew the regency bill, introduced in 1789,—a bill
which was as much calculated to fix on him the hatred
of the prince (afterwards George IV.) as to secure him
the gratitude of the then king, who recovered before the
bill passed into law. In 1 793 he advanced to the office of
attorney-general, in which it fell to him to conduct the
memorable prosecutions for high treason against British
sympathisers with French republicanism; among others,
against the celebrated Horne Tooke. These prosecutions,
in most cases, were no doubt instigated by Sir John Scott,
and have been generally condemned as an attempt to per¬
vert the criminal law. They were the most important
proceedings, as he himself has said, in which he ever was
professionally engaged ; but it would be altogether out of
place, in this brief memoir, to attempt to give any account
of them. He has left on record, in his “ Anecdote Book,”
a defence of his conduct in regard to them. A full account
of the principal trials, and of the various legislative mea¬
sures for repressing the expressions of popular opinion, for
which he was more or less responsible, will be found in Mr
Twiss’s admirable book, The Public and Private Life of
the Lord-Chancellor Eldon, and in the more masterly and
impartial pages of his life, as written by the Lord Chan¬
cellor Campbell. In 1799, the office of Chief-Justice of
the Court of Common Pleas falling vacant, Sir John Scott’s
claim to it was not overlooked; and after seventeen years’
service in the Lower House, he entered the House of
Peers as Baron Eldon. In February 1801, the ministry
of Pitt, to whom Lord Eldon owed his promotion so far,
was succeeded by that of Addington, and as part of the
new arrangement, the Chief-Justice ascended the wool¬
sack, having, indeed, been one of those who suggested the
reconstruction of the cabinet, excluding his old patron,
Pitt. The chancellorship was given to him nominally be¬
cause of his great anti-Catholic zeal. From the peace of
Amiens, 1801, till 1804, Lord Eldon appears to have in¬
terfered little in politics. In the latter year we find him
intriguing to turn out Addington, and restore Pitt to the
office of prime minister. George III. was again afflicted with
his malady, and the Chancellor used his right of approach¬
ing the royal person to conduct a correspondence between
him and Pitt, in the course of which delicate work he
actually took occasion to recast Pitt’s letters, to suit them
to the moods of the king. The upshot of the intrigue
was, says a writer in the Laiv Review, xi. p. 264, that Mr
Pitt shoved Mr Addington out of his place, which he him¬
self took, and retained his coadjutor in the business as
chancellor, “ his ally, within the besieged garrison, who
opened the gate to him under the cloud of night, while the
rest slept.” There is but one word by which to denomi¬
nate his conduct on this occasion—treachery. But the
816 SCOTT (LORD ELDON).
Scott, worst of it is, that he has put on record in his autobio-
John. graphy—“ The Anecdote Book,” already mentioned—an
^ account of his part in the intrigue, which is inconsistent
with the truth. (Vide Campbell’s Life of Eldon, p. 166,
et seq.) The whole transaction is most discreditable to
his memory. It is painful, yet amusing, to find him justi¬
fying himself to others, by constantly repeating that he
was the king’s chancellor, and not Addington’s—a distinc¬
tion not known to the constitution—and for which, at any
rate, there was but a mere shadow of a foundation in the
history of his appointment. It is certain that neither Ad¬
dington, nor any other minister, would have consented to
the appointment of a chancellor who was not to owe him
fealty. Lord Eldon was now chancellor under Pitt; but
Pitt’s new administration was but of short duration. On
the 2d February 1806, he sank, under the anxieties of
office, and his ministry was succeeded by a coalition, under
Lord Granville. The death of Fox, who was the new
foreign secretary and leader of the House of Commons,
soon however broke up the Granville administration; and
in the spring of 1807, Lord Eldon once more, under Lord
Liverpool, returned to the woolsack, which, from that time,
he continued to occupy for about twenty years, swaying the
cabinet, and in all but the name the prime minister of
England. It was not till 1827, when the premiership,
vacant through the paralysis of Lord Liverpool, fell to Mr
Canning, the chief advocate of Roman Catholic emancipa¬
tion, that Lord Eldon, in the sixty-seventh year of his age,
resigned the chancellorship for ever. When, after the two
short administrations of Canning and Goderich, it fell to
the Duke of Wellington to construct a cabinet, Lord
Eldon expected that he would have been included, if not
as chancellor, at least in some important office, but he
was overlooked, at which he was much chagrined. Not¬
withstanding that, during his long tenure of office, he was
constantly protesting before his God and on his conscience,
—the element of the composite character of Moises which
fell to his lot became more remarkable in him the older
he grew—that he did not covet power, but longed for the
retirement of his seat, at Encombe, and the society of his
dear “ Bessy,” we find him again so late as 1835, within
three years of his death, in hopes of office under Peel.
The desire of it only left him to be replaced by disgust
with those friends whom he conceived to have deserted
him. Fie ceased to speak in Parliament in July 1834, but
even then, as we know, he had not fully realised the lact
that he had survived his influence.
In 1821 Lord Eldon was made an earl by George IV.,
whom he managed to conciliate, and to turn into an enemy
of the Whigs, partly, no doubt, by espousing his cause
against his wife (whose advocate he had been in the days
of George III., when he used to fete her, and dine, and
get drunk with her, at Blackheath), and partly through his
well-earned reputation for zeal against the Roman Catho¬
lics. No sooner was the prince, whose enmity he had
justly incurred, made regent, than Eldon hastened to trans¬
fer to him the affection which he had so long nourished
for his father. The wife of the son, whom George III.
hated, was an injured innocent; but with what Mr Surtees
calls his “ convenient versatility,” the wife of the pros¬
pective George IV. immediately became a “ d d
~the same year, his brother William, who, since
1 / 98, had filled the office of judge of the High Court of
Admiralty the highest dignity of the courts at Doctors’
Commons was raised to the peerage under the title of
Lord Stowell.
It is impossible, in a memoir of the brevity to which the
present is restricted, to give any more than the merest
outline ol a life so prolonged, and remarkable for so much
activity as Lord Eldon’s. It must suffice to state just one
or two of the leading facts about his family, and then to
give a brief review of his character and career. Flis dear Scott,
“ Bessy,” his love for whom is almost the only beautiful John,
feature in his life, died before him, 28th June 1831. By v—J
nature she was a simple character, and by habits acquired
during the early portion of Lord Eldon’s career, almost a
recluse. She was dearly loved by her husband and sur¬
viving son, both of whom—the one in his will, the other
on his deathbed—desired to be buried close to her. Two
sons of their love reached maturity; John, grandfather, of
the present earl, who died in 1805, at the age of thirty-one ;
and William Henry John, who died in 1832, at the age of
thirty-seven. Lord Eldon himself survived almost all his
immediate relations. His brother William died in 1836.
He himself died, in London, in his eighty-seventh year, 3d
January 1838, leaving behind him two daughters, Lady
Frances Bankes, and Lady Elizabeth Repton, and his
grandson, all of whom were round his deathbed. During
the last years of his life he had sunk a good deal from
public notice. “ But,” says his biographer, Lord Camp¬
bell, “his death created a considerable sensation. 
When his remains lay in state in Hamilton Place large
numbers of all classes went to see the solemn scene; and
when the funeral procession, attended by the carriages of
the Princes of the blood, many of the peerage, and all the
dignitaries of the law, blackened the way, dense crowds
stood uncovered, respectfully gazing at it as it passed.”
He was buried in a vault which he had constructed in
the burying-ground of the chapel of Kingston, in Dorset¬
shire, by the side of his beloved “ Bessie.” The fortune
which he left behind him exceeded in amount half a million
of money, mostly invested in the funds; for, like his brother
William, though he bought some land, he preferred “the ele¬
gant simplicity of the three per cents” to every other security.
The facts already narrated speak volumes as to the
talents of Lord Eldon, his powers of managing men, and
great political sagacity. He was no legislator,—his one
aim in politics was to keep in office, and maintain things as
he found them; and almost the only laws he ever helped
to pass were laws for popular coercion. For nearly forty
years he fought against every improvement in law, as in the
constitution ; calling God to witness, on the smallest pro¬
posal of reform, that he foresaw from it the downfall of his
country. Without any political principles, properly so
called, and without interest in or knowledge of foreign af¬
fairs, he maintained himself and party in power for an un¬
precedented period by his great tact, and in virtue of his two
great political properties—of zeal against every species of
reform, and zeal against the Roman Catholics. And yet,
though it is most likely that he was a good Christian, and
though certainly he frequently appealed to the Supreme
Being, excepting when he resided in the country, he never
attended public worship. “ Although Dr Johnson,” says
Campbell, “ when dying, had sent him a message to re¬
quest that he would attend public worship every Sunday,
he never was present at public worship in London from
the one year’s end to the other.” And when near his death,
and he was talking complacently to Dr Philpotts, Bishop of
Exeter, of his past life, and the bishop desired to draw his
attention to the merits of the Redeemer, he resented the
attempt to disparage his own as a reflection on his public
character! Yet this was the man who, through along life,
was the defender of the Church, and its champion against
every other class of religionists ! To pass from his political
to his judicial character, is to shift to ground on which his
greatness is universally acknowledged. His judgments,
which have received as much praise for their accuracy as
abuse for their clumsiness and uncouthness, fill a small
library. But though intimately acquainted with every
nook and cranny of the English law, he never carried his
studies into foreign fields, from which to enrich our legal
literature; and it must be added, that against the excel-
SCOTT,
Scott, lence of his judgments, in too many cases, must be set off
Michael, the hardships, worse than injustice, that arose from his
protracted delays in pronouncing them. A consummate
judge and the narrowest of politicians, he was Doubt on
the bench and Promptness itself in the political arena. For
literature, as for art, he had no feeling. What intervals he
enjoyed from the cares of office, he filled up with newspapers
and the gossip of old cronies. Nor were his intimate asso¬
ciates men of refinement and taste ; they were rather good-
fellows, who quietly enjoyed a good bottle and joke ; he uni¬
formly avoided encounters of wit with his equals. He was
all his life a hard drinker, and yet cannot be considered as
having been intemperate, for his drink neither hurt his
health, disturbed his understanding, nor interfered with
the discharge of his duties. He is said to have been parsi¬
monious, and certainly he was quicker to receive than to re¬
ciprocate hospitalities; but it is known that he was capable
of doing generous and liberal actions ; and his mean estab¬
lishment and mode of life are explained on reference to the
retired habits of his wife, and her dislike of company. At
the same time it must be mentioned, as looking towards the
view that he was miserly, that he never quite forgave his
grandson for succeeding to his brother William’s lands,
without a liferent of them having been given to himself.
To conclude, his manners were very winning and courtly,
a merit in him not the less that they often bound to him
friends whom he merely made such that he might use
them. In the circle of his immediate relatives he is said
to have always been irresistible, nor can it be doubted that
he was a far more loveable person to meet with in society
than in history. A charming manner in a man of distin¬
guished position, like charity, covers a multitude of sins
from the sight of those who have to do with him ; but in
the distance of time the secondary qualities of a man’s na¬
ture become indistinguishable, and he falls to be judged of
by the broad lineaments of his character and his leading
actions. And it is hard for us now, looking back on his life
of intrigue and remembering his “ convenient versatility”
and meannesses, to detect any trace of affection in our ad¬
miration for the great Lord-Chancellor. “ He is one,”
says Miss Martineau, “ that aftertimes will not venerate;
but fortunately for the fame of the larger number of the
great ones of the earth, there is a vast neutral ground be¬
tween veneration and contempt.”
As the most appropriate conclusion to this short memoir
we append the following account of his person from the
pen of Lord Campbell:—“ In his person, Lord Eldon was
about the middle size, his figure light and athletic, his fea¬
tures regular and handsome, his eye bright and full, his
smile remarkably benevolent, and his whole appearance
prepossessing. The advance of years rather increased than
detracted from these personal advantages.” As he sat on the
judgment-seat, the deep thought betrayed in his furrowed
brow,—the large eyebrows, overhanging eyes that seemed
to regard more what was taking place within than around
him,—his calmness, that would have assumed a character
of sternness but for its perfect placidity,—his dignity, re¬
pose, and venerable age, tended at once to win confidence
and to inspire respect.” (Townsend.) “ He had a voice
both sweet and deep-toned, and its effect was not injured
by his Northumbrian burr, which, though strong, was en¬
tirely free from harshness or vulgarity.” (j. f. m‘l.)
Scott, Michael, or according to some Sir Michael,
was a renowned wizard, once known and feared all over
Europe, is supposed to have been one of the Scotts of
Balwearie, in Fifeshire, where he is said to have been
born in the early part of the thirteenth century, during
the reign of Alexander II. After pursuing his studies at
home with great success, he went to Paris, and some add
to Oxford, where he spent some years in quiet study and
meditation. Leaving France he proceeded to the court
YOL. XIX.
817
of Frederic the Second of Germany, a prince distinguished Scott,
for his literary acquirements and for his munificent pa- Michael,
tronage of literary men. He was strongly addicted to
the studies of judicial astrology, alchemy, physiognomy,
chemistry, and chiromancy ; and seems to have made great
progress in those abstruse inquiries during his stay in Ger¬
many. Scott is reported to have proceeded to England
on the death of his imperial patron in 1250, where he was
received with great favour by King Edward I. This por¬
tion of the narrative does not hang well together, for
Edward I. did not ascend the throne till 1272. From
England he is said to have proceeded to Scotland, where
he remained during the rest of his life. He is reported to
have been one of the ambassadors sent to bring the Maid of
Norway to Scotland on the death of Alexander III., in
1290; but this seems very doubtful. Sir Robert Sibbald, in
his History of Fife and Kinross, cites from an old inden¬
ture of 1294 to show that “ Sir Michael Scott of Balweary”
was then still living; and further, he ascribes to the
same individual a share in the embassy to Norway for
the cession of the Orcades in the fifth year of Robert I.,
that is, in 1310. The ordinary account assigns his death to
1291, and it is just probable he may have been confounded
with another person of the same name. The writer of
his life in Knight’s English Cycloycedia conjectures that
the Sir Michael Scott who was engaged in the embassy
to Norway in 1310 was a son of the great wizard’s.
Dempster, who wrote in the beginning of the seventeenth
century, did not know, moreover, that the magician was
the same person with Sir Michael Scott of Balwearie ; but
tells us the name Scotus was not that of the astrologer’s
family, but of his nation (Dempsteri Historia Ecclesiastica
Gent. Scot. 1627). Tradition, likewise, varies concerning
the place of his sepulture. Some contend for Ulme or
Holme Cultram, in Cumberland, while the Scottish tra¬
dition, which is likely to be the correct one, assigns it to
Melrose. It is this tradition which is followed by Sir
Walter Scott in his Lay of the Last Minstrel, where, in
the opening of the wizard’s grave, the withdrawing from
his cold hand of his “ Book of Might” forms so striking an
episode in the progress of the ballad. All accounts agree
in making his books of magic be buried with him wher¬
ever he was interred. Satchells {Hist, of the Name of
Scott), according to Sir Walter Scott, pretends that in
1629, chancing to be at Burgh under Bowness, in Cumber¬
land, he was shown by a person named Lancelot Scott an
extract from the works of Michael Scott, containing the
following story :—
“ He said the book which he gave me
Was of Sir Michael Scott’s historic;
Which history was never yet read through,
Hor never will, for no man dare it do.
He carried me along the castle then,
And showed his written book hanging on an iron pin.
His writing pen did seem to me to be
Of hardened metal, like steel or accumie ;
The volume of it did seem so large to me
As the Books of Martyrs and Turks historic.
Then in the church he let me see
A stone where Mr Michael Scott did lie.”
Michael Scott, who, from all accounts of him, was a very
learned man, seems to have paid the penalty attached to
letters during that dark age. He made too much of those
conjectural sciences of alchemy, astrology, and chiromancy,
but otherwise he was unquestionably a great scholar. He
is alluded to by Dante, Boccacio, and other early Italian
writers, as a great magician, and is severely taken to task by
Mirandola in his book against astrology. To this day he
is remembered in remote parts of the south of Scotland as
a wonderful magician, to whom the whole realms of hell
lay open, and who divided his power only with the prince
of darkness. The fantastic stories told of his wonderful
o L
i
818
SCOTT.
Scott,
Thomas.
notes,
ex
projects would fill a volume. Sir Walter Scott records of
him, in a note to his Lay, that “ in the south of Scot¬
land any work of great labour and antiquity is ascribed
either to the agency of Auld Machael, of Sii William
Wallace, or of the devil.” The works ascribed to Michael
Scott are the following -.—Aristotelis Opera Omnia, cum
2 vols. Yen., 1496; Avicennam de Animalibus
Avabico in Latinum Transtulit, no date, accoi d-
ino- to Mackenzie (see his Lives of Eminent Scottish
Writers) ; Physiognomia et de Hominis Procreatione,
Paris, 1508 ; Questio curiosa de nalura Solis et Luna,
Strasburg, 1622 ; Mensa Philosophica, Leipzig, 1603.
This last work has been translated into English under
the title of the “ Philosopher’s Banquet,” by W. B., 1633.
Scott, Thomas, an eminent divine of the Church of Eng¬
land, was born on the 16th of February 1747. His father
was a grazier in Lincolnshire, in humble circumstances, with
thirteen children, of whom Thomas was the tenth. The
father was ambitious that one of his sons should belong to a
learned profession, and with this view sent the subject of
this memoir, when about fifteen years of age, to be ap¬
prentice to an apothecary and surgeon at Alford. In this
situation he conducted himself so improperly, that after a
short time he was dismissed by his master, and sent home
in disgrace. His father, mortified and vexed by the con¬
duct of his son, treated him with great harshness, and em¬
ployed him only in the lowest and most laborious drudgery
about the farm. For nine years after his return home in
disgrace, he was exposed to great hardships, associated
with persons in the lowest stations of society, and often
joined in their riotous and abandoned pursuits. Conceiv¬
ing himself used with unjust severity by his father, his
temper was soured, and he became exceedingly irritable
and discontented. His employment of tending the sheep
left him often in solitude. At these seasons his mind was
filled with bitter reflections on the past, and gloomy anti¬
cipations of the future; and although his education had
been very superficial, yet he had acquired so much as
awakened in him an insatiable longing after the pleasures and
distinctions of literature; and everything conspired to dis¬
gust him with his present employment. When about
twenty-five years of age, to the astonishment of every one,
he declared his resolution of entering the church. This
scheme was strongly opposed by his father, treated as chime¬
rical by his friends, and ridiculed by his neighbours. At
length, however, his unconquerable fortitude and patient
perseverance overcame every obstacle, and he was admitted
to priest’s orders in the year 1773, and shortly thereafter was
appointed curate of Weston Underwood, with a salary of
L.50 a year. While here, he applied with indefatigable
zeal and industry to the study of sacred and profane litera¬
ture. His sentiments at first were decidedly Socinian ;
but a candid and diligent study of the Scriptures gradually
opened his eyes to the fallacy and the dangers of the doctrines
which he had espoused; and being in the neighbourhood of
the old sea-captain, John Newton, the friend of Cowper,
who was strongly evangelical and Calvinistic in his views,
his acquaintance with that eminent individual may have
contributed to this change in his religious sentiments. In
the year 1779 he published a small autobiography, en¬
titled the Force of Truth, in which he gave a candid state¬
ment of the change in his opinions, and the steps by which
he was gradually led to adopt the orthodox and evangeli¬
cal creed. This publication made a great sensation at the
time, and has gone through many editions since. In 1780
he succeeded John Newton at Olney, and in 1785 he ac¬
cepted the situation of lecturer at the Lock Hospital, with
a salary of L.80 a year. This, with small sums for occa¬
sional lectureships, furnished but a scanty allowance for
the support of an increasing family ; and when, a few years
afterwards, a proposal was made to him by a London book¬
seller to write a Commentary on the Bible, to be published Scott,
in numbers, the offer of a guinea a week as remuneration Sir Walter,
for his WTitings decided him to engage in the undertaking.
This valuable work was well received by the public, and
under proper management ought to have been a very pro¬
fitable speculation; but, owing to the bankruptcy of the
bookseller, Scott not only received no remuneration for
his labour, but lost all his little savings, and was involved
in considerable debt. The first edition, of two thousand
copies, commenced in 1802, and was finished in 1809 ; a
second of two thousand copies,, in 1807-11 ; the third of
three thousand copies, in six volumes 4to, 1812-14. The
fourth was stereotyped, and sold to a great extent. He
published a volume of Essays in 1793-94. He also pub¬
lished, in two volumes 8vo, Pemarks on the Bishop of
Lincoln's Refutation of Calvinism ; and Sermons on various
subjects, from time to time. His Theological Works were
collected and edited by his son, the Rev. John Scott, and
published in ten volumes 8vo, in 1823.
In 1803 he left London for the rectory of Aston, Sand-
ford, where he died on the 16th of April 1821. He was a
man of eminent piety, somewhat eager and impetuous, but
of great sincerity, and sterling honesty of character; of a
vigorous intellect, indefatigably diligent in his studies, and
a useful and practical preacher.
Scott, Sir Walter, was born at Edinburgh on the 15th
of August 1771. “ My birth,” says he, “ was neither dis¬
tinguished nor sordid. According to the prejudices of my
country, it was esteemed gentle, as I was connected, though
remotely, with ancient families, both by my father’s and
mother’s side.” His paternal great-grandfather was a cadet
of the border family of Harden, which has been ennobled
within the last few years, and sprung in the fourteenth cen¬
tury from the great house of Buccleuch ; his grandfather
became a farmer in Roxburghshire, and married a lady who
was a relation of his own; and his father, Walter Scott, was
a writer to the signet in the Scottish capital. The poet’s
mother, Anne Rutherford, who was likewise of honourable
descent, was the daughter of one of the medical professors
in the University of Edinburgh.
Neither Scott’s poetical turn nor his extraordinary powers
of memory seem to have been inherited from either of his
parents. His early years displayed as little precocity of
talent as did the steady development of his mind in riper
days; and the eventful tenor of his childhood and youth,
although their impressions can now be traced vividly in his
works, must have seemed, but for these, as little calculated
as possible to awaken in his mind a love of the imaginative
or romantic.
Delicacy of constitution, accompanied by a lameness
which proved permanent, exhibited itself before he had com¬
pleted his second year, and caused soon afterwards his
removal to the country. There, at his grandfather’s farm¬
house of Sandyknowe, situated beneath the crags of a
ruined baronial tower, and overlooking a tract of many miles
studded with spots famous in border-history, the poet passed
his childhood till about his eighth year, with scarcely any
interruption but that of a year spent at Bath. From thL
early period there are related some interesting anecdotes of
his sympathy with the grandeur and beauty of nature. 4 he
tenacity of his infantine recollections gave promise of what
was afterwards so remarkable a faculty in his mind ; and
the ballads and legends, which were recited to him amidst
the scenes in which their events were laid, co-operated in
after-days with family and national pride to decide the bent
of the border-minstrel’s fancy.
His health being partially confirmed, he was recalled
home ; and from the end of 1779 until 1783 his education
was conducted in the High School of Edinburgh, with the
assistance of a tutor resident in his father’s house. In the
years immediately preceding this change, he had shown
V
SCOTT, SIR WALTER. 819
Scott, Sir decided activity of intellect, and strong symptoms of its di-
Walter. version towards literary pursuits; but now, introduced with
imperfect preparation into a large and thoroughly trained
class, and thrown, for the first time in his life, among a crowd
of boisterous boys, his childish zeal for learning seems to
have been quenched by ambition of another kind. His
memory, it is true, was still remarkable, and procured for him
from his master the title of historian of the class; while he
produced some school-verses, both translated and original,
which were at least creditable for a boy of twelve. Even
his intellectual powers, however, were less active in the pro¬
per business, of the school than in enticing his companions
from their tasks by merry jests and little stories; and his
place as a scholar scarcely ever rose above mediocrity.
But his reputation stood high in the play-ground, where,
possessed of unconquerable courage, and painfully eager to
defeat the scorn which his physical defects excited, he is
described as performing hazardous feats of agility, and as
gaining pugilistic trophies over comrades who, that they
might have no unfair advantage over the lame boy, fought,
like him, lashed face to face on a plank. At home, his tu¬
tor, a zealous Presbyterian, initiated him, chiefly by means
of conversation, in the facts of Scottish history, political as
well as ecclesiastical, though without being able to shake
those opinions which the boy had already taken up as an
inheritance descending from his Jacobite ancestors; and he
pursued with eagerness, at every interval which could be
stolen from the watchfulness of his elders, a course of read¬
ing utterly miscellaneous and undigested, and embracing
much that to most minds would have been either useless
or positively injurious. “ I left the High School,” says he,
“ with a great quantity of general information, ill arranged,
indeed, and collected without system, yet deeply impressed
upon my mind, readily assorted by my power of connexion
and memory, and gilded, if I may be permitted to say so,
by a vivid and active imagination.”
His perusal of histories, voyages, and travels, fairy tales,
romances, and English poetry, was continued with increas¬
ing avidity during a long visit which, in his twelfth year,
he paid to his father’s sister 'at the village of Kelso, where,
lying beneath a noble plane-tree in an antique garden, and
beholding around him one of the most beautiful landscapes
in Scotland, the young student read for the first time, with
entranced enthusiasm, Percy’s Reliques of Ancient Poetry.
This work, besides the delight which was imparted by the
poems it contained, influenced his mind by giving new dig¬
nity, in his eyes, to his favourite Scottish ballads, which he
had already begun to collect from recitation, and to copy
in little volumes, several of which are still preserved at
Abbotsford. “ To this period, also,” he tells us, “ I can
trace distinctly the awaking of that delightful feeling for
the beauties of natural objects, which has never since de¬
serted me. The romantic feelings which I have described
as predominating in my mind, naturally rested upon and
associated themselves with the grand features of the land¬
scape around me ; and the historical incidents or traditional
legends connected with many of them gave to my admira¬
tion a sort of intense impression of reverence, which at times
made my heart feel too big for its bosom. From this time
the love of natural beauty, more especially when combined
with ancient ruins, or remains of our fathers’ piety or splen¬
dour, became with me an insatiable passion, which, if cir¬
cumstances had permitted, I would willingly have gratified
by travelling over half the globe.”
* In November 1783, Scott became a student in the univer¬
sity of Edinburgh, in which, however, he seems to have at¬
tended no classes but those of Greek, Latin, and logic, du¬
ring one session, with those of ethics and universal history at
a later period, while preparing for the bar. At college the
scholastic part of his education proceeded even more unpros-
perously than it had previously done. For science, mental,
physical, or mathematical, he displayed no inclination ; and Scott, Sir
in the acquisition of languages, for which he possessed consi- v _ aJ'er‘ .
derable aptitude, he was but partially industrious or success¬
ful. Of Greek, as his son-in-law and biographer admits,
he had in later life forgotten the very alphabet. He had
indeed entered on the study with disadvantages similar to
those which had formerly impeded his progress in Latin;
he had, as he informs us, petulantly resolved on despising
a study in which he found himself inferior to his competi¬
tors ; and Professor Dalziel, irritated not only by his care¬
lessness, but by an essay in which he maintained that Ariosto
was a better poet than Homer, solemnly pronounced of him,
“ that dunce he was, and dunce would remain.” His know¬
ledge of Latin does not appear to have ever extended far¬
ther than enabling him to catch loosely the meaning of his
author; although we are informed that for some writers in
that tongue, especially Lucan, Claudian, and Buchanan, he
had in after life a decided predilection. About the time
now under review, he also acquired French, Italian, and
Spanish, all of which he afterwards read with sufficient ease;
and the German language was learned a few years later,
but never critically understood.
It was some time between his twelfth and his sixteenth
year that his stores of romantic and poetical reading received
a vast increase, during a severe illness which long confined
him to bed ; and one of his schoolfellows has given an in¬
teresting account of excursions in the neighbourhood of the
city, during this period, when the two youths read poems and
romances of knight-errantry, and exercised their invention
in composing and relating to each other interminable tales
modelled on their favourite books. The vocation of the
romance-writer and poet of chivalry was thus already fixed.
His health likewise became permanently robust. The sickly
boy grew up into a muscular and handsome youth ; and the
lameness in one leg, which was the sole remnant of his
early complaints, was through life no obstacle to his habits
of active bodily exertion, or to his love for out-of-door sports
and exercise.
The next step in his life did not seem directed towards
the goal to which all his favourite studies pointed. FI is
father, a formal though high-spirited and high-principled
man, whose manners are accurately described in his son’s
novel of Redgauntlet, designed him for the legal profes¬
sion ; and, although he always looked wishfully forward to
his son’s embracing the highest department of it, considered
it advisable, according to a practice not uncommon in Scot¬
land, that he should be prepared for the bar by an education
as an attorney. Accordingly, in May 1786, Scott, then
nearly fifteen years old, was articled for five years as an ap¬
prentice to his father, in whose chambers he thenceforth
continued, for the greater part of every day, to discharge
the humble duties of a clerk, until, about the year 1790, he
had, with his father’s approbation, finally resolved on coming
to the bar. Of the amount of the young poet’s professional
industry during those years of servitude we possess con¬
flicting representations; but many circumstances in his
habits, many peculiarities in the knowledge he exhibits in¬
cidentally in his works, and perhaps even much of his re¬
solute literary industry, may be safely referred to the pe¬
riod of his apprenticeship, and show satisfactorily that at
all events he was not systematically negligent of his duties.
Historical and imaginative reading, however, continued to
be prosecuted with undiminished ardour; summer excur¬
sions into the Highlands introduced him to the scenes, and
to more than one of the characters, which afterwards figured
in his most successful works; while in the law-classes of
the university, as well as in the juvenile debating societies,
he formed, or renewed from his school-days, acquaintance
with several who became in manhood his cherished friends
and his literary advisers. In 1791 the Speculative Society
made him acquainted with Mr Jeffrey and those other young
820 SCOTT, SIR WALTER.
Scott, Sir men whose subsequent celebrity has been to a small extent
Walter, reflected on the arena of their early training.
' v " Scott’s attempts in poetry had now become more am¬
bitious; for, it is said, about the completion of his fifteenth
year, he had composed a poem in tour books *>n the Con¬
quest of Granada, which, however, he almost- immediately
burned, and no trace of it has been preserved. During some
years after this time, we hear of no other literary composi¬
tions than essays for the debating societies.
In July 1792, being almost twenty-one years of age, he
was called to the bar. Immediately after his first circuit,
he commenced that series of “ raids,” as he playfully call¬
ed them, or excursions into the secluded border-districts,
which in a few years enabled him to amass the materials
for his first considerable work. His walks on the boards of
the Parliament House, the Westminster Hall of Scotland,
if they gained him for a time few professional fees, speedily
procured him renown among his fellow-lawyers as a story¬
teller of high excellence; his father’s connections, and his
own friendships opened for him a ready admission into the
best society of the city, in which his cheerful temper and
his rich store of anecdotes made him universally popular ;
and his German studies produced, in 1796, his,earliest poeti¬
cal efforts that were published, namely, the translations of
Burger’s ballads, Lenora and the Wild Huntsman. The
same year witnessed the disappointment of a long and fond¬
ly-cherished hope, by the marriage of a young lady, whose
image, notwithstanding, clung to his memory through life,
and inspired some of the tenderest strains of his poetry.
In the summer of 1797, however, on a visit to the water¬
ing-place of Gilsland, in Cumberland, he became acquaint¬
ed with Charlotte Margaret Carpenter, a young lady of
French birth and parentage, whose mother, the widow of a
royalist of Lyons, had escaped to England, and there died,
leaving her children to the guardianship of their father’s
friend the Marquis of Downshire. A mutual attachment
ensued; and, after the removal of prudential doubts, which
had arisen among the connections on both sides, Scott and
Miss Carpenter were married at Carlisle in December of
the same year.
The German ballads, which, though they met with very
little sale, had been justly praised by a few competent critics,
served as the translator’s introduction to the then celebrated
Matthew Gregory Lewis, who enlisted him as a contributor
to his poetical Tales of Wonder ; and one cannot now but
smile to hear of the elation with which the author of Wa-
verley at that time contemplated the patronising kindness
extended to him by the author of The Monk. Early in
1788 was published Scott’s translation of Goethe’s Goetz von
Berlichingen, which, through Lewis’s assistance, was sold to
a London bookseller for twenty-five guineas; but, though
favourably criticised, it was received by the public as coldly
as the preceding volume. In the summer of 1799, the poet
wrote those ballads which he has himself called his “ first
serious attempts in verse;” the Glenfinlas, the Eve of St
John, and the Grey Brother.
After Scott’s marriage, several of his summers were spent
in a pretty cottage at Lasswade near Edinburgh, where he
formed, besides other acquaintances, those of the noble
houses of Melville and Buccleuch. The influence of these
powerful friends, willingly exerted for one whose society
was agreeable, whose birth connected him, though very re¬
motely, with the latter of those titled families, and who in
politics was decidedly and actively devoted to the ruling
party, procured for him, in the end of the year 1799, his ap¬
pointment as sheriff-depute of Selkirkshire, an office which
imposed very little duty, while it gave him a permanent sa¬
lary of L.300 per annum. His father’s death had recently
bestowed on him a small patrimony; his wife had an income
which was considerable enough to aid him greatly; his prac¬
tice as a lawyer yielded, though not much, yet more than
barristers of his standing can usually boast of; and, altoge- Scott, Sir
ther, his situation in life, if not eminent, wras at least strik- ^ Matter.
ingly favourable when compared with that which has fallen ^
to the lot of most literary men. Scott, however, now twen¬
ty-eight years of age, had done nothing to found a reputa¬
tion for him as a man of letters ; and there appeared as yet
to be but little probability that he should attach himself to
literature as a profession,.or consider it as any thing more
than a relaxation for those leisure hours which were left un¬
occupied by business and the enjoyments of polite society.
In 1.800 and 1.801 those hours were employed in the pre¬
paration of the Border Minstrelsy, the fruit of his childish
recollections, and of his youthful rambles and studies. The
first two volumes appeared in the beginning of the next
year, and the edition, consisting of eight hundred copies, was
sold off before its close. This work, however, the earliest of
his which can be said to have given him any general fame,
yielded him about eighty pounds of clear profit; being very
far less than he must have expended in the investigations
out of. which it sprang. In 1803 it was completed by the
publication of the third volume. Besides the value w'hich
the Minstrelsy possesses in itself, in the noble antique bal¬
lads, so industriously, tastefully, and yet conscientiously
edited, in the curious and spiritedly-used information which
overflows through all the prose annotations, and in those
few original poems which gave the earliest warning of that
genius which as yet had lurked unseen, the work has now a
separate value and interest, as forming the most curious of
all illustrations for the history of its editor’s mind and of his
subsequent wrorks. “ One of the critics of that day,” re¬
marks Mr Lockhart, “ said that the book contained ‘ the
elements of a hundred historical romances;’ and this critic
was a prophetic one. No person who has not gone through
its volumes for the express purpose of comparing their con¬
tents with his great original works, can have formed a con¬
ception of the endless variety of incidents and images, now
expanded and emblazoned by his mature art, of which the
first hints may be found either in the text of those primi¬
tive ballads, or in the notes which the happy rambles of his
youth had gathered together for their illustration.”
But before the publication of the Border Minstrelsy, the
poet had begun to attempt a higher flight. “ In the third
volume,” says he, writing to his friend George Ellis in 1803,
“ I intend to publish a long poem of my own. It will be
a kind of romance of border chivalry, in a light-horseman
sort of stanza.” This border romance was the Lay of the
Last Minstrel, which, however, soon extended in plan and
dimensions, and, originating as a ballad on a goblin story,
became at length a long and varied poem. The first draught
of it, in its present shape, was written in the autumn of
1802, and the whole history of its progress has been de¬
lightfully told by the author himself, and is well illustrated
by his biographer.
In 1803, during a visit to London, Scott, already famili¬
arly acquainted with Ellis, Heber, and other literary men,
and nowr possessing high reputation himself in virtue of the
Minstrelsy, was introduced to several of the first men of the
time ; and thenceforth, bland as he was in manner, and kind
in heart, indefatigable and successful in his study of human
character, and always willing to receive with cordiality the
strangers whom his waxing fame brought about him, it is
not surprising to find, that not to know personally Walter
Scott, argued one’s self unknown. The toleration and kind¬
liness of his character are illustrated by the fact, that firm
as his own political opinions were, and violently as excite¬
ment sometimes led him to express them, not only did he
always continue on friendly terms with the chief men of the
opposite party in Edinburgh, but several of them were his
intimate friends and associates; and he even was for some
years an occasional contributor to the Edinburgh Review.
In 1804 was published his edition of the ancient poem
SCOTT, SIR WALTER. 821
Scott, Sir of Sir Tristrem, so valuable for its learned dissertations, and
^ Walter, f0l. that admirable imitation of the antique which appears
~ v ^ ' as a continuation of the early minstrel’s work.
During that year and the preceding, the Lay was freely
communicated to all the author’s friends, Wordsworth and
Jeffrey among the rest; and after undergoing various
changes, and receiving enthusiastic approval in several
quarters from which commendation was wont to issue but
sparingly, it was at length published, in the first week .of
1805. The poet, now thirty-three years of age, took his
place at once as a classic in English literature. Its circu¬
lation immediately became immense, and has since ex--
ceeded that of any other English poem.
But exactly at this culminating point of the poet’s life,
we must turn aside from the narrative of his literary tri¬
umphs, to notice a step of another kind, which proved the
most important he ever took. In one pf those interesting
communications of 1830, which throw so much light on his
personal history, he has told us, that from the moment when
it became certain that literature was to form the principal
employment of his days, he determined that it should at
least not constitute a necessary source of his income. Few
literary men, perhaps, have not nourished a wish of this
sort; but very few indeed have possessed, like Scott, the
means of converting the desire into an effectual resolution.
In 1805, as his biographer tells us, he was, “ independently
of practice at the bar and of literary profits, in possession of
a fixed revenue of nearly, if not quite, L.1000 a year.” To
most men of letters this income would have appeared af¬
fluence ; but Scott has frankly avowed, that he did not think
it such. The truth is, that his mind was already filled with
the feeling which speedily became its master-passion, name¬
ly, the ambition, not of founding a new family (for that
was too mean an aim for his pride of birth to stoop to), but
of adding to his own ancestral pretensions that claim to
respect which ancient pedigree does not always possess
when it stands alone, but which belongs to it beyond chal¬
lenge when it is united with territorial possessions. The
fame of a great poet, now within his reach, if not already
grasped, seemed to him a little thing, compared with the
dignity of a well-descended and wealthy Scottish land¬
holder ; and, while neither he nor his friends could yet have
foreseen the immensity of those resources which his genius
was afterwards to place at his disposal for the attainment of
his favourite wish, two plans occurred and were executed,
which promised to conduct him far at least towards the
goal.
The first of these was the obtaining of one of the princi¬
pal clerkships in the Scottish Court of Session, offices of
high respectability, executed at a moderate cost of time
and trouble, and remunerated at that time by an income
of about L.800 a year, which was afterwards increased to
L.1300. This object was attained early in 1806, through
‘ his ministerial influence, aided by the consideration paid to
his talents ; although, owing to a private arrangement with
his predecessor, he did not receive any part of the emolu¬
ments till six years later.
The second plan was of a different sort, being in fact a
commercial speculation. James Ballantyne, a schoolfellow
of Scott, a man possessing a good education, and consider¬
able literary talent of a practical kind, having become the
editor and printer of a newspaper in Kelso, had been em¬
ployed to print the Minstrelsy, and acquired great reputa¬
tion by the elegance with which that work was produced.
Soon afterwards, in pursuance of Scott’s advice, he removed
to Edinburgh, where, under the patronage of the poet and
his friends, and assisted by his own character and skill, his
printing business accumulated to an extent which his capi¬
tal, even with pecuniary aid from Scott, proved inadequate
to Sustain. An application for a new loan was met by a
refusal, accompanied, however, by a proposal, that Scott
should make a large advance, on condition of being admitted Scott, Sir
as a partner in the firm, to the amount of a third share. v a te^‘ ^
Accordingly, in May 1805, Walter Scott became regularly
a partner of the printing-house of James Ballantyne and
Company, though the fact remained for the public, and for
all his friends but one, a profound secret. “ Ihe forming
of this commercial connexion was,” says his son-in-law, “ one
of the most important steps in Scott’s life. He continued
bound by it during twenty years, and its influence on his
literary exertions and his worldly fortunes was productive
of much good and not a little evil. Its effects were in truth
so mixed and balanced during the vicissitudes of a long
and vigorous career, that I at this moment doubt whether
it ought, on the whole, to be considered with more of satis¬
faction or of regret.”
From this time we are to view Scott as incessantly en¬
gaged in that memorable course of literary industry whose
toils advancing years served only to augment, and from
which neither the duties of his two professional offices of
clerk of session and sheriff, nor the increasing claims made
on him by society, were ever able to divert him. He now
stood deservedly high in the favour of the booksellers, not
merely as a poet and man of genius, but as one possessed
of an extraordinary mass of information, and of such habits
as qualified him eminently for turning his knowledge to ac¬
count. He was therefore soon embarked in undertakings,
not indeed altogether inglorious, but involving an amount
of drudgery to which, perhaps, no man of equal original
genius has ever condescended. The earliest of these was
his edition of Dryden, which, entered upon in 1805, was
completed and published in 1808.
But the list of works in which his poetical genius shone
forth continued rapidly to increase amidst his multiplicity
of other avocations. From the summer of 1804) till that ot
1812, the spring and autumnal vacations of the court were
spent by him and his family at Ashestiel, a small mansion
romantically overhanging the Tweed some miles above
Melrose, and rented from one of the poet’s kinsmen. In
this beautiful retreat, at intervals during twelve months, was
chiefly composed the magnificent poem of Marmion, which
was published in the beginning of 1808. At the same place,
likewise, in 1805, were composed the opening chapters of a
novel which, on the disapproval of one of the author’s criti¬
cal friends, was thrown aside and not resumed for years.
Scott’s commercial engagements must now again be ad¬
verted to. In the year 1808 he took a part, perhaps as sug-
gester, certainly as a zealous promoter, of a scheme which
terminated in the establishment of the Quarterly Review in
London, as a political and literary counterpoise to the Edin¬
burgh Review, the advocate of Whig opinions. But the
poet had other than political grounds for embarking in this
opposition. He had seriously quarrelled with the firm of
Constable and Company, the publishers of the Edinburgh
Review, and of several of his own earlier works ; and his
wish to check the enterprising head of that house in his
attempts to obtain a monopoly of Scottish literature, is
openly avowed, in Scott’s correspondence at the time, as
one of his principal motives for framing another scheme.
His plan, as far as it was explained either to the public or
to his own friends, amounted only to this: That a new pub¬
lishing house should be set up in Edinburgh, under the ma¬
nagement of John Ballantyne, a younger brother of James;
and that this firm, with the acknowledged patronage of
Scott and his friends, should engage in a series of extensive
literary undertakings, including, amongst others, the annual
publication of a historical and literary Register, conducted
on Tory principles. But, unfortunately both for Scott’s peace
of mind, and ultimately also for his worldly fortunes, there was
here, as in his previously-formed connection with the same
family, an undivulged secret. The profits of the printing-
house had been large ; Scott’s territorial ambition had been
822
SCOTT, SIR WALTER.
S^ott, Sir growing faster than his prospect of being able to feed it;
alter' y and these causes, inextricably mixed up with pique towards
Constable, and kindliness for his Kelso proteges, led him
into an entanglement which at length ruined both himself
and his associates. By the contract of the publishing house
of John Ballantyne and Company, executed in May 1808,
Scott became a secret partner to the extent of one third.
The unhappy issue of this affair will force itself on our no¬
tice at a later stage.
In the mean time we see him prosecuting for some time
his career of poetical success. The Lady of the Lake,
published in 1810, was followed by the Vision of Don Ro¬
derick in 1811 ; by Rokeby in 1812; and by the Bridal of
Triermain, which came out anonymously in 1813. His
poems may be said to have closed in 1815 with the Lord of
the Isles and the Field of Waterloo; since Harold the Daunt¬
less, in 1817, appeared without the writer’s name, and the
dramatic poems of 1822 and 1830 are quite unworthy of
him. In the midst of these poetical employments he made
his second and last great appearance as an editor and com¬
mentator of English classics, by publishing in 1814 his edi¬
tion of Swift.
But from 1815 till 1825, Scott’s name ceased almost en¬
tirely to be before the public as an avowed author; and
for those who chose to believe that he was not the writer
of the Waverley Novels it must have been a question not a
little puzzling, if it ever occurred to them, how this man,
who wrote with such ease, and seemed to take such plea¬
sure in writing, was now occupying his hours of leisure. A
few articles in the Quarterly Review, such works as Paul’s
Letters, and annotations in occasional editions of ancient
tracts, accounted but poorly for his time during ten years.
About 1813 and 1814 his popularity as a poet was sen¬
sibly on the decline, partly from causes inherent in his
later poems themselves, and partly from extraneous causes,
among which a prominent place belongs to the appearance
of Byron. No man was more quicksighted than Scott in
perceiving the ebb of popular favour ; and no man better
prepared to meet the reverse with firmness. He put in
serious execution a threat which he had playfully uttered
to one of his own family even before the publication of the
Lady of the Lake. “ If I fail now,” said he, “ I will write
prose for life.” And in writing prose his genius discover¬
ed, on its first attempt, a field in which it earned triumphs
even more splendid than its early ones in the domain of
poetry.
The chapters of fiction begun at Ashestiel in 1805, which
had already been resumed and again thrown aside, were
once more taken up, and the work was finished with mira¬
culous rapidity ; the second and third volumes having been
written during the afternoons of three summer weeks in 1814.
The novel appeared in July of that year, under the title of
Waverley, and its success from the first was unequivocal
and unparalleled. Although we cannot here give a cata¬
logue of Scott’s works, yet in truth such a list of the no¬
vels and romances does in itself present the most surprising
proof, both of his patient industry, and of the singularly equa¬
ble command which he had at all times over his mental re¬
sources. In the midst of occupations which would have
taken away all leisure from other men, the press poured
forth volume after volume, in a succession so rapid as to de¬
prive of some part of its absurdity one of the absurd sup¬
positions of the day, namely, that more persons than one were
concerned in the novels. Guy Mannering, the second of the
senes, in 1815, was followed in 1816 by the Antiquary and
the First Series of the Tales of My Landlord. Rob Roy
appeared in 1817; the Second Series of the Tales in 1818;
and in 1819 the Third Series and Ivanhoe. Two romances
a-year now seemed to be expected as the due of the public.
Th?,year 1820 gave them the Monastery and the Abbot;
1821, Kenilworth and the Pirate the Fortunes of Nigel,
coming out alone in 1822, was followed in 1823 by no fewer Scott, Sir
than three works of fiction, Peveril of the Peak, Quentin Walter.
Durward, and St Ronan’s Well; and the comparatively ^v ”
scanty number of novels in 1824 and 1825, which produced
respectively only Redgauntlet and the Tales of the Cru¬
saders, is accounted for by the fact that the author was en¬
gaged in preparing a large historical work.
It is impossible even to touch on the many interesting
details which Scott’s personal history presents durino- these
brilliant years; but it is indispensable to sav, that his
dream of territorial acquisition was realized with a splen¬
dour which, a few years before, he himself could not have
hoped for. The first step was taken in 1811, by the pur¬
chase of a small farm of a hundred acres on the banks of the
Tweed, which received the name of Abbotsford, and in a few
years grew, by new purchases, into a large estate. The modest
dwelling first planned on this little manor, with its two spare
bed-rooms and its plain appurtenances, expanded itself in
like manner with its master’s waxing means of expenditure,
till it had become that baronial castle which we now reve¬
rentially visit as the minstrel’s home. The hospitality of
the poet increased with his seeming prosperity ; his morn¬
ings were dedicated to composition, and his evenings to so¬
ciety ; and from the date of his baronetcy in 1820 to the final
catastrophe in 1826, no mansion in Europe, of poet or of
nobleman, could boast such a succession of guests illustri¬
ous for rank or talent, as those who sat at Sir Walter Scott’s
board, and departed proud of having been so honoured.
His family meanwhile grew up around him ; his eldest son
and daughter married; most of his early friends continued
to stand by his side ; and few that saw the poet in 1825, a
hale and seemingly happy man of fifty-four, could have
guessed that there remained for him only a few more years
(years of mortification and of sorrow), before he should sink
into the grave, struck down by internal calamity, not by the
gentle hand of time.
And yet not only was this the issue, but, even in the
hour of his greatest seeming prosperity, Scott had again
and again been secretly struggling against some of the most
alarming anxieties. On details as to his unfortunate com¬
mercial engagements we cannot here enter. It is enough
to say, that the printing company of which he was a partner,
which seems to have had considerable liabilities even be¬
fore the establishment of the publishing house, was now in¬
extricably entangled with the concerns of the latter, many
of whose largest speculations had been completely unsuc¬
cessful ; that, besides this, both firms were involved to an en¬
ormous extent with the house of Constable ; and that large
sums, which had been drawn by Sir WhJter as copyright-
money for the novels, had been paid in bills which were
still current, and threatening to come back on him.
In the beginning of 1826, Constable’s house stopped pay¬
ment ; and the failure of the firm of Ballantyne, for a very
large sum, followed instantly and of course. Probably even
the utter ruin which this catastrophe brought upon Scott,
was not more painful to him than the exposure which it
necessarily involved, of those secret connections, the exist¬
ence of which even his most confidential friends could till
now have at most only suspected. But if he had been im¬
prudent, he was both courageous and honourable ; and in
no period of his life does he appear to such advantage, as
when he stood, as now, beggared, humbled, and covered
with a load of debt from which no human exertions seemed
able to relieve him. He came forward without a day’s de¬
lay, and refused to be dealt with as an ordinary bankrupt,
or to avail himself of those steps which would have set him
free from the claims of his creditors, on surrendering his
property to them. He insisted that these claims should, so
far as regarded him, be still allowed to subsist; and he
pledged himself that the labour of his future life should be
unremittingly devoted to the discharge of them. He did
SCOTT, SIR WALTER. 823
Srott, Sir more than fulfil his noble promise; for the gigantic toil to
Walter. which, during years after this, he submitted, was the im-
^ mediate cause that shortened his life. His self-sacrifice, how¬
ever, effected astonishingly much towards the purpose which
it was designed to serve. Between January 1826 and Janu¬
ary 1828, he had realized for the creditors the surprising
sum of nearly L.40,000 ; and soon after his death the prin¬
cipal of the whole Ballantyne debt was paid up by his exe¬
cutors.
We have now briefly to describe the efforts by which
this result was accomplished. After spending at Abbots¬
ford, in 1826, a solitary summer, very unlike its former
scenes of splendour, Scott, returning to town for his win¬
ter duties, and compelled to leave behind him his dying
wife (who survived but till the spring), took up his resi¬
dence in lodgings, and there continued that system of in¬
cessant and redoubled labour which he had already main¬
tained for months, and maintained afterwards till it killed
him. Woodstock, published in 1826, had been written dur¬
ing the crisis of his distresses; and the next fruit of his toil
was the Life of Napoleon, which, commenced before the ca¬
tastrophe, appeared in 1827, and was followed by the First
Series of Chronicles of the Canongate ; while to these again
succeeded, in the end of the same year, the First Series of
the Tales of a Grandfather. The year 1828 produced the
Second Series of both of these works; 1829 gave Anne of
Geierstein, the first volume of a History of Scotland for
Gardner’s Cyclopaedia, and the Third Series of the Tales of
a Grandfather. The same year also witnessed the com¬
mencement of that annotated publication of the collected
novels, which, together with the similar edition of the poeti¬
cal works, was so powerful an instrument in effecting Scott’s
purpose of pecuniary disentanglement. In 1830 came two
Dramas, the Letters on Demonology, the Fourth Series of
the Tales of a Grandfather, and the second volume of the
History of Scotland. If we are disappointed when we com¬
pare most of these works with the productions of younger
and happier days, our criticism will be disarmed by a recol¬
lection of the honourable end which the later works pro¬
moted ; and as to the last productions of the mighty master,
the volumes of 1831, containing Count Robert and Castle
Dangerous, no one who is acquainted with the melancholy
circumstances under which these were composed and pub¬
lished, will be capable of any feeling but that of compassion¬
ate respect.
The dejection which it was impossible for Scott not to
feel in commencing his self-imposed task, was materially
lightened, and his health invigorated, by an excursion to
London and Paris in the course of 1826, for the purpose
of collecting materials for the Life of Napoleon. In 1829
alarming symptoms appeared, and were followed by a para¬
lytic attack in February 1830, after which the tokens of the
disease were always more or less perceptible to his family;
but the severity of his tasks continued unremitted, although
in that year he retired from his clerkship, and took up his
permanent residence at Abbotsford. The mind was now
but too evidently shaken, as well as the body ; and the diary
which he kept contains, about and after this time, melan¬
choly misgivings of his own upon this subject. In April
1831 he had the most severe shock of his disease that had
yet attacked him; and having been at length persuaded to
abandon literary exertion, he left Abbotsford in September
of that year, on his way to the Continent, no country of
which he had ever yet visited, except some parts of France
and Flanders. This new tour was undertaken with the faint
hope that abstinence from mental labour might for a time
avert the impending blow. A ship of war, furnished for the
purpose by the Admiralty, conveyed Sir Walter, first to Mal¬
ta, and then to Naples; and the accounts which we have,
both of the voyage and of his residence in Italy, abound with
circumstances of melancholy interest. After the beginning
of May 1832, his mind was completely overthrown ; his ner- Scott, Sit
vous impatience forced his companions to hurry him home- ^ Walter.
ward from Rome through the Tyrol to Frankfort; in June Y
they arrived in London, whence Sir Walter was conveyed
by sea to Edinburgh ; and, having reached Abbotsford on
the 11th of July, he there continued to exist, with few in¬
tervals of consciousness, till the afternoon of the 21st of
September, when he expired, having just completed the
sixty-first year of his age. On the 26th he was buried in
the beautiful ruins of Dryburgh Abbey.
In the article Romance, observations have been made
on Scott’s prose works of fiction. It remains here to add
a very few words on the character of his poetry. It would
be rash for any who have lived only in the same age with
a great poet, and still more rash for those whose earliest
conceptions of poetical celebrity and poetical beauty are in¬
separably associated with his name and his writings, to pro¬
nounce peremptorily on the rank which may probably be
assigned to him by posterity, among the classics of his na¬
tive language. But without venturing on such ground as
this, there are points of comparison with himself and others,
which may warrantably be applied to the illustration of his
genius.
In regard to the spirit which animates the poetry of Scott,
he stands entirely alone in his age ; separated indeed so far
from the tendencies of the time, that his universal popula¬
rity seems at the first glance to have in it something unac¬
countable. The passionate intenseness and moody self-in¬
quisition of Byron, the calm thoughtfulness and universal
sympathies of Wordsworth, and the wildness of Coleridge’s
lyrical dreams, are in their several kinds allied to those
impulses which have widest sway in these generations of
our race ; while other poets, Campbell with his gentle pa¬
thos, Crabbe with his melancholy anatomy of life, and
Moore with his overflow of voluptuous imagery, appeal to
emotions which are not so much distinctive of particular
periods in the history of mankind, as common to the mind
in all its ages. But the world which Scott reproduced
in the midst of us, the world of feudalism and chivalry,
the transition-stage in the annals of Christian Europe, is
one with which the men of modern times have very little
communion or fellow-feeling; and the boldness with which
he chose his themes was even exceeded by that of the
tone in which he ventured to treat them ; neither jesting
with his own fancies, like Pulci or Ariosto, nor, like Tasso,
overlaying the essential substance of the chivalrous life
with a garniture of poetry and of delicate feeling which left
the genuine light of elder times but few openings to glim¬
mer through ; but grappling with his materials in the be¬
lieving and lofty devotion of an historical poet, and painting
for us a picture in which the fierce and fiery spirit of martial
adventure inspires the leading groups, and gives the outlines
of the piece, while interesting local superstitions and the
ascetic religion of Catholicism, the absorbing love of coun¬
try and the anomalous devotedness of feudalism, form, singly
or united, the colouring which is spread over different por¬
tions of the composition.
For, in essentials, this character of historical truth does
belong to the poetry of Scott; not indeed that his view of
the old world is one which could have presented itself to
those who lived nearer to the times he depicts ; but that
it is almost as near to truth as consists with the united re¬
quirements made by the purposes of his art and the temper
of his age, and probably nearer to the truth than any simi¬
lar attempt which has been made in modern times. Doubt¬
less there are many instances in which he does not preserve
this fidelity to the claims of his subject; but it is surpris¬
ingly preserved in his best works, and the inferiority of the
others is in no small degree owing to their deficiency in it.
Indeed he goes even farther than this ; for he not only pre¬
sents to us the scenes of old, but he invests them in a dress
824 SCOTT, SIR WALTER.
Scott, Sir substantially the same as that in which they would have
t Walter. ^ been clothed by poets contemporary, or nearly succeeding
v-*- them, if these, for their metrical romances or their ballads
of love and war, had possessed equal appliances, in a formed
language, and in extended views as to the principles of the
poetical art.
The Lay of the Last Minstrel is really a long border-
ballad ; and, inspired by the poet’s early recollections and
studies, and nourished not only by those copious sources of
illustration of which the Border Minstrelsy furnishes abun¬
dant specimens, but by affectionate familiarity with the
landscapes of his story, this work possesses, both in spirit
and in details, at once a fervour and a unity superior to
any of his others. Very little indeed, either of incident or
character, would require to be withdrawn from it, as foreign
to its essence. Marmion is pitched in another key, but is
still antique, and, though less rich in characteristic details
of the olden time, and rather less free from modern admix¬
tures, is pervaded almost throughout by the chivalrous
spirit, while that spirit blazes forth at several points with a
splendour which the poet elsewhere never equalled. The
poem is a metrical romance of history; the full develop¬
ment of a species of composition in which Barbour had but
faintly traced the design. The Lady of the Lake cannot
be so readily referred to any one class of our old national
poems ; in which, indeed, that moving panorama of gor¬
geous landscapes, amidst which the personages exist, is, as
a prominent feature, quite unknown. But this very fea¬
ture, and the placidly romantic air which breathes through
most of the adventures, at once determine its type as a kind
of pastoral romance (instanced more frequently in foreign
literature than in our own), and diffuse over the work a sin¬
gular charm, which hides from us much vagueness, both in
the characters and in the historical details of manners and
ideas. Rokeby, the next in the list, is confessedly the
weakest of its author’s larger poems, as it is also that in
which he has removed himself farthest from his ordinary
models. Defective alike in unity of spirit and in historical
fidelity, it would, but for some poetical gems which sparkle
through, deserve no higher name than that of a novel in
verse. In the Lord of the Isles we behold a return to the
poet’s higher sources of inspiration ; for we have here ano¬
ther metrical chronicle, a second Marmion, every way in¬
ferior to the first.
It is abundantly evident that the task which Scott has
thus performed, of creating anew the scenes and characters
of a fierce and chaotic stage of society, allowed him ample
room for arousing some of the strongest emotions which
poetry can awaken. Sometimes, indeed, he errs by apply¬
ing himself to the excitement of feelings which, though
strictly within his limits, are not broadly enough impressed
on the minds of most men to found any lively sympathy.
Such are the feelings of superstitious awe and delight in
supernatural invention, feelings which are chiefly addressed
in his two anonymous poems, and to whose prevalence
these works, equal in some points to any thing in verse he
ever wrote, mainly owe their want of general interest and
popularity. But he far oftener throws himself on those
principles which are universally sympathized with and ap¬
preciated, not indeed arousing all of them with equal skill,
but compounding, out of the use he makes of all, a representa¬
tion which is at once sufficiently true and widely attractive.
That which was really the master-feeling of the times he deli¬
neates, the love of warlike adventure, is the path in which
he has been by far most successful. In tenderness or pas¬
sion he does not stand by any means first among the poets
of our day ; and even in those exhibitions of chivalrous ge¬
nerosity and lofty feeling which are so closely consonant to
his stories and their actors, he is, although often delightfully
felicitous, yet by no means without his equals; but there
is no poet of our times, and very few in any age or coun¬
try, who have portrayed with such admirable force and fire Scott, Sir
the soldier’s thirst for battle, and the headlong fury of the Walter,
field of slaughter. Throughout all his works there occur " v-"-'
bursts of this sort, which would of themselves have placed
him high among poets of the class, even though he had
never written his noblest passages of warfare, the knightly
combat of Fitzjames and Roderick, or the magnificent bat¬
tle-piece which closes Marmion. His clear and cheerful,
yet delicately sketched and poetically elevated descriptions
of natural scenery, less strong in their outlines than some
poetry of a similar kind, and less vivid in their colouring
and chiaroscuro than others, but always pleasing and ori¬
ginal, and often far more, may probably be said to be, after
their warlike temper, the most distinctive feature of his
poems.
If the moral tone of Scott’s poetry is not high, it must be
at least admitted that it is uniformly inoffensive ; and if most
passages excite us less violently than those of some other
poets, there is none whose works leave on the mind a more
pleasing expression of content and hopefulness. Perhaps,
in his views of human society, the only thing which can at
all jar on the feelings of any, is that tendency to aristocratic
hauteur, which, not indeed shrinking from contact with the
lower orders, and willingly recognising and esteeming many
of their virtues, yet considers them strictly as the depen¬
dents of higher men, and is silent on every other relation
they can be supposed to hold. This feeling, so palpable
both in his poetry and in his romances, is, it must be re¬
marked, quite in keeping as a feature of the times he de¬
scribes in the former class of writings ; and even as an ele¬
ment in modern poetry, there doubtless are, after all, many
who will esteem the sentiment a just one.
In skill of execution, as respects both ease of expression
and melody of versification, there is in the poems an ex¬
ceedingly observable progress, not at all corresponding to
their respective degrees of real merit. Both in diction and
in music there is a very wide distinction between the first
few stanzas of the Lay and the most finished passages in
Rokeby or the Lord of the Isles. Not less noticeable are
the variations in point of poetical ornament, a thing very
different from genuine poetical force or beauty. In the
Lay, the most poetically conceived of all the works, there
are wonderfully few passages of the kind that furnish showy
quotations, though those of this class that do occur are of
a very high order. Marmion, except in the Introduction,
scarcely contains more ; the Lady of the Lake possesses
such far more abundantly; while Rokeby overflows with
couplets poetically sententious ; and the Lord of the Isles
again returns towards the earlier manner.
There is one point of view in which the poems offer a
very interesting subject of consideration, not for their own
sake, but in their relation to those more celebrated and cer¬
tainly higher works which succeeded them. They may be
regarded as in some sense preparations, or, in the artist’s
phrase, studies, for the novels and romances. The field of
speculation which is thus presented may furnish some in¬
telligent inquirer with extremely apt materials for illustrat¬
ing the poet’s genius ; but the mine is too wealthy to be
here so much as opened. It may be remarked, however,
that while the latter poems in their spirit approach far nearer
to the prose romance than the earlier ones, thus in some
degree indicating the operations which were going on in
the author’s mind, yet it is from the earlier that the ro¬
mances have derived by far the most plentiful hints and
materials. In the slightly sketched personages of the poems
we may frequently discover elements which were expanded
into the finished characters of the prose works, and this not
only in the dignified and poetical, but even in the comic,
as one instance of which may be cited the Friar John of
Norham as the first outline of Robin Hood’s Tuck. In in¬
cident, the borrowings from the poems are less direct and
SCOTT (L O K D STOWE
LL).
825
Scott, palpable; and the most obvious are the obligations which,
William, both in this and the other particular, the Monastery owes
to the Lay, and Ivanhoe to Marmion. The Lady of the
Lake, also, both in its scenery and its draughts of High¬
land character, may be considered as the preface to
Waverley. (w. s—G.)
Scott, William, Baron Slowell, was born 17tL October
1745, at Heworth, in the county of Durham, whither his
mother, being with child, had, a few days before,) emoved ;
deeming it prudent, as the Scotch rebels were advancing
from Prestonpans, to be confined there rather than in
Newcastle. William was the eldest son of Mr William
Scott, coal-fitter and merchant, Newcastle, and brother of
Lord Eldon ; and a short notice of his family circumstances
and early education will be found in the preceding memoir
of his distinguished brother.
When he was in his sixteenth year, a scholarship for the
diocese of Durham became vacant at Corpus Christi Col¬
lege, Oxford, and his father, aware of his great talents,
resolved that he should avail himself of his accidental birth
in the county of Durham to become a candidate for it. He
accordingly proceeded to Oxford, and there, on the 24th
February 1761, after an examination, which he passed
with great distinction, he won the vacant scholarship. His
youthful reputation, both in his native town and at Oxford,
having suggested that he should choose the bar for his
profession, he next, on the 24th June 1762, when between
sixteen and seventeen years old, was entered as a student
at the Middle Temple. On the 20th November 1764 he
took his bachelor’s degree, and on the 13th of the following
month was elected a probationary fellow of University Col¬
lege, for his eligibility to which he was again indebted to
the accident of having been born in the county of Durham.
He was, soon after, also elected by the same society a col¬
lege tutor; and having now, from his fellowship and tutor¬
ship together, a liberal income, from which he could even
manage to save somewhat, he hesitated to carry out his
original plan of going to the bar, fearing to relinquish the
certainty which he possessed for the chances of that pre¬
carious profession. In 1767 he took the degree of master
of arts, and in May 1772 proceeded to B.C.L. In 1774 he
was elected by the members of convocation, after a contest,
to the Camden chair of ancient history, from which, about
four years afterwards, he delivered a course of lectures,
which attracted crowded audiences, and brought him into
high and wide reputation. These lectures, which are be¬
lieved yet to exist in manuscript, he could never be induced
to publish, probably because he thought they had received
greater praise than they deserved, and was unwilling, by
exposing them to closer criticism, to risk the fame they had
brought him.
In 1776, his father having died and left him his executor,
he resolved on following the profession of an advocate at
Doctors’ Commons, bitterly regretting that his father’s re¬
serve as to his means had delayed him so long from enter¬
ing on an active career. In the same year he retired from
his office of college tutor, still, however, retaining his pro¬
fessorship, and continuing to reside mostly in the univer¬
sity, till after he had taken his degree of D.C.L., which he
did in 1779. He was called to the bar on the 11th Feb¬
ruary 1780, having three months previously (in the thirty-
fifth year of his age) been admitted at Doctors’ Commons
into the Faculty of Advocates. By this time he enjoyed
an extensive and intimate acquaintance with many eminent
men in the metropolis. It has been mentioned, in the
memoir of his brother John, that he took after that phase
of Moises, his old master, in which he excelled in lively
and brilliant conversation ; his wit improved with his learn¬
ing and knowledge of the world; and what with his “ club-
able qualities,” and the patronage of his friend, Dr Johnson,
to whom he had been introduced, in University College,
von. xrx.
by their common friend Chambers (afterwards Sir Robert), Scott,
he already possessed, when he removed to London, a locus William.
standi in its most intellectual society. So early, indeed,
as 1778 he had been elected, through Johnson’s influence,
a member of the famous Literary Club.
In 1781 Mr William Scott married Anna Maria, the
eldest daughter and coheir of Mr Bagnall of Early Court,
in Berkshire, a gentleman of moderate pretension. To
some the lady’s purse appeared more attractive than her
person, but there is no reason for thinking that the marriage
proved an unhappy one. At any rate, his experience of
the fair sex was such as might have justified him in an easy
marriage of convenience. In early life he had loved a Miss
Jane Reay, daughter of a townsman of his own, who is
said to have reciprocated his affection ; but her father,
ambitious of a higher alliance for his daughter, objected to
their union, and the facile young lady (how unlike the gentle
“ Bessy” of his brother John) married a man of good estate
and family. There is reason to think that William and
Jane, in their old age, and when both their married lives
were over, retained the old feeling for one another! Mr
Surtees says, “ She, as well as her early admirer, lived to a
very advanced age; and he, when an octogenarian peer,
requested, through a common friend, permission to send
her an engraving of himself, which had just been published.
The request was gracefully acceded to, and the engraving
sent. Was not this the romance of real life ?” It maybe
added, such are the fates that regulate marriages! After
losing Jane, William Scott went, like a man of sense, and
fell in love elsewhere, but with equal bad fortune. He
failed with the “ fair,” says Mr W. E. Surtees (the Sketch,
p. 29), probably because there was too little of “ the devil”
in his composition. Be that as it may, he had certainly
gone through an experience to teach him to consult his
head rather than his heart in his next adventure.
In the spring of 1781 Dr Scott’s year of silence expired,
and he entered on the practice of his profession, with every
guarantee of success. For practice in the ecclesiastical
courts he was fitted by his long residence in the univer¬
sity, and familiarity with the rights, interests, difficulties,
and dangers of the Church; while, as the son of a mer¬
chant and shipowner, educated in a large seaport-town, he
brought a knowledge of shipping to aid him in practising
in the Courts of Admiralty such as few advocates have
ever attained to. His talents and great learning at once
brought him a large practice. So early as the spring of 1782
we find him writing that he is “ exceedingly oppressed with
business.” This success soon led to his promotion. In
1783 he was appointed to the office of registrar of the
Court of Faculties. In 1788 the Bishop of London ap¬
pointed him judge of the Consistory Court; and the
Archbishop of Canterbury, his vicar-general or official
principal. In the same year he was knighted, appointed
advocate-general, and admitted a privy councillor. In
1798 he attained the highest dignity in connection with
his courts, being appointed judge of the High Court of
Admiralty. So early as 1780 £(ir William Scott had at¬
tempted to enter Parliament for his university, but failed.
In 1784 he was elected member for the nomination borough
of Downton, but was unseated on petition. He afterwards
entered Parliament for the same borough in 1790. He
was again returned for the same borough in 1796, and on
the retirement of Francis Page Esq., in 1801, from the
representation of Oxford, was gratified by being elected
member for his university ; and this seat he continued to
hold till 1821, when, on the occasion of the coronation of
George IV., he entered the House of Peers as Baron
Stowell of Stowell Park. He retained his place on the
bench till 1828. As a politician, Lord Stowell, like his
brother, was an uncompromising Conservative, but, ex¬
cepting that he appeared to vote in support of his party, he
826 SCO
Scott, took little or no part in politics in either house. During
William, the earlier years of his parliamentary life—if such it may
v-—^ be called—he never spoke at all; nor was he instrumental
in carrying any measures into law, excepting one or two
affecting the Established Church, of which he was on all
occasions a staunch supporter, regarding himself as repre¬
sentative of the clergy, in his double character of judge of
the ecclesiastical courts and member for Oxford.
Lord Stowell was twice married. By his first wife he
had four children, of whom two, a son and daughter, died
in infancy. His eldest daughter, who survived him, was
twice married, first to Colonel T. Townsend, a gentleman
of Warwickshire, and next to Viscount Sidmouth. His
son, William, destroyed his constitution by intemperate
habits, and died at the age of forty, about two months be¬
fore his father. Lord Stowell’s first wife died on the 4th
September 1809, and on the 10th of April 1813 he was
married to Louisa Katherine, Marchioness Dowager of
Sligo (widow of the first Marquis and daughter of Earl
Howe), with whom he got acquainted, singularly enough,
through the circumstance of his having presided, in the
preceding December, at the admiralty sessions at the Old
Bailey, on the trial of her son, Lord Sligo, for inveigling
some seamen from one of the king’s ships to serve on
board his yacht. This marriage was a very unhappy one,
for the lady at least, a circumstance which was foreseen by
Lord Eldon, who refused to countenance it by being
present at the ceremony. The lady was liberal and
generous ; Stowell was narrow and parsimonious. Her
ladyship, having been for many years of her life the nurse
of a sick husband, was weaned from society. Lord
Stowell was never so happy as when out shining in
society. Lie went feasting and drinking, and left his poor
wife miserable at home. To her the marriage was a
revelation of meanness under the courtierly and polished
manner of the man who had won her hand ; to him the
quiet lady with her liberality was an unpardonable spend¬
thrift and bore. In 1817 she proposed a trip to Paris, being
anxious to exhibit that metropolis to a favourite niece. He
had no objection. She went thither, and at the same time
he himself started for a tour in Switzerland. She took
suddenly ill, and died in Amsterdam. He finished his
t tour, leaving Switzerland a fortnight after he heard of her
death.
On the 28th January 1836, Lord Stowell died, in the
91st year of his age. He was unquestionably one of the
ablest and most accomplished lawyers that ever sat on a
judgment-seat. “ There is no one,” says W. E. Surtees
(The Sketch, p. 145), “so ambitious of eccentricity as to
deny his judgments excellence of the highest order. The
statesman in the admiralty, the moral philosopher in the
consistory court, will find his own more appropriate in¬
struction ; while the scholar who may turn to the reports
of Lord Stowell’s decisions in either court, will admire the
illimitable felicity of the language on which his judicial
thoughts are winged, and acknowledge that his character
has been formed on the purest models of ancient and
modern elegance.” And Lord Brougham, in his notice of
Lord Stowell in the Historical Sketches of Statesmen of
the time of George III., has paid this tribute to his
memory: His vast superiority was apparent, when, as
from an eminence, he was called to survey the whole field
of dispute, and to marshal the variegated facts, disentangle
the intricate mazes, and array the conflicting reasons which
were calculated to distract and suspend men’s judgments. .
. . If ever the praise of being luminous could be bestowed
upon human composition, it was upon his.” Some of his
judgments, it has further been said, may be called almost
revelations of the law, being expositions of large and
intricate questions which had never before been thoroughly
investigated, but which he completely cleared up and set
SCO
at rest. It lies in the observations already made that he Scougal.
surpassed Lord Eldon in literary talent. His style was as
remarkable for polish and crystally clearness as that of his
brother for its clumsiness and obscurity.
But though a great lawyer, he was not a great man.
He was a great eater, and, says Mr Surtees, “ the feats
which he performed with the knife and fork were eclipsed
by those which he would afterwards display with the bottle.”
His habits were slovenly and unclean. “ The hand that
could pen the neatest of periods was itself often dirty and
unwashed; and the mouth which could utter eloquence so
graceful, or such playful wit, fed voraciously, and selected
the most greasy food.” Then, again, he was an unques¬
tionable miser. He kept a very mean establishment.
Fond as he was of his wine, he would drink less at his own
than at other tables. “ He could drink any given quantity,”
as was wittily observed by his brother, Lord Eldon, but
was abstemious where he had to pay. The most pain¬
ful fact that remains to be recorded respecting him is, that
when his only son William had formed an attachment that
was unexceptionable, he, though it may be said he rolled
in riches, would not make him a sufficient allowance to
enable him to marry. It has been stated already, that
this son died from the effects of intemperate habits ; it must
now be added, that but for this disappointment the young
man might have lived. In despair he plunged into excesses.
His father just survived him, and his great wealth was
gathered up by collaterals. Perhaps his fondness of poking
about London visiting cheap shows, was connected more
with his avarice than with his curiosity. Whatever show
could be visited for a shilling or less, he visited. After
his elevation to the peerage, he was actually seen coming
out of a penny show in London—cheap excitement! Like
Lord Eldon, though a great friend of the church, he never
attended public worship ; what had been said of his brother
might have been said of him, that he was more properly
p buttress of the church than a pillar, for he was never
seen inside it. At the same time there is no reason to
doubt that he was a good Christian; probably, like many
other university men, he had a surfeit of chapels when at
college, and shuddered at the thought of again entering
one. With all his failings, and notwithstanding his avarice
which increased with his years, Lord Stowell must be re¬
garded as having been, after a peculiar sort, a kindly,
amiable man. As Lord Eldon is quite a loveable person
when he goes into retirement with his “ Bessie,” so does
Lord Stoweli force our regards when we consider him as
a brother and son. The union of the Scott family was the
secret of their rise in life, and the most favourable light
under which they can now be regarded is that of their
family affections. (J. F. m‘l.)
SCOUGAL, Henry, author of The Life of God in the
Soul of Man, was born at Salton, in Haddingtonshire, in
June 1650. where his father, the immediate predecessor of
Bishop Burnet, was rector. Having prosecuted his studies
with much distinction at the University of Edinburgh, he
was appointed to the chair of philosophy in Aberdeen, on
his leaving college. Having taught there for some years,
he took orders, and was settled at Auchterless, some twenty
miles from Aberdeen. It was in this retirement he wrote
the work by which he is now known. This book is marked
above others of its class by the earnest spirit of piety which
it breathes, and by the purity and elegance of the style in
which the thoughts are conveyed. It appeared in 1677
anonymously, the modesty of the author withholding him
from prefixing to it his name. Scougal hardly survived its
publication a twelvemonth. He died of consumption on
the 13th of June 1678, in his twenty-eighth year. He was
interred on the north side of the chapel of King’s College,
Aberdeen, where a tablet of black marble records to the
passer-by the revered dust which lies below.
SCR
SCR
827
Screw SCREW, one of the six mechanical powers, is a cylin-
I! der cut into several concave surfaces, or rather a channel
Scribe. or groove made in a cylinder, by carrying on two spiral
planes the whole length of the screw, in such a manner
that they may be always equally inclined to the axis of the
cylinder in their whole progress, and also inclined to the
base of it in the same angle.
SCRIBE, in Hebrew sepher, is very common in Scrip¬
ture, and has several significations. It signifies, first, a
clerk, writer, or secretary. This was a very considerable
employment in the court of the kings of Judah, in which
the Scripture often mentions the secretaries as the first
officers of the crown. Seraiah was scribe or secretary to
King David (2 Sam. viii. 17). Shevah and Shemaiah ex¬
ercised the same office under this prince (2 Sam. xx. 25).
In Solomon’s time we find Elihoreph and Ahia secretaries
to that sovereign (1 Kings iv. 4); Shebna under Hezekiah
(2 Kings xix. 2); and Shaphan under Josiah (2 Kings
xxii. 8). As there were but few in those times that could
write well, the employment of a scribe or writer was very
considerable. Secondly, a scribe is put for a commissary
or muster-master of an army, who makes the review of the
troops, keeps the list or roll, and calls them over. Under
the reign of Uzziah, king of Judah, there is found Jeil the
scribe, who had under his hand the king’s armies (2 Chron.
xxvi. 11); and at the time of the captivity, it is said the
captain of the guard, among other considerable persons,
took the principal scribe of the host, or secretary at war,
which mustered the people of the land (2 Kings xxv. 19).
Thirdly, scribe is put for an able and skilful man, a doctor
of the law, a man of learning that understands affairs.
Jonathan, David’s uncle by the father’s side, was a coun¬
sellor, a wise man and ascribe (1 Chr. xxvii. 32). Baruch,
the disciple and secretary to Jeremiah, is called a scribe
(Jer. xxxvi. 26); and Ezra is celebrated as a skilful scribe
in the law of his God (Ezra vii. 6). The scribes of the
people, who are frequently mentioned in the gospel, were
public writers and professed doctors of the law, which they
read and explained to the people. Some place the original
of the scribes under Moses; but their name does not ap¬
pear until under the judges. It is said that, in the wars of
Barak against Sisera, “ out of Machir came down governors,
and out of Zebulun they that handle the pen of the writer”
(Judges v. 14). But others think that David first insti¬
tuted them when he established the several classes of the
priests and the Levites. The scribes were of the tribe of
Levi; and at the time that David is said to have made
the regulations in that tribe, we read that six thousand men
of them were constituted officers and judges (1 Chr. xxiii. 4),
among whom it is reasonable to think that the scribes were
included. For in 2 Chr. xxiv. 6, we read of Shemaiah the
scribe, one of the Levites; and in Chr. xxxiv. 13, we also find
it written, “ Of the Levites that were scribes and officers.”
The scribes and the doctors of the law, in the Scripture
phraseology, mean the same thing. And as the whole re¬
ligion of the Jews at that time consisted chiefly in pharisai-
cal traditions, and in the use that was made of them to ex¬
plain the Scripture, the greatest number of the doctors of
the law, or of the scribes, were Pharisees ; and we almost,
always find them joined together in Scripture. Each of
them valued themselves upon their knowledge of the law,
and upon their studying and teaching it (Mat. xxii. 52).
They had the key of knowledge, and sat in Moses’s chair Scrimzeor.
(Mat. xxiii. 2). Epiphanius, and the author of the Recog-
nitions imputed to St Clement, reckon the scribes among
the sects of the Jews ; but it is certain that they formed no
sect by themselves, and were only distinguished by their
study of the law.
SCRIMZEOR, or SCRIMGEOUR, Henry, a learned
Scotchman of the sixteenth century, was born of an ancient
and noble family, at the town of Dundee, in 1506. Passing
from the grammar school of Dundee, where he began his edu¬
cation, he entered the University of St Andrews, and gained
much distinction in the study of philosophy. Having re¬
moved to Paris, he there prosecuted his inquiries into civil
law. The fame of the noted legal lecturers, Baron and
Duaren, drew him to Bourges, where he made the ac¬
quaintance of Amiot, then Greek prolessor there, and sub¬
sequently cardinal. Pie now, at the suggestion of his friend
Amiot, became tutor to a family named Bucherel, and
subsequently went to Italy, in company with Bornetel, the
bishop of Rennes, whose friendship he had recently secured.
Scrimgeour gained the intimacy of many learned men, and
greatly improved himself during this Italian tour. He
wrote a life of the famous apostate, Francis Spira, which
was probably printed at Basle in 1550 or 1551, but it is
not mentioned in any copy of his writings which has come
under our notice. On his way home he had occasion to
pass through Geneva, where he was prevailed upon to
accept of a lectureship in philosophy. Ulric Fugger, the
merchant-prince of that age, having invited him to Augs¬
burg, he left Geneva, and gave the rich merchant the be¬
nefit of his superior judgment, and his great information in
the augmentation of his splendid library. Being introduced
by his German patron to Henry Stephens, then residing
at Geneva, and the most famous printer in Europe, he
entered into negotiations respecting the publication of his
works; but, from whatever cause, a jealousy seems to have
sprung up between them, which ended only with the life
of Scrimgeour. He died at the city of Geneva in or about
the year 1571. Scrimgeour’s litei’ary property and fame
were committed, on his death, to Isaac Casaubon, who
seems to have been hardly just to the reputation of the de¬
ceased Scotchman. It is now quite impossible to disentangle
the writings of Scrimgeour from those of his “ literary ex¬
ecutor.” Casaubon published, in his own name, an edition
of Athenaeus in 1600, an edition of Strabo in 1602, Diogenes
Laertius in 1593, the Basilica, Phurnutus and Palaephatus,
1570—in all of which he was much indebted to the anno¬
tations of Scrimgeour and to his improvements on the texts
of his authors. The only work published with Scrimzeor’s
name was Justinian’s Novellce Constitutiones, which he had
translated into Greek in 1558. This learned man left behind
him many valuable manuscripts, of Demosthenes, ASschines,
Cicero, and Eusebius, carefully collated, but which never
yet have been given to the public. Scrimzeor’s immense
erudition was only equalled by his exquisite judgment,
which found an excellent field for its exercise in the errors
and obscurities which had crept into those ancient authors
on which he delighted to labour. Cujanus used to say of
Scrimgeour that he never talked with him without learning
something he had not known before. By no means a won¬
derful saying for an ordinary man, but a very remarkable
one for Cujanus.
828
SCRIPTUEE, HOLY.
Scripture. Under this title are commonly designated the sacred books
of the Jews and the Christians, in which are contained the
revelation of God’s will to mankind, and the principles of
that religion which He has inculcated upon us. In other
parts of this work the reader will find articles elucidatory
of the claims preferred and of the doctrines taught in these
books. (See especially Inspiration, Miracle, Prophecy,
and Theology.) In the present article it is proposed to
furnish an outline of what may be denominated the his-
torico-critical knowledge of these books. In treating of this
we have to do with the composition, the history, the repu¬
tation, and the literary characteristics of the sacred writings
viewed simply as remains of ancient literature.
This department of investigation is comparatively of re¬
cent date. In the earlier ages of the church the same
necessity for such inquiries did not exist as now, in conse¬
quence especially of the efforts which have been made in
more recent times to impugn the authenticity of the sacred
documents; nor is it probable that the early fathers, from
the views which they entertained of the sole agency of the
Holy Spirit in the composition of these, would have deemed
any inquiry into their peculiarities, as the products at the
same time of human agency, other than impious and ab¬
surd (1). Since the time, however, when Spinoza issued
his attack upon the authenticity of the Pentateuch and the
general inspiration of the Scriptures (1670), and Richard
Simon, a presbyter and fellow of the oratory at Paris, fol¬
lowed with his acute, learned, and liberal investigations
into the critical history of the Old Testament (1678), this
subject has occupied the attentive study of critics and theo¬
logians of all confessions, and may now be said to have
reached the dignity of a science (2). The path opened by
Spinoza was followed by J. S. Sender in Germany, who
may be said to have founded the school of neologic criti¬
cism in that country. He was succeeded by Eichhorn, Ber-
tholdt, Augusti, and De Wette, in whom the rationalistic
and sceptical school culminated (3). On the more ortho¬
dox side appeared J. D. Michaelis, Jahn, Hug, and, more re¬
cently, Scholz, Schott, Hengstenberg, Havernick, Credner,
Feilmoser, Guericke, and others (4). In England, besides
the older works of Walton, Mill, and Harwood, the only pro¬
ductions in this department of any value are those of Horne,
Davidson, Tregelles, Porter, Westcott, and Scrivener (o).
1. The prevailing notion among the Jews and the early Christians
respecting inspiration was, that the faculties of the person inspired
were completely suspended and superseded during the afflatus, so
that the only parts of him actively engaged in the work of composi¬
tion were his hands and his eyes. Philo speaks of God as “ usino-
the organs of the prophets for the manifestation of His will” (©£au
xoiTK^eofitt/au ms ixiivav opyavois vgos SvXwtnv av kv WsXvffn, De Mon¬
arch. lib. i., ed. Mangey, t. ii., p. 222) : Justin Martyr compares them
to the strings of a lyre, which produce sounds just as they are
touched by the hand of the player (Cohort, ad Grcecos, c. 8); and
Augustin frequently speaks of the Scriptures as the “ Chirograph
of Deity,” and of their writers as “ the stylus or pen of the Holy
Spirit. ’ . The influence of such exclusive views in discouraging
any inquiries of a historico-critical nature is seen in the following
sentence of Gregory the Great:—“ Quis librum Job scripserit, valde
superflue quseritur, cum tamen auctor libri Spiritus Sanctus fideliter
credatur. Ipse scripsit, qui et in ejus opera inspirator extitit et per
scribentis vocem imitandam ad nos facta transmisit.” (Moral, in
Job. t. !•, P-7.) Ideas of a similar kind are found in the writings
of several of the older divines subsequent to the Reformation. (For
the opinions most generally received among Protestant divines in
ia^9eer nnerSr°n!s Lectures on ^ration, London,
1836, od ed. 1852 , Lee On Inspiration )
2. Spinoza’s work is entitled Tractatus Historico-Politicus, con-
tinens Dissertationes aliquot, quibus ostenditur, Libertatem Philoso-
phandi non solum ealva pietate et reipublicce pace posse ccncedi •
sedeandem nisi cum pace reipublica, ipsaque pietate tolli non posse
Hamburgi, 1670, 4to. Simon s Histoire Critique du Vieux Testament
appeared in 1 vol. 4to, in 1678, at Paris; but a fuller and more cor- Scripture
rect edition was published at Rotterdam in 1685, superintended in
all probability by the author. It produced numerous replies and
strictures, from the pens both of Catholic and Protestant divines, of
which the most important were those of Spanheim (Lettre sur Vliist.
Crit. dn V. T. du R. Simon)', Du Pin (Dissert.prelim, ou ProKgomenes
sur la Bible), and Le Clerc (Sentimens de quelques Thfologiens d'Hol¬
land sur VHist. Crit. du V. T. composes par le D. R. Simon). Both
Du Pin and Le Clerc, hut especially the latter, whilst reproving
Simon, indulged certain speculations of their own, which were con¬
siderably too free for the age in which they lived, and which drew
down upon them, along with the object of their strictures, the cen¬
sures of the acute and ingenious Bossuet (Divers Trails, contre Mr
R. Simon, Du Pin et autres, (Euvres Posthumes, t. ii., 1753). By far
the ablest reply to Spinoza was furnished by Carpzov (Introductio
ad Libros Canonicos V. T. omnes, 4to, Lips. 1721, 3d ed. 1741).
3. Semler, Apparatus ad liberaliorem Vet. Test. Interpretationem,
Halle, 1773; Abhandlung von Freier untersuch. des Canons, 4 vols.
1771-75. Eichhorn, Einleitung in das A. T., 4th ed. 5 vols., Gott.
1820-24; In die Apocryphischen Schriften des A. T., Leipz. 1795 ;
In das N. T., 5 vols., Leipz. 1804-27. Bertholdt, Histor. Kritische
Einl. in sdmmtliche Kanonische und Apocr. Schriften des A. und N.
T., 6 vols., Erlangen, 1812-19. Augusti, Grundriss einer Hist.
Krit, Einl. ins A. T., Leipz. 1827, 2d ed.; Versuch einer Hist. Dog-
mat. Einl. in die Heilige Schrift., Leipz. 1832. De Wette, Lehrbuch
der Hist. Krit. Einl. in die Bibel A. und N. T., 2 vols., Berlin 1849,
6th ed. (translated by Theodore Parker, 2 vols., Boston, 1843).
4. Michaelis, Einl. in die Gotti. Schriften des A. Bundes, 4to,
Hamburg, 1784; In die Gotti. Schriften des N. B., 2 bde. 4to, Got¬
tingen, 4th ed. 1788 (translated by Bishop Marsh, in 6 vols. 8vo,
with considerable additions, 3d ed., Camb. 1818). Jahn, Einl. in
die Gotti. Bucher des A. Bundes, 3 vols. 8vo, 2d ed., Wien. 1802-3;
Introductio in Bibl. Sacr. V. T. in epitomen reducta, ed. 2da, Vien.
1814, 8vo. Hug, Einl. in die Schriften des N. T., 2 vols., 3d ed.
Stuttgart und Tubingen, 1827 (translated by the Rev. D. G. Wait,
LL.D., 2 vols. 8vo, 1827, and with much greater accuracy by D.
Fosdich, junior, Andover, United States, 1837). Scholz, Einl. in
die Heil. Schriften des A. und N. T., 2 vols., Coin. 1845. Schott,
Isagoge Hist. Critica in libros N. T. Sacros, .Tense, 1830, 8vo.
Hengstenberg, Beitrdge zur Einl. ins A. T., 3 vols., Berlin, 1831,
1836, 1839 (translated by J. E. Ryland; Dissertations on the Genu¬
ineness of the Pentateuch, 2 vols.; and On the Genuineness of Daniel
and the Integrity of Zechariah, 1 vol., Edin.) Havernick, Hand-
buch der Hist. Krit. Einl. in das A. 1\, 4 parts, Erlangen, 1836-44
(A General Histor. Crit. Introduction to the O. T., translated by
. L. Alexander, D.D., Edin. 1852; An Histor. Grit. Introd. to the
Pentateuch, translated by A. Thomson, A.M., Edin.) Credner,
Beitr'dge zur Einl. in die Bibl. Schriften, 2 vols., Halle, 1838 ; Einl.
in das N. T., 2 parts, Halle, 1836. Feilmoser, Einl. in die Biicher
des W T., Tub. 1830 ; Guericke, Histor. Krit. Einl. ins N. T., 1843,
of which an improved edition has lately appeared.
5. Walton, Prolegomena in Biblia Polyglotta, Lond. 1657, of which
a separate edition was published, with a preface by J. A. Dathe, at
Leipsic, in 1 vol. 8vo, 1777, and republished, with improvements
and additions, by Archdeacon Wrangham, in 2 vols. 8vo, Cam¬
bridge, 1828. Mill, Prolegomena in N. T., Oxon. 1707, folio. Har¬
wood, Introduction to the Study and Knowledge of the New Testa¬
ment, 2 vols. 8vo, Lond. 1767—1771. Marsh, Lectures on the Criti¬
cism and Interpretation of the Bible, Camb.d 828. Horne, Introduc¬
tion to the Critical Study and Knowledge of the Holy Scriptures, 10th
edition, revised, corrected, and brought down to the present time,
by the Rev. T. H. Horne, B.D., Rev. S. Davidson, D.D., LL.D., and
and S. Pr. Tregelles, LL.D., 4 vols. 8vo, Lond. 1856. Davidson,
Biblical Criticism, 2 vols. 8vo, Edin. 1852 ; Introduction to the New
Testament, 3 vols. 1848—51. Porter, Principles of Textual Criticism.,
with their Application to the Old and New Testaments, London, 1847.
Tregelles, An Account of the 'Printed Text of the Greek New Testa¬
ment, with Remarks on its Revision upon Critical Principles, &c., Lon¬
don, 1854. Westcott, i/eszory o/ the Canon of the New Testament,
Camb. 1855 ; Scrivener, Supplement to the Authorized Version of the
New Testament, &c., London, 1845; Full and Exact Collation of about
Twenty Greek MSS. of the Holy Gospel, with Critical Introduction,
Camb. 1853. To these may be added Kitto's Cyclopaedia of Biblical
Literature, 2 vols. 8vo, 2d ed.
Many valuable treatises upon separate portions of the general
subject are extant in different languages, but these it would be out
of place to attempt to enumerate here. (See the Bibliographical
Appendix to Horne’s Introduction, Orme’s Bibliotheca Biblica, and
Winer’s Handbuch der Theologischen Litteratur.)
HOLY SCRIPTURE.
Scripture. This subject divides itself into two parts, a general and
v'—a special,—the former having reference to the sacred volume
as a whole, the latter to the separate books of which it is
comprised. In the present article we shall confine our¬
selves to the former of these, and offer a few general ob¬
servations on the collected Scriptures, as such.
Sect. I.—The Name.
Various designations have been affixed to the sacred
volume. As a whole, it bears the name of The Bible, to,
(Si.fiXia ; Holg Scriptures, lepa ypa<f)r], beta ypa(f}'q, ayia
ypaipr]; Bibliotheca Sancta. The Jews called their part
of it by such terms as Four-and-
twenfy, with reference to the number of separate books ;
nro or be., Writing, a term borrowed from
Exod. xxxii. 16; &Hpn HDD, be., Boohs of Holiness;
O’innm Dwna rmn, be., Law, Prophets, and
Hagiographa. In the Apocrypha they are styled 6 vo/xos,
KOti ol TTpotfigraL, i<at ra aAAa vrarpta /3t/3Ata, Jesus Sirac.
Proleg. sub. init. So also in the New Testament, vo/xos xai
TrpofrjTai, Matt. v. 17; vopios, Trpoc^^rat, koll ij/aXp-OL, Luke
xxiv. 44 ; frequently f] ypafg and al ypa<^at; ra iepa ypag-
p.cLTa, 2 Tim. iii. 15. At an early period of the Christian
era, the term Siaffyfo? began to be affixed to the Scriptures
as the documents unfolding God’s covenant; and their
two great divisions to be designated as fj TraXata Siaffyfo;
and 7] Katvg SiaOrjKT] respectively. This usage seems to have
been drawn from the language of Paul, 2 Cor. iii. 6 and 14,
though it is only in the writings of Origen that it makes its
appearance for the first time. The Latins rendered the
word Slo.Otjkt] by Testamentum or instrumenturn (1), accord¬
ing to its primary meaning, though not that in which it is
employed by Paul, who uses it evidently in the sense of
Fcedus; and from this we have the appellation employed
by almost all the versions of modern Europe (2).
1. Tertull. Adv. Marc. iv. 1; Aug. He Civ. Lei, xx. 4.
2. Horne’s Introduction, vol. i., p. 30 ; Michaelis, Einleit.Jdi. i., s.
1; and in Marsh’s translation, vol. i., p. 1; Augusti, Grundriss,
p. 16, 2d ed.; De Wette, Lehrbuch, p. 7, 6th edition.
Sect. II.—Genuineness and Authenticity of the Sacred
Volume.
As ancient literary documents, the Scriptures lay claim
to be regarded as both genuine and authentic or credible.
A book is genuine when it really is what it professes to be,
as the composition of a particular individual, or as pro¬
duced under particular circumstances, and at a certain place
and time ; as opposed to a book which appears under a
forged title. A book is credible when the statements it
contains are physically true ; as opposed to a book the con¬
tents of which are false or fictitious. Both these qualities
may meet in the same work, or they may exist separately
in separate works. Thus the book of Genesis may be the
composition of Moses, and yet be fabulous; or it may be
true in all its statements, and yet not be the work of Moses ;
or it may be, as it is generally believed to be, both the pro¬
duction of Moses and true, both genuine and credible.
The genuineness and credibility of the sacred books
form matter of separate investigation and proof. At the
same time, they are so connected that the proof of the one
paves the way for the proof of the other; for, in the case
of such works it is highly improbable that truth would be
issued under a forged name, or that such men as Moses,
Samuel, or the evangelists would or could issue fictitious
narratives as true. It is not, however, matter of indif¬
ference which of them we establish first. Before we can
set ourselves to prove their credibility we must be in cir¬
cumstances to show their genuineness; for unless we can
do this, a preliminary difficulty will lie in the way of the
829
former, from the suspicion that these books appear with a Scripture,
falsehood, or at least what has not been shown to be a '
truth, upon their front; a work of supposititious authorship
being always prima facie less credible than one which is the
genuine production of the writer to whom it is ascribed.
The proof of the genuineness of the Sacred Scriptures
rests upon the following considerations :—
1. There is no antecedent impossibility that they should
be genuine. It cannot be shown that it is impossible for
Moses to have written the Pentateuch, Isaiah and the other
prophets their prophecies, the evangelists their gospels, the
apostles their epistles, or for the books which are anony¬
mous to have been composed under the circumstances
which they profess ; nor that, being composed, it is im¬
possible for them to have been preserved and handed down
from generation to generation.
2. Circumstances were favourable to the preservation of
these books, supposing them written. The Old Testament
books professedly form the national literature, as well as
the sacred documents of the Jews, and would naturally be
carefully preserved by them. The New Testament books
constitute the religious archives and statute-books of the
Christian church, and would from their first publication be
sacredly conserved by those for whom they were so deeply
interesting.
3. It is matter of undeniable history that both Jews and
Christians did possess certain sacred books, which they re¬
garded with the utmost reverence, and preserved with the
greatest care. The only question then is, Are the books
which we possess the same as those thus reverenced and
preserved ? And, first, with respect to those of the Old
Testament.
i. These are the books which were recognised in the
early church as the sacred books of the Jews. This is
placed beyond doubt by the early versions of Scripture,
and by the catalogues of Athanasius, Epiphanius, Jerome,
Origen, and Melito, Bishop of Sardis. (Lardner, Works,
vol. iv., p. 290, 8vo ed.)
ii. The books of the Old Testament which we possess
must have been extant at the commencement of the Chris¬
tian era. This is evident from the allusions to them, and
the quotations from them, in the New Testament, but
especially from the testimony of Philo, an Egyptian Jew,
who at the latest was contemporary with the apostles, and
also of Josephus, himself a priest of the Jews, and conse¬
quently accurately informed on all matters relating to their
sacred books, and who lived in the latter part of the first
century of the Christian era. Philo gives no formal cata¬
logue, but quotes from or refers to nearly all the books of
the Old Testament, while no other is mentioned by him
as of accredited authority. Josephus, besides frequent
quotations and allusions, gives {Cont. Apion., lib. i., c. 8) a
catalogue of the sacred books of his nation, assigning five
to Moses, thirteen to the prophets, and four to the writers
of hymns and moral maxims. This, if we regard Judges
and Ruth as one book, and add the Lamentations to the
Prophecies of Jeremiah, which there is good reason to be¬
lieve was the case in the days of Josephus, gives exactly
the number of the books now extant.
Schmidtii Historia Antiqua et Vindicatio Canonis Sacri Veteris et
Novi Testamenti, pp. 129-189, Lips. 1775 ; Ejusdem Ennarratio sen-
tentice Flav. Josephi de libris Vet. Test., Wittenberg, 1787 ; Horne-
manni, Obss. ad Illustrationem Loctrince de Canone Vet. Test, ex
Philone, Haunise, 1778; Henderson’s Lectures on Inspiration, p.
468, Lond. 1836.
iii. These books must have been written long before the
Christian era. This is plain from the fact of targums or
explanations of them into the Syro-Chaldaic dialect, which
was the language of the people, having been made for a
long course of years antecedent to the times of Onkelos
and Jonathan Ben Uzziel, by whom they were collected
HOLY SCRIPTURE
830
Scripture, in the form now extant, and who lived probably near the
days of our Lord; from the allusions to the sacred books
of his nation already quoted from the prologue to the work
of Jesus the son of Sirach, which was composed about
230 years b.C. ; and from the existence of the Septuagint
version, which was at least commenced 280 years b.c.
iv. Under such circumstances, the forgery of these
books was morally impossible. If such a thing took place,
it must have been during the 140 years which elapsed
between the death of Malachi, the last of the prophets, and
the execution of the Septuagint version. But, first, it is
inconceivable that, in so short a period, and in an age when
literature was not a trade, a set of men (for the agency of
only one man is out of the question) should have appeared
in the land of Judea, all endowed with genius sufficient to
share in the composition of such works, and all infected
with the spirit of literary dishonesty, so as to act the part
of forgers. Secondly, even supposing such a piece of de¬
ception attempted, it is inconceivable how it should have
succeeded, as, by the holders of this hypothesis, it must be
allowed to have done. As the whole nation of the Jews
acknowledged these books, we must suppose, either that
they were all imposed upon in the matter, or that they all
agreed to impose upon the rest of the world. But no in¬
genuity can suffice to persuade a nation that they have
for ages possessed sacred books, when they know they have
not; and a national agreement to sanction a forgery and
tell the world a lie, is a hypothesis too extravagant to be
for a moment entertained. Thirdly, the opinions expressed
in these books, the doctrines taught, and the duties enjoin¬
ed, are so averse from those most cherished by the Jews
at the time the supposed forgery must have taken place,
and the facts recorded are so little flattering, upon the
whole, to the pride of the nation, that it is quite incredible,
either that any should have been found to write them, or
that, being written, they should have been received by the
people with any other feelings than those of execration and
abhorrence. The respect in which they were held can be
accounted for only on the principle that it was rendered to
the venerable antiquity and indisputable authority with
which they were invested.
v. The force of this conclusion is heightened by the
circumstance, that while all testimony is in favour of the
genuineness of these books, not one witness can be pro¬
duced whose evidence is incompatible with this.
vi. When we apply to the contents of these books such
tests as are best fitted to try their genuineness, the result
is such as to confirm our previous conclusion. 1. They
display just such a diversity of talent, style, and character
as we should expect in works composed by different au¬
thors at different times. 2. They are written, with a few
slight exceptions, in pure Hebrew, a language which we
know to have been that of the Jews beibre the captivity,
but the knowledge of which as a vernacular tongue was
entirely lost very shortly afterwards. 3. Whilst they use
the same language, there are certain grammatical and lin¬
guistic differences between the early and the later writers,
indicative of such changes as all languages experience in
the lapse of time, but less extensive than those found in
others of the ancient tongues ; which is exactly what might
have been expected in the case of persons using, through
a long interval, a language which, though exposed to causes
of change, was, from the fixed and exclusive habits of
those speaking it, less liable to be affected in this way than
the languages of more versatile and cosmopolitan nations.
4. I he narratives occurring in these books are marked by
that minute accuracy and circumstantiality of detail which
a forger generally endeavours to avoid, but into which a
true witness naturally falls, from having all these details
present to his mind as integral parts of the occurrence
which he attests, as it presented itself to his semes. 5. There
is, amidst the greatest elevation of thought and sublimity of Scripture,
conception, a chastened simplicity of language, and, amidst
the utmost variety of manner, style, and illustration, an
essential unity of doctrine, which comports well with the
claims of these books to be regarded as the sacred books of
the Jews, and seems strongly incompatible with the sup¬
position that they are forgeries.
for these reasons, it is affirmed that the books which we
now possess are the same as those which were always pos¬
sessed and held genuine by the Jews. We turn, secondly,
to the New Testament, and inquire whether the same evi¬
dence of its genuineness can be furnished.
i. No person doubts the existence of the New Testa¬
ment books from the close of the fourth century of the
Christian era downwards, because the fact is so notorious
that to deny it would be to discredit all historical testi¬
mony.
ii. As little can it be doubted that they were extant from
the commencement of that century. Not only are they fre¬
quently quoted by writers who lived during that, period,
but we possess ten distinct catalogues of the New Testa¬
ment books, issued during this century, of which six are
identical with our present canon (1), three omit only the
book of Revelation (2), and one omits this book and the
Epistle to the Hebrews (3), though both are mentioned
in other parts of the author’s writings.
1. Those of the forty-four bishops at the Council of Carthage
(a.d. 397), of Augustin (a.d. 394), of Jerome (a.d. 392), oi Itu-
finus (a.d. 390), of Epiphanius (a.d. 370), and of Athanasius (a.d.
315).
2. Those of Gregory of Nazianzum (a.d. 375), of the bishops at
the Council of Laodicea (a.d. 364), and of Cyrill of Jerusalem (a.d.
3. That of Philaster or Philastrius, Bishop of Brixia or Brescia
(a.d. 380).
Lardner, Works, vol. iv., pp. 280-501, and vol. v., pp. 1-123.
iii. Their existence in the third century is placed equally
beyond doubt, from the careful and explicit testimony of
Eusebius, who wwote a.d. 315 ; from the references to them
in the writings of the apologists Arnobius Afer and Lac-
tantius (cir. a,d. 300); from the testimonies contained in
fragments preserved from numerous writers in that cen¬
tury, especially Victorinus, Bishop of Pettau in Germany,
who refers to nearly every book in the New Testament;
from the commentaries upon them and quotations from them
of Origen (a.d. 253) ; from the quotations of Cyprian (a.d.
258); and from references to them in the remains of a
number of writers who lived during the first thirty years of
the third century.
Lardner, Works, vol. ii., pp. 397-430.
iv. For their existence in the second century we have
abundant evidence, in the quotations from them and allu¬
sions to them in the writings of Tertullian (a.d. 200), Cle¬
ment of Alexandria, Athenagoras ^(a.d. 180), Irenseus
(a.d. 170), Justin Martyr (a.d. 150), and Papias (a.d.
113), and in the Harmony of the Gospels by Tatian (a.d.
170).
v. Collateral with these testimonies of the orthodox
fathers are those of the early heretics, Cerinthus, the Ebio-
nites, the Basilidians, Marcion, and others, who, by de¬
nouncing the writings of the apostles as containing error,
thereby attest the existence and genuineness of these writ¬
ings ; and of the early opponents of Christianity, Celsus,
Porphyry, and Julian, who, by the notice they take of these
books, show how much in their day their genuineness was
matter of public notoriety.
vi. We have thus traced up the existence of these books
to the close of the first century. To say nothing of the
testimony in their favour of the apostolic fathers, Barnabas,
Clement of Rome, Hermas, Ignatius, and Polycarp, who
flourished during that century, and reached up to the days
HOLY SCRIPTURE.
831
Scripture, of the apostles, the supposition of a forgery at that time is
clearlv absurd. Whilst men were still alive whose fathers
were the contemporaries of the evangelists and apostles, how
could any one impose upon the community as the produc¬
tion of the latter what was only forged in their name ? or
whilst the churches at Rome, Colossae, Corinth, and other
places were still existing, who could have persuaded them
to receive as Paul’s letters to them what they knew Paul
had never sent to them? or how can we conceive that an
attempt so audacious would have been allowed to pass with¬
out a single voice being raised in any quarter to denounce
the imposture ?
vii. The conclusion thus gained by the consideration of
external testimony is forcibly confirmed by the contents of
the books themselves. The language in which they are
written is exactly such as a Jew of the first century w-ould
naturally fall into in attempting to waite Greek, and such
as could hardly have been thought of or imitated by a later
writer. The style of composition is such as a forger could
not possibly have hit upon; it has so much of a prevailing
simplicity and earnestness, and at the same time is so suit¬
ably diversified in the different books, that it bears every
indication of having flowed from the pens of the simple-
minded, unambitious, uneducated, and honest men to whom
it is ascribed. The sentiments are such as we cannot sup¬
pose men of sufficiently depraved moral habits to act the
part of forgers, to have conceived or inculcated. And above
all, the minute circumstantiality of the narrative is such as,
on the one hand, strikingly indicates the agency of an eye
and ear witness in the composition of it, and on the other,
affords too many tests of the author’s personal familiarity
with what he narrates to have been ventured on by a forger.
The striking coincidence of one part of the volume with
another may also be mentioned as a further evidence of its
genuineness.
For these reasons it is concluded that the Scriptures of
the Old and New Testament are the genuine productions
of those to whom they are ascribed. They are reasons
which must satisfy every person familiar with such inquiries,
that we possess in favour of the genuineness of these books
a far larger and more unquestionable body of proof than we
have in favour of the genuineness of any of the ancient
classics, and indeed of much even of comparatively modern
literature.
See on the whole of this section, Horne’s Introduction, vol. i., pp.
35-99 ; Lardner's Credibility, Works, vols. i.-v., 8vo i.,and ii. 4to;
YoXoy's Evidences of Christianity, and 1 lor os Paulines', Alichaelis’s
Introduction by Marsh, vol. i., pp. 4-54 ; Marsh’s Lectures on the .4m-
thenticity and Credibility of the New Testament, London, 1840 ; Cook’s
Enquiry into the Books of the New Testament; Taylor’s Essay on the
Transmission of Ancient Books to Modern Times ; Schott’s Isagoge,
pp. 518-542.
Sect. III.—Integrity of the Sacred Boohs.
Closely connected with the question of the genuineness
of the Scriptures is the question of their integrity or uncor¬
rupted preservation. Infidels have often asserted that ex¬
tensive and important changes have been made upon the
original documents, especially upon those of the Old Tes¬
tament. But,
1. Of this there is no proof. It is a mere unsupported
assertion on their part, resting upon nothing but certain d
priori conclusions to which they profess to have come as
to the probability of such a thing. To prove it, we should
require some competent historical testimony to the fact, or
an articulate comparison of the alleged interpolations with
the original text.
2. Such interpolations could have been perpetrated only
by universal consent on the part of all possessing these
documents. Had one man altered his own copy, and
published his alterations, the only result would have been
certain discrepancies between the readings of that family Scripture,
of manuscripts of which his copy was the parent, and those
of other families, unless he could have persuaded the whole
nation of the Jews, or the entire body of the Christians, as
the case might be, to adopt his innovations,—a supposition
plainly impossible.
3. Had extensive alterations taken place, the harmony of
Scripture would have been destroyed. A number of sepa¬
rate books are written by different persons, for the purpose
of unfolding under different aspects and modifications one
harmonious system of truth. The result is a harmonious
work. But some person, for purposes of his own, sets
about interpolating these books. Is it conceivable that this
should have been accomplished with such exquisite skill
and adroitness, that the original harmony of the work should
have been preserved, and all vestiges of a spurious inter¬
mixture concealed ?
4. It is morally certain that, previous to the Christian
era, the Jews did not alter their sacred books. For this ure
have sufficient security in the habits and circumstances of
the people. The Bible was their national statute-book ; on
it the whole of their civil economy, and all their political
and judicial procedure, rested. They were in the habit of
giving the utmost publicity to its contents; kings were
required to study it continually, priests were appointed to
teach it to the people, and fathers were enjoined to incul¬
cate it upon their children ; so that the idea of connivance
among the members of any class in the community for the
purpose of falsifying it is entirely precluded. Their law con¬
tains a solemn prohibitory statute against any, the slightest,
alterations of these books, Deut. v. 2, xii. 32. The rival
sects which arose among them after their return from Ba¬
bylon served the same purpose, by acting as mutual checks
upon each other. And, finally, in the absence of any cen¬
sure by our Lord upon the Jews, whose crimes He faith¬
fully exposed, for their treatment of the sacred text, and in
His continual references to the Old Testament in the state
in which it was then extant, as containing an accurate re¬
cord of God’s will, we have the best assurance that no
liberty affecting its perfect integrity had been taken with
it previous to His advent.
5. Since the commencement of the Christian era it is
equally certain that no intentional corruption of the Old
Testament Scriptures can have taken place. The Jews have
not corrupted them, for they have ever shown too deep a
reverence for every word and letter of these books to have
done so; they have been too much scattered and disunited
to have agreed upon any such attempt; they would not
have left so many statements condemnatory of themselves
and favourable to Christianity had they set about altering
their own Scriptures; and they have since that time been
so much under the eye of Christians that any such attempt
on their part would immediately have been detected and
denounced by the latter. Christians have not done it; for,
to say nothing of the fact that hardly any Christian has
been sufficiently master of the Hebrew language to execute
skilfully any such alterations, the attempt on their part to
do such a thing would have been immediately discovered
and exposed by the Jews.
6. As impossible is it that any corruption has taken place
in the Christian Scriptures. It is plain that this could not
have occurred during the lives of their authors, nor whilst
the autographs of their works were extant. But in some
cases before, and in others immediately after, the death of
the inspired writers, copies of their writings were multiplied
to a great extent, and disseminated over the whole Chris¬
tian world. It could only therefore have been by the ge¬
neral consent of all Christians that any material alterations
could have been made on these writings ; for if one sect or
party had interpolated their copies, this could not have
affected the copies of others, and would have been detected
832 H O L Y S C
Scripture, and denounced by them. But the idea of a general consent
of Christians in all parts of the world to falsify their own
documents, is one too extravagant to be admitted.
7. The agreement of versions and of manuscripts, both
of the Old Testament Scriptures and of the New, is a cor¬
roborative evidence of their integrity. The number of early
versions is considerable, and among them so great a har¬
mony prevails that it is undeniable they must have been
made from a common original, and that that original must
have been the same as we now possess. The same conclu¬
sion is attested by the agreement of the manuscripts. Of
these, more than 1100, containing the whole or parts of the
Old Testament, and about 1400, containing the whole or
parts of the New Testament, have been collated, without any
material discrepancy having been elicited (1); a fact which
is utterly irreconcilable with the supposition of any de-
. signed interpolations having been so much as attempted by
any class or party, either of Jews or of Christians (2).
1. Jtosemiiller observes, respecting the codices of the Old Tes¬
tament, “ li qui hodie exstant codices omnes ita inter se con-
spirant, ut ex aliquot centenis variis lectionibus vix una deprehen-
datur quse sensum mutet. Circa unam duntaxat vel alteram lit-
teram, Vocalem vel Accentum versantur. Quod quidem argumento
est, Veteris Testament! libros, prouti eos nunc legimus, ex unius,
quam dicunt, recensionis codicibus ad nos transmissos esse, atque
omnes codices, antiquiores aeque perierunt, ac recentiores quos ha-
bemus tanquam a communi fonte fluxisse.” (Prcef. ad Edit. Stereo-
typam Hahnii Bib. Ileb., p. iv.) Language no less strong may be
justly held regarding the New Testament.
2. See Horne’s Introduction, vol. i., pp. 100—108 ; Michaelis’s In¬
troduction, vol. i.; Walton, Prolegom. vii.; Nolan’s Inquiry into the
Integrity of the Greek Vulgate, London, 1815; [Bentley’s] Remarks
on Freethinking, by Philoleutherus Lipsiensis, Nos. xxxi.-xxxiii.; Dr
J. Pye Smith's Answer to the Manifesto of the Christian Evidence So¬
ciety, 4th ed., and Rejoinder to Taylor, 2d ed., London, 1830 ; Er-
nesti’s Principles of Biblical Interpretation, translated by Charles
H. Terrot, vol. ii., pp. 1-24, Edinburgh, 1833.
Sect. IV.—Credibility of the Sacred Scriptures.
That these books, in their narrative parts, contain state¬
ments of actual facts, is sufficiently established by various
considerations.
1. The things narrated are such as their writers were
fully competent to attest. For the most part they were eye
and ear witnesses of what they recorded; and where this was
not the case, they were placed in circumstances the most
favourable for gaining information from first sources as to
the facts they narrate. They are in fact, with one or two
partial exceptions, what very few of the ancient historians
are, annalists of their own times.
2. The matters which they record are such as they
could not possibly be deceived about. They are such as
any man with the use of his senses, and an ordinary portion
of'discrimination, was as fully competent to judge of as the
most profound philosopher. The passage of the Red Sea,
for instance, or the re-appearance of our Lord after His
death, was a fact respecting which no man in his senses
could be deceived. Unless the sacred writers were the
wildest enthusiasts (of which, however, no trace is discover¬
able in any other part of their conduct, but the contrary),
they could not have been misled into the belief that they
had seen such things, if they had not seen them.
3. 1 he blameless character and disinterested fidelity of
these witnesses show that they were not themselves de¬
ceivers. The mind of man is subject to certain laws, upon
which we may calculate with the same security as upon the
laws of matter ; and one of these is, that no man of gene¬
rally irreproachable character will deliberately and pertina¬
ciously propagate a falsehood, save under the influence of
very strong temptation. Now the sacred writers were men
of respectable character; so that if their narrative be false, it
can only have been under the stress of very urgent neces¬
sity or sinister inducement that they can be supposed to
R IP T U R E.
have promulgated it. But where was this stress in their Scripture,
case? What evil had they to shun, what prodigious ad-
vantage to gain, by falsehood? On the contrary, did not
their adherence to their story expose many of them to the
severest privations and the cruellest sufferings, even to death
itself? Do men, then, ever so fall in love with falsehood
as to consecrate their lives to its propagation, and willingly to
endure every species of contumely, persecution, and oppres¬
sion, rather than relinquish it ? Would not such a thing be
a moial miracle, infinitely more incredible than any of those
which the sacred writers narrate, because, unlike theirs,
peifbimed not only without the affirmation of divine agency,
but in direct opposition to the law of the God of truth?
4. Their narratives were published at a time when the
events they record were so recent that it outrages all pro¬
bability to suppose, either that they would have had the
audacity to publish what was false, or that their falsehoods
would have been allowed to descend to posterity uncon¬
tradicted. Who can for a moment imagine that, had the
Israelites not crossed the Red Sea in the manner described
by Moses, he could have persuaded them to believe that
they had ? or that the facts of our Lord’s history could have
been palmed upon the world when there were so many still
alive both interested in and competent for their refutation.,
had they not really occurred ?
5. I hese histories account satisfactorily for numerous un¬
deniable facts that are otherwise unaccountable, such as the
existence and present state of the Jews, the existence and
propagation of Christianity, and the prevalence of certain
rites and ceremonies among Jews and Christians, such as
circumcision in its religious aspect, the weekly Sabbath, the
Lord’s Supper, &c. They further tally with the testimony
of profane history, in as far as the field is common to both.
They “ interweave themselves,” as Dr Channing has well
observed, “ with real history so naturally and intimately as
to furnish no clue for detection, as to exclude the appear¬
ance of incongruity and discordance, and as to give an
adequate explanation, and the only explanation, of acknow¬
ledged events of the most important revolutions of society.”
That such narratives should be fictitious, the same writer
justly concludes, “ is a supposition from which an intelli¬
gent man at once revolts, and which, if admitted, would
shake a principal foundation of history.” {Discourse on the
Evidences of Revealed Religion, p. 34, 4th [English] edi¬
tion, Liverpool, 1831.)
6. The credibility of the sacred historians is strikingly
confirmed by the traditions and histories of all the ancient
nations, by many facts of natural history, and by numerous
monuments of human art which are still existing, such as
coins, medals, and inscriptions.
See Faber’s Horae Mosaicae, vol. i.; Bryant’s Ancient Mythology,
3 vols. 4to, 1774; Edwards on the Truth and Authority of Scrip¬
ture, vol. i.; Gray’s Connection of Sacred and Profane Literature ;
Lardner’s Credibility, and Jewish and Heathen Testimonies, &c.
Works, vols. i.—viii.; Bedford’s Lectures on the Divine Authority of
the Bible, as confirmed by Science, History, and Human Consciousness,
1837 ; Horne’s Introduction, vol. i., 116-20; Alexander’s Christ and
Christianity, part i.
Sect. V.—Canon of the Sacred Scriptures.
The Greek word Kanov signifies originally a straight line
or rod ; hence tropically a rule, and hence a list or cata¬
logue, as that which contains the rule or order of the things
contained in it.
In this last sense it is applied to the Scriptures, but with
a different reference, according as it is used in inquiries of
a dogmatical or in inquiries of a historico-critical nature.
In the former, it means the list of books deemed inspired ;
in the latter, the list of books recognised as genuine by
Jews and Christians. In either case, such books are op¬
posed to those that are apocryphal {atroKpvQa, “ ea scripta
HOLY SCRIPTURE.
Scripture, quibus publice ecclesia non utebatur, sed privatlm babebat
lecjebatque qui vellet.” (Ludovicus Vives ad Augustin, de
Civ. Dei, 1. xv., c. 23.)
In regard to the sacred writings, both these lists are
identical, for all the books which are found in the former
are found also in the latter, no book having been inserted
simply on the ground of its Jewish authorship, but only
such as were the production of a prophet or inspired man.
See the striking testimony of Josephus, Cont. Apion. i. 8, con¬
firmed by that of Philo, by whom no writing is referred to as sacred
unless it be the production of a -rootprirns. by which term he in¬
tends one whose “ organs are used by God for the showing of what
He wills.” (Be Monarch, opp. il. 222, ad. Mangey.)
It is the opinion of some that Nehemiah, who is said to
have collected a /Si/SXiodgKg of the sacred books (2d Macc.
ii. 13), and Malachi, the last of the prophets, closed the
canon by adding to it their own writings; though others
affirm that the list was not finally made up until about the
time of the Syrian invasion under Antiochus Epiphanes, in
the third century b.c. By much the most probable, be¬
cause best-supported hypothesis, however, is that which
ascribes the final and authoritative making up of the Old
Testament canon to Ezra and the men of the Great Syna¬
gogue. This is formally affirmed in one of the oldest books
of the Talmud, the Pirke Aboth, or Sayings of the Fathers,
and it is repeated in other Jewish writings ; it is, besides,
in full accordance with all we know of Ezra’s personal his¬
tory and his position among his people, and there is nothing
of any weight that can be urged against it. Before the
time of Ezra there was a succession of prophets by whom
the integrity and purity of the sacred canon was guarded ;
and Ezra and his associates simply declared finally what
always had been, and were to be thenceforward, held as the
sacred books. Certain it is that by the third century b.c.
all the books now extant had been composed and arranged
in order,—as they not only were then translated into Greek,
but were spoken of by Jesus Siracides, who lived about
two hundred years B.c., as divided into three classes, and
as of considerable antiquity. Even if we admit that
the closing of the canon took place as late as the time
of Antiochus Epiphanes, it must have consisted only of
such books as were notoriously reputed among the Jews to
be sacred, as having come down to them from the prophets ;
for it would have been impossible at that time to have in¬
duced the nation to accept as of Divine authorship, books
which they knew must have been produced since the suc¬
cession of the prophets and inspired men had ceased.
The classes into which the books of the Old Testament
are spoken of by the sonof Sirach as divided, are three,—the
law, the prophets, and the other writings. This division is
still retained, only the last class are denominated Chethu-
bim or Hagiographa. To the first division belong the five
books of Moses ; to the second the historical books, with
the exception of Ruth, Ezra, Nehemiah, and Chronicles,
and the prophetical books, with the exception of Daniel;
to the third the poetical books, Daniel, and the excepted
historical books. This arrangement, however, was by no
means uniformly preserved. In the LXX. Daniel is placed
next to Ezekiel ; Josephus and the New Testament writers
seem to have regarded the third division as comprising only
the poetical books: and there is considerable discrepancy
among the Jewish rabbis in their statements as to the ar¬
rangement of the sacred books. All this seems to indicate
that the Talmudical arrangement now followed was not the
original arrangement, but was one which, probably for litur¬
gical purposes, the Jews adopted at a later period.
See Vitringa, Be Synagog. Jud., lib. iii., 2, 10.
At what time the canon of the New Testament was
made up we have not the means of accurately determining.
We are sure, however, that from a very early age these
writings were separately referred to as divine and authprita-
vol. xix.
833
tive, and as on these grounds quite sui generis ; and it is Scripture,
certain that they were at an early period collected, and were
referred to in their collected character as the received do¬
cuments of the Christian community. Tertullian does so
repeatedly in his writings, denominating them sometimes
“ the New Testament,” and sometimes “ the Divine In¬
strument,” in the singular number; and Clement of Alex¬
andria speaks of “ the Scriptures of the Lord” under the
title of “ The ^ospel and the Apostles.” The collection
was doubtless made gi’adually; and from what we learn
from Eusebius respecting a distinction between books
b/ioXoyov/jxvu and books avTiXeyopevu (Hist. Ecclesias., lib.
iii., c. 25, ed. Heinichen, vol. i., p. 244), it would appear
that the claims of every book were carefully weighed before
its canonicity was admitted.
See Cosin’s Scholar deal History of the Canon of the Holy Scrip¬
ture, London, 1672 : Jones’s New and Full Method of Settling the
Canonical Authority of the New Testament, Oxford, 1798 ; Alexan¬
der’s Canon oj the Old and New Testament Ascertained, London,
1828 ; Ch. F. Historia Antigua et Vindicatio Canonis Vete-
ris et Novi Tcstamend, Lipsiae, 1775; Ilaenlein’s Einleitung in die
Schriften d. N. T. bde. i. s. 341, Erlangen, 1801; Henderson’s Lec¬
tures on Inspiration, lect. ix.; Stuart, Critical History and Defence
of the Old Testament Canon, Lond. 1849; Westcott’s History of the
New Testament Canon.
The apocryphal books of Scripture may be divided into
two classes, the one containing those that are simply dog¬
matically, the other those that are both dogmatically and
historico-critically apocryphal. To the former belong the
books of Maccabees, Wisdom, Ecclesiasticus, and perhaps
those of Tobit and of Judith, which are genuine, though not
inspired; to the latter all the rest of the apocryphal books,
both of the Old Testament and the New, none of which
are inspired, or can be shown to be genuine.
Horne’s Introduction, vol. i., Appendix, p. 457 ; Rainold Cen-
sura Librorum Veteris Testamend Apocryphorum, 1611: Eichhorn,
Einl. in die Apocryph. Schr. d. A. T. ; Bretschneider, Be Libri Sa-
piendee, &c., 1804; Josephus, Cont. Apionem, i. 8; Hieronymi,
Proefat. in. libb. Salomonis, et in Judith et Tobiam.
Sect. VI.—Languages of the Scriptures.
The greater part of the Old Testament Scriptures is
composed in pure Hebrew, the most ancient language of
which we have any specimen extant. This language be¬
longs to a class of tongues formerly called, by way of emi¬
nence, the Oriental, but now more generally discriminated
by the term Semitic or Shemitic, from Shem, the great pro¬
genitor of the races by which they are spoken (1). This
class embraces three leading tongues, corresponding in
general character and relation to the geographical situa¬
tions of the respective nations by which they are used; the
Aramaic, abounding in combinations of consonants, and
consequently marked by considerable harshness of pronun¬
ciation, employed by the nations of the northern and more
mountainous districts of Syria, Mesopotamia, and Baby¬
lonia; the Arabic, remarkable for richness, melifluousness,
and the preponderance of vowels, spoken by the inhabitants
of the warm and open plains of Arabia and Ethiopia; and
the Hebrew, the language of the middle district, possessing
an intermediate character between the other two, richer
than the Aramaic, poorer and harsher than the Arabic (2).
Of the Aramaic in its original form we have no remains.
The biblical Chaldaic is a mixture of it, as used in Baby¬
lon, with the Hebrew ; the Syriac is a more recent dialect,
formed by the Christians of Edessa and Nisibis (3). The
opinion, that Hebrew was the original language of the
world, and the mother of all the other Semitic tongues, is
now generally relinquished by scholars, who content them¬
selves with the more moderate hypothesis, that it is the
oldest daughter of the primeval tongue, and that which re-
HOLY SCRIPTURE.
834
Scripture, tains the most striking resemblances to the mother speech
of the antediluvian period (4). T he term Hebrew some
derive from "I3J7, Eber, over or across, as if = advena,
foreigner, immigrant; but others, with far more probability,
from Illy, Eber or Heber, the ancestor of Abraham. In
the earliest books of the Bible, those of Moses, this lan¬
guage appears in its greatest purity ; nor did it sustain any
decided deterioration till after the Babylonian captivity.
The attempts of some Hebraists to divide its history into a
golden, a silver, a brazen, and an iron age, are by the most
accurate scholars rejected, as much more fanciful than
sound (5). The Hebrew of the Scriptures is the pure
classical Jerusalem Hebrew, the language of the Temple
and of the court. That there were dialects more or less
corrupt in the provinces is attested by the sacred writers
themselves. Thus they tell us that the Ephraimites could
not distinguish between the and the D >n pronunciation
(Judges xii. 6); Nehemiah was indignant that part of the
people should speak “ in the speech (dialect) of Ashdod, of
Ammon, and of Moab” (Nehem. xiii. 23-25); and the dia¬
lect of Galilee is mentioned in the New Testament (Matt,
xxvi. 73) (6).
1. The first to use this term seems to have been Nicolas Puller in
his Miscellanea Sacra. He was followed by Eichhorn, and ulti¬
mately by nearly all the orientalists of Germany. Haverniek con¬
tends for retaining the term Oriental. Introduction to Old Testa¬
ment, p. 82.
2. Ewald’s Hebrew Grammar, translated by Nicolson, p. 1; Gese-
nius, Grammatik, § 1.
3. See Havernick, Gen. Introd., p. 99.
4. Moriuus, De Lingua Primceva ; Jahn, Einleitung, i. th. s. 244.
5. “ As the language appears to us at present in the Scriptures of
the Old Testament, there are only two distinct periods character¬
istically discriminated,—the one comprehending the books written
before, and the other those written during and subsequent to the
exile.” Gesenius, Geschichte der Hebr. Sprache und Schrift, s. 21.
6. Compare Horne’s Introd., v. ii., p.2-14, and the works referred
to by him.
The portions of the Old Testament not in pure Hebrew
are Ezra iv. 8, vi. 18, and vii. 12-26; Jer. x. 11; and
Daniel ii. 4, vii. 28. These are in Chaldaic or eastern
Aramaic, and have reference chiefly to the history of the
Captivity, and the events following its close.
On the Biblical Chaldaic, see Walton’s Prolegomena, chap. xii. §§
2, 3; L. Hirzel, De Chaldaismi Biblici Origine et Auctoritate Com¬
ment. Crit., Lips. 1830; P. Dietrich, De Sermonis Chaldaici Pro-
prietate, Lips. 1839; Winer, Grammatik des Biblisch. und Targum-
ischen Chaldaismus, Leipz. 1842, 2d edit. ; Chald. Lesebuch, 1825.
The language of the New Testament is the kolvt) Sta-
Aektos of the classical Greek, with many Aramaic words
and idioms interspersed, and a few Latinisms.
Horne’s Introd., vol. ii., pp. 13-30 ; Schott, Isagoge Hist. Crit., pp.
495-617 ; Stuart’s Grammar of the New Testament Language;
Winer’s Gramatik des N. Testamentlichen Sprachidioms, translated
by E. Masson, 2 vols., Edin. 1858 ; Michaelis, Introd., vol. i., p. 97
(English translation), &c.; Davidson’s Biblical Criticism.
Sect. VIL—History of the Original Text of the Old Tes¬
tament Scriptures.
The history of the Hebrew text properly begins after the
completion of the canon; antecedent to that, we have no
materials for arriving at any conclusions. Starting from
this point, the history of the Hebrew text may be divided
into three great epochs. The first of these reaches from
the completion of the canon to the times of Origen, Jerome,
and the lalmud, B.c. 300—a.d. 500. During this period
we observe,—(1.) Attention paid to the caligraphyof the text,
and the adoption of the square character from the Aramaic
or Babylonian usage, in place of the old Hebrew or Samari¬
tan. (2.) The attempt to ascertain the correct reading of the
text, and the collection of various i*eadings. Of these, it is
natural that a considerable number should have accumu- Scripture,
lated; for, without resorting to the supposition of any blame-
able carelessness on the part of the transcribers, still less of
any intention to alter the text, there were sufficient causes
at work to occasion numerous varieties between one manu¬
script and another ; such as mistakes of eyesight or of hear¬
ing, leading to the substitution of one letter for another
resembling it, the transposition of letters and even of words,
the omission of letters and even clauses, the substitution of
like-sounding words for each other, &c.; mistakes of me¬
mory, when the transcriber trusted to recollection, leading
to substitutions and omissions, the confusion of synonymes,
and the exchanging of familiar parallel passages; and mis¬
takes of judgment, where two words are sometimes read as
one, abbreviations are wrongly construed, marginal glosses
are introduced into the text, and such-like. When the
LXX. is compared with the extant Hebrew text, it is
evident that its authors must have used manuscripts in many
respects differing from those which have come down to us
from the Palestinian Jews, and by which the extant text
has been determined. With the LXX. agrees the Sama¬
ritan Pentateuch, which contains also some variations pecu¬
liar to itself, but of no critical value, as they are plainly
occasional glosses or unskilful corrections. Nor can any
great value be attached to the various readings of the
LXX., the most of which are arbitrary and uncritical,
though there may be some which are worthy of being con¬
sidered. Among the Jews of Palestine, the most reveren¬
tial care was exercised upon the sacred text to preserve its
purity; and it would appear from the Talmudists that at
an early period the text was fixed very much as we now
have it, the variations being adduced merely as heri (read)
upon chetibh (written); i.e., what, for critical, exegetical, or
euphonistic reasons, was in the reading to be substituted
for what was written. (3.) Attention came to be paid to the
correct pronunciation of the words and the reading of the
text. As Hebrew had ceased to be a spoken language,
and as the manuscripts of Scripture were without vowels, it
became necessary to call in the aid of tradition to fix the
form and meaning of the words; and accordingly in this
period commenced those attempts which ultimately cul¬
minated in the elaborate system of the Masoretes. Besides
this, care was taken to determine one word from another,
and to mark the ending of clauses and sentences. (4.) Of
the Hebrew text as it existed among the Palestinian Jews
some judgment may be formed from the extant fragments
of the Hexapla of Origen, and from the Targums. It
differs but slightly from the existing Masoretic text. Of
great value also is the testimony of Jerome, by means of
his translation and his commentaries, to the substantial
identity of the text in his day with that now extant.
In the Talmud, Hierosol. Tract. Thaanit, fol. Ixviii., it is said of
certain various readings that “ they have come down from the
times when the Temple was yet standing.” Oapelli Critica Sacra,
tom. i., p. 444-458; AAraltoni Prolegom., viii., §§ 20-28; Kennicott,
Dissert. Generalis, p. 275; Horne’s Introduction, vol. ii., p. 35, 36;
Buxtorf's Tiberias; Haverniek’s Introd., §§ 41-61, Tr.; De Wette,
Einl., §§ 85-89, p. 126, ff.; Porter’s Textual Criticism, p. 43, fl\
The second epoch reaches from the times of Jerome and
the Talmud to that of Ben Asher and Ben Naphthali; that
is, from the sixth to the eleventh century. About the com¬
mencement of this period the Masorah, or collection of tra¬
ditionary observations, orthographical, critical, grammatical,
and exegetical, which had been accumulating for upwards
of three centuries among the Jewish rabbins, began to be
made by a college of learned Jews at fiberias in Palestine.
These w ere originally written on the margin of manuscripts,
but as this led to confusion and error, they were ultimately
collected in separate books. Of these annotations, some
are the result of the comparing of manuscripts, and to this
the various lections belong; others are the result of private
HOLY SCRIPTURE
Scripture, judgment, and are chiefly of a grammatical or exegetical
nature. The Masorah is distinguished into great and little,
according as the remarks are given in full or in an abridged
form. The former, from being put by itself at the end,
was called final, the latter marginal. To this mass of
scholia additions were continually made, as well as correc¬
tions proposed on it, by the Lords of the Masorah (*
miDDrih as they were called, until the time of Jacob Ben
Ha-yim, by whom the whole was completed, and printed
along with the Hebrew text, in the year 1526. The com¬
mencement of the eleventh century is memorable in the
history of the Hebrew text, from the circumstance of two
recensions having been issued by the heads, as is supposed,
of two celebrated Jewish academies : by Aaron Ben Asher,
principal of the academy of Tiberias, and Jacob Ben Naph-
thali, principal of the academy of Babylon. These, taken
in connection with a list appended by Ben Ha-yim, from
some unknown source, to the second Bomberg Bible, have
given rise to the various readings denominated the occi¬
dental and the oriental respectively. By them also the last
hand was put to the pointing of the Hebrew text.
Capelli Grit. Sacra, t. i., pp. 439-443; Simon, Histoire Critique,
ch. i., pp.24-26; Kennicott, Bissertationes, ii., p.279; Buxtorf, Tibe¬
rias, 1610; Marsh’s Lectures, lect. viii., ed. 1828 ; Walton, Prolegom.,
viii. 12; Horne, vol. ii., pp. 39, 40. Havernick and De Wette as
above.
The third epoch reaches from the beginning of the
eleventh century to the middle of the eighteenth. About
the year 1040 many learned Jews, banished from the East,
took refuge in Europe, and brought with them their Scrip¬
tures and their critical learning. Maimonides, Jarchi,
Ebenezra, Kimchi, and others, rendered additional service
as to the interpretation, so also to the criticism, of the sacred
text. In the thirteenth century, R. Meir Hallevi, called
commonly Todrosius, and in the sixteenth, Menachem and
Sal. Norzi, collected various readings. In 1477 the first
scriptural book in Hebrew, in 1488 the entire Hebrew Bible,
for the first time, was printed ; the latter at Soncino, the for¬
mer at some place unknown. That of 1488 is the first prin¬
cipal edition of the Hebrew Bible ; the second is the Com-
plutensian polyglott, 1514-17; and the third, which is of
great importance, is the so-called Rabbinical Bible, printed
at Venice in 1526, and edited by Ben Ha-yim. Among
Christian editors, Sebastian Munster was the first who issued
an edition of the Hebrew Bible, with various readings,
Basil, 1535. The editions of Joseph Athias, Amsterdam,
1661, Manasseh Ben Israel, Amsterdam, 1630, are worthy
of notice as critical editions. In 1690 Jablonski published
his edition, in which the text follows that of Athias, with
some aid from manuscripts. John Henry Michaelis pub¬
lished his edition at Halle in 1720, for which he collated
five manuscripts and nineteen editions. In 1753, at Paris,
appeared the edition of Charles Francis Houbigant, for
which twelve manuscripts were collated, but the value of
which is greatly impaired by the editor’s propensity to con¬
jectural emendation, and by his attaching such undue im¬
portance to the readings of the Septuagint. The splendid
work of Kennicott (Oxford, t. i. 1776, ii. 1780) presents
the largest mass of various readings yet collected; but the
want of scientific discrimination as to their relative value
has impaired the usefulness of the collection. The same
may be said of the various readings collected by De Rossi,
Parma, 1784-1788.
Marsh’s Lectures, lect. ix.; Horne, ii., pp. 27-46 ; August!, Einlei-
tung, §§ 85-92; De Rossi, Be Heb. Tijpog. origine et primitiis,
Parmae, 1776; Havernick, §§ 66, 67.
Sect. VIII.—History of the Original Text of the New
Testament Scriptures.
Of the autographs of the New Testament writers no
notices have come down to us; what have been supposed
835
to be allusions to them by some of the fathers are only by Scripture,
mistake so interpreted; while the stories of some of the
later writers, such as Theodorus Lector, Philostorgius,
Nieephorus, and the Chronicon Paschale, are to be referred
to the head of fables. Written on papyrus (3 John 13),
they were not calculated to endure long, and as copies of
them had been made, no special effort was probably made
to preserve them. Of these copies, there is reason to be¬
lieve the number soon came to be very considerable. But
in making them, it was hardly possible to avoid mistakes
more or less serious. The text ran on in an unbroken
current, without separation of words, without interpunc-
tion, and without any of those diacritical marks which ap¬
pear in printed Greek books: it was in the ancient cha¬
racter where many of the letters resemble each other closely,
and the transcription was executed by scribes, who were
subject to all the errors arising from imperfect seeing, im¬
perfect hearing, or misunderstanding. Sometimes, also,
alterations were intentionally introduced for dogmatical or
grammatical reasons. Hence, as early as the second cen¬
tury, it is clear that varieties of reading existed, and these
would naturally accumulate during the long period that in¬
tervened before the discovery of printing. That attempts
were made at an early period to arrive at a correct text is
certain, but it is not easy to determine of what kind or
value these were. We have the testimony of Jerome, con¬
firmed by that of the decrete of Gelasius, that Lucian, a
presbyter of Antioch, and Hesychius, an Egyptian bishop,
undertook some sort of recension of the New Testament,
but we are left in the dark both as to what they really
effected, and as to what influence, if any, their labours had
on the accredited documents of the Christians. It is certain
also that the labours of Origen were directed with beneficial
effect upon this object; and though Jerome sometimes
allowed merely arbitrary preferences to overrule his critical
judgment, there can be no doubt of his eminence as a
textual critic, and of the value of his services towards a
just settling of the text of the New Testament.
Modern critics have endeavoured to facilitate and settle
critical inquiries by arranging the documents containing the
original text of the New Testament into classes or recen¬
sions, as they have been called. Of these documents, some
more, and others less, closely resemble each other as re¬
spects the nature and selection of their readings, and not
unfrequently traces of a common origin in the older codices
and versions are apparent. This has led to the idea of
arranging these into classes, or families, or recensions, an
idea first started by Bengel and Sender (1), and which has
been carried out by several more recent inquirers. Bengel
concluded that there are two families of manuscripts, the
African and Asiatic, of the former of which the Alexandrian
manuscript is the sole representative (with which agree the
Ethiopic, the Coptic, and the ancient Latin versions),
whereas the latter is very numerous. After Bengel came
Griesbach (2), who contended for a threefold recension,
the Western, the Alexandrian or Eastern, and the Con-
stantinopolitan or Byzantine. Of these, the two former
are the oldest, and are by him attributed to the same age.
They differ, in that the Western text is more replete with
Hebraisms, with explanatory additions, and with occasional
substitutions of a perspicuous formula for one more difficult;
whilst the Eastern prefers those readings that are accom¬
modated to the classic Greek, corrects phrases that are less
pure, and is less deformed by errors of the transcriber,
though particles and synonymes are occasionally omitted
through haste. The Constantinopolitan has arisen from the
mingling of the readings of the other two. It properly con¬
sists of two recensions: a senior (fourth century), even more
fond of pure Greek forms, and richer in glosses, than the
Alexandrian itself; and a junior (fifth or sixth century),
which appears to have been formed after a new collation of
836
HOLY SCRIPTURE.
Scripture, the senior with the Eastern and Alexandrian recensions, by
v—the labours of some learned men of the Syrian Church.
Griesbach defends his system with great learning and in¬
genuity ; but it is open, as Schott observes, to the following
objections:—1st, His positions respecting the origin assigned
to both recensions are destitute of a solid basis ; 2dly, Many
reasons concur to prevent our admitting that any state of
the text of the New Testament peculiar to the Western
Church, such as could, from its singular character, be en¬
titled to the name of a recension, existed (3); 3rf/y, The
features of the text followed by the very ancient Peschito
version cannot well be accounted for on the principles of
Griesbach; and, in fine, all who seek accurately to arrange
codices, versions, and extracts found in the fathers, accord¬
ing to different recensions, labour under this difficulty, that
none of those documents of the New Testament which
are of great age exhibits any such pure and perfect recen¬
sion (4).
1. Bengel, Apparatus Criticus ad Novum Test., p. 425, Tubingas,
E63 ; Ejusdem, Introductio in Crisin N. T., § 26, &c., p. 385, Tubin-
gre, 1734; Sender, Vorbereitungen zur Hermeneutik, Halle, 1760-
1769. The term recension, though now generally used, is a mis¬
nomer. The manuscripts may be reduced to different classes, but
there is no evidence that any of these is the result of a recension.
2. Griesbach, Opuscula Academica, ed. Gabler, vol. i.
3. From the writings of the fathers of the second century, we
learn that those various readings which are said to be peculiar to
the western and to the eastern texts respectively, do not, as respects
their origin, belong to different recensions. (See Eichhorn, Einl.,
bd. iv., pp. 265 and 269, &c.) Nor is it probable that the doctors
of the Western Church, who were but little skilled in Greek, should
have thought of preparing a recension of the New Testament.
4. Schott, Isagoge, pp. 562-565.
A different theory of recensions has been adopted by
Hug. He thinks that the text which we find in those early
codices which Griesbach referred to the Western recen¬
sion, in the oldest Latin versions, in the Sahidico-Coptic
version, in the quotations of the fathers till the time of
Origen, and in Origen himself, was the kulvt] eKSocns, or
common edition, conformed to no recension in particular,
and containing various readings of different sorts and of
different origins mingled together, especially such as serve
to explain the text. At the same time those codices which
were written in Syria and other parts of the East (the inha¬
bitants of which understood better than most others the
Hebraeo-Greek dialect of the New Testament) preserved
the primitive text more correctly ; and hence it happened
that the oldest Syriac version, though upon the whole be¬
longing to this common edition, not unfrequently dissents
from the readings of the other documents of the same edi¬
tion. About the middle of the third century, Hesychius,
an Egyptian bishop, first set about correcting the errors of
the recension of the common edition used in Egypt, purg¬
ing out all interpolations and glosses, restoring words that
had been omitted, but aiming too much at producing a text
that should be remarkable for its Greek purity and ele¬
gance. Almost at the same time Lucian, a presbyter of
Antioch in Syria, revised the common edition as it appeared
in the Peschito version, following chiefly the authority of
this version, but at the same time comparing other codices
found in Syria, and produced a text differing from that of
Hesychius in this, that it showed less desire to amend the
Greek of the New Testament. Besides these, a third re¬
cension was undertaken by Origen in Palestine, based upon
the common edition used by the Christians there, which
conformed in some respects to that of Hesychius, in others
to that of Lucian, whilst frequently it differed from both,
and which subsequently became the one commonly used in
Palestine and the adjoining districts. Of these recensions
none is pieserved in any of those documents which we now
possess, as the transcribers frequently compared their re¬
cension with the common edition and with other recensions.
Hug’s theory rests so far on an historical basis that it ap¬
pears certain that, as already observed, Hesychius and Scripture.
Lucian did undertake some such labour as he ascribes to
them ; but that codices of their recensions were either verv
numerous or very highly esteemed, cannot be shown. The
labour attributed to Origen is more than doubtful.
Hug, Einleitung, bd. i., § 126 (Eng. trans. vol. i., p. 134, &c.)J
Schott, Isagoge, p. 566; Horne, ii., p. 56.
Matthaei thinks that no recensions of the text of the New
Testament were anciently made, and he prefers dividing
the documents from which the text is to be determined
into, 1st, Codices textusperpetui, in which there are neither
scholia nor commentaries, and which excel all the others
in the purity of the text they exhibit; 2d, Lectionaria,
which contain the lessons read in churches, and exhibit a
text less free from scholiary interpolation than the preced¬
ing; 3c/, Codices mixti, which contain scholia and inter¬
pretations partly on the margin, but chiefly interpolated.
Matthaei thought the Moscow manuscripts, which he had
himself diligently collated, the best; and this perhaps led
him to a very unjust estimate of the worth and authority of
many other documents of the text of the New Testament.
Schott, Isagoge, p. 570; Horne, ii., p. 50.
Scholz, a recent editor of the Greek New Testament,
adopts neither the opinion of Griesbach nor that of Hug.
He concludes that there are two classes of critical witnesses
for the text of the New Testament, the Alexandrian and
the Constantinopolitan or Byzantine; to the former of
which belong all the codices executed in Egypt and Western
Europe, the most of the Coptic and Latin versions, the
Ethiopic version, and the quotations by ecclesiastical writers
of these districts; and to the latter all the codices written
in Asia Minor, Syria, Palestine, and Eastern Europe, the
Philoxenian Syriac version, the Gothic, the Georgian, the
Sclavonian, the quotations by the fathers living in these
regions, and all printed editions. The former he infeli-
citously calls occidental, the latter oriental. To manu¬
scripts of the latter class he attributes superior value, be¬
cause of their greater harmony, and of their having been
more faithfully copied from original documents than those
of the former, which often exhibit a text altered at the will
of grammarians; and especially because they present the
text used in the public services of the church. But this
last position is far from being certain ; and, besides, a two¬
fold difficulty presses upon the theory of Scholz; for, first,
the Western text of the New Testament has a character
considerably different from that of the Alexandrian ; and,
secondly, the text divulged at Constantinople by order of
Constantine and Constans was, as Scholz himself admits,
collated with the Alexandrian text; so that the readings of
both recensions were intermixed. It is, moreover, rather
assumed than proved that that form of the text which, dur¬
ing the first three centuries, prevailed in Asia Minor and
Greece, was the same which was afterwards divulged prin¬
cipally in the Constantinopolitan codices; nor is it suffi¬
ciently clear that Alexandria was the primary seat of the
arbitrary corruption of the New Testament text.
Scholz, Proleg. ad editionem N. T., vol. i.; Schott, Isagoge, p. 570;
Horne, ii., pp. 58-66.
The theory of Eichhorn approximates that of Hug. He
grants that from a very early age different readings, derived
from various sources, existed, and were vastly augmented
in the third century by various efforts of an exegetical
nature, so that as early as the second century there were
two species of texts, the Asiatic and the African, but
neither of them was determined by any very certain critical
laws. He denies that Origen was the author of a peculiar
recension, but admits the services of Hesychius and Lucian
in this respect, although he questions the possibility of as¬
certaining accurately the primitive character of either re¬
cension from ancient documents. There thus arose a three-
H O L Y S C RIP T U K E. 837
Scripture, fold text of the New Testament, the African (Alexandrian),
the Asiatic (Constantinopolitan), and a mixed, which had
its source from this, that many, notwithstanding the autho¬
rity acquired by the recensions of Hesychius and Lucian in
the churches of Africa and Asia, preferred following the
authority of older codices. No change of a critical kind
took place upon the text thus formed until editions of the
New Testament began to be printed. No opinion so fully
accords with what may be regarded as best ascertained as
this of Eichhorn, though it is still doubtful whether the
efforts of Hesychius and Lucian exerted a very w'ide or
lasting influence upon the form of the text of the New Tes¬
tament.
Eichhorn, Einleitung in das N. T., bd. iv., § 183, &c.; Schott, Tsa-
goge, p. 572, from which work the above account has been prin¬
cipally taken ; Horne, ii., p. 57.
Of late, a disposition has showed itself in some quarters
to rest the text solely on the authority of the oldest or
uncial codices. This principle, suggested first by the
illustrious Bentley, has been embraced and rigidly applied
by Lachmann, a recent editor of the New Testament, who
has sought to produce, as near as may be, not the best text
of the New Testament, but a contribution towards the as¬
certaining of that, by the reproduction of the text as it was
recognised by the church in the fourth century. Lach-
mann’s attempt is generally considered to be a failure, from
the extremely narrow basis on which he forced himself to
build ; but his principle of confining himself to diplomatic
evidence alone, to the exclusion of all considerations of the
nature of internal evidence, and to diplomatic evidence
drawn from the oldest sources, has been eagerly adopted
by several critics. Its principal defender and follower in
tins country is Mr Tregelles, who is at present (1859) en¬
gaged in carrying through the press an edition of the New
Testament, of which the text is to be based on ancient
authorities alone, with various readings from the ancient
manuscripts, the ancient versions, and the early fathers.
This principle would be unimpeachable, if it could be shown
that a reading found in an ancient authority is therefore
older than a reading found in a later codex; but so long as
it is possible that a later codex may have been transcribed
from one more ancient than the oldest of the extant codices,
this cannot be done ; and, consequently, to restrict autho¬
rity to the oldest documents is to narrow arbitrarily the
field within which evidence may be legitimately sought for
the formation of the text. Hence Tischendorf, the most
recent, and on the whole the ablest editor of the Greek
New' Testament, has in his editions allowed himself a much
wider range. Whilst he bases his text on the authority of
the older witnesses, he includes among these codices as
late as the ninth century, and maintains that the lections
furnished by codices of the eighth and ninth centuries are
often older than those furnished by codices of the fourth,
fifth, and sixth, as tested by concurrence with the testimony
of the old versions and the early fathers. Hence he con¬
cludes that when “ it cannot be determined by learned
reason and judgment what the authors themselves wrote,
that reading which we know to be best supported by an¬
cient witnesses is faithfully and alone to be followed; but
wherever causes of a grave nature, and remote from arbi-
* trariness, conspire to recommend and confirm one rather
than another, that is to be preferred ; not that which is most
attested, but that which is attested and probable.”1
With the exception of some detached portions, the first
printed editions of the New Testament were those of the
Complutensian Polyglott, 1514, and of Erasmus, Basle,
1516. The next possessing any critical value were those
of Robert Stephen,2 viz., that of 1546, 12mo, commonly Scripture,
called, from the first words of the preface, the “ O
Mirijicam” edition, that of 1549, 12mo, and that of 1550,
folio. Beza was the first to issue an edition of the New
Testament with a copious critical apparatus ; and his
edition many of the minor editions for several years fol¬
lowed. The beautiful editions of the Elzevirs, which
conform partly to the text of Stephen, partly to that of
Beza, became so famous that they formed what has been
called the textus receptus. In 1707 the edition of Mill
was published at Oxford, in which not only is there a larger
collection of various readings furnished, but also a more
scientific discrimination of these aimed at, than in any
preceding edition. His example was followed by Bengel
in Germany and Wetstein in Holland, both of whom have
rendered important service to the text of the New Testa¬
ment. All these, however, have been outstripped in dili¬
gence, learning, and acuteness by Griesbach, who issued
his first edition, which embraced only the historical books
of the New Testament, at Halle, 1774-75. In the mean¬
time, the researches of Matthaei, Alter, Birch, and others,
had greatly enlarged the mass of materials for a critical
revision of the New Testament, and of these Griesbach
eagerly and ably availed himself in preparing a critical
edition of the whole New Testament. This he published
in two volumes large octavo, the former in 1799, and the
latter in 1806, at Halle. A new and carefully revised
edition was undertaken after Griesbach’s death by Dr
David Schulz, of which the first volume appeared in 1827.
It is to be regretted that this very valuable edition went
no further. Passing over those who have merely re¬
printed the text of Griesbach, or worked solely on his
materials, the following editions deserve to be noticed :—-
Scholz, Nov. Test, recensuit, lect.familias subj., &c., 2 vols.
4to, Lips. 1830-36 ; Lachmann, Nov. Test. Greece et
Latine, &c., 2 vols., Berol. 1832-50 ; Tischendorf, Nov.
Test, ad antiques testes denuo recensuit, See., seventh
edition, Lips. 1859. Two useful editions of the New
Testament have been recently issued in this country: the
one by Dr S. T. Bloomfield, formed upon a careful colla¬
tion of all previous critical recensions, of which the ninth
edition, 2 vols. 8vo, appeared at London in 1855 ; the
other, not yet finished, by H. Alford, B.D.
Marsh’s Lectures, lects. ii.—vii.; Schott, Isagoge, pp. 631-642 ;
Horne’s Introduction, vol. ii., part ii., pp. 11—35 ; Michaelis, Intro¬
duction, by Marsh, vol. ii., pp. 159 and 429 ; Ernesti’s Principles of
Interpretation, vol. ii., p. 47 ; Tregelles On the Printed Text of the
Greek N. T.; Davidson’s Biblical Criticism, p. 534, if.
Sect. IX.—Manuscripts of the Sacred Text.
Hebrew manuscripts are of two classes, the rolled and
the square: the former prepared for the use of the syna¬
gogues, and written only on parchment; the latter for pri¬
vate use, and written sometimes on parchment and some¬
times on paper. In all the ancient manuscripts the words
are written continuously without any division, and in the
square Chaldaic character. They are divided by De Rossi
into three classes,—viz., 1. The more ancient, or those
written before the twelfth century; 2. The ancient, or
those of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries; 3. The
more recent, or those written at the end of the fourteenth
or beginning of the fifteenth century. The number of
manuscripts collated by Dr Kennicott was about 630, and
by De Rossi 479.
Kennicott, Dissert. Generalis ; Tychsen, Tentamen de variis Coda.
Heb. MSS., 1772; Horne, vol. ii., pp. 76—90, pp. 86—103, ed. 1856.
1 Prolegomena to 7th edition of his New Testament, p. xxxii., Lips. 1859.
2 This is commonly written Stephens, but the correctness of this may be questioned. The French Etienne, which was the vernacular name
of this illustrious family, is equivalent to our Stephen, and the proper Latin form of Stephens would be Stephanius and not Stephanus.
HOLY SCKIPTURE.
838
Scripture. Manuscripts of the Greek New Testament were written
first on Egyptian papyrus, and then, as this was found too
subject to decay, on skins. Subsequent to the twelfth
century, silk paper was used for this purpose, until the
thirteenth century, when cotton or linen paper came into
use (1). For the first eight centuries the manuscripts were
written in uncial letters, large, erect, and not united either
by strokes or hooks. From the beginning of the ninth
century the cursive letters were employed, which are
smaller, more inclined, and united with strokes ; they have,
moreover, the iota subscribed (2). At first all the words
were written without any diacritical marks or separation ;
but as this was found inconvenient and productive of mis¬
takes, especially in the public reading of the New Testa¬
ment, a plan was introduced to remedy it by Euthalius,
then a deacon at Alexandria, in the fifth century, which
consisted in so arranging those words that make one sense
as that they should compose one stich (crrixov) or line (3).
To save room, subsequent transcribers, instead of arrang¬
ing these in distinct lines, marked the conclusion of each
by a colon or point; and thus by degrees arose a complete
grammatical punctuation, which is presented in manu¬
scripts from the tenth century downwards, though it was
not till the sixteenth century that it was subjected to fixed
rules in the editions then printed. From a very early
period the custom prevailed of dividing the text into sec¬
tions (K€$aAcua), but until the time of Euthalius no uniform
order was observed in this respect. About the middle of
the third century, Ammonius of Alexandria, in preparing
a Diatesseron or Harmony of the Evangelists, divided the
text into a number of very short sections ; and these
having been adopted with slight variations by Eusebius (4)
(whence they are frequently denominated KeepaXcua Am-
moniano-Eusebiand), they were in many manuscripts con¬
joined with the Euthalian divisions. In the sixth century,
some finding use for a division of the text into larger por¬
tions, introduced the arrangement by titAoi or breves ; but
in the course of time these two modes led to so much con¬
fusion that in the thirteenth century Hugo de Santo Caro,
a Spanish cardinal, introduced as a remedy the division into
chapters and verses, which was afterwards perfected by
Robert Stephen into that now in use. Besides these divi¬
sions, there was another for church purposes into Trepi/coTrai,
dvayvaxms, or dvayvcocr/iaTa, containing the sections of the
New Testament appointed for lessons in the public service
of the church on Sundays and festivals. The commence¬
ment of each of these was marked with an a (dpx7?)? and
the close with a r (reXos) (5).
1. Montfaucon, Palceographia Grceca, p. 15.
2. Ibid., pp. 151-177, 269, 33, 134.
3. Zacagni Collectanea Monument. Vet. Eccl. Grcecoe, 1698, tom.
i., p. 403, &c.; Eichhorn, Einleit., bd. iv., p. 164 ; Marsh’s to
Michaelis, vol. 1.
4. See Mill’s New Testament, p. 181.
5. Marsh’s Michaelis, vol. ii,, p. 889, et seq.; Horne’s Introduction,
vol. ii., p. 71; Schott, Isagoge, pp. 577-584.
These historical facts are of service in determining the
age of the New Testament codices.
The MSS. containing the New Testament, in whole or
in part, at present known to scholars is very great, upwards
of 1400, including Evangelistaria, or copies of the Gospels
transcribed for use in the churches, and containing the
TvepiKOTrai, or portions to be read in the service; and
Lectionaria, which differ from the Evangelistaria only in
that they contain portions from the Acts and the Epistles,
in some cases along with those from the gospels. Of these
codices, 41 are uncials, written from the fourth to the tenth
century. Ihe oldest is believed to be the Codex Vaticanus
(B),1 containing the Gospels, Acts, Catholic and Pauline
Epistles, of which a facsimile has been issued at Rome, Seriptnre.
edited by the famous Cardinal Mai, and published in 1858
in 4 vols. folio, which comprise also the LXX. version of
the Old Testament. Next to this in age comes the Codex
Alexandrinus (A), long believed to be the oldest: it is
preserved in the British Museum, and has been published
in facsimile under the editorship of Charles Godfrey
Woide, London, 1786; and still more accurately, along
with the Old Testament, by Henry H. Baber, 4 vols.
folio, London, 1816-28. This MS. contains the whole of
the New Testament except Matthew i.-xxv. 5; John
vi. 50, viii. 52 ; and 2 Corinthians iv. 13, xii. 6. It is
ascribed to the second half of the fifth century. To the
same century belong three others: the Codex Ephraim!
(C), or the Parisian palimpsest (Cod. Par. Rescript. Cod.
Reg. 9), so called because over the original writing some
treatises of Ephraim the Syrian have been inscribed, and
because it is preserved in the Royal Library at Paris;
edited in facsimile by Tischendorf, Lips. 1843. A
palimpsest containing 28 leaves, over-written in Armenian
characters, comprising the Gospels, Acts, and fragments of
Paul’s Epistles, brought by Tischendorf from the East, and
published by him; and a MS. (T) belonging to the
college of the Propaganda at Rome, containing fragments
of three chapters of John’s Gospel. Of the other MSS.
it may suffice here to mention only the following:—Codex
Bezae, or Cantabrigiensis (D), a MS. of the middle of
the sixth century, formerly in the possession of the re¬
former Beza, and sent by him as a gift to the University
of Cambridge, containing the Gospels and Acts, edited in
facsimile by Th. Kipling, Cantab. 1793, 2 vols. folio ; Cod.
Claromontanus (ffD), also formerly possessed by Beza,
containing the Pauline Epistles, belonging to the second
half of the sixth century, edited in facsimile by Tischen¬
dorf, Lips. 1852 ; three fragments of a MS. (N), on
purple parchment with gold letters, preserved at Rome,
London, and Vienna respectively, edited by Tischendorf,
Mon. Sac. Ined., 1846; Cod. Basiliensis (E), containing
the four Evangelists, with a few gaps ; Cod. Augiensis (F
inter Codd. Paulinos), purchased by Richard Bentley, and
presented after his death by Thomas Bentley to Trinity
College, Cambridge, containing the Pauline Epistles, nearly
entire, in Greek and Latin; Codd.Coislinianus (H hit. Cbdd.
Paul.), belonging to the Imperial Library at Paris, of the
sixth century; Cod. Cyprius, formerly Colbertinus (K),
containing the four Gospels, belonging to the ninth century;
Cod. Basiliensis (B vi. 27), and Cod. Basil. (B vi. 25), two
MSS. belonging to the library at Basle, much used by
Erasmus for his edition of the New Testament, of the
tenth and fifteenth centuries respectively ; Cod. Dublin-
ensis (Z), a palimpsest belonging to Trinity College, Dub¬
lin, of the sixth century, edited in facsimile, splendidly
but carelessly, by Dr Barrett in 1801.
See prolegomena to Tischendorf’s last edition of the Greek New
Testament; proleg. to Alford’s do.; Schott,'/sa^o^re.pp. 591-599;
Hug, Introd., p. 156, ff., Posdiche’s trans.; Horne, Introd.
Sect. X.—Ancient Versions of the Sacred Scriptures.
These may be arranged either with respect to their his¬
tory, as immediate and mediate, according as they have *
been made directly from the originals or from other trans¬
lations ; or with respect to the languages in which they
exist, as Oriental and Occidental. We shall follow the
latter arrangement, as the more convenient; at the same
time intimating, when it is possible, what place each ver¬
sion has in the former.
I. Oriental Versions.—1. Chaldaic Targums. After
the return of the Jews from Babylon they brought with
1 These letters refer to the nomenclature of the manuscripts adopted by Tischendorf.
Scripture.
HOLY SCRIPTURE.
839
them so much of the language of Chaldaea that they were
unable to understand their own Scriptures. Hence arose
the necessity of accompanying the reading of these in the
synagogues with an interpretation; a practice first intro¬
duced by Ezra (Nehem. viii. 8), and which continued to
be followed as long as the Jewish service was maintained.
These interpretations were at first merely oral, and con¬
fined to a literal version of the original into the popular
dialect; but gradually they became more paraphrastic, and
the idea naturally arose of committing the more valuable of
them to writing. From this sprung the Chaldaic Targums,
or paraphrastic versions of the Hebrew Scriptures. There
is reason to believe that there were written Targums as
early as the time of Christ. The oldest now extant is that
of Onkelos on the Pentateuch, composed according to some
in the first, and to others in the third century of the Chris¬
tian era. It is the least paraphrastic and the most correct
of any we possess. Next in point of age and value is that
of Jonathan Ben Uzziel on the Prophets. The Jews make
him a disciple of Hillel, and in this case he must have
flourished shortly before the Christian era ; it is probable,
however, that he was somewhat later. His Targum is more
diffuse and paraphrastic than that of Onkelos, but contains
much that is valuable. Both of these are printed in Wal¬
ton’s Polyglott. The remaining Targums, nine in num¬
ber, are of comparatively recent date, and of little value.
Their renderings are very harsh ; and they are filled with
idle and foolish fables.
Winer, Be Onkeloso ejusque Paraphrasi Chaldaica, Lips. 1820 ;
Jahn’s Einlcitung, i., §§ 46, 47; Bauer, Chrestomathia e Paraphrasi-
bus C'haldaicis et Talmude delecta, 1792 ; Horne, vol. ii., p. 198, pp.
69-75, 10th ed.; Havernick, p. 328.
2. Syriac Versions. Eight versions of the whole or
parts of Scripture into the ancient Syriac tongue are known
to critics, but of these only two deserve particular notice.
These are,—1. The Peschito,—that is, simple in the sense
of literals?, opposed to allegorical,—not later than the third
century, probably as early as the second. It contains the
whole Bible, is pure in diction and faithful in version, and
appears to have been made immediately from the original.
2. The Philoxenian, so called from Philoxenus, Bishop of
Hierapolis, under whose direction it was executed by Poly¬
carp, rural bishop of the same district, a.d. 508. About
100 years later it was revised by Thomas of Harkel (He-
raclea), from whom this recension came to be called the
Harklensian. Among the MSS. lately brought from the
Nitrian monasteries is one containing parts of the four
Gospels in Syriac of a version differing considerably from
the Peschito, and supposed by some to be still older than
it. This has been published by Mr Cureton, Lond. 1858.
It contains only the New Testament, and is literal to ser¬
vility ; but its renderings are not good. Its chief value is
to the critic, in helping him to judge of various readings.
Hirzel, Be Pentateuchi Vers. Syr. indole, Lips. 1825; Michaelis,
Introd., vol. ii., pp. 4-76; Horne, vol. ii., pp. 320, 75-77, 10th ed.
3. The Samaritan Pentateuch. This must not be con¬
founded with “ the Pentateuch of the Samaritans,” which
is merely a copy of the original Hebrew in Samaritan cha¬
racters ; whereas the other is a translation of the Hebrew
into the Samaritan dialect. This version bears a strong
resemblance to the Targum of Onkelos, and some have
even deemed it a translation of that. It is probably, how¬
ever, from the original, with interpolations from Onkelos,
but cannot be dated earlier than the second century.
Winer, De VersionisPent. Samarit. indole, Lips.1817 ; Horne, ii.,
p. 42; Gesenius, Be Pent. Samarit. origine, indole, et auctoritate,
Halse, 1815; De Sacy, Mem. sur Vetat actuel dcs Samaritains.
4. Other Oriental Versions. These are,—1. The Egyp¬
tian, embracing the Coptic or Memphitic, in the dialect of
Lower Egypt, probably of the third century; the Sahidic,
or Thebaidic, in the dialect of Upper Egypt, ascribed to Scripture,
the second century, and, with the exception of fragments,
still existing only in manuscript; and the Basmuric, in the
dialect of the province of the Delta, Bashmur, on the east
side of the Nile. 2. The Ethiopic, ascribed to the fourth
century, and printed in Walton’s Polyglott, but with many
inaccuracies. 3. The Armenian, made by Miesrob in the
beginning of the fifth century,—very faithful, but supposed
to be in many places interpolated from the Vulgate.
4. The Arabic, comprising the Pentateuch and Isaiah,
translated by Rabbi Saadias, Haggaon (called from his
birthplace Fajum, the ancient Pithom, Phijumensis), in the
tenth century ; the Pentateuch in Samaritan-Arabic by
Abusaid; the anonymous version of Joshua in the London
Polygiott; and the Acts and Epistles published by Erpe-
nius. 5. The Persic version of the Pentateuch, by Jacob
Ben Joseph, surnamed Dawusi, a learned Jew of the ninth
century. All these are mediate versions from the Sep-
tuagint or Syriac, with the exception of the Arabic and
Persic.
Horne, vol. ii., pp. 226-234; Comp. Walton, Prolegom., ix.—xv.
II. Western Versions.—1. Greek Versions of the Old
Testament. The most important of these is the Septua-
gint, as it is commonly called, or more properly the Alex¬
andrian. Respecting the origin and early history of this
version much uncertainty prevails, of which advantage has
been taken to clothe the whole in the mist of fable. The
common story of Ptolemy Philadelphus having sent, at the
instigation of his librarian Demetrius Phalereus, to Judea
for a correct copy of the Hebrew Scriptures, and for se¬
venty-two men of learning (six out of each of the twelve
tribes) to translate these into Greek ; of his having shut
them up in the Isle of Pharos, apart from each other; and
of their having produced versions verbatim et literatim the
same, is now rejected by all scholars. All are agreed that
the date of the version is to be referred to the time of
Ptolemy Lagus and his son Philadelphus ; but there is a
difference of opinion as to whether a religious or a purely
literary motive led to its production. Those who take the
latter view adopt the testimony of Aristobulus, who as¬
cribes this to the literary taste and desires of Demetrius
Phalereus. Those who take the other view are of opinion
that the motive prompting to it was the multitude of Jews
in Alexandria and throughout Egypt, who were ignorant of
Hebrew, and needed the Scriptures in Greek ; and that it
was undertaken under the auspices of the Alexandrian San¬
hedrin or council of the Jews, who probably consulted their
brethren in Judea about it, and from whom, being seventy-
twro in number, in all likelihood the version took its name.
It seems evident that the different books were executed at
different times and by different persons, from the varieties
in point of accuracy and purity which they present, the
Pentateuch being the first executed ; and that the trans¬
lators of the Pentateuch were Egyptian Jews, from their
introducing into their version many Coptic words, and ren¬
dering many Hebrew expressions, not into their Greek
equivalents, but so as to give an Egyptian hue to the idea.
The version thus executed soon acquired great vogue, not
only in Egypt, but also in Palestine, where, in the days
of our Lord and His apostles, it had mostly superseded the
use of the original Hebrew. In the Christian church it
acquired the same reputation. Few of the Fathers under¬
stood Hebrew, and consequently almost all their quotations
from the Old Testament are made through the medium of
the Septuagint. The best editions of this version are those
of Grabe, Oxon. 1707, 1709, 1719, 1720, 4 vols. folio and
8 vols. 8vo, reprinted, with the addition of various read¬
ings from the Vatican manuscript, by Breitinger, Tiguri
Helvet., 1730-31-32, 4 vols. 4to ; of Bos, Franequerae,
1709, 4to; of Holmes, vol. i., Oxon. 1798, vols. ii.-v., edited
840 HOLY SCRIPTURE.
Scripture, after Holmes’s death by J. Parsons, Oxon. 1818-1827,
folio; and of Tischendorf, 2 vols., Lips. 18o6.
See Aristeae, Hi* tori a de Leg is Div. ex Heb. Lingua in Grmcam
Translatione per LXX. Interpretes, Frankfort, 1610 ; \ an Dale, Dis¬
sert, super A.risteam de LXX,, Amstelod. 1705 ; Josephus, Antig. xii,,
c. 2; Hody, De Bibliorum Textibus Original., Oxon. 1705; Walton,
Prolegom., ix.; Toepler, De Pentateuchi Interpret. Alexandrince indole,
Halae, 1830; Horne’s Introduction, vol. ii , p. 203, pp. 47-55, ed.
1856 ; Havernick, p. 300.
Of the other Greek versions, eleven in number, we have
only fragments or traditionary information. That of Aquila,
a proselyte Jew of Sinope, a city of Pontus, was executed
in the first century, and was preferred by the Jews to the
Septuagint; it is very literal and Hebraistic. That of
Symmachus, an Ebionite, time uncertain, seems to have
aimed chiefly at elegance and purity of style; it is very
free. Between these stands that of Theodotion, also an
Ebionite, and nearly contemporary with Aquila ; more ele¬
gant and idiomatic than that of Aquila, more literal and
correct than that of Symmachus. All of these aim at
greater closeness to the original than the LXX.; some¬
times they all three agree against the LXX. These,
with three anonymous versions, enumerated as editio
quinta, sexta, and septima respectively, were included by
Origen in his splendid work the Hexapla, a sort of Poly-
glott, which that distinguished Biblical scholar drew up for
the use of those who wished to understand accurately the
Old Testament, and which contained in parallel columns
the Hebrew in the original character, the same in Greek
characters, and the Greek versions above enumerated, in¬
cluding the Septuagint. The versions designated as 6 e/Spcuos,
6 o~vpo<;, to aapapeuLKov, 6 eWrjvtKos, are known to us only
from being occasionally referred to on the margins of ma¬
nuscripts. The extant fragments of these versions may be
found in the sixth volume of the London Polyglott, under
the title of Flaminii Nobilii Nolce, and in the edition of
the Septuagint by Bos.
Dathe, Diss. Phil. Crit. in Aquilce Reliquiae, Opuscula, p. 1, &c., ed.
lioseniniiller, 1796 ; Walton, Prolegom., ix.; Horne, vol. ii., p. 216.
2. Latin Versions. Translations of the Scriptures into
the Latin tongue from the LXX. began to be executed at
a very early period, for the benefit chiefly of the Christians
in Africa, and those parts of Europe where that language
was used. Some have supposed that, as early as the second
century, there was a commonly received or authorized ver¬
sion in the Latin churches, but this opinion is hardly
tenable. All we know for certain is, that there was one
which bore the name of Itala which was preferred by
Augustin to the rest. Of this ancient version a few frag¬
ments are still extant. Towards the close of the fourth
century Jerome set himself to revise and correct these ver¬
sions, and in pursuance of this design issued revised edi¬
tions of the Psalter, the books of Chronicles, Job, and the
writings of Solomon. Unfortunately, the manuscripts con¬
taining his revised copies of the other books were lost,
either through negligence or fraud on the part of some one
to whom he had entrusted them. Satisfied, however, that
something more than a correction of existing versions was
necessary, lie undertook a new translation from the origi¬
nal ; and this he executed at intervals, and in the order in
which particular books were requested by his friends. At
first his undertaking was viewed with no small jealousy,
and even St Augustin sought to discourage it, from a fear
that a new translation, especially one from the Hebrew,
would shake the faith of the ignorant in the certainty of
Scripture ; nor was it till the sanction of Gregory the Great
had been given to it that the version of Jerome was able
entirely to supersede the old Itala (1). This version is
that commonly denominated the Vulgate, of which the
Council of Trent decreed an immaculate edition ; a decree
which gave rise to a Papal dissension, to which Christians
have not been slow to point as fatal to the claims of the Scripture,
supreme pontiff to infallibility (2).
1. Augustin, De Doctr. Christiana, lib. ii., c. 11, c. 15 ; Ep. 88;
Ep. 97 ; Jerome, Prcefat. in lobum, <bc., ad Sophron., Opp. i , p. 833,
ad Damasum, ii., 563 ; Hody, De Textibus, &c.; Walton, Prolegom.,
x.; Horne, ii., pp. 234-240.
2. See James, Bellum Papale, sive Concordia Discors Sixti V. et
Clementius VIII. circa edit. Hieronymianam, London, 1600, 4t>,
1678, Svo.
3. The Gothic Version. Of this, which was executed
by Ulphilas, bishop of the Gothic tribes in Wallachia,
about the middle of the fourth century, only the four
Gospels, part of the Epistle to the Romans, and fragments
of the other Epistles and of the Old Testament, are ex¬
tant ; the first in the famous Codex Argenteus, a manu¬
script in silver letters of the fifth or sixth century ; the
second in a Codex Rescriptus belonging to the library of
Wblfenbuttel ; and the third in certain Codices Rescripti
recently discovered by Mai in the Ambrosian Library at
Milan. This version appears to have been made from the
Greek, and particularly from the Constantinopolitan text,
but to have been subsequently altered after the Vulgate.
The best edition of the gospels is that of Lye, Oxon. 1750,
4to. The fragments were edited by Knittel in 1762, 4to,
and by Hire, Upsal, 1763, 4to, by Mai in 1819, and by
Castiglioni in 1829-39, and the whole by Gabelentz and
Loebe, 1836-46.
Horne’s Introduction, vol. ii., p. 240; Hug’s Introduction (Ving.
trans.), vol. i., p. 487 ; Schott, Isagoge, p. 613.
4. The Anglo-Saxon Versions. The history of these is
by no means accurately known. It appears that, as early
as the year 709, the Psalter was rendered into Saxon by
Adelme, Bishop of Sherborne. A few years later Aldred,
who styles himself “ Presbyter indignns et miserrimus,”
“over-glossed in English” the Latin of a copy of the four
Gospels, which had been written by Eadfrith, bishop of the
church of Lindisfern, “out-attired, and blazoned as well as
he could,” by Ethilwold, bishop of the land of Lindisfern,
and “smoothed, ornamented, and overgilded,” by Billfrith
the anchoret (1). Nearly about the same time Beda trans¬
lated the whole Bible into Saxon-English. About two
hundred years after this the Psalter was translated by King
Alfred. A Saxon translation of the Pentateuch, Joshua,
part of the books of Kings and Esther, is attributed to
Ealfric, Archbishop of Canterbury, in 995. The entire
Anglo-Saxon Bible has never been published. Alfred’s
Psalter was edited by Spelman in 1640 ; and a translation
of the Gospels made from the old Latin of the Itala has
been thrice edited (2). The best edition is that of Thorpe,
London, 1842.
1. See Henshall’s Disquisition prefixed to his edition of the Gothic
Gospel of St Matthew, with the corresponding English or Saxon,
&c., London, 1807, Svo.
2. Newcome's Historical View of the English Biblical Translations,
p. 1, Dublin, 1792; Horne’s Introd., vol. ii., p. 246.
5. The Sclavonic Version. The authors of this version
were Cyrill of Thessalonica, and his brother Methodius,
who in the ninth century introduced the gospel among the
Sclavonians inhabiting Moravia. It seems to have been
made from the Greek, and from manuscripts having the
Constantinopolitan text. It embraces the wdiole Bible,
and has been frequently printed.
Henderson’s Biblical Researches and Travels in Russia, pp. 60-102,
London, 1826; Horne’s Introd., vol. ii., p. 245.
These ancient versions are useful, both to the critic and
the exegete : to the former, as supplying not a fewr various
readings which are wanting in all or in most of the codices
containing the original text, as serving to determine more
accurately the age and country of any particular form of
the text, and as helping to confirm or refute particular
readings occurring in the Greek codices; to the latter,
inasmuch as every faithful version is not only a perpetual
HOLY SCRIPTURE.
Scripture, interpreter of the sentiments of the original into another
tongue, but the authors of these ancient versions, from the
time in which they lived, and the locality they inhabited,
had peculiar advantages, both philological and historical, for
the successful interpretation of the sacred books.
Ernesti’s Principles of Interpretation, by Terrot, vol. ii., p. 146.
See on the whole of this section, Davidson’s Biblical Criticism, p.
206 ; Tischendorf, Proleg. in Nov. Test., p. 228, ff., seventh edition.
Sect. XI.— Quotations by the early Ecclesiastical Writers
from the Sacred Scriptures.
Besides the object to which these have been already
applied, as showing the authenticity of the sacred docu¬
ments, they serve also a useful purpose to the critic, in
furnishing him with numerous readings, in assisting to de¬
termine the age, origin, and country, of remarkable read¬
ings, and in illustrating the whole history of the Greek texts
of Scripture. Care, however, must be taken to discriminate
between passages quoted freely from memory, or adapted
to the construction and sentiment of the writer himself who
quotes, and those which are formally cited from the codex.
We must also be sure that the work in which the quota¬
tion occurs is genuine, and that the common text of the
places in which the citation occurs is correct.
Ernesti’s Principles of Interpretation, by Terrot, vol. ii., pp. 90-
113; Schott, Isagoge, p. 629.
Sect. XII.—Laws for the Determination of various
Readings.
1. That reading is to be regarded as true which is sup¬
ported by far the greater number of copies and witnesses ;
but still readings supported by a few books are not en¬
tirely to be disregarded, especially when they harmonize
with the usus loquendi of the author. 2. That reading
which the better copies exhibit, unless special reasons pro¬
hibit it, is to be preferred to the one which the inferior
copies exhibit, although most numerous. Neither the
antiquity nor propriety of a reading, solely considered,
always proves it to be a true one. 3. That reading which
is more harsh, obscure, difficult, unusual, or delicately
chosen, if supported by the authority of a proper witness,
is preferable to one which is plain, easy, usual, and com¬
mon. 4. That reading which approaches nearest to the
popular and familiar method of speaking, if it be supported
by external testimonies, is preferable to one which is more
artificial and subtle. 5. The shorter reading, when sup¬
ported by testimony of importance, and if not incongruous
with the style and design of the writer, is preferable to a
more verbose one. Still there are cases where the more
copious reading is to be preferred. 6. That reading which
gives the best sense is peculiarly preferable. But to de¬
termine this, the nature of the whole passage, and the
genius of the writer, not the mere opinions and sentiments
of particular interpreters, are to be consulted. 7. The
reading which produces an unworthy or incongruous sense
is to be rejected. Good care, however, must be taken not
to condemn a reading as unworthy or incongruous which
a more correct grammatical and historical investigation
would prove to be true reading, or at least a probable one.
8. A reading which agrees with the usus loquendi of the
writer is preferable to that which disagrees with it. It
must be remembered in judging here that the style of an
author sometimes varies with increasing age. 9. A read¬
ing is to be rejected in respect to which plain evidence is
found that it has undergone a designed alteration. Such
alteration may have taken place, first, from doctrinal rea¬
sons, Mat. i. 18; Mark viii. 31, xiii. 32; second, from
moralj and practical reasons, Mat. v. 22; third, from his¬
torical and geographical doubts, Mat. viii. 28, comp.
Mark v. 1; fourth, from the desire of reconciling passages
inconsistent with each other, Mark viii. 31 ; fifth, from
YOL. XIX.
841
desire to make the discourse more intensive,—hence many Scripture,
emphatic readings have originated; sixth, from the com-
parison of many manuscripts, the readings of which have
been amalgamated ; seventh, from a comparison of parallel
passages. Corrections of the more celebrated manuscripts
have been sometimes detected. 10. Various readings are
to be rejected which spring from the mere negligence of
copyists, and from those errors which are very common in
all kinds of books. To these belong,the commuta¬
tion of unusual forms for those of the common dialect; the
Alexandrine or common form, however, has the preference
over others in the New Testament; and this dialect itself
also admitted some Attic forms : second, the commutation
of single letters and syllables, by an error of either the
eye or the ear; the former resulting from obscure and
compendious methods of writing, or from the similarity of
certain letters, such as A A A, O ®, &c.; the latter from
copying after the reading of one who was misunderstood,
or who read erroneously : third, the commutation of syno-
nymes: fourth, from transferring into the text words written
in the margin of copies, and thus uniting both readings,
James v. 2 : fifth, from the omission or insertion of a word
or a verse, by an error of the sight: sixth, from the trans¬
position of words and passages, whence it may have hap¬
pened that some error has crept into most of our books:
seventh, from words which ended with the like sound, or
appeared alike ; and from proximate words, one ending
and the other beginning with the same syllable ; eighth,
from incorrectly uniting or separating words, which na¬
turally resulted in some cases from the ancient method of
continuous writing: and, ninth, from an erroneous inter-
punction and distinction of passages. 11. A reading is to
be rejected which plainly betrays a gloss or interpretation.
This may be a word or a whole passage. Sometimes these
glosses are united to the true text, and sometimes they have
thrust it out. All interpretations, however, are not spuri¬
ous glosses; for authors themselves sometimes add them,
in order to explain their own language. 12. Readings de¬
duced merely from versions or the commentaries of inter¬
preters are to be rejected.
To these which are taken with a few alterations from
Beck’s Monogrammata Hermeneutices, Libb. Nov. Test.,
Lips. 1803, may be added the rules laid down by Tischendorf,
the greatest living authority on such points, for his own
guidance as an editor of the New Testament. These are:
1. Readings are to be held doubtful which are peculiar to
one or other of the codices, or which betray in what seem
classes the predominant influence of some learned man.
2. Those are to be rejected which, though supported by
several witnesses, are manifestly or probably the result of
an error on the part of the scribes. 3. In parallel pas¬
sages, as well of the Old as of the New Testament, and
especially of the synoptical Gospels, which the ancients
were very anxious to render uniform, those witnesses which
preserve a discrepancy are to be preferred to those which
present a consent, unless some grave reason persuade
otherwise. 4. That reading is to be preferred which seems
to have given occasion for the others, or which contains the
elements of them in itself. 5. Those are to be studiously
retained which are commended by the analogy of the Greek
dialect proper to the authors of the New Testament, and
not less those that are commended by the usage of any
one of them. {Prolegomena, p. 32.)
See also Michaelis’ Introd., vol. i., pp. 246-339; Ernesti’s Prin¬
ciples of Interpretation, by Terrot, vol. ii., p. 114 ; Marsh’s Lectures,
lect. iii; Horne’s Introd., vol. ii., pp. 251-260; Davidson’s Bib.
Crit., p. 820, ff.
(For remarks upon particular books of the Bible, see the
articles in this work under the names of the different books,
or their authors, as Pentateuch, Moses, Joshua, Paul,
Peter, &c.) (w. l. a.)
5 o
842
SCR S C U
Scrofula SCROFULA, or King’s Evil, a tedious and multi-
|| ^ form disease, of which one of the most characteristic
Scuderi. niarks is a tendency to a swelling of glandular parts,
which, when they come on to inflammation and suppura¬
tion, discharge an unhealthy, curdy, mixed matter, and form
ulcers very difficult to heal. This tendency to glandular
swelling is the mark of a peculiar constitution, derived from
parents or ancestors, or acquired afterwards during life ; and
in such constitutions, the diseases and accidents that hap¬
pen with comparatively little inconvenience to others, are
productive of very troublesome and alarming consequences
to them. Scrofulous persons, though frequently very beau¬
tiful, are seldom robust or able to endure much fatigue. The
hair in scrofulous children varies very much in colour; the
body is generally pale and flabby, and the belly prominent;
the upper lip is tumid; digestion is generally bad; the
voice is husky, and there is great liability to colds, with
sore throat and enlarged tonsils. Those who are obliged
to live in damp, uncomfortable dwellings, exposed to many
privations, who are badly clothed, who live on scanty and
unwholesome food, deprived of exercise in the open air,
and who are inattentive to cleanliness, are the most subject
to this disease. Scrofula is one of those diseases that are
manifestly hereditary; and families that are scrofulous
ought to be particularly careful as to the way in which
they bring up their children. Long and anxious inquiries
have satisfied medical men, that scrofula is a disease of de¬
bility ; and that while everything is to be avoided which has
a tendency to over-stimulate and inflame the system, such
diet and regimen are to be adopted as have the tendency to
strengthen and invigorate it. Children who show any pre¬
disposition to scrofula, should be brought up on plain, but
nourishing and easily digestible food, such as good broth,
with a moderate allowance of solid meat.
Scrofula generally first shows itself between the third and
seventh year of a child’s age ; but it may arise at any period
before the age of puberty, after which it rarely makes its
first appearance, at least externally. The attacks of scro¬
fula usually begin some time in winter or spring, and get
better, or disappear in summer or autumn. The first
appearance of the disorder is the occurrence of small round
tumours under the skin of the neck, about the ear, or below
the chin, without any pain or discolouring. In some cases,
the joints of the elbows or ankles are the first parts affected.
After some time, the tumours acquire a larger size, the skin
which covers them becomes more purple and livid; and
they inflame, suppurate, and break into little holes, from
which a mixed pus-like fluid, intermixed with curdy-look¬
ing matter, at first proceeds, which soon changes into a thin
serous discharge. In some scrofulous habits, the eyes and
eyelids are the principal seat of the disease, shown by the
incessant inflammation of the ball, and the raw and painful
state ot the eyelids. The bones of scrofulous persons are
liable to disease, namely, to partial or general enlargement, to
inflammation, suppuration, and exfoliation. Diseased spine is
also much connected with a scrofulous constitution. Many
internal parts, also, are subject to disease in scrofulous habits.
I he constitutional treatment, which is by far the most
important, should be as healthful and invigorating as pos¬
sible ; good diet, air, and exercise, are necessary; a resi¬
dence in the country, or sea-bathing, are useful auxiliaries.
Sponging the skin with tepid salt and water, or the use of
cold sea-water, it it can be borne, followed up by diligent
rubbing with coarse towels and the flesh-brush, is most
beneficial, ihe bowels must be regulated, and occasional
doses of rhubarb and grey powder may be useful. A steady
and long-continued course of tonics and alteratives will do
most good in the way of medicines. Great benefit is often
derived from taking cod-liver oil.
SCUDLRI, Georges de, a French litterateur, was born
at Havre, in Normandy, about 1601, where his father held
the post of governor. He at first followed the profession Scud&r.
of arms, but subsequently, in 1630, exchanged the sword
for the pen, and took to the writing of dramas. Fie rose
to a wide notoriety, and could, at one time, count more
admirers than Corneille, the greatest dramatist of France.
But men’s minds gradually changed, and Corneille is now
recognized as the greatest tragedian France has known,
and Georges de Scuderi is entirely forgotten. De Scu¬
deri could not bear the rising reputation of his rival; and on
the publication of the Cid, so strong was his vanity and so
urgent his animosity, that he wrote Observations sur le Cid,
in which he laboured industriously to tear to pieces that
superb drama; but its author could afford to smile on all
such petty animosities, and he contented himself by a sting¬
ing epigram, which he flung at the head of the “ solemn
fool,” his late friend, De Scuderi. He got into disrepute ;
and despite all the exertions of Cardinal Richelieu, he could
not regain his position with the French public. He was
appointed governor of Notre Dame de la Garde, a small
fort situated on a rock adjoining Marseilles ; but he soon
returned from that retirement, and died at Paris, on May
14, 1667, after having been elected a member of the French
Academy in 1650.
His plays, which number sixteen in all, are as fol¬
lows :—UAmour Tyrranique ; Armenius ; Orante ; Lyg-
damon; Le Vassal Genereux ; Le Trompeur Puni; La
Mort de Cesar ; JJAmant Liberal; Didon ; Eudoxe ;
Andromire ; Axiane; Le Fils Suppose ; Le Prince De¬
guise ; LLlluslre Bassa; La Comedie des Comediens.
He likewise wrote Poesies Diverses, Paris, 1649; and an
heroic poem, called Alaric, ou Rome Vaincue.
Scuderi, Madeleine de, sister to Georges de Scuderi,
was born at Havre on the 15th of June 1607. Few names
in literature have afforded a subject for more frequent epi¬
gram than that of Mademoiselle de Scuderi, and few works
are now less read than hers. Having gone to Paris shortly
after she had finished her education, she became connected
with the Hotel de Rambouillet, where she met with many
persons of the first reputation. Mademoiselle de Scuderi
had not resided long among this distinguished circle, when
she began to use her pen, to correct, if possible, the wrongs
which fortune had done her. Her principal romances are:—
Ibrahim, 4 vols., Paris, 1641; Artamene, 10 vols., Paris.
1650; Clelie, 10 vols., 1656; Almahide, 8 vols., 1660,
She likewise wrote a great many volumes of Conversations,
besides some fables in verse. She at once met with a great
success. Not that this prosperity arose from any very re¬
markable method which the fair writer had adopted in the
construction of her tales ; on the contrary, they were about
as full of rhodomontade as could well be conceived; but then
they were love all over. No doubt she has given us tolerably
exact portraits, so far as they go, of the chief habitues of
the Hotel de Rambouillet; but the attention of the reader
is constantly confounded by the unceasing interruption of
episodes, anecdotes, and frivolities, and his patience is quite
exhausted by the elaborate exquisiteness with which every¬
thing is gone about, from the fastening of a shoe-buckle to
the decorating of the person of a hero with his coat of mail.
No doubt, all this was infinitely admired by the elegant
beauties among the Parisian bluestockings ; and there were
numbers of the other sex down upon their knees before the
writer, who was by no means a miracle of beauty. This
method of writing was the rage of the day; and there was
just one man then living who had the audacity to hold up
the whole tribe to the unmitigated laughter of the citizens
of Paris. The Precieuses Ridicules of Moliere sent a shaft
through the heart of these absurd coteries, from which they
never afterwards recovered. Mademoiselle Scuderi was
held in the highest honour by these “ Precieuses” till her
death, which occurred on the 2d of June 1701, in her
ninety-fourth year.
843
SCULPTURE.
Sculpture. SCULPTURE (Lat. sculpto, to cut out, to carve), the art of
cutting or carving any substance into a proposed form. In
its strict sense it is confined to carving, but in the fine arts
it is generally applied to all those processes by which the
imitation of objects is effected. First, in carving proper;
also in modelling, or the plastic art; in ordinary casting;
and in founding or metal-casting, and in gem-engraving.
Carving, as is well known, is simply the art of cutting
any comparatively hard material by the best-adapted in¬
struments, as chisels, gouges, files, &c., into different shapes.
Modelling is practised upon soft and yielding substances,
as clay or wax, which are formed into the desired shape by
the hand and different kinds of modelling-tools, generally
made of boxwood or ivory.
Every substance that could by possibility be used for
carved works has been employed by sculptors of all times.
Among the Egyptians especially the hardest were pre¬
ferred, as basalt, porphyry, and granite ; though they also
worked extensively in other materials. Marble, various
kinds of alabaster, stone, ivory, bone, and wood of all kinds,
were used according to circumstances. The variety of
marbles is almost infinite. Pliny {Hist. Nat. xxxvi. 7)
supplies us with an interesting catalogue of those most
generally employed. The chief Greek marbles were
the Parian and the Pentelic. The former was found
in the island of Paros, whence its general name ; but
it is also alluded to as the marble of Marpessus, from
the particular mountain where it abounded. Its colour is
a warm or creamy white, and it is remarkable for a sparkling
quality in its crystals, from which it is supposed it received
its epithet of lychneum. The Pentelic marble came from
Mount Pentelicus, in the neighbourhood of Athens. Its
colour is white, but it often has blue or gray, and even
green streaks running through it, which give it a cold tone
compared with the Parian marble. The ancients also much
esteemed a marble procured from Mount Hymettus in
Attica. It bore a close resemblance to the Pentelic. A
great quantity of this marble was imported into Italy after the
conquest of Greece by the Romans. A marble of Thasos
was also much used, but more for architecture than for
sculpture. It was employed for baths, fish-ponds, and for
encasing buildings. Italy produces very fine marble. That
spoken of as the marble of Luni was procured from the
range of mountains near which are situated the modern
towns of Massa and Carrara. It does not appear that it
was known, or its quarries worked, before the time of Julius
Caesar, in the century before the birth of Christ. In many
respects it is superior to the Parian and Pentelic marbles.
The grain of the Carrara marble is finer than that of Greece,
and its colour, when pure, is a rich white. Remains of the
former working in the quarries of Luni may be traced ; and
it is thought the material was of a somewhat finer texture
than the more modern produce. The Carrara marble, now
so generally used by sculptors, is not often found quite pure
in very large blocks. Veins and spots of gray and blue-
black, and red and yellow streaks (probably oxides of iron),
occur in it. The quality varies also in different quarries.
Occasionally large crystals are found which resist the
chisel. The Romans procured white marble from some
quarries they worked in Africa. Marble is no longer
procured, except by mere accident, from Greece; and the
only supply for general purposes of sculpture is from the
above-named source, the mountain quarries in the duchy
of Massa and Carrara, on the west coast of Italy. Among
the varieties of wood used by the ancients for sculpture,
the oak, cypress, cedar, box, sycamore, pine, fig, and ebony
occur. Pausanias mentions, in his Travels in Greece, nu- Sculpture,
merous statues made of wood. This to us apparently -s/—^
humble material seems to have been employed for statues
of the most elevated personages. The above writer men¬
tions, among several, those of Apollo Archegetes and of
Diana Limnitis, which were of ebony. The statues of
Castor and Pollux, with those of their children and of their
mothers, in the temple dedicated to Castor and Pollux at
Argos, were also made of this material. At Lacedaemon was
a statue of Venus of cedar. In the treasury of the Sirgonians,
at Altis, was a statue of Apollo made of box. Pliny {Hist.
Nat. xvi. 40) especially mentions cypress, cedar, ebony,
and box for their capability of resisting the effects of time ;
and he says cedar was on this account preferred for images
of the gods. Yet all these works have perished, notwith¬
standing the above writer’s anticipation of their everlasting
durability, when he says, “ materice ipsce cBternitas.” Some
figures of small dimensions have been found preserved in
tombs. They are of great antiquity, and chiefly represent
Egyptian idols. The material of which they are made is
usually sycamore wood.
For ordinary casting, as well as for founding (metal¬
casting), all materials were used that were capable of being
solved and again hardened, whether by the action of heat
or by mixture with liquids. Among these may be men¬
tioned gold, silver, iron, tin, copper, lead, and their com¬
pounds (as bronze), among the metals; and wax, plaster,
and stucco among the inferior materials. The ancients
used a composition called electrum, which was a mixture of
gold and silver, in the proportion of one of the former to
five of the latter. Helen is said by Homer to have dedi¬
cated a cup made of electrum, of the exact size and form
of one of her breasts, in the temple of Minerva at Lindus.
That composition which was so extensively used by the an¬
cients for statues,—called by the Greeks chalcos (^JAkos),
the Romans ces, and the moderns bro7ize, from the Italian
bronzo,—is a mixture of copper and tin, with sometimes
small portions of other metals. The composition of this
material, so extensively used by the artists of antiquity,
appears to have been a subject of great care. There were
rival schools for its preparation. Pliny especially records
those of iEgina and Delos ; and says (Hist. Nat. xxxiv.) the
highest honour was given to that of Delos, and the next to
the JEginetan bronze. The mere list of names of the differ¬
ent kinds of bronze known to and used by the ancients is
curious. Pliny says there was rivalry (emulatio) between
two of the greatest sculptors of the best period of the art
in the material each employed. Myron used the bronze of
Delos, Polycletus that of yEgina. Besides these bronzes
of Delos and vEgina, there was the Corinthian; that of
Tartessus; then another kind called the “ ses Demonne-
sium also the “ses nigrum” (black), and the “ aes can-
didum,” or light-coloured, supposed to have had silver in
it. There was also a bronze of a liver colour, called “ aes
Hepatizon,” which probably resembled the brown or true
bronze colour of the cinque cento works. There were other
modes of working in metal besides casting used by the an¬
cients. Such was the solid and the hollow hammer-work
(acjivprjXaTov) described by Pliny and others. The earliest
metal-works were doubtless produced in this way. There
were various modes of exercising this art. Pausanias saw
several works of the kind, and explains the different pro¬
cesses. Pliny also furnishes some very curious information
upon the subject. Either solid pieces of metal were beaten
into shape, and fastened together by means of pins or keys;
or the metal was beaten out into plates, and then worked into
SCULPTURE.
844
Sculpture, the desired form over a core or nucleus of wood. A small
^ mm ^ head of Osiris, in the British Museum, exhibits an instance of
this practice. The form is bronze ; and the centre, of wood,
is still remaining. Of entirely solid statues, 1 liny men¬
tions an interesting example in the statue or Diana Anaitis.
Other instances might be quoted, but the above aie suffi¬
cient to prove the practice. Ancient authors allude to
some very remarkable effects produced by the mixture
or fusion of metals, by which the complexion of the coun¬
tenance could be given. Callistratus speaks of a bronze
statue of Cupid, by Praxiteles, on the countenance of which
was a vivid blush. He mentions another, by Lysippus, in
which the cheeks were coloured like a rose. Pliny refers
to a statue of Athamas sitting overcome with remorse
after the murder of his son; and, says the artist, in order
to express the effect of shame, had mixed iron with the
bronze, which caused, “by its redness shining through
the bronze,” the appearance of a blush. Pliny does not
say he saw this work himself. Plutarch, again, refers to
a statue made by Silanio, of Jocasta dying, and tells us
that by a peculiar mixture of the metals used a cast ot
“paleness was given to the complexion. Too much de¬
pendence must not be placed upon these general state¬
ments. That the works above referred to, and others that
might be mentioned, exhibited colour is likely enough ;
but that those tints were produced in the way suggested,
namely, by the fusion of metals, is next to impossible.
Neither of these writer^ were practical artists, and, except
Callistratus, they lived very long after the times at which
the works they describe were executed. Silanio, for in¬
stance, flourished about 320 B.c.; Plutarch, who de¬
scribes his work, between five and six hundred years
later. These accounts, then, so far as they assert that
these expressive tints were produced by any possible fu¬
sion of metals, are not deserving of credit; but as indirect
testimony to the ancient practice of colouring sculpture,
they may require further consideration in the course of our
history. The Egyptians, according to Pliny, coloured their
bronzed statues after they were cast, and the Greeks may
have done the same. The method above described, of pro¬
ducing various tints of colour, is quite distinct from the
Toreutic art (Topeim/o;) of the ancients. This seems to
have been the combination of distinct materials, always
including metal, worked or chased together. The shield
of Achilles, as described in Homer, exhibiting different
colours, may most probably have been an example of
Toreutic art. There are instances existing of inscriptions,
in a different metal from the statue, being inserted into the
figure. Cicero in {Verr. Or. iv.) speaks of an Apollo in¬
scribed thus with the name of its author Myron. There is a
bronze statue in the Musee in Paris of a youth, on the left foot
of which are the remains of two Greek words in silver letters.
Many examples occur of the introduction of foreign sub¬
stances, either metal, precious stones, glass, or paste, in
statues and busts of the best period of Greek sculpture.
The practice is not limited to the eyes, but instances occur
of the lips being thus inlaid. There are examples of it
in the fine collection of bronzes in the Museo Borbonico at
Naples, and some instances may also be seen of it in our
national collection in the British Museum. Among bar¬
barous nations the introduction of varied and rich materials
and colours is universally met with in their sculpture. It
might cause surprise to find the same custom patronized
among the refined Greeks when their art had reached
its highest perfection, if it were not known that certain
forms of art were prescriptive, from their antiquity, and
that in all works connected with religion (and almost
all sculpture was directly or indirectly so applied) the
artists were bound by established regulations, strictly en¬
forced by the priests and supported by public opinion. Sculpture.
Before quitting this branch of our subject, referring to com-
binations and mixtures of materials, it may be right to
notice that, when different kinds of stone or marble were
used in the same work, it was called polylithic sculpture ; to
distinguish it from sculpture in one kind of marble, winch
was called monolithic. Marble and bronze and wood were
occasionally used in these combinations.
For modelling, clay, stucco, plaster, and wax were used.
Works of great antiquity formed of these substances are
still preserved in the dift'erent museums of art. Models in
clay were usually dried and then baked in an oven, by
which they became as hard as stone, and were very durable,
as they were unaffected by atmospheric changes. Moulds
were then made, by a similar process, into which soft clay
could be pressed, and objects were thus multiplied with
facility. Clay thus treated is called terra-cotta. The
ancients must have used it extensively, as may be seen
from the countless number of figures and reliefs, lamps,
architectural ornaments, vases, domestic utensils, stamps,
and other objects which exist, and are still constantly
being found in this material. Usually such works are
of small size; but there are some statues in the museum
at Naples which prove it was also used for statues of large
dimensions. There are two figures there, especially deserv¬
ing attention, of Jupiter and of Juno, full life-size ; also
two others about four feet high, with masks, representing
an actor and an actress, which probably formed the de¬
coration of a theatre. The specimens in England of ancient
terra-cottas are for the most part of small size. They
are chiefly reliefs. Some of those in the British Mu¬
seum are, however, extremely interesting, both for subject.
and execution. As such works were usually, if not always,
designed for architectural decoration, it is probable they
were painted. They were first washed with a thin coating
of stucco, and the colour was then laid on with a brush,
the preservation of the original surface evidently not being
considered of importance. This at least appears to have
been the process, judging from several remaining specimens.
The employment of wax for modelling and casting is very
ancient. Roman families of distinction preserved a collec¬
tion of statues and busts of their ancestors, which, on
particular occasions, were carried in procession at certain
festivals or ceremonies: these were sometimes dressed in
real drapery. Pliny (xxxv. 2) alludes to this employment
of figures of wax. Plaster or stucco is found in the orna¬
mental parts of buildings. At Pompeii there were, some
few years ago, two stucco bassi-relievi of considerable size
and of good design, on the outer walls of a small inner
temple in the court of the temple oi Isis. The material
was extremely hard, and the colour a creamy white. We
possess several specimens of the s£wcco-work of the ancients
in the British Museum. They exhibit great delicacy and
sharpness of execution. Many are painted, red being the
prevailing colour. '
Statues were not only made of the above-named materials,
but occasionally of those which would seem to be but little
adapted to the purpose. There was a statue of Augustus of
amber. Statues were also sometimes made of gum and aro¬
matic substances, as well as of others ot a combustible nature,
to be used on particular occasions. Even hay is mentioned.
At the funeral ceremonies in honour of Sylla statues of
this kind were used. Sometimes strange conceits were
illustrated in these performances. There is mention of a
statue of Venus, the fascinating goddess of beauty and
love, made of loadstone, which attracted to it a figure ot
Mars made of iron.
Having made these few preliminary observations upon the
materials used for sculpture, it may be proper to desciibe
1 “ Aurea statua nulla inanitate, in templo Anaitidis posita” &c. {Nat. Hist, xxxiii. 4.)
SCULPTURE. 845
Sculpture, briefly the different modes of practice. First, there is the
representation of insulated objects, whether in single
figures or groups. As these may be seen all round, like
the statue of the Apollo or the Gladiator, or the group of
Laocoon and his sons, such works are technically called
in sculpture “ in the round.” When objects or figures are
attached to a background, they are called “ in relief.” The
degrees of relief are defined by modern writers and artists
by the expressions alto or high relief, basso or low relief;
and the Italians have used a middle term, mezzo-relievo,
which is intended to describe something between the two
extremes. However slightly a figure may be attached to
a plane behind it, the mere fact of its touching it consti¬
tutes it a work in relief. There is a peculiar mode of working
in relief chiefly found in Egyptian sculpture. The outline
is sunk or hollowed slightly into or below the surface of
the ground, and the figure is then formed and rounded on
the principle of a very flat relievo. Of course, in this
mode of execution there is no projecting part above the
original plane of the material. It is, in fact, a kind of
relieved intaglio; but, unlike works in legitimate intaglio,
the forms are correctly relieved or rounded within the
limits described. In intaglio all the sinkings are inwards,
as is seen in seal engraving, and have not their true appear¬
ance till an impression of them is taken.
Various speculations have been offered with respect to
the comparative antiquity of sculpture and painting. The
story of the daughter of Dibutades having traced the out¬
line of her lover’s profile cast by shadow on the wall, and
this outline having been afterwards filled in with clay
by her father, would give the priority to drawing ; and it
seems obvious that drawing must be antecedent to modelling
or carving in relief. But it is probable that insulated
objects were made in the earliest times. The above is
simply a Greek traditionary romance; and, referring to a
circumstance of comparatively late date, cannot be taken
as historical authority for the origin of sculpture. There
can be little doubt that rude attempts at forming clay or
any other plastic substance into defined shapes were
amongst the first exercises of the natural imitative faculty
of man. The comparatively easy task of copying the real
form of an object to representing its partial appearance by
lines on a flat surface, suggests the inference that this must
have been the earliest mode of imitation.
The attempts of some, indeed most, writers on art to
trace the origin of sculpture to a common or single source
have not led to any satisfactory results. The great anti¬
quity of the art renders it most difficult, in the first place,
to trace its backward history through the obscurity of ages ;
but the difficulty is further increased when the question
arises, whether it is quite reasonable to attribute its origin
to one nation, from which all others have necessarily
derived its practice. The faculty or desire to imitate
is instinctive in man; and the earliest nation, therefore,
would probably have first exercised this natural tendency.
When we come to consider sculpture as a refined art,
we must seek further for the principles which gave it its
distinctive character than in the mere bald fact of a people
having imitated objects by form. There can be no doubt
that the intercourse of nations had its influence on the
style of any existing art; or, where it was not known, that
its practice may have been introduced; but the discovery of
specimens of rude imitative art in countries that cannot by
any apparent possibility have had communication, proves
that its existence in its primitive forms may have been
quite independent of any such intercourse. When the very
late date of the oldest ancient writers who refer to the
history of sculpture, compared with the undoubted remote
antiquity of the art, is taken into consideration, there is
enough to account for the difficulties they had in collecting
any evidence to be relied' on upon this intricate subject.
Where the writers are Greeks, the bias in favour of their Sculpture,
country’s glory would lead them to lay stress upon every
little tradition that would flatter their patriotism. Of this
the inventions and works of art attributed to one Daedalus
afford an instance, and show the limited knowledge that
existed of the first artist who is noticed in the annals of
Greek sculpture. The progress and improvement of va¬
rious useful arts must have been gradual, and due not to
one, but to a series of ingenious artists and inventors. These,
however, have all been attributed to one individual, who bore
a name which, in all probability, was a general appellation
given in early times to any workman or artificer remark-
ble for his skill. In the same manner, we find the intro¬
duction into Italy of the simple art of modelling attributed
to one Demaratus, a fugitive from Corinth, about 600 B.C.
He was accompanied, it is said, by two artists, Eucheir and
Eugrammus; whose names appear rather to be epithets of
skill than the simple names of persons. Again, some an¬
cient images are spoken of as having fallen from heaven ;
showing, unless this is to be treated in the same way as
some similar modern instances of superstitious credulity,
how little real historical knowledge existed of the ori¬
gin of the earlier sculpture. This is not the case at a
later period, when the art held a more defined position,
and when, fortunately, epochs in its history were marked
by changes in style which enable the archaeologist to
classify schools and fix important dates. Passing by,
then, the first rude attempts at mere objectless imitation,
the inquiry into the history of sculpture as an art hav¬
ing a definite purpose becomes a subject of great in¬
terest.
The desire to record in some palpable form the memory
of extraordinary events and persons, and to hand down to
posterity some enduring monument of the great or useful
deeds of benefactors, was doubtless the first impulse which
led to the use of sculpture. The first works applied to
these objects were probably of the rudest description, and
will not come under the conditions of art. Still, from these
simple beginnings we probably may trace the development
of great results. The oldest histories make mention of
what may truly be called monuments erected to mark the
scene of any remarkable incident. They were composed
simply of heaps of stones, sometimes of blocks of large size ;
but even these rude forms indicated at a later time ideas
of pregnant meaning. A heap of stones was set up at
Bethel by Jacob, to mark the spot where he had seen the
vision of angels ascending to heaven (Gen. xxviii. 18). The
agreement or covenant entered into between Jacob and
Laban was recorded in the same simple way, by a pillar
and heap of stones (Gen. xxxi. 44). A similar monument
was built over the grave of Rachel; and other instances of
the kind might easily be quoted. Pausanias (vii. 22) men¬
tions, that as late as a.d. 170 certain of the divinities of
Greece were worshipped under the form of mere columns
or blocks of stone set upright.
The tradition handed down from generation to genera¬
tion of feats of arms, the prowess of a warrior, or of the
founder of a nation, led in all probability to the first at¬
tempt at individualizing in some way the representation of
the hero whose fame was thus repeated from mouth to
mouth. The people, associating with this object feelings
of respect and admiration, the transition, or rather develop¬
ment, of the higher sentiment of veneration is easily under¬
stood. Profound respect, and the desire to show gratitude
for real or supposed benefits, would soon lead to the pay¬
ment of extraordinary honours; and the elevation of these
heroes or public benefactors to the grade of beings above
the ordinary class of mortals became the natural course,—
especially, too, when the real existence and individuality of
the person so honoured had become obscured by the lapse
of time. Thus, the record of great and good actions of men
l
846
SCULPTURE.
Sculpture, led to hero-worship, and hero-worship further led to giving
v'—' men the attributes of supernatural beings.
It has been said that the history of sculpture is almost
the history of idolatry. It is true in part. Religious feel¬
ing had much to do, as will be seen, with the progress of
the art in its more advanced condition; but it is probable
that the first defined images or statues were of men and
not of gods, and that human idols, so to speak, preceded
those of divinities. As far as can be ascertained, the
heavenly bodies were among the earliest objects of worship
among the heathen nations; and the symbols that repre¬
sented them wrere most likely merely pillars of a conical or
pyramidal form, and not imitations of any human figure.
It has been ingeniously supposed (Landseer, Sabcean Re¬
searches) that when such objects or images are referred to
by Moses as “ graven,” that it is in allusion to signs (or
hieroglyphics) that were inscribed or cut upon them. Thus
the sun was worshipped at Emessa under the form of a
black conical stone, with marks on it to represent that
luminary.
The oldest record of the existence of objects which it
may be assumed were imitative is in the sacred writings ;
and the first intimation found of the existence of sculpture,
in connection with the idolatrous worship, is among the
Chaldeans. Some early Christian writers have declared
that Terah, the father of Abraham, made images, but
Scripture gives no authority for the supposition. We read,
however, that when Rachel, in company with Jacob and
Leah, quitted her father’s dwelling, she carried away with
her certain images upon which Laban set so much value
that he immediately followed her in order to recover them.
There are no particulars of what these images were like, or
of what material they were made. They must have been
small and light, from the facility with which Leah contrived
to carry them away unobserved, and from the care with
which she concealed them, when Laban “ searched all the
tent, and found them not.” Images are referred to in
another place, where Jacob is described as taking the
“ strange gods,” and hiding them under an oak (Gen. xxxv.
4). In the book of Joshua, allusion is made to the corrup¬
tion of the Israelites by the superstitions of the people
among whom they had so long dwelt, and after the exodus
they are solemnly warned against this influence, and ex¬
horted to return to a more pure and simple form of worship.
The earliest known names of sculptors are found in the
Old Testament. They are of the artists employed to make
the ornaments of the tabernacle. One of them was Beza-
leel, the son of Uri, of the tribe of Judah ; the other Aho-
liab, the son of Ahisamach, of the tribe of Dan. Their
date, therefore, is about fifteen hundred years before the
Christian era. No remains of the sculpture of those early
nations are known to exist; so that no useful speculations
can be offered upon the character of their arts, nor upon
the original sources of their knowledge. Of course, much
of their late improvement may be attributed to their inter¬
course with that wonderful people the Egyptians. That
they were considerably advanced in various branches of
scientific discovery must be assumed from the accounts
handed down to us; and they must have been acquainted
with some difficult processes of art to be able to set up the
image of the molten calf, and to make the brazen serpent.
The important and interesting discoveries that have been
made of late years of the remains of some of the ancient
cities of Assyria have opened a wide field of observation to
the antiquary, while they have also afforded most valuable
examples of the character of the sculpture of that nation.
The light these will throw upon the early history and chro¬
nicles of this remarkable people can scarcely be over-esti¬
mated; and the successful researches of scholars and tra¬
vellers, amongst whose names those of Rawlinson, Botta,
and Layard will always be remembered with honour, are
daily supplying new and most valuable information upon Sculpture,
these hitherto obscure subjects. i
Herodotus had an opportunity of personally inspecting
the wonders of Babylon. He speaks of the hundred gates
in the walls “ all of bronze,” and of the temple of Belus,
which had bronze gates. He describes also a statue of gold
in this temple; the god, he says, was represented seated,
and a golden table stood near, and the step or footstool, and
the throne itself, were of gold. He alludes also to another
statue of solid gold, 12 cubits high ; but with his usual con¬
scientious reserve, he admits he did not see this, but only
repeats what he was told. Darius, the son of Hystaspes,
wished to possess this valuable statue, but did not remove
it; but his son Xerxes seized it, and, it is said, slew the
priest who attempted to prevent this act of spoliation.
Diodorus Siculus refers to numerous works, showing the
grand scale of magnificence of the Babylonians, and gives
the names of the various sovereigns of the earliest dynas¬
ties under whom the respective works were said to be pro¬
duced. These details are not, however, received by scholars
as entirely worthy of confidence ; but although much ex¬
aggeration may have crept into the account given by Ctesias,
from whom Diodorus derives his information, there can be
no doubt that the most astonishing splendour and luxury
prevailed, especially in the gorgeous decoration of these
palaces and other public buildings; and from which it may
be inferred that the arts of design had been practised by
this people for a very long period. From whence the
Babylonians derived their first knowdedge of art we at pre¬
sent have no means of judging; and any speculation upon
so difficult a subject would carry us beyond the limits to
which our immediate inquiry confines us. But without
attributing the works mentioned by Diodorus to such a re¬
mote date as the earlier Semiramis, recorded by Ctesias, or
to that mythical personage Ninus, there can be no question
that the arts must have existed in Assyria for a long series
of years before they could have reached the high condition
described by the various writers referred to.
There is a curious custom connected with the art-practice
of the Babylonians at a somewhat later period of their his¬
tory mentioned by the prophet Baruch, who wrote about
607 b.c. In the sixth chapter (ver. 4-8) he says, “ Now
shall ye see in Babylon gods of silver, and of gold, and of
wood, borne upon shoulders, which cause the nations to
fear; they themselves are gilded and laid over with gold,
and covered with purple raiment.” This practice of using
real drapery upon sculpture was not uncommon among an¬
cient nations, and exists even in our own times in some
countries.
The most remarkable results of the researches of tra¬
vellers in Assyria are the extensive sculptured monu¬
ments that have been found in the ruins of the ancient
Nineveh and neighbouring places. They seem to have been
intended to serve the double purpose of decorating rooms
and as records of remarkable incidents in the history of
the nation, or of the [prowess or habits of the sovereign.
The most striking objects, from their size and character,
are some colossal figures in which the human is combined
with the animal or brute type. These are evidently mytho¬
logical personations, in which the union of intelligence with
force is characterised. The grand effect of these gigantic
figures is very remarkable; and standing, as they appear
to have done, at the entrance to sacred or royal buildings,
they must have produced an awful impression on the people.
The treatment or art-quality varies in these, showing that
some of them were of earlier date than others. Although
of very peculiar style, they generally exhibit an intimate
knowledge of animal character in the action and expression.
Whether the imitation be of the lion or the bull, the ani¬
mals which occur in these larger works, the individuality
of each is successfully marked. There is one peculiarity
SCULPTURE.
Sculpture, which deserves especial remark in the execution of these
portal or gate sculptures. Each animal is represented with
his fore legs firmly planted under him. In the front view
these are clearly defined, but in the profile, from their
parallel position, one is, of course, entirely concealed by the
other. To obviate the appearance of the animal having
but three legs (for of the hind legs one is advanced before
the other), a supplementary fore leg is added, which can
only be seen when the spectator looks at the sculpture side¬
ways or in profile : all the four legs are then clearly defined.
These colossal figures have backgrounds; but the relief
from the wall is very high, and they almost have the effect
of entire statues. The relievi that decorated the walls of
the apartments represent battles, sieges, crossing rivers,
lion-hunting, and endless details of the ordinary occupations
of the people. The most minute circumstances are no¬
ticed. The vegetation of the country in trees and shrubs
is shown, as well as the animals in common use; persons
are represented crossing river's, swimming on skins filled
with air; in other slabs are buildings being erected, show¬
ing all the implements of the artificers : these objects, with
the ornaments on the dresses of people, as well as on the
accoutrements of the horses, are all copied with the most
marvellous ease and accuracy. The execution of some of
these works is also evidence of most skilful practice in the
workmen, affording proof, again, of long experience in this
class of art. The peculiar mode of treating the human
figure shows that here, as well as elsewhere, there was a pre¬
scribed form established. However crowded the composi¬
tion,—whether in the battle-field, or scaling the enemy’s
walls, or in the hunting-field,—the same outline, as of one
family or even of one individual, is met with in all the
faces. They also have an expression given them which, it
will be seen, is presei’ved in all eaxdy repi'esentations of his¬
torical and mythological subjects ; namely, that of a com¬
placent smile, which lights up the countenance, however
seriously or even savagely the person is occupied. This
very curious characteristic of all very ancient sculpture
will be further exhibited as our history proceeds. Numer¬
ous relievi, and other objects procured from these excava¬
tions, are safely deposited in the British Museum; and
they afford a most interesting illustration of the arts and
habits of a nation whose history is connected with our most
serious reflections. Nineveh, it is well known, was utterly
destroyed so early as 606 B.c.; so that in these works,
allowing for the time necessary for the execution of the
latest, we contemplate productions of nearly three thousand
years’ antiquity. Some of them appear to have been
executed at no very long period befoi’e the fall of this great
city ; fox’, from the inscriptions which have b#en deciphered,
they appear to represent the history and actions of Esar-
haddon, who succeeded his father Sennacherib. The latter
was, as we read, murdered by two of his sons “ as he was
worshipping in the house of Nisroch, his god;” and “ Esar-
haddon reigned in his stead.” Others are evidently of a
more x'emote antiquity. The progress that is being made
in conquering the difficulties of understanding inscriptions,
in a language that has long been obsolete, is daily furnish¬
ing new and most valuable information respecting the
subjects repi'esented in these relievi. The slabs are in¬
scribed with letters or characters in close lines, which often
pass entirely over the figures. The engraving does not,
however, materially affect the sculpture in its general effect;
while great advantage may be derived from this double
mode of recording events, as each may mutually throw
light upon the other, and thus enable scholars to define
with greater accuracy the meaning of the whole series of
illustrations.
Among the remains of art brought away from these
excavations are many of undoubted Egyptian character.
These may be considered as quite distinct from the pure or
847
true Babylonian and Nineveh type. That the sculpture Sculpture,
and art generally of each people was influenced by their
mutual intercoui'se may be accepted as a very probable and
natural consequence; but a careful comparison of the cha-
x'acter of form in the earlier works of both nations seems
to exhibit peculiarities which indicate an originality of
feeling in both schools ; although in a certain quaintness,
or primitive simplicity in the composition of the figures,
there may be a resemblance between them. These Assyrian
sculptures cannot be put forward as successful works of
fine art. They are of a prescribed style and type; and
though some are of greater excellence with respect to their
execution than others, they are of a fixed and not pro¬
gressive school of art. The superiority observable in some
of them is of a practical kind; but there is little feeling
for beauty, no improvement in the anatomical construction
of the figures, as exhibited in the articulations of the joints,
or knowledge in the arrangement and flow of drapery, or
in the graceful composition of the groups of figures. Still,
they are works of immense interest; and their x’ecovery,
after so many ages, is an event of great importance to us on
every account. Chiefly they claim the attention of the scholar
and the antiquary for the light they throw upon the long-
lost history of one of the greatest nations of the earth ; but
these curious works will also suggest some very interesting
subjects of speculation with regard to the influence they
exei'cised on the sculpture of that remarkable people who,
long after Babylon and Nineveh had ceased to exist,
carried this art to its highest perfection.
It is much to be regretted that no ancient works of
Phoenician art remain. It may be assumed, however, from
their geographical position, and the constant intercourse
that existed between the sevei'al nations which were located
between the two great rivers of Assyria and the sea-
coast, that such sculpture as they had must have partaken
of the general character of the art above described. The
enterprise and skill of the Phoenicians gained for them
especial notice at a vei'y early period. Homer speaks of
the Sidonians as remai'kable tor their skill and ingenuity,
and calls them SiSoves 7ro\u8ai8aXoi {II. xxiii. 743). A Phoe¬
nician artist of Tyre was selected to execute some of the
most important works required for the temple built by
Solomon. This king, we read (2 Chron., and 1 Kings vii.),
applied to Hiram, King of Tyre, for workmen, and he sent
him “ a cunning man, skilful to work in gold, silver, bi'ass,
iron, stone, and timber.” The temple was built about one
thousand years before the Christian era. The position of
the Phoenicians gave them the command of the commerce
of the ancient nations, and they extended their dealings to
the inost remote known boundaries of the earth. There is
no doubt that at an extremely early period they traded with
the British Isles, and procured tin from Cornwall, the Cassi-
terides of the ancients; while the coast trade of all the
nations of the TEgean and Mediterranean seas must have
been in their hands. Tyre is finely apostrophized by the
prophet Ezekiel with reference to its great commercial im¬
portance. He calls it “ the merchant of the people for
many isles“ the ships of Tarshish,” he says, “ did sing
of tlxee in thy market; and thou wast replenished and
made very glorious in the midst of the seas.” Carthage
was a colony of Phoenicia; but although there are coins
existing of this settlement, they are of too late a date to
throw any light upon the true early art of their ancestors.
The history of sculpture receives little assistance from
the remains of art found in Persia. There is no ti'ace of
any original design among them, and the earliest monu¬
ments bear so close a resemblance to those of Assyria, both
in the character of the forms and in the types, in the
arrangement of relievi against the walls and entrances
flanked by gigantic winged animals with human heads, and
other peculiarities, as to leave no doubt of their derivation.
848 SCULP
Sculpture. It is thought that the earliest existing remains of Persian
art are the buildings of Persepolis, and that these are to be
attributed to the date of Darius, or about that time. The
art of the Persians has, however, some peculiarities that so
far give it a character of its own. The processions of
warriors, captives, tribute-bearers, and others, are in every
respect similar to those found at Nimroud and Khorsabad ;
but while the Assyrian dresses show no movement or folds,
the Persian work exhibits these accidents in the draperies.
The conquests of the Persians over the Egyptians, and
their intercourse with different parts of Asia Minor, would
account for some slight changes in their art, but sculpture
was never developed by the Persians into an art of beauty.
Strong national prejudices prevented this, and led at one
time to the destruction of the works of art they met with in
other countries. Xerxes was instigated to destroy the temples
in Greece, because it was urged it was impious to inclose
within walls the immortal gods, whose appropriate temple
or dwelling-place is the entire universe ; and statues were
defaced under the same feeling of religious prejudice.
Under these circumstances, notwithstanding the great in¬
terest and importance that must attach to the history of
this great nation, in its influence upon those countries with
which it became associated, Persia cannot take the position
of a school of sculpture in the sense in which that term
may be applied to Assyria, Egypt, and various parts of
Asia Minor, where the art had a distinctive character.
There is no temptation to dwell upon the sculpture of
Hindustan or China. It affords no assistance in tracing
the history of the art, and its debased quality deprives it of
all interest as a phase of fine art, the point of view from
which it is here to be considered. It must be admitted,
however, that the works existing have a sufficiently distinct
character to stamp their nationality; and although they
cannot tempt the historian of art to dwell upon them, they
offer very curious and important subjects of inquiry to the
scholar and archaeologist, who may trace their influence in
regions where it is difficult to conceive these nations could
ever have penetrated. The sculptures found in India, at
Ellora, Elephanta, and other places, are of a strictly mytho¬
logical character. They usually consist of monstrous com¬
binations of human and brute forms, repulsive from their
ugliness and outrageous defiance of rule and possibility.
They are remarkable for their extent and their dimensions,
many of the works being colossal; and they often are ela¬
borately ornamented, the carving being very careful and
minute. The striking feature in these works is that which
pervades nearly all the monuments of the East,—vastness
of scale, and a tranquil character of expression. Repose,
unless in exceptional cases, where the actions of gods or
heroes are being represented, seems to be the ruling sen¬
timent of all early sculpture. The above remarks are in¬
tended to apply to the art of the Hindus. Of ancient
Chinese sculpture much less is known, from the difficulty
that hitherto has existed in penetrating into the interior of
the country.
What has been observed above of Hindu and Chinese
sculpture, in its relation to the history of the art, is equally
applicable to the quaint and grotesque specimens that have
been met with by modern travellers in some parts of South
America. There is sufficient in their design and execution
to make them objects of great interest to the inquirer into
the early history of the localities in which they have been
found, but they afford no indications at present to guide
the archaeologist in connecting them with the progress of
art. They exhibit proofs of considerable facility in execu¬
tion in the artists who produced them: an argument for
their long practice; but of their real date it is almost im¬
possible to form any acceptable conjecture.
The sculpture of the Egyptians, though it never reached
the perfection the art attained in Greece, lias great claims
T U R E.
on our attention. The extent of their works, in archi- Sculpture,
tecture, painting, and sculpture, of an antiquity so remote
that it seems to defy research, and exhibiting at the same
time all the characteristics of long practice, show that this
remarkable people were an established nation at a very early
period in the world’s history. When Abraham visited
Egypt he found there an organized form of government”;
and the most ancient sacred writings speak of the “ wis¬
dom of the Egyptians.” These old traditions of the
learning, the prowess, and the greatness of this people are
daily receiving confirmation from the discoveries of modern
travellers and scholars ; but still it seems impossible to
penetrate the darkness which obscures the earliest history
of the nation. The dates of the foundation of some of
their most celebrated cities, as Thebes and Memphis, can
only be conjectured, no sufficient authority having yet
been discovered among the monuments or inscriptions for
fixing their precise era. The sculpture and other remains
found at Karnak, a portion of Thebes lying on the Arabian
or eastern side of the Nile, bear inscriptions in which is
read the name of Osirtasen, who is said to have been
contemporary with Joseph, above 1700 B.C.; and some of
the mins are believed to be of a date long antecedent to
that king. Wilkinson {Ancient Egyptians, vol. i.) con¬
siders the pyramids to the north of Memphis to be the
most ancient monuments in Egypt, and probably of the
world, and thinks they were erected about 2120 B.C.
The characteristics of Egyptian sculpture are very
peculiar. It exhibits extreme simplicity of design, great
breadth of treatment, to the exclusion generally of minute
details, and a solid largeness of form. There is little or
no variety of expression in the heads, especially of the
superior personages represented: a benignant, placid smile
appears on all the countenances. Where dress is intro¬
duced, there is no composition of drapery in the way of
movement, nor any indication of folds. The action of the
figures, however important or exciting their occupation, is
limited by the most severe conventionalism. If sitting or
standing, they have the legs parallel, the arms close to the
sides, while the heads always look directly in front. Our
national collection of antiquities boasts some extremely
valuable examples of Egyptian sculpture, and the student
may easily consult original specimens, by which he may
become acquainted wiih the style of art of this extraordi¬
nary school. Considering the great antiquity of the
Egyptians, and their long duration as a nation,—taking
into account, too, the various fortunes of the country, both
from their own conquests and from the invasion of
foreigners,—it is remarkable how little change occurred
in the leading^characteristics of their art. Whether the
monuments be of the most remote archaic period, or of the
more recent ante-Roman time, no sufficient alterations were
introduced to destroy that peculiar and distinctive character
which stamps all Egyptian art with its national individuality.
Certain antiquaries have attempted to define marked epochs
in the history of Egyptian sculpture; but, though certain
changes may be detected in the mode of representation in
monuments attributed to different dynasties, they do not
afford sufficient authority for anything like a strict chro¬
nological classification. From the high finish and more
careful execution of the works of the time, it is thought
that the national prosperity, and therefore the condition of
art, were highest during the reign of Rameses, about 1350
B.C.; and, judging from other remains, that the country and
its art were most depressed from the date of the Persian
conquest; that is, from 525 to about 414 B.C. Of the
latter fact there cannot be any doubt; and although the
nation freed itself after a time from the hateful rule of
Persia, Egypt never again recovered its ancient lenown,
nor did she long retain her national independence.
The attachment of the Egyptians to that peculiar style
SCULPTURE.
849
Sculpture, which has made their art so remarkable, may be traced to the
same influence that was exercised on all the earlier nations
where sculpture was employed for religious purposes. It
was a means of direct appeal to the prejudices and the under¬
standing of the people, and, as such, was used and controlled
by the ruling powers. This power was exercised in Egypt
by the hierarchy, and, as the kings or Pharaohs were also
priests, all the acts of the sovereign were associated in the
public mind with sacred influences. Thus the conquests
of the king in battle, the submission of foreign nations, the
paying of tribute, the execution of prisoners and captives,
were all represented in their sculpture and painting, with
the accompaniments of overruling divinities, either ex¬
pressed in form or implied in emblems. The decorations
of tombs were also equally associated with these feelings ;
and the solemn, colossal statues of lines of kings, attended
by the most sacred symbols of their mythology, made the
most profound impression upon a population which, from
its earliest infancy, had been educated to believe in the
divine appointment of its rulers. In art, then, the priest¬
hood permitted no innovations ; and the division of the
population into castes or callings secured among the artists,
who no doubt were especially attached to the sacerdotal
institutions, a strict conformity^ to established types. Ac¬
cording to a passage in Synnesius, the profession of an
artist was only allowed to be exercised by persons properly
qualified, lest, in ignorance, they should trangress against
the old laws which regulated the representation of the
gods and sacred subjects. Plato also says the artists were
not allowed to innovate ; “ hence the art remains the same,
the rule of it the same.” This, then, may be taken as the
real cause of the long duration of Egyptian art under its pe¬
culiar form or style. Some stress has been laid on the re¬
corded fact, that the Egyptians were ill-favoured in point of
personal attractions; and that they were without the advan¬
tages enjoyed by the Greeks, of having public games
and exercises. But even if these statements of the want
of beauty among the general population are trustworthy,
they are insufficient to account for the stationary condition
of their sculpture. The true ground of the unprogressive
character of their art, as regards its style, is found in the
nature of their institutions. That, the Egyptians were not
incapable of conceiving an ideal of beauty, is shown in
some of the heads of colossal and other statues that have
reached us, where, within the limits to which we have
adverted, a very decided character of beauty of expression,
and even of form, is met with. No better example of
this can be found than in the head, in the British Museum,
of the (so-called) young Memnon; but which, more pro¬
bably, is a portrait of Rameses II.1
The Egyptian artists employed every available material
for sculpture, with the exception of iron. For colossal
works they used basalt, porphyry, granite, lime and sand¬
stone, alabaster and wood; for smaller works, ivory, ala¬
baster, and various metals. Clay was also extensively used,
baked, and covered with a peculiar vitrified varnish, which
was burnt into them. Figures, and animals, and other
objects, worn as amulets, or used as lares or household
gods, executed in this material, abound in all collections of
Egyptian antiquities. The remarkably clean and finished
execution observable in Egyptian sculpture in the hardest
materials—basalt, granite, or of other substances most diffi¬
cult to deal with—has always excited the attention of the Sculpture,
curious, as a proof of the wonderful proficiency of this v . ^J
people, even at a very remote date, in some of the processes
of handicraft, and especially in the hardening of the metals
of which their tools was made.
With respect to the origin of the nation, and of the cha¬
racter of its religious sculpture, it. is almost useless to offer
any conjecture. Such authority as can be derived from
analogy, from indirect testimony, and also from great
care in examining the peculiarites of their monuments,
would strengthen the belief that the grand and simple
scheme of their art, as it is exhibited in the massive archi¬
tecture of their temples and other public works, and in the
colossal scale and severe tranquillity of their statues, claimed
kindred with the Asiatic nations. The most important set¬
tlement of the Egyptians seems to have been in the Thebaid
or Upper Egypt; and it is supposed that civilization advanced
northwards from thence. To the south was the country
called in the Scriptures and in the Egyptian; language the
“ foreign land of Cush ;” and its natives, with whom the
Egyptians were constantly waging war, are generally re¬
presented in the monuments as captives or as bearers of
tribute to the Pharaohs. They were a black people, and of
distinct physical character from the Egyptians; and, as is
proved by the difference in the form of the skull of the two
nations, of a totally different race. Without speculating
upon the origin of the more civilized and intelligent people
by whom the inhabitants of Upper Egypt were eventually
subdued, the above simple facts are sufficient to establish
the belief in the colonization of the Thebaid by a foreign,
and, in all probability, an Asiatic race.
The next school of sculpture which demands notice in
the history of the art is the Etruscan. Of the earliest
inhabitants of this portion of Italy nothing is certainly
known, though the subject has occupied the attention of
the learned of all times. The architectural remains
which are found scattered about that which was considered
Etrurian territory, are evidence of a very remote antiquity,
but no examples of imitative art can be assigned to the
earlier period of the existence of this people. Whether
the first colonization was from the east or from the south,
from Phoenicia, from Asia Minor, or from Egypt, it is at
present impossible to determine. The colossal character
of construction, observable in their building of the Cyclo¬
paean walls, still remaining, is characteristic of the earlier
erections of all these nations. In the greater part of the
works in sculpture that have reached us there is undoubted
evidence of Greek influence, though in the style there is
an exclusive and individual character ; but it must be ad¬
mitted also that there are examples of sculpture as well as
of painting in tombs, evidently of a very remote antiquity,
and that appear to be quite original in their subjects, and,
as far as we can judge, totally independent of Greek fable
and mythology. It has been a common error to suppose,
because the eaidier works of different countries show con¬
siderable resemblance in their forms, that it is an indication
of their derivation from a common source, and the more
archaic sculptures of Greece and Etruria have been fre¬
quently confounded, from the supposed similarity of style;
when, after all, as has before been observed, this is only the
commoff characteristic of all art in its first stage. This
fancied resemblance to some of the Egyptian figures led at
1 As reference has been made to the collection of Egyptian antiquities in the British Museum, it may he useful to those who desire to
study the sculpture from the original monuments, to point out the grand divisions of the arrangement in these galleries. The northern
gallery and centre contain the sculptures of the 15th dynasty, which comprehends the most splendid epoch of Egyptian history. It is
the era of fiameses, who appears to have been the Sesostris of the Greeks. These works are of the fourteenth century B.C., and there are
others of older date. But little change, if any, was made during the Persian rule in Egypt. In the southern gallery are deposited
works of this period, and of the Grasco-Macedonian period, after the conquests of Alexander the Great and the succession of Ptolemy
Soter, 323 b.c. Afterwards commence the sculptures of the Roman period, after the capture of Alexandria by Augustus, 30 B.C., extend¬
ing down to the Mohammedan invasion, 640 a.d.
VOL. XIX. . p p
850
Sculpture,
SCULPTURE.
one time to the belief that the Etruscans derived their art
from Egypt.1 Considerable variety will be found in wor s
of the Etruscan school. In some examples the forms are
undefined and very simple, and the accessories, as the hair
and draperies, arranged stiffly, and in regular lines, bearing
in these respects considerable resemblance to the works of
the Persians above described. In others there is an ex-
aggeration and affectation entirely distinct from anything
found in the contemporary art of the time, excepting, oc¬
casionally, in the early Greek vases ; a circumstance which
mio-ht seem to indicate a connection at this period of their
history with this nation. The peculiarity referred to is
especially indicated in the hands, where the fingers are
turned back in the most unnatural manner. The preva¬
lence of a marked style in the Etruscan sculpture may be
attributed to the same causes which, it has been shown,
influenced Egyptian, Assyrian and, as will be seen, early
Greek art. Their rulers, the “ Lucomones,” were priests
as well as governors; and no doubt religious feeling con¬
secrated certain forms, and prevented changes which might
have been considered in the light of profane innovation. A
distinction must, however, be drawn between original Etrus¬
can works,—that is, the production of native Etruscan artists,
—and works in the Etruscan style ; a mode of treatment
that was retained by the admirers or followers of this school
long after the date of the true and original art of Etruria.
It was a style particularly distinguished by the Romans,
and called by them “ tuscanicus? as applied to art; and it
was not necessarily confined to works executed by native
sculptors. All productions which exhibited the hard and dry
manner of the earlier Etruscan school gained the title of
Opera Tuscanica. There is a passage in Quinctihan which
affords an interesting illustration of this classification of
style, when he is speaking of the (technical) character of
the works of some of the more celebrated Greek sculptors
of the fifth and sixth centuries before Christ. Gallon
and Egesias, he says, executed their statues or productions
in a harder style than some other artists referred to, ap¬
proaching very near to the T-uscan or Etruscan forms; Ca-
lamis, again, was less rigid.2 3 It may be remarked, gene¬
rally, that the works of the Etruscan artists are deficient in
beauty. They have not even that simplicity and repose
which, in spite of its deficiencies in other respects, give a cer¬
tain air of dignity to Egyptian sculpture ; still less is there
any attempt at or approach to the fine forms of Grecian art.
Some Etruscan works have been found to differ consi¬
derably from the usual productions of this school, and from
the style particularized in the foregoing remarks. This is
especially observable in the compositions in painting and
sculpture that have been discovered of late years in certain
tombs of Volterra and other Etruscan cities. The sculpture
in these consists of semi-recumbent figures reposing on
sarcophagi. They vary in size, some being as large as life,
others of small dimensions; and they usually form the top
or lid of the coffin, or receptacle in which the remains of
the deceased were deposited. In these statues we no
longer recognise the ordinary Etruscan style; and yet they
have been found in localities and bearing inscriptions which
would appear to carry them back to a very remote date.
The forms usually are clumsy, and they are loaded with full
and heavy drapery. The heads, again, are peculiar. I hey
often have all the character of being portraits, and some¬
times they are pleasing in expression, and even exhibit an
approach to beauty. The first impression they convey is,
that they belong to a low Roman school of art, to which
indeed some antiquaries have unhesitatingly assigned them. Sculpture.
There are, however, difficulties in the way of coming to
a conclusion upon their date and origin. There is no
doubt that the tombs of Etruria were opened and, in many
instances, plundered in ancient times; and it is ex¬
tremely probable that they were used also as depositaries
for the dead by a people who were in possession of the
country very long after the date of their original construc¬
tors. Objects have been found in some of these tombs
evidently of various ages ; a proof of their not being in their
primitive integrity when opened by more recent anti¬
quaries. From these circumstances, it becomes exceedingly
difficult to define the precise age of the works that occa¬
sionally are found in them ; and where inscriptions of an
ancient character occur upon sculpture that exhibits indi¬
cation of the decadence of art this difficulty is of course
greatly increased.
The foregoing rapid survey of sculpture has been rather
a notice of an universally practised form of record than a
history of a refined art, requiring the exercise of the intel¬
lect and the hand, and having for its office to express
elevated sentiment, or to illustrate noble subjects under
appropriate forms of beauty. Important in other respects
as was the employment of sculpture among the most an¬
cient nations, and valuable as are the monuments that time
has left us, it was not till the Greek mind perceived its
capability of development that the entire value of the art
was recognised as a means of physically illustrating the
perfection of nature’s noblest work. It strikes us now with
wonder and astonishment that so long a period could have
elapsed between the first invention and rude practice of
sculpture, and the perfection it was destined to reach
among the Greeks. Sicyon was founded above 2000 years
B.C., Argos 1856 B.C., and yet it is not till between 700
and 600 B.c. that those first changes are perceived in the
style of art practiced in that region of the world, which
then led so rapidly to the consummation of sculpture in
the great schools of Myron, Phidias, and Polycletus, in the
time of Pericles.
The Greeks were subject to the same obstructive in¬
fluence of the priesthood as other nations whose works have
been referred to, and there can be no doubt that for a con¬
siderable period this power of preventing innovation in sculp¬
ture intended for religious purposes, as statues in temples,
or votive offerings, held its sway, and retarded the progress
of the art. But there seems to have been one established
quality in the Greek mind which, independently of other
circumstances, necessitated, if it may be so said, the de¬
velopment of an imitative art to a condition of high excel¬
lence. This was its sensibility to beauty. Some writers,
in endeavouring to account for the superiority of the Greeks
in art, have thought it attributable to climate, to the
government under which they lived, to the beauty of the
people, or other external causes; but in considering the
history of the several schools of Greece, it will be found
that none of these existed universally in any of the localities
where sculpture was most successfully practised. Attica,
the home of the fine arts, had a climate of great inequality.
In some parts there was the greatest luxuriance of vegeta¬
tion, while in others the soil was ungrateful, naked, and
barren. In personal beauty Athens held no decided supe¬
riority over other cities, and yet the Athenians were distin¬
guished beyond all others for their productions of art. It
certainly is curious that not one of the women whose cele¬
brity for beauty has come down to us was a native of Athens.
1 Cicognara very properly remarks,—“La supposizione che gli Etruschi traesse.ro dagh Egizii le loro artie il loi o ^l^arti
fondamento, poiche, come avverti il Lanzi, la rigidezza e il rettilineo dei segm non hanno bisogno di ventrci da i o, 6 ? ? ? jS-ior_ deua
presso tutte le nazione si vede lo stesso carattere, essendo quello stile non tanto arte quanto mancanza di ar e. ( 0 >
Scultura, \o\A.) _ _ ^ . .... ..
3 Duriora et Tuscanicis proxima Gallon et Egesias; jam minus rigida Calamis, sc. (nD. xn. iu;.
SCULPTURE.
Sculpture. Phryne was of Thebes, Glycerae of Thespiae, Aspasia was
born at Miletus, Lais at Hyccara in Sicily; and when
Zeuxis the painter was occupied upon his famous picture
of Venus, it is recorded that he studied the beautiful forms
of seven virgins of Crotona. It is worthy of remark that
Cicero, speaking of the youths he saw at Athens, says he
observed few who were handsome. {De Nat. Dear, ii., c.
79.) It is not intended to deny the existence of beauty
among the Athenians, but simply to point out that their ex¬
clusive possession of it was not necessarily the cause of their
success in sculpture. Indeed, the Lacedaemonians, whose
admiration of beauty is especially remarked by iElian (Var.
Hist. xiv. 27), proscribed the practice of sculpture and the
fine arts in Sparta. Nor will the form of government ac¬
count for the excellence of this people in the arts of design.
The most different political conditions existed where the
arts flourished, as was the case at Corinth, at Athens, and
Sicyon. The aptitude of the Greeks for excelling in
the fine arts is then to be sought for in causes different
from, and independently of, the above. It is more proba¬
ble that it was owing to the peculiar constitution of the
Greek, one of whose prominent features was an extreme
sensibility to beauty. It was the development of this
feeling that established a principle upon which their imita¬
tive art was founded, and which led necessarily to its ex¬
cellence. Why the Greek was the first to feel this power,
and how he was led to break through prescriptive forms
in expressing it in art need not now be discussed, but the
fact is indisputable. He recognised sculpture as an imita¬
tive art, and his acute and sensitive intelligence taught
him that it was capable of improvement from the old types
if that upon which it was founded, namely Nature, was
carefully studied and copied. This was the secret of the
superiority of the Greeks; and their selection or choice of
what was most fit to be copied led to the perfection of their
sculpture, and to the establishment of what has been called
in art-language, ideal Beauty.
It has been observed that the Greeks seem to have had
an intuitive perception of the beautiful; that they sensibly
appreciated it is proved by many curious facts. Allusion
has been made to the admiration felt for it among the
Lacedaemonians (Athen. xii. 12). In other parts of Greece
the same feeling existed. The priests of the temple of
Jupiter at vEgium in Achaia, were youths who had received
a prize for their personal beauty. The same distinction
marked the priests of the Ismenian Apollo ; and the boys
who took part in the procession in honour of Mercury at
Tanagra, were also chosen for the possession of this quality.
(Paus. ix. 10, 22 ; vii. 24). The Thebans had a law which
subjected artists to a fine if they represented objects less
beautiful than they were in reality (ASlian Var. iv. 4; and
see Junius de Picturd veterum, and Lessing, “Laocoon”).
It is remarkable how strictly the artists seem to have been
bound by this principle not to represent repulsive sub¬
jects, nor indeed to express any passion or feeling under
forms that were incompatible with the laws of beauty.
The habits of the Greeks fostered this appreciation of
the beautiful. The mode of life of the people, and the
constant occurrence of public exercises, taught all classes
to be judges of the human figure. The gymnasia, or
schools for training for the games, were universally fre¬
quented. The public found there their rulers, statesmen,
philosophers, poets, and artists taking interest in the
exercises; and thus all were accustomed to see the human
form in its highest condition, whether in action or re¬
pose. The education or training of young men who in¬
tended to take part in the great contests for prizes, was
also a subject of the greatest care. The fullest develop¬
ment was given to the muscles, and constant practice pre¬
pared them for those trials of agility and strength which
were witnessed by the eager multitude of all classes, and
851
from which the successful candidate issued not only a Sculpture,
crowned victor but the subject of the poet’s noblest odes,
and of the sculptor’s art. The highest honour that could
be awarded, and this was only granted to those who had
been conquerors a certain number of times, was to be
allowed to dedicate an Iconic or portrait statue, represent¬
ing the fortunate candidate, in the Altis or sacred grove,
near the temple of the Olympian Jupiter. These statues
were seen by the crowds who assembled periodically to wit¬
ness or take part in the games; and thus was the memory
of the prowess or agility of the individual perpetuated con¬
stantly inciting others to deserve a similar distinction. The
opening afforded by this custom for the exercise and im¬
provement of sculpture is obvious. These statues were por¬
traits of the individuals who had gained their crowns by
the exhibition of their superiority in certain exercises.
Thus the sculptor found in the successful wrestler a pe¬
culiar development which was evidence of strong physical
power; in the victor in the foot race the clean limbs and
light proportions which enabled him to outrun his compe¬
titors ; while the combination of similar qualities of strength
and lightness gave the type of the general athlete. Here,
then, are seen the elements of those fine creations which
have stamped Greek sculpture with its enduring character
of excellence. From such studies were produced the sta¬
tues of Hercules and others of that class, or those of the
light and active Mercury, or, again, the Discoboli and simi¬
lar productions; and from the skilful application of the
principles discoverable in such forms, the whole class and
variety of ideal subjects, either of sublimity or beauty, in
the statues of divinities and heroes had their existence.
The noble objects to which sculpture was thus applied,
to do honour to worth, and to decorate the temples of the
gods, gave a dignity to the art, and an honourable cha¬
racter to the pursuit, while the recognition of the prin¬
ciple, that an imitative art was constantly to aim at repro¬
ducing and repeating the finest forms which were presented
for its guidance, led to its perfection as an objective art.
It was precisely this union, which had not before been
established by any nation of artists, which gave to Greek
sculpture its extraordinary excellence ; and it may be said
has maintained the superiority of Greek art through a long
succession of ages. No mechanical copying of Greek sta¬
tues, however skilful and however zealous the copyist, can
ever secure for modern sculpture the same noble and effec¬
tive character it possessed among the Greeks, for the sim¬
ple and intelligible reason that the imitation, close as may
be the resemblance, is but the result of the eye and hand,
while the original was the expression of a true and deeply-
felt sentiment. Another circumstance highly conducive
to the progress and development of art must also be taken
into consideration. This was the general appreciation of
sculpture among a whole people sensitively alive to beauty
in all its forms. Art was not here sustained by the pa¬
tronage of the few who, having, or affecting to have, what
is called taste, bought the services of the sculptor, and
paid him to decorate a gallery by order. In Greece the
artist, himself a Greek, having a common feeling for the
beautiful with his countrymen, produced his works for the
public; they were to be erected in places of honour, to be
dedicated in the temples of the gods, and no small motives
influenced his labours. These were the conditions which
carried the art to its highest perfection. When they were
invaded, and the objects of art lowered to suit a change of
feeling sculpture, as will be seen, immediately began to
show symptoms of decline.
The history of the earlier settlements in Greece is involved
in so much obscurity, that it will scarcely answer any
useful purpose here to attempt to penetrate it. We must
be satisfied to trace, so far as is practicable, the first germ
of art, and to follow it in its various phases from its rudest
852
SCULPTURE.
Sculpture, condition to its perfection, and then to its extinction. The
earliest records which can be at all associated with sculp¬
ture, or as the elements of its creation, were as simple
among the Greeks as with other nations. Columns and
blocks of stone were the primitive types under which they
worshipped their divinities; and as late as Tausanias, a.d.
170, some of these were to be seen in different parts of
Greece. This traveller speaks of seeing some at Pherae in
Achaia. It is recorded that Juno at Thespiae, Diana Patroa,
and the Milichian Jove at Sicyon, and even the Venus of
Paphos, were thus represented. The addition, by degrees,
of heads, and then of feet and hands, the latter close to
the sides, and the legs united like columns, formed pro¬
bably the earliest attempt at giving such objects a human
form. These speculations are, however, but vague, and it
would be difficult to attribute dates to such early attempts
at imitative design. In this respect, in the very infancy of
art, the mode of representation was doubtless very nearly
the same wherever it was attempted at all.
In tracing the later history of sculpture among the
Greeks, certain changes mark distinct epochs in the pro¬
gress of the art. Four principal periods may thus be dis¬
tinguished, each characterised by striking peculiarities of
style or treatment.
The first may be said to comprehend all that uncertain
age of which no reliable record remains, and of which our
only knowledge is in the traditions preserved by ancient
writers down to the period of the first art-movement exhi¬
bited in the archaic-movements of the Eginetan school,
at about 600 b.c. The second period extends to the per¬
fection of sculpture, by Phidias and his contemporaries, at
from 450 to 400 B.C. The third period includes the
practice of the art from this time to about 250 or 200 B.C.,
when the more voluptuous execution and style of design
of Praxiteles and his scholars, and of Lysippus and his
followers effected a most important change in the condition
of the art. The fourth and, in this comprehensive sum¬
mary, the last period of true Greek sculpture is that of its
decline, under mere imitators or bad innovators; when
manner took the place of style, and when that pure sim¬
plicity and noble grandeur that had hitherto characterized
sculpture were superseded by minute details, mechanical
and tasteless execution, and by littleness and poverty of
treatment.
In the earliest attempts in sculpture among the Greeks
there is a distinction discernible which separates them from
those of other nations, and a skilful antiquary will rarely have
any difficulty in deciding whether or not the most archaic spe¬
cimen submitted to his judgment be of this people or of any
of the more ancient races who practiced the art. It is true
the sculpture of the archaic period offers but little that is at¬
tractive to the admirers of the beautiful. Rude and clumsy
in form, stiff and limited in action, there is nothing in these
respects to elevate them above the earlier productions of
other nations. The first improvement was in the attempt
to give fuller action to the figures, and this led immediately
and necessarily to a more careful consideration of form
and knowledge of parts. The characteristics that are here
most striking are exaggeration. The action is usually
violent and energetic, and the forms are over-developed,
full, and charged. The proportions are wide compared
with the length of the figure. The treatment of the head
in sculpture of the earliest period offers also some remark¬
able peculiarities. The eye is usually long and narrow,
;■ and slightly raised at the outer extremity, and the mouth
v is open with a smiling expression. The execution of the
hair varies at different dates and in different schools. On
some of the most ancient coins it is wiry, and in close
parallel lines; in other examples the hair is represented in
masses, in lumps or knobs. In male figures the beard,
and other hair is marked by elaborate care. The drapery
in early sculpture is usually extremely scanty and thin, Sculpture,
lying close to the figure, and scarcely showing any fulness
or variety except at the edges, which are sharp and angular.
The folds are for the most part arranged with mechanical
precision; opposite folds corresponding, line for line and
angle for angle, with each other, and exhibiting at their
termination a regular zig-zag. For examples of the pecu¬
liarities above noticed, the student may examine the early
tetradrachms of Athens, the early coins of Oreste and
Pellene, the coins of Posidonia, the heads of the statues
found in the island of TEgina, and the sculpture from
Selinunte in Sicily. The British Museum possesses most
interesting monuments of these earlier schools, and in the
absence of the original works casts from the Selinuntine and
JEginetan sculptures may be consulted with advantage.
Lately some very curious and interesting monuments of
the archaic type have reached this country from Branchidse
in Miletus. Whether they really are of the remote date
their general style suggests, or are ancient imitations of
an earlier school of sculpture, executed to complete some
grand design, for they appear to have formed a portion of
an avenue of sitting statues leading to the temple of Apollo
Didymseus, may be a question for antiquaries to determine,
but they are extremely valuable as examples of the pecu¬
liarities of early execution.
The earliest names that occur of sculptors belonging
to the Greek school are Daedalus, Smilis, and Endceus.
The difficulty of giving anything like precise dates to the
first artists who are recorded has already been adverted to,
and with respect to Daedalus, especially, this difficulty is
the greater because there is every reason to believe that
it was a common appellation given to many persons re¬
markable for skill and ingenuity. The Daedalus usually
considered as the first rightful owner of the name is said
to have been of a royal race ; the grandson of Erechtheus
King of Athens. He was the inventor of various mechani¬
cal instruments, the lever, the saw, &c.; and as a sculptor
was the first who ventured upon the innovation of separat¬
ing the legs and arms of figures from their former stiff
attachment to the body. Pausanias (ix. 3, &c.), says “ the
ancients called wooden figures AmSaXa (Daedala)and he
adds that it is probable the artist was named after his
works rather than by his own name ; thus making Daedalus
a title or distinctive appellation from his skilful accomplish¬
ments. Pausanias was shown some wooden figures said to
be by Daedalus. He declares there was a certain air of
grandeur in them, but no beauty. If so, it could only have
been from their size, unless his feelings of veneration for their
great antiquity gave them sublimity in his eyes. Smilis
was a native of Algina. He was the author of a statue of
Juno at Samos. Endceus was an Athenian, and scholar of
Daedalus. Pausanias (vii. 5) records a colossal seated
statue (of wood) of Minerva Polias, by this artist, which
was in the temple at Erythrae in Ionia. He is said also to
have executed works in stone and ivory. v The accounts of
works and of artists of this remote period are of course
very vague.
Phido of Argos, about 800 b.c., is said to have struck
the first money in Greece, in the island of iEgina. Some
extremely rude coins of that island, having for a device a
tortoise, are extant; and from the very primitive style of
their execution, they have been thought to be not very re¬
mote from the period alluded to. At this time mention is
first made of statues in metal. Gitiadas, some of whose
works Pausanias saw (iii. 17), and Learchus, of Rhegium,
are mentioned among the earliest artists, and the above
writer speaks of a bronze statue of Jupiter at Lacedaemon,
which was said to be by Learchus, as the most ancient
statue in that material known to exist. I he date of
Learchus has been a subject of considerable difficulty vyith
antiquaries, but it is probable that he lived about the time
SCULPTURE. 853
Sculpture, here stated. The next names that occur are of import-
ance in the annals of Greek sculpture,—these are Telecles,
Rhcecus, and Theodorus. Their reputation was so great
that they had the credit of inventing many processes of art
which it is obvious must have been known before their time ;
such, for instance, as the plastic art, or modelling. This is
recorded by Pliny {Hist. Nat. xxxv. 12), though he himself
tells us in another place its discovery was attributed to Dibu-
tades of Corinth. This Simple art was of course known at
the very earliest period, long before either of these artists
appeared, but it is probable they were the authors of many
improvements by which sculpture was greatly advanced.
Rhoeeus and Theodorus were natives of Samos. The latter
name was borne by two sculptors, one the son of Rhcecus,
the other of Telecles. Herodotus (iii. 60) says Rhcecus, who
was an architect as well as statuary, built the temple of Juno
at Samos; and he is referred to as the author of a statue
called Night, preserved in the temple of the Ephesian
Diana. Pausanias says he was unable to find any work
of Theodorus. Pliny mentions several that were attri¬
buted to him. The son of Telecles was considered the
inventor of casting in iron. Herodotus (iii. 41), records
that Theodorus engraved the celebrated ring which Poly¬
crates, the tyrant of Samos, threw into the sea, and so
marvellously recovered. The king, who had enjoyed a long
course of uninterrupted prosperity, determined to make
some sacrifice to prove his equanimity. Among his most
highly-valued treasures was this ring, and he voluntarily
parted with it, casting it himself into the sea. His good
fortune still, however, attended him, for in a few days a
large fish that had been taken was presented for the king’s
acceptance, and upon opening it the much-prized ring was
found in its belly. Theodorus is also said to have made a
magnificent vase that was dedicated at Delphi by Croesus,
King of Lydia; a circumstance that has led to the belief
that Theodorus lived at a later date than that usually as¬
signed to him. It is possible, however, that the vase pre¬
sented by Croesus may have been among the treasures
of the king, a carefully-preserved work of an older age, and
from its value and the fame of its author, a worthy object
for the purpose to which Croesus applied it. Pliny says
these artists lived long prior to the expulsion of the Bacchi-
adse from Corinth. This occurred about 659 B.c. It has
therefore been conjectured that Rhcecus and the two sculp¬
tors named Theodorus must have flourished between 800
and 700 before our era. Dipoenus and Scyllis, who are
supposed by some writers to have lived at this remote
date, were considered the founders of the school of Sicyon.
They had many scholars, among whom appears Learchus
of Rhegium before mentioned, and which will account
for the early date given to these artists. It has been said
of them they were the first who employed marble for sculp¬
ture ; but the expression of Pliny (xxxvi. 4), upon which
this opinion has been formed, more probably means that
they were particularly distinguished in working in that
beautiful material. Dipcenus and Scyllis were employed
to make some statues of the gods for the Sicyonians; but
owing to some offence received, they quitted Sicyon, leav¬
ing the statues unfinished. A famine soon after afflicted
the country, and the oracle declared it would not cease till
the statues of the gods were completed. The sculptors were
prevailed upon to resume their work, and the statues of
Apollo, Diana, Hercules, and Minerva, were finished by
them. Among their scholars are Teetaeus and Angelion,
Doryclidas, Dontas, Medon, and Theocles. (Paus. ii. 32 ;
iii. 17, &c.) Some writers have imagined that these emi¬
nent sculptors lived as late as 540 b.c. Flaxman (Lect.,
p. 75-79) considers the older date the more probable one.
From the most archaic period to about 600 b.c., there
probably was but slight change as regards style in sculpture,
though no doubt improvements were effected in some of the
executive processes. At the later date referred to, a great Sculpture,
step was made in the art; and it will be seen that from this
time, from 600 or 550 B.C., the advancement of sculpture was
continuous and rapid to a degree that is perfectly surprising.
Before proceeding with the consideration of some of the
more interesting of the earlier monuments discovered within
the present century, attention may be directed to the ancient
lions over the gate of Mycenae, supposed to be the oldest ex¬
ample existing of Greek sculpture. The work is in stone,
in high relief. The two lions are represented' on their
hind legs, with the front feet resting on the shaft of a column
standing between them. Pausanias (ii. 16) says this was
reputed to be the work of the Cyclops. The statues from
Branchidae have already been referred to for the peculiari¬
ties they exhibit of archaic design. It remains to mention
the very interesting archaic sculptures discovered in Lycia
in 1842-7, and now deposited in the British Museum.
The statues and relievi in this collection are of different pe- *
riods, down to a comparatively late date, but the slabs on
the tomb (called) of the Harpies, and some few fragments
of draped statues, are of the most ancient type; curiously
illustrating the infancy of Greek sculpture, and its distinct¬
ness of character from that of any other people.
In alluding to certain characteristics of archaic treatment
in style, especial reference has been made to the sculptures
of Selinus and iEgina. The first consist of some frag¬
ments of metopes from temples discovered in Sicily in the
year 1823. One represents a portion of a combat between
a warrior and a female. Three others, from another tem¬
ple, are of historical or mythological subjects. The art
of all these remains is very rude, but extremely curious
and interesting, especially with reference to the growing
change in sculpture. The proportions of the figures are
short. The waists are remarkably contracted, and the
heads, thighs, calves, and feet large and heavy. The legs
and feet are represented in profile, though the figures are
fronting the spectator. The execution of the hair is for¬
mal, being long, and falling over the shoulders. It is also
in some of the figures plaited. As usual in archaic design,
all the figures, whatever their occupation, appear to be
laughing. There is a total absence of beauty in all these
sculptures. In the head of the fallen warrior some excep¬
tional peculiarities will be observed, which seem to refer to
a higher school of art than the others. So strong a resem¬
blance appears in it to some of the heads of the iEginetan
sculpture that it might be fancied that a portion of these
works may have been superintended by artists from that
rising school, while others may have been the productions of
native artists. The date of these interesting monuments
may probably be reckoned at about 600 b.c. The originals
are in the Museum of Antiquities at Palermo, but casts from
them are deposited in the British Museum. Selinus was
founded about 620 b.c., and though it was taken and sacked
by the Carthaginians, was not finally destroyed till about
270 B.C. The above sculptures may be referred to an
early period of its history; and the student of the history
of the art will be struck with the link they form in the
progressive changes which begin now to mark the develop¬
ment of Greek sculpture.
The remarkable series of marble statues that form the
ASginetan collection of sculptures, of which also we only
possess casts, was discovered in the year 1812 in the island
of JEgina. They decorated the two pediments of a temple
dedicated to Jupiter Panhellenins. They consist, in addi¬
tion to numerous fragments, of sixteen statues, of which
eleven belonged to the western pediment and five to that at
the eastern end of the temple. The first eleven, appear to
complete the composition required to fill the space, and are
therefore considered to be the entire number originally
intended on that side. The eastern end is of course very
deficient. The subject of both is a combat j and in the more
854
SCULPTURE.
Sculpture, extensive series Minerva appears in the centre as the pre-
v—siding power. She is of somewhat larger proportions than
the combatants, and is raised on a step or plinth. The
goddess is fully armed, with her helmet on, and on her left
arm is a large circular shield. In her right hand, which was
bent towards her front, was in all probability a spear. Her
aegis covers her bust; the edge of it shows the winding
bodies of the snakes, and these terminate in small points
or tails, which were formed of metal. The figures extended
on either side of the centre are engaged in battle; some
are in violent action, some wounded and dying. It is re¬
markable that the figures of the eastern pediment are of a
larger scale than those of the western side.
These sculptures offer many points of great interest to
the student of the history of Greek art. Their general
style may be classed as archaic; but there are pecufiarities
even here that show the commencement of an important
^ movement. I he statue of Minerva is of a much more
ancient or rude style than the rest of the figures, from
which two important conclusions may be drawn:—First,
that although all the statues are unquestionably of the same
date, there was a style of art known superior to that
sometimes practised; and, secondly, that in the statues or
representations of divinities, the sculptors were under some
obligation to conform to prescribed rules. While the com¬
batants exhibit every variety and generally entire cor¬
rectness of action, the goddess is stiff and primitive, and
stands with both feet turned in the same direction, side-
ways, in an attitude of difficulty and insecurity. In the
other figures there is considerable display of knowledge of
form, and an approach to broad treatment in the execution ;
and though the details are not yet equal to the excellence of
the subsequent school, there is a fine feeling for proportion,
and an agreeable and harmonious balance of parts. Yet
here again the archaic element steps in in the character of
the heads, which exhibit all the peculiarities of the more
ancient types before referred to. However earnestly en¬
gaged, and even when wounded and dying, each has a
smiling expression; the mouth being slightly open, as
though each figure was occupied in the most pleasing man¬
ner. The hair is worked with the utmost care, in small curls
and knobs, in the manner before described. The execu¬
tion of these sculptures may be attributed to the age im¬
mediately preceding the time of Pericles. The originals in
marble are at Munich, but there is a fine set of casts from
them in the British Museum.
Before entering upon the sculpture of the great period
referred to, a few remarks may advantageously be offered
upon the schools and artists immediately preceding. The
most celebrated of the former were those of Sicyon, iEgina,
and Corinth ; and from about 500 b.c. the succession of
the sculptors and the changes each effected in the style of
his art may be traced with some accuracy. Gallon was one
of the most celebrated of these, but his precise date is un¬
certain. After him appear Onatas and Glaucias. The
former was both sculptor and painter, and Pausanias de¬
scribes many of his works (Paus. vi. viii. ix. x.) Amongst
these were several of bronze ; some of colossal dimensions,
and others of ordinary scale. At Pergamus was a colossal
statue of Apollo; at Olympia a colossal Hercules, also one
of bronze dedicated by the Thasians; also at Olympia a
statue of Mercury, placed there by the people of Phe-
neos; a statue of Ceres and others. Onatas executed some
works in connection with other sculptors: Calliteles, for in¬
stance, assisted him with the above-named statue of Mer-
cury. In another work, a chariot with accompaniments,
dedicated at Olympia, we find him associated with Calamis;
and in another with one Calynthus. Pausanias also states
that certain of his performances in the sister art were pre¬
served in the temple of Minerva Area. It is curious and
interesting to find ancient writers illustrating another art,
that of oratory, by a reference to peculiarities in the practice Sculpture
of sculpture; by which we not only acquire some valuable W-J
information upon the subject of change and progress already
adverted to, but are furnished with an important list of names
of successive ancient sculptors, by whom these changes and
improvements were effected. Cicero {De ClarP Orat.)
says,— Quis non intelligit Canada signa riqidiora esse
quam ut imitentur veritatem ? Calamidis dura ilia qui-
dem, sedtamen mollioraquam Canada; nondum Myronis
satis ad veritatem adductajam tamen quce non dubites pul-
chra dicere, See. Sic. We have already seen that Quincti-
han in the same way characterises the difference of style of
artists of this transition period, where he says,—“ Duriora
Gallon atque Egesias ; minus rigida Calamis” Sic. These
notices are extremely valuable. They carry sculpture
through various phases, out of the early archaic manner, into
the more perfect school of which Polycletus and Phidias
were the great ornaments. Cicero, in continuation of this
review, says of the works of the former, “ Pulchriora etiam
Folycleti {signa or opera) et jam plane perfecta; thus
bringing us through a series of changes to the highest per¬
fection of the art.
A list of names of the eminent sculptors who now crowd
the scene, though of great interest to the antiquary, would
occupy much space, and would convey but little informa¬
tion upon those points which are important to our history.
I here is one, however, noticed in the above series upon
whom a few remarks may be made, as we possess in our na¬
tional collection an antique copy of an undoubted work of the
master. T. his is a statue of a “^Discobolus,” or quoit-thrower
by Myron. Lucian and Quinctilian describe the original,
which was of bronze; and the copy we refer to, one of three
known to^ exist, bears out the criticism that is come down
to us. The statue is full of action, even to exaggeration,
and the style of form and execution associates it with the
known date of its author. The ancient comment on it ex¬
presses the judgment of the writer“ Quid tarn distortum
et elaboratum quam est Me Discobolus Myronis” Sic.
Myion and Polycletus were rivals in bronze works, and we
lead that they had their preferences for the kinds they
used. Polycletus employed the bronze of JEgina, Myron
that of Delos (Plin. iY. H) Myron was an Athenian and
a pupil, together with Phidias and Polycletus, of Ageladas.
He is said to have introduced a greater variety in his art
than those who preceded him; but Pliny says he was not
considered successful in expressing sentiment or passion,
and that in his style of treatment there was still much of
the stiffness of the early schools.
We are now struck with the importance that was be¬
ginning to be attached to particulars and details in sculp¬
ture ; that is, in expression and peculiarities of treatment,
apart from the distinct changes in style which indicate the
general progress of the art in its passage from the archaic
to the perfect schools.
Pythagoras, a sculptor, a native of Rhegium, who lived
about the time, is mentioned for his superior ability in this
respect. A statue by him is recorded of a wounded man,
in which the expression of pain was so accurately de¬
fined that the spectators were affected by it, and seemed
to share the sufferings of the figure before them. This
sculptor is also particularly noticed for having expressed
the veins in his statues, and for the careful execution of
the hair. “ Hie primus nervos ac venas expressit, capil-
lumque diligentiiis.” (Pliny, Nat. Hist, xxxiv.)
The next sculptor famous in the annals of Greek art, of
whom particular mention is made, is Polycletus. There are
at least three of the name recorded, but the most eminent is
called by Pliny Sicyonius. It is possible, however, as one
equally celebrated was also called Argivus, that he may have
been a native of Sicyon, but was known as an Argive from
having produced many of his most celebrated works at Ar-
Sculpture.
s
o-os, and thus that the two epithets belonged to the same
individual. He is noted for the great care and perfec¬
tion of his finish; but it is said he wanted variety in his
art. This Polycletus was the author of one statue, a “ Dory-
phorus,” or lance-bearer, which was so perfect in its propor¬
tions that it was called by common consent “ the Canon ”
Artists referred to it as a rule or standard of art, “ linea-
menta artis ex eo petentes velut a lege quadam. (Plin.
N. H. xxxiv. 8.) We might easily dwell, if our limits per¬
mitted it, upon the numerous works of this accomplished
sculptor, who seems to have been highly distinguished in
every branch of his profession, and to have been no un¬
worthy rival of the greatest artists who illustrated the age
of Pericles. In one process he is pronounced to have sur¬
passed even Phidias himself, for Pliny, in handing down a
tradition of the practice of the Toreutic art, says that Poly¬
cletus perfected or consummated what Phidias had only com¬
menced. “ Hie consumdsse . ... ut Phidias aperuisse.
Ageladas, or, as it sometimes occurs, Eladas, of Argos,
produced numerous works of excellence; but the circum¬
stance of the greatest interest attached to his name E his
having been the master of the three leading sculptors of the
fifth century before Christ, the age of what has been pio-
perly considered the sublime school of this art.
We now come to the greatest sculptor whose name and
fame have reached modern times; and fortunately some
undoubted works produced by him, or under his immediate
direction, remain to attest the justice of the distinction that
has been awarded him. Phidias, the son of Charmidas, was
a native of Athens. He was born in the 73d Olympiad,
or 484 years B.c. His masters were Hippias, of whom little
is known (indeed he is mentioned but by one author), and
Ageladas above mentioned. At one time he is said to have
studied painting, an art professed by some of his family; but
it is as the greatest of all sculptors that the reputation of
Phidias has reached modern times. It has been seen by
preceding remarks, and may be proved by existing remains,
that the sculptors of what has been termed the iEginetan
school, immediately prior to this time, laid the foundation
of a finer style of art which Phidias especially brought to
perfection. The preparation for this consummation takes
nothing, however, from the honour due to this sculptor ; for
the superior quality of the art which he produced stamps
it with a character of grandeur and beauty entirely its own.
Circumstances were peculiarly favourable to the deve¬
lopment of art in the age at which our history has now
arrived; and it was fortunate that there were such sculp¬
tors and architects as Phidias, Polycletus, Myron, Praxi¬
teles, Ictinus, and Callicrates to take advantage of and do
justice to the opportunities offered for the highest exercise
of their talents. It was under the enlightened administra¬
tion of Pericles that some of the most magnificent works in
these arts were produced; and Plutarch records the favour
with which Phidias was honoured by this accomplished pa¬
tron. Speaking of the more remarkable edifices erected
durino- his government, he says, “ It was Phidias who had
the direction of these works, although great architects and
skilful artists were employed under him ; ” and “Every artist
was ambitious that the excellence of the workmanship should
equal the beauty of the design.” (Pint, in vit. Pericles.)
Of the greater works for which Phidias is most celebrated
there are unfortunately no remains. These were the magni¬
ficent chryselephantine statues, with their elaborate accom¬
paniments, which he executed for the Athenians and for the
Eleans, and of which accurate descriptions have been handed
down from ancient times. The most important was that
at Elis of the Olympian Jupiter. The materials, as the
term chryselephantine denotes, were ivory and gold, and
the accessories were of the richest kind. The god was re¬
presented seated on a throne of gold. His brows were
crowned with a wreath of olive ; in his left hand he sup-
855
ported a statue of Victory, in his right he held his sceptre. Sculpture.
His drapery was enriched with objects painted upon it, pat- ^
terns of flowers and animals. At the foot of the throne
were small statues of Victories ; and on panels various sub¬
jects of ancient poetry and mythology. Nothing can exceed
the splendour of the ornamental compositions described as
part of this magnificent work. (Pans, v., c. 11.) The
colossal proportions of this statue, sixty feet high, com¬
pared with the temple in which it was placed, has occa¬
sioned a judicious criticism of Strabo. It it had stood up,
he says, it would have been higher than the roof of the
building, and therefore that the statue was disproportioned
to the temple. An interesting anecdote is recorded by
Pausanias showing the importance attached by the Greeks
to this great work. Phidias, the story says, alter the
completion of the work, besought a sign from the god
in whose honour it had been executed to intimate whether
it was acceptable and pleasing to him. A flash of lightning
immediately descended into the temple, and struck the
pavement before the astonished and gratified sculptor. This
was at once hailed as a proof of the satisfaction of the deity,
and a brazen vase was placed on the spot to commemorate the
circumstance: Pausanias says it was existing in his time.
Our limits prevent our describing this work as fully as it
deserves ; but the reader who desires further and more pre¬
cise information respecting the mode of execution, the sub¬
jects represented in its decoration, and the admiration be¬
stowed upon this celebrated production may advantageously
consult the elaborate work by M. Quatremere de Quincy,
{Jupiter Olympien), in which many very interesting par¬
ticulars upon the whole question of chryselephantine and
Toreutic art are collected. It appears that this magni¬
ficent work was existing as late as the fifth century after
Christ. The temple of Jupiter Olympius was destroyed
about a.d. 385; but the statue had been transported to
Constantinople, where it was destroyed by fire in or about
a.d. 475. The next great work of this sculptor, executed
prior to the statue above described, was that of Minerva of
the Parthenon at Athens. This, like the Jupiter, was com¬
posed of gold and ivory. The goddess was represented
standing, holding in her right hand a statue of Victory, and
in her left a spear. She had a helmet on, and on hei aegis
was the head of Medusa. Her shield was elaborately de¬
corated with a representation of the battle of the gods and
giants, and the pedestal exhibited the birth of Pandora. 1 he
height of the statue was 39 feet. These statues are here
selected for notice as being the most highly-reputed pei-
formances of Phidias, but a long list of colossal and othei
statues, in various materials, as bronze, marble, wood, as
well as gold and ivory, by this artist, might easily be pro¬
duced to show the extent and the important character of
his employment. As there are no remains of these works
left by which posterity may form any judgment of their
merit,' it would unnecessarily occupy space only to enume¬
rate their titles and subjects. It is, however, satisfactory
to be able to contemplate some of the marble decorations
of the Parthenon, which may without dispute be attributed
to the master mind and hand of Phidias. Ihese aie the
statues and rilievi which were on the exterior of the
temple. They consist of single figures and groups which
were placed in the pediments, of several of the metopes, and
a considerable portion of the frieze of the cella. These cele¬
brated sculptures are without dispute the finest specimens
of the art that exist; and they illustrate so fully and so ad¬
mirably the progress and, it may be said, the consummation
of sculpture that it is important their character and peculiar
excellence should be well understood by those who desire
to make themselves acquainted with the true principles of
this art. They exhibit in a remarkable degree all the qua¬
lities that really constitute fine art,—truth, beauty, and per¬
fect execution. In the forms, the most perfect, the most
CULPTURE.
8§6 SCULPTURE.
Sculpture, appropriate,, and the most graceful have been selected. All
that is coarse or vulgar in ordinary nature is omitted, and
that only is represented which unites the two essential qua¬
lities of "truth and beauty. The result of this happy combi¬
nation is what has been termed ideal beauty. No produc¬
tions of the earlier schools exhibited this union ; Phidias
may therefore justly be considered the author of this con¬
summation as we now first see it in the works produced
under his immediate direction. The statues of the Ilyssus
or river god, of the so-called Theseus, of Neptune, and the
large draped groups, are all remarkable for the qualities
referred to, united with grandeur of style and simplicity.
Wherever the naked form is shown there is the most pro¬
found knowledge of its anatomical structure and capabili¬
ties of action. The draperies, likewise, are everywhere
treated with the greatest skill and with the most care¬
ful attention to effect, in their opposition to, and contrast
with, the naked. These works deserve also especial no¬
tice for the admirable management of composition in
t relief. The metopes afford the best examples of alto or
high relief, and the frieze of that which is called basso or
low relief. In the latter especially, the knowledge and
skill exhibited in representing a crowded and busy proces¬
sion of walking figures, mixed up with riders and horses
in every variety of action, and other animals intended for
sacrifice, without unseemly and unintelligible confusion,
cannot be too highly praised. It may be observed here
that the perfect acquaintance which the best sculptors of
this time had with the anatomy and character of animals
is extraordinary. Myron was celebrated for his accom¬
plishment in this respect, and the horses in the Elgin marbles
must be admitted by all competent judges of that animal to
be the most perfect representations of shape, action, and
high-breeding.
Before entirely quitting the subject of Phidias and his
works, an interesting circumstance maybe mentioned in con¬
nection with the preservation of the two most important pro¬
ductions of the artist,—the statues of Jupiter and Minerva.
Pausanias tells us the former was surrounded at its base by a
groove or channel of black marble containing oil. The
abject of this was to supply a sufficient quantity of moisture
to preserve the ivory (from shrinking probably), and at
the same time to secure the work from the danger of too
much humidity, as the Altis was situated on marshy ground.
At Athens means were adopted to obviate the damage
that might arise from the opposite evil, the Acropolis
being in too dry a situation. The statue of the Olympian
Jupiter was out of repair soon after its completion. The
custody of this work was entrusted to a particular family
called Phaedruntai. Pausanias says they were descendants
of Phidias, and mentions as a remarkable fact that the
office was held in the same family in his time.
Among the most celebrated of the scholars and fol¬
lowers of Phidias were Agoracritus of Paros, Alcamenes
of Athens, Colotes or Colotas, Pseonius, and others. Of
these, the two first appear to have held the highest rank.
Agoracritus was the favourite scholar; Alcamenes, judg¬
ing from the accounts left of him, the most able artist. He
is said to have been second only to his master; and one
author says, what was wanting in Polycletus was found in
the works of Phidias and Alcamenes.1 Two works of this
artist have been particularly noticed for their excellence:
one was a statue of a conqueror in the games, called a
“ Pentathlus the other of a “ Venus” of the “gardens.”2
I he sculptures in high relief known as the Phigalian
marbles, and preserved in the British Museum, are also of
this date,, and deserve attention for the high art qualities
they possess. They formed part of the decoration of the
temple of Apollo Epicouros or Epicurius, and were disco- Sculpture,
vered in the year 1812. They represent the contest be- ^
tween the Centaurs and Lapithse, and the Greeks and
Amazons. X he various groups in these compositions are
lemarkably striking for their vigour and expression ; and
though the forms are rather heavy, they exhibit all the
character of a high style of art. There can be little doubt
that these sculptures proceeded from the same source as
the sculptmed decoration of the Parthenon. Pausanias
says the temple was built by Ictinus ; and as he was assisted
by Phidias in his great work at Athens, it is more than
probable this sculptor also supplied designs for the Phio-a-
lian temple. They bear satisfactory evidence of the influence
of the master mind, and their comparative inferiority in
some technical points may easily be accounted for by the
fact of their execution being left to perhaps inferior artists,
working at a distance from the personal superintendence of
Phidias.
The perfection of the grand or sublime style of sculpture
appears to have had its consummation in the time of
Phidias. He executed works of various kinds, but chiefly
he was employed on subjects of a high and dignified class,
such as were to do honour to the gods, in illustrating the
mythology, or in statues of divinities ; and the elevated
character he gave these performances procured for him the
most honourable distinction. It is recorded that he ac¬
quired the title of the “ sculptor of the gods;” and one writer
says, in speaking of the “Jupiter” of this artist, that by the
power or excellence of his art he added something to the
sublimity of religion.
The next great master who influenced the progress of
sculpture introduced a new element into it, which could
only have been accepted subsequently to the success which
had followed the innovations introduced by the genius and
power of Phidias. The latter had boldly freed his art from
the prescriptive types and the over-dry manner of the
archaic and Alginetan sculptors ; but though he had esta¬
blished the fundamental rule that the highest perfection of
form is the proper object of imitative art, he still preserved
some severity of style in his mode of treatment. Praxiteles
of Cnidus is considered to be the head of the school that
addressed itself more immediately to the senses. This
step had a most important influence upon the art. The
object now was not so much to elevate and instruct as to
please, and the result was, of course a lower standard of
judgment in the people. Praxiteles is spoken of by all the
ancient writers as one of the greatest masters who has pro¬
fessed this art. His works in bronze and marble are de¬
scribed as of the highest excellence ; and there can be no
doubt that they fully merited the encomiums lavished upon
them. Still his peculiar merit appears to have consisted
not in the imagination or high purpose of his works so much
as in the exquisite perfection of his execution. Two of his
works in marble are especially noticed for their expression.
One represented an aged woman weeping; the other a
courtezan, said to be a portrait of Phryne, to whom the sculp¬
tor was much attached, and whose features were lighted up
with the most joyful expression. Praxiteles executed for the
people of Cnidus a naked statue of Venus. This work was
considered the masterpiece of the sculptor, and people
flocked from all parts to see and admire it. It is recorded,
in proof of the value of this work, that the Cnidians were
oppressed by a heavy debt they owed to Nicomedes, King
ot Bithynia, who offered to liberate them from this obligation
if they would consent to give up this far-famed statue. The
Cnidians refused, however, to purchase their freedom from
debt at this cost, and would not part with a work of art
the possession of which rendered their city so illustrious.
1 Quinctilian, xii, 10.
2 Lucian de Imaginibus, Plin, iV. H. xxxvi.; Paus., lib. i.
Sculpture.
SCULPTURE.
857
It has been thought that Praxiteles was the first sculptor
who ventured to represent the female form entirely with¬
out drapery.1 It was an innovation somewhat startling,
and at first was not generally adopted; but to reconcile,
partially, the representation of such forms with feelings
of propriety (for sculpture was not yet used merely to
gratify indecorous fancy and prurient tastes), a compromise
was effected by representing the lower half of the figure
draped, as is seen in the fine statues of the “ Venus” of Milo
in the Louvre, the “Venus” of Capua at Naples, and our own
fine statue of Venus or Dione in the Townley collection in
the British Museum. It is, however, clear that, from this
time, the exhibition of the undraped female figure was a
common and popular exercise of the sculptor’s art; and
perhaps the real decline of sculpture may be said to
have commenced when its practice was directed to please
the sense or taste for voluptuous forms, instead of ad¬
dressing the nobler sentiments, as had been done by
Phidias and his severer school. The object of this es¬
say being the history of sculpture, and not the biography
of sculptors, it is not possible to do more than touch
generally upon individual artists, and that only in their
character of leaders of schools. Otherwise the fame and
extensive practice of Praxiteles would fully warrant a much
more extended notice than is here afforded to so great a
master.
In the list of eminent sculptors living at this time the name
of Scopas claims honourable distinction. He is thought
to be the author of the celebrated group of “ Niobe and her
Children” in the gallery of sculpture at Florence. He also
is said to have executed the sculptures on one side of the
quadrangular base of the celebrated Mausoleum. There is
reason to think that the greater part of the statues com¬
posing the Niobe group are but ancient copies from the
original work; but even as copies they afford satisfactory
evidence of the ability of the artist who conceived the
subject, as examples of expression, form, action, and fine
style of art. Of the other work alluded to, we may con¬
gratulate ourselves on possessing indisputably portions of
the original sculptures, though in a mutilated form. They
consist of a large collection of objects, as statues, relievi,
fragments of animals and of architectural details, and they
certainly may be considered among the most valuable re¬
mains that have been recovered from ancient times. They
not only illustrate a very celebrated period and school of
art, but are undoubted examples of the works of individual
sculptors whose names have been handed down to us by^
the writers of antiquity. They were found on the site of
the ancient Halicarnassus, now called Budroum, in Asia
Minor; and they formed portions of the famous comme¬
morative monument, of which nothing was known but by
tradition, erected by Artemisia to her husband (and brother)
Mausolus, King of Caria, who died in the year 353 B.c.
It was called the Mausoleum from that circumstance, and
has given its name to all subsequent erections of a similar
character. It was so remarkable for its scale and the mag¬
nificence of its decoration, that it was accounted one of the
wonders of the world. Pliny describes this noble monument
at great length, and we are enabled from the particulars
he supplies to form a very good general idea of its design.
The whole composition, formed of marble, stood upon an
ample base, of which we have many of the blocks. Upon
this was a peristyle of thirty-six columns, of which, and of
portions of the architraves, sufficient fragments have reached
us to settle a point not mentioned by Pliny—namely, the
order of the architecture, which is Ionic. From a centre
or cella rose a pyramidal structure in steps, and this was
surmounted by a marble quadriga. The whole height was
140 feet. The length on two sides, the north and south,
was 63 feet, and on the others somewhat less. Among the Sculpture,
sculptured fragments recovered are some of great interest,
consisting of statues, portions of colossal horses, and rilievi.
Pliny acquaints us that Artemisia employed four of the
most celebrated sculptors of antiquity to decorate this
monument, and he gives us the names of Bryaxis,
Timotheus, Leochares, and Scopas; Vitruvius gives Praxi¬
teles instead of Scopas. These artists executed the
rilievi that adorned the sides of the Mausoleum ; Bryaxis,
according to Pliny, adorning the north face, Timotheus the
south, Leochares the west, and Scopas the east. To
Pythis was entrusted the execution of the marble quadriga
by which the whole was crowned. It is not necessary here
to enter into the vexed question which has occupied and
still occupies antiquaries and architects upon the precise
design of this celebrated work. We have sufficient ac¬
counts of its general character and scale, and now most
satisfactory evidence in details of the quality of its sculp¬
tured decorations. It is this latter particular which gives
the work its interest in a history of the art. The school
of sculpture which these remains illustrate had reached the
highest point of excellence. Founded on the grand and
sublime style which characterised the productions of Phidias
and his immediate followers, the works of the succeeding
sculptors whose names we find associated with this splendid
erection exhibit a greater refinement and luxury, if it may
be so called, of treatment and execution than are found in
the previous school. This is clearly exhibited in the
manner of working the drapery in the two colossal statues;
one of which has been surmised possibly to represent Mau¬
solus himself; the other is a female figure. The drapery
about the left mutilated arm of this latter statue, with the
effect of the flesh of the limb against it, is an example of
consummate art-power. The rilievi represent various sub¬
jects, but chiefly contests between men and Amazons.
They are full of action and expression, with the greatest
variety of composition and most picturesque arrangement:
a quality of very difficult and dangerous adjustment in the
somewhat severe art of sculpture, but they are here achieved
with the most skilful perfection. These rilievi vary a little
in width, and indeed in the scale of the figures, showing that
there either were different tiers or series of reliefs, or that
the different sculptors exercised their own fancy in making
their respective decorations of a larger or smaller size. 1 he
fragments of some statues of horses show that these works
are of a larger scale than any similar works of the kind that
have been found in marble. One of them still has some
portion of the bronze bridle or head accoutrements remain¬
ing. There is one fragment of a horse, in violent rearing
action, with a portion of a figure probably reining in the
steed. Generally speaking, the horses are of very inferior
quality to the rest of the sculpture. All these interesting
fragments are now in the British Museum.
The sculptor who may be said to have completed the
progressive course of sculpture was Lysippus, a native of
Sicyon. He worked chiefly, if not entirely, in bronze.
Pliny, Pausanias, and other writers, have recorded a long
list of his works, and he is said by the former to have exe¬
cuted as many as six hundred and ten statues. Lysippus
was greatly esteemed by Alexander the Great, who allowed
him the exclusive privilege of making his statues. He also
made one of Hephaestion, the favourite of Alexander, and
statues of all the generals who accompanied the prince in
his passage over the Granicus. There are some particu¬
lars mentioned of the practice of Lysippus which throw
light upon the condition of the art at this its culminating
point. He is noticed for the care he bestowed on comple¬
tion and finish, and in working the hair. He also made
the heads of his figures smaller than his predecessors (an-
5 Q
you. xix.
1 Millingen, Ancient Inedited Monuments of Grecian Art, No. x., p. 7.
SCULPTURE.
858
Sculpture. tiqui\ and the bodies somewhat more slender, by which
the efFect of tallness was increased. His works were re¬
markable for a quality which Pliny describes by the word
symmetria, and he entirely gt>t rid of a certain squareness
observable in the ancient school. A remarkable expression
is attributed to Lysippus, which shows how thoroughly this
sculptor understood the value of working for efFect without
sacrifice of truth and correctness of detail. He said, “ By
the older artists, men were made as they are ; by himself,
as they appeared to be.” It is thought that a bronze statue
of Hercules in the British Museum may very possibly be a
w'ork of this sculptor. The character of the art of this
time had a slight leaning to exaggeration. As the grand,
solemn style of Phidias had been followed by a change to
the sensuous treatment introduced by Praxiteles, so this
latter was succeeded by the effort of a new school to pro¬
duce additional efFect by a more energetic display of action,
and somewhat elaborate execution. Lysippus left many
scholarswho were eminent sculptors; of these, three—Laip-
pus or Daippus, Bedas, and Euthycrates—were his sons.
Tisicrates, another, imitated his master so successfully, that
it was sometimes doubted whether the work was by Lysip¬
pus or the scholar. Chares, the Lindian, the author of the
far-famed Colossus of Rhodes, also worked under Lysippus.
It is worthy of remark how many celebrated sculptors were
natives of Rhodes. Agesander, Polydorus, and Atheno-
dorus, the authors of the group of “ Laocoon,” as well as
Apollonius and Tauriscus the sculptors of the well-known
group of “Dirce and her Sons,” commonly called the “ Toro
Farnese,” were Rhodians. From this small island, not
more than forty miles long and fifteen broad, the Romans,
when they conquered it, brought away three thousand
statues.
The history of the progress to perfection of Greek sculp¬
ture may here be said to be completed. From this time
only imitations or varieties of the examples of the three
great schools were attempted. The death of Alexander the
Great, and the division of the Macedonian empire among his
successors was one cause of the decline of art, though some
endeavour was made by the Seleucidae and by Ptolemy to
support them in Syria and Egypt; as well as at Pergamus by
Attalus and Eumenes. As late as the 145th and 150th
Olympiads the names of several sculptors appear; and to this
period antiquaries have attributed some celebrated works
that have reached our time. Among these, the “ Herma¬
phrodite ;” the “ Torso” of the Belvidere, bearing the name
of Apollonius, the son of Nestor, as its author; the Farnese
“ Hercules,” by Glycon; and of the “ Fighting Gladiator,”
by Agasias, may be mentioned. In the 157th Olympiad
(146 b.c.) Corinth was destroyed and sacked by L. Mum-
mius, by whom the finest statues and other works of art were
carried to Rome as spoil; and the last blow was given to the
hopes and power of the Greeks. Athens, in the midst of
political changes, kept up for some time her character for
eminence in the fine arts; but after the death of Alexander
she began to lose her ascendancy even here. After the ter¬
mination of the civil war between Pompey and Caesar, in
which Athens had sided with the former, her fate was sealed;
though the conqueror treated her with generous considera¬
tion, saying, in allusion to her former glory, “He wrould spare
the living for the sake of the dead.” Many Greek artists,
driven by want from their own country, emigrated to Italy,
where they found an asylum and employment among such
patrons as Rome afforded ; and it is in Rome that the further
history of sculpture must now be followed.
In the earlier period of the rise of Rome there was little
opportunity or disposition for the cultivation of the fine arts,
and though we read of works in sculpture of an early date,
they were no doubt the productions of strangers, probably
the Etruscans. Mention is made of some equestrian statues
in Rome, of Camillus and Maenius, three hundred years be¬
fore the Christian era; and in another art, Fabius, a member Sculpture,
of a noble family, so distinguished himself as to have acquired i - v-«_/
the surname of “ Pictor.” After the capture of Syracuse,
Marcellus sent home various works of art from Sicily ; and
about this time it is supposed Greek artists arrived in Rome.
Collections of works of art were made, but this seems to
have been done rather from ostentation than from any feeling
for or admiration of their merit. Sylla, after the victories he
had gained, despoiled Athens, Delphi, Elis, and other great
centres of art, and had the treasures carried to Rome, till
at last collecting statues became a fashion. Verres is well
known for the avidity and injustice with which he indulged
the passion for acquiring such works during his government
of Sicily. Many names of sculptors of this time have been
recorded, but all appear to be Greeks,—Pasiteles, Arce-
silas, Strongylion (the author of the statue of the Amazon
called “ Eucnemis,” from the beauty of her legs), Olympios-
thenes, and others. Julius Caesar appears to have had a
taste for art, for he not only collected largely in statues,
gems, &c., but he also embellished with fine public works
Rome and many cities of Gaul, Spain, and other countries
which owned the rule of Italy. The same may be recorded
of Augustus, who not only decorated the city with works
of art, but had statues erected in honour of eminent men.
In this age the name of Agrippa stands pre-eminent for his
public spirit and princely liberality in erecting useful and
ornamental edifices in and about Rome. The Pantheon,
which still remains to do honour to this munificent patron
of art, was erected at the charge of Agrippa, who, it is re¬
corded, employed Diogenes the Athenian to enrich it with
sculpture, all of which seems to have perished. The cele¬
brated statue of Germanicus in the Louvre is no doubt of
this period. Vitruvius the architect, Dioscorides, Agathopus,
Epitynchanus, and others, gem engravers, were also prac¬
tising with honour at this time. Some of the best-known
productions of sculpture have been attributed, with more
or less reason, to this age, but the discussion of their date
would scarcely come within the objects of this general
history.
The reigns of Trajan, of Hadrian, and the Antonines
may be considered the best age of sculpture in Rome,
though there is no reason to believe the arts were practised
even then by natives. Hadrian, there can be no doubt,
had a real love of art. He completed the temple of the
Olympian Jupiter at Athens, which had been left unfinished
for ages. In Italy, the remains of his celebrated villa near
Tivoli prove the scale of his magnificence ; while the high
quality of the statues, rilievi, and other objects that have
been found there, establish the claim of this emperor to
rank not only as a liberal and munificent, but as an en¬
lightened patron of art. Of this time are the fine statues
of Antinous.
Here and there, after this date, an occasional revival
of art occurred, but the general tendency was to its rapid
decline, till Constantine endeavoured to give a new im¬
pulse to its practice. But this failed to produce original
works of merit, and the emperor was driven to decorate his
new seat of government at Byzantium with ancient statues
and works of art that could be procured from other places.
Many most important productions in sculpture, in marble
and bronze, were here accumulated when, in 479, a fire de¬
stroyed the greater part of them. Constans, who was Em¬
peror of the East, in 661 was driven from his capital, and
fled to Rome. He despoiled it of all the works he could
seize, and had them sent to Sicily, where he found an
asylum and where he died. The arts in Rome were now
hastening to their final extinction, and all the well-intended
efforts of Charlemagne, and afterwards of Theodoric, were
insufficient to save the finest remains of antiquity from the
ravages of their barbarian followers. The Empire of the
West was at an end, and the Roman name was only known
SCULPTURE*
859
Sculpture, at Constantinople, where, however, some of the finest pro-
ductions of ancient sculpture were still preserved. When
Baldwin made himself master of Constantinople further
misfortune befel the arts. All the metal statues that could
be seized were melted down and converted into money.
Amongst these, it is painful to know, was a magnificent
statue of Juno by Lysippus, a colossal “ Hercules,” a statue
of Helen, and many other productions of the best period
of Greek sculpture.
The monuments of the Romans are very numerous, and
occasionally some fine portraits are found among them.
They also have been very useful in illustrating the history
and habits of the nation. But Roman sculpture is in all
respects essentially inferior when compared with the pro¬
ductions of the Greeks. With one people it was the
expression of original feeling, in forms of the most perfect
beauty, the consummation of the utmost refinement of senti¬
ment and intelligence : with the other the best of it was only
imitation. The result was for the most part insipidity and
tameness, even when the mechanical imitation was toler¬
ably successful.
The decline of sculpture, after the few fitful attempts to
restore it by some of the later rulers of the dismembered
and decaying Roman empire, was rapidly progressive, till
at last it is impossible to connect the miserable perform¬
ances of the artists of these times with the fine ancient
examples, which were still abundant and might have served
as valuable guides had any sympathy with their excellence
existed. But there was no general interest felt in the sub¬
ject, and the efforts to revive it, emanating as they did from
a few individuals, had little or no success.
Italy may justly claim the honour of the new birth of
art. It has been said that the monks of the early Greek
and Latin churches kept alive its dying embers by illuminat¬
ing manuscripts and church services, and by decorating the
chapels of their convents with rude paintings; but it is
scarcely possible to admit this, and to consider the awkward
and ignorant attempts at design of this time as an effect or
continuation of any art, deserving the name, that had pre¬
ceded it. Modern art must be estimated by a totally dif¬
ferent standard, and, thus considered, the circumstances of
its rise and development give it an interest and importance
which it never could claim if it were only a spurious imita¬
tion of the debased and exhausted art of the ancient schools.
There are, besides, some curious circumstances that arrest
attention at this point in the history of art. One of these
is the fact of its almost total extinction among that remark¬
able people, the Greeks, by whom it had been carried to its
highest perfection ; and its revival in a country where, in
ancient times, its existence had been ignored, its practice
looked upon with a feeling akin to contempt, and where
collections of works of art, when made at all, were formed
much more frequently from ostentation than from any real
interest that was felt in them. The next fact to be noticed
is, that when the early Christian communities desired to
call in the aid of art to enforce or illustrate the new faith,
the employment of beautiful forms in representing the
Saviour and other sacred persons was strenuously opposed
by the fathers of the Eastern Church; while the Western
Christians contended, on the other hand, that no form could
be too perfect for this object. This curious and, as it
affected art, important controversy was carried on with the
greatest warmth on both sides; but finally the cause of
the beautiful was established in the West, and resulted in
that happy development which in the course of years so
eminently distinguished the schools of Italy. In the East,
formerly the home of all that was beautiful in art, but now,
where beauty, as a means of illustrating divine and Scripture
subjects, was proscribed, the reverse has taken place. The
religious paintings of the Greek Church are of the most
debased and barbarous quality; and all classes of fine art
among this people seem to have sunk into utter insigni- Sculiture.
ficance.
The revival in Italy has usually been dated at about
the tenth century; probably because at that time, or a
little later, a resemblance is supposed to be traceable to
some of the old types, by which a connection would ap¬
pear to be established between the later and earlier prac¬
tice. But the real beginning of modern art may be
reckoned from an earlier period. Flaxman thought it
might be dated as far back as seven centuries earlier,
when Christianity had, under Constantine, become the re¬
ligion of the empire. It is true that the early Christians
adapted, and even adopted, pagan designs, to ornament, if it
can be so called, their subterranean hiding-places with illus¬
trations of Scripture subjects, or with allegorical emblems ;
but it is curious to find that an entirely original style of art
was all the while growing, whose character bore no resem¬
blance to what already existed, and which might so easily
have served for examples to the sculptors and painters of
this dark period. This fact offers grounds for some specu¬
lations of interest, with reference to the origin of a distinct
and original school of design, which should fulfil the same
office to the new religion which the art of its time had done
for the older and now obsolete systems ; but it is not ex¬
pedient to enter into the discussion of this subject in a com¬
pressed history of sculpture. It may, however, be remarked
that the mind and spirit that are observable in the paintings
and sculpture of the class referred to display a feeling that
justly claims for them the merit of originality, and shows
their entire independence, in that respect, of the ancient
schools. This freedom of thought is particularly strik¬
ing in the compositions of the early Christian artists of
subjects that would seem naturally to tempt them to re¬
cur to the mode of treatment of their predecessors in
art,—namely, those in which allegorical figures and sym¬
bols were required. Many instances of this originality
might be adduced, but it will be sufficient for the pur¬
pose to refer to the works of one of the earliest and
most remarkable painters, Giotto di Bondone, in the
“ Salone” at Padua, and in the “ Capella dell’ Annuziata”
in the same city, in proof of the fact stated. Early Chris¬
tian art was as distinctly divided from the art of the Greek
schools as the religion itself which gave it birth was, in its
earlier and pure teaching, distinct from the numerous sys¬
tems that had before filled the world; and it is important
to show its claim to originality, as it will assist the student
of the history of art in understanding many of the causes
of the fluctuations and changes that have characterised
all the modern schools of sculpture. A depth of thought,
and an earnest, solemn character pervade the art of the
Christian designers, which shows they draw their inspira¬
tion, not second-hand from models, but from their own in¬
ward feelings. At first, indeed, their attempts in art were
painfully rude, compared with the wonders of the Greek
schools. But it must be borne in mind that the pur¬
pose of Christian art never was the same as that of much
of the sculpture of the Greek schools,—namely, the repre¬
sentation of beautiful form for its own sake. After the
first attempts at design, usually in single figures,—gaunt
and staring images of apostles and saints, or, if in numerous
figures, without any knowledge of composition,—the reli¬
gious artists seem to have aimed at appealing to the sym¬
pathies, or at awakening reflection, rather than of gratify¬
ing the sense by presenting to the spectator such objects as
should be only pleasing to the eye or the fancy. Art was
not required as a mere appendage to luxury. Its recom¬
mendation in this respect had long ceased to exist, and the
sensuous schools of the post-Phidian period had, as has been
shown, in some degree, helped to lower its character even
among the ancients, after its higher religious and heroic
object had been lost sight of. Among the moderns it had
860 SCULP
Sculpture, an entirely new mission. Exercising art on this principle,
the artists of this age may therefore consistently be con¬
sidered men of original genius. Instead of merely copying,
they drew from their own innate and independent sources
of sentiment, and the result was, that the art they produced
gave the promise that had been realized in Greek art of the
fifth century B.C., when it was directed by the master-spirits
of that age—of deep expression, beauty, and refined taste.
The causes that tended to check this consummation will be
considered hereafter.
The first artist whose works arrest attention for the
real art-feeling they exhibit is Niccolo Pisano. He ap¬
peared early in the thirteenth century, and, as his name
implies, he was a native of Pisa. It was usual in those
days for the same artist to practise in all the three branches
of the arts, painting, sculpture, and architecture; and many
examples still exist of this combination. In the hands of
Niccolo and his son Giovanni of Pisa, however, sculpture
had its own distinct and important character from the ex¬
clusive devotion given to it by these sculptors; and their
employment in the decoration of the sacred edifices that
were being erected in all parts of Italy enabled them to
carry their art to a high degree of comparative excellence.
The cathedrals of Pisa, Pistoja, and Orvieto especially are
rich in their works. In order to account for the supe¬
riority of these artists, it has been supposed that they
derived considerable advantage from the opportunity they
had of studying some remains of ancient sculpture which
were preserved in the Campo Santo of Pisa. It is highly
probable that they may have been impressed with the tech¬
nical superiority of these ancient sculptures; but that their
own original character of design or of sentiment, the latter
especially religious and Christian, was in any way affected
by anything they saw in these works is by no means ap¬
parent ; and it is not till much later, when art was much
more universally practised, that the influence of such ex¬
amples can be traced. A reference to some few of the
productions of the two great sculptors of the school of Pisa
will illustrate the view here taken. The rilievi, in marble,
which enrich the front of the cathedral of Orvieto espe¬
cially merit attention. The subjects are taken from the
Bible, and represent the Creation of Adam and Eve, the
Temptation, the expulsion from Paradise, and others of the
kind. These designs exhibit very rare qualities of beauty
and expression, and are remarkable indications of the deep
art-feeling which has made the Pisan school so celebrated.
They of course show the want of practice in the more
mechanical requirements of art and in freedom of execu¬
tion, but the higher qualities that abound in them amply
compensate for these merely technical shortcomings. Sim¬
plicity, grace, and feeling are all combined in these striking
compositions; and in the figures of angels especially there
is an exalted and pure character that is at once impressive
and elevating. The draperies are also treated with great
taste and skill. Cicognara (Storia della Sculturd) thinks
that these are the productions of some scholars of Niccolo,
and not by that sculptor, but the question does not affect
the great merit of the works. A semicircular basso-
rilievo by^Niccolo, representing the “Taking down from
the Cross,” placed over a door in the front of the cathedral
of Lucca, is also a composition of great merit, both for its
design in an artistical point of view, and for the exquisite
feeling shown in it. Another remarkable work by the
same author may be seen at Siena, in a rilievo represent¬
ing the Last Judgment and the final punishment of the
wicked. Judging from the general character of the works
attributed to Niccolo, the subject could scarcely have been
congenial to the spirit of the artist. His special ability
was in treating gentle, and touching, and delicate subjects.
This composition has, however, considerable merit, in the
bold treatment of the terrible scene; the crowding together
T U R E.
and shrinking of the guilty, and for the skill occasionally Sculpture,
shown in the arrangement of the different groups. There
are two figures of angels introduced to which the sculptor
has been able to give all that grace and beauty so observ¬
able in his other works. Niccolo lived to an advanced age,
and left many distinguished scholars and imitators, of whom
his son Giovanni of Pisa, Arnolfo of Florence, Margari-
tone of Arezzo, and Guido of Como, gained well-deserved
reputation.
In 1330 Andrea, the son of Ugolino of Pisa, who was
settled in Florence, executed one of the bronze gates of
the baptistery in that city. It is a work of great excellence
for its date, though it is deficient in some practical points.
He also executed some statues in marble, but they are in¬
ferior to many of his productions. A sculptor of great
merit, Andrea Orcagna, was contemporary with Andrea
Pisano, and executed various works in Florence. Some of
these are preserved in the small chapel or oratory, called
Or San Michele, in that city, and justify the praise that has
been accorded to this artist by all competent judges. He
was not only a sculptor, but was distinguishd also as a
painter, an architect, and a poet. His style of art partook
of the dry and minute character of the early school, but he
was superior to his contemporaries in his treatment of drapery.
Among the sculptors who highly distinguished themselves at
this period, towards the end of the fourteenth century, Luca
della Robbia claims honourable mention. His subjects
are all of a serious or religious character, and among his
productions are some of great beauty. He chiefly delighted
in representing groups, in high relief, of the Virgin and
infant Christ, or the Saviour and St John as children, and
similar subjects. There are two works of Luca preserved
in the sculpture gallery in Florence which deserve parti¬
cular notice; they are bassi rilievi in marble, represent¬
ing a choir, or a group of church singers. They claim at¬
tention for their skilful composition, and for the truth of the
expression of the different figures. Indeed, they only re¬
quire elevation of form to place them on a level with the
best productions in the art. Luca della Robbia is well
known in the history of sculpture as the inventor of a
peculiar mode of working in terra-cotta, the material of
which almost all his groups are made. He painted his com¬
positions, and covered them with a beautiful and peculiar
varnish of which he made a great mystery. It is said he
never disclosed it to any one, but committed the process to
writing, and inclosed it in one of his clay models before
baking it. Whether this was the case, can only some day
be known by the accidental destruction of that one of his
works which is the depository of the secret. Luca died
in 1442. In Florence are preserved some very interesting
compositions in rilievo, in marble, by other sculptors of this
period, among whom Benedetto da Rovezzano may be par¬
ticularly mentioned. In these works an approach is seen to
those qualities which constitute real art progress. There is
not only occasionally very agreeable form, but consider¬
able skill and feeling in the treatment of drapery.
A crowd of artists now appear in all parts of Italy, em¬
ployed in erecting and decorating the churches which the
piety and liberality of the age were dedicating to religious
service, and in honour of particular saints. Only the more
celebrated can be selected for notice from this long list; but
it would be unjust to the striking superiority of two of these to
omit to record especially the names of Lorenzo Ghiberti and
Donato di Betto Bardi, better known as Donatello. The
great work of the former of these sculptors is too well
known to require an extended notice in this place. It is the
beautiful composition of rilievi in the panels of one of the
bronze gates of the Baptistery at Florence. Several sculp¬
tors had been employed on parts of this edifice, but the
contribution of Lorenzo Ghiberti so far surpasses them all
that Michel Angelo is said to have declared, in his admi-
SCULP
Sculpture, ration of them, “ they were worthy to be the gates of Para-
disc.” The subjects are from the Old Testament. They
display a fine feeling for composition, a superior acquaint¬
ance with the beauty and movements of the human figure,
refined expression, considerable skill in execution, and
are in all respects of a higher quality of art than any
contemporary productions of the kind. Unfortunately, in
the treatment of these otherwise admirable compositions a
great principle of art has been infringed by the attempt to
represent perspective appearances by different degrees of
relief; effects which can only be truly and correctly pro¬
duced by the aid of colour in the atmosphere, and by the
skilful artificial distribution of light and shadow, as in a pic¬
ture. Modern sculptors have constantly erred in their
attempts to meet this difficulty, inherent in their art. The
great masters of ancient sculpture have shown us in their
works that they could carry the art to its highest perfection
within its own legitimate limits, and in rilievo of all kinds
they confined the representation to one plane. The gates
of Ghiberti are injured by this seeking for picturesque
effects; and the number of small parts, the variety of unim¬
portant objects, as trees, animals, &c., deprive it of that
breadth which is so valuable a quality in sculpture. Ghi¬
berti was less successful in some bronze statues than in his
compositions for the baptistery. Of a statue of St Matthew,
Flaxman says : “ It wants the severe chastity of the apos¬
tolic character, and the head is inferior to those in the
spandrils of his gates; the attitude also is affected, and the
drapery unnatural.”
Donatello was a Florentine, born in 1383. The works of
this sculptor were highly prized, and he was extensively em¬
ployed. Many of his productions are still remaining in various
cities of Italy. Two statues of St George and St Mark, which
have obtained well-deserved celebrity, arein.the oratory be¬
fore mentioned, of Or San Michele at Florence. The former
of these is remarkable for its simple action and calm, grand
expression, reminding the spectator of the vigorous and ner¬
vous manner which characterised the works of the immedi¬
ately succeeding school. The statue of St Mark received the
high compliment of Michel Angelo’s admiration when he
exclaimed, with reference to its truth to nature, “Marco,
perche non mi pai'li” In Florence also are some very in¬
teresting and, allowing for the imperfect state of art of the
time, curious bassi-rilievi in marble by this sculptor. They
represent groups of children dancing: the background of
these is very curiously treated, being closely covered with
small round pieces of gold-leaf, like coins. Some rilievi of
very great merit by Donatello are also to be seen at Padua.
Compared with the works of his immediate predecessors, there
appears sometimes a degree of exaggeration in the style of
this sculptor; in the bending of the joints, and the smaller
articulations of his figures. This may have arisen from his de¬
sire to avoid the dry or timid treatment of the earlier schools,
and so far may be considered a proof of the forward move¬
ment of art. The productions of the two sculptors above
named are interesting subjects of examination to all who
take an interest in the development of a really original school
of sculpture. Donatello lived to a great age, and left
many scholars. One of these was a Giovanni di Pisa, the
author of a basso-rilievo of no ordinary merit in a small
chapel of the church of the Eremitani in Padua. It repre¬
sents the Madonna and infant Christ, with three figures of
saints on each side. Passing over names of less celebrity,
though meriting notice in a regular history of sculpture, that
of Andrea Verrochio claims distinction as the master of
Leonardo da Vinci, and of Pietro Perugino the master of
Raffaelle. Verrochio at first was a painter, but it is said
he grew jealous of the performance of Leonardo in a work
in which the scholar was assisting the master, and relin¬
quished that art for sculpture. There are several works by
him, statues and rilievi, at Florence. Rustici, who studied
T U R E. 861
also under Verrochio, was a sculptor of merit. He was in- Sculpture,
vited into France by Francis I. Amongst his works we
find many of classical subjects. He died in 1550.
The general character of art had up to this time been
essentially of a religious kind. The deficiency in the mo¬
dern Christian school of sculpture was in the technical re¬
quirements of the art; but these seemed to be attainable
before long, judging from the rapid strides that painting and
sculpture were now making. In the expression of deep
sentiment, in simplicity, in chaste beauty of form in sacred
or holy subjects, in the arrangement and quality of dra¬
peries, and the harmonious flow of lines, no school of art of
any time or nation can show works of greater promise
than may be found in the productions of the mediaeval
artists.
This hopeful condition of sculpture, upon which might
have been founded the expectation of the art reaching a
high state of excellence (as ancient sculpture had done
under similar influences), was destined to be interrupted.
At the period which our history has reached the dis¬
covery of the long-lost treasures of the classical writers of
antiquity gave an extraordinary impulse to the studies of
the lovers of literature. The Medici, the accomplished
rulers of Florence, liberally encouraged men of learning,
and Florence became the centre of the revival of Greek
and Roman letters. The fine arts, always so dependent
in modern practice upon the influence of those in high
position, were soon made to feel the effects of the new
movement. The sentiment for religious and Christian art
was superseded by the admiration of everything that had
the authority of the ancients; in conformity with the
new taste, classical and heathen subjects were now the
fashion in sculpture, and these, as well as all others, were
to be treated after the ancient examples. Even where
works of a religious character were required, the ancient
mythology was incongruously and absurdly mixed up with
subjects of the Christian faith, producing the most offen¬
sive contrasts, and, of course, entirely destroying the
proper effect and intention of art. This passion was
not confined to one state of Italy. The Popes, two
of whom were members of the House of Medici, equally
patronized the revival of classical tastes; and Rome rivalled
Florence in its anxiety to re-establish the style and feeling
of the great Greek and Roman periods in their literature,
their art, their philosophy, and, if history is to be trusted,
even their morals. Its influence upon the style of the
literature of the day is remarkable, as it led to the employ¬
ment of the dead languages in the writings and correspond¬
ence of learned men instead of their native tongue, which for
a time was ignored and proscribed as vulgar and unworthy
the use or attention of real scholars. That these should ap¬
preciate the refinement and excellence of the writings of the
sages and poets of antiquity, and that those competent to
judge art should at once acknowledge the superior objec¬
tive beauty of Greek sculpture cannot be a matter of sur¬
prise ; but there can be no doubt that the immediate effect
upon art of this excitement was to check its development
in a right direction, as a means of addressing modern sym¬
pathies. Classical subjects were sought for, because in
these a closer imitation could be made of the classical mode
of representation, and the conventional treatment of the
ancient schools, exhibiting nude forms, was introduced,
however incongruous its application, to gratify this Dille-
tante taste. The study of the ancient examples was capa¬
ble of effecting, and no doubt did effect, very great changes
and improvements in the technical parts of sculpture, but
it cannot be denied that it also brought with it certain dis¬
advantages. The pure, simple, and expressive character
which was so remarkable and so valuable in the rising
school of religious designers, succumbed to the powerful
influence of the pseudo-classical taste ; and, as the motive
SCULPTURE.
862
Sculpture, that now impelled the artists was factitious, the sculpture
they produced was unreal in its sentiment and unimpres¬
sive in its character.
However indisputable the charm of beautiful forms in
the abstract, their true appreciation must be a consequence
of study and reflection; and therefore, unless they are
employed in the expression of intelligible ideas, the com¬
munity to whom art should address itself cannot derive any
adequate advantage from their display. It is the sentiment
of art that first attracts and fixes the attention of intelligent
people long before the form, in which it is presented be¬
comes the subject of critical examination : a fact constantly
proved by the fascinating power of some of the productions
of the earlier Christian designers, which are pregnant with
meaning, but in which the technical recommendations of the
schools are often entirely wanting. These observations are
by no means irrelevant or without their use in the history of
sculpture. They assist in accounting for the entire change
that is now seen in the “motive” of the art of the age ; and
especially in this art, which seems so prone to ally itself
with the older associations, from the greater opportunity
offered by classical subjects for the tempting display of
naked forms, muscular development, and other mere aca¬
demical qualities.
The fifteenth, and the early part of the sixteenth cen¬
turies, comprehend a period of great interest in the
history of literature and the fine arts; and although
some disadvantages accrued from the first violent re¬
action that took place upon the introduction of classical
tastes, it would be unjust to the memory of the noble
patrons of learning in those days not to record their
title to the gratitude of posterity for the generous protec¬
tion they extended to scholars and artists of eminence.
The extraordinary talents of the House of Medici had raised
that family to the highest honours in their native Florence,
and their influence was powerfully exercised far beyond the
limits of their own country. Lorenzo, who had by his
princely habits and liberality acquired the surname of “ il
Magnifico,” added to the lustre of his position by attaching
to his court the most distinguished literary men of all nations.
Rome was also at this time governed by pontiffs who
equally sympathized with the liberal tastes of the Floren¬
tine Medicis. Julius II., who was elected to the tiara in
1503, gave the utmost encouragement to the great artists of
his age, and Leo X., who succeeded him, was equally liberal,
making Rome a centre of attraction for all that was classi¬
cal and epicurean. Leo was a member of the family of
Medici. He was soon after succeeded by another scion of
that remarkable family, Clement VIL, for the intermediate
Pope, Adrian VI., occupied the throne scarcely a year;
and he also continued to encourage the arts with the same
liberality that had distinguished his predecessors. A few
names of sculptors who lived at this time will show the
character and amount of artistic power that was called into
action by the generous and enlightened protection given to
these pursuits by the sovereigns of this age. Michel Angelo,
Torregiano, Bandinelli, the Ammanati, Rustici, Montelupi,
Sansovino, Benvenuto Cellini, Francavilla (and others might
easily be added to these), are amongst those who have left
works which have honourably illustrated their age and
country.
The works of Michel Angelo Buonarotti, who was born
in 1474, afford excellent examples of the condition of
sculpture at this period. They indicate unmistakeably the
influence of the new opinions that were gaining ground,
marking most distinctly the transition from the original and
unsophisticated feeling that had been the motive of the earlier
Christian artists to the artificial stimulus given by the re¬
covery of the marvels of classical sculpture. This, the
greatest artist of modern times, has left productions of mind
and hand as striking for the inventive power displayed in
them as for their wonderful execution. They show there Sculpture,
was no deficiency of ability when such works as these ap-
peared. Michel Angelo, personally favoured by Lorenzo
de Medici, studied in the school established by that muni¬
ficent patron of the arts, and no doubt there acquired both
a feeling for fine form and something of the classical taste
which was likely to be engendered by association with en¬
thusiastic scholars, and by the constant contemplation of
fine remains of antiquity. Many of his works exhibit
this influence, but, as will be seen, not to the extent of de¬
stroying his own grand and peculiarly original character of
design. Among those of his productions which may be
adduced in support of this opinion may be especially no¬
ticed the fine and touching group called “ La Pieta” in St
Peter’s at Rome, representing the Virgin supporting the
dead body of Christ; a performance exhibiting much of the
peculiar mannerism of the artist, but possessing also the
highest claim to our admiration. The statue of Moses, form¬
ing a part of the decoration of the unfinished monument of
Julius II. at Rome, and those of Lorenzo and Giuliano
dei Medici, at Florence, may also be referred to in illustra¬
tion both of the originality and the power of this grand
mediaeval sculptor. These indeed are works which may
challenge comparison with the best remains of ancient art
for sentiment, breadth and grandeur of treatment, compo¬
sition, and intimate knowledge of form, while at the same
time they are totally distinct from the antique in the origi¬
nality of their conception. The statue of Moses, though
by no means free from the fault of exaggeration so justly
objected to in the works of M. Angelo, is one of the
grandest efforts of genius, and truly illustrates the forcible
expression applied to the character of the artist’s style,—
“ Di Michel Agnolo la terribil via.” The other statue
presents Lorenzo seated, absorbed in thought, leaning on
his hand. Here again there is no real resemblance to the
antique, but it rivals the best excellences of the ancients
in expression, with repose and dignity. It is impossible to
look at this fine work without being forcibly impressed by
the mind that pervades it. In the same chapel are other
remarkable works of tins artist. They are allegorical figures
meant to represent Day and Night, the Dawn or Early
Morning, and Evening, and they form the accessorial deco¬
ration of tombs of the Medici. They bear the impress of
the master mind and hand ; but it has been very properly
objected to these works that their meaning and object is
far from clear, and that their exaggerated action and
treatment are not in character with the requirements of
monumental design. In the chapel referred to there is
also an unfinished group of “ Charity,” of fine design
and execution. A masterly alto-rilievo in marble of
the Virgin, with the Saviour and St John as children, at
Florence, and another of the same subject, differently
treated and very unfinished, in the library of the Royal
Academy of Arts in London, deserve honourable mention
as examples of M. Angelo’s genius in another class of
sculpture. Another well-known work by M. Angelo is in
the church of La Minerva in Rome. It is a statue of our
Saviour, standing, and holding the Cross. The figure is life-
size, and is in the revived classical or academical style,
muscular and almost entirely nude. It is, however, little
more than a careful and successful study of the naked model,
and is deficient in appropriate character and fitness, both as
regards the subject and its position. The intimate know¬
ledge of anatomy and acquaintance with the human form,
possessed by Michel Angelo beyond all the artists of his
time, allowed him to indulge in the utmost freedom in
giving expression to the suggestions of his energetic and
daring imagination; and this mastery over the technical
difficulties of his art appears sometimes to have tempted
him to indulge in its display at the expense of that sobriety
and simplicity which are such valuable qualities in sculpture,
SCULPTURE.
863
Sculpture, and whose presence is so remarkable an element in all the
finest examples that have come down to us of the Grecian
schools. It would carry us far beyond our limits if we were
to attempt to give a complete review of the works of this
great artist. The influence he has exercised would indeed
justify a much more extended notice of himself personally,
and of his productions, but in this place it must suffice to
refer to these as subjects well deserving the careful atten¬
tion of the student. Although M. Angelo has here been
considered as a sculptor only, he has also left noble works in
the sister arts of painting and architecture. Among the
former, the well-known compositions in the Sistine Chapel
at Rome, illustrating the grand scheme of Scripture revela¬
tion. from the Creation to the Final Judgment, are unrivalled
in invention, profound thought, knowledge, and grand style
of design. These truly sublime performances, whether
taken alone or in connection with the other proofs of the
power and vast range of his genius, place their author far
above comparison with any known artist, ancient or mo¬
dern. Nor was it in the fine arts of design alone that the
great ability of M. Angelo was conspicuous. The political
circumstances of his country called forth his talents in other
severer exercises, and it was in strengthening the defences
of Florence that he added to his well-deserved reputation
as an artist also that of one of the most accomplished
masters in military engineering and fortification. The few
remains that have reached us of his literary works, in his
letters and sonnets, exhibit him likewise as an elegant writer
and poet.
Pietro Torregiano was a distinguished sculptor of this
time, the contemporary and rival, in some respects, of
Michel Angelo ; of whom his jealousy was so great that on
one occasion, in a fit of passion, he struck him with a sculptor’s
hammer and broke his nose. The disfigurement caused by
this outrage is seen in all the portraits we have of the great
Florentine artist. Torregiano was invited to England, and
was employed upon the tomb of Henry VII. in Westminster
Abbey, a work of great interest and a sufficient proof of this
artist’s ability. In the Rolls chapel is a statue by Torregiano
which deserves notice. It is in terra-cotta, life-size, and
painted. It represents a judge, and is remarkable for its
truth to nature. Torregiano afterwards went to Spain
where he died. Sansovino and Baccio Bandinelli deserve
particular mention for their valuable contributions to the
art of this age. They have left behind them works of great
merit, in proof both of the great ability of the respective
artists, and of the extensive employment of sculpture in
Italy during this time. Many of Sansovino’s performances
are at Venice; Bandinelli appears to have worked chiefly
at Florence. Many of the productions of this period
claim our admiration for great qualities of art, but it must
also be added that all are more or less imitations. It is
seldom that any really original ideas occur, the sentiment
as well as the character of treatment being more or less
borrowed from the “ antique.”
Among the prominent artists of the time Benvenuto Cel¬
lini claims a distinguished place. He was a sculptor of great
power, though his works, partaking of the character of the
age, are marked by some exaggeration of action and an un¬
necessary and injudicious display of academical study and
anatomical knowledge. He executed some large statues;
and his figure of Perseus especially, in the Loggia del Gran
Duca at Florence, notwithstanding it has great faults, is a
production of great merit. B. Cellini is chiefly celebrated
for his smaller works in metal (gold, silver, and bronze) and
precious stones. Some of these, consisting of richly-orna¬
mented cups, salvers, shields, sword-handles, and similar ob¬
jects, are of great excellence, and show the undeniable skill
and taste of the artist in this branch of his profession.
Cellini wrote on his art, describing his practice and expe¬
riments in the then known processes of metal-founding.
He also published his autobiography, one of the most cu- Sculpture,
rious and amusing works illustrating the manners of the Vs—■v-"*'''
sixteenth century that have come down to us.
Guglielmo della Porta executed, among other works, the
monument of Paul III. in St Peter’s at Rome. Two
statues in this composition, representing Prudence and Jus¬
tice, establish this sculptor’s claim to high consideration.
They are not in harmony with the requirements of a Chris¬
tian monument, nor are they fit productions to be placed
in a church; but as works of art they merit the high praise
that has been accorded them. This sculptor was the friend
of Michel Angelo; and his sculpture, especially in the
figures referred to, shows the influence exercised on art
by the great master. The latter statue has been partially
draped since Della Porta’s time.
The quality for which the sculptors of the end of the
sixteenth and the seventeenth centuries are chiefly remark¬
able is a love of display in the executive parts of their art.
This led to a serious evil, and to the decline of art. The
object with them was not to improve the public taste, or to
elevate and improve the minds of the people, but to astonish
the spectator by their bold and skilful ingenuity. The
three sculptors who were most distinguished for their merit
and for their faults in this respect are Giovanni de Bo¬
logna, Bernini, and Roubiliac. These artists were essen¬
tially men of genius, and, though their disregard of the
true principles upon which only sculpture can be success¬
fully practised must be deplored, it would be most unjust
to withhold from them the praise to which they are entitled
for such merit as they undeniably possessed. The group in
marble called the “Rape of the Sabines” at Florence, and
the bronze statue of Mercury in the gallery also at Florence,
place Giovanni de Bologna, in spite of the defects referred
to, in the highest rank of sculptors. They deserve com¬
mendation for some of the most valuable art qualities,—
expression, invention, skilful composition, a knowledge of
form, and great execution. The Mercury is full of energy,
and is conceived in the true spirit of poetry ; but, though
classical in their subjects, they are far removed in their
treatment from the purity and the charming simplicity
which are so essentially a part of classical design. They
offend from the extravagance of the action and the twisted
contortions in the former group, and from the w-ant of re¬
finement in the forms appropriate to the messenger of the
gods, in the latter statue.
Bernini was a Neapolitan, and was born in 1598. His
imagination was fertile, and his power of execution of the
first class. Unfortunately, this power was uncontrolled by
submission to the necessary principles of his art. Bernini
delighted in the most curious and daring experiments upon
his materials, and treated marble as if it had been clay
or wax. Under him all the distinctive bounds of sculpture
were transgressed, and the object seemed to be to rival the
painter’s art. Clouds, landscape, perspective, and other
unattainable representations were attempted, till the whole
subject is confused in the flutter of unintelligible details.
That he was an artist of unquestionable genius cannot be
denied, but no one probably did more to precipitate the
fall of sculpture than Bernini. The immense patronage he
received during a long career (for he lived during nine
pontificates) filled Italy with his productions. Among the
most remarkable may be noticed his group of “ Apollo
and Daphne,” for its bold invention, the forcible manner in
which the story is told, and the “ bravura” of its execution.
The god is pursuing the unwilling fair one, and at the
moment of his reaching her she is, in answer to her prayer
for protection, changed into a tree. The passion of the
lover is displayed in his eager action and his flying hair and
drapery, while the metamorphosis of Daphne is shown by
her floating tresses, her fingers’ ends and her toes sprouting
forth in elaborately-executed laurel leaves. The bad taste
SCULPTURE.
864
Sculpture, of this picturesque treatment is only equalled by the extra-
ordinary executive talent displayed in the representation.
The “ Extacy of Sta. Teresa” is another work of the kind,
in which, amidst the flutter of drapery and clouds, it is dif¬
ficult to discover the figure of the saint. In St Peter’s the
magnificent monuments ot Urban VIII. and Alexander VII.
are examples of the merits and defects of this sculptor; mar¬
vellous for their execution, but debased by the most meretri¬
cious taste. The colossal statues of the Four Doctors of
the Church, in bronze gilt, supporting the chair of St Peter,
are also by this artist. The idea is grand, but the atti¬
tudes are affected and the forms exaggerated. In his
statue of “ David preparing to hurl the stone at Goliath”—
a work of great energy and expression, and executed when
he was young—Bernini is said to give a portrait of himself.
The fountain in the Piazza Navona at Rome is another of
the numerous strange and daring performances of this artist.
Allessandro Algardi, of Bologna, was contemporary with
Bernini, and deserves mention, although his works are
injured by the same defects that characterise the produc¬
tions of that sculptor. Algardi’s great and best known
performance is over one of the altars in St Peter’s at
Rome, and represents St Paul and St Peter appearing to
Attila and his hosts. It is in marble, in rilievo, and mea¬
sures about 30 feet in height by 15 in width. There are
passages of considerable merit in this composition; but un¬
fortunately it is all through treated upon the principle of a
picture, and attempts effects which can only be properly
rendered by colour. The numerous figures and rilievi of
putti, or children, by Francisco di Quesnoy, better known
as “ il Fiamingo,” have given this sculptor a well-merited
title to distinction; and a statue by him of Susanna in the
church of La Madonna di Loreto at Rome may also be
noticed as a work of great feeling and even beauty.
Roubiliac followed in the same road, and his great ability
increased his influence in establishing a most meretricious
school of artists. The fact of his having had great employ¬
ment in England enables us to judge more easily of the
merits and demerits of his style. One of his best works
is the statue of Eloquence, in the monument of a Duke of
Argyle in Westminster Abbey. The action is earnest, and
the expression full of character. In the same church is a
much-commended work in memory of Lady Nightingale.
It shows, like all the productions of this artist, great power;
but it is an example of mistaken design, and shows how
fatally the transgression of the true rules of art must act.
A much-admired work by Roubiliac is the monument of
Bishop Hough in Worcester cathedral. In the hall of the
British Museum there is a statue by him of Shakspeare.
Roubiliac has shown marvellous ingenuity in his execution;
but he has done himself injustice by bestowing so much
pains upon the inferior accessories of flying draperies, fringes,
the minute details of dress, in buttons and button-holes,
perukes, and the fine folds and clocks of stockings, which
withdraw the attention from many very admirable qualities
in the nobler parts of his designs.
It is not necessary to dwell longer on this phase of
sculpture, and no advantage can be gained by enumerating
the minute and laborious performances of the smaller race
of sculptors who imitated the worst peculiarities of the
school. In the church of S. Severe at Naples are some
very curious examples of patience and bad taste in statues
by San Martino and Corradino ; one is of Modesty, covered
all over with a thin veil, another a figure of Falsehood within
a net of which the meshes are relieved, and a third repre¬
sents a dead Christ covered with drapery. Others of the
same kind might be mentioned; but it will be seen by what
has been said that sculpture no longer held a position of
dignity, nor was it practised in a way to receive or deserve
the admiration of true judges of art. The above pieces of
workmanship are specimens only of the carver’s skill and
patience ; and such sculpture, instead of being looked upon Sculpture,
as fine art, can rank but little higher than an exercise of me-
chanical ingenuity ; for it often is totally independent of in¬
vention or sentiment, or other really artistical quality. Oc¬
casionally an artist of superior taste or higher feeling in art
appeared, but he was not seconded or supported by any
refinement in his patrons, nor by the sympathy of the public.
The talent that existed—and the names of the sculptors
above mentioned prove its existence—was exhausted in the
endeavour to excite curiosity and admiration for the skill
shown in pretty conceits or elaborate execution. The
magnificent collections of ancient sculpture preserved in
the cities of Italy, at Rome, Florence, and Naples, failed
to impress upon sculptors or patrons the value of those
principles which had led to the perfection of Greek art;
and even when their forms, modified by the fashions and
bad taste of the age, were repeated, there was no true feel¬
ing or inspiration to elevate the works above the character
of indifferent copies or tame imitations.
The honour of giving a new direction to taste, or rather
of leading it back to a recognition of true principles, is
eminently due to two sculptors of our own age, Canova
and Flaxman. To the former Italy owes her emancipation
from those false perceptions which had, from the influence
of the Bernini school, so long diverted the current of pure
taste. To Flaxman the art owes equal obligation, though
he had not the same opportunity as Canova of making his
superior merit known. No modern sculptor has entered
so deeply into the recesses of ancient art as Flaxman ; his
style was founded upon their principles, combined with the
simplicity of the Pisani and others of the fourteenth century.
The purer and simpler taste of which some of the earlier
works of Canova, as his “Theseus,” “ Daedalus,” and “ Ica¬
rus,” and others, gave promise, it must be admitted, is less
conspicuous in some of his later productions; and he appears
to have been seduced from the staid and somewhat severe
simplicity which is one of the greatest charms of sculpture, by
the fascination of highly-wrought execution and the elabo¬
ration of surface. In Flaxman exceptions will be found of
a directly contrary character. In his works execution will
be found a very secondary object compared with design,
though in one of the finest compositions of which modern
sculpture can boast, “ The contest of Michael with Satan,”
Flaxman has shown that this deficiency is not to be attri¬
buted to want of knowledge or power. The works of these
eminent sculptors are before the world ; it is not therefore
necessary to discuss them more particularly in this place.
The influence of these second restorers of sculpture on
the art of their day is acknowledged ; and though distinct
schools have arisen out of those which they may be said to
have formed, the merit is justly due to them of having at
least directed attention to that which is truly excellent.
Before concluding the history of sculpture with some
few remarks upon its condition in England, it is due to
the memory of a sculptor of distinguished merit to give
him his just position in the list of those who have honour¬
ably and successfully exercised this art. Albert Thor-
waldsen, a native of Iceland, but long resident in Italy,
has left behind him several productions exhibiting a pro¬
found feeling for art: excellent in design, composition,
and form. Like most modern sculptors, he drew largely
from the ancients for his subjects; but he also illustrated
others which were suggested by his own faith and feelings.
His “Mercury” and his “Jason” are pre-eminent amongst
the former; while in his majestic colossal statue of Christ, at¬
tended by the twelve apostles (now placed in niches in a
church at Copenhagen), in his rilievi of “ Charity,” and
other subjects from scripture teaching, he has, like our own
Flaxman, shown that the modern artist need not necessarily
be confined to heathen poetry and mythology for ample
and exquisite materials for the exercise of his talents, al-
SCULPTURE.
Sculpture, though he may very properly adopt the principle of beauty
of form which the Greek sculptors applied so admirably in
their works.
The schools of sculpture of France, Germany, and Spain
no doubt emanated from those established in Italy, and their
earlier history is so closely connected with the revival of
art in that country that it is not necessary to treat of them
at any length. As the art progressed, the sculptors of each
of these nations established their claims to distinction ; and
in France especially names of very high pretension are
met with. Goujon was deservedly eminent even among
the great artists of the sixteenth century ; and the produc¬
tions of Pilon, Puget, Girardon, Le Moine, Coustou, have
secured for these artists a well-deserved reputation. The
performances of the best of the French sculptors will bear
comparison with those of any modern nation in knowledge
of form, careful execution, and bold conception. The
mode of treatment often, it must be admitted, partakes of
the taste of particular periods, and, especially in the works
of the seventeenth century, is marked by affectation and a
somewhat theatrical air in the action and expression, which
detract from the claims of the French to rank as a sound
school of art; but in other respects the high qualities of
the French sculptors admit of no dispute. It has always
been the policy of the rulers of France to encourage the
fine arts, and especially to foster native talent; and the
interest thus shown has proved of the greatest advantage.
It has, in the first place, given an honourable stimulus to
their professors, and, in the next, the successful progress of
the higher departments has acted most beneficially on the
general character of design throughout all branches of
industry. In the history of art in France there has been
no illiberal exclusion of foreigners; but there always has
been a patriotic feeling that native artists should be en¬
couraged ; and this consistent protection and interest in
their progress may fairly be considered in no slight degree
a cause of the high position the arts, in almost every depart-
ment, have there attained.
The German school of sculpture, till of late years, was
attached to a peculiar style which the national taste for
simplicity and love of local association seem to have en¬
grafted on the early Italian art which had penetrated into
the country when the scholars of the Pisani travelled over
Europe practisingand teaching wherever they found employ¬
ment. This has given a somewhat dry and quaint character
to much of their sculpture produced before the sixteenth
century, and it may indeed be found in works of a subse¬
quent date. During the last fifty or sixty years great pro¬
gress has been made in giving a higher quality of form to
their productions in this art; and the execution of the works
of the more eminent of the German sculptors is in no way
inferior to that of any of their contemporaries. The influ¬
ence of the modern artificial taste for classical imitations
has extended to Germany, but it has acted less forcibly
there than in Italy, France, or England; the national and
domestic element, so strong in the German character, in¬
ducing their artists to exercise their art upon subjects which
address the sympathies of the age.
865
In the sixteenth century sculpture was exercised exten- Sculpturt’.
sively and with great success by native artists in Spain;
and many of the churches possess works of a very high
quality by Alonzo Cano, Hernandez, and their contempo¬
raries. The close political connection that so long existed
between Italy and Spain will account for the similarity of
style in the art of the two countries, and many Italian sculp¬
tors of reputation visited Spain. Torregiano, as has been
stated, proceeded thither from England, and died there
after executing various works. A peculiar practice pre¬
vailed which gives a very remarkable character to the
Spanish sculpture of the sixteenth century. The statues
of religious subjects,—and in Spain the talhnts of the artists
were almost exclusively exercised in the service of the
church,—as the Saviour, the Virgin, saints, and similar per¬
sonages, were carefully executed in sculpture, but after¬
wards they were as carefully painted, so as to imitate, with
all possible truth, the appearance of nature. The effect of
these works is said to be very startling, but very disagree¬
able ; they appear almost to be living figures, or tableaux
vivans, standing as models. This is a practice that cannot
be admired or recommended by good taste. It in fact
takes works out of the strict category of sculpture, without
placing them in the condition of pictures. It is not the
object of really fine sculpture or painting to make the spec¬
tator, who contemplates a picture, a group, or a statue, be¬
lieve he is looking at real, living figures.1
The short time, comparatively with other countries, during
which sculpture has been practised in England, precludes
it from taking a place in the early history of art with Italy,
France, and Germany. The English sculptors exercised
no influence on the style of the art; and it is not till the
eighteenth century that any place can be claimed for our
native artists. It may be observed, however, that although
there is no account of the practice of sculpture, there is
reason to believe that there were native artists in England
at a very early date. No reliance can be placed on the tra¬
ditional account, quoted byFlaxman, respecting the “great
and terrible” statue of Cadwallo, who died 677; but two
flat monumental effigies in the cloisters of Westminster
Abbey, of two of its abbots, are of great historical interest.
They are of the eleventh and beginning of the twelfth cen¬
turies. One is of Vitalis, who died in 1087; the other of
Crispinus, who died 1117. Whether two statues of Henry
I. and his queen in Rochester cathedral were of that date,
the middle of the twelfth century, cannot be determined ;
but there is evidence of the art having been exercised in
England extensively within a hundred years of that time.
It is worthy of remark, that Wells cathedral, which is copi¬
ously decorated with sculpture, was completed in the year
1242 ; and that Cimabue, one of the fathers of Italian art,
was only born in 1240; and Giotto did not appear till 1276.
The building of this church was therefore going on while
Niccolo Pisano was exercising his art in Italy, and it was
finished between thirty and forty years before one of the most
interesting monuments of the kind in Italy, the Duomo of
Orvieto, was commenced. The sculpture which decorates
Wells cathedral is of course very rude in point of art; but
1 The question of colouring sculpture is too large a subject to he entered upon here, where it is only referred to incidentally as a
practice that has obtained at different periods in the history of the art. That the ancients employed colour in a variety of materials as
well as in pigments, there is no doubt. Extreme decoration and love of finery is a characteristic of all early and barbarous nations,
and it is found that the sculpture of remote antiquity was everywhere painted. As art in the times referred to was used almost ex¬
clusively for religious purposes, the mode of treatment became prescriptive; and therefore, even after a purer taste was established
generally in design and form, as was the case in the age of Pericles, and when Phidias exercised his art, the established usage of richly
decorating the statues of the gods was still adhered to in very many instances. The colour was put on thickly and uniformly
over a stucco ground, and without tints. Vermilion and white were those usually employed for the naked parts. The eyes were often
made of glass or stone. It is not possible to conceive that in their general practice the great sculptors of antiquity would consent to
injure and conceal the perfection of surface they gave to their marble by thus coating and disfiguring it with thick opaque colour.
It must also be borne in piind that colour was extensively used in architectural enrichment, and sculpture usually was so intimately as¬
sociated with architecture that it partook of the decorative character, and was subject to its conditions. This gives, so far, a reasonable
account for the practice of the ancients, but it affords no excuse for the affectation of its modern re-introduction in isolated and gallery
statues. (Kiigler, Polychromie; Westmacott, On Colouring Statues, 1859; Hittorf; Quatremere de Quincy, Le Jupiter Olympien, &c.)
VOL. XIX. 5 K
SCULPTURE.
866
Sculpture, it is of great interest, from the character of the designs, and
from the date of its execution. It illustrates various
subjects of Scripture-history and acts in the life of our
Saviour; besides recording, in statues ot heroic size, the
memory of saints, kings, queens, and others, who were pro¬
bably patrons and benefactors of the church. Another cir¬
cumstance of interest is, that it seems to be the earliest
example in this country of such sculptural enrichment
exhibiting a connected series of Scripture illustrations ; but
its importance may be still greater if, as has been conjectured,
it is the first specimen of the kind known to exist in Western
Europe. Its origin, then, becomes a question of some im¬
portance. It is not improbable that some of the earliest
Italian practitioners may, in their wanderings, have pene¬
trated as far as England ; but the style of the sculpture cer¬
tainly does not resemble that of the Italian artists who un¬
doubtedly were employed on the tombs of Edward the
Confessor and of Henry III.; and, therefore, it is not so
easily associated with the art derived from that source.
Flaxman, admitting this, was disposed to think it was de¬
rived from the East, conceiving that, as it was not Italian, it
might have been founded on examples seen by the Crusaders;
a speculation which has little probability to recommend it.
That the Crusaders influenced the civilization of Europe must
be conceded, inasmuch as many of the ingenious eastern arts
became known, and were introduced by those who returned
from those wars ; but it scarcely can be likely that any
light could be thrown on sculpture by the practice of the
eastern nations. No writer seems to have allowed himself
to think it possible that the English could have been capable,
at any period of their history, of producing such art as was
required for the decoration of their sacred and other edi¬
fices, even of the rude and primitive kind under considera¬
tion ; and therefore all have taxed their ingenuity and in¬
vention to give the honour of it, such as it is, to any rather
than their own countrymen. The preponderance of the
foreign element in the courts of the sovereigns of England,
and the little knowledge of, or feeling for, art in the higher
classes, have always tended to depress or ignore the at¬
tempts of native artists to do at home that which the
artists of Italy, France, and Germany effected for the
credit of their respective countries; and on all occasions,
till a comparatively late period, foreign painters and sculp¬
tors were preferred and employed. Want of opportunity and
want of practice, all-sufficient causes in themselves of inferi¬
ority, were assumed, too often by those but little competent
to judge, to be proofs of national incapacity ; and till Chris¬
topher Wren vindicated the honour of his country in archi¬
tecture it seemed never to have occurred that an English¬
man could make himself worthy to take a position as a real
artist. Without entering into the question of the greater
or less degree of sensibility in the northern nations to the
various forms of beauty, whether in the imitative arts or in
music, there can be no doubt that this habit of slight and
depreciation by those from whom, from their influence and
position, encouragement might rather have been expected,
suppressed the growth of art among the English, and para¬
lysed the efforts of the few who might have any desire or
ambition to practise it. It must, however, at the same time
be admitted, that with the disadvantages that doubtless ac¬
crued to the establishment and progress of native art in
England by the constant immigration and employment of
foreigners, some advantages have also to be acknowledged.
I he inducement held out by the liberal remuneration to be
procured in England by every kind of talent occasionally
brought among, us artists of a superior class, from whom
much could be learned in matters of technical detail, in
which our own ill-educated practitioners were greatly defi¬
cient ; and there can be no doubt that this led to consider¬
able improvement in our own schools. In the seventeenth
and eighteenth centuries, however, art in England, with
very trifling exceptions, was in the same low state with Sculpture,
respect to taste as it was on the Continent; and the sculp-
tors (foreigners, of course) who were then practising here,
—Scheemacher, Rysbrach, and Roubiliac-—have left evi¬
dence of the debased condition of the art, although, as has
before been observed, there are among the works of the
last-named artist many productions of great merit.
It may not be out of place to mention here that England
is very rich in its series of ecclesiastical and monumental
sculpture, from the earliest introduction of that class of
art in this country. Reference has already been made to
the effigies in low relief of two abbots of Westminster, in
the eleventh and twelfth centuries, and to the statues which
decorate Wells cathedral. At first all sculpture to com¬
memorate individuals was confined to the ecclesiastics, the
clergy having the exclusive control over these works. The
earliest monumental effigy of a king is that of John in
Worcester cathedral, the date 1216. The next of royal
personages are those in bronze, in Westminster Abbey, of
Henry III. (1272), and of Eleanor the queen of Edward
I. (1290). From this time there is a continued succession
of such works, which are not only highly valuable from
their historical importance, but for the illustration they
afford of the changes in the style of monumental design.
Some of those of the end of the fourteenth and the fifteenth
centuries are particularly rich in design, and deserve atten¬
tion for many valuable qualities of art. It will be observed
that, from its commencement till about the end of the
sixteenth century, monumental sculpture exhibits the in¬
fluence of the religious feeling of the earlier ages. It
was of course modified in its forms and mode of repre¬
sentation, as may be seen in numerous examples of easy
reference that abound in our cathedrals and older churches,
but everywhere the prevailing sentiment was religious.
Figures, whether they are lying recumbent on their tombs
or kneeling, a posture not so often met with in the princi¬
pal subject in early monumental sculpture, are usually
represented praying ; or if not literally occupied in the act
of prayer, they generally have accessories or accompani¬
ments referring to religious exercises, or are attended by
ministering angels, either supporting the cushion at the
head or grouped at the feet of the person represented. Of
course there are exceptions to this rule, as in the effigies of
the knights in the Temple church, and others that might
be mentioned ; but generally the sentiment described was
the prevailing one in this class of works. In the sixteenth
century a departure from this characteristic of church
sculpture is observable, and in a few years all reference to
the religious character in such works is lost sight of. The
taste exhibited in monumental design of the date of
Elizabeth and James I. is exceedingly bad, but after that
time this class of art still further deteriorated, and the
monuments produced in the latter part of the seventeenth
century are for the most part entirely wanting in the asso¬
ciations which seem to be so essential in works of this kind.
It has been asserted—and the assertion has, for want of
being properly canvassed, been too readily admitted by
some writers—that the decline of art in England, and espe¬
cially the change in the sentiment of monumental design,
was owing to the Reformation, in the sixteenth century.
This opinion is quite unfounded. In the first place England
had no distinct school of art; all, or almost all, that was
produced was by foreigners. In the next, if the deteriora¬
tion of art is to be attributed to the change in the religious
convictions of the nation, the proof of it should be found
only among the people of the Reformed Church. But so
far from this being the case, examples of monuments in
places of worship, deviating much more strikingly than our
sculpture from all religious and Christian character of de¬
sign, abound all over the Continent. In Rome, especially
in St Peter’s, where, according to the view of the opponents
S C U L I
Sculpture, of the Reformation, the utmost propriety and purity of de-
v'—s>gn might be expected, nothing can be worse than the taste
and feeling exhibited in most of the monuments of the time
referred to. Some of these works are not only utterly in¬
appropriate, but are of a most objectionable character. In¬
deed, in this particular, it would not be difficult to show that,
though the later Puritan feeling carried the anti-art preju¬
dice to an excess which is to be deplored, the Reformation,
instead of assisting in debasing art, was a powerful cause of
purifying it. It is a subject of just and honourable pride that
such objectionable and even scandalous subjects as occa¬
sionally occur in England in screens and on choir-stalls of
the mediaeval time, and which, being in sacred places, were
of course executed under the sanction of the clergy, are
never met with in the later decoration of the reformed reli¬
gion. This subject is here only briefly touched upon with
reference to the sentiment of a particular class of art; and
to vindicate the Reformation from the unjust charge of hav¬
ing corrupted taste.
There was a slight re-action in favour of art in the
reign of Charles I. It was occasioned chiefly by the
introduction of some works of art from the Continent ; and
the interest in the subject exhibited by the king himself and
his desire to acquire objects of the kind gave an impulse to
the taste for art in his court. The political disturbances that
soon began to disturb the kingdom were, however, fatal to
the development of this feeling ; and though there was con¬
siderable patronage and encouragement given to the sister
arts, sculpture rapidly declined. After the death of Charles
I. the collections he had made were dispersed, many of the
finest productions in painting being sold and carried out of
the country. The original cartoons of Raffaelle and those
of Andrea Mantegna, both now preserved at Hampton
Court, would have shared this fate, and would have been
lost to us but for the interference of Cromwell. By his
command they were purchased for the nation.1
Three sculptors of some eminence may be noticed here
wffio w’ere practising with success in England. Stone, who
died in 1647, is the author, among other works, of a large
monument in memory of a member of the Newcastle
family, in Westminster Abbey, and which Flaxman, in his
review of English sculpture, thinks worthy of commenda¬
tion. Cains Gabriel Cibber, born in 1630, is known as
the sculptor of the two stone statues of “ Madness” and
“ Melancholy” at Bethlehem Hospital. They are remark¬
able works for expression, and for bold and vigorous design
and execution. Grindley Gibbon was the sculptor of the
bronze statue of James II. in the court-yard of the
banquetting-house at Whitehall, a work of considerable
merit, though the action is rather theatrical. The costume
is that of a Roman general. This artist deserves particular
mention as one of the most distinguished carvers in wood.
He was much employed by Charles II. at Windsor Castle
and Hampton Court, where his works may still be seen.
He also executed the wood carvings in the screen of St
Paul’s Cathedral, as well as other elaborate performances
of the kind at the country seats of many of the nobility.
His imitation of birds, dead game, foliage, fruit, and such
objects, deserve the highest praise. He died in 1721.
Nothing could be lower than the state of sculpture in
England during the reigns of the two first Georges. In
that of George III. a new era commenced. The posi¬
tion and importance of art as a pursuit honourable to a
civilized nation were admitted, and the first national ac¬
knowledgment of its existence in England was made. It is
not yet a hundred years since this was effected, but the result
of this recognition has been of a kind amply to satisfy those
who hoped well for the credit of English talent. Artists
’TURK 86T
have in this short time appeared who will bear comparison Sculpture,
with their contemporaries all over the world. To mention ^ ^ v —
but a few names: in architecture, Wren and Chambers ;
in painting, Reynolds, Gainsborough, Wilkie, and Tur¬
ner; in engraving, Sharpe and Woollet (and there are many
others who might easily be added in all branches of the
arts), have triumphantly disposed of the charge of national
incompetency. Of living artists, many of whom have justly
acquired a widely-extended reputation, it would be invidi¬
ous here to speak. In sculpture, England has within the last
fewyears possessed very eminent names; and as some of these
have exercised considerable influence, it may be desirable,
in concluding this part of the history of the art, to point
out the leading peculiarities that have marked their practice.
The chief sculptors who arose after the disappearance of
the Rysbrach and Roubiliac schools, and who began to ex¬
ercise their art with some independent feeling, were Banks,
Bacon, Nollekens, Flaxman, Westmacott, and Chantrey.
The merit of Banks may be judged of by his large group in
the facade of the gallery of the British Institution in Pall
Mall, representing Shakespeare between Poetry and Paint¬
ing ; by his elegant and expressive composition in marble in
the National Gallery, of “Thetis rising from the Sea to con¬
sole Achilles;” his fine statue in marble in the Royal Aca¬
demy of “A Falling Giant,” and other works. Nollekens
produced many works showing a close observation of nature
and accomplishment in the executive part of his art. In busts
especially his practice was very great, and he also produced
some statues of considerable merit. His drapery was, how¬
ever, poor in design, and showed the influence of the weaker
parts of the preceding schools.
Flaxman has made an European reputation of which
his country may feel justly proud. As a designer, his fame
is established by his compositions from Homer, jEschylus,
and Dante, as well as by other works. Among his pro¬
ductions in sculpture may be especially mentioned the
group of “Michael overcoming Satan ;” a performance that
places its author in the very highest rank of sculptors. His
composition in rilievo of “ Mercury conveying Pandora to
Earth,” those from the Lord’s Prayer, his elaborate and
classical “ Shield of Achilles,” after Homer, cast in gold,
and numerous works illustrating passages of Scripture, in¬
troduced in monumental designs, attest the fertility of his
invention and the true genius that characterised his concep¬
tions. Flaxman’s style was founded on the beautiful ancient
examples, especially in the designs on Greek fictile vases,
modified by his sympathetic appreciation of the simplicity
and sentiment of the early Christian art of the Pisani and
their followers. With Flaxman execution was subservient
to invention, and it must be admitted that many of his most
beautiful conceptions suffer from their inadequate execution.
Westmacott derived his earlier impressions from the
ancient statues; and the influence of antique art appears in
the generality of his designs. Some very original concep¬
tions are, however, found in this artist’s works. Among
these, the large alto-rilievo of the “ Dream of Horace,” at
Petworth, the illustrations of the Progress of Civilization, the
Invention and Progress of Navigation, and similar sub¬
jects deserve attention. Among his best known ideal or
sentimental statues, not of the antique school, may be men¬
tioned the well-known group of the “ Distressed" Mother,”
and a group of the “ Virgin and Child.” These have great
expression, and are also examples of a deep knowledge of the
requirements and true principles of the art. His portrait-
statues in bronze and marble are numerous, and many of
his public monuments, exhibiting great fancy and inven¬
tion, may be seen in the churches and public squares in
different parts of England.
1 It is curious to know that the cartoons of Andrea Mantegna were valued at L.2000, while those of Raffaelle, which had been pur-
chased for Charles I. by Rubens, were estimated at only L.300. r
863 SCULPTURE.
Sculpture. Chantrey had no academical education in the art in
‘s—^ which he became so eminent ; a circumstance which ac¬
counts for many of the excellences,and defects of his prac¬
tice. His sound common-sense enabled him,to perceive
the falsehood of a school of modern art which was always
repeating ancient designs and forms, and he therefore took
nature, as he viewed her, for his example. In his portrait-
statues in their modern costume, and in his busts he iden¬
tified himself with his own age and people. In his busts
of men he was without a rival ; for although they are
wanting in what the learned in art understand by ideality,
they exhibit a truthfulness m their individuality and cha¬
racter that justly place them among* the best works of their
class. In many of his portrait-statues the same power of
seizing the salient pcrtnts of character are seen. But few
ideal or “ gallery” works by Chantrey exist. Indeed, his
strength consisted in his ability to deal with the real or na-
tural.; and, not having any sympathy with merely classical
art, he judiciously confined himself, with few exceptions, to
the treatment of subjects out of the pale of poetical fancy
or invention.
The influences that affected the leading sculptors of the
English school may still be variously seen in the produc¬
tions of living artists. While some have preferred the
ancient Greek examples, both for subject and the mode of
treatment, others have sought in commoner modern sources
both the subjects for illustration and the forms in which
they are to be presented. This country may now boast
of a considerable amount of executive talent in sculp¬
ture; but the ultimate judgment as to the merit of the
artist must be left to the just award of time. A too strict
subserviency to ancient example may retard the progress of
a true, original school, and may tend* to establish cold, pas¬
sionless, artificial, or academical art, while an injudicious
and too close imitation of the merely natural may, in like
manner, lead to a low standard of subject and form, and
thus debase a high and fine art to the condition of vulgar,
commonplace image-making. It is from the union of the
expressive, which can be appreciated by modern feelings
and sentiment, with the highest forms of beauty, of which the
true elements are found in the principles pervading Greek
sculpture, that the most happy success will result.
The processes of sculpture are now so generally known
that it scarcely seems necessary to describe them; but as
a history of the art would scarcely be complete without
some little explanation ot the mechanical and technical con¬
duct of a work, a few general indications of the sculptor’s
mode of proceeding are here added.
Ihe artist having invented or conceived his subject,
usually begins by making a small sketch of it in some
plastic or obedient substance, as clay or wax. He can
change and alter this at his pleasure till he is satisfied with
the composition, and the arrangement of the light and
shadow. He then proceeds to copy it in his statue or group
of its intended size. Before commencing the larger model
it is necessary to form a sort ot skeleton or frame-work of
iron and wood, with joints made of wire to support the
great mass ot clay. 1 his iron frame is firmly fixed upon a
turning bench, or banker, so that the model may be con¬
stantly moved without difficulty. As the clay is likely to
shrink as it gets dry, it is necessary occasionally to we.t it
by sprinkling water over it with a brush, or from a large
syringe, and by laying damp cloths upon it. This is the
process for preparing a model in the “ round.” In model¬
ling rilieyo of either kind, a plane or ground is prepared
upon which the design is or should be carefully drawn.
T he clay is then laid in small quantities upon this, the out¬
line being bounded by the drawing; and the bulk or pro¬
jection is regulated by the degree of relief the sculptor
requiies. It the final work is to be in baked clay (terra¬
cotta) there must be no iron or wooden nucleus, and the Sculpture,
model is prepared for drying without such support. When
perfectly dry, the model is placed in an oven and slowly
baked, by which it acquires the peculiar brownish-red
colour seen in these works. If the final work is to be in
marble, or bronze, or plaster, the next process after finish¬
ing the model is to mould it. This is done by coverino- it
with a mixture of plaster of Paris with water, which quickly
sets, forming a hard and thick coating over the whole. The
clay is then carefully picked out, and an exact matrix or
form remains. This is washed clean, and the interior is
brushed over with any greasy substance, usually a composi¬
tion of soap and oil, to prevent the fresh plaster with which
it is to be filled adhering too firmly to it. The fresh plas¬
ter is mixed to about the consistency of cream, and then
poured gently into the mould till all the surface is filled or
covered. When this is set the old plaster mould is care¬
fully knocked away with chisels, and the true cast appears
beneath, giving an entire fac-simile of the model. Some
skill is required in making moulds, in order to provide for
projecting parts and undercuttings ; practice alone can give
this. The above general instructions explain the ordinary
process. In metal casting or founding attention must be
paid to the strengthening of the parts to bear the weight of
the metal; but the principle described in plaster-moulding
applies also to the preparation for metal-casting. The mix¬
ture of metal to form bronze, the heating of the furnace, burn¬
ing, chasing, and other processes of founding, cannot be fully
described in this place, as they belong to a distinct practice.
If the model is to be copied in marble or stone, the first
step is to procure a block of the required size. Two stones,
called scale-stones, are then prepared, upon one of which the
model or plaster cast is placed, and upon the other the
rough block of marble. The fronts of these stones have
figured marks or “ scales” exactly corresponding. An in¬
strument, capable of being moved by socket-joints and
moveable arms, is then applied to the scale-stone of the
model, and a projecting point or “ needle” is made to touch
a particular part of the model itself. This is carefully re¬
moved to the scale-stone of the rough block, and the
marble is cut away till the “ needle” reaches so far into the
block as to correspond with the “ point” taken on the
model. A pencil-mark is then made to show that the
point is fixed. This process is repeated all over the
model and the block till a rough copy or shape of the
model is entirely made. These “ pointing” machines are
not always precisely alike, but the principle upon which
they act is exactly similar in all. The statue being thus
rudely shaped out, the block is placed in the hands of a
superior workman, called a carver, who copies the more
minute portions of the work by means of chisels, rasps, and
files ; the pencil-marks showing him the precise situation of
the parts and the limits beyond which he is not to pene¬
trate into the marble. When the carver has carried the
work as far as the sculptor desires, he proceeds himself to
give it the finishing touches, improving the details of form
and expression, producing varieties of texture, and harmo¬
nizing the whole.
The rich quality of surface that appears more or less in
works in marble is produced by rubbing with fine sand or
pumice-stone and other substances, and the ancients ap¬
pear to have completed this part of their work by a process
called by Pliny “ circumlitio” which may probably mean
not only rubbing or polishing, but applying some composi¬
tion, such as hot wax, to give a rich colour to the surface.
Many of the ancient statues certainly exhibit the appear¬
ance of some foreign substance having slightly penetrated
the surface of the work to about one-eighth of an inch, and
its colour is of a warmer tint than the marble below it.
This process is quite distinct from po/yc/zrowy, or what is
usually understood by colouring sculpture, (r. W—t.)
s c u
Scuppers SCUPPERS are metal pipes inserted in openings bored
II from the deck through the sides of a ship, to carry the water
Scyitfi. 0ff from t]ie dgok to t]le se£K
SCURVY, a constitutional disease in which the quality
of the blood has been much impaired, owing mainly to the
absence for a great length of time of fresh vegetable diet
and other articles, containing the salt of potash. It was
formerly very prevalent among our seamen, but for many
years, except in rare cases of neglect, it has not been heard
of. The supply of a portion of lime or lemon-juice daily,
effectually checks any tendency to scurvy.
SCUTARI, or Skutari (anc. Chrysopolis\ the largest
of the suburbs of Constantinople, forming a town of itself,
on the opposite side of the Bosphorus, on seven low hills.
The modern name is derived from the Persian Uskudar,
a courier, on account of this being the post-station for
couriers to and from the east. The town contains several
mosques founded by sultans or sultanas, a large palace,
barracks, several imarets or kitchens for the poor, baths,
and convents. Among the last, the most remarkable is
that of the howling dervishes, which is visited by many
Europeans on account of the singular and fanatical rites
performed. I he cemetery of Scutari is much larger and
more beautiful than any in the capital, on account of the
sacredness supposed to belong to Asiatic soil. The town
contains silk-mills and cotton factories ; abd has a considera¬
ble trade. In the vicinity there are many beautiful villas
and country-houses. During the Russian war of 1854-6,
the hospital of Scutari was used by the allied armies. Pop.
estimated at 60,000.
Scutari (Albanian Skodra), a town of European Turkey,
Albania, capital of a pashalic in the eyalet of Rumili, at
the southern extremity of the Lake of Scutari, from which
the Boyana here issues, 45 miles S.E. of Cattaro. It is
walled and defended by two castles; contains a bazaar,
numerous mosques, Greek and Roman Catholic churches.
Ship-building, woollen and cotton weaving, and the manu¬
facture of fire-arms, are carried on here. Scutari is the
principal place of trade in Bosnia and Albania, as three
important routes cross each other here—that from Con¬
stantinople to the Adriatic; that from Belgrade to the
Mediterranean ; and that from Dalmatia to Albania. Pop.
24,000.
SCUTTLES, in a ship, holes in the decks of a ship,
either for air or as passages to the store-rooms; also openings
in a ship’s side for the admission of air. If, in order to sink
a ship, a hole be cut in her bottom, she is said, in nautical
language, to be scuttled.
SCYLLA , or Seiglio, a town of Naples, in the province
of Calabria Ultra, on a promontory of the same name, at
the Strait of Messina, 11 miles N.N.E. of Reggio. At the
outmost point of the land stands the castle on a steep cliff;
behind this the town is built on a neck of land, pictur¬
esquely rising in zig-zag terraces from the sand on either
side. It contains numerous fountains, and some very hand¬
some buildings; has important silk manufactories, a con¬
siderable trade, and an extensive fishery. Scylla suffered
very much from an earthquake in 1783. Here is the once
dreaded rock Scylla, of classical fame ; but it is now passed
without danger or fear by the navigator. Pop. 4560.
SCYLLA and CHARYBD1S, the names of two rocks
in the Strait of Messina, fancifully described as sea-mon¬
sters by Homer, and after him by many of the best poets
both in ancient and modern times. These descriptions
are plainly intended to typify some objects of imminent
danger and terror; and though it would be absurd to seek
too minutely for a local habitation of such creations of the
fancy, it is not improbable that the idea was originally de¬
rived from the exaggerated rumours about rocks and eddies
that would be brought home by such adventurous seamen
as had the courage, in their frail uncovered boats, to attempt
s c Y 869
the passage. Scylla is represented in different forms, with Scyros
six heads, or with three, or with a fish’s tail encircled by II
ever-howling dogs. She dragged vessels on the fatal rocks ; Scythia-
while Charybdis, on the other side, engulphed them in the
water, which she alternately sucked in and ejected from her
capacious jaws. In modern language, Scylla and Chary¬
bdis have passed into a proverbial metaphor, expressing the
difficulty of avoiding opposite extremes or dangers.
SCYROS, now Skyros, or Skyro, an island belong¬
ing to Greece, one of the group called the Sporades, in the
Aegean Sea, 25 miles E. of Euboea. Length about 17
miles ; breadth from 2 to 7 ; area about 60 square miles. It
consists of two parts united by a narrow isthmus in the centre,
where there is a tract of low level ground. The north¬
ern and southern extremities are mountainous, especially
the latter, which is the loftier, abounding in bare cliffs and
deep ravines, clothed only with wild forests of oaks, pines,
and beeches. In the northern portion the hills are less
elevated; and these, as well as the valleys and plains, are
covered with rich corn-fields, vineyards, and pastures.
Corn, wine, and madder are the most valuable productions
of the island; oranges and other fruits are grown; and
goats of a good breed are reared. At the town of St
George, on the east coast, which contains nearly all the
inhabitants, some remains of the ancient capital have been
found. On the west side the bay of Kalamitza forms a
good harbour. Scyros is more than once mentioned in
the ancient legends of Greece. It was here that Theseus,
after retiring from Athens, was treacherously murdered by
Lycomedes; and Achilles, according to one tradition, was
sent hither by Peleus to avenge his death. In 476 B.c.,
the Athenians were directed by an oracle to bring home the
bones of their tutelary hero; and accordingly no long time
elapsed before Cimon conquered the island, expelled the
former Dolopian inhabitants, colonized it with Athenians,
and brought the bones of Theseus to the Theseium
at Athens. The island long remained subject to the
Athenians; afterwards it passed into the hands of the
Macedonians, and still later into those of the Romans.
Pop. 2630.
SCYTHE. See Agriculture.
SCYTHIA, a name given by the ancients to a large
tract of country, inhabited by a race of people whom they
called Scythse, but who called themselves Scoloti. The
position and extent of this country, according to different
writers, differ very considerably ; and especially Herodotus
and Ptolemy, who give the most distinct information on
the subject, are completely at variance, the former placing
it entirely in Europe, and the latter almost entirely in Asia.
According to Herodotus, who does not recognise the coun¬
try called Sarmatia by later writers, the Scythians occupied
a portion of it, extending from the Ister (Danube) to the
Palus Maeotis (Sea of Azoff), and the Tanais (Don); and
from the Euxine northwards to the country of the Me-
lanchlaeni. Eastward from Scythia lay the country of the
Sauromatae, between the Tanais, the Rha (Volga), and
Caucasus; while the region between the Borysthenes
(Dnieper) and the Tanais was at one time occupied by
the Cimmerians, who were expelled by the Scythians.
Scythia, therefore, in the time of Herodotus, comprehended
Moldavia and the southern portions of European Russia.
The Scythians themselves, according to the historian, were
a branch of the Sacae, an Asiatic people living to the east
of the Caspian, and had been driven out from their ori¬
ginal country by the Massagetae. Only two important
events in Scythian history are mentioned by Herodotus;
the one is the invasion of Media by the Scythians, and the
other that of Scythia by Darius. In 624 b.c., the Scythians
entered Media, defeated Cyaxares, the reigning monarch,
and occupied the land for twenty-eight years before they
were expelled. It was at least ostensibly in revenge for this
870 SCYTHIA.
Scythia, incursion that Darius Hystaspis determined to invade Scythia
"--v—' about 513 b.g. He formed a bridge across the Danube;
and crossing that river, obtained some advantages over the
Scythians. But he was unable to effect any real conquest
of these nomad tribes, and narrowly escaped having his re¬
treat cut off by the destruction of the bridge. In later
times we do not hear much of the Scythians in history.
Instead of them the Sarmatians appear as the occupants of
these regions. Whether this is to be accounted for by
supposing that the Sauromatae of Herodotus encroached
upon the Scythian territory and supplanted its former in¬
habitants, or we are to believe that the change was only
in the name by which these nomad tribes were known to
the Greeks and Homans, is a doubtful point; but there
can be no question of the fact, that in the time of Ptolemy
the term Scythia was applied exclusively to those eastern
regions, which even, according to Plerodotus, formed the
original home of the Scythians. Scythia was, according
to this view, bounded on the W. by the Rha, which se¬
parated it from Sarmatia; S. by the Jaxartes (Sir Daria),
which separated it from Sogdiana, and by the Emodi Montes
(Hindoo Coosh and Himalayas), which separated in from
India. On the N. and E. there was no definite boundary; Scythia
in these directions lay the lands of the Seres and the Sinae
Scythia was divided into two parts, inside and outside the
Imaus, a name applied somewhat vaguely to the moun¬
tains of Central Asia ; but which probably indicates in this
connection the ranges now known as Bolor and Thian
Shan. Scythia intra Imaum would thus comprehend the
Kirghize steppes; and Scythia extra Imaum Tibet and
Little Bucharia. The term Scythia, as used by Ptolemy,
thus corresponds very much to the similarly indefinite
terms Tartary and Turkestan, which we apply to nearly
the same regions, dividing it in a similar way into the west¬
ern or Independent, and the eastern or Chinese portion.
The Scythians of the ancients are also probably to be iden¬
tified with the Turkish races; and it will no more surprise
us to find the former in ancient times occupying the posi¬
tion assigned them by Herodotus, than to find the latter at
the present day occupying European Turkey. The physi¬
cal characteristics, manners, and language of the Scythians,
so far as they can be ascertained, confirm this opinion,
though some eminent authorities have arrived at different
conclusions.
END OF VOLUME NINETEENTH.
FEINTED BY NEILL AND CO., OLD FISHMARKET, EDINBURGH.
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PLATE TV
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VOL. XIX.
REPTI LI A.
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